#but i was not one of them. my phone was already like 3/4ths of the way dead when i walked in
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OK so heres some of my favorite things that were talked about during the enter the florpus commentary thing yesterday:
one of jhonen's favorite things in the whole movie is the writing in zim's kitchen that says "do anything is real?"
they clarified specifically that gir was not lying and he did in fact eat a baby at the crazy taco
gir smells REALLY bad. theres like rotting organic matter in his body at all times. he stinks
zim's human suit is made out of actual human skin
zim is acting drunk on nacho cheese during that scene in his house because richard horvitz recorded it while drunk
they planned to have this whole thing with tak's ship only agreeing to go to moo-ping 10 because it knows tak is there. they wouldve shown her in silhouette during that brief explosion and she wouldve stowed away on the ship without anyone knowing and then wouldve shown up towards the end of the movie, but they decided to cut it out
zim did not need to frame membrane for a crime in order to get him into space prison and likely just tossed the guards like 5 bucks for it. its a shady place. they did specify though that if he did frame him for something, it would have been jaywalking
they pointed out during that scene where zim is celebrating peace day on dib's lawn that zim's reaction to seeing dib was very much genuine and that's just how his brain works. he is genuinely surprised to see him pop out of his own house. (they also described his reaction as like "being surprised to see your best friend")
the ham joke was ABSOLUTELY CRITICAL to the film and at some point jhonen remembered it and was like GUYS. WE ALMOST FORGOT THE HAM
there was supposed to be this joke where it cuts to and from gaz and dib in tak's ship and they would've had to stop at like a warp station or something and theyd be waiting in a long queue of spaceships and the radio is broken in the ship so theyre stuck listening to that one song. then itd cut to them like totally braindead drooling from listening to it for so long. and then a little later itd cut back a FINAL time and theyd know all of the words and both be singing along to it. but this was also cut out so only the last bit remained
when asked "who would win: minimoose or mrs. bitters?" the answer was along the lines of "neither, i think all of us lose in that scenario"
the tallest are just two dudes who happen to be the same height and therefore have to share the same job. they are not brothers and they are also not gay lovers ("as much as you want them to be, they are not. there is no love in this universe")
skooge is in fact alive and lives in zim's basement. they wanted to keep the number of "hey remember this thing from the tv show!" moments to a minimum so he was not mentioned in the movie. but he is there
#cryn rambles#invader zim#this is based pretty much entirely off of my memory btw Sorry i was not taking notes#im sure people will be uploading clips and stuff i saw people recording on their phones at different points#but i was not one of them. my phone was already like 3/4ths of the way dead when i walked in#also zadf real ANYWAYYY#kinda obsessed w jhonen's rapr shade LMAO#the whole thing was fucking hysterical im so glad i was able to go#anyways. there was so much more but these were some of my favs or just ones i thought were notable#also jhonen was excited for alan wake 2 today. my friend (big alan wake fan) was very excited to hear this info#iz tag
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Along with finally airing the season 5 finale, Tfou released a version of the two last episodes commented by the writing team!! So, as I already did with the commented version of Evolution, here's an overview of what they said!! It’s quite long given that it was two episodes and they talked a lot so I will put the parts I think are the most interesting in bold!! Obligatory disclaimer, this is my own interpretation and translation so take everything with a grain of salt!
At the beginning, the writers recall that the first episode of the season 5 finale, Conformation, starts with Adrien and Kagami supposedly arriving in London "like rock stars". However, it is actually just an illusion made from the scanned version of them and the two teens are actually being sequestered in London. At this moment, Thomas says "talk about good parenting" in English, which I think is very funny. The team explains that they were first put in regular apartments in the previous episode but are now in rooms without windows after both of them escaped. This is also done to protect them from what will happen, as Gabriel is about to put his plan of akumatising the entire world into action.
The writers say that Gabriel had been imagining his plan ever since Animaestro when he was seen signing contracts with Tsurugi, and has been putting it in place since the second episode of season 5 (Multiplication). They say that he also tested the first part of his plan, to put nightmares in everyone's heads, in a previous episode.
The rest is under the cut!
Talking about previous episodes, they then say that as was the case with the Risk - Strike back - Evolution - Multiplication - Destruction series of episodes (aka the longest day ever), the 5 last episodes of season 5 (Collusion - Revolution - Representation - Conformation - Recreation) go together and there is a direct continuation between them. (However, one of their rules as Miraculous writers is that these episodes can also be watched and understood independently.) Therefore, season 5 both starts and ends with a series of 5 episodes (quintologies as they call them).
They note that Marinette's nightmare at the beginning is reminiscent of the episode Weredad from season 3. At this point, we can see that Marinette starts to understand who the villain is although she's not fully conscious of it yet. Thomas says that you can read it in two different ways: if you don't take the previous episode into account, she's starting to intuitively link things together but if you did see Representation, you know that she knows who Monarch really is. (They say that to highlight the fact that even though this is the 4th episode of a quintology, all episodes can be understood on their own as mentioned before.)
They then talk more about Gabriel's plan. He gives everyone nightmares on the same day and we can see the different characters suffering because of that (for example, Marinette's mom who thinks Tom is overprotective). He will then offer a solution which a sort of relaxation application directly inspired by the different yoga apps people have on their phones nowadays. This app helps them relax, but also makes people addicted since their nightmares come back as soon as they don't use it anymore. They joke about the relevance of this in today's world with people being "addicted" to their phones or people in positions of power spreading poisons and then monetising the antidote, or the corruption of capitalism selling things we don't need or causing mental illnesses to make people addicted. They ironise that nooo they couldn't possibly be referring to all of that, not in a children's show!!
During the scene that leads to Adrien wearing the Alliance ring after being reticent to it, they say that they had a conflit when writing it as they had to find a way for Adrien to not become his superhero self, cataclysm the walls and go help his lady in Paris. The end result is that Adrien is reminded of the devastating effect of his power by the nightmare and would therefore do anything to avoid hurting people, and so he wears the ring. Mélanie says that he "could become Chat Blanc" and the others add that even though he does not remember and has never lived it, Chat Blanc still has an influence on his actions.
Thomas mentions that Plagg (who he calls "Plaggo" and "Plagounet", which are sort of funny and affectionate nicknames) doesn't show up on cameras, and Sébastien jokes that there could be kwamis around them as they're talking but we just can't see them. Speaking of Plagg, Sébastien jokingly calls Fred the "queen of cheese" as she's the one writing the cheese puns and mentions that there are way more cheese jokes in season 5 than there were before, which makes him think that she is getting retributed by cheese industries in exchange for writing them. Fred then replies that she's getting paid directly in cheese.
The writers say that while the episodes are often narratively dense with science fiction elements, Plagg allows them to add humour in the scene and keep a lighter atmosphere for small children (you know, when he shows his butt to the camera while Adrien is having an existential crisis).
Anyway moving on lol, the writers then say that they had actually planned since 2014/2015 that Chat Noir would not be there to defeat Hawkmoth as they wanted a very particular power fusion to happen (aka Marinette wielding both the ladybug and black cat miraculous and becoming Bug Noire).
Fred then talks about how ever since the start of the series, they have incorporated the symbolism of fairy tales with the sleeping princess and the knight coming to save her. However, they're switching the genders in Miraculous as Adrien is the princess and Marinette the knight (while Gabriel is the evil dragon). They add that they already explained this in a previous episode (in season 4) but they're showing it again now in Marinette's nightmare.
In the scene where we can see that Tikki ate all the croissants, they joke that she did well given everything that is going to happen afterwards. They also jokingly tell the kids watching that they shouldn't do like Marinette and hide in trash cans but eating bananas and croissants is ok (trust me it's funny when they say it). They add that if Fred is the cheese queen, Mélanie is like Tikki because she loves cakes and anything sweet.
We then see Nathalie's nightmare in which Gabriel successfully makes his wish, and therefore manages to accomplish his evil plan which Nathalie knows about. We can see that she's looking very bad and the writers again jokingly give recommendations to the children watching, here to not use a damaged peacock miraculous.
They then talk more about Natalie's past, in which she was a treasure hunter. They say that someone should let them show the fabulous story of Nathalie, Gabriel, Émilie, Audrey and André when they were younger. Indeed, they already wrote what happened in their youth as it is the origin story without which they couldn't have written Miraculous. When Natalie looks at the picture of her in her "Lara Croft outfit", as they call it, from when they were chasing the miraculous and found the peacock and butterfly ones, they jokingly ask what they were chasing and why and say that you have to watch the rest of season 5 to know (basically, they're strongly hinting at sentiadrien).
They say that Gabriel/Hawkmoth and Tsurugi have been allies for a very long time, but it has only been revealed rather recently in the show and we can see it now in a scene where they're plotting together and rising the tension.
In the following scene, we can see all the kids ready for the "miraculisation", except Mylène who is not wearing a ring because while she is not fully anti technology, she is more wary of it and vigilant of its excesses. They then focus on Ivan, who would also like to resist like her but for whom it is too hard. They add that he has "things stressing him out" but that we will only learn about them in later seasons 👀👀.
They take a moment to appreciate the "exceptional" direction and lighting done by Wilfried in the scene where Nathalie threatens Gabriel with a crossbow. Thomas also makes a reference to Citizen Kane but I've never watched it so idk what he meant by that sorry I'm uncultured haha. The writing team says that while they are the ones writing the scenes, they need a director to make the scenes look like what they imagined, and that it's not always easy.
In the next scene, we can see Ladybug looking around in Nathalie's room to find hints about where Adrien could be and finding her tablet with all the information about the miraculous, which makes Marinette realise that Nathalie was Monarch's accomplice right before they enter in the room. They joke about how OMG THEY NEVER COULD'VE GUESSED that Adrien's father was actually Monarch the whole time. We can see Ladybug recording a message for Chat Noir where she reveals his identity, but she never ends up actually sending it.
They talk about how this scene is a huge climax as it is rare to see Ladybug in the Agreste mansion. It had already happened in season 1 during the episode Simon Says where they already played on the dramatic irony of Hawkmoth being Gabriel (which people did not know at the time). This is the second time that Ladybug is in the mansion, while Marinette has been there before a few times (including the iconic pancake moment). While they talk about Simon Says, Fred looks really smug saying that they had planned everything since the beginning.
They say that the scene during which Nathalie gives Ladybug her phone with the pictures and videos of Émilie explaining all of Miraculous's backstory is beautiful, and that if we as viewers had this phone, we would know everything about it (👀👀👀). In addition, they mention that since this is the final episode of the arc, a lot of things happen to get all the final outcomes of the different relationship between characters.
When Gabriel shows the video of Ladybug and Chat Noir kidnapping Adrien and Kagami on everyone's Alliances, the writers explain that people are so disoriented and stressed that they'll believe anything we tell them. They are therefore receptive to any controversy presented to them, just like how people nowadays will engage in numerous sterile debates on social media.
We can then see Monarch using things he obtained in previous episodes: the cataclysm dust from his deteriorating hand and the magical charm Ladybug gave him. We can see that Gabriel had been planning everything from a very long time but that because of the cataclysm he suffered from, he has no choice but to carry it out now. Coincidentally, it is this very cataclysm that allows his to have Chat Noir's quantic signature and put his plan into action. They jokingly compare what he is doing to making a dog sniff a sock, but in a cyberquantic version.
The quantic signature allows the miraculised people to find Ladybug and Chat Noir, and the team says that when they were writing the scene where they detect Ladybug in Gabriel's mansion, they were all going omg omg omg trying to figure out how they were going to get away with it. They say that while Ladybug is trapped in the villain's lair, the writers trapped themselves with the story.
They once again give a shout out to Wilfried's direction when we can see Ladybug getting attacked from all sides by the miraculised people, notably because of the camera motions. They also acknowledge SAMG's amazing animation especially in the scenes including a lot of characters.
My unculturedness shows again when they say that Marinette hiding in a cupboard under the sink is a reference to Jurassic Park. The reference I do get however is when they say that Plagg not being able to shift through the door with his ring was the plot of Mr Pigeon 72.
The action then reaches a maximum as Monarch knows that Ladybug is hiding somewhere in his house, detransformed. We now get to THE moment they had been waiting for since the beginning: when Monarch discovers that Marinette is Ladybug and she transforms into the fabulous BUG NOIRE!!! They keep talking about how cool she is and that they left the best for last: the final fight with Monarch does not happen with Ladybug, nor with Chat Noir, nor with Chat Noir and Ladybug but with BUG NOIRE!!!!!
Fred says the season has a particular taste of closure, even though there is still a next part, and warns to hold on because the latter will hurt a lot 🥲🥲.
🐞🐞🐞
Now, onto the the second episode, Re-creation !! (Yeah the first 2k words before that were on Conformation alone. I am bad at summarising. 😭)
At the beginning of the episode, when we can see Lila laughing when she sees Alec having an akuma induced nightmare on TV, the writers say that it is because she has known who Monarch is for multiple episodes now. They mention that it is because she read something on people’s lips in Evolution (episode 501) which allowed her to discover things. She also stole a case from Tsurugi so she knows who Gabriel really is.
Then, they focus on the fight we "had all been waiting for", and Mélanie mentions that her favourite lucky charm is the piano crashing on Monarch. They say that while they have spent multiple hours finding intelligent and sophisticated lucky charms for years, this one is just simple and exhilarating.
They then talk about how the resistance is fighting against the miraculised people, and how this happens all over the world (in China, Rio, New York) and includes a LOT of different characters. This explains why it takes a long time to deliver the episodes and they joke about how they’re blowing up their budget. However, despite all the superheroes fighting all over the world, it is still not enough.
Indeed, the outcome doesn’t play out in the giant arena outside, but in the KITCHEN. They joke about how they waited long enough to finally get it and that the resolve should therefore happen there, and even nickname the episode a « kitchen-two-room episode » (the joke makes more sense in french since we define homes according to their number of rooms, not just bedrooms).
They say that in the fight between Bug Noire and Monarch, both are so evolved in mastering their powers that neither of them have limits (Monarch can use as many powers as he wants at once thanks to his rings, and Bug Noire can use as many lucky charms and cataclysms as she wants). They lovingly say that our little Marinette from season one has grown a lot 🥺. She’s now super badass (they kept talking about how cool she was) and has learned so much.
They add that the scene where Bug Noire uses her handcuffs lucky charm is a reference to Kung Fu movies where characters fight while being chained to each other (once again, I’ve watched like zero movies so I’m gonna trust them on that lol). They once again mention the amazing direction and get very excited when Bug Noire slams Monarch through the wall.
During the fight scenes outside, they joke that Doorman (the USAmerican superhero whose power is to open doors) and Fang (a literal crocodile who knows Kung Fu) were essential in saving Paris. However, despite all the people fighting outside, the miraculised people remain too many and there is only one person who can save everyone from Monarch’s perfect plan.
Back in the Agreste mansion, Bug Noire is losing and her only escape is to cataclysm the floor which makes them land in the crypt (which was right under the mansion all along !!!). She then sees Emilie’s body and understand why Gabriel is doing all of this. When talking about his motive, the writers joke that if he succeeded, it would be hard to explain to Adrien why his mom, who has been dead for a year, is suddenly back and that while it would be unjust for Gabriel to trade her life for someone else’s, he doesn’t care and would just make Ladybug go away.
The team explains that in the following scenes, there is an alternance between the outside (in Paris) and inside (in the crypt) fights, with the dialogue happening inside continuing while we see what is happening outside on screen. They don’t do that often, which gives this scene all the more impact during the finale. They talk about how this kind of thing is a trademark of Miraculous: the episodes are quite dense despite their short length, thanks to the fact that the story continues when the action is taking place and the emotion continues to be conveyed. They oppose it to classical action movies where some scenes are dedicated to dialogue/story while fight scenes are just about fighting.
The writers say that from the moment Bug Noire gets her glue tube lucky charm, they are already working on the plot of season 6: when she manages to steal the butterfly miraculous from Monarch, she does not actually retrieve it because of how far away she is and it falls in the water below (cf Lila retrieving it which will be relevant in season 6).
At this moment, Gabriel loses and the resolution of the battle is not what we could’ve expected: we don’t have Ladybug winning by thrashing him, but she instead simply talks to him and even detransforms in front of him. It is not Ladybug who defeats Monarch but Marinette. This echoes to a message they have been trying to convey since the beginning : that in the end, it is not violence or strength that wins, but people talking to each other and opening up about their feelings. It is when people are not subject to their emotions, but instead try to understand them to think better and take the right decisions. And this is what Marinette is hoping for here by showing Gabriel the video of Émilie saying that she never wanted him to become evil, and instead just hoped for him to take care of Adrien (which he didn’t do lol).
In the end, Marinette and Gabriel’s main goals are the same : making Adrien happy. She takes a huge risk and detransforms to see how much he loves Adrien, or on the contrary how much he would rather bring his wife back. This is the only moment where we see Gabriel being truly emotional and understand why he has been doing all of that. Fred adds that he is a character who thinks love goes beyond good and evil, and oversteps every boundary, including moral ones. Therefore, Marinette is trying to solve a crisis of feelings by using feelings.
Back to the episode, we can see Marinette taking the biggest risk in her life and extending her hand to her nemesis, even the kwamis tell her that she’s insane. The writers joke that well, they were right, as Gabriel steals both miraculous and it does not end well (or at least not for now). Gabriel has now won as he can do what he has been wanting since the very beginning.
The team mentions that the next scene is one of the biggest reveals of the show, as we can finally see how the wish happens. We discover that the kwamis are not actually little plushies but take this appearance to avoid scaring their wielders, and the writers actually hinted to that in Dearest Family when Tikki ate all the galette des rois. One member of the team jokes that when the kwamis reveal themselves, they become a Swedish hit from the 70s : Gimmi (as a reference to Gimme ! Gimme ! Gimme ! by ABBA of course).
Moving on from the dad jokes, when Gabriel removes all of his miraculous rings, Marinette is released from the bee sting and can now witness her defeat. But the fact that Gabriel laid down his weapons shows that she has actually won, even though it is only shown and not said.
However, they say that there is still some doubt : we do not actually know what he wishes for as his words are cryptic and we only see the outcome of his wish. They do say that Émilie will not be brought back to life as Gabriel has finally mourned her death, which Adrien has already done for a long time. But Gabriel cannot live without her and decides to die with her.
In order to accomplish the wish, they explain that the world has to be destroyed and then re-created, which leads us to the aftermath of the wish a few weeks later and the pool party where everything seems to be going well. Then comes probably the most enigmatic shot of the episode with Nathalie and Amélie/Émilie. The writers say that they’re not telling us who it is but I think we can guess pretty easily based on what they said right before 😭😭. They also add that with Nathalie next to her we can guess what Gabriel’s wish was, but that it is "not what we think" and that there is a trick.
They say that with the final wish, they have arrived at the end of what they wanted to tell in this arc, which is a revolution of the minds. They said that each played their role, including the villain because he gave up on his power with which he could do anything to make his son happy. They add that the new world we are seeing shows the premise of season 6, which will have a "different taste" and in which they will talk about different things.
They say that at the end, some lies remain as Gabriel is presented as a hero. They say that Marinette gave Adrien the twin rings, in what frankly looks like a wedding proposal lol. Then they go insane because it’s time for LE BISOUUUU, and a real lovey kiss that they remember for once, not like in Oblivio, and not a desperate kiss like when Adrien left for London. However, even with all this cute romantic stuff, we can see some ominous butterflies flying around them…
In the next scene, we can see Marinette taking the miraculous that have been standardised and industrialised by Gabriel and putting them back in shape. The writers specify that this is a parabole about craftsmanship vs industrial production. The miraculous will now be adapted to every person, but we can’t see what they look like just yet! In this new world, the powers are all shared, among people who they trust and know will work for the common good. They joke that the "Avengers" shot at the end with all the heroes is something they’d been dreaming of.
In the last scene with Lila, they joke that it’s never really finished because there’s a bunch of epilogues one after the other. Thomas add that the school described at the end is how he thinks all schools should work!
And we’ve finally reached the end!! They don’t reveal anything in the scene where a weird flash appears in Lila’s room to keep the suspense, and just all scream going OMG WHAT’S HAPPENING!!!
🐞🐞🐞
I hope this was helpful to learn more about the writing team and some stories behind the episodes!! Don't hesitate to add stuff if you think I forgot something or ask questions if I wasn't completely clear :)).
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credits to the gif maker!
LOVE IS COMPLICATED
summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who are obliviously in love.
pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.
word count: 4.4k
warnings: angst..? cussing, age gap, smut, mentions of drugs and alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!
a/n: enjoy and please let me know if you'd like a part two! i'm already writing it lol but i'd like to know anyways <3
here’s part two!
You’d always been good friends, taking to each other without much of a second thought after Oscar had introduced you two just in passing a few years ago—eight years ago, to be exact—at some party at his house.
New York, New York
September 4th, 2015
You were outside in the backyard, dressed far more casually than the occasion called for. It was a chilly night, and the music was blasting from inside the house.
You were tired from all the traveling, touring, and filming. You loved your job and were extremely grateful that things were working in your favor, but boy, did it leave you drained. You hadn't spent time with Oscar, or really any of your friends, in quite some time, so you thought a night out wouldn't hurt after working too much.
So there you were, enjoying the chill night air, when a familiar voice reached your ears.
“There you are!" Oscar said cheerfully, "I've been looking for you for like 20 minutes; I thought you left!" he continued, in a very dramatic manner, you must add.
You couldn't help but smile at his theatrics as you welcomed him with a hug. "Oh, I could never leave a party of yours without saying goodbye. You know I'm better than that." you speak softly, suddenly noticing another person behind him.
"I wanted to introduce you to my friend, Pedro,” he says this as he turns to face Pedro. "He's a fan," Oscar says in a singsong manner.
Pedro is standing there with his cheeks flushed and a smile forming on his lips. Although part of you wanted to be cocky about it and torture him a little, you bit your tongue, not wanting to make this worse for him.
Of course you knew who Pedro was. And not because he was in two of the most famous TV shows at the moment; it was because Oscar and Sarah wouldn't shut up about him. In every conversation you had over the phone with either of them, Pedro's name always found a way to come up. It seemed that no matter how hard they tried, they could not hide their enthusiasm for him.
So to say you were interested in meeting him was an understatement. You wanted to see what all the fuss was about.
Before you could properly introduce yourself, Oscar's name was called from inside the house. "Alright, I'll leave you two to it." he says, "Please be nice to each other!" he yells as he walks back inside. You shake your head in amusement.
"You are more beautiful in person," Pedro says in his very captivating, deep voice, catching you by surprise.
Now you are the one with the flushed cheeks.
“I thought you were shorter," you say back, daringly. Although it was an honest comment, it was also a way to deflect attention from the fact that he just called you beautiful.
Pedro laughs loudly, as if you had just told him the funniest joke ever.
"I am not trying to be mean or rude; I really thought you were like 5'3." you continued, putting your hands inside the pockets of your jacket.
"So you know who I am?" he asks, a smirk forming on his lips.
"Yeah, I like to enjoy good television in my free time." you tell him, focusing on his face.
He was more beautiful in person, too. To your relief, he was dressed similarly to you. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, tucked into dark jeans that fit him in all the right places. His hair was a bit tousled, and his mustache looked like it had been recently groomed. He must be filming Narcos, you thought. You also noticed his kind brown eyes. He had a warmth and friendliness about him that was immediately apparent.
"Also, our friends don't seem to know how to shut up about you. You are quite the talk of the town lately."
Your words made him smile. He doesn’t say anything but narrows his eyes, and you can practically hear his thoughts clamoring around in his head. "Alright, back to me being short, " you rolled your eyes as he continued with his speech, "Contrary to popular belief, I'm actually 5'11." He takes a seat on one of the small couches that have been set up in the backyard, prompting you to follow suit and take a seat as well.
"Like I said, I didn't mean it in a bad wa—" he cuts you off before you finish your sentence. "Ah, don't worry about it. Plus, if you still think that's short, I'll make up for my height with my other great qualities."
You let out a small laugh, relieved that he didn't take offense to your remark. Again. You look at him and reply, "Oh, I can't wait to see these other great qualities."
The transition from acquaintances to close enough to hang out alone without friends was just as easy, and you quickly became an unlikely pair of sorts.
You did everything you could together. From having movie marathons whenever you both happened to be in the same city to visiting different coffee shops and ordering the same thing every time—you anything that involved caramel and him four shots of black coffee over ice—it felt as if you had known each other your whole lives.
You were inseparable, and it felt effortless, like a piece of a puzzle that had been missing for so long finally fitting just right.
Given that you were in a serious, long-term relationship when you met, the tabloids didn't dig too much. All of the articles referred to you as friends, which saved you from having awkward conversations or even thinking too deeply about the whole thing.
There was also the age thing. Pedro was older than you, so everyone just assumed you'd never go there. Your boyfriend at the time never questioned your friendship with Pedro, either.
However, you now wish he had. It would've implied he was concerned, which you now know he wasn't. He was busy with other things. You don't exactly remember when things started to fall apart between the two of you. But you do remember how it felt when you found out he was cheating. It felt like a gut punch. The fact that the whole world also knew it didn't make it any better, either. You felt completely betrayed and exposed, not just by your boyfriend but by the whole world that seemed to be privy to your pain.
As any rational person would, you succumbed to work. If you were working, you wouldn't really have time to deal with all the viscerally painful emotions that have flooded your body ever since everything went to shit. You kept filming, and you kept making music. Endless hours spent at the piano provided you with incomparable peace and tranquility. Who knew a life-altering breakup was what you needed to write the best music of your career? At least something good had to come out of this disaster.
Of course your friends and family helped you navigate this process as well. However, one person stands out above the rest: Pedro.
It's like he made it his life mission to put you back together. He'd call just to check up on you, tell you random stuff about his day just to keep your mind off things, ask what book you were currently invested in, or simply say he missed you because months had passed and you couldn't see each other because of work.
"What time is it over there?" he asks, his voice was hoarse, as if he had just woken up.
"1:30 AM," you reply, glancing at your phone, "we're still shooting some stuff."
He groans into the phone, "I fucking hate it when filming drags on for too long."
"Yeah, tell me about it." you say this as you were stretching your back. You had been filming since the afternoon; it was currently past midnight, and production was still going. To say you were exhausted was an understatement. "Alright, I'll text you later. My break's sadly over."
"Yeah, sure. Good luck, princesa."
In other circumstances, you two happened to be in the same place at the same time. The parties were the best part of awards season. The entire purpose of the parties was to campaign for whatever projects were gaining traction, but for you, it meant spending time with friends you hadn't seen in a long time and having fun.
That explains why, four cosmos down, you were dancing and laughing in the middle of the dance floor with some of your friends. Or maybe it was five cosmos down. Truth be told, you stopped counting after the second one. You weren't the type to get wasted, but your goal for the night was to have fun, and alcohol definitely helped with that.
You start to get a little tired from all the dancing, so you head to the nearest couch. Sitting next to Sarah, she opens her arms to embrace you. "My little dirty dancer!" she says loudly, making everyone around you laugh. "Oh shut up, can't a girl have some harmless fun?" you say, a smirk on your face. You glance around the room at the grinning faces and shrug.
"It's karaoke time!" Jen, your friend and hostess for the evening, announced cheerfully, "Who wants to go first?"
"Oh, fuck me," Pedro groans, dragging his hand down his face. "I hate karaoke. I hate it. I don't want to sing karaoke, and I don’t want to listen to people sing karaoke."
He's sitting across from you with a beer in his hand and looking a little more drunk than you were. You chuckle as you watch him slump against the back of the chair during his karaoke rant.
This was no secret; after the first few weeks, when you began to hang out more frequently, he made sure to let you know this very important piece of information. That's why you took pleasure in doing it solely to irritate him.
"I will go first." You say this while looking him in the eyes. He rolls his eyes and sighs, knowing that you understand exactly why he's been so adamant about it.
"Why do you like to torture me, kid?"
"I can't help it; you're fun to mess with, Pedrito."
Even though he hated karaoke, you knew you were the only person he enjoyed listening to. You could tell by the way his eyes lit up whenever you hit the right note, the way he'd shake his head and chuckle when you made a mistake, and the smile that crept onto his face when you'd finished the song. Despite this, he would never admit to enjoying it.
You were busy listening to some of your friends talk about how you didn't completely butcher your rendition of "Total Eclipse of the Heart" when hands landed on your waist from behind and you felt a hot breath on your neck. "That was terrible, mi amor."
Spinning around to face him as he straightens up, you spot his beautiful brown eyes. "When will you admit how much you enjoy my karaoke performances?" you try to pretend you're mad, but you can't help the corners of your mouth turning up in a smirk.
Pedro chuckles, his body vibrating against yours. He leans down, his lips barely brushing yours, his breath ghosting across your skin. "Never," he says, almost in a whisper.
Your body is buzzing from the proximity. No, it's the alcohol. Without a doubt, the alcohol. You're unbothered by the proximity. The same way you're unbothered by the way he's smiling down at you.
"You're insufferable," you say, keeping the conversation moving so you don't have time to spiral.
He brings his beer to his lips, smirking as he sips. "If by insufferable you mean utterly charming, then you are right."
Just like he made it his mission to put you back together after your life fell apart, sometimes it was your turn to put him back together, too. No matter how hard he tried to bottle up his feelings, you were always the one who could get through to him, able to make him smile or make him think with just a few simple words.
Pedro was no longer a mystery to you. He's a contradiction in motion. He withdraws into the distance that comes with fame, but he also wants to connect. Despite having a tendency to be open, he tends to hold a lot of himself back. He cares so much and yet he's also uncomfortable caring so much.
You were both in London for different reasons but were staying in the same hotel. One night, you decide to stop by his room before leaving for an event. You knock three times before he opens the door.
"Have you been crying?" you ask him, immediately concerned.
He is initially hesitant to respond, but eventually caves. "Well, yeah."
"What happened?"
"It's kind of pathetic, really."
"Then let's be pathetic together. Tell me." you respond as you push your way into the room.
"Prince died," he says, his voice hoarse from the crying.
"Pedro..." you say quietly, not really knowing what to say.
"I know, I know. It's stupid."
"Of course not." you quickly reply, "There's no shame in crying, I know how much you love him." you take a deep breath and approach him, offering him your hand. "C'mere, let's sit down."
You started lowering yourself to the floor, and he followed. "You don't have to do this...you look like you've probably got somewhere else to be."
"I've got nowhere else to be."
The two of you just sat there, not saying a word. You held him while he cried, his head on your shoulder as you ran your hand through his hair. If you could go and bring Prince back from the dead just so he wouldn't hurt like this, you would do it in a heartbeat. But you knew that was impossible, so all you could do was sit there and comfort him.
"You two should date."
"Are you out of your fucking mind, Sarah?"
"What!" she laughs. "You're basically dating already."
Since you hadn't seen each other in a while, Sarah had extended an invitation for you to have breakfast at her house. She had questioned you about your love life after discussing a number of other topics, and when you replied that you were still single, she made that absolutely ridiculous remark.
"What does that even mean?"
"It means," she says, almost giggling, "that you two are doing the things that couples do, like going on dates and spending time together."
"We don't go on dates," you quickly reply, "and I don't like him like that."
She rolls her eyes, unconvinced, and asks, "Why?"
"Because..." you trail off, "Because he's Pedro... and I am me." Even though you were aware that what you were saying made no sense, you refrained from going into detail.
"You really don't see it, do you?"
"There's nothing to see, Sarah."
It was difficult to pinpoint the exact moment you first realized that occasionally, completely unprompted, your thoughts would turn to Pedro.
This was similar to how you two became friends without ever consciously choosing to do so. The mere thought of his loud, booming laugh and the way he beams at you when you crack a joke would make the corner of your mouth twitch into a small smile. Eventually, you understood that those thoughts of Pedro and the slight thrill they gave you were very different from friendship.
Yet you decided not to go there. You both enjoyed your friendship, and he never said or did anything to make you believe he felt otherwise. Or that was just a bunch of bullshit you came up with to not deal with it anyway.
You were friends, close friends, and you didn't want to jeopardize the best friendship you'd ever had by listening to that little voice in your head that occasionally whispered, "What if...?"
It wasn't until one night that everything changed. You're still unsure if it was for better or worse.
You were changing into far more comfortable clothes than you'd been wearing all day. It was finally Friday, something you were very grateful for since work had been nothing but tedious lately. You had the weekend off; it seemed like an eternity since you had been free for a couple of days.
As you slipped on your favorite and very worn-out t-shirt, your phone rang. "Ugh, what now?" you whined. You were suddenly regretting your words as you picked up the phone; his throaty voice filled your ears, and you felt instantly better. It was almost embarrassing.
"I heard you had a shitty week," he says, "I am coming over."
"How'd you know that?"
"The more important question here is why have you been in New York for days and didn't tell me? I'm actually hurt, love."
"I know, I'm sorry, it's just been a little rough."
The guilt immediately washes over you. You knew that you should have called or even sent him a quick text, but your mind was only focused on getting through the week. It was like you were on autopilot.
"I will be there in 20 minutes." he replies, hanging up.
Without anything better to do, you decide to wash some dishes that have been sitting in the sink since last night while you wait for Pedro to arrive. You quickly finish that and then decide to pass the remaining time by reading a book you started a couple of weeks ago. You flip through the book's pages, trying to recall where you left off because the earmarked corner you'd marked seemed to have disappeared.
Before you can find the page, your cellphone screen lights up again, catching your attention out of the corner of your eye, and though it feels silly and childish, you can feel the way your heart leaps and your chest tightens just a fraction when you read the notification and see Pedro's name. "I'm here."
You rush to the door, flinging it open with a gust of energy, and you find him standing there, one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other holding a bag, a crooked smile on his lips. "I brought wine and takeout from that place you love down on 54th." It had been months since you'd last seen him, and it was like no time had passed at all. He steps inside, closing the door behind him, and you take the bag, allowing your eyes to meet his with a smile. Fuck.
As you set everything on the kitchen counter, you both decide to eat right away. The warm, inviting scent of the food spread throughout the kitchen, and it was as if all your worries and tiredness had disappeared. The conversation flowed perfectly as you both devoured the delicious food, and you were grateful for the moment of peace.
After finishing your meal, he helps you collect everything and clean up the kitchen.
"You’ll get wrinkles if you keep working that hard, mama," he tells you as he throws something in the trash can, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
"Don't call me that," you giggle, a little tipsy from the wine. "It makes me feel—" you stop yourself before you finish the sentence. Fuck.
"It makes you feel what?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
Well, it makes you feel embarrassed, as if you have let your guard down and revealed too much of your innermost thoughts. And it gives you butterflies. But you don't tell him that. "Nothing," you say, "it's just funny."
You knew you didn't have it in you to keep your thoughts, body, and face under control, especially when he was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded, looking like he just stepped out of a movie. You were feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if your thoughts were written all over your face, so you did what you do best: you changed the subject.
"Remember that one time we got high on edibles to go see The Incredibles 2?" you blurt, hoping he would forget what just came out of your mouth. He looked at you for a moment, as if he were considering your question, before bursting out in laughter.
"How could I forget?" he says. "It's one of our finest moments."
"Would you like to repeat the occasion?"
"Don't threaten me with a good time, baby."
You go to one of the kitchen drawers and pull out the box of cookies. "I can't believe you're offering me drugs." Pedro says in a dramatic tone.
"Oh shut up, do I need to remind you whose idea it was last time?" you roll your eyes, grabbing two cookies and throwing one at him.
"Should we honor last time and watch a movie?" he says as he takes a bite of the cookie.
To be entirely honest, you should have known that things were about to go off the rails the very moment the man at the other end of the couch, in that impossibly confident and seductive voice, asked you to come closer. "You're miles away from me, princesa."
If you had been wise, you would have politely declined. If you had any sense of self-preservation when it came to Pedro, you would have declined his offer and avoided thinking about him fucking you into this very couch. But you weren't wise, which is why your legs are thrown over his lap and his fingers are drawing circles in your thighs. Pedro’s gaze feels like a caress, and his voice is thick, "You look like you're thinking too hard."
"What?" you ask, dumbfounded.
"I said you looked like you were thinking too hard." he replies, "What's running through that pretty head of yours?"
Your teeth are tugging at your bottom lip in a way that Pedro seems to find distracting because he nearly slips up and breaks the carefully maintained eye contact, his gaze darting down just a fraction of an inch. You don't know where the courage came from, but you lean in on your elbows, lifting yourself from the laying position you were in, closing the gap even further until it's impossibly small.
You can tell you know what you've been doing when you pause with only a breath of space between your mouth and his, worrying at your lip with the intention of getting him to break first, like you’re challenging him to decide where this goes next. "What do you think I'm thinking about?" you finally reply, your gaze not wavering for a second. Pedro's hesitation is just a second before his mouth parts, leaning in just enough to touch your forehead and close his eyes.
"I think you're thinking about all the wrong things we could be doing right now instead of watching this boring movie."
"I think you're correct."
His lips curl into a smile, pulling away only slightly to look you in the eye, his voice barely above a whisper, "Can I kiss you?"
And that's when it happens. You lean in, your lips slamming into his so quickly that your thumb gets caught in the middle. He nips at it, biting down a little harder than he wanted to, but you don't mind and simply move it out of the way, sliding it away from his mouth and resting it across his cheekbone. You straddle his lap, and as his hands find their way to your waist and his lips move ever so hungrily against yours, you feel a fire inside.
Everything is happening so fast, and the room is spinning around you. You're not sure if you're feeling this way because of the drugs or because of Pedro. You can feel the pressure of his hands against your skin and a warmth radiating through you; all you know is that you don't want it to end. As you begin to grind against his hard on, he moves his hands to your ass and grips it tightly.
"You like that, hm?" he rasps, between kisses. You moan in agreement, and one of his free hands travels up your body to the nape of your neck and squeezes it tightly. You gasp at the sensation and move your body to match his movements, pushing yourself closer against him.
It's rough and messy. You're both desperate, as if you've been waiting your entire lives to do this. Pedro's hands covered your entire body, and his mouth kissed your neck and mouth roughly, as if trying to make up for the years of anticipation.
"Fuck, P," you moan; he wasn't giving you even a second to breathe.
"Tell me what you need, princesa."
"I need you to touch me."
"Your wish is my command."
Pedro moved quickly, his fingers caressing and teasing your body as he worshipped you with each touch until he finally reached your shorts.
He slides his hand down your panties and groans. "I haven't even touched you properly, and you're already wet, baby." His fingers pressed down softly as he moved around your clit, rubbing and massaging it until you felt yourself close to the edge. He manages to get his free hand under your shirt, and he massages your breasts, pinching your nipples softly as you moan in pleasure.
"Are you gonna come for me, princesa, hm?"
"Y-yeah..." you gasp, not even ashamed of how quickly your orgasm was approaching, "I can't... hold it..."
He took that as a sign to go faster and harder, and as he continued to draw circles on your clit, a wave of pleasure swept through your body, culminating in a moan that signaled your impending climax.
"Fuck!" you screamed as you came suddenly, body trembling and hips bucking once more. Pedro let out a groan at the sight and sounds you were making. You're both gasping for air, one of his hands on one side of your face, your foreheads touching.
And that's when it happens. Instant regret.
Oh my god.
Oh no.
Oh fuck.
What have you done?
reblog or like if you enjoyed it!
#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal imagine#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fluff#pedro pascal angst#my writing
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For the wayne smut could you add the idea of them losing their virginity to each other. Thank you<3
Of course I can!Thank you so much and I hope you love it!Sorry if it's not great,it is my first spicy fic.Anyways,lemme know what you think!
Virgin Lovers
Warnings:SMUT Minors DNI
Pairing:Wayne McCullough x f!Reader
Word Count:1.5k
His smile. His eyes. His lips. Wayne McCullough infected your every thought. He made you feel things that you had never felt before. As you were lost in thought, you didn't realize that your phone had been constantly buzzing. You picked it up on the third ring of the 4th call. "Hello?"
"Hey Y/n, you got any plans later?" It was Orlando. You and Orlando had always been good friends which is how you met Wayne. Orlando had introduced you two one day when you had begged him not to make you skip class alone.
*Flashback*
"Pleaseeeee Orlando? I don't wanna go alone and you're way better at this than I am! Besides, I'm only skipping to help you get these new Pokemon cards you wanted! I don't have to do this, you know." You pouted and whined until he conceded. "Fine fine I'll go with you. You probably wouldn't know what to look for anyways." You were about to make an offended rebuttal when something else caught his attention. Or someone, you should say. Turning around to see who it was, you thought it was just going to be the girl he's been constantly crushing on with a spinal cage. But no. When you turned around, you saw none other than Wayne McCullough walking in your direction down the hallway. You felt your heart pound and your cheeks flush. Your throat constricted and suddenly your mouth had run dry. You guess Orlando had noticed this and nudged you in the side with his elbow. "Oooo somebody got it bad, huh? Who is it? Is it the guy with the clarinet you have band with?" You jabbed him with your elbow back and tried not to stare at Wayne's gorgeously bruised up face. Orlando caught notice and smiled wide. "Oh, you got it bad for my boy, Wayne huh? Want me to hook you up?" Your head snapped violently in his direction. "I swear to the Gods Orlando, if you embarrass me in front of him I will kill you." Wayne walked up to us and looked at Orlando, giving a little head nod. "Wayne man! Where you been?" Wayne chuckled a little and it was this sexy soft rumbling noise. "Whatcha mean? I'm like 20 minutes late." Orlando laughed. "Yeah 20 minutes and like 3 weeks!" Orlando must have seen you fidgeting with the rings on the chain around your neck cause he put his hand on your shoulder and looked at Wayne. "Wayne, this is Y/n L/n. She's new-ish. She was new, like a month ago." You felt Wayne's eyes on you and you looked up at him through your eyelashes before smiling awkwardly. "Y/n, this is the man. The myth. The legend. My best friend, Wayne mothafuckin McCullough." Wayne punched Orlando in the shoulder and he winced. "Damn man! I'm tryin to do you a favor!" Wayne's eyes never left yours, even when you felt your cheeks tinge pink and you looked away briefly.
*Flashback Over*
You had been inseparable ever since. Wayne ended up cutting class with you and at some point you had completely lost Orlando and went to some record store where Wayne had asked you if you wanted him to be your boyfriend. You and Wayne have been together for 3 years now and you could never be happier.
"Uh not really. Probably just homework. Why?"
"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me and Wayne to this club off campus later? It's supposed to be super rave and like alternative vibes and I know that's your shit. It took me forever to get Wayne to agree and I maybe sorta already told him you'd go?"
"Orlando!"
"I'm tryin to get a hot goth girlfriend! Help a brotha out!"
I sigh in defeat through my nose. "Fine. I'll go. But the moment anyone is too drunk, we're leaving. Got it?"
"Yeah yeah for sure! Thanks, Y/n! You the best!"
*Timeskip to the club*
You look around at your environment. It's a lot of flashing lights and loud music. Not really your scene. You scan the crowd for Orlando and Wayne when you spot them against the wall outside. You walk up to them and you notice Wayne's eyes scan up and down your body. You're wearing a faux leather 2 piece with a silver body chain covered in dangly purple and blue rhinestones with black sparkly platforms. "Hey guys, sorry if I'm late I-" You get interrupted by Wayne pulling you in by the waist. He keeps you close to him and it looks like he's glaring at something when you look up at his face. You look over and see him glaring at some guy. The creep looked like he was eyeing you and you weren't for it. You curled closer to Wayne before Orlando waved us to go inside with him. The place was loud but very hype and fun. It didn't really seem like your kind of scene though. You don't get why Orlando wanted us to come. Neither you or Wayne were much of the party type. After watching everyone dance for a while, you decided to call it a night.
Wayne took you home and got you settled inside, laying you down in bed. You just laid there staring at his beautiful face. "I love you." Wayne never blushes but his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. You don't know where the courage came from but you leaned up and kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck. The kiss quickly evolved into a heated makeout session. Wayne crawled into bed on to of you, pulling away only to take off his shoes cause he knows you have a thing about shoes on the bed. His hands roam your body in your pretty outfit. You pull away tossing off your body chain and making quick work of his shirt. Wayne wasn't necessarily 'buff' but he was very well tones and had a gorgeous frame. Your hands glided from his shoulders down to his waistline, working on the button of his jeans. He pulled away to look at you. "Are you sure? I-I mean I've never. And you've never. What if you regret it?" You pull him in for a sweet kiss. "I could never regret it. If anything, I wouldn't want to lose it to anyone else." That must have really got him going cause he practically tore off your clothes. He slid his jeans off along with his underwear and kissed my neck, pulling a gasp from you. When he pulls away, you finally have a good chance to look at him and holy fuck. You didn't realize your boyfriend was so….well endowed. Big enough that it looked like it might hurt. Wayne grabbed something out of his wallet and when you noticed what it was, he looked at you sheepishly. "Orlando gave it to me." He shrugged and smiled shyly. He rolled on the condom and crawled back over you. "And you're absolutely sure?" You nodded and placed your arms around his neck so that you could play with his hair. He placed himself at your entrance before stopping. "Hang on gimme your leg." You looked at him confused before lifting your leg and he placed it up on his shoulder, doing the same with the other one. "I read somewhere that it hurts less if you do it like this." He realigned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed in. You felt tears prick your eyes as he stretched you and he kissed your forehead, stopping. He made you look into his eyes. "Are you okay? Do we need to stop?" You shook your head. He stayed still, waiting for you to adjust until you nodded you head. He began to move and even though it hurt, it was a good hurt. You moaned softly as he bottomed out inside you. Wayne gently bit down on your shoulder and kissed it before placing his forehead on yours, beginning to find a steady rhythm. Your moans were the sweetest sound he had ever heard and he just wanted to keep hearing them. With one especially rough thrust he hit that special spot inside you and you arched your back while digging your nails into his and he ate that shit up. He continued at that pace as you screamed out his name in pure ecstasy. You felt the knot in your stomach pulling tighter and your breathing picked up more. He held you close as you came crashing down from your high as his hips stuttered, painting the inside of the condom with his seed. He pulled out slowly, tossing the condom into the bin. He got up to grab a towel to clean you up and brought back a glass of water for you. After you're all cleaned up, he crawls back into bed with you, covering you up and pulling you close as you slowly fall asleep in his arms.
#wayne 2019#wayne series#wayne mccullough x reader#wayne x reader#wayne mccullough#orlando#x reader#y/n#x y/n#smut#female reader#established relationship#lemon#fanfiction#fanfic#spicy#not enough people write for this fandom#please gimme more asks#please please please
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okayy jer sibling thoughts: for a minute i was toying with the idea that bryson isn't the brother cat was talking about when she says jeremy's older brother is an asshole, that there's another older brother maybe in prison? explaining the anxiety about being recognized by cops and his family's obsession with image (gotta crack down pretty hard when you already have a kid in prison). obviously jeremy doesn't get on with bryson, but he doesn't get on with annalise either (albeit not to the same extent as bryson) and cat doesn't say anything about her. granted, her wording of "/the/ older brother" implies bryson is the only one and therefore the asshole, but the other brother being in prison is still possible. if bryson *is* the bad one, i think he likely hurt jeremy at some point. i'm thinking about lucas and jeremy's phone convo where jeremy asks if lucas feels safe with grayson and lucas says "he's my brother" and jeremy says "that's not what i asked"... the exchange feels pointed imo
I didn’t even realise that interaction between Lucas and Jeremy was…significant but now that you point it out to me oh my GOD is it relevant it’s SO pointed.
This just gives me an opportunity to share my Jeremy’s Family Situation Theory okay so in this theory: (reposted it here)
- Jeremy has an estranged oldest brother
- This brother goes by their father’s surname and not Knox
- Jeremy’s brother was also on the Trojans (but this may or may not be dependent on them having different surnames)
- Jeremy’s brother was homophobic
So I have a few theories about the Banquet incident and one that’s a mess of a bunch of different theories and it’s this: picture Older Brother. Older brother is a 4th year Trojan, he’s well liked, but he’s kind of an asshole in private. His dad is Jeremy’s dad - but he grew up with a different surname, because their parents were still together/married by the time he was in school. Jeremy and his sister became Knox kids after their mother married into the Knox family. The older brother was old enough and refused to change from his father’s surname. He tried to fit in with the Knox family but he knows he’s kind of a black sheep for it. He’s the one that’s excluded from public facing recognition, because he’s not a Knox.
SO
Jeremy gets scouted for the Trojans while his brother is still there, and to have his baby brother on the team was INFURIATING to him. He didn’t get along with Jeremy already, but to have him on this team. Oh, he hated Jeremy for that. But the key thing here is he never revealed that Jeremy was his younger brother. He threatened Jeremy as well, and told him to keep his mouth shut, and tell NO ONE that they were related.
Along comes the fall banquet. Jeremy is out as a gay man and has been for quite a while. It’s a bone of contention in his family but ultimately they accept it as long as he is quiet about it, and it doesn’t interfere with their political or public image. But Jeremy’s oldest brother never supported Jeremy and regularly insulted him or bullied him over it. So, Jeremy is out, and he decides to bring a man to the banquet. 1) his mother begged him not to. 2) his sister begged him not to. 3) everyone in his family begged him not to. But he refuses to hide who he is or pretend to be straight for the sake of their image. In the end there’s nothing they can do, and he goes with this man.
Jeremy, little freshman Jeremy, rolls up to the banquet with a man on his arm. It’s 2003, maybe 2004. It’s a huge deal. Jeremy’s older brother doesn’t know he is bringing said man to the banquet, and he fucking glares at him all night. He’s so angry. By the time the tables get moved, he plucks up the courage to cross the hall to Jeremy. Calls him a very unsavoury slur starting with an F and Jeremy hits his brother, he punches him square in the face. He would’ve hit him again, but they get pulled apart and he can’t. Theres witnesses. And still nobody knows they’re related. The brother leaves him alone, Jeremy promises to stay away from him, and the night continues.
Jeremy steps outside to get some air, and unbeknownst to him his brother follows him. An altercation ensues, and eventually they start PUMMELLING each other. His brother hits him first, Jeremy hits him back, there’s blood and bruises and now more witnesses as Jeremy’s brother beats him the fuck up. Somebody called the cops, and the cops have to separate them. They ask Jeremy if he wants to press charges; he says yes. He says he wants it to be reported as a hate crime. They ask his brother if he wants to press charges for assault, and he says yes. So they both get arrested.
Where I think Jeremy’s fear of cops comes from, or lack of trust, or hatred for them, is how he was treated that night. The cops tell him they need a reason to charge his brother with a hate crime, he tells them he’s gay, and he gets treated like SHIT. They search him for no reason, they’re looking for any reason they can to make him uncomfortable or drop the charges. They’re asking him did he do anything to deserve it? Did he antagonise his brother? Has he been drinking? They make him really fucking uncomfortable and upset. by the time his mom bails him out he’s ready to drop the charges, but decides not to. The brother goes to stay with his father, Jeremy goes home, and the Knox family pay A LOT of money to keep this quiet. They don’t charge Jeremy with assault, but maybe they tell his mom there’s nothing they can do about Jeremy’s charges against his older brother if he won’t drop them.
Proceed to the reaction from USC; they recognise it as a hate crime and Jeremy doesn’t get kicked out of school, but he does get a very stern warning and maybe gets benched for a while. His brother on the other hand loses everything: there’s an active hate crime charge against him, he brutally assaulted a freshman while representing the team, and he gets removed from the team and expelled from the university. The Knox family have no choice but to estrange him further than he already was - so he’s totally out of the picture.
Jeremy tore the family apart because of his refusal to drop the charges, then him dropping the charges and instead getting a no-contact/restraining order against his brother means that while he’s living there the brother cannot be in the picture. So brother who is already a black sheep for not being a Knox, is now no longer welcome in the family home (except for when Jeremy is not in the house - if he’s not estranged, possibly he visits on the weekends, or lives there during the summer? And that’s why Jeremy doesn’t live at home during those times?)
The scandal is that he caused a team member to be removed from the team as a freshman, his sister who doesn’t like him that much anyway can now no longer see her brother, and she stopped supporting Jeremy’s matches because of it. He tore the family apart because of his insistence on being “GAY HATE CRIME VICTIM”. They bullied him into not seeking justice - and his sibling hate him for this whole incident. They don’t agree with him being gay because of their political affiliations, his older brother lost HIS older brother because of him, his sister lost him too. Idk
Does this even make sense? Is it far fetched? I don’t know I don’t care I just had to get this off my chest. I could talk about my theories FOREVER. This is just. A quick short summary of the possibility of an oldest brother who’s no longer in the Knox Family Picture.
#I’m so sorry for this rant#but I had to talk about it#Jeremy Knox#tsc spoilers#tsc#the sunshine court#Jeremy’s family I will not rest until I figure you out!!!!!!!!#I’m gonna write this as a fic I think#I might change my mind on some specifics#and May disregard some points later#but this is my current thought process if there is a chance he has another brother
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pythia, a supernatural rewrite. phantom traveler, p.3
read it on ao3.
words: 14k
notes: hello!!! on the wings of an absolute ARMY of betas, here is a fresh new chapter for you!! since the last one was a little short i took the time to really flesh this one out. I'm a shy idiot who is SO bad at responding, but i see your comments and they mean the world to me. i literally have a folder on my computer full of the sweet words this fic has been given, and i think i've re-read the comments in that folder at least a million times over by now. ty so much for reading, and i hope you enjoy!! bloody mary is next!
a very special thank you to my beta readers, bear, M, venice, feeb, and daff, who easily made this my best chapter yet. thank you specifically for keeping me coherent and sane lol <3
PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 4th.
You don’t have to be psychic to know precisely what your mother is going to say when she answers the phone. She’ll pick up on the fourth ring with an occupied, scathing drawl and say, Look who finally has cell service.
Alright. So you’re not the best, most communicative daughter in the world. You call when you can, you honestly do, but there’s not exactly loads of emotional bandwidth to spare on the road. Peeling off all the layers of case anxiety and Winchester grief takes a while, dammit!
Maybe you’d feel less guilty if you vented to Sam or Dean, but it’s kind of lousy to bitch about Mom-stuff to, uh. Yeah. The boys. You could use a simple, uncomplicated statement like, talking to my Mom reminds me of how much of a disappointment I must be to her, and Dean would hear matricide instead. Sam’s blank, uncomprehending look wouldn’t be much better. Looks like you’re alone on this one.
When there’s a natural break in the day’s long research-fest the three of you are riding, you slip away, pace beside the Impala for a while, then finally bite the bullet and call her. Cars whisk through the slurry of snow on the road. Your phone charms rattle in the icy breeze. One ring, two rings… She knew you were going to call, she could sense it, but of course she has to torture you… three rings, four.
“I didn’t know cell service was so hard to come by in Pittsburg,” Beth greets you, sounding preoccupied. Damn, do you know her well or what?
“Hey, Mom,” you sigh. The wind is loud, so you pull your phone further down your face and try to come up with an excuse that is even halfway reasonable. “Sorry I haven’t called. It’s been ages since I’ve been around the boys, and I guess I get a little caught up with them sometimes.”
This is objectively true. She used to have a rule about you getting your homework done before they came over, purely because you forgot about everything and anything else the second Sam and Dean entered the house.
“Forget those losers. You’re my baby, I love you most,” Beth gushes, and you understand that this is her way of saying that you’re forgiven. Both of you have fallen victim to the Winchester spell before, so she can’t exactly blame you.
You’re a little embarrassed by her mushiness, but a relieved, bubbly laugh jumps out of you. “Alright, consider them forgotten. Now… I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m gonna ask you a question, and I need you not to freak out or overthink it, kay?”
Beth snorts. “You mean my two jobs as a mother? Go ahead, shoot.”
This is not the kind of question that you just “shoot,” though. It takes you a moment to string together how you’re going to ask this, and of course, you’re nothing but graceful and delicate about it. “...What do you know about demons?”
Your mother doesn’t say anything for a long, yawning second. Still, you can sense her rising swarm of questions and outrage all the way from Pennsylvania, and you try to stop her onslaught before it starts. “Hey! No questions! Just answers. I promise I would tell you if this was outrageously dangerous.”
“Then you’ve already broken your promise,” Beth utters, slipping into her Sage Grandmaster Psychic voice. Just hearing it makes you deflate. She predicts, “...Let me guess. You’ve felt nauseous. Suffocated. Hungry, but everything you eat comes right back up again.”
You toe a chunk of ice on the asphalt with your boot, grumbling, “...Yeah.”
“Then you’re lucky,” she reveals, her words still ringing with the same crystal ball clarity from your childhood. “That means you haven’t come into direct contact with it yet. I’d hope you never would, but… you are your father’s daughter…”
You know your mom. You know that’s just her way of warning you about the kind of danger you’re in, here, but all the comment does is bolster your resolve. Damn right. You are his motherfuckin’ daughter.
“Tell me,” you push.
Beth sighs through her nose. There’s a squeak on the other line, and you can imagine her at home, dropping heavily into the massive, millennia-old armchair she always took her readings in.
“Demons… well, I won’t explain to you what you can already guess. They’re unlike most legends we know of, because everything that’s written about them is utterly true. Most spirits that walk the natural earth are here to feed—vampires, werewolves—or to take care of unfinished business. But demons… they come to earth to steal, kill, and destroy.”
Welp. Your mother is truly a pillar of optimism. You’d been hoping she’d say something along the lines of, don’t worry, sweetheart, they’re just really messed up ghosts. Instead of, y’know. The most evil creatures man encountered in the bible. Bible, capital B. An uncomfortable, existential shiver rolls down your spine. Now this was something you could bitch to Dean and Sam about.
You’d grown up surrounded by the idea of demons. Even before you’d fully understood that monsters were real, sometimes you’d slip into your mother’s reading parlor while she was gone and play a game with the strange, segmented star pattern on the giant worn-smooth carpet. Don’t hop on any of the lines! Only step in the points of the star! Or, jump from sigil to sigil!
The one time you’d gotten carried away and played for too long, your mother had appeared through the beaded curtain with a stiff frown on her face. Don’t play on the devil’s trap. It’s not a toy.
There was the fraying devil’s trap in your mother’s parlor room, which was one of the hundreds of sigils burned into your mind at a young age. You’d shaken hands with demon hunters before. Most of the rituals your family practiced were in Latin; and the list went on and on into oblivion. You’d always known demons existed, but as you pace the parking lot and take in what Beth is telling you, the ramifications start to stack. Demons. Actual, literal demons. The thing that took down flight 2485—the suffocating, unimaginable presence from your vision—was a real-life demon. When you’d stood in the skeletal remains of the plane and reached out with your Gift, you’d been sensing the lingering presence of a fucking creation of Lucifer. What the actual fuck.
In a strange, backward way, you’re kind of relieved. Anyone would be fainting all over the place in the presence of an actual, real-life demon. Especially somebody like you, with all their senses turned up to 100. It makes sense that you were having such intense reactions before.
What the fucking fuck. You’re suddenly grateful to be on the phone with your mom.
You wandered toward the Impala, (checked first that you weren’t wearing the kind of jeans with the little studs that would scrape the paint), then leaned against it. “...Um. Okay. That’s just… awesome… How do they get… up here, then?”
“I’m not sure,” your mother hums, thinking. “Your great-great-aunt Miriam wrote in her records that they find their way top-side on their own. Bugs through cracks, that sort of thing. Apparently, there used to be a whole lot more of em’—in Miriam’s day it was a Proctor’s job to shove them back where they belonged, but… I dunno.” Beth helpfully jokes, “Maybe we got most of them.”
You huff out a laugh, but it’s not the most sincere. “Maybe we did,” you cough. “But, um, do we have any Proctor family secrets that could help me out here? Did great-great-aunt Miriam have a trunk somewhere full of demon-killing grenades or something?”
Beth smirks. “Great-great-aunt Miriam turned the house into a brothel and carved terrifying sigils in all the ceilings. That’s all we got from her.”
Of course. How could you possibly forget? “Oh, huh. I was wondering why we have old chains and whips in the basement. That fills in a lot more for me, thank you.”
Your mom barks out a laugh at your joke, which gets you laughing too. The sound trails off. There’s that funny pause where you both remember what you just said, then start giggling all over again—and man, does it feel good to just have a moment with your mom. The boys both have an unforgiving radar for “bonding,” and the second they realize that you love them and they’re your friends, they creep right back into their shells. Neither of them were very good at absorbing that sort of thing.
Your mom is just as skilled at spoiling the moment.
“But, seriously…” She stresses. “Please be careful. Avoid contact with these things at all costs, especially with your Gift. It’s made to find the truth, and demons are made of lies. Not a good mix. They’ll rip into your mind… take you apart if they have to. This is a lot more hands-on than you should ever be with your Gift, ____.”
“...Right,” you say through your teeth.
This is the part where you start awkwardly shoving in a goodbye without coming across as an asshole. You open your mouth, about to say something stiff and unsure, when you sense a spike of alarm ripple out from where the boys are still researching in your motel room.
Phone call forgotten, you jolt off the Impala and whip towards the door. Not a second later, Dean’s slipping out onto the stoop and sweeping the parking lot with a calm, guarded stare. He doesn’t look at you—just gestures you inside, holding the door open. Even from the parking lot, you can make out the insane amount of notes and papers Sam has coated your motel room with.
“Jerry just called,” Dean utters. “The surviving pilot from 2485? Chuck Lambert? …He just went down in a plane crash.”
You snap your phone shut and follow him inside.
-
The three of you head to the site of the next crash as fast as you can. But first, you have the pleasure of watching the boys play Winchester Telepathy when you insist on coming along. They’re still worried. You would be too, in their position. (In fact, if the roles were reversed, you’d probably chain Sam to a radiator and call it a day.) But Chuck went down in a twin plane, not a massive, two-hundred-person graveyard, so your Gift should have the legs to handle it.
…And knowing what you’re dealing with has steeled your confidence. You weren’t slashing at the dark anymore, even if what was in the dark was, um. Proof that hell exists. After days of being totally screwed over by this thing, you finally had even the slightest leg up on what was going on. You were going to take that win and run with it.
Chuck’s twin plane was hardly a twin anymore; both the engines had been shredded, the white body of the cockpit twisted like a wrung-out washcloth. The plane had dove so hard into the farmland that the snow around it had melted. You still kind of felt like tossing your lunch, but more out of sympathy than psychic backlash. People had been in that plane. The thought made you taste bile.
Sam and Dean only hover a little bit (a lot) while you open your Gift to the wreckage. You take your glove off with your teeth and touch your right hand to the ashen, snow-soaked remains of the pilot’s chair… and there it was again, the leeching, seeping, violating presence from the vision that’d brought all of you to Pittsburg. A demon.
Your Gift wrings out another scraggly, disconnected vision for you. Chuck was beyond anxious to get back in the saddle after 2485. The co-pilot, Lou, had pep-talked him like any good friend would, reassuring him that the flight would go smoothly. After that, everything—gassing up the engine, takeoff, and the brutal, horrific crash—was blotted with poison ink. Every time you tried to steer towards Chuck with your senses, it was as if the strip of film playing your vision had been burned away. His face had been scratched out of every frame. He had become something else; something terribly familiar.
The research Sam had compiled began to link with what you’re seeing. You could feel, even through the leftover wisp of the demon’s presence on the plane, that it had done this many times before.
You jolted to your feet, scrubbing the palm with the eye tattoo off on your slacks. Dean and Sam reeled back, since they’d both been looming an inch behind you as you worked.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” Dean said, bracing himself.
You turn from the wreckage and bee-line straight for the road, eager to avoid a repeat of last time. The boys follow your lead. They fall into step on either side of you, and for once you feel like the specialist Sam always said you were, complete with stern-faced bodyguards.
“Full-on Pazuzu, just like last time,” you confirm, cursing. You shove your glove back on and stomp through the snow. “I-I get it now. God, it feels so fucking obvious. It’s—it’s playing. It finds these disasters, or it makes them, and then it picks off all the survivors one by one. Chuck Lambert, George Phelps. It possessed them. Like some sort of twisted cosmic-order thing.”
Sam pulls a face. “Final Destination style?”
“Minus the hot girls and the tanning beds, apparently,” Dean pouts.
“It’s trying to finish them off, boys,” you say, swallowing hard. “That’s something we can work with. If it’s only using disasters to do the job, then…”
“...then we need to see if any of the survivors are flying soon,” Sam realizes, finishing your thought.
The second the Impala’s on the road again, Sam is fishing out the passenger manifests from the first flight and chasing down any phone numbers he can find. There is a part of every hunt where your run is forced to become a sprint, and this is that turn-over moment, tensions ramping high. What once was seven people is now five.
As Dean hauls ass back to Pittsburg, you and Sam get to calling. You thank the Mother Goddess above for shitty, awful customer service, because posing as some lousy Delta Airlines representative has Dennis Holloway sitting in seat 21A and Kathleen Willard (seat 25E) swearing off flying for good. Sam uses a similar tactic on Blaine Sanderson (seat 14D). The two of you take the safe bet that the parents of Ava Struder (seat 1C), an unaccompanied minor, aren’t fucking idiots dumping their kid on another flight the second she survives one. That leaves you with Amanda Walker. A flight attendant on 2485… because of course, this job can never be easy.
Sam tries her phone. While it rings, you cross your fingers and hope that she has quit her job and started a new life as a dedicated couch potato. Sam’s forced to leave a message. He snaps his flip phone shut with a curse and throws it into the footwell, where it clatters against his boots.
You curl a cold hand around Sam’s shoulder, soothing, “Gimme the list, baby. I’ll try her emergency contact, at least find out where she is.”
Sam sulkily passes it to you, never once shifting under your hand. You do get a small, grateful look from him over his shoulder, and the urgency and anxiety there makes your gut twist. It would be more than easy to comfort him, to stroke your fingers through his hair, to rub his collar and tell him everything’s going to be fine.
But you’re a shit liar, so you open up your phone and make the next call. Sam’s lingering gaze ducks back down into his lap.
-
Of course, your luck continues to flourish. Amanda doesn’t answer her phone. But her sister does, and she informs you that Amanda, being a flight attendant, is in fucking Indianapolis for a flight. Indianapolis. As in, a good five-hour drive from Philly—and in the complete opposite direction of where you were going. Dean barely waits until the road is wide enough to turn the Impala around. The u-ey he hits sends you, and all your stuff, careening from the right end of the bench all the way to the left.
The drive is not fast. Staring ahead and silently revving yourself up can only waste so much time, so you pull out the mini sewing kit from under the seat and do your best to patch a rip in Dean’s jeans, struggling to thread the needle even more than usual. You feel a bit like a bad hunter distracting yourself from what’s ahead, but just one of you stuffing the car with anxious brooding is enough. Sam passes back a sudoku booklet for you and then goes straight back to his thousand-yard stare.
He used to be excellent when things came down to the wire like this. After years spent in empty motel rooms, counting pennies and waiting for John and Dean to come home, Sam’s patience was unimaginable. But losing Jess… had tilted his axis. These last few hunts, you’ve noticed how crazed he gets on the last couple steps to the finish line—when none of you are sure if there’ll be anybody to save. It happens. But you’re scared of what another round of it could do to Sam, even with a stranger like Amanda; he cared so much…
Dean isn’t happy, either, but he at least has something to do. He alternates between playing brain-melting Metallica or forgetting to reload the tape, so the drive is a strange mix of music you can feel in your eardrums and silence that’s just as loud. The first piece of levity you get is thirty straight minutes of Dean over-explaining the album to you. And, thank god you ask, because Dean rattling on about the “bass and drums feeding off each other” and the “musical integrity of a locked-in rhythms section” bring Sam out of his trance. He pries his eyes away from the rolling fields of snow, scrunches up his face, and sighs, “Can we at least listen to ‘...And Justice for All?’”
You’re an excellent tactician, so you use this opening to nudge them both toward the most surefire argument starter in the Winchester handbook: What’s the best album of all time? It would’ve been harder to lure flies into honey. Dean argues more with himself than he argues with the two of you, dancing indecisively between Zeppelin II, Dark Side of the Moon, and at least twenty other albums that you are vaguely aware exist. Sam outlines that there is a difference between someone’s favorite album (Californication in Sam’s case) and the best album objectively by sales (Thriller).
All three of you play into the argument more than usual. Guess you’re not the only one desperate to think about something other than the two hundred other people who might die tonight. By the time there’s enough of a break in the conversation for you to throw your hat into the distraction-ring, you’re thirty minutes from the Indianapolis International Airport.
“Both of you are wrong,” you decide. “There’s only one reasonable answer to that question, and it’s Rumours.”
Dean audibly grumbles, and when the Impala jams to a stop in front of a red light, he dramatically points at you in the rear-view mirrors and declares: “You are obligated by hippie, witchy-girl bullshit to love that album, Proctor. And it’s good, but it’s not the best. It’s mostly…” he flashes you a mean, big-brother smile, “girly music.”
You know you’re right, so his comment rolls right over you. Cooly, you remind him, “Nuh-uh. Sam loves Fleetwood Mac, too.”
You’d figured that was a good counter-point, since Sam was hardly girly. The hand he was using to keep his notepad on his knee was all kinds of veiny and calloused, and on top of being taller than Dean, he was a lot more comfortable with his masculinity. He didn’t have mile-long lashes or glazed donut cheekbones, either.
Sam hums in agreement, like you knew he would; the two of you listened to Go Your Own Way and The Chain endlessly before he left for school. Sometimes he’d even dance around the attic at home with you.
Dean side-eyes his brother, then barks out a hearty laugh. “Case in point.”
Sam elects to pretend he didn’t hear that, and instead turns around to talk straight to you: “I mean, the end of Silver Springs alone…”
…Maybe if Dean listened to more “girly music,” he’d have more women melting over him the way you melt when Sam says that. Even though you’ve gotten used to having him in front of you again, there are moments like these where you’re stunned by how similar the two of you still are. Dreams would play in your attic and Sam would already be offering you his hands, gangly and shy and bright red for you and only you…
You listened to Silver Springs a lot after Sam started dating Jessica.
INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 4th, night.
All three of you must’ve been hyper-planning what to do the second the Impala parked, because you fan out as soon as Dean jams the break.
Sam uncaps the travel-sized hand sanitizer from your purse and empties it out onto the pavement. You’re a little sad to say goodbye to pumpkin cupcake, but then he starts pouring as much holy water as he can into the teeny bottle, and you’re reminded how clever he is. When Dean gives him a weird look, Sam explains, “3.4 ounces or less per liquid item, dude.”
“Shit,” Dean curses. Right. Travel size restrictions. That cuts your only physical weapon against the demon in half—or into a fucking fifth, I guess. But it’s something. “At least he’ll fuckin’ smell good when we send him to hell. Great.”
You give Sam the marshmallow pumpkin latte sanitizer, too. You’re going to look painfully suspicious walking into an airport with nothing but hand sanitizer and an occult journal, but there’s nothing you can do. There’s no time to check bags or trudge through security lines. Hopefully you won’t have to board, but knowing your luck…
You’re about to go peeling out of the parking lot at top speed, when you turn your boot and feel the warm piece of metal pressed against your ankle. Shit. “God, this is stupid,” you curse, and drop onto a knee. You lose the pocket knife in your boot, then dig around for the loose rock salt shells rolling around in your pockets. There’s a visible pout on your face when you abandon your iron knuckles. Anything that’d be caught by security or picked up on a metal detector goes straight into the trunk.
When you pull your butterfly knife out of your bra, Sam is suddenly very interested in the color of the sky.
The boys follow suit. By the time you’re through the doors and among the harried, criss-crossing crowd of travelers, you’ve lost ten pounds in weapons each. Dean grumbles the whole way about feeling naked. Everything in the airport is overstimulating, even at this time of night. The long, endless squares of glass looking out over the runway reflect the too-bright lights in big glossy spots, and the air is flooded with a constant stream of intercom updates and civilian chatter. You duck and weave all the way to the departure schedule, which is just the right font size to make you anxious.
Sam scans the chart. “They’re boarding in thirty minutes.”
Shit. You wrack your mind for something that could coax Amanda off her flight. But the gears in your head are suddenly muddy, and Dean’s faster than you, anyway. His eyes dart around the floor of the airport. “Okay… we still got some cards to play. We need to find a phone.”
Sam and Dean dart off like twin bomb-sniffing dogs. You move to follow them, but something tethers you in place. The buzzing, bustling commotion in the air pitches up, and then your ears are ringing, and your whole body is stinging with the ugly leeching feelings from before. The demon. It’s close.
You blindly walk in the direction your internal Winchester compass gives you, and just when Dean’s about to take a courtesy phone off its hook, your body extracts the phone from his hand on autopilot. For a brief flickering moment, you’re not yourself. Your powers talk through you.
Your Gift foresees, “That won’t work. Your only option is to board the plane.”
The boys exchange an unsettled look. For a second you’re confused why they’re giving you their Freaked Out faces, then you feel the hollow plastic of the phone in your hand, and you realize you’re a whole twenty feet from where you started. Man… you hate the whole psychic-possession thing. Just for fun, your Gift loves to take over and course-correct you when it thinks you’re being stupid. You drop the phone back on its hook with a heavy click. It takes Dean a second to answer, and he’s still giving you that look. After a long pause, he knocks up his chin and not-so-happily mutters, “...Uh, okay.”
Sam, at least, has learned to roll with your weird psychic bullshit. His voice is soft with conviction. “Fine. Plan B, then. We gotta get on that plane.”
You run your palms down your face, then steel yourself. There’s no other way, and no time to second-guess. Even your Gift has decided it’s your best plan. “Okay. Fuck it.”
The usual authority in Dean’s voice hikes up with a note of panic. “Uh, woah. Let’s just hold on a second–”
“Dean,” you wince, and your hands drop heavily at your sides. “We gotta. I’m sorry.”
Sam, per usual, reads Dean’s hesitance as something else. “That plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board. And if we’re right, it’s gonna crash. We have to–”
You watch as they have their usual back and forth; Sam, eager to throw himself at this, and Dean gnawing on the inside of his cheek. It’s easy for you to sense the steam of real, nail-biting terror radiating off your best friend. You feel Dean’s fear all the time–and even then it’s hard for you to picture him being afraid of much of anything, much less planes. It’s even harder for Sam to look past his little brother glasses.
“...Flying?” Sam puts it together. His voice is understanding, but super confused. “You’re joking, right?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dean flails. He fists his hands as he talks, swaying back and forth to try and work up the nerve. He glances at you, the only other witness to his weakness, just once. “Why do you think I fuckin’ drive everywhere, Sam?”
Sam is genuinely stunned. Slapped-in-the-face stunned. But he takes it in stride, and, also glancing at you only once, he blurts out: “Alright. Uh, I’ll go.”
The anticipation of boarding the flight is making your skin prickle with anxiety, and you can’t help but inch back toward the ticket counter as they talk. But when Sam says this, without question or complaint, you’re instantly stepping up to his side and demanding, “Then I’m going with you.”
You brace yourself to shut down the argument you know is coming, but this Sam continues to be different from the guy you knew four years ago. This answer is just as easy for him, too. “Okay.”
Not, you’re staying here, or even, I won’t let you risk yourself like this. Just a plain and simple, okay. It bugs you. You don’t even have time to dwell on it, though, because Sam’s blatant courage tugs Dean over his fear.
“Man…” Dean utters, face twisted with nervousness. He gives in with a helpless scrunch of his shoulders, and taking that as permission, Sam twists around to buy your tickets not two seconds later.
You both watch him rush off, neither of you over the moon about this situation. Dean’s so anxious that his hands are clammy, and you can tell because he clutches at the sleeve of your jacket like a little kid. He knocks his forehead down on your shoulder with a groan, and your palm automatically loops around to give his back a soothing rub.
“This is fucking… awesome,” Dean gripes. “No guns. Can’t even bring a damn bottle of holy water. Is there some kind of psychic Xanax you can give me?”
Maybe some of your Gift drains into your voice when you promise, “We won’t have to worry about that. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Dean doesn’t make his Freaked Out face this time. He does, however, bump his forehead against your shoulder again, and sink into your touch with a rough sigh.
FLIGHT 424 - Dec. 4th.
You’d felt bad for Dean the whole time he’d struggled to get on the plane. Now, you kind of felt like choking him with your bare hands.
So many people crammed into one space was enough to flatten your Gift with the weight. Adding Dean to the mix, shoved shoulder-to-shoulder against you with his jitters ramped up to eleven, made you feel like picking your brain out with a fork. Your Gift ping-ponged between Dean and Sam, making you bounce between chattering your teeth with fear and thinking things like, wow, I just love the Dewey decimal system.
Maybe it was a good thing. You’d much rather be in one of their heads than yours.
All day, you’d done a pretty good job not obsessing over the things your mom had said over the phone. It was hard with so much time to marinate in the car, but the massive weight of the existence of demons only slammed on top of you once or twice. Boarding had managed to keep you occupied, but then the colossal body of the plane had shuddered and heaved its weight off the tarmac, leaving all chances for escape behind on the ground.
A part of you was resigned to it; it is a simple fact of your life that evil things are real. So what’s one more, right? But at the same time, you thought about the cross Sam wore under his shirt… you thought about being one of those things, being “made of lies,” like Mom had said. That, too, had been gnawing at you—what had she seen to learn all that? How did she know that a demon would “tear into your mind?” The Vague Psychic Thing is fun, until you’re on the receiving end.
“Can you sense who it’s possessing?” Sam’s smooth, calculating voice interrupted your thoughts.
…Oh, right. You’d gotten so swept up in your own head, no doubt influenced by Dean’s incessant foot-tapping, that you’d totally forgotten to scan the plane. Tilting away from Dean and his panic, you subconsciously shifted toward eerily calm, level-headed Sam. Just catching a wisp of the clean cologne he wears cools you down a little bit. Okay. No more freaking out—it’s game time.
You’d hoped that the white noise of the flight would settle your nerves, but the air tasted painfully sterile, dry, and cottony against the back of your throat. Everything felt like cold metal touching an open nerve. If the demon’s influence wasn’t making your powers touchy, then the woman across the aisle definitely was, oozing with homesickness as she watched Indianapolis shrink far below—or maybe it was the guy two rows back, replaying an argument again and again in his head—or maybe the other two hundred fucking people stuffing the plane with their boredom and their tiredness.
You push your knee into Sam’s. He pushes back.
After a tense beat, you whisper to him over the chatter of passengers, “Too many people. There’s no way I can narrow it down to one person—not unless they’re right in front of me.” Sam’s gaze turns expectantly to Dean, who’s still in full-on dissociation mode. He’d spent the whole boarding process humming tracks from St. Anger, and you knew he was really going through it, purely because he’d stopped and restarted Some Kind of Monster three different times now. Poor guy.
One of the things that made the three of you such a natural team was your ability to rotate leadership. In moments like these, with Dean way too wigged out to take charge, you’d usually step into his shoes without much trouble. But Sam has fielded your fainting spells and panic attacks all week, so he’s already got a pep-talk prepared for the two of you.
“...Okay.” Sam checks his watch. His voice still has that touch of classic Sam softness, probably because he knows how hard this is going to sound: “Stay focused. We got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, figure out who it’s possessing, and perform a full-on exorcism.” You’re about to make a comment about how blissfully easy he makes things seem, but Dean beats you to it. He snipes, “Yeah, on a crowded plane. That’s gonna be easy.”
You snap one of your bracelets against your wrist a few times, thinking. “Who would it want to possess?”
This gets Dean’s head in the game. Easily, he recites: “It’s usually somebody with some sort’a weakness, y’know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or emotional distress.”
As he explains this, you unlatch Dean’s claws from their death-grip on your arm and give the top of his hand a little soothing pat. Your gaze remains fixed on the pattern of the seat in front of you. “For a regular demon, maybe. This thing might not even need a chink. It wants maximum damage here—so maybe it’d go for the pilot?”
This is not a soothing thought. Checking his watch again, Sam suggests, “Or Amanda… Surviving a crash like that? I’d be pretty messed up if I was her. We should check both.”
You’re happy to spend the little time you have left wisely, so you’re quick to push out of your seat and get moving. Dean puts on a brave face and follows your lead. There are only two ends of the plane to check—this thing can’t hide forever. Just when you start to do an awkward side-shuffle to nudge Dean out into the aisle with your hip, the whole plane thrashes top to bottom, and there he goes, dropping like a rock back into his seat. His spike of panic is so genuine that you end up dropping with him.
“Come on!” Dean hisses through his teeth. “That can’t be normal!”
You and Sam immediately get to shushing and soothing him, and suddenly you understand how married couples feel when their kid starts crying on a flight. Shifty eyes in other seats pretend they’re not glaring at you. Summoning as much strength as you can to share with him, you drop a hand on Dean’s shoulder and order: “Breathe, dude. You’re okay.”
“I’m not fuckin’ four,” Dean whisper-shouts, sulking flat back into his seat.
“She’s right,” Sam whispers back. Should it be worrying you how much he’s been agreeing with you lately? Stern, he says, “Listen—if you’re panicked, you’re wide open to possession. So you need to calm yourself down. Right now.”
A weird part of you is grateful that Dean is having a rough go of it, because it’s giving you something to focus on. You’re usually pretty good with planes. But for a minute there, when the turbulence had hit, your mind had defaulted to oh shit, this is real, we’re all going to die. A slideshow of the last crash had blitzed through your thoughts. Thoughts that had nothing to do with the anxiety you were picking up from Dean.
You know you despise it when Dean uses his Parent Voice on you, so you try not to use it on him when you urge, “C’mon. I think Amanda’s in the back of the plane. I’ll check up front.”
Dean gives an unconvinced, “I’ll go talk to her,” then makes grabby hands at Sam’s pockets, “pass me one of the hand-sanitizers. Fuckin’ uh, pumpkin latte—don’t gimme that face, _____, not all of us can tell with just a look. What if it’s in her?”
“It’s a bit more than a look—” you begin to clarify, but Sam stops your back and forth with a shake of his head. He pulls out the little orange plastic container of your pumpkin cupcake holy water and passes it to Dean.
“We should try to conserve what we got,” he warns, passing you the only other weapon against the demon (marshmallow pumpkin latte). “Go more subtle—if she’s possessed, she’ll flinch at the name of god.”
Now that you’re running out of both time and options, the second Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out into the aisle on coltish legs, you take the opening and bolt out of your cramped middle seat. Anything you can do to get closer to finding this thing will make you feel loads better.
You start down the aisle. As the chatter of the boys fades into the all-encompassing thrum of the plane behind you, you take slow unhurried steps past each row of seats, soaking up what you can get. A girl listens to music in her headphones. A businessman clicks away at his laptop. Each of them you comb over with your powers, and each pass feels like scooping your hand into a bowl of tacks and waiting to get stabbed.
They’ll rip into your mind… take you apart if they have to, Mom had said. You waited for that moment, steeling your nerves the closer you came to the cockpit. If the demon’s on this side of the plane, and it sensed you, would it immediately press into your mind? Would just being near you snap its presence to you like a magnet? You didn’t like the mental feeling that gave you; the stark secret-seeking white of your Gift clashing with the black choking smoke that’d been chasing you all week. When you spoke to a spirit through your Gift, it felt like you were touching fingertips through a curtain. Would it be like that? Would this demon press its claws through the veil and dig around for something to tear, to grab?
The other flight attendant on board pushes past you with her cart, leaving no barrier between you and the cockpit. Behind you, bobbing in a sea of blurry people, your Gift could distinctly make out Sam (practicing the exorcism) and Dean (talking to Amanda). You’re just a few paces from the front exit of the plane when a man emerges from the bathroom cabin, and—
He twists to meet eyes with you. Expecting you.
You’re flashed a clever, haunting smile, then—a set of glossy void-black eyes.
You wait for it. And in its own way, the presence of the demon does overpower you, bringing the heavy-as-the-sky, parasitic feeling from your visions into the real world. For a long ringing moment, you are blasted with dark leeching power hot enough to singe the entire front of your body—like a nuclear bomb had dropped down just a few steps from you. It is spidery and vicious and knowing and awful—
…but the conquering sensation never comes. Beth had said that it would root into your mind, that just feeling it with your Gift, as you are right now, would tear you to pieces. Yet all that really happens is you staring at it and it staring at you, before it shoulders its way through the cockpit door and disappears inside. The only thing you really experience is the shock of seeing it in somebody, puppeting around a person with dreams and thoughts and memories.
For a few moments, you suck down heaving breaths through your nose and stare at the closed door.
Something about it nagged at you. Besides the obvious—how different it felt compared to what your mother had described—you swear you felt something else, some ringing sense of strangeness that you just couldn’t put your finger on. Maybe it was the fact that you’d just made eye contact with a real creature of hell, an evil spirit, whatever. But you made eye contact with evil spirits all the time. This was… closer to home than that. Underneath the writhing mass of bloody, black ink that made up the demon, your Gift had recognized something unimaginably familiar.
Sensing the demon in person had reminded you of… of a sensory memory, almost. It smelled like… warm static. The old staticy TV in your house, the ancient one that sat square and unattractively on your Mom’s slanting sideboard in the living room. You remembered her crystal ashtray propped up on the top, the fizzy sound the TV made when you’d shut it off…
On the nights when it was just you and Sam home, and the house felt so big and empty that the silence throbbed in your ears, the two of you would set up a fort in front of that TV and watch old horror movies well past your bedtime. The silly effects and the dated acting were easy to tease together. You’d much rather watch movies on the newer screen in your Mom’s room, but for whatever reason, Sam insisted on the clunker in your living room.
Y’wanna know somethin’ cool? He’d asked you once, running a finger through the film of static bubbling on the surface of the glass. A little bit of the static in TVs is actually radiation leftover from the Big Bang. How weird is that? Something so old and powerful, picked up by this random piece of junk.
Sam always crashed first, leaving you alone with the white static the TV defaulted to when the movie ended. You could vividly remember how your shoulders bumped against the hard floor through the thin sleeping bag the two of you had shared—how Sam’s warmth had seeped into your shirt where he was curled up behind you, his soft sleepy breaths tickling your hair.
When you’d pulled his arm around your waist to snuggle, a spark of static had shocked you through his touch. When you’d closed your eyes and tried to go to sleep, you swore that the ancient, cosmic hum of the static in the TV ebbed and flowed at the same exact time as Sam’s breath.
In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh. Crackling as he breathed.
It wasn’t the demon you were scared of anymore. The ancient, ever-present sting of static you’d felt deep down inside it… that scared you a million, a billion times more, because—
You felt that static every time you felt Sam.
_
It’s like trying to describe the smell of your childhood home.
Logically, you know your house must smell like something. But when you’re in one place long enough your brain filters it out as background noise, and it becomes something you can only notice after a long time away.
You’d known Sam since you were in diapers. Back then, the meager threads of your Gift were already taking him in and absorbing him into your memory. Eventually, you felt him so often that all the pain and optimism in his core, all the stuff that made Sam himself, had smoothed out into warm, familiar background noise to your Gift.
Then he’d left for Stanford. Four years passed, and the only exposure your Gift had to him was the flimsy thread stretched two thousand miles down to California. Because it’d been so long since you’d sensed him in person, hugging him outside his apartment had been like stepping into your home after a long time away—for a brief moment, the filter over your psychic perceptions of him had lifted. You’d sensed for the first time what had always been there, buried deep. The Static.
At the time, you’d gotten so swept up in Sam, Dean, and the adventure of finding their Dad, that it was easy to get sidetracked. Things came up. You got used to Sam again, and his Static faded to background noise.
Until you’d felt that demon with your Gift.
A demon. A creation of Lucifer. You’d always remember what Sam felt like—you’d never forget the smell of home—but in one of them?
Your mind whirls with so many questions that it flat-out pops, failing you. Pulled along on a cloud of white noise, you somehow manage to turn away from the cockpit and start back down the aisle. The demon is possessing the pilot. You have forty minutes, less than, to exorcize it and save the two hundred people on this flight. These are all truths floating around in your head, but no matter how much you try to circle back to one, the static of the demon overcomes you again.
Static. You think of Sam, the crackle of his soft raspy voice through the phone. Your heart is pounding in your ears, thudding away in your chest like a piston. The static had burned in the demon, burned like busted speakers and smoking plane wreckage. Little pins all over your skin pressing in. The space you have until you make it to Sam’s seat seems to yawn, your footfalls sluggish and shivery. Why do they feel the same? Why does he feel the same? The static of the demon worms under your fizzing skin, bubbling, boiling—
You stop in front of Sam’s row, and he’s already looking at you when you get close. He asks you a question. You stare at him, the whole world filled with that awful roaring buzzing, the air tight and dessert dry in the back of your throat. Even though he’s right in front of you, you feel like you barely see him—just the vague burning outline of him in your powers.
Sam reaches out to grab your wrist, tugging it away from the long marks you’re viciously scratching into the flesh of your arm. The touch of his hand causes a literal static shock to jolt from his fingers to yours. You yelp in surprise, but it’s—
It’s different. There’s a similarity, definitely, between what you sensed in the demon and what’s always been in Sam… but his Static is hot chocolate warm and fuzzy and so good. Melt-in-your-mouth good. Your surroundings filter back in, and there are his soft, worried eyes looking up at you under his brow, and his big hand soothing over the irritated skin you’ve scratched raw. Sam. The same Sam he’s always been.
…Whatever it is, whatever weird connection you’ve just made, you’re sure there’s a lot more to it than Sam having something in common with a demon. Right?
Sam takes one look at you, your insane reaction, and your mysterious reappearance, then easily puts two and two together: “One of the pilots?”
“Co-pilot,” you tell him, and one of your absent-minded hands drifts up to scratch at your arm again.
And again, Sam fishes his fingers around your wrist and pulls it away. Now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t un-notice it. His touch makes your fingertips and the ends of your ears tingle, and not completely in the boy-crush way. In the psychic way.
He asks, “You gonna be okay? We got twenty-two minutes.”
That jolts you back to life. Twenty-two minutes until this plane is smoking ashes in a Pennsylvania cornfield. Though the last ten minutes have easily overcomplicated all twenty-four years of your life, you won’t have a life period if you don’t see this job through. When Dean returns from investigating a very un-possessed Amanda, he feels the exact same way.
Your resolve hardens, and you manage to give Sam an absent-minded smile. “I’ll be fine.”
There’s no time for arguing. Dean and Sam unanimously agree that the only possible place to exorcize the demon would be in the back, where Amanda is, since you can’t exactly jump the guy in the middle of economy. You don’t exactly like the idea of roping her into this, but Amanda’s the only one who could potentially lure that—thing to the rear of the plane. It is the world’s shittiest ambush. But by the time the three of you decide what to do, you’ve burned ten whole minutes on anxious chatter. A shitty ambush is the only plan you’ve got.
Dean starts down the aisle for the back of the plane. You stare at nothing for a beat, and only remember to get out of your seat when Sam nudges your elbow. He presses his lips together like he wants to ask you the million-dollar question (“Are you sure you’re okay?”), but there is literally no time. In a haze, you shuffle out of your seat after Dean and make a feeble attempt to get your head into gear. Sam does not make it easy. One of his broad hands brushes against the small of your back as you both squeeze out of the row, and you feel like you’ve just gone down one of those static-charged plastic playground slides.
Your Gift is exaggerating it. It has to be, right? Making big connections out of little things, picking at a fresh bruise. For weeks, you’ve been crammed into a little car with Sam, into teeny motel beds with him with no room between you. Why hadn’t you felt it? Why now? Not when you were four, napping in the same bed after playtime—not when you were twelve, and Sam was the first person outside your family that your Gift had connected with. Had it always been there, living inside him? Had you missed it?
You reach the back of the plane. Amanda is there, a pale, blonde flight attendant straight out of a commercial. You are dully aware that you have twelve minutes left before the demon makes its move, always on the forty-minute mark (...and you don’t like the line suddenly drawn between Sam and such an old, biblically evil thing).
The boys talk. A familiar conversation occurs over your head, which might be why it’s easy for you to tune out. Your mind returns again to thoughts of Sam, so intense and loud in your head that it all fizzles out to nothing, and you’re left standing there with the air pressure making your ears ring. Sam. The demon. It’s stupid and intangible and you’d have no fucking clue how to explain it out loud, but your Gift is made to find the truth. Something inside that demon exists in Sam, too. Something.
You try to reassure yourself that maybe, just this once, your Gift is wrong. Maybe this is the demon getting into your mind—learning your deepest fears and bringing them to life.
Sure enough, Dean’s charm and Sam’s earnest face must win Amanda over, because she flits out of the back room like a frightened bird. The boys peer through the curtain to watch her go, the two of them as still and sharp-eared as twin watchdogs. You’re slapped back to life by the sudden tension in the room, and quickly scuttle up behind them. Right. Amanda’s getting the co-pilot. These next ten minutes will determine the rest of your life.
In the same beat, you and Dean ready your holy water, and Sam gets the written exorcism from their dad’s journal out in front of him. There’s no need for the three of you to say a word. An understanding passes between each of you, hammered in from years of hunting as a team. Sam slides up next to you and Dean gives you a firm nod, squashing your last wisps of fear. You’re here to do a damn job.
A man’s voice floats toward the closed curtain to the back room, followed not-so-closely by Amanda’s. You’re glad she’s not the first one into the room—because Dean instantly slams a fist into their face.
The co-pilot—or really, the thing inside him—goes sprawling. You’ve got a strip of duct tape bridled over his mouth before he even fully collides with you, and for the blissful moment you have him pinned, Dean gets another fierce hit in.
While he’s still stunned, you whip the co-pilot to the grated metal floor. Dean clambers on top of him and keeps him there with a firm fist twisted in his rumpled button-up.
Amanda panics, “W-what are you doing? Y-you said you we-were gonna talk to him—!”
“We are gonna talk to him,” Dean grits.
Then, you’re hosing him down with holy water, splashing it brutally in the man’s pain-twisted face. Your gut clenches with empathy. Did the demon leave his body already? You’re terrified for a moment that you got the wrong guy… until you smell the smoke. It’s not just sulfur, but full-on dead body bloat, steaming up from the big black boils that spring up where the holy water hits skin. You get a mouth and noseful vile enough to make you gag. This thing fighting you? This is definitely not a man.
Amanda watches the demon’s skin sizzle, the usual terror and confusion on her face. “O-oh my god, what’s wrong with him?”
You pour all the psychic clarity and calmness into your voice when you whip around and tell her: “It’s going to be okay. Be calm, go outside the curtain, and don’t let anybody in. Can you do that, Amanda?”
You don’t stop to listen to her answer. Sam’s already tearing through the opening to the exorcism at ninety miles an hour, his pronunciation punchy and fatally clear. That had been one of the less exciting parts of the five-hour drive here; when Sam had run through it over and over, re-training himself. One misspoken word could get everyone on this plane killed.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…”
The demon thrashes viciously in your grip, twisting and contorting under Dean in ways the human body can’t bend. Bile rises in your throat as you hear a snap, then two, as the demon does everything it can to buck Dean off. By the time you go to stun it with another splash of holy water, it’s more of a dribble. That’s your first mistake.
Two people are not nearly enough to keep this thing down. It gets a hand loose that instantly sends Dean flying, and before you even see where he lands, it cranks your head all the way to the left in one vicious slap.
Your whole face is blasted with red, stinging pain. You go down hard, smashed sideways into the cramped wall.
The pain stuns you out of the headspace you built to distract yourself, and all at once the presence of the demon is thrust upon you. The black, molten psychic power of it crackles through your body, filling your nose and mouth with the same terror hanging in your visions all week. Until you realize— It fucking backhanded you.
Trying to see past the dots swimming in your vision, you mindlessly shove off the wall, snarling with rage. No fucking way.
And then it speaks (to Sam?), and in the fizzing noise of pressure in your ears you hear it promise, “I know what happened to your girlfriend!” The constant stream of Sam’s exorcism stops cold.
When the demon speaks again, its voice, a spectral twist of the co-pilot’s and something older, drooled with pleasure. “She died screaming,” it rasped, “Even now, she's burning.”
A lot happens in the next precious seconds. First, the little circular light flushed flat to the back cabin’s ceiling explodes. Just—bursts, in shock, spraying sparks and glass all over the little room. You’re stunned enough as it is getting hit in the face, so one more thing to fuck up your vision doesn’t help. But you heard what the demon said to Sam. Through the suffocating evil flooding your mind, you feel the sharp spike of hurt and rage and grief in your best friend—and that’s the precise moment when you decide that you’ve had e-fucking-nough.
These last few days have not been winners. And though you live a pretty shitty life with an impressive amount of shitty days, even before you got to Pennsylvania, your streak of bad luck had only just gotten started. This demon has screwed with your Gift on an unimaginable level. Your last few nights have been plagued with nightmares straight from hell, and your days haven’t been much better, riddled with useless visions that get more and more disconnected every time you faint. It made it even more obvious than usual that you’re deadweight for Sam and Dean. They had to handle your boiling water burns and your freakouts, not to mention your mood swings and your unhelpful visions.
The demon hurt Dean, which is enough to get your teeth grinding. And Sam—it had cut him much deeper.
You wanted to tear it apart. You wanted to reach into it the same way it had reached into you, dig in with your nails, and rip something out. Your mom’s words buzz in your head: contact, truth, lies, rip, apart. Rationally, you know you should listen to her warning. If just looking into its eyes has forever changed your view of the man you’ve loved since you were little, then looking deeper could kill you—scramble your mind. You know that. But beside the rage and exhaustion fizzing under your skin is this desperate need to know.
Demons are made of lies. What if it was lying about Sam? What if it had screwed with your Gift in some new way, tweaking the image of him in your mind? It had to be lying. The Static in him, as warm and as good as you swore it was—it came from something evil. Sam. The man you love, the boy you’d fallen in love with, his soft sleepy breaths as he lays on the floor beside your bed, his freckly arms swimming in his too-big sleeves. How could any part of him be evil? He couldn’t be. N-not your Sam. How could he ever have something like that inside him?
You need to be sure. Consequences be damned.
As the demon rears up to keep snarling in Sam’s face, you slap a hand over its forehead—reach in—and start ripping.
_
She died screaming.
Sam can’t pull a full breath in. The words burn through his body like a syringe of poison, spreading from limb to limb. The demon snarls up at him, its foamy spit hitting Sam’s face and its teeth snapping around Jess’s name—until.
_____’s hand seals over the demon’s face. The demon’s jaw snaps shut. There is a terrible hanging moment where Sam’s brain struggles to connect the touch to what she’s doing; she never, ever psychically connected with the full face of her palm tattoo. Even with her mom Sam knew she put up a barrier, reading Beth with the smooth back of her knuckles instead.
Shit. Another fresh shot of horror lances through him. What the hell is she doing to it?
The effect is instant. Whatever button _____ had just hit, it activates every horror-movie, Exorcist-level instinct in the demon’s body. Surprised yelps echo down the back of the plane as the lights violently flicker. In electrified, strobing flashes, Sam sees it. The co-pilot’s body is diagonal on the floor one moment, and then it’s arching its back three feet in the air, lurching up into ______’s palm like she’d hit it with a defibrillator. The demon floats up and stays up.
…Until Dean brings it smashing back to the floor again, throwing his weight on top of the co-pilot. He barks, “Sam!” Right. Whatever she’s doing to it, it’s the only working distraction they’ve got. Slapped back to focus, Sam stutters out where he left off: “...O-omnis congregatio et secta diabolica—” It’s a blessing that he makes it through the next lines of the exorcism. Sam pours all of his willpower into keeping his eyes on the stained notebook page it’s written on, no matter how many times his gut begs him to check on her. All he can do is have faith. This is what she does—when Dean’s not strong enough and Sam’s too weak, she finds a damn way, come hell or high water. Sam has always had endless faith in that. So when the whole plane gives that terrible shudder that he was expecting, and then tips, and tips, and tips into a full pitch forward, Sam grips that faith with both hands. The demon’s power ripples through the rest of the plane. Everything descends into chaos. Past the curtain, the lights go out in one silent burst, followed by the explosive, concussive screams of the passengers as the oxygen masks drop. Movies are unfortunately good at capturing this precise moment, but nothing could ever replicate the way Sam’s belly swoops as all five hundred tons of the plane heads straight for the ground. Sam and Dean both go flying, crashing sideways into the walls of the back cabin. The turbulence rips the journal from his hands, and of course, with their fucking luck, it goes skidding through the curtain and down the aisle to ricochet under the seats. “Grab it!” Dean screams.
Sam can’t hear him. He staggers into the open doorway of the back cabin, clutching the frame for dear life. A terrifying, unnatural howl whistles through the cabin, even louder than the wails of the passengers. Its wind flutters his hair around his face and sends luggage toppling out of the overhead bins. For a moment, Sam wonders if the plane’s been hit or the demon has done something—but no. It’s her. He flattens himself to the floor—or rather, gravity flattens him—crawling on his belly towards the shadow of the journal under the seats. The passengers sob and shriek. The air is singed with smoky fear, and riding that same fear, Sam surges ahead, lunging for the book where it’s lodged between tossed luggage. He has to twist to get his hands on it, and it’s then that he feels it.
Down the aisle behind him, the wind drags luggage and loose papers into the void-like darkness of the back cabin—where the great, cleansing, sweeping power of her is fighting the demon. Sam believes in what he’s seen; Sam believes in angels.
She’ll buy him enough time. He knows she will.
Sam’s hands don’t shake as he pries the journal open to the right page.
“Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus,” he shouts, and the words ring as clear and clean as a bell. The plane tries to toss him again, but Sam grits his teeth and persists, “audi nos!”
He waits. Sam sees it more than he hears it. Deep in the blackhole darkness of the plane’s cabin, something red and fiery flashes to life… flickers… and dies.
Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he feels the demon fizzle out. The heaviness in the air melts away. The lights, which Sam realizes had been snapping on and off, turn on for good. The hissing of the turbines spins to its normal hum. The plane swooshes back up with a slow coasting motion, then sets itself back on its peaceful forward track.
Gasps and sobs of relief chorus all around Sam, and sprawled in the middle of the aisle, he finds himself doing the same. Overhead, the pilot’s voice crackles reassurances over the intercom. As big wuffs of air cycle in and out of Sam, he waits for the moment for his heart to stop thumping, for the big “we won” moment to wash over him—but it never really does. It sits with him. For a long terrible moment, he is on the bed in his apartment in Palo Alto, Jessica’s blood boiling holes in his neck.
Even now, she’s still burning.
INDIANAPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - Dec. 5th, early morning.
Somehow, amid all the noise of swarming paramedics, feds, airline authorities, and stunned 424 passengers, Sam manages to remain lost in his own head. He clenches his jaw til’ his ears pop. How had it known about Jess?
The terminal is quickly packed. He’s not in airports often enough to know whether they should be packed at one in the morning, but he’s gonna guess not. It is all background noise for him. Passengers whirl past, getting cleared by cops to go home, and Dean subtly nudges the three of them into the leaving crowd. Sam has a vague notion that he’s putting one foot in front of the other, but everything feels distant and hazy. His neck blazes with that terrible tingling feeling, and he digs into it with his nails until Dean stops him.
“Sam,” Dean orders, dipping his head towards the direction of the parking lot. Apparently Sam isn’t cooperating well. “Let’s get the hell outta’ here.” For a brief moment, the awful burning feeling covering him in a fog parts long enough for him to think, and Sam realizes that he doesn’t know where _____ is. Panic lances through his chest so fast that he sobers all at once, and he opens his mouth to panic more—until he sees her, scrunched up behind Dean.
Well, clutching Dean. Left shameless by whatever she saw in that demon’s head, she’s got Dean’s hand and wrist in a deathgrip, trailing him so close that her shoes catch the heels of his boots. She does not look good. Her eyes are big and wide and she looks straight through everyone and everything, still tethered to the other dimension her powers live in. She’s got her elbows pressed into her ribs and her body bunched up so tight that Sam can almost feel her psychic overstimulation from where he’s standing.
“S’okay, sweetheart, ” Dean hushes, the first in a long, quiet string of reassurances.
Sam stares at her. Even if she’s in her own world, she must be able to feel it, ‘cause she physically leans out of his way. That should hurt him—should make him burn with sympathy—but instead, all he can think is, she would know. She would know if the demon was lying. Sam’s connected with her like that—there’s absolutely nothing to hide, even if you wanted to, so there’s no way she couldn’t see if the demon had been telling the truth.
The line of people seeping through security to get out of the airport slows to a stop, making way for the pack of paramedics hauling 424’s copilot away on a stretcher. The black boils from the holy water have left his body entirely.
He’ll ask her once. He has to try. Sam lets the two of them in front of him, Dean, then _____, almost pressing her face into Dean’s back. When they’re stopped in line, Sam lifts a hand to touch her—but stops himself, not wanting her to feel any worse. “_____,” Sam swallows, trying to keep his voice even. “What did you see? H-How did it know about Jessica?”
Before she even has the opportunity to answer, (if she can even hear him), Dean swings around to shoot Sam a pained look. “Dude, look at her. Now is not the fuckin’ time. Let her get a full breath in before you start with the interrogations, okay?”
Sam recoils. The gnashing, rebellious fire he usually saves for Dad pours out here, instead, and before Sam knows it he’s snarling back, “I can’t ask one question about my dead girlfriend?”
It lasts only for an instant, but Sam gets to watch in real time the way that hit lands. He’s aware that it’s deeply fucked up of him to enjoy throwing Jess in Dean’s face, but it is his backward, comforting reminder that she was a real person; not a four-year-long fever dream he invented to escape. No one says her name but him anymore. At least, when he talks about her, someone else is forced to feel something too.
Dean sets his jaw. He makes the mistake of trying to turn towards Sam, which _____ thinks is an attempt to shake her off—and she lets out this awful, hoarse sob sound that stops them both cold.
Sam feels like a rail spike has been driven through his chest. Dean gives him a look, then mercifully drops it.
Immediately, Dean’s wheeling her back in and soothing her. The angle at which she’s clinging to him is awkward for all three of them, so he endures her trembling and hitching little sobs as he peels off her hands and re-arranges them. Dean loops an arm around her back so he can stroke her shuddering shoulders, uttering, “S’okay, kiddo, s’ all over… ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you…”
And of course, because Sam can never exist in peace, he watches the way ______ drops all her weight onto Dean and feels his chest squeeze. Suddenly, he’s very aware of what four years have changed between her and his brother.
The rush back to the car is silent, but for _____’s little sniffling breathes. After making it out of the blistering lights of the chattering airport and out into the peaceful snowy parking lot, things calm down.
Four separate times Sam thinks about reaching out to comfort her. The Gift always leaves her freezing cold, and early December in Indiana on top of that has her making audible little shivering sounds as they walk. Sam’s boiling under his coat. He unzips it, then zips it up again, unsure if she’d even want it. Dean gets her in the car and puts a warm blanket around her before Sam can get over his indecision.
They just saved two hundred people. In hindsight, that’s a massive win. Maybe if the demon hadn’t said what it’d said, and maybe if it hadn’t reduced her to this, Sam could celebrate. Seeing her so messed up always throws him. Less than an hour ago, she was the powerful psychic that used to have Dad clutching his telepathy-blocking charm under his shirt.
Sam scrubs his hand down his face, staring blankly at the trembling lump of blanket lying across the backseat. Now, she’s… whatever she saw in that demon.
Dean tucks her feet up onto the seat, then nudges the door closed with his hip. Sam stares past him, through him, at her silhouette in the Impala’s dark glass, because that’s somehow easier than looking at Dean.
The smattering of snow growing on the asphalt makes the whole world sound muffled. Sam feels like he’s talking to empty air when he croaks, “It knew about Jessica.”
“Sam,” Dean calls, softer this time. Asking for Sam to look at him. When he manages to heave his head up, Dean’s face is firm and reassuring. “These things—they read minds. They lie, just like Beth said. That’s all it was. Don’t let that thing get into your head, okay?”
Sam forces himself to nod. They both spare the shaking shape in the backseat one more look, then Dean’s rounding the car for the driver’s seat, and Sam’s sliding in next to him without another word.
PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - Dec. 5th, night.
Green. It had to be the ugliest color a motel room could be, Sam thought as he stared at the empty room. The walls were this sad limey green color that managed to look awful even in the dark, some parts made even limey-er by the huge neon green vacancy sign right outside their window. Their room was parked right next to it, so there was no escaping the sign even with the curtains pulled shut.
You and Dean, who were positioned right under the ugly green light, had somehow managed to fall asleep anyway. The only sound in the whole world was your soft breathing across the room and the crackle of the ancient TV.
Right now, it was playing a rerun of some televangelist in a big shiny white suit. He paced the screen on mute as Sam watched, curled on his side, laying diagonal to face the screen. Nightmares were so common for him now that the hardest part of the battle was getting to sleep in the first place. His strategy was to get so bored and so tired that his body would simply have nothing else to do but crash. Bored was the key word—Sam had tried reading, sudoku, and counting cars as they whisked by, but all of that occupied his mind too much to work. Tonight was another night where his mind was just too full to sleep.
He hoped Dean was right. He prayed that the demon had just been lying, lips pressed to the cross he kept under his shirt. Most days, Sam dropped into bed and sent off a brief prayer before the fight for sleep began. Tonight, though—tonight was one of those nights where he clasped his cross in both hands and poured his heart out. Sam prayed for his brother, his Dad, and for you, like usual, pleading for protection and strength. Sam prayed for Jessica, too.
(But never for her forgiveness—he knew he didn’t deserve that).
When Sam had first started getting comfortable with prayer, he’d always worried that he was being greedy or selfish by asking for so much. Health, food, lunch money, for Dad and Dean to get home okay. Now, it’s a natural comfort to him. To open yourself up to something higher than you, to give up your pride and ask for help—that is a mark of holiness. Goodness. Sam closes out his prayers and feels clean.
Across the room, Sam hears the covers in the opposite bed shift. He squints sleepy eyes at your silhouette, and even sluggish and drained, the shifting colors from the TV and the vacancy sign illuminate you like something not entirely from this world.
You pad over to his bedside. A soft, ice-cold hand shakes his arm. When you get up close and realize Sam’s awake, you scuttle back in surprise. “Uh.”
Sam shoves his face into his pillow. With his mind still on Jess, it’s hard for him to look at you right now. “What is it?”
It’s funny. From the moment you got off flight 424, you’d been glued to Dean’s side. Sam had kept his teeth pressed together through the entire thing, watching from a distance as you reached for Dean, spoke to Dean, took the food Dean gave you. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d figure you were avoiding him. Now you’ve decided you want something from him?
The second you touch his arm, every wisp of jealousy in Sam dries up. Not at all in the mood to be touched, he squirms out from under your hand and hoarsely repeats, “What?” You speak to him for the first time in hours. You sound rough and broken, and the edge of that awful sob from earlier today threatens to tip into your voice. “Can I…?”
Sam keeps his face planted in the pillow. At first he’s unsure what you’re even asking for—until you drop a hand on the mattress and he feels your weight tilt closer, wanting to… to lay with him. Like when you were little. When you share beds on the road, there’s often space left between you. That’s not what you’re asking for. If that’s what you wanted right now, you’d be in Dean’s bed.
The soft, choked little voice he can’t resist begs, “I just need to feel you.”
The last sliver of guilt and self-loathing that Sam has been holding onto instantly slips out of his grasp, hearing that. For the millionth time since this morning, he’s reminded of how awful he was to you. You’d been brought to the brink with your powers in a way they hadn’t seen in years, and Sam chose that precise moment to freak out. He wished he’d been better to you. Maybe he can’t pray for Jess’s forgiveness, but he can work to earn yours now.
Sam shuffles back on the mattress and opens the covers for you. “C’mere.”
As quiet as a mouse, you duck under his arm and slip under the covers. Sam immediately realizes that he should’ve fucking braced himself or something, because holy shit, you are so close. He accidentally gave you very little room in the already small bed. To keep from tumbling off the mattress and onto the questionable carpet, you reasonably and logically slot right up against him, your back against his chest and your heads on the same pillow. Holy shit, he did not think this through. Sam has very few gentlemanly places to lay his arm. And even if he found one, your icy cold hand picks up his warm one and—right, okay, you take it and wrap it right around your middle. That’s fine too. Cool. Awesome.
Okay. Forgetting every way he could sabotage this for himself for just a moment, Sam realizes that he missed this. God, he missed it so much. You wiggle back into his body and Sam gives you a big, indulgent squeeze around the tummy, earning this watery little sigh that makes his already racing heart zing out into orbit. Friendly snuggling became a lot less friendly when you were pushing seventeen instead of nine, so Sam hasn’t allowed himself to properly, um… cuddle you… in ages.
That isn’t even the best part. That little squeeze makes him realize just how pleasantly cold you are, a wonderful ice cube in blazing hot soup. Sam’s practically cooking under the covers—and that must be perfect for you and your chilly hands, because you make the same pitiful happy noise that Sam does as you get comfortable against each other.
Maybe if this were any other moment, after any other day, that would be something you might laugh about together. Instead, Sam’s prayers are filled with you and your incredible burden. He hesitates to go all in and hold you like he wants to… until your breath makes that tight, hitching sound again, and Sam’s sure you’re holding back tears. Screw it, Sam thinks. He’ll take care of you this time. Sam presses his face into your hair and entwines your hands on your belly, unsure of what to say and yet wanting to say so much. Dean can’t hold you like this—this is something you only want from Sam.
You both go still. Sam feels you hold your breath. His legs are itching to shift under the covers and your hand awkwardly holds his, the two of you afraid to disturb the magic.
Your thumb slowly caresses along the flat side of his hand. His heart leaps into his throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to relax. You need this. Finally, it’s his turn to comfort you.
Sam swallows hard. There’s no way you can’t feel his heart thudding away, inches from popping clean out of his chest. Neither of you are stupid. If Dean were to wake up, you know exactly what this would look like to him—to the cleaning lady, to the strangers out on the street. But right now, in this frozen moment, there’s no one awake in the world but the two of you and the TV. It is so, so wrong. But when you touch him, Sam feels clean.
Bit by bit, you adjust to one another. Your breath syncs up. The whole time, your eyes never move from the TV, but if Sam focusses he swears something washes over him—that same great, sweeping, cleansing power from the plane, as light as moth wings on his skin. He has to bite back his smile. If you did that to anyone else, they’d find you creepy as hell.
After what feels like forever, you plainly croak, “It was lying about her. It was made of lies.”
That hits Sam like a slap to the face. That’s… yeah. That sounds right. He absorbs the impact as best he can, because although his faith was thin, Sam trusted Dean’s word and he trusts yours, too. There’s—so much that he feels about that, but he doesn’t want any more of his grief to overwhelm your Gift. Sam’s not naive. No matter how good of a person you are, no matter how considerate and understanding and empathetic you can be, Sam knows that talking about Jessica brings you some level of pain. It hurts him, too. And he has zero clue where that conversation would even begin, so he stores his shame and his loss and gives a shaky nod.
Instead, Sam asks, “...What did you see? When you looked into its head?”
Right. Cause’ that was such a better question to ask her, Sam.
You go silent. It’s a weighty, knowing silence, one that chokes the whole room. Sam readies himself for whatever you’re about to share with him. Admittedly, he’s curious. When the Gift was something new in your life, Sam used to pile on question after question about what the world felt like to you. ‘What does it feel like when Dean’s happy?’ A car motor turning on. ‘What does my happiness feel like?’ Dimples and a mystery being solved. ‘You’re joking.’ Not even a little. It fascinated Sam—how does a demon feel in comparison to a regular spirit?
“...It was just an evil spirit, Sammy,” you dismiss. “That’s all.”
Sam highly doubts that’s true. If it was just a spirit, then why did it screw with you so deeply? What had you seen in its head that had scared you? You, of all people, who was built for this? He knows there’s something more here, but after this week and all the ways you’ve fought to avoid being a burden, the fact that you’d crawl to Sam for comfort is a sign of surrender. You’ve given up. Clearly, you don’t want to talk about it. Sam isn’t going to push you. God knows he’s done that enough.
When Sam doesn’t push you, you shudder out a wet sigh and pick up his hand. At this point, Sam expects you in this state to do something weird—and sure enough, you do. You pick up Sam’s hand and you just stare at it. Just stare. Your thumb presses into the meat of his palm, almost like you’re looking for something. Feeling him. Sam’s heart gives another pathetic, noticeable throb. Feeling him and being close to him is, after everything, still a source of comfort for you. His cheeks burn.
Just to fill the silence, Sam whispers, “I’ve lost a lot of my calluses.”
Per usual, his little creep says nothing. You’re still feeling him. Your other hand comes up to investigate too, adding even more soft gentle touching to Sam’s already overloaded system. Your thumbs press into the center of his palm (reading it, maybe?), then over each bump, confirming for yourself that Sam’s real.
Maybe he’d be a bit more resilient if you were doing this to him in a crowded diner or a rowdy college party. Instead, Sam can feel the rise and fall of your breath through your thin shirt, and it’s the only sound in the dead world besides the buzzing static on the TV.
Your gaze turns to the TV. The fingers caressing his hand stop cold.
Sam says your name. He can feel your heart thud thud thudding deep in your chest, like rabbit’s feet hitting snow.
Again, absorbed completely in your own task, you don’t answer him. You roll over very suddenly under the covers. Sam hopes for a minute that being face to face with you will give him some answers, but the flash of your face he sees only serves to scare the shit out of him. You give him no time to process before you’re full-body hugging him, shoving a hand between his side and the mattress and fisting one in his shirt to bodily haul him against you. Sam sputters out a sharp noise and awkwardly slopes his hands down your back. The sudden intimacy gives him a whole world of shameful butterflies and freaks him out enough, but…
You looked terrified. The same bone-deep horror you had on your face after you saw the demon in person—when you trudged up to Sam with those haunting Proctor eyes, staring straight through him and right at his future. What had you seen in that demon?
Sam tries to speak, but you talk over him, just as haunted as you’d been on that plane.
“I love you. So much, Sam. You know that?”
It’s not a sweet, reminiscent kind of question. It is a genuine, unironic, please-tell-me-the-truth, You know that?
Sam’s brain stalls. “...Yeah. O-Of course.”
In case that wasn’t worrying enough, your hands needily grasp at his back, refusing to let Sam go as you duck your face into his shoulder. Sam can feel your entire body trembling from head to toe, can feel your hot breath on his neck choking back tears. “You’re a good person,” you tell him, insisting. “The best to me.”
“That’s—”
“I can feel it, okay?” You snap. One of your hands slips up his chest to smooth over Sam’s heart, and you squeeze him against you, promising, “Here. Right here.”
…Okay. Consider him officially freaked out. Sam manages an unconvinced, “...Thank you.”
You’re so wound up that you’re gritting your teeth, digging your nails into his shirt and clawing him as close as possible. This has to be an effect of what you saw. Which is strange, because that… whatever that was, did not feel like psychic possession or a psychic panic attack or any kind of psychic anything. It felt like you, trying to convince Sam that he’s a good person. It strikes a cold, dark chord somewhere deep within him that he doesn’t like. You’re just… you’re just reacting to what the demon showed you. You’re overwhelmed from stretching your Gift so thin. T-that’s. Yeah. Regardless, you’re scared. You need him. That, at least, is something he can work with.
“Shh,” Sam coos. He rubs a warm hand from the base of your scalp all the way down your back, then up, and back again, repeating the soothing motion until his arm goes numb. “You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep.”
You mumble something non-committal under your breath.
Sam hushes you, blindly reaching for comforting things to say. “S’ okay. You’re okay, baby. You can fall asleep on me.”
Maybe the demon showed you visions of Sam getting hurt. Something. That would explain this, maybe. He fixates on it, purely because it’s a problem in front of him that is much easier to think about than how scared he is for you, and worse, how much he loves this. Being your person. It’s a stupid, selfish thought to have in a moment like this, but—Sam wishes he could take care of you like this all the time.
As your frantic breathing smooths out into a clear, easy in-and-out, Sam wonders, wherever Jess is, what she would think if she saw this.
He closes his eyes and tries to steady his own breathing, the TV still crackling away on the dresser.
In. Bzzzsh. Out. Bzzzsh.
-
tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydennyy @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan
#uncouthspn#spn#supernatural#sam winchester#dean winchester#sam winchester x reader#pythia#sam winchester imagine#supernatural rewrite
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accidental confessions with the inarizaki boys 🥺
(I turned my autocap off for this request <3)
𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨
𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨?
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 : 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘢, 𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘶
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘢𝘯 : 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘤 𝘺𝘬, atsumu 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘺𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 😞 (anon I actually love u for the autocap thing.)
r. suna ↴
✫ ok so for this you basically r watching the team practice (u r friends w them) and during the water break u decide to give ur good friend suna a call thinking it’s your best friend, ghalya (my irl best friend btw 😉).
this whole day you’ve been thinking about one thing. whether u should or shouldn’t go watch your crush practice. the obvious answer was yes because you were friends with all the second years on the team, but in the back of ur mind you were rethinking the decision. so you decide to ask your best friend.
“bruh yes wth r u thinking ofc u should go 😐”
ghalya looked at you as if you were the dumbest person in the world for letting the thought of not going cross your mind. “okok fine ig I will” you sigh, but then u get a idea “what if… YOU CAME WITH.”…. only to be answered with a
“no. I’m not ab to go to a practice for ppl idk 😨.. and even if I wanted to I cant, I have to study for my exam next week”
as if you ever study 🤨 is what you WANTED to say, but instead u settled for a “fine”.
when u got to the practice the first person to notice your arrival was atsumu. “OMG Y/N HIII” he waved with a smile, gaining the attention of his teammates. after they all greeted you, you sat down watching them. your eyes constantly rerouting onto one person… suna. if you were being honest, your crush on him was FAT ASL. u were head over heels for this boy; not that you’d ever tell him.
during their water break you looked at him again, sweat dripping down from his hair as he drank his water, you kept looking at his hands. his pretty pretty hands, his long slender fingers and his short kept nails. as you started to examine his face, suna looked at you. after maintaining eye contact for a couple of seconds you looked away, flustered. his eyes were beautiful, a perfect shade of grayish yellow. they were practically glowing. so you did the normal thing to do, bother your best friend about it.
you had taken your phone out of your pocket, opening the phone app and calling the 4th recently called person instead of the third.
“hello??” you start, leaving no room for response. “ghalya emergency. im FR ab to punch suna rintaro. why? u may ask. THIS MF. WITH HIS PRETTY ASS SELF DECIDES TO LOOK AT ME FOR A COUPLE SECONDS. like im already I’m love w u dont play. GHALYA PLZ I NEED HELP IM DYING FR.”
“umm… l/n????”
“oh. okay. allow me to go kms.”
when I tell u that u ran out. I mean u MF RAN OUT. when you got home you called ghalya (actually her this time). and RANTED UR ASS AB IT until a certain someone knocked on your front door. u went to look though the peephole, you saw him. so you fixed your hair and dusted your clothes rlly quick and opened the door. “hey-“
“ilikeyoutoo”
that was all he said, it was so quick and he barely muttered it, but you heard it so clear. and your jaw DROPPED. (not actually) “you WHAT?” you were FR in denial. “I said, I like you too” he said, slower this time. “so, do u think we could go to a cafe this sunday? as a date?” he had a blank face but you could tell he was kinda nervous. “yeah, I’d like that….. like I’d REALLY like that” you said without thinking. he smiled
after he left, you were laying in your bed those same words repeating in your head
I said I like you too
I said I like you too
I said I like you too
let’s just say, you were looking forward to your sunday
a. miya ↴
✫ okok so for this one, I feel like u just r stalking his insta or sum (fan behavior/yall r friends) and then u CALL HIM instead of ur best friend AKIRA. and rant about how good he looks 😞
you were crying (not actually). not because you were sad but bc how FINE atsumu looked in his newest instagram post. you were laying on your stomach and KICKING UR FEET AND GIGGLING. u felt like an elementary school girl who had a crush on a boy. it was a selfie of atsumu after he had woke up, his bedhead was cute and all in his face, he was pouting and his eyebags were as visible as can be 😭. but somehow, he pulled it off. the picture was captioned “stupid ass brother CANT keep his mouth shut when I’m sleeping but at practice he don’t even call for the ball 😐” his comments were FILLED with girls saying things like “omg my pants suddenly fell off” or “don’t disrespect my man osamu like that!!!”….
you were jealous.
so you just HAD to call your best friend akira to talk ab it. so you called and as soon as the phone was picked up you gave no room for anyone else to speak.
“omg. akira. I’m ab to give atsumu a big fat kiss bc why does he look so good. like IK I be talking ab him to u a lot and stuff but like HOLY SHIT. HOW CAN SOMEONE LOOK SO GOOD AND WAKE UP AT THE SAME TIME. but those girls in the comments can fr die bc like back off or wtv 🙄.”
“y/n??? u think I looked good 😏”
when I tell u your heart bursted out of ur chest I mean full ass HEART ATTACK. you ended that call so quick not even the flash could outdo you.
2 minutes had passed and atsumu was spamming you with things like “Y/N ANSWER PLEASE” or “Y/NNNNNNNNNNNN IK U SEE THIS”. until one text message caught ur eye
“I like u too btw 🙄”
ONLY THEN you answered with a “thats wild”
“oh so NOW you want to reply 🤨🙄”, you smiled at this, calling him back. “omg atsumus like soooo hot and he my man fr!!” he mocked, you glared at the phone laughing sarcastically, then he added a “we should go on a date ykyk i pick u up at 6 tmrw and we go out ykyk i’ll make sure to make myself look extra good”.
“yeah that would be great actually we should”
you both talked for a little after that, talking about your days and volleyball until you say u need to gtb.
“WAIT BEFORE YOU GO, about that big fat kiss…”
“good night atsumu.”
@/ilovesillycats
please don’t copy my work 😞
#runa ⭐️ writes#haikyuu#hq x gender neutral reader#hq x reader#hq fluff#hq#haikyuu x reader#suna headcanons#suna x y/n#suna x you#rintaro suna#sunarin#suna x reader#suna fluff#suna rinatro#suna rintaro x reader#suna rintaro fluff#suna rintaro scenarios#atsumu#atsumu fluff#atsumu fanfic#atsumu x y/n#atsumu x reader#miya atsumu#atsumu x you#msby atsumu#Suna scenerio#Suna fic#fluff
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AITA for ignoring my friend (? idrk where we r now in friendship terms)
So basically I (14F) was gonna eat with my friend (14F) during lunch period at school, my other friend (14M, lets call him A) texted me and said ‘hey do u wanna sit with me?’ and i responded with ‘sorry i’m sitting with my other friend today !!!’ and then put my phone away (my phone is on silent btw so i didn’t hear them send me any texts other than that) so i thought that was that cause they are a pretty understanding friend and i went to go eat lunch.
In 3rd period after lunch and before it fully started I checked my phone and saw that A texted me some more, I checked the text they sent and it said ‘wow so u only sit with me when it’s convenient for u???’ (for context: i used to sit with these 2 guys during lunch but then one day both of them were sick for a bit so i decided to eat in the stairwells cause i usually ate with them in the cafeteria but the cafeteria is pretty noisy so i only went there to sit with them and ended up finding A in the stairwell and decided to sit with him, and the day before this happened I went to sit with A again but he was at a meeting for a school club thingy) and i responded with ‘i promised my friend that i sat with today that i would sit with them today and me and them haven’t seen eachother for a while !! sorry for responding so late i didn’t see this until now’ and i thought that was that, i will admit i did lie a little in that text with the ‘i promised them’ bit but that was because i knew if i didn’t already have a reason A would be kinda annoying about it, anyways, after i sent that period 3 started and i put down my phone but in the middle of class they sent me a 2 short messages and 1 long message that basically went like ‘ok yeah sure *name*’ ‘k’ and ‘you know i sit fucking alone every single day and when i ask my friend if she wants to sit with me and she says no and doesn’t even invite me to sit with her and her other friend it really fucking hurts’ but i didn’t see that message until 4th period.
So during 4th period (it’s kinda a free period for me like a catch up thing like if u have any work from period 1-3 u do it here but i usually don’t have work so the teacher lets me go on my phone) i went on my phone and saw this, i didn’t know how to respond to it but eventually i did and was like ‘sorry i didn’t know u wanted me to invite u ???? me and my friend were eating lunch in one of the classrooms and idk if the teacher has a thing about people who aren’t in that class who have been invited inviting other kids or something but u didnt imply that u wanted me to invite u but u could’ve just asked and i would’ve asked the teacher and if the teacher allowed it i would also invite u so i’m kinda confused by ur message’ then they sent me a super long texted that was basically the ‘i sit alone’ text just longer and also them being like ‘and ur just saying that u would invite me to be nice but ik if u asked u wouldn’t’ and also im kinda confused cause when we do sit together we just go on our phones and watch like yt videos the most we do is me offering them a pringle and saying bye when the bell rings anyways i sent them another text that was like ‘i don’t think im gonna respond to u anymore after i send this because i feel like it’ll just cause an even bigger argument than what’s happening now’ and silenced notifs from them.
After this while doing something else i went to go text my dad and saw that they sent me ‘i feel like after what happened at *amusement park name here* u genuinely hate me’ (for context what happened at there was i invited them to go to an amusement park with me and they said yes but it turns out they don’t like rollercoasters and i really like rollercoasters so my mom who was there with us was like ‘i’m gonna stay with A and u can do rollercoaster stuff’ so i did and apparently while i was on a rollercoaster he started having a panic attack and my mom said something to him which cause him to spiral even deeper and i saw them after i got off the ride and didn’t realize what was going on and started talking about how fun it was until he audibly started crying then i realized and we had to cut the day short and drive him home but he texted me being like ‘i don’t think we can be friends anymore cause of what ur mom said’ but won’t tell me what my mom said but we made up) and i haven’t responded to him but i did tell ONLY my friend that i did sit with and only her about this and i kinda feel guilty for ignoring him and telling her and she ended finding out who it was even though i never said his name cause they have period 2 together and she hated him even before i told her about this mess and now i don’t know what to do other than ignore his texts and try to avoid him during school
What are these acronyms?
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No More (P.P)
Warning(s); overstimulation,use of sex toys (Vibe & Fleshlight), degradation,praise,mommy kink,edging/orgasm denial,handjob.
Pairing(s); Sub! Peter Parker X Dom! Fem! Reader.
Summary; Peter was happy that you were coming over, he’s not now.
A/n; I’m obsessed with sub Peter so I’m making it y’all’s problem.
PETER IS AGED UP
••••••••••••
“Enough, mommy I can’t—Please” Peter whimpered as you kept your hand stroking over his length. His chest already covered in the number of releases he’d had before this,3 to be exact and you weren’t close to stopping. You knew he could take more.
When Peter’s phone dinged with a text from you earlier he was ecstatic,you were gonna come over. He had been begging you for weeks to come see his new apartment and you’d been far to busy for your cute little friend until now.
Peter frantically cleaned everything trying to get as much unpacked as possible, wiping off kitchen counters,sweeping floors, deep cleaning his bathroom & bedroom.
Peter was nothing but smiles the whole time you were there up until you had opened up his nightstand to look for chapstick. You already had it open before he could warn you to stop, his cheeks turned into a flaming red.
What you saw wasn’t even that bad, so the boy had sex toys. Most men did, it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen or used before. Looking back to see the red of his face though, you couldn’t help yourself.
“Peter Parker.” You said and he smiled at you “y-yeah?” He said stuttering from embarrassment. “You own sex toys? Oh my god” you spoke in a teasing tone but peter didn’t pick up on it too far into his own head.
“Well, yeah…I-I do” he couldn’t even lie about it, he had nothing he could even say to get you to understand how badly he was embarrassed by it. You could obviously see it on the man’s face.
And that’s how you ended up here, sitting on peters thighs while he was laid, underneath you, your hand milking his 4th orgasm from him. His body was trembling from the impossible feeling of overstimulation,it had his head fuzzy clogged up with intense pleasure.
You finally let go of him and he sighed in relief,but you weren’t done. You shifted from his bed and he was far too drained to even lift his head to watch you.
You climbed back on your same spot settling over his legs. Peter gasped a guttural whine coming from him when he felt you press his fleshlight over his cock.
“Mommy!” He whined out hips bucking from the intense overstimulation. His eyes rolled back as his head hit his pillow, his legs trembling underneath you. “Can’t—Oh god!—s’too much!” His voice was high pitched. Whimpers slipping out with each push and pull of the toy over him.
You couldn’t do anything but smile at the boy under you, feeling him twitch and jerk with each move of the toy. “Shh, it’s okay sweet boy, you’re okay.” Your available hand slid up and down his chest gently, in a comforting manner.
Peter’s hands were gripping the sheets practically tearing them apart as his knuckles turned white. “Cumming—oh god—oh no—mommy!” His whine halted your movements only pulling more sobs from him.
“You said you can’t cum baby, it would be mean of me to force you.” You said and he opened his eyes to shoot you a glare. You started moving the toy again and his mouth hung open wordless sobs coming out. “Such anger in those pretty eyes, almost makes me feel bad” you let out a giggle.
Peter’s gaze softened turning into one of need and want as you brought him to the edge again stopping before he could fall over it. “Mommy!!” He cried out, tears pouring down his cheeks as he wiggled his legs. You quickly steadied yourself with his chest as you grunted. “Stay still or I’ll tie you up and leave you here.” You warned.
Peter’s body immediately stopped thrashing because of your threat. You wouldn’t do that, never. He was too sweet,too good,such a good boy.
“Good boy,my disgusting,slutty,little good boy” Peter bucked his hips up at that making you giggle at his desperation. “You like being my little slut, don’t you?” You teased smiling. Peter nodded quickly.
You pulled the toy off him slowly as it made a soft sucking sound until it popped as his cock was released. He let out a whine and shook his head “no, mommy I can cum again! Please!” You smiled at him “you lied to me?” You asked and Peter swallowed.
Peter didn’t think he could cum again. He didn’t mean to lie but if he agreed and said he did does that mean he’d be forced to wait even longer. If he said he didn’t lie would you walk away?
“Peter, I asked you a question.” You said and he whimpered “I-I lied” you smiled placing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Yeah?, say your sorry.” You demanded your had squeezing his cock agonizingly hard. “Ah!!—sorry! ‘M so sorry mommy!—uwah! Hurts!” The last part came out as a whine and you loosened your grip.
Peter watched as you reached next to you, the soft buzzing sound could’ve made him cum immediately. “Tell you what, since you were so honest with mommy, you can cum” you said flicking the vibe up to the highest setting.
It took all of 10 seconds for peters abs to twitch along with his length as hot white ropes splashed over his chest,thighs and covered the head of the wand.
Peter’s body trembled and his mind was clouded with the afterglow,which he was quickly pulled from when the vibrations didn’t stop.
“Mommy—no no! No! Hurts!” He sobbed out tears pouring down his cheeks once again, “poor Petey, too much of a cumslut are we?” He shook his head desperately. “No! No! Mommy! I-” his hands flew up frantically grabbing at yours. “No! Mommy! Mommy please!!” He cried.
“Hands off.” You commanded. He whimpered still trying to pull your wrists off “hands off or I’ll make you cum until you pass out.” You threatened but it still didn’t stop his hands. “Peter Benjamin parker, take your hands off me right now before you make me do something we will both regret.” He finally pulls them off.
“Fucking brat” you spat at him holding his cock as you pressed the head of the wand harder against his slit making him jolt and sob. “Please! Mommy, I’m sorry—cant—MOMMY!” With a scream his body jolted and clear liquid splurged out.
You let out a giggle as he soaked himself and his bedsheets with is liquified spent. You finally turned it off sitting the toy aside. He was totally spent and you giggled. “Pretty boy,can you give me your color?” You asked and he sighed.
“Green.” He said and you smiled “wanna get cleaned up?” You asked and he nodded. You left him long enough to get a warm cloth and wipe him clean. “You can’t sleep, you need to change your sheets, baby” he grumbled.
Eventually you got him up and changed his sheets, you were able to get him in a pair of boxers before he completely wiped out.
#fem reader#dom reader#sub!peter parker#tom holland#tom holland characters#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter 1#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x fem!reader
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Pen pals - p. parker (part three)
read part one and part two if you haven’t already!!<3
pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!reader
summary: as summer approaches, you and peter have plans to meet each other. also, who the hell is spiderman?
warnings: none :3
a/n: HOLY MOLY I AM POPPING THESE OUT VERY QUICKLY. i already have the 4th part written butttt i’m not gonna post it right away bc suspense is fun;) anyway, enjoy!
When June rolled around, You and Peter had a plan to meet in person. It was going to be a week-long visit. You’d be staying in Queens with Peter and May.
The trip itself was all planned out. You had plane tickets that Peter insisted on paying for, but you ended up buying them instead. You’d be landing in New York on July 1st, and leaving on the 8th. A week wasn’t nearly enough time to make up for years of letters, but it would have to do.
As mid-June approached, you’d been doing a lot of research on things to do in New York. One of the first things that came up when you researched was a vigilante named Spider-Man. You laughed at the name, thinking it wasn’t creative at all.
Then you texted Peter about it right away. Spider-Man was in New York, after all.
‘Who’s this Spider-Man guy?? Twitter says he’s in New York’
‘Spider-Man? He’s kind of silly.’
‘How so?’
‘Umm… He shoots webs out of his body and wears a spandex suit no matter how the weather is. Kind of silly and weird if you ask me.’
‘Are you researching about New York?’
‘Possibly. I was looking up things to do!’
‘Oh, sweetheart. There’s nothing that could prepare you for New York.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll find us things to do.’
‘I wanna see this Spider guy.’
‘Do you know what he looks like?’
‘He’s super mysterious. I’m not sure how to feel about it.’
‘I think that’s the point, Y/N. He’s a vigilante, you know? He probably doesn’t want anyone to know anything about his personal life. It could be dangerous for him.’
‘You’ve put a lot of thought into this.’
‘Thinking is one of my passions.’
‘Spider-Man has a really nice ass.’
‘PHONE ON THE COUNTER. NOW.’
Peter was slightly off about Spider-Man. You could just feel it. But, it didn’t really matter.
Soon enough, you’d be in Queens. You’d be eating May’s beautiful food and hugging Peter.
You fall asleep with your phone in your hand, and your heart full.
~
The last day of June finally came, and your heart was pounding while packing your suitcase.
It was surreal. In a matter of hours, you’d be over 2,000 miles away from home. The distance between you and Peter would be broken. You’d finally get the hug from Peter that you’ve been yearning for.
When you set your alarm for midnight to wake up for your flight, you couldn’t sleep. Peter was texting you so many sweet words. He was so lovely, you wanted to cry.
‘May is so excited to see you.’
‘I’m also really excited.’
‘I can’t even sleep.’
‘You’re gonna be even prettier in person.’
‘Peter, stop. I’m trying to sleep. I have to wake up at midnight and you’re waking me up with your sappy words.’
‘You love it;)’
‘See you soon, lovie.’
Eventually, you dozed off.
Peter, your pen pal for three years, was finally going to be within your reach.
You were beyond excited, but also slightly nervous.
Either way, it would be okay.
- read about me and find my masterlist here :3
#tasm peter#peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker#peter parker#peter parker smut#mcu peter parker#mcu peter x reader#spider man 2099#spiderman atsv#spiderman#spilled thoughts#spilled words#spilled writing#writing#ao3#art#poetry#fanfiction writer#fanfiction#literature#writers on tumblr#poem#writers and poets#love
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Misadventures of the MCs #10
Working the Night Shift: Night 1 - 5
Disclaimer: No Mcs were harmed during their night shift :>
(In honour of the FNAF movie release)
(1st Night)
LTD!MC: Woo! I got the easy night! Probably a good thing too-
LTD!MC: I can chill until 2am and then just keep an eye out for Bonnie, Chica moves at 3... oh shit what does Foxy do again?-
LTD!MC: ...Guess I gotta keep an eye on Pirate's Cove
(2am)
LTD!MC: *checks camera* Aaaand Bonnie just left the stage, let's just pray he's not right outside my door...
LTD!MC: Ok good, he's in the dining area, I'm fine... let's keep it that way...
(3am)
LTD!MC: Haven't died yet, Chica just left, time to multi-task...
(4am)
*Both Bonnie and Chica are at the door*
LTD!MC: Nonononono goawaygoawaygoaway come on please be nice...
(5am)
LTD!MC: Phew, ok I'm alive, one more hour to go, Foxy's behaving, Bonnie and Chica please be nice...
Golden Freddy: *appears*
LTD!MC: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?????
LTD!MC - Failed
(2nd Night)
MM!MC: ...I feel like I should be offended they gave me the second night but honestly maybe they're right-
MM!MC: Let's see... Golden Freddy already got LTD!MC, so it's unlikely he's going to come after me... Bonnie and Chica... keep checking Pirate's Cove and... I'm all set!
MM!MC: *checking cameras* Ok Chica's gone... where is she... wait FUCK BONNIE'S GONE TOO OK SHIT
MM!MC: Chica's chilling in the kitchen judging by the jiggle... and Bonnie's down the hall...
(1am)
*Bonnie's by the closed left door*
MM!MC: HA TAKE THAT-
*Sees Chica by the right door at the last second*
MM!MC: OH DARN IT YOU PIZZA CHICKEN!
MM!MC - Failed
(3rd Night)
WHB!MC: I had to actually fight OB!MC for the third night. Everyone left the first night for LTD!MC cus no offence they're kind of a wimp. MM!MC got the second night cus they can't throw a kick to save their life. No way am I taking the fifth night cus that's just asking to die, and why would I make my life harder by taking the fourth night?
WHB!MC: As long as I keep flicking to Freddy and check on Foxy every hour, I'll be fine.
WHB!MC: ...Chica is gone. Let's get this show on the road. Freddy, lights, Freddy, lights, Freddy, lights, Freddy, lights...
(1am)
WHB!MC: Hourly Foxy... nothing, fucked up my rhythm but Freddy is only in the Dining Hall so I'm still fine, Chica's is being a cute little stalker and won't leave my fucking door but my power should be fine.
(2am)
WHB!MC: Bonnie's gone, hourly Foxy... still nothing, Freddy, lights, Freddy, lights, Freddy, lights, Freddy, lights- oh hello Chica! *shuts right door*
(4am)
WHB!MC: I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive~ wait- where did Foxy go?
WHB!MC: ...shit shit shit shit shit shit
*goes to shut the left door but Foxy manages to barge in*
WHB!MC: Well hello there-
WHB!MC - Failed
(4th Night)
OB!MC: Everyone's failed so far, I don't have high hopes myself but let's give a go I guess.
OB!MC: RIP Phone Guy, may you rest in pieces.
OB!MC: Huh? Oh I'm the only one who's bothered to listen to him, poor guy.
OB!MC: Hm, you know what? Since I'm gonna die anyways let's have some fun.
OB!MC: I'm not gonna check the cameras, I'm just going relax and listen
(1am)
OB!MC: I've come to realise these- *shuts door on Foxy* metal punks are extremely- *shuts door on Freddy* ...fucking loud.
(3am)
OB!MC: Huh. I'm still kicking ass. Pat on the back for me I guess.
(4am)
*Foxy is banging the left door and Chica is outside the right door*
OB!MC: I'm getting kinda bored actually, what can I do to kill time...
(5am)
*both doors are open, absolute silence*
OB!MC: Ah~ Ah~ Ah~ Ah~ stayin' alive~ stayin' aLIVE-
*shuts door on Bonnie*
OB!MC: ... that was close.
OB!MC - Survived!
(5th Night)
TWST!Yuu: The others think I'm gonna die since I have the hardest night. Fuck them, we ball.
TWST!Yuu: Woo ok! LET'S GO! HOURLY FOXY, FREDDY, LIGHTS, FREDDY, LIGHTS, FREDDY, LIGHTS, FREDDY, LIGHTS-
(1am)
TWST!Yuu: FREDDY, LIGHTS, FREDDY, LIGHTS, FREDDY, LIGHTS, FREDDY, LIGHTS- FUCK YOU BONNIE *shuts door*
(2am)
TWST!Yuu: FREDDY, LIGHTS, FREDDY, LIGHTS- ok my throat's getting sore let's stop yelling for now
(4am)
TWST!Yuu: Two more hours! ...aaaaand why am I on 20% ...I haven't even used that much power!
(5am)
TWST!Yuu: Shit, 1%... *anxious leg bounce*
TWST!Yuu: Oop- Hello Bonnie... and Chica... pleaseletmemakeitpleaseletmemakeit
*6am Jingle*
TWST!Yuu: FUCK YES LESSGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
TWST!Yuu - Survived!
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#twst yuu#prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad#whb#whb mc#what in hell is bad mc#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me mc#om mc#mysme#mystic messenger#mysme mc#mystic messenger mc#ltd#lovetodo#ltd mc#lovetodo mc#fnaf#five nights at freddys
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Acc to spare, when does Harry actually claim he proposed to Meghan?? And when did he claim to have asked the queen for permission? I believe she said "I spoke I have to say yes then" to his question.
From whatever i had read so far, I thought the permission happened in Scotland, or just after the queen got back from Balmoral. So sometime late August or early September 2017. And the proposal happened in Sept 2017. So right around the time you say the BRF Archie page was forst set up. And when suits not being renewed rumours started. What do you think was happening there? Meghan finally got her claws all in and started flexing about how she will be one of the KP bosses soon?
So below the jump are excerpts from both Spare and Tom Bower's Revenge on Harry asking The Queen for permission and the proposal.
But essentially, both works contradict each other and the key dates mentioned don't line up to the September 4, 2017 date from the webpage.
In Spare:
Harry says that Meghan and The Queen met at the Royal Lodge "by accident" in October 2016 - he was taking Meghan to meet Fergie, there were no corgis, Meghan's curtsy was flawless, and The Queen asked about Donald Trump.
Harry writes that he asked The Queen for permission to marry Meghan at the end of October in Sandringham on a shoot. This would have been the weekend of October 27 - 29, 2017.
He proposed on November 4th shortly after Meghan officially moved to London. (It sounds like he proposed maybe between 1-3 days after she moved.) Harry writes that they kept the engagement a secret for about two weeks, but the way he wrote it, it's dripping with a kind of venom, in a way, that makes one wonder if the engagement was leaked or if they were forced to announce the engagement when they did.
But when you look at the calendar, two weeks after November 4th is November 18th - a whole nine days before the official announcement. So what happened to the missing week?
In Revenge:
Bower presents them going to The Queen for permission to marry as a kind of fait accompli - it sounds like they were engaged first, then went to see The Queen for permission at Buckingham Palace and that this meeting was also Meghan's first introduction to The Queen.
Bower says this happened at the end of October, 2 weeks after the Invictus Games ended on October 12th. This would be the weekend of October 27-29, 2017 - so at least the dates that the Queen was asked for permission align between Harry's version and Bower's version.
The corgis were there in Bower's version of events. (Which aligns with Harry saying the corgis were there the first time he introduced Meghan to The Queen in the engagement interview.)
Bower also suggests that The Queen felt she had to say yes because of Meghan's PR saying they had already met; ergo, that the Queen felt she couldn't say no because it would have been a Thing.
It is interesting that Bower specifically calls out the 2017 Invictus Games ending on October 12 when the official record has it ending on September 30. It's most likely a factchecking error, but it's surprising coming from Bower.
Quotes below the jump!
Quick note first - I cannot stand how they formatted Spare, so in the sections below, I'm using my own formatting to make it a much more sensical (to me, at least) read. If you read Spare yourself, you will see that the formatting is a tragedeigh.
In Spare, Harry describes Meghan meeting the Queen in Part 3, Chapter 15:
Meg came back to London a week later. October 2016. We lunched with [Mark Dwyer] and his family, and I introduced her to a few other close mates. All good. Everyone loved her.
Emboldened, I felt the time had come for her to meet my family. She agreed. First stop, Royal Lodge. o meet Fergie, because Meg already knew Fergie's daughter Euge, and Jack, so this seemed a logical baby step. But as we neared Royal Lodge, I got word on my phone. Granny was there. She'd popped in. On her way home from church back to the castle.
Meg said: "Fun! I love grandmas."
I asked if she knew how to curtsy. She said she thought so. But she also couldn't tell if I was serious. "You're about to meet the Queen."
"I know, but it's your grandma."
"But she's the Queen."
We pulled into the driveway, drove across the gravel, parked next to the big green box hedge.
Fergie came outside, somewhat aflutter, and said: "Do you know how to curtsy?"
Meg shook her head. Fergie demonstrated once. Meg imitated her. there wasn't time for a more advanced tutorial. We couldn't keep Granny waiting. As we walked towards the door, Fergie and I both leaned into Meg, whispering quick reminders. "When you first meet the Queen, it's Your Majesty. Thereafter it's just Ma'am. Rhymes with ham." (Quick aside: I'm pretty sure they did not say this. This is 100% the script from the movie, The Queen, and I'm pretty sure it's verbatim.) "Just, whatever you do, don't talk over her," we both said, talking over each other.
We entered the large front sitting room and there she was. Granny. THe monarch. Queen Elizabeth II. Standing in the middle of the room. She turned slightly. Meg went straight to her and dropped a deep, flawless curtsy. "Your Majesty. Pleasure to meet you."
(Harry goes on to describe how The Queen asked Meghan about Donald Trump, since this was right before the 2016 election, and Meghan expertly pivoted to Canada and the Commonwealth. There are no dogs present in Harry's recollection of Meghan's introduction to The Queen.)
Harry describes the engagement beginning in Part 3 - Chapter 32. It takes place sometime after the 2017 Invictus Games. Harry calls Ed Lane Fox, his former private secretary, 'Elf.'
I told Elf and Jason that I wanted to propose. Congratulations, both men said. But then Elf said he'd need to do some fast digging to find out the protocols. There were strict rules governing such things. Rules? Really?
He came back days later and said before doing anything I'd need to ask Granny's permission. I asked him if that was a real rule, or the kind we could work around. "Oh no, it's very real."
(Harry describes how self-absorbed he is and recaps some plot points from The Crown.)
And so, heart full of fear, mouth full of dust, I turned to the calendar. With Elf's help I circled a weekend in late October. A family shooting trip at Sandringham. Shooting trips always put Granny in a good mood. Perhaps she'd be more open to thoughts of love?
(Harry talks about how he thinks Charles and William would talk him out of asking The Queen to marry Meghan if they knew he was going to do it and he recaps how William had been "pretty discouraging" about the relationship. Then he blathers on about how Charles told him there's no money to support Meghan and how Charles doesn't like anyone taking attention from him. He describes the shoot and how anxious he is to get time alone with The Queen.)
After the final drive the party scattered. Everyone finished picking up their birds and returned to the Land Rovers. I saw Granny jump into her smaller Range Rover and drive out to the middle of the stubble field. She began looking for dead birds, while her dogs hunted.
There was no security around her, so this looked to be my chance.
I walked out to the middle of the stubble field, fell in alongside her, began helping. (blah blah blah, interior monologue, my heart cannot go on without Meg but I can't disobey my Queen.)
I realized that I needed to get to it, without one second more of hesitation, so as Granny lowered the tailgate, as the dogs leaped up, as I thought of petting them but then remembered I had (description of dead birds and more interior monologing about how much he loved The Queen)...I saw her waitingf for me to speak--and not waiting patiently. Her face radiated: "Out with it."
I coughed. "Granny, you know I love Meg very much, and I've decided that I would like to ask her to marry me, and I've been told that, er, that I have to ask your permission before I can propose."
"You have to?"
"Um. Well, yes, that's what your staff tell me, and my staff as well. That I have to ask your permission."
I stood completely still, as motionless as the birds in my hands. I stared at her face but it was unreadable. At last she replied: "Well, then, I suppose I have to say yes."
Harry goes on to describe how offended he is by her reaction and admits he's so self-absorbed he doesn't realize it was permission granted.
Chapter 34 is about a time Harry and Meghan hosted William and Kate for dinner. William had a cold, Meghan offered her homeopathic "cures" and William found it charming while Kate was rude, and describes Meghan being in ripped jeans while Kate is dressed up. Chapter 35 is Harry's narration of Meghan moving to London and his description of how he proposed: outside in the garden because he wanted it to be like when they were in Botswana:
We hurried inside, finished our celebration in the warmth of the kitchen. It was November 4. We managed to keep it secret for about two weeks.
From Revenge, Tom Bower writes in Chapter 19:
To please Harry, the Queen agreed to ditch centuries of tradition. Meghan would be fast-tracked into the Royal Family before the wedding. Two weeks after the Invictus Games ended on 12th October, Harry introduced Meghan to the Queen in Buckingham Palace. Over tea and sandwiches, the monarch formally approved her grandson's engagement. The 91 year old had no choice. Apparently, she had already met Meghan in Windsor Park. In a fleeting, unexpected encounter, Meghan would claim to have performed an unrehearsed botched curtsey. During the formal meeting in the Palace, Harry would describe how the Queen's corgis, who had for the previous 33 years barked at him, lay at Meghan's feet and wagged their tales. Meghan described the scene as 'very sweet.'
(Meghan moves to London. Bower talks about how the institution isn't welcoming to married-ins. They ran off Diana, Fergie, and Anne's first husband, and threatened to do the same to Kate till William laid down the law.)
Meghan was the beneficiary of those misjudgements. In anticipation of the engagement's formal announcement, Palace officials agreed that to ease her transition into the family she needed guidance about the restrictions accepted by all members of the Royal Family. Harry would claim that he had forewarned Meghan: 'You know what you're letting yourself in for. It's a big deal and it's not easy for anybody.' If so, no one directly asked Meghan whether she understood that the British monarchy had only survived - with the support of 70 per cent of Britons - by seaking to remain soberly uncontroversial. No one spelled out to her that monarchists were unaware that most of the changes made to ensure the Crown's modernisation and survival had been imperceptible. But then, no one recalls that Meghan asked any detailed questions before the engagement was officially announced on 27th November, 2017.
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Sigh
Quin im going thru my tabs bc between my phone and laptop i had like 100+ open and im just
I’m dying dude
So many things I open, read, die, and then don’t close xD
I’d say on my laptop at least 1/3 were things from you lmao
Anyways im closing some of these tabs that have some yummy art and i know you’ve seen but pls enjoy again bc i am thinking about thatchy boy tonight
Like
Like????
This one really fucks me up
There’s just such a good dynamic between the two of them and I’m off to think about getting smushed between them
Throwback to this bc I’m not ok 🫠🫠🫠
Off to run some computer scans now that my stuffs cleaned up a bit, hope your day goes well 🫡🫡🫡🫡
I am always okay with seeing yummy art no matter how many times I may have already seen said yummy art - so thank you for sharing it again xD \o/
Gods yes, though, man. I swear all the talk lately and y'all are making me want to write out a full on 5-some reader fic with the 1st, 2nd, 4th, and I believe 16th division commanders.
Maybe not necessarily a yandere story, and honestly not a canon one. >.> Maybe I could crib a popular VN idea and have a sort of "Please choose one of my sons to marry" and it's just chapters and chapters of delightful romance stuff with the four of them, and at the end it's not just "oh gods I can't pick" it's "don't worry, we've decided to share" and
like
RELEASE THE SMUT! \o/
Bonus wedding chapter >.>
... godsdammit.
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i never really request anything from authors but you have just single-handedly written my favorite steve harrington fic on this whole entire planet. i love it so much i reread it after finishing the 4th part!! thank you for writing such a brilliant fic. can i request steve’s pov to coming home after reader leaves on halloween and how he felt when he meets them at the bonfire spot? Anyways thank you for writing this fic now i want to go to the farmers market every weekend. <3
hi!!! you are so wonderful! your favorite fic EVER? my goodness, you're too nice to me. I'm so glad you loved it!! i've gone with your later request, so here's steve's POV of when he and bee girl meet up at the lake!
steve agrees to meet bee girl at lover's lake after halloween, steve's POV [0.9k]
a no good at waiting one-shot, au masterlist
__
Steve doesn't totally know why he's doing this. A part of him -- a bitter, angry, ugly part -- wants to leave you waiting by the lake all night. Because he didn't deserve to be left like that. He didn't and he knows it. He has a right to be mad, a right to not to speak to you on the phone, even if Hopper chewed him out for being a bit of a coward for it.
Plus, you weren't at the market this weekend and he's a little worried despite himself.
But more than anything he thinks he deserves to know why. And in order to find out, he has to talk to you. And so here he is, driving in the freezing dark to Lover's Lake. The main thing he's worried about is that he'll forgive you too fast. That he'll see you and want to touch you, want to kiss you, want to brush it all aside and pretend it never happened. But he shouldn't so he won't.
He parks next to you and takes a deep breath. It'll be fine. His chest hurts and he forces a deep breath into it before hopping out of the truck and heading for yours.
As soon as he gets in your passenger seat he knows that this was a mistake. It smells like you and he has to shove his hands in the pocket of his coat so he doesn't pull you to him. He quickly looks you up and down -- truthfully, you look awful. Like you haven't slept in days. Maybe you actually have been ill.
"Hey," he says, biting the bullet. "Are you okay? You weren't at the market on Saturday."
You look away from him. "I'm fine." He wonders if you know that you flare your nostrils when you lie. "Are you okay?"
Steve thinks about lying. About telling you that he's fine, that he's cold, that he doesn't know why you're here. That he wants to go home and forget about all of this. But being this close to you makes his chest ache and he wants to stop being miserable so he tells the truth. "Honestly? Not really."
"Steve--" you start, but he wants to get it out before he gives up.
"I wasn't going to come," he says, then shakes his head. Stop lying, Steve. "No, sorry, that's not true. I've been jumping every time the phone rings for almost a week, hoping it's you. But I can't bring myself to answer it. I've been desperate to see you again but I also can't look at you because it makes me sad."
You look utterly heartbroken. He feels no satisfaction in it, only like his own heart is splintering too. So he tells you that he wants to fix this because it's true, because he's halfway in love with you if not across the finish line already and he can't imagine things ending like this.
And then you tell him why you left. And his mind is racing to keep up because it's not him, it's not something he did, it's you. It's the fact that you love him. It echoes in his mind like a tape stuck in his car. I'mfallinginlovewithyouI'mfallinginlovewithyou. He's so stuck on it that he doesn't react at all, only blinks, wondering what on earth he's going to say next. You're falling in love with him and you're scared. Well, shit, he thinks, get in line.
"I understand how that's scary," he says carefully. He clenches his fists and fights to keep his voice even. "I just don't know why you'd leave instead of telling me how you were feeling."
"I wish I could take that back." His heart sinks like a stone and he looks away. Maybe this is worse, you loving him but still regretting all of it. "Do you regret everything else, too? Having sex? Everything before?"
But you tell him no, your voice pleading and it almost cracks him. But he's got to say his piece still, stick up for himself a little.
"Do you get why you leaving like that hurt?" he asks. You chew on your lip and his eyes track the movement as he keeps going, as he tells you, begs you to understand that you messed up.
But you take it too far, think the worst of him.
"I understand if you can't forgive me--"
"I didn't say that," he interrupts, tone a hair from desperate. Because that's not true. If there's anything he's sure of it's that he wants to come back from this. He wants to hold you, wants to make you smile. He wants to figure this out, but the car is starting to feel claustrophobic and he knows he's not going to be able to resist touching you for much longer.
And, if he's being honest with himself, he's a little scared now, too. He loves you, he thinks. He loves you and you love him and that's so terrifying and wonderful at the same time he feels like he's choking on it.
So he asks for the opposite of what he wants. "I just need some space, I think. Okay?" He can't fight his next move: the gentle brush of his knuckles on your cheek. Your breath shudders out of you and he almost kisses you right then just to stop you from looking so damn sad.
He spends the drive home wondering why he feels like crying.
#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington angst#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington imagine#no good at waiting
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💬 Continuation to Eugene's text one if you can please.... also i decided tht can the sender be like a close, really close friend of eugene and yuseing that goes to the same school and knows what shit he does (i am trying so hard to not make an actual story for this seriously, i feel like i will and ship this y/n and eugene hard🥲)
》Oi foureyes! I have some spare so tell me!
》please damnit! Tell me...
》 Even tho i have known you for ages you only eat/ drink things me or yuseong choose
》 you never tell us your preferences! Like 'just choose whatever yoh want I'll payand eat whatever it is' and you actually eat even the shittiest of combo i could come up with!
》 Also you know i met this guy in our school named yeonwoo and he might be your tripket y'know, you might know him he is good looking, smart, on top of his classes, wears glasses like you and is actually quite famous, a newtuber.
》 I think i like him... he also has a good personality unlike someone... he is really nice as well
》actually you know what if you don't wanna hang out this weekend should i ask him out for a date?
》 before you say anything like 'go get him a gift and leave me alone'
》 i already did and bitc* please you knew what you were getting yourself into when you became my friend now deal with it.
》 You have to deal with it. No other options
》 also can i get that hot guy's no. Who is always with you, the one with the nice personality, the 3rd and 4th affiliate prez i think?
》 oh, and that weird mask one whose hair are blond and is always with neko
[Eugene will be grumbling about his phone notifs going off cause of this and that is what y/n wants]
(Can i have a jealous eugene and yuseong....? And you can decide whether eugene likes the reader or not, or whether yuseong likes her or not)
[a/n: omg if u do end up writing a story please tag me !! i would love to read it <3]
"That's funny. President Eugene always lectures us about keeping our phones on silent mode and yet his phone isn't."
After turning said silent mode on in his phone, Eugene slowly turned his head to smile at Eli. "Yes, well, this is a one time mistake. Why don't you try to remember to keep your remarks to yourself?"
The sharp tension stayed in the room even as the meeting continued, so when the meeting ended, it left Eugene in a somewhat bitter mood.
He decided to check who was texting him so much earlier, only to see it was you.
"What nonsense are they texting me now...?" As he read through the texts, he was originally amused but then began to feel... well, he refused to acknowledge the j-word. It was a childish emotion to him.
Softly exhaling, he texted back:
I have a nutritionist and whatnot on hand, I swear to you I eat well. You don't have to worry and my preferences mean little because often you and Yuseong pick things I like. Just continue what you're doing.
And about that boy... we may be similar in many ways but I've paid no attention to him. Also, no need for snarky remarks, I've had enough for the day.
You must know me so well if you knew I was going to reply, "Get him a gift and leave me alone." Just go on that date.
I'm glad we're such good friends you're happy to be insufferable towards me. And no, I'm not giving you the numbers of any of my subordinates.
Before Eugene closed out of his conversation with you, he felt a tap on his shoulder and just noticed Yuseong, who apparently had been quietly peering over his shoulder this whole time.
"What is it?" he asked his twin, who just frowned. It didn't take him long to realize why, and oddly enough he felt the slightest tinge of that j-word again. "Oh. If you're sad about our friend going on that date, feel free to make plans with them so they can't go. I can get you time off, if that's what you want."
Upon hearing his words, Yuseong eagerly nodded and Eugene took a mental note of it. Maybe he should hang out with you, too... but he didn't want to interrupt Yuseong, and he still had work to do. Another day, he supposed.
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if you had to punt exactly one playable persona character into the sun, who would it be and why?
i have to pick just one? aww...
well, i classify my urge to punt someone as how much i hate and despise and fucking loathe them. but my reasoning behind hating a character is based on multiple factors;
do they have/learn good skills/abilities?
are they well written in the story?
are they well written in their social link?
writing aside, do i like them as a person?
now, the only games i have played out of the persona series are 4 & 5(NOT ROYAL). i read the p1 manga and am only watching playthroughs of the game, so i am not at all in any place to cast judgement on those guys, nor do one of those factors even apply to them... so that already narrows it down a whole bunch. i would never punt a single p1 character. they're all great (except maybe kei just for the 4th one) (but he's great. i love him. i think about him and get sad)
and i'm also eliminating the protagonists for obvious reasons, so we've already disqualified 11 characters. and with that out of the way, we can officially begin...
PERSONA'S PERILOUS PLAY OF PUNTING POTENTIAL!!!! (contains spoilers)
every character will be able to score out of 3 in each factor, and the one with the least amount of points wins the game as the Most Puntable. it's kind of like golf, which is funny, because i also want to punt golf players into the sun.
our first contestant is YOSUKE HANAMURAAAA
now, i was going to grab a fun little image of him to provide this post with visuals but i always forget that 90% of his search results on google are. uh. hm.
well, this is our situation. can i give him a pity point for that?
for number one, i can say...... 3/3. he was ALWAYS on my team during the whole game and i built him up well. like i was raising a son... sniffle... they grow up so fast...
i have to admit, it was a little annoying when he kept missing crits on the golden hand but is that his fault? no-hohohoooooo, it's merely a turn of fate... (and his fault. fuckyouyosukefuckyoufuckyougaaaah)
for number 2, i rate it 2. he's an ooooookay character in the main story, a lot of his harassment of the girls and kanji really tick me off and there's literally no good explanation as for why he does that other than just being an asshole, but. i guess being an asshole is just part of his personality.........?
EXCEPT FOR THE FACT THAT THERE SHOULD BE GREATER CONSEQUENCES FOR HIS ACTIONS BECAUSE COMMUNICATING THE IDEA THAT BAD PEOPLE GET OFF SCOT-FREE IS TERRIBLE FOR A NUMBER OF REASONS. i don't give 2 shits about fanservice as a whole (in regards to harassing the girls, not the homophobia, that's just annoying) but can we stop making the grounds for it being sexual harassment
number 3 gets a 3! his social link is AMAZING and i CRIED and hes GAY and LOVES HIS FRIENDS!!!!!! if i wanted to do a character analysis on him then i would write a different post, but this is me trying to figure out who i would punt into the sun. so. moving on
number 4......... 1/3. for the previous points in number 2, he is an absolute dickhead and no amount of people-pleasing habits and homoerotic chemistry will make me like him. every person who is mean to him is right.
oh boy, just yosuke's section was reaaaaaaaaaally long... i'll try and shorten it for you, okay?
up next is chie satonaka, my personal favourite persona 4 girl if that sets the baseline for anything.
look at her :] she's so silly :]
for number one, i'm sadly going to have to rate her below 3... like. 1.5? is that allowed? i'll say it is.
she's the party member equivalent of a burner phone. unlike yosuke who's by my side forever and ever, chie is only good until teddie gets a persona and then she's so publicly humiliated that she accidentally misses every single hit. galactic punt YOURSELF MOTHERFUUUUUUUUUCK
number 2, 3/3. no explanation needed, literally just her shadow boss fight and the beauty pageant and her friendship with yukiko and her everything.
number 3... also 3/3. a lot of people give her flack for deciding she wants to be a cop, which i get because acab fuck yeah, but where adachi is a cop just to get attention and a gun, she actually intends to protect people. chie learns to help herself so she can help others... augh... AUGH CHIE I LOVE YOUUUUUU
ahem. number 4, 2/3. she's definitely a sweetheart and she seems fun to be around but i have to admit she's definitely a little annoying sometimes.
and now it's time for chie's bestest friend ever, yukiko amagi!!
she gets a pity point for being a lesbian... not just a lesbian but one having a crush on a straight girl. we've all been there hunny bun. let's watch romcoms and eat ice cream together while crying ok?
number 1..... 3/3 fuck yeah my main healer always coming in clutch!!! after a certain point she stops being the main fire user and the player is supposed to take that role but then she has KICKASS HEALING ABILITIES!! support characters are always my favourites (which might foreshadow my rating for haru.......)
1/3 for number 2. that might sound harsh, but! but but but!
they kind of sucked the life out of her after her dungeon. the only real defining personality traits she has are in her social link, which is unfortunate because so many people hate it!
i don't hate yukiko. never
3 gets a 3. it's a good story actually, and like i said it helps me see yukiko as. like. a person. and a lot of people say it's bad writing that her story ends with her deciding she wants to manage the inn, but let me put a lot of emphasis on 'deciding'. she chose that path for herself after being told she was allowed to do what she likes, and y'know what? i don't think that's bad!
nobody likes being forced to do something. i know i struggled a lot with doing homework because i always felt trapped in those deadlines and expectations, but i didn't just give up on school. improving my grades was my own choice, and i realized that i had potential to change myself despite my situation and succeed! that's what yukiko's social link is about. not giving in to other people's expectations, but thriving in the environment you're given...
i just said i wanted to shorten everything and now i'm ranting. always number 4 is a 3/3 she's literally just a girl and her laughing thing is cute idgaf.
KANJI TATSUMIIIIIIIII
subtracting a point for those shoes. get out.
number 1 is a 2/3. he was cool, but nobody ever compares to yosuke. i mainly used him for his physical skills rather than magic because yu took that role very easily, and when paired with teddie or yukiko he's just a boss. but he's not my favourite party member in the world
number 2, i'll be blunt, 1/3. WHAT THE FUCK DID THEY DO TO YOU MAN. we all saw how yosuke and everyone else and the whole damn story treated him. we all saw the line where he asked naoto to be femme so they could "make him a man". shut the fuck upppppp
number 3 is his saving grace. i know some people don't like that they never elaborated on the sexuality thing (or the... sexism..??) and i get that, having a character who's canonically mspec but only vaguely mentions it once and never again is really annoying and a half-assed attempt at representation. though i interpret his reconciliation with his sewing hobby, an aspect of him that everyone thinks is unmanly and should be shamed, as a metaphor for his own sexuality. similar to daisuke and soccer being a stand-in for his anxiety around romance and girls. in that case, it's a 3/3.
(plus there's the line "it's so cute it'll give you diabetes" and... kanji... *facepalm*)
number 4. he's cutie. a little weird, but cutie. 2/3
and now, a girl who needs no introduction.
god my feelings for her are as mixed as my auntie's desert lasagna. ("let's mix it up," she says...)
i don't have anything against the navigators. they're pretty good. i say 3/3.
however i hate rise's writing. -4/3. negative numbers are cheating? I DON'T CARE!!
her dungeon is a STRONG start to her character, like with everyone else. i love rise reconciling with the fact that there is no "real me" and everyone has different sides of themselves that they need to make it through life... and the fact that it ties in with teddie's conflict of feeling hollow, like an alien or an impostor only pretending to be alive........ oh my god! hiiiiii!!!!! love it!
and then rise's main bit in the story is crushing on the protagonist.......... sigh.
i really really REALLY hate that about her actually. i really hate forced romances. and before you go calling me a hypocrite for liking souyo and not yurise even though souyo has the exact same amount of flirty moments between them, that's because those two are really subtle with each other and have a really good initial friendship to back it up and also ties in with their actual personalities.......???? (we can debate forever and ever if yu has a personality but i say he does. he's consistently portrayed in other adaptations and spinoffs. he's got so much in common with yosuke)
but rise just kind of sees yu and goes "hey handsome. killing shadows all by yourself?" and it's like eeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhh.... 90% of the time she's on screen it's to flirt with yu and the other 10% is serious moments or when she's with anyone but yu. there's no moments where she gets to be casual and friendly with HIM, where we get to see DEPTH to their relationship, it's just purely flirting. and i hate that. so much. is this a one-night stand? no? then give me some actual fucking chemistry
and i feel like all of that smushing-dolls-together time takes away from a lot of genuine scenes with rise where she....... yk.... shows off her personality?
the hot springs and the trip to tatsumi port island are held dearly in my heart because rise DOES SHIT. she's silly and goofy and playful and maybe she says some stuff that's a little perverted but it's not to the yosuke degree. i like the idea that rise flirts with ALL of her friends, not just yu; it makes her feel like she's really part of the friend group, which is the investigation team's strongest suit.
rise and yukiko both have any personality ripped from them in favour of dumb bits that aren't even funny and that post of mine analyzing their dynamic during the school field trip is so everything guys they're so great as a duo i need to see more of them pleapelpslepalpelspes.......
...whoops. i ranted.
number 3 gets a 2/3. it's kind of just a rehash of what she learned in the main story, which is fine, but not ideal.
rise as a person is 3/3. absolute silliness all around. love her
KUMA KUMA KUMAAAAA
look at this fucking guy. ridiculous. i hate him. he's so annoying and dumb and he sucks
3/3 on party member he's totally goated
3/3 on main story he makes me feel the whole spectrum of emotions and then some
his social link is automated so technically thats a 3/3 too
3/3 person he might be an annoying little shit but i have 2 younger cousins. i understand yosuke. it's endearing to me
teddie is peak. i would never punt him.
now............to.
entirely honest, i'm on my second persona 4 playthrough to complete the social links i never finished and... naoto is one of those. so i will be unable to determine the rating for one of the factors. but luckily i'm not shit at math so it'll work out in the end
for 1...... honestly they're a good party member as well, but because i didn't get very far in their social link, i didn't unlock that ability where she's able to withstand a deadly blow meaning he would just be constantly dying. like. constantly.
but that's kind of the only thing i like about naoto. i have to rate their main storyline a 1/3. it's absolutely shit and the gender plottwist (ughh) is so badly done. i'm personally thinking up a rewrite for his character because i think they were onto something with the message about misogyny in the workplace but she's so SHITTILY executed that it's just muddied
naoto as a person is..... ok. 2/3. i don't find many things about her that exceptional or fun. i don't think about them often. if this were my rewrite of him it'd be waaaay deep down in the negatives because they are an ASSHOLE but i love them way more :3
and next is ryu.............uh........ actually, this is way too long. much too long than you probably anticipated... um... maybe i'll cut it short, make a part 2 later.
until next time........ on PERSONA'S PERILOUS PLAY OF PUNTING POTENTIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!
#persona 4#yosuke hanamura#chie satonaka#yukiko amagi#kanji tatsumi#rise kujikawa#p4 teddie#naoto shirogane#koto.txt
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