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lozchi · 9 months

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A little tiger?

A/N: first fic, edited, I don't think I could balance the length to separate it into chapters, so here ya go XD Decided to write for Hoon-ie after not getting enough fics of him. I read every possible fic in existence, so now I'm joining the rabbit hole. Pairing: Taehoon Seong x !F reader (Gender Neutral, actually. But it steers more towards a female reader.) Themes: Fluff, profane language, actual fluff

i am convinced this man wears eyeliner.

There were a few things that you came to agree on with Taehoon before you moved in together, in which he took the time to hash out the nitty-gritty details that would shape your lifestyle.

First things first, cleanliness was non-negotiable. Clean up after your own mess, get rid of those stinky socks on the coffee table, and don't you dare delay washing those dirty dishes. A fair share of chores is just as important. Fuck gender roles. That shit doesn't matter to Taehoon, neither to you. You embraced a fair distribution of chores, because who needs traditional gender norms cramping your style?

Communication was key to keeping your domestic life intact. You made it a rule to give each other a heads-up before inviting anyone over. Taehoon didn't want to be caught by your dad walking out of his room after he just woke up, walking around the place while he was shirtless, and you couldn't blame him. No free fanservice for your old man, sorry.

And then, there was the ultimate deal-breaker: absolutely, ABSOLUTELY no pets allowed. Sad, but necessary. You both recognized the responsibilities and potential burden that a furry friend could bring into your peaceful (chaotic mostly, thanks to your petty bickerings) haven. So, you made the tough call to keep your space pet-free, even though it meant missing out on endless cuteness.

These seemingly straightforward house rules were the backbone of your cohabitation. You can see where this is going at, just basic house rules you'd need to abide by. Easy peasy, right?

Dragging your exhausted self through the threshold, you fumbled with your keys, the metallic jingle filling the air as you struggled to unlock the door. With a half-hearted stretch and a lazy rub of your bleary eyes, you muttered curses under your breath. Fuck them. The sheer stupidity of your project groupmates. Ugh, seriously, could life get any more frustrating? But hey, that's fine since you have-

"You cute little shit. You're mine."

Are your ears lying to you? Is your menace of a boyfriend baby talking someone… Who's not you?!? To hear him speak so sweetly that he would never even bring himself to talk to you in the same way as he did just now. That's right, give him a piece of your mind.

Brows furrowing in frustration and jealousy, you'd speak up. You need to talk to him, he deserves a little lecture. As you walked inside your humble abode, you grumpily stomped your way to the bedroom.

"Taehoon Seong, What the f-"

Caught red-handed, Taehoon's eyes widened as he notices your enraged expression. In a panicked manner, he swiftly hurled a nearby blanket into a corner of the room, as if hoping to hide the evidence of his silly stunt. You'd rarely see such a horrified look on his usually stoic expression, Calling this pretty boy other than the stupid nicknames you give him feels so strangely threatening, almost like stepping into uncharted territory. Hello? He's "Hoon-ie", "Pretty Boy", "Sneaky Link", "Sexy Bastard"… Who the fuck is "Taehoon Seong"?

But before you could launch into a full-blown confrontation, a soft and unmistakable "Meow" reverberated through the air, breaking the awkward tension. Busted. Who would have ever thought that Taehoon, the seemingly more composed and level-headed one in the relationship, would dare to break the sacred "no pets" rule? It was unbelievable, mind-boggling, and to make matters worse, it wasn't even you who did this cheeky act. This left you momentarily stunned.

Now, off to berating your boyfriend.

"Oi, I thought we–"

"That was me."

"Didn't know that my man can meow like a harmless creature–"

"Shut the fuck up…"

An awkward silence fills the air for a moment, with you thinking about the act Taehoon pulled, while he starts contemplating whether or not he should break it. The tension was then interrupted by this "unwanted guest". Of course, the cat manages to escape from the blanket, heading its way towards you, its tiny paws padding across the floor.

You know that you can't stay mad, especially when Taehoon is being unusually soft – except that it's not being directed towards you. Your boyfriend is an immature dick of a tsundere, deal with it.

Leaning down to stroke the adorable creature that had stolen your boyfriend's heart, you couldn't help but be enthralled by its soft, velvety fur. Okay, let's admit it, the cat was undeniably cute, but that didn't mean you could suppress the pangs of jealousy that surged within you as Taehoon showered the little feline with affection.

"Why on earth didn't you give me a heads up about bringing this cute shit home? Seriously, you've broken not one, but two rules,"

You exclaimed, unable to hide your frustration.

He glanced at you, a hint of guilt flickering in his eyes.

"I acted impulsively, and I'm sorry."

Is what you imagined he would say. After all, he should apologize for his thoughtless actions. But let's face it, again – your boyfriend had a knack for being a dick. Instead of the heartfelt apology you expected, all you received was a blank stare and a nonchalant shrug.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

You exclaimed, exasperatedly. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you let out a weary sigh. Finally, he broke his silence, bringing an end to the internal debate he seemed to be having.

"I brought it home because it reminded me of you."

And that's a good thing right? He probably brought it home since the cat was cute, like you, right?

"Where did you even get this? Did you buy it, take it from an animal shelter, take it from the streets… Or did you steal this from someone?"

Too many questions, Taehoon is NOT willing to answer them. But he does anyway because you being an interrogative bitch needs to stop.

"Took it from the streets after I-"

Taehoon began, but you interrupted him, already familiar with the story.

"Lemme guess, another round of beating assholes up?"

You asked, a hint of sarcasm in your voice as you gave him that annoying, knowing, AUDACIOUS smirk. It turns him on a little though, not that he'd admit that.

"They were hurting it."

So, instead of mindlessly beating the shit out of random thugs just for 500 won, he had actually stepped in to protect the defenseless creature? For once, Taehoon had an actual reason for his actions – okay, maybe not once – but it caused a surprising warmth to spread through your heart. You couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for him. It was as if he genuinely wanted to provide a safe haven for the cat, and that realization melted away any lingering resentment.

You looked at Taehoon, noticing a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he gazed at the little feline. You could've sworn he looked so determined to keep the rascal. In that moment, your heart softened at the oddity of your dear menace.

"Okay, but for real, why did the cat remind you of me?"

Ugh, seriously. Stop with the questions. It's slightly pissing Taehoon off to the extent that he'd kick your ass (only lightly though, knowing full well that it'd rile you up anyway).

"Weak and helpless like you. Especially during training. At least sometimes. Most of the time."

If you expected a better answer than that, then prepare to be dissapointed. He's Taehoon Seong after all, you brought yourself into this.

"And in bed too-"

You send a series of aggressive smacks on his ass. His comment was a little uncalled for! Oh, come on, Taehoon!

"And cute. And cute! Stop it, bitch!"

He chuckled in amusement; those little hits would do little to no damage. And once you stopped, the both of you would look at the cat with another question in mind.

"What are you gonna name it?"

"Ratface."

"Disgusting. Let's go for it."

"Bitch, I was kidding."

"Hoon-ie Junior, then?"

"That's a shitty name."

"It stemmed from yours though-"

"Exactly."

"Meow~"

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Taehoon's naming skills were straight up shitty, and it was painfully obvious considering the ridiculous names he had come up with so far. Some were unnecessarily flamboyant, meant purely for sarcastic amusement, while others were downright horrendous. But let's face it, naming a cat after a character from Tekken would be a vast improvement compared to "Ratface." It had been ten fucking minutes, and neither you nor Taehoon had managed to think of a decent name yet.

"What about 'Hwoarang'?"

"Seriously? Haha, you're terrible at this."

You couldn't help but sneer at Taehoon, teasing him mercilessly as he futilely attempted to push your face away, only for you to playfully bring it even closer, peppering his face with kisses. Deep down, he wanted to do the same to you right now, but his entire focus was fixated on finding a proper name for the cat.

"Bitch, you're no better yourself,"

He retorted with a scoff, rolling his eyes in exasperation. I mean, who in their right mind would name something as sweet as this little feline "Tabasco"?

"Pocachip."

You suggested, realizing that both you and Taehoon were nowhere near finding a suitable name.

With a defeated sigh, Taehoon gave up, flopping down on the bed with the cat resting in his lap. It seemed better to leave the poor thing unnamed than to burden it with a ridiculous moniker. Naming could wait for now.

Ugh, if you ever considered having mini Taehoons then- whoops, too early for that.

But honestly, if you couldn't even come up with a name for a cat, how on earth would you manage to name your own children? Then again, it was too early to think about starting a family, and having kids wasn't currently an option on the table.

"I'll go out and buy some things for the cat."

Leaving again? You just got home. Not on your pretty boy's watch. Before you could make a move, Taehoon swiftly grabbed your wrist, his expression turning blank as he stared at you intently.

"I already took care of that."

He stated firmly.

This man was full of surprises. It was evident that he truly wanted to take care of the cat. Seeing Taehoon in this soft and caring state was unusual but endearing. If you got to witness this side of him every day, then you had no choice but to happily play the third wheel while he tended to the little kitten.

"You're really serious about this. Hah! I always knew you were a softy deep down~"

Bitch, you're teasing him so much. Stop poking his cheeks and shit, it's making him feel all giddy. He smacked your hand away, but you could have sworn to god you saw a faint pink tint on his usually pale complexion. Damn it, his fair skin made it difficult for him to hide the blush.

Minutes, hours then days pass by in a blur. Yet you and Taehoon are still no closer to giving the furball a decent name, not that the little stray needs one. The cat shall remain nameless for now, no big deal. Your life's still pretty much the same, at least a little.

Though there were times you felt a pang of jealousy creep over you as Taehoon would DELIBERATELY sweet talk the kitten just to get a reaction out of you. LOL! You have no idea how smug he feels whenever you pout or sulk in the corner of the room. He knows what he's doing, and once you caught on, he turned it down a little. Keyword: A little.

You thought caring for the adorable kitten while Taehoon was away for taekwondo practice would be easy-peasy-Taehoon-tease-me. But you were so wrong.

"Psspspspss kitty kitty!"

You call, desperately trying to gain the cat's affection. But to no avail. How does Taehoon make it look so effortless?

Every time you and Taehoon want some lovey-dovey time, that furry menace does everything to steal your man's attention. The lion, the witch, the audacity of this bitch. This goddamn motherfucker's gonna keep Taehoon all to itself.

"Cockblocker."

You sigh in frustration.

The furball has now wormed its way into your hearts. Yet giving it a name seems impossible. For now, the nameless stray shall remain…causing mischief and mayhem, one purr at a time.

"Hoon-ie, I have no idea how you get that little shit listen to you."

Other than Taehoon being the one to bring the cat home, is there really something else that would make the fluffball listen to him? Okay, he's intimidating, that's a plus. And it's the same reason as to why Hobin and Snapper would have to deal with his antics.

"My words are law."

"Not to me, they're not."

Taehoon chuckles. Oh, how could you be so stubborn? Accept the fact that this man will get anything he wants, no matter what sort of measures he'd take.

"I'm just better than you at everything else."

You gasped in mock offense, though deep down you knew that his statement was about 49.99% correct. But hey, at least you're better in making his heart pound of his chest. He gets all tingly and warm, ew, cringe. You make him feel so weak and you're not just better at it, you're the best.

"Huh? Wanna bet, pretty boy?!?"

Once you've started, know that you shouldn't back down. After all, you don't want to deal with Taehoon's teasing all week for such a petty argument.

"Alright, how about this - whoever can get the little shit to sit on their lap first wins."

Damn, this pretty boy loves you so much to the point he'll participate or even suggest bullshit.

"HAH! YOU'LL SEE."

You and Taehoon shoot challenging glances at each other as you call the cat, trying to lure it over with treats and toys. The furball pays you no heed and walks between the two of you, seemingly ignoring your bets and bickering.

"We really need a name for it."

And "Pocachip", "Tabasco", "Hoon-ie Jr." is not allowed. Taehoon starts to think whether or not you were hungry during thinking about those names. "Sh-"

"No."

#taehoon x reader #seong taehoon #viral hit #ptj universe #help idk what im doing #viral hit taehoon #how to fight taehoon #taehoon bb #seong taehun #seong taehoon x reader #taehun seong #doyouhave500won #taehoon seong #i wish there was only one way to spell his name I'm struggling

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vincess-princess · 11 months

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as we were falling

formerly untitled

ch. 3

a/n: do you like the title? idk if this idea is going anywhere but i felt bad leaving it nameless

warnings: take a wild guess (violence, piss mention)

word count: 1777

“It’s full,” Tommy said, plopping down onto Nikki’s mattress. “Heaping, even.”

“Damn it.” Nikki squeezed his knees tighter, agony on his face. “When are they gonna empty it? I’m dying here, man.”

“They usually do it after breakfast.”

“Breakfast was hours ago. Any chance they’re gonna do it today?”

“Eh…”

“So no.”

“Yeah,” Tommy sighed. One bucket for twenty captives definitely wasn’t enough, even when emptied regularly, and when it wasn’t… things got stinky. Nikki, still chained to the wall (Tommy couldn’t look at the red stripe of irritated skin underneath the ring of the handcuff without shuddering), couldn’t even make trips there, so the bucket instead made trips to him – with Tommy’s help.

Now, though, he couldn’t risk lifting it without splashing the contents all across the floor. The room already smelled worse than an underground bar toilet, and Tommy thought nothing could beat that. The first assumption his new life proved wrong, he thought grimly.

“We’re already drowning in shit, and now they decide to make it literal,” Nikki grumbled. “God, I’d love to splash it on their faces. Shower them in shit. Unite them with their kind, so to say.”

For a second Tommy indulged himself on imagining the guards’ faces if it happened. Or, rather, their shrieking and yelling – they couldn’t see their faces behind the helmets, after all. It was no great loss – helped somewhat, even. It made it easier to believe that those were some aliens, evil minions, androids, whatever – not real, regular people like them and Nikki for whom what they were doing was a job just as much as cleaning tables in a café was for Tommy. They did it for a living, probably had families they came home to. Did they ever tell them stories from work? “So this one captive today threw up on the boots of my buddy Jackson and we electrocuted her for fifteen seconds for that”?

“Hey?” he heard Nikki’s voice. Then he snapped his fingers in front of Tommy’s face. “Ground control to major Tom. Can you hear me?”

Tommy slapped his hand away. “Don’t interrupt me. I am speaking that into existence.”

Nikki huffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, master wizard. Of course, keep on weaving your spells. I’ll be here, peeing my pants quietly.”

“Well, what else can I do?” Tommy threw his hands up. “I’m already running back and forth with this bucket for Your Majesty to shit in three times a day. You could show a little gratitude.”

“I’m very grateful,” Nikki said seriously, but the force with which he pressed his hand to his chest gave out a taunt. “It doesn’t help my problem, though.”

“I’m not giving you my cup.”

“I wasn’t even thinking of that, but now that you mentioned it…” Nikki began eyeing Tommy’s cup hungrily. Tommy moved it farther back so that Nikki couldn’t reach it.

“You have no soul.” Nikki crossed his arms on his chest, but didn’t really pull off the offended face, only prompting Tommy to laugh. “You cruel, cruel bastard. What am I to do? Piss on the floor? Or hold it in and explode from too much pee?”

“You know,” Tommy looked at the floor with renewed interest, “it’s already dirty… wouldn’t hurt much.”

Nikki threw his head back and laughed. “We really getting desperate here, aren’t we? By the way,” he suddenly changed the topic, “when’s dinner?”

“Not sure,” Tommy said, confused. “It’s hard to track time here, you know. But… I’d say, in about half an hour.”

“Great. It won’t dry off by then.” Nikki said, whipped out his dick and peed right into the passage between the two rows of mattresses. “They always pass through here,” he grinned, shoved his dick back into his pants and returned to his place. Tommy and a dozen other captives watched the urine lazily flowing along the passage.

Tommy turned to Nikki and was met with a beaming smile.

“You really have no limits, man,” he said.

“The sky is the limit,” Nikki declared pompously. “And also it was the only place I could reach. But, as they say, two birds with one stone! They’ll have to walk along the passage, there’s not enough space between mattresses for the trolley. And my bladder isn’t tearing apart. I say, we’ve got a good deal.”

Thousands of objections began running through Tommy’s head until they became background noise. Yes, it will get their asses kicked, but it’s not like it hadn’t happened before. Besides, he wanted to hear the guards’ screams when they realized what they were walking on. Maybe it will get them to empty the bucket in time, too.

“Yeah,” Tommy grinned back. “Maybe it will teach them a lesson.”

Over the next half an hour three captives tried to demand they wipe the piss down, but to no avail. Nikki smiled at them with his brand smile – all sharp teeth and a crazy gleam in his eyes – and Tommy offered them to do it themselves if they disliked it so much, which none of them rushed to do. The urine persisted until the guards arrived with a trolley full of nutrient paste.

As expected, they didn’t look down. As expected, they heard the splash when it was already too late.

“Who the hell spilled water here?” one of the guards looked around the room. Everybody averted their gazes. “One of us could slip on that! If that happens again we’ll remove the washbowl and ration your water too!”

“Guys,” another said, “is it just me or does it smell like piss in here?”

Tommy and Nikki exchanged looks. It was increasingly hard not to laugh.

“Of course it does. The bucket’s heaping.” And they all laughed, the sound muffled by their helmets but nonetheless disgusting.

They began throwing packages with the paste at the captives, not really bothering to aim, but even when a package hit someone’s head, no one dared to say a word. Seeing people so beaten into humiliation and obedience was revolting, but also Tommy knew what they would get were they to act up, and he understood them. After all, when it’s a choice between dignity and survival, every normal person would choose the latter.

Nikki, by these standards, was straight-up bonkers, because he never once lowered his gaze even when black helmets turned right towards him. His sheer recklessness infected Tommy, because every time the piss splashed under the guards’ boots he couldn’t hold back a smile.

Eventually it attracted attention.

“What’s so funny, you pipsqueak?” One of the guards poked him in the shoulder with a bat.

“Nothing,” Tommy said quickly, staring at the guard’s wet boot traces on the floor.

“Bullshit!” The bat poked him harder. “You find something here funny? Tell us, we want to laugh too.”

Other guards began turning around and looking themselves over suspiciously. Tommy waited with bated breath for them to discover they were standing in piss.

“You see,” he began, “sometimes things are not what they seem. Not all that’s liquid is gold, but sometimes… it is.”

“What the hell does that mean? What liquid?” The guard looked down and Tommy could almost see his face falling. “Is this- is this-“

“That’s fucking piss! I said it smells like piss! I said it!” another one screamed, trying to wipe the soles of his boots on the floor. Tommy could only hope Nikki’s piss was acidic enough to leave those boots smelly for at least a little while after. “He peed in the fucking aisle!”

“You bastard!” the guard growled, grabbing Tommy by the scruff of his robe and single-handedly pulling him onto his feet. “You son of a bitch!” He pushed Tommy in the middle of the room towards the other guards. Tommy could bet their faces were creased with anger, and a chill went down his spine.

“Look at ‘im! He did it on purpose!” The one who smelled the piss jumped forward and raised the bat over his head. Then it collided with Tommy’s shoulder, and he almost dropped onto his knees, his vision for a second going white.

“Hey! Hey! He didn’t do it!” he heard from behind his back. Dammit, Nikki. “I did it! Leave him alone! I did it!”

The second blow never got there. All the guards turned towards Nikki.

“You?” one of them said.

“Me.” Nikki grinned back. “You should’ve sent someone to empty the bucket.”

Tommy watched the guards unchain him, but only to drag him to the middle of the room, push him onto his knees and zap him with two shockers at once, one in the chest and one in the hip. About twelve seconds into this Nikki must have blacked out, because he stopped screaming. The guards dragged him back to his mattress and dropped his lifeless body there, the knees of his robe soaked with urine.

“You knew he pissed there,” a guard said then to Tommy. “You knew and didn’t tell us.”

He got zapped too – later he figured out that he got an easier deal with just one shocker, though at the moment it was hard to tell with electricity seemingly disintegrating his body tissues. He was dropped on the floor right where he stood.

“You all knew,” he heard a guard say to the captives through ringing in his ears. “You all knew and said nothing, you spineless sacks of shit. You ain’t getting any dinner today. Give that back!”

It took Tommy some time to come around, and when he crawled back to his mattress, Nikki had only just awakened, his eyes still foggy and unfocused, a thread of saliva hanging from his half-open mouth.

“Man, you look like shit,” Tommy croaked.

Nikki only made an unintelligible groan in response, but Tommy knew he said something along the lines of “you ain’t no better”. Which, fair.

He laid down on his mattress, trying to combat the nausea that always came with electric shock. When one wanted to puke his guts out so badly, getting deprived of dinner didn’t seem half as bad. The captives probably didn’t agree, but none of them dared to express their discontent verbally – for now, at least.

Soon Nikki tried to raise his head and sit up. The guards forgot to chain him back, so he could finally use both his arms. Well, at least something good came out of this whole mess.

“Man,” he heard Nikki’s hoarse voice, “that was hella fun.”

And, despite his body hurting all over and his pants soaked in piss, Tommy could hardly disagree with him. At least now the guards knew they could get back at them – in their own way.

#motley crue #nikki sixx #tommy lee #motley crue fanfiction #tw: piss #piss features heavily in this chapter. its for plot purposes i swear #it basically goes like this:#nikki does some shit #tommy plays along #both get their asses beaten #and nevertheless have a good time #as we were falling #the title is eh. maybe ill change it if i come up with something better #but it will do for now

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scrawnytreedemon · 3 years

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Ooh, how about Hojo for the ask meme?

OHOOOO, I HAVE A L O T TO SAY, BABY-- Especially after seeing that final showdown, oh boy.

(hfhdkjfhjkj sorry for this being late!! had many thinsg to do <33)

For context, I know jack-shit about Dirge of Cerbeus, and I’d rather it stay that way. Vee has scarred me enough with her recollections from the wiki alone, and unless we finally do that shit-movie night we’ve been meaning to for awhile, I’m not touching it with a ten foot pole.

First impression: Horrible rat man; nasty. Your run of the mill Mad Scientist except somehow Even Worse. Perhaps a little generic at times. Pervy fuck. Probably has a bunch of obscenely lewd magazines in his study. Fuck him for fucking over absolutely everyone that’s gotten within ten metres of him. This guy fucks, and that’s how we got Sephiroth. -1/10, Worst Scientist, Husband and Father of the Year.

Impression now: I... I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I like him now, unironically. You win, Hojo Fuckers. Seeing that scene at the control panel, I think that man’s genuinely depressed-- Like, ‘I’ve devoted my entire life to my work to numb the pain but now I’ve realised it’s all for nothing and it’s fucking useless and I’m fucking useless and there’s nothing for me to do other than sacrifice myself for my son, who fucking hates me.‘ Like... Jesus Christ, I did not expect him to be so self-aware. He’s still a downright horrendous person and many of the things he’s done, if I believed in such a mindset, are downright irredeemable. Basically, I actually like his character now-- full-on -- even if he’s still a right bell-end.

Favorite moment: The rooftop scene. Jesus Christ, man, that changed my whole view on him. The way he’s actually becoming aware of how wrong he was, and how it weighs on his mind-- How, almost absently, as if he’s saying it more to himself, he tells Cloud he should become a scientist. It’s a small thing... But it speaks to a level of respect I don’t think Hojo has had for anyone in a very long time. He’s been brought to his limit, willing to give anything and everything so that the one thing he’s done right, his son who he gave up to further his now-dead career, succeeds in world-annihilation. What really gets me is that moment in the fight, where you’ve ended the first phase, when he says, apathetically, how he hopes the Mako juice is going-- And then he turns into a monster. This horrendous, twisted thing that’s barely held together by skin and sinew-- Probably one of the most downright-horrifying things in this entire game --And it’s just... like... wow... he broke.

Idea for a story: A fic where him and Sephiroth actually try and make amends. I’ve seen this guy killed off-screen so many times, and everytime, I am deeply disappointed. I get it. Hojo’s probably the worst character in the game. He has no morals and no boundaries, and he’s irritating as fuck-- I get it --But he’s also the reason all of this shit has happened, and is such a vital character in the forming of the story, in Sephiroth’s specifically, that I want him to be done justice. I want to see one of them reach out to the other, and slowly, bit, by bit, by agonising bit piece together something vaguely resembling a foundation for their relationship. I want to see them reminisce over the few good times they had together, and address deeply the many, many bad ones. It’ll be painful, and there will be many bumps in the road where they’ll feel like there isn’t even a point to this shit, and yet push on despite that. Because despite everything, they are family-- And not because they are obligated to, but because they’re choosing to. I want to see that. I really do. I’ll probably write it myself.

Unpopular opinion: I think my newfound appreciation of him in general, lmao. I won’t get into the paternity debate, as I’ve addressed that in Vincent’s post and another one. Perhaps the fact that I think it’s stupid that the scientists in FFVII get referred to by their first names-- Like, who does this shit??? Who out here thinks Hojo sounds like a first name??? It’s just... Really unprofessional and I don’t think Hojo is comfortable enough with anyone to just have them call him by his first name. Also Dr. Faremis Gast sounds better than Dr. Gast Faremis. I know it’s a pun in Japanese but I don’t give a shit. Fight me.

Favorite relationship: Him and Sephiroth, because there’s just, alot of shit. I don’t think he was ever truly close enough to Lucrecia for me to get invested-- It’s clear the relationship, though while initially stable and they probably got along well, was one mostly of work --And I don’t think there’s anyone else close enough to Hojo’s character to serve as another option, either. Maybe Vincent, but again, that was through Lucrecia. Seph and Hojo have this dynamic where strained doesn’t even begin to describe it. Hojo thinks Seph doesn’t know and Seph thinks Hojo doesn’t know that he knows-- And it’s painfully clear that had it not been for Hojo, Sephiroth wouldn’t have been so unstable. There was alot of abuse, physical and psychological, that got framed as ‘work,’ and it’s undoubtebly fucked with Seph’s very concept of ownership, and who owns another. It’s clear that on some level, Hojo feels shame for what he’s done-- Not guilt, shame --And is unwilling to let the boy(and perhaps even himself) from knowing his true parentage. Part of it’s definitely spite for Lucrecia, but there’s more. I could go one for hours, honest to god, so like, feel free to tack on your own ideas, fellow trash conoisseurs.

Favorite headcanon: Him being Wutaian. Not sure if it’s entirely headcanon, but like, it really is ironic. I personally think his family moved to Midgar while he was still young-- Perhaps due to a faction split -- so he grew up on the Eastern Continent, so he was stuck in this weird middle space alot of immigrant or descended from immigrants children where on one hand, you’ve got your family’s legacy, and you probably, if not fluently, speak their native tongue and carry out their traditions, and on the other hand you’ve grown up with people who’ve been here for generations and inevitably get moulded by their ways and their customs, perhaps to the point you’re more culturally theirs than your native land’s. If we’re going with the faction split, I think Hojo leans hard into the latter, out of a deep-seated indignance. Maybe his family were fairly influential, before they had to move to what was, no doubt, a less than idyllic neighbourhood. I think part of what made him want to become a scientist was that need to regain that honour, that dignity-- It’s very self-centred, and clearly didn’t work out.

Thank you Vee as always-- You incredible bastard --For both asking and also rambling with me about this grease-weasel for like, a good long time.

Knowing my luck I just might’ve gotten another hyperfixation. A terrible one. Fuck.

And to anyone who’s read this far, thank you! As always, feel free to throw in your own thoughts, whether they be replies or reblogs. I’m curious to know what the general vibe is about him(other than Haha Stinky Goblin Rat), as I don’t think he’s talked about all that much? Maybe I’m looking in the wrong places.

Anyhow Hojo Fuckers, I owe you a beer. Not a good one, probably tastes of piss, but knowing you lot, that’s probably just fine, lmaooooooo. Keep up the ungodly work <3

#ffvii #professor hojo #ask meme #scrawny speaks #I Have Posted Cringe #headcanons

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mild-manneredapricot · 4 years

Text

Okay I did the thing

Here is my self-insert Beetlejuice fanfic because I have no self-control

Emotional Support Stinky Rat Bastard Man: the fanfiction

Just to be clear, this is not slash. Reader is not being shipped with Beej. They're just friends having a good time. source: I am lonely and want friend

Reader is feeling lonely after everyone leaves for winter break and they are stuck in the dorms, until they summon Beetlejuice accidentally. Shenanigans ensue.

Chapter 1: It Begins

You’re invisible when you’re sad

The dorm was almost abandoned, it felt like. You walk the halls in your pajamas, wondering at the sudden silence. The lack of people was a bit unnerving, having been used to the noisy rowdy mess that was the freshman college dorm at all hours of the day and night. But now it was the end of December, time for winter break.

You were sure most of the other freshmen had families that they went home to over the break, while you and only a few others wouldn’t be heading home this holiday. It’s not that you didn’t have a family, or that they didn’t love you, they were just… away, taking your younger brother with them. You weren’t sure what your sister was up to, only that she wasn’t coming home either. Honestly you were rarely sure what she was up to. She was the most social creature you had ever seen. Nevertheless, the family house stood empty, an hour away by car, leaving you to spend a winter alone in the middle of the city. Surrounded by millions of people at all times and yet lonely. What a life you lead.

Let’s focus back on walking the abandoned halls. Although, not so abandoned, as you notice a person sitting at the table as you pass by the common area. You make awkward eye contact before moving on, descending the stairs to the lower level of the dorm, where you checked your mailbox (empty as always) and stepped outside of the building in order to walk a couple yards down to the cafeteria entrance in the same building. It was endlessly annoying how they closed off the indoors cafeteria entrance, forcing everyone to walk outside in order to obtain food. It was both parts blessing and curse, especially when it rained. Eating alone in the semi-empty cafeteria was certainly an experience, especially since the machine that made hot chocolate was still broken. Just in case, you try it as you pass by. Nothing but weird-smelling hot water.

It was the same routine three times a day. Go downstairs in your pajamas to eat a meal, go back upstairs to your room and wallow until your body alerts you that it’s time to eat again. Doing the bare minimum to keep your flesh machine functioning.

It had only been three days since your roommates had left. Three days since finals had ended. And you were already spiraling. It couldn’t be helped, you supposed. Depression is funny like that.

You barely remember trodding through the steps to make it back up to your room, but you do. You make it in, slowly shedding your outer layers until it’s just you in your pajamas, and then you climb into the beanbag under your bed and just curl up and cry. This had been going on for a while now. You were just, so depressed. You didn’t want to do anything and you didn’t have the energy to do anything and technically you could no nothing because there was no school but everyone had left and you were so lonely. For a moment, you pondered on what it would be like to have a friend, a single friend to spend the winter holiday with, but the thought just made you cry harder.

After a couple hours, you manage to drag yourself out of the beanbag to go to the bathroom, and as you look at yourself in the mirror while washing your hands, you realize how shitty you looked. “I need some serotonin.” you said out loud. One of the benefits of having the dorm to yourself was that you could just say whatever you wanted… and there was no one there to hear you. That sometimes made the depression worse.

Shaking away the thoughts, you went back into your room and wrestled your computer onto your bed and hit play on the Beetlejuice soundtrack, which is your new hyperfixation of the month. Anything comforting that you could get your grubby, lonely hands on in this time of depression you took.

You stand in the middle of the room as Lydia sang her ballad, just feeling the music. For a moment you feel like crying again, only to be hit by emotional whiplash when The Whole Being Dead Thing starts up. You recover, shaking your head and starting to awkwardly dance along, mouthing the words and doing dramatic motions to accompany them.

By the time the soundtrack had reached the halfway point, you were full out singing every song. There was no one in the room anyway and if any of the people living near you heard, they couldn’t say anything, or at least you didn’t care. You needed that serotonin, dammit.

You pause as Say My Name ends, out of breath from dancing and singing. You stand, heaving, as the dialogue at the beginning of Day-O starts playing. You grin, mouthing along to Delia’s lines and breaking out in song when the first “dayyyyyy-o” sounded.

Daylight come and we want go home

You sing along at the top of your lungs, trying to imitate the jerky movements you had seen accompany this song in the Beetlejuice bootleg you found on tumblr. You absent-mindedly dance through all the dialogue, until-

“Beetlejuice!” you shout along with Lydia, climbing on top of your chair as the Beetlejuice in the recording went on.

“Beetlejuice!” you scream to the empty dorm, fueled by days of depression and sadness and the desperate need to have someone there, anyone at all so long as you weren’t lonely anymore.

“give me just one more.” from your computer. You gathered up all the air in your lungs and squeezed your eyes tight for one last, “BEETLEJUICE!”

A swoosh and then the next line, “It’s showtime!” sounded like an echo.

You open your eyes as the soundtrack goes crazy and there, right in front of you, was Beetlejuice himself, in all his terrible striped suit and green haired glory. The only logical thing that occurred to your mind to do was scream and fall off the chair. Without taking your eyes off of him, you pause the music.

He grins at you. “Hey.”

“What the fuck.” you mutter. “Did…”

“Yeah, you summoned me here-”

“Can- How? I’m so confused. You’re real?”

“You know it babey.”

“Like…”

“Okay, let's not get into the specifics, I'm here and you summoned me, so what do you want me to do? Scare some people? Kill some people?”

“No!” you reach out for a second as if to physically stop him from just running outside and starting a killing spree. “Um… I need a second to process...” you wave a hand in his direction, “this.”

“No, yeah, sure I’ll just stand here and watch you. Cool space by the way.”

Does he ever slow down? You look around at the tiny dorm you called home. Half of it was your roommate’s so it was mostly empty of stuff except for the bed, and your side was decidedly messy. “Oh, yeah. I guess I have some cool posters of something.”

“Okay, so you good now? Can we get around to the reason you summoned me, cause I gotta tell you I got some other shit I gotta get to, so we gotta make this snappy.”

“Oh.” You wilt a bit, not wanting to let go of the only person you’d talked to in days. “Well I didn’t really mean to summon you-”

“Bullshit.” he scoffs. “Everyone means to do it, whether they know why or not.”

You squint, his comment already making you so much more tired then you already were. “Okay well to be fucking honest, I’m lonely as fuck because all my roommates left and so now I’m going to be spending the winter break in my dorm by myself and I’ve already started spiraling, so I was just trying to give my brain some seretonin when I accidentally summoned a fucking demon and honestly you’re the only human interaction I’ve had in days.” you finish, looking him dead in the eyes. He looked a bit surprised and you notice his hair had darkened a bit. “So there you go. Now you have full permission to just fuck off to wherever you want and leave me alone here to cry.”

You push past him and crawl back into the space under your bed, curling up in the beanbag with a blanket.

A moment’s pause and then, “Hey.”

You groan inwardly. Why hadn’t he left yet? Didn’t he have someplace better to be? He had already said as much. You glance up over your blanket and see the stinky rat man crouched down in front of your under-bed cave. “What?” It comes out a bit more bitter than you meant it to.

“You okay babes?”

You roll your eyes, ignoring the tears that immediately started threatening to overflow at the question. “Obviously not.”

Another pause and then, “What's wrong?”

“Did you not hear any of what I just said?” you sit up, finally meeting his eyes, and you notice his hair had become streaked with blue. “Mood ring hair.” you mutter.

“What?”

“Nothing. So why haven’t you left yet? Don’t you have some other, better, place to be?” you cross your arms.

“Well…” he stops crouching and sits down in front of you. “I was actually lying about all that.”

“...okay?”

“Actually since you summoned me I can’t go away until you un-summon me.”

“Un-summon?”

“It’s this whole complicated process, involving-”

You cut him off. “I just have to say your time three times again, right?”

He froze and you knew you had gotten it correct. “No…”

“Your hair changes when you lie.” you nod to it.

He looks up and started messing with it, frantically trying to hide the streaks of yellow that had suddenly appeared. He looked so serious that you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. He stops messing with his hair and looks at you and you immediately look away.

“So you know how to get me to leave, you can just-” he flails a bit, “and I'll be gone.”

You pull the blanket back over yourself and curl back up into a ball, letting out a muffled, “Okay.”

You could feel Beej’s eyes on you as the silence stretched longer.

“So… you gonna let me go or what?”

“I don’t know.” came the muffled reply. You pull the blanket down a bit so your mouth is free and continue. “On one hand, I'm incredibly lonely and depressed and I’m going to be basically alone for the entirety of the winter break, but on the other hand you’re weird and liable to kill someone at any given moment.”

He chuckles darkly. “You got that right, babes.”

You roll your eyes again and pull the blanket back up over your face. “I’m too depressed to make that decision. Or any decision for that matter.”

“Fine, I’ll make it for you.” he stands up, making a big fuss out of brushing his suit off. “I’m sticking around baby, and there’s nothing you can do about it!” and with that, he vanished with a pop.

You uncover your face and look around, but he was gone. “...what.”

#fanfiction #beetlejuice #my writing #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice/reader

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thebestworstidea · 4 years

Text

The Witch and The Green Knight

Since I wrote it, I might as well share it; This is the story that my Inktobers came from this year.

Relevant links: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1111962 https://tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors.tumblr.com/post/187742587770/out-of-curiosity-if-remus-had-existed-when-ypu https://thebestworstidea.tumblr.com/post/188026273483/tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors-so-a-while-back

(on Ao3)

The wind was blowing but the night was fairly warm, with clouds chasing each other across the sky and the moon.

A figure wrapped in a shawl hugged themselves, standing on the path that led to the hanging tree, visible in the distance. They faced the town, back to it.

“You’re facing the wrong way.” A voice said behind her. She didn’t answer, fingers digging into her shawl. “Having second thoughts? You’re so close. The tree is right there.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” she said at last.

“It’s not? It’s why all the mortals come on nights like this.”

“I know.” Her pupils were wide, staring into the dark behind round glasses lenses. She didn’t look at him. “That’s why I’m here. If I can make one person turn back, it will be enough. I mean good. That’s why I’m here.” She could feel the body come closer, and smell it like a freshly fertilized field, rank and heavy.

“You’re here to disrupt other people’s deals? Nasty nasty woman.” There was a laugh, musical but slightly discordant. “I like it.”

The wind blew again and she turned her face into it, not looking at the source of the voice.

“What if I didn’t like it? What if I wanted to play? What’s to keep me from stopping you?”

Now she turned to face him, a tired, overweight woman with round glasses and hair that wouldn’t stay in it’s braid, her chin raised a little as she looked him in unnaturally bright green eyes that glowed just slightly in the night.

“I don’t fear death.” She said. The fae laughed. He laughed so hard he fell down, clutching at his stomach, and wiped away tears.

“You humans are so funny.” he laughed. “Just saying things that are untrue, anytime you please.”

She could look down on him now, and her mouth twisted into a frown.

“I don’t lie.” She said.

“Oh?” he propped his elbows on his knees, and chin on his hands. “Tell me your name then.”

“I’m honest, not stupid.” She adjusted her shawl, and it gapped to show a green stone with a hole through it, worn on a cord around her neck. “I said I wasn’t here to make a deal. I said I don’t fear death. And I don’t lie. All of these things are true.”

He laughed again, and came to his feet bonelessly. A weapon came to his hand, and she watched the head of the mace descend. Her body twitched, but she closed her eyes. One of the studs pressed against her nose.

“Boop.”

Her eyes opened again. The mace dropped and he leered at her from inches away from her face. His breath smelled like blood.

“Oh I like you.” And he disappeared.

Drawing a shuddering breath, because not fearing death did not mean she welcomed it, she turned back towards Wickhills and resumed her vigil.

This night was cloudy and dark, but warm like a sauna. It had rained at dusk, and the ground was steaming from the hot day. Behind the clouds, the full moon was a hazy white circle. She sat on a rock by the path, knees drawn to her chest.

“Back so soon?”

She jumped a bit, squeezing her legs, but didn’t say anything.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to be polite to the neighbors?”

She stretched her legs out and turned sideways, so she could watch the path, and the fae, whose head was framed by a tree. He was filthy. The leaves that edged his tunic were ragged, and there were an assortment of leaves stuck into his hair. She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Good evening.” She said instead. “This is the second time I’ve been here, since we met.”

“Do any good?” He laughed at her. She stuck her tongue out then immediately folded herself back into a ball.

“I like to think so.” she said after a long moment. She raised her head to see him perched in front of her.

“Hrmmm” he rubbed his chin. “Do you fear death yet?”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Are you afraid of other things? Like spiders? Snakes? Earwigs? Things that crawl on you in your sleep?”

“I’m scared of lots of things.” they came up unbidden, filling her mind and she tried to shove them down, terrified suddenly he could read her mind.

“Oh goodie, a game.” he clapped his hands, bouncing. “Blood maybe?”

She scoffed.

“I don’t know if trying to come up with things to scare me is a good game.”

“You’re right, it’s not a game unless someone can lose something.”

“I’m not interested in playing a game with you. I think that would just be another way to make a bargain.”

“Poo. That’s no fun.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” She stared down the path. The silence dragged on and he didn’t leave “... snakes are cute.” She’d noticed his belt was fastened with a buckle shaped like a coiling snake. She didn’t know why she said it. But she did think snakes were cute.

“I think so too.” he turned and walked towards the treeline. She watched him go, wondering what any of that meant.

“What about the dark? Are you scared of the dark?”

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be out here.” She was scared of things in the dark. He’d gotten her to jump by coming out of the dark suddenly. He’d laughed uproariously again, and kept asking about things that scared her.

“What if I turned you into a horse and rode you over the mountains and under the rivers until dawn?” the fae picked up the ends of her braids and snapped them like reins. She tugged free.

“You wouldn’t get far before I died of exhaustion.”

It wasn’t any worse than being back in school. In some ways it was better. Their interactions had rules. In a way it was very similar. He was trying to get a reaction out of her, for whatever reason.

“What if I turned you into a tree?”

“That sounds restful.” She admitted. “But I wouldn’t be a very big tree, would I?”

“Little trees get bigger.” He considered this “Then in a hundred years you’d turn back and be a giant.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” she laughed.

“Oh you know so much about magic?”

“I know some.”

“Clever little tree.”

She shivered a bit. It was a bit too close to her name for comfort.

“I know there are places that don’t believe in fairies.” She told him. “They say that fairy rings are caused by dead trees.”

He laughed.

“Well that’s stupid.”

“Not everywhere is like Wickhills.”

“I know. I’ve seen.”

“You what?”

He bounced a little in place. “I was on a quest! I traveled far and wide! I went from one ocean to the other.”

She didn’t know what to make of that; that this fae had traveled more than she had.

“I’ve never lived anywhere else. I was born here.”

“You are a little tree. Rooted in the dirt.” It looked like that had stuck.

“Then what should I call you?” she challenged.

“You can call me ‘your grace’”

“‘Your Grace’?” she asked incredulously. “Like a duke?”

“Yes, just so-”

“Well ‘your grace’, I’ve seen you fall on your face. Not the most graceful thing.”

“Well little tree, you should see more of me. You’d like what that would bring.”

She started to reply then frowned. At his broad grin, she frowned harder. She had two choices. She could let him win this little challenge, or she could keep up the chain.

“I’ve seen more than enough; so I guess that’s just tough. Keep it in your plants.”

He laughed.

“It’s a beautiful night; and if I can’t give you a fright, why not give it a chance?”

She tried to think of something that rhymed with ‘asexual’. He probably wouldn’t understand what that meant anyway.

“I’m not your type, it wouldn’t live up to the hype. You have nothing that I want.” Before he could answer, she upped the game. “So drop the flirt, it’ll do naught but hurt, you grimy and green dilettante.”

“Well you’re right you aren’t who I want, he can’t be found in normal haunts, but I can still have fun. With flesh and skin, a wicked whim, I could get some… luck.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, which took his entire body with it. She held up her hands, looking away.

“In this case you win, the only rhyme I can think of suddenly is ‘fuck’”

“Suck.” he offered. “Pluck, duck, Cuck-” He choked on that last one and coughed. “You were doing so well too- do I get a prize?”

She applauded sarcastically. “Oh wait, no-” She dug in her sweater pockets, and offered her hand palm down towards him, something held in it. He put his hand out beneath it. “I picked this up accidentlly this afternoon. I think it’d suit.” A slightly crumpled four leaf clover fell out of her fingers as she opened them. “There you go, ‘your grace’ you got some luck.”

“Giving up a good luck charm?” he asked, inspecting it.

“Oh, they’re not good luck for me.” She explained. “I try not to pick them, but it’s still an automatic response. I guess I picked it for a reason, today.”

“Aw just for me.” he cooed syrup sweet. The wind changed and she got a faceful of the smell of him, compost and blood, and this close, very strong. She coughed.

“Stinky.” She said pointing at him, and grinning. “Stinky bastard man.”

“... eh, you’re not wrong.” he tucked the clover into his hair.

She smiled innocently, then stood up and dusted herself off.

“I’m leaving. Clearly this was just another example of clover-induced bad fortune.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, little tree.”

She flipped him off and walked away.

“I know what that means, and you already said no!” he called after her.

It was absolutely the kind of night she should be inside, the sky completely clear, the full moon casting stark shadows. Predictably she couldn’t sleep. She supposed it was just that these were the kind of nights that ghosts and witches walked, even in summer. Still just a quick walk, there and back. She’d stay on the path and it would be fine. She’d just gotten in sight of the old tree when she heard something crashing through the woods. Turning to face it, she saw the fae striding towards her, mace slung over his shoulder. Normally he looked insane, but tonight he looked mad as well. He was between her and town, on the path and coming closer. She backed up a few steps without meaning to, then stopped herself and held her ground. Now was not the time for him to stop thinking she was funny. Clenching her teeth she met his eyes. They weren’t that different in height, but those few inches counted.

“Still no fear of death?” His breath smelled like wine tonight, not blood.

“Not of death.” She swallowed.

“What if I sired a half breed on you?” he grabbed her arm. “Would that scare you?” For a moment he thought he’d done it, and then her hand came out of her sweater pocket and something sprayed into his face. It burned. He dropped her arm and fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands, which only made the pain spread to his palms. The noise he made was somewhere between a wail and a whimper.

“Nettle, iron and salt, in spring water blessed.” She held a spray bulb, like one might mist plants with. She held it like a weapon. A leaf of stinging nettle floated above a black nail. “Yes. That scares me.”

He was crying, trying to get it out of his eyes. She shifted back and forth as her breath calmed down watching his discomfort. Finally she disappeared for a moment, coming back and kneeling beside him, peeling his hands back and putting a large dock leaf over his face, and then another in his clutching hands. “Shhh shhh. You were just trying to scare me, weren’t you?” She rubbed small circles on the other side of the leaf, and the pain ebbed. The girl hummed as she worked, seemingly forgetting that she’d been the one to hurt him. He grabbed her wrist.

“Why.”

“Little trees have deep roots?” She offered, tugging at her wrist, but he was stronger. “I don’t like seeing people cry. I was scared. You’re scaring me again.” The threat hung, and he let go. She kept humming. After a bit she started to sing “Hush little baby don’t say a word, mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird...~” she’d gotten through the entire song by the time he lay still.

“You’re not good at singing.”

“I know.” it still sounded like it hurt. She pressed her hand down on the dock leaf, squishing his nose. “You’ll probably heal. I … didn’t know what would happen.” she admitted. “I use it to keep things away.” Normally she’d apologize for hurting someone but it didn’t seem like a good idea in this situation.

“Not going to work.” he sing songed. “Little tree, sing me another song.” She wrinkled her nose, and started to stand up, but he grabbed her skirt. She liked that skirt.

“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?” she asked irritably.

“... No.”

She sang another lullaby, one she’d memorized by watching Hocus Pocus a hundred times. This was a terrible idea. He wasn’t her friend. He wasn’t human. He just thought she was entertaining. Wait, had he actually fallen asleep? He was still holding her skirt. She had no idea what to do about this. Then her heart leapt into her throat, and she suddenly discovered that she did in fact fear death. She had attacked a member of the gentry. It didn’t matter how funny he thought she was, if he scarred from it, or even just mentioned it to… to… she realized in her careful quest to not tell him anything about herself, she knew nothing about him. Surely he had friends or allies. She could get away if she took the skirt off. But she knew the magic she could do with a piece of someone’s clothing. She’d wait. The adrenaline slowly ebbed from her and she changed positions so she could put her head on her knees. Any time. He’d wake up any time.

She woke up in the predawn light and he was gone, leaving her alone in the grass beside the path, in a ring of tiny mushrooms.

“Oh yay.” She said bitterly, and limped home, sore from her night on the ground, hoping very much that she would reach there the same night she left.

She was very tense the next time she went to the path. The more she’d thought about his threat, the worse it felt. In the moment, it had been terrifying. Dwelling on the idea of it was worse. The leftover fear of her reaction still felt sour, and her new found realization that while she might not fear death, dying was kind of terrifying. Something to a tell a therapist if she ever found one. Gods, could Wickhills use a good therapist that understood the town. Having to start from ‘okay, I’m not crazy but fairys…’ was not a great place. She felt something settle on her head and jerked sideways, disturbing the flower crown that had been placed there, it dipped over one eye. The fae stood behind her, where he’d apparently gotten without her noticing.

“Scared you again.” he said, but the smugness seemed… off. “I went too far.” he added. “I shouldn’t have taken my bad mood out on you.”

Her eyes bugged. He was… apologizing? Sort of? She put her hand up to the wreath of flowers, starting to take it off.

“I can’t take this-” she started

“It doesn’t mean any more than a dock leaf.” he flipped a hand dismissively. She let her hand drop. An apology for physical pain. An apology for mental pain. She sat down where she stood, legs not willing to hold her for the moment. Getting back to the house was going to be fun.

He crouched down, elbows propped on his knees, staring at her.

“You’re a funny little tree.” he said.

“Am I?” She asked.

“I wonder why.”

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” She asked. They were both sitting on a rock. He hadn’t even tried to scare her tonight. “You know why I’m here, but why are you?”

“I’m talking to you.”

“Well yes, now, but it doesn’t seem like you’re here to make deals, or something like that.”

“No, I was just passing by.” He lay back and stared at the sky. “Got momentarily distracted by a silly tree.”

“Passing by in the middle of the night?”

“Doesn’t matter to me! I’m looking for something.”

She fought the urge to ask him what.

“You haven’t found it yet?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s been hidden.”

She fought the urge to offer to help. He sounded… sad.

“You mentioned someone you liked.” she tried to change the subject. “Why don’t you spend time with them.”

“He’s dead.”

Critical failure. She winced.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“What?” He was staring at her like she’d done something ridiculous.

“I’m sorry for your loss. It hurts to lose people, and it must be worse for your people, because you live so long.”

He just kept staring, like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Then his face lit up.

“I figured it out, little tree.” She tried not to react but her eyebrows raised anyway. “You’re a witch! You can help me~”

“I already said you have nothing I want.” She looked away. “Besides, I’m just an herb-witch. I probably can’t do what you want. Whatever it is you want.”

“Are you sure?” He cosied up, pressing their sides together. Her nose wrinkled. Was it strange she was getting used to the way he smelled? “I’ll bring you the sweetest fruits from the goblin market, to make you pretty and soft. I’ll bring you rare herbs from the fairy hills to bind men’s minds and hearts. I’ll steal a shawl from the Spider’s lair to wrap your pretty blond hair.” he lifted the end of her braid, and tugged.

“I don’t… I don’t want any of those things.” she said. Then she smiled just a little. “Are you trying to make a bargain with me?”

“Oooh~” he giggled. “I like that, funny tree. We can play that game.” he cast a glamour and sat down, casual jeans and a green button up. “You can be a fairy, and I’ll be a human.”

She scrabbled backwards away from him in a way she never had before, suddenly scared. There were tears in her eyes.

“No.” Picking up her skirts, she ran into the darkness.

It was storming. She sat next to her window and watched the tossing of the tree outside her window. At least with the driving rain no one else would be venturing out either. It was late. She should go to sleep. This was probably the last big storm of the summer. Then it would be fall, and winter, and too cold for her to venture far from her house. By the time it was spring again, hopefully the fae would have forgotten about her. She rubbed her eyes. That shouldn’t upset her. They weren’t friends. You couldn’t- she corrected herself, even in her head- you shouldn’t make friends with the fair folk. Especially not crazy ones. He was mean to her. He kept trying to scare her. He’d never actually hurt her. He couldn’t lie to her. He always talked to her. She tried to pull her knees up to her chest and only got part way before the pain stopped her. The rain hissed down and the wind blew like it had a vendetta against the trees. She closed her eyes, and tried not to let the sound of the wind frighten her. Funny, she didn’t think any of the trees were close enough to knock on her window. Wearily, she opened her eyes and looked at the window. If there had been thematic justice in the world, lighting would have illuminated the outside, but instead she only saw faintly luminous green eyes shining through the reflective dark surface of the glass. Rythmicly something rapped against it. She stood bolt upright, chair scraping back against the floor, only wincing a bit as her joints popped. She unlatched the window, and yanked it open, followed by the screen.

“What are you doing here?” She demanded, not flinching back from the rain that came in the window.

“I know your name” he teased, leaning on the window frame. “Rowan Baker.”

Rowan’s mouth worked, because she’d never expected him to follow her. To read the sign outside her house. Rowan Baker: Herbwitch. To most people just an advertisement of a home business.

“How… how do you know that’s not someone else in the house?”

“Because you’re a witch, little tree. What better name?”

Rain poured down on him unheeded, rattling onto the sill. It plastered his hair to his head and made his mustache droop. He looked insufferably upbeat anyway.

“Fine. You’re right. You solved the mystery of me.” she sighed. It wasn’t all of her name, anyway. No one gave their middle name casually in this town, though there had been a conversation about them in grade school. “I suppose you can call me Rowan.”

“You can call me by my name. Remus.” Spreading a hand over his chest he gave a little bow.

“That’s your name?” she was shocked.

“The smallest part.”

Still it was more trust than she’d expected. Rowan suddenly wondered what he thought their relationship was. Rain lashed across them both, standing on opposite sides of an open window.

“... you’re greener than I thought. In the light.” she said at last, unable to think of anything else to say.

“That’s just the way I am. You couldn’t tell?”

“I’ll have you know I have excellent night vision. I can see almost as well in the dark as in the light.” She folded her arms over her chest, and was unprepared for him reaching out and taking her glasses. From his body posture he’d put them on.

“... that’s terrible.”

“I’m getting the spray.”

“Will you be able to see it?”

Unable to help herself, she gave a huff of laughter, and put her hand out instead. He returned her glasses. She was sorry she hadn’t been able to see him in them. She wiped them off on her sleeve.

“I just sort of expected you to wear black.”

“Why?”

“Black’s a color for mourning.”

“Huh.” He sounded contemplative.

“So you found me. You know my name. Game over?”

“Still bored. Also wet. Can I come in?”

“You can’t come into the house. Other people live here.” She pointed to the base of the tree, the one she’d been named after. “I’ll come down if you want to talk. But you can’t be on my porch roof like this.”

“I can!” He did a dance step.

She rephrased

“Please get off my porch, and I’ll meet you under the tree?”

“Promise?”

“I won’t; but I will.” she slid the screen down, then the window, and tossed a towel on the dampness on the floor. It only took a moment to pull her boots and raincape on, and step into the deluge, walking around the porch until the branches of the rowan tree sheltered her. It was a tall old tree, heavy with berries this time of year. It had been well established when she was born, and it was only older now. The wind tossed the branches, and she wiped raindrops off the lenses of her glasses.

Even though she was half expecting it, Rowan still yelped when Remus’s face dropped down in front of her. He’d perched in the branches of the tree, lying in wait to spook her.

“You shouldn’t run from me, by the way.” He dangled from his knees.

“Why not?”

“It makes me want to chase.” His eyes and teeth gleamed and she was reminded for a moment what she was dealing with. “I like a hunt now and again, and I love a game.”

“I’ll try to remember. You just… said something that opened an unexpected hurt.”

“Did you pretend you were a fairy when you were a kid?”

“Something like that.” Rowan didn’t feel like telling him how long she’d wondered what she really was. She leaned against the trunk of the tree and stretched out her legs, one after another, sticking them out in front of her and rotating her ankles. Raising her arms, she stretched them as well, feeling her spine pop. Her hair was wet and cold. The fae flipped over the branch and landed next to her.

“It’s no fun if I’m not scaring you on purpose.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I still think you could help me.”

“I doubt I could.” She retorted. “I’m only good for little bits of help, and frankly, you look like you could use a great deal.”

He laughed.

“I’m a mess.” he agreed. Wind drove a sheet of rain through the branches, spattering both of them with water.

“So am I. So I guess we make good company.” They stood there, silent, watching the storm. Neither of them made any move to leave, though Rowan stretched her legs out occasionally. Eventually, the storm passed and the sky cleared. As the clouds rolled away, the temperature plummeted, and their breath fogged the air under the tree. It was early but the air held a promise of frost. They both sighed, and the sound made him laugh.

“Not the way I like to keep people up all night.” He shook the last of the water out of his hair and she flinched away as it spattered her face. When her eyes opened again, he was gone.

The next time she saw Remus, the deep green of his coat had been replaced with a soft sort of black, the kind that made her think of staring into darkness, trying to make shapes in it. It was also in day time, while she was in a clearing in the woods behind her house. It wasn’t deep in the forest by any means, if you squinted you could even see the house still. Rowan had always thought it might have had an outbuilding in it at one point or something. But nothing was there now, and she encouraged herbs that did better wild to grow there. Besides, the bees liked it. Her mother called it her ‘wild’ garden, and she was starting to prepare it for winter. The day might have been warm, but she had to move slowly, so it was better to start when she could.

“Good afternoon.” She said pleasantly, wondering if she should mention the coat. Perhaps it had something to do with the changing season. The equinox had just passed. She looked back down at the overgrown plants she was trimming down, grabbed another handful, and made a careful swing of her machete.

“So you’re going to help me, right Rowan?” He asked. She kept swinging, laying down a row around the edge of the clearing.

“I’m kind of offended you think I’d fall for that.” She told him conversationally.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” he laughed.

“Well, I could, but it would be silly.” She raised her head and smiled. “Still looking?”

“Still hidden.” he agreed.

“See anything interesting while you were looking?”

“A whole elk skeleton with a tree growing up through it.”

“That is cool.” She stopped and tried to picture it. “Through the ribs or what?”

“More through the chest, looked like it was humping it.”

“Do you mean hugging?”

“Pretty sure I said what I meant.”

Rowan laughed in spite of herself.

After a while, it became routine, almost. When she was working outside, Remus would show up. Sometimes it would be casual, sometimes he’d sneak up on her to make her jump. Rowan only took a swing at him once when he opened with tickling her ribs. He hadn’t seemed to mind, and her nails had barely dislodged one of the leaves from his mantle. Also routine was his asking for her help, or trying to trick her into it. He didn’t seem to mind that it never worked. He’d gossip at her about the court, but with no context and no names it didn’t really mean much to her. Well not no context. She had a little context, but it didn’t help much with most of his epithets. ‘The Spider’ was easy; clearly he’d been a retainer of the Serpent King, and didn’t have much respect for the current lord. ‘Sprout-consort’ and ‘Honey and Cream’ were a bit more confusing but ‘Witch Consort’ was enough a surety that it told her who the others were. She wasn’t stupid, after all, or blind. While she hardly had her thumb on the pulse of Wickhills gossip, she heard plenty. Besides, there just weren’t that many witches in the area. There were only so many people it could be other clues aside. His deep animosity was a little more confusing, but clearly there was a lot going on there, and she could either ask, and find out- a terrifying concept- or just accept it and let him talk. If he’d been human she would have absolutely considered his talking it out good, even with the vague-yet-specific compilation of violence. It sounded like venting. It wasn’t anything worse than she’d thought about in her darkest moments. She realised, all at once, that he didn’t have friends either. It wasn’t just that he spent all his time combing the forest for something lost or hidden, but that there weren’t any fae he sought out for companionship.

That was probably why she softened, as October stretched on.

“So what do you want my help with?” she asked.

“It’s a secret. You have to promise not to tell.”

“Who would I tell?” She didn’t think the deflection would work. Remus had years of asking questions instead of lying on her.

“You have to promise.” He was fierce.

“I.” she was considering it. Giving her word to a fae. It was crazy. It was stupid. She was going to. “I promise I won’t tell your secret.”

“Help me find the grave of the Serpent King.”

She was absolutely going to die.

“No.”

It didn’t seem to dissuade him. In fact, he started waxing estatic on the previous ruler of the fae himself, including far more information that Rowan would ever want or need. Within a few conversations it was painfully obvious that Remus had been somewhat closer than just a retainer. He had very little filter. She did discover that she could derail him by asking how the search was going.

“What will you do if you find it?” Rowan asked desperately. He wasn’t even being dirty this time, but ten minutes was her limit of listening to someone sing the praises of someone’s eyes who she would a) never meet and b) would probably have killed her if she had. He considered.

“I thought I might take his bones to the darkest part of the forest. Where he was born, and see if maybe that could bring him back. Or I could lie down with him and wait for death. Would you open me up and let my intestines become vines?”

“How would I get back?” she retorted. “If I was there too.”

“Wouldn’t be my problem!”

She stared at him for a long moment.

“Open your own damn guts.”

“Aw, but that would be hard.” he whined. “I prefer other things to be hard .”

She tipped him into her compost heap. He didn’t seem to mind.

Rowan sat on a stone wall, soaking in the fall sunlight like a camel gearing up for a cross desert jaunt. She had a basket and a lap full of acorns, sorting through them for the most perfect specimens. Sometimes she tossed the rejected, sometimes she let them fall by her feet, or dropped them into a crack in the wall. It was a whimsical kind of thing. The sound of a shifting stone caught her attention, and she saw Remus walking along the wall thoughtfully. She threw an acorn at him.

“Changing the kind of tree you are?” he asked and dropped down beside her, reaching into her basket and taking a nut.

“I was really expecting a nut joke, honestly.”

“Too easy.” He cracked the acorn between his teeth making her wince, and ate the meat.

“Yuck.” Rowan said thoughtlessly.

“They are pretty bitter. I prefer filtering them through small animals.”

“I knew you had a shit eating grin.”

He cackled.

“That’s what I get for going easy on you?”

“I’d say it’s more that you’re a bad influence.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a paper bag, offering him a piece of maple candy instead. They were shaped like acorns.

“A dream come true.”

She stuck a piece in her mouth, and went back to sorting acorns, going through them a second time with more exacting standards once she was finished. A thought occurred to her.

“Say, you might be able to answer a question I’ve always had.”

“Fae dicks look like human dicks, only better. I’d love to give you some hands on instruction.”

“What do pixies taste like?”

She actually got him to stop and blink, then laugh.

“Pixies?”

“So high, usually winged, kind of annoying? What do they taste like?”

“You know they’re like… people?”

She cocked her head and met his eyes.

“What’s your point?”

He laughed again.

“So what I’m getting out of this is you haven’t eaten a pixie.” Rowan was more amused than disappointed.

“I stuck one in my mouth once, but that was more of a threat than a vore thing.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What did it taste like?”

“Blood, it stabbed the fuck out of my mouth.”

She shrugged.

“Disappointing. I thought they’d taste like sugar soap bubbles. Lots of froth but no substance.”

“You really put a lot of thought into this.”

“They used to tie knots in my hair when I wasn’t paying attention. I could never catch them.”

“Now I want to know.” he stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “I’m not going to be able to look at one without wondering.”

Rowan couldn’t help it, she started giggling.

“And I thought I was the bad influence. I feel threatened, Rowan, positively threatened.”

“Hey, I think we’ve done enough role reversal.”

“You’re the one with the vore fetish!”

“It’s not a fetish, it was a reasonable question!” They both were laughing. Rowan ran her fingers over the smooth side of an acorn. “What are you up to?”

“Tracking.” He shrugged. “Things have changed more than I would have expected while I was gone.”

“You know I was wondering; why were you on a quest?”

He waved a hand dismissively

“There was a thing, I was kind of jealous, might have tried to kill His toy once or twice or three times, so He sent me to catch one snipe for every time I tried.” The way Remus said ‘He’ was very telling.

Rowan laughed.

“You were sent on a literal snipe hunt?”

“As opposed to what?” he looked genuinely confused.

“... Okay, work with me- when humans send other humans on snipe hunts, it means they send them off to get scared and embarrassed in the woods, because it’s a prank.”

“So no snipes?”

“Snipes are?”

“Kind of like Pertyons? Got antlers and beaks full of teeth, and sharp, deerlike hooves. Enormous eyes. Wings that hit like a falling log. Pretty rare.”

“How is that like a Peryton?”

“Deer bird thing?”

“Fair enough.” She tried to picture it. “You killed three rare animals?”

“Four.”

Rowan pursed her lips, not sure if she wanted to ask.

“I wanted a spare.”

“For when you tried again.” She put her head in her hands, not sure if she was laughing.

“It’s like you know me.” He was grinning. She could hear it.

“So what happened?”

“I brought them to the Spider. He’s the lord of the Forest, and technically, that completed my quest.” he went quiet. It stretched on and she bumped her shoulder against his.

“You ok?”

“I wasn’t here. I should have been; if only to die for him.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She tucked an arm behind his back, and hesitantly laid her head on his shoulder. Not quite a hug, but close. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have been here.” he repeated. “I shouldn’t have let it get to me. He’s only a human. I could have waited. He’ll die eventually.” his eyes suddenly slid sideways to her. “You are going to die.”

“What, today?” She asked, making a joke of it, sitting up. She didn’t realise how unfocused his eyes normally were until they were focused on her. Rowan hopped off the fence, and picked up her basket. “I should get back.” Part of her didn’t want to go. It wanted to stick around and cajole him until he was making dirty jokes again. Melancholy didn’t suit him. She could feel his eyes on her for longer than he should have been able to keep watching.

Halloween came unusually warm that year, floating on a week of summer-like weather. Trick or treating was over, and now there were only older children making mischief, and Rowan couldn’t sleep. She knew the warmth couldn’t last, and she knew that while she’d regret pouring all her energy into dancing the next day, she’d regret not dancing more. So she plugged in her earbuds, silly novelty ones that made her look like she had pointed ears, and took herself to her clearing, still wearing her costume. She wore a wreath of silk rowan leaves and berries crowned with small antlers, with her hair unbound, and fake wings that bounced when she walked and flared when she turned. Rowan had dressed like a fairy of one sort or another for Halloween for more than half her life. In the dim starlight she stretched her arms to the sky, and let herself imagine herself as something other than what she was, as she danced. In the dark it didn’t matter what she looked like, and she danced until her voice rasped in her lungs, bobbing and swaying, eyes shut, lost in the music. She whirled happily and then suddenly bounced off a warm body. Her eyes flew open.

He was wearing a mask, leaves curling around his face, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind who it was. Who else would be in the clearing? He gave a mocking bow, and held out his hand in a clear invitation to dance. For a moment she forgot what she was, what he was and thoughtlessly reached out for the offered hand, breathless and full of music. Just before their fingers touched, the song in her headphones changed, and she jerked back.

“Did I scare you?” he asked.

“I scared myself.” She was panting for breath now, the spell she’d wrapped herself in broken. She wrapped her arms around herself, and stepped backwards another step. ‘You shouldn’t run from me.’ she heard in her memory. He was less terrifying in daylight. It had been a while since she’d encountered him at night. The sweat on her skin was making the leaves she’d carefully glued in place loosen. Rowan heaved a couple of deep breaths, and raised a trembling hand.

He offered his again, like they were at a formal dance in a movie. She reached out- and right past it, pressing his nose with one finger.

“Boop.” She said brightly, and curtsied, making her escape while he laughed.

Fall was nearly over, with trees being more bare than bright. Even the sky seemed washed out and gray. It was as if October had taken up all the good fall had to offer. Rowan felt tired already. Hearing a car rattling up the road behind her, she shifted to the grassy verge. The pickup whipped past her at full speed.

“Slow down.” she said automatically. “You’re going too fast.” To her surprise she heard the car turning around, and looked up as it zipped back towards her.

“Hey Baker Act, still talking to yourself?”

Marco Spencer. Of course it was. Rowan contemplated trying to jump the ditch and running into the woods. The ditch was pretty deep and wet right here. Better not risk it. Of all of the assholes she’d dealt with in school, he was certainly one of the most persistent. Most of them had just gotten on with their lives, and they’d pass each other like anyone else. Some tried to pretend they hadn’t done anything. Usually she let them. The truth sometimes wasn't worth it, and she wished she could pretend they hadn’t done anything either. But Marco- he was just unpleasant as a person. Unpleasant in that way that other people seemed to find entertaining, for some reason. Maybe just because the unpleasantness wasn’t aimed at them.

“Do you need directions?” She asked, and mentaly suggested a southward trip. “It can be easy to get turned around on these backroads, can’t it?” It could be easy in a place that didn’t change itself, let alone Wickhills. “I’m fairly sure that if you keep going the way you were, you’ll hit Backwoods Road. That’s paved even.”

“Same old weirdo.” He was leaning out the window, letting the car ease forward.

“Are you drunk?” She asked, getting a good look at his face. “In the middle of the afternoon?! You know what- yes, I talk to myself, yes I am a weirdo. No, I do not have to talk to you. Goodbye.” She turned and marched down the road. There was a long moment when she felt the thrill of escape, and then the engine of the truck gunned behind her.

Rowan turned around and saw the door of the truck coming at her and jerked aside, foot slipping and sending her tumbling to the dirt. The door slammed shut and the brakes screeched and she heard laughter as dust settled on her. Her head had hit something when she fell and it stung. It burned, with that strange cold feeling that happened sometimes when you got a scrape and it felt like it should be bleeding. No… she was bleeding. Her fingers found a gash at her hairline; a little triangular tear. She glared at the sharp edged stick that had wounded her, getting to her feet.

“Are you serious right now?” She demanded. “We haven’t been in school for a decade, and you see me and just-” Rowan’s eyes stung, as blood dripped down from the cut on her forehead. She pressed her palm to it, trying to stop the flow. “Knock me over like it’s funny.”

“Hey, you fell over on your own.”

“Liar.” She was crying now, she couldn’t help it. She hurt, and she was so mad. “Why are you like this? What did I ever do to you?”

He only laughed more.

“I never touched you- who would?” The door slammed again, he’d gotten out. “Say, you’re a witch. I need a curse.”

“If I haven’t cursed you yet, what makes you think I’ll-” He grabbed at her arm and she pulled back, as another emotion joined the cocktail swirling in her chest. Fear.

“Not me, my wife. Bitch. Says she’s gonna leave me. Can’t lose another.”

“That sounds very much like a you problem.” Rowan spat. “I don’t do curses.”

“Bullshit. Love spell then. Make her stay.”

“I will not.” How much blood was she losing? Did she have a concussion? None of this made sense.

“So you can do that?”

“What is this thing?” A different voice. There was a shattering noise.

“What the fuck?” Marco swore.

“I don’t like it.” another shattering noise

“Who the hell do you think you…” Marco trailed off, and Rowan felt someone step up beside her. Marco took a step back.

“I don’t like you much, either.” there was no mistaking that voice. Rowan wiped blood and tears out of her eyes.

“Remus no!” She grabbed at where his wrist should be. She couldn’t stop him if he wanted to. She didn’t want to stop him if she was honest with herself. She still was going to try.

“Aw, I thought you’d never call me by name.” He spun her around, and tucked her under his arm instead. “You should have called me if you were going to get into a fight, I like fun things like that!”

“I was just picking bittersweet, it wasn’t much of a fight.”

“Then why are you bleeding?”

Marco was staring at them, then at the shattered headlight on his truck, then back at them. He backed up and climbed into his truck. It showered them with dirt and gravel as he drove away.

“Bullies don’t need a reason to be bullies.” Rowan swallowed her tears down. “That being said; Please say you looked like a human to him; I don’t need the kind of reputation being saved by you would give me.”

“Of course I did… n’t.”

She sighed in resignation, but found herself relaxing against him anyway. She didn’t even mind the smell of him at the moment. It felt far too good to have someone come to her defense like that. Then she felt something swipe across the cut.

“Oh Gods EW! Did you just lick me!?”

“... I like the taste of blood. You weren’t using it any more.”

“You stinky compost man-” stooping out of the arm across her shoulders, she plucked a withered leaf of plantain from the scrub on the verge, and pressed it to the cut. “That’s disgusting, and I don’t even want to know what kind of germs you have.” He put his arm back around her and went to do it again, and she shoved her hand against his face, laughing, only to squeal in disgust when he licked her fingers too.

#Willow is writing

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sleepywinchester · 5 years

Text

Unusual | Chapter 24

Summary: It’s always hard to say goodbye.

Autor: @sleepywinchester | prev. deanwinchester-af

Pairings: Dean x Katherine

Characters: Dean Winchester, Katherine Pierce, Sam Winchester.

Words: 3k+

Warnings: Fluff / Angst

Title: The Second Trial

A/N: ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I UPDATED THISSSSS. Even though I did already upload this chapter in Wattpadd ages ago, I forgot I did not do here. For the smol people that are still interested in this series, this is for you. xoxox

Tags: @fandommaniacx you’re the most loyal reader to this fic, thankyou. *hugs*

Feedback is always appreciated it <3

“Wow,” I exclaimed with wide eyes as I saw Kevin’s extremely dark circles under his eyes. “You look like crap.” The boy sighed as he held onto his frying pan as if his life depended on it. “Sorry.” I shrugged trying to ease the harshness of my words.

“Thanks. I know I look like crap, I feel like it too.” Kevin said as he walked back and forth around his ship.

Dean, Sam and I glanced around for a second, looking at all the mess around this place.

“What’s going on, Kev?” Dean spoke. “What’s with the S.O.S?”

“It’s him,” Kevin replied glaring at the shielded window.

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Who?”

“Crowley!” He glared at me. “He’s in my head!”

“He’s in your head…?” Sam asked full of doubt.

Dean and I couldn’t help but stare at Kevin as if he was completely crazy. Crowley could be the King of Hell but he didn’t have that kind of power. Kevin continued to stroll back and forth.

“Stop,” I told him. “You’re gonna make a hole.”

“He. Is. In. My. Head.” Kevin rose his tone. “Do you know what that means?!”

“Yes. It means we need to up your anxiety meds.” Dean stood next to me. “Kevin, you are dreaming. Look if that son of a bitch knew where you were, don’t you think he’d do a hell lot worse than just messing with your head?”

“Where’s Garth?” Sam asked in the back.

Kevin shook his head, fully exasperated that Sam would ask for Garth in this situation.

“On a case - or the dentist, I don’t know. He hasn’t been here in weeks.”

“Hey.” I gained his attention. “What’s that you needed to tell us?”

Dean stood a couple feet next to me. He rubbed his forehead as he told Kevin to put the frying pan down. Kevin sighed deeply and placed the pan on the table as he grabbed one of his notebooks.

“I translated the second trial from the tablet.” He said walking towards us.

“You… Stinky, crazy, prophet! Nice work!” Dean cheered up.

Kevin backed up from the hug. “If Crowley is in my head… He knows!”

“Relax,” I told him. “He is not in your head. What’s the second trial?”

The prophet sighed deeply one more time, still annoyed that no one would take this threat seriously. Ignoring the lack of focus, he continued to tell us the second trial.

“A soul has to be rescued from hell and delivered into heaven,” Kevin said.

“Rescue a soul from hell… Like actually go to hell?” Sam's voice was uncertain. “How do you get a soul into Heaven?” He glanced at me. “How do you even get a soul out of hell.”

“If we can get into Purgatory, we can get into Hell,” I told them.

Dean rose his eyebrow, “Last time I checked, you were not the Key of Purgatory anymore.”

“Let’s just say Purgatory is like Hell’s neighbor.” I spoke to them as I walked around the place. “t has some sort of portal that gets you into hell.”

“Like a backdoor?” Dean asked.

I was walking behind Kevin when I stopped and looked at Dean, “Exactly.”

“So, how do we get in there?” Dean scowled.

Continuing by walking around and reached Dean’s side. “Rogue reapers. For the right price, they can smuggle you into Purgatory and then into Hell.”

“I thought you were the only one who could do such thing.” Sam looked at me with doubt in his eyes, as if I’ve been lying to him all this time.

“I’m supposed to be the only key but those bastards can get anywhere if they put their minds to it,” I replied with total honesty. “All we have to do is find a reaper and we’ll be going first class to Purgatory.”

“Alright,” Dean cleared his throat. “Where’s can we find a reaper?”

“I know the business, I do not know the locations…” I said with a shrug but the continued speaking, “but I am pretty sure a demon knows where to find one.”

/ / /

“Ajay,” Dean called out the name of the rogue reaper as we approached him.

The reaper didn’t show much emotion when we stood in front of him.

Ajay’s eyes landed on me, “Word is that you were in Purgatory.”

I arched an eyebrow and with a smirk I replied. “Guess they were wrong.”

“We want to do business,” Sam spoke up.

“Why would you two do business with me when you’re rolling with the Key of Purgatory.”

“I am not the key anymore,” I said before Sam or Dean could speak for me. “I’m pretty sure you’ve heard what happened so spare me the gossiping section. Can you get us to Hell, yes or no?” I spoke with a tough tone.

Ajay smirked, “For someone with no power, you still have some attitude.”

“Oh, I can still kill you if I wanted to.” I glared at Ajay with a dull look.

He backed away, “Alright. Going to Hell is not cheap though.”

“How much?” Sam asked.

“You three are resourceful,” Ajay said passing his glance through the three of us. “I do this for you guys and one day, you’ll owe me a favor.”

“Have we met?” Dean tilted his head a little.

“I am the reaper who took Bobby Singer to hell,” Ajay said.

Instantly our eyes were wide open at this new piece of information.

“He can’t be in hell,” Dean yelled. “He’s not supposed to.”

“Well… If you’re not in the boss good list, no way you cross the friendly skies.” Ajay said totally unbothered.

“How much for two tickets down and three back?” Dean asked without even thinking.

“Two?” I glared at him. “I am not staying behind.”

“Hell yes, you are.” Dean snapped. “You can’t go back to Purgatory.” He turned to Ajay, “How much!?”

“Dean,” Sam called his brother with a raised tone.

“What?!” Dean turned to Sam.

Sam motioned to take a couple steps back from Ajay to talk. Dean sighed harshly rolling his eyes but followed his brother. All I could see in Dean’s eyes was the desperation to take Bobby out of hell in that exact minute.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Sam

“You heard the guy, Bobby is in hell. We are gonna spring him.” Dean hushed back with attitude in his tone. “I don’t even know why are we discussing this.”

“We’ve been over this, I have to do the trials solo,” Sam told him. “Neither of you can go to Purgatory or Hell with me.”

“This is Bobby we’re talking about Sam,” Dean said.

It took almost Sam had to convince Dean and me into letting him go alone. Ajay told us how it was going to work and it seemed pretty easy. Dean and I watched from the end of the alley as Ajay took Sam into Purgatory. Once their bodies disappeared behind the wall full of graffiti, I let a deep sigh out.

Dean began to walk back and forth as the minutes passed and it began to give me anxiety. I wanted to tell him something that would comfort him but he’s been to both places Sam is going and neither is a good place for anyone to be.

“Calm down,” I told Dean. “Sam is a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“I can’t and he doesn’t…” Dean clenched his jaw. “Bobby is in Hell… Sam is alone going through the two most damned placed in existence. He shouldn’t be alone and we both know it.”

Reaching Dean, I took his hand and stared into his eyes. “Sam is going to be fine. He can take care of himself, don’t underestimate your little brother.” I said with a soft smile. “We’ll be back in 24 hours, everything we’ll be over by then.”

It took Dean a moment to agree and leave the alley and go to Kevin’s place. He and I rented a motel room to spend the night, once it was the morning we went back to Kevin’s.

“Hey Kevin, come here and grab some of these eggs,” Dean shouted as he cooked scrambled eggs in the kitchen. I walked up to him and touched his shoulder. “Yours are already served, babe.”

I gave him a kiss on the cheek as I grabbed my plate. Turning around I come across with Kevin’s mess of a table, living room and place in general.

Letting a sigh out, I sat down at the table. “I miss the bunker,” I murmured.

“You and me both,” Dean agreed as he kept cooking. “Kev! Come on, man! You can’t hide forever!”

“He hasn’t left that closet since last night?” I asked taking a bite of the crunchy bacon.

“No,” Dean turned his head when the front door got open and Kevin walked in. We both looked confused at the prophet who suddenly was walking outside. “What happened to be scared?”

Even though he was back to being out and about, he still looked like crap and scared out of his mind. Kevin grabbed a piece of bacon as he continued to walk back and forth.

“I’m still scared but now I made a preemptive move.” He told us.

I couldn’t help but frown at his words and actions. “Sorry - a what? And why?”

“I can’t sit here with the table like a....” Kevin shook his head, “like a sitting duck. Crowley is breathing down my ass. I had to get rid of the table just to take off some of the pressure.”

I stood up the second I heard Kev got rid of the tablet.

“Wait.” I snapped.

“Getting rid of it?!” Dean snapped on top of me.

Kevin shook his head. “Temporarily.” He glanced at Dean, “I hid it.”

“Where?” Dean’s voice sounded more like a growl now.

Kevin arched his brow. “If I tell you where it’s not hidden, is it?”

“Kevin!” Dean snapped. “Tell me where the damn tablet is, or I swear to-” He was trying to keep his calm but the anger was slowly building up. Dean to deep breath in and out. I reached Dean’s side, holding subtly his arm, my eyes still looking at Kevin. “Where did you put it?”

“I am not telling you,” Kevin told us, the scowl on his forehead letting us know that there was no way in hell the location of that tablet was going to come out of his mouth.

"Kids. They're so cute when they're little." A voice joined us, making everyone spun towards it. She wore a perfectly neat grey pantsuit and her chin up high. "Then they turn into teenagers, and the party's over." She said as she slowly approaching us. The more she approached us, the more I gripped my knife tighter. "We haven't been formally introduced, Dean, Katherine. My name is Naomi." If I couldn't see through her fake politeness, I'd say she looked like a good person. Dean protectively stood in front of me, both of us shooting cautious glares at her.

“Oh, I know who you are and I know what you did to Cass.” Dean’s voice reflected so much anger towards her.

Naomi began to speak about a lot of stuff, saying how much she helped or thinks she helped and not damaged Cass, When she finished her monologue, she vanished into thin air, just like all other angels tend to do.

“I hate angels.” I groaned under my breath as Dean drove. “Except Cass,” I looked at him, “he’s okay-ish.”

Dean let out a small scoff. “Well, he is not in the good list... “ I felt his eyes on me, so I looked at him. “At the moment.”

We strolled into the ally, the taxi was parked there with someone sitting in the driver's seat. Once we were close enough, we noticed Ajay’s was sitting there but with blood dripping down his neck. He was dead and with that, Dean instantly started to panic.

“Who are you calling?!” I asked when I saw him reach for his phone.

“Benny.” He replied instantly.

Him saying our friend’s name didn’t make sense any sense at first.

“Benny?” When I spoke his name out loud it was when it hit me. “Dean. No.”

“That’s the only way!” He snapped back, his eyes were wide and scared of what might happen to his family. “He’s my little brother, Kat. Benny can bring him back, just like we did.”

I turned away and took a deep breath, looking at the street and not believing myself for what I was about to say. “Call him.”

I did not sleep that night, I couldn’t. When the sun came up and we met with Benny in the ally. He appeared next to me, with the same big smile as always, which I returned with the same smile and hug. I stood aside as Dean explained the situation to him, avoiding any eye contact as Dean spoke to him.

Benny whistled taking a couple steps to his left. “When Dean Winchester asks for a favor, he’s sure not screwing around.”

“Sending you back there is the last thing I ever wanted to do.” Dean’s voice was shaky. He was scared and ashamed for asking this to his friend.

“I know, I know,” Benny replied.

“But is my little brother stuck down there…” Dean told him.

“This would be the little brother who wants to kill me?” Benny rose an eyebrow.

"You got access to the place," Dean said

"By "access" you mean, "getting beheaded"?" Benny said

"Yeah, you're right-" Dean's voice break, "I-It's too much. It's not like I've exactly been there for you lately."

"Oh, come on, Dean. Both of you know I love a challenge." Benny said

My glance went up to see Benny's face. "You're serious?" Dean and I, asked in sync.

"Hey, he's your brother. I say let's do this." Benny said

"I owe you," Dean said

Benny shook his head, "You don't owe me nothing. Truth is, I've could use a break from all of this."

"It really been that tough?"

"I'm not a good fit, Dean. Not with the vampires, and for sure not with the humans. I don't belong." His eyes holding up tears looked at me, "And after a while... That starts to wear on you." He looks down for a bit, chuckling sadly to himself. I got closer to Dean, when he held my hand, I felt how shaky he was. Benny gaze at us with a half grin, "I'm glad you two finally realized it."

Dean and I smiled sadly and weakly. Slowly letting go of Dean's hand and slide my hand inside my jacket's pocket, then took out the little vile of my blood in it and a paper with the words of the ritual. Reaching Benny, I took his hand and place the flask and the paper on it. "You know the drill, tell Sam to drop the blood in the ground where the portal is, then say the magical words and we'll be waiting for you guys."

His frown got more pronounced, "I thought you couldn't do that anymore."

I sighed, “I shouldn’t, that might be the drop of power I have but I don’t care for it. I want you and Sam to come back, and this is how you guys do that.” I told him with hope in my eyes.

Benny hugged me tightly, "Take care of Dean and yourself... Love you, darling."

"I love you too," I whispered on his shoulder, not wanting to let go but time was ticking. I broke the hug, taking a couple steps back, whipping off my tears.

"Let's get on with this," Benny said.

Dean stared at him for a little longer, "Are you sure about this?"

"Not my first rodeo, man," Benny replied with a smirk.

I couldn’t bear to see how Dean took out his machete and prepared to kill his friend. I ran both of my hands through my hair, moving my head both sides. "I- I can't watch this," I said with a cracking voice, turning around, focusing my look on the floor. Trying to pull me together in order to not have a breakdown. My heart stopped and my breathing got cut off when I heard the sound of the knife cutting Benny's head, then when it dropped.

"Don't turn around," Dean told me.

Closing my eyes, I didn't respond - just focusing my thoughts that I'll see Benny when he gets top side with Sam. Dean literally hauls his ass off to Maine. We were there in the middle of the night. We hiked till the location we landed on our trip out of Purgatory.

"It's weird... They should've been here by now." I muttered walking around.

Dean sighed, "They'll be here."

Suddenly a brilliant flash of light appeared, followed by grunts. Seconds later Sam walked out of the bushes. Dean hugged him on sight, relieved his brother is here.

"So..." I catch my breath, "Now you understand why I hated my home?"

Sam chuckled, tired from the day he’s had. "Totally."

"Did you get him out?" Dean said.

Sam's expression changed instantly. "Only Bobby."

"What?" I snapped.

Sam looked at me, "Benny uh- he got us out. A bunch of vamps showed, and he used himself as bait. I get the feeling that even if that didn't happen, he didn't want to come back, you know?" I clench my jaw, holding all these mixed emotions in. "I'm sorry." I gave him a weak smile, understanding now the words he told me. Sam finished the ritual, taking Bobby's soul out of his arm. Suddenly on his way up, it's stopped. But he made it up, after an apparition of Crowley and Naomi. This trial hit him more than the first, now both of his arms glowed and the drops on his knees groaning of pain. Dean glanced at me, the concern is obvious. I pursed my lips, slowly shaking my head. This is not good.

"You're the closest thing I had to a brother..." I said on top of Benny's grave. Dean and I buried him, burning his bones didn't seem right. Maybe one day, he can get out or we might end up in there again. Who knows. A chuckle escaped out of me, "I'll miss you, Benny." Was the last thing I said before turning and getting inside the Impala. Once in there, I slept all the ride back to Kevin's place. Which was completely empty. Maybe he was right, maybe Crowley was in his head or he just bailed on us, who knows.

#dean winchester fic #dean fanfiction #dean x katherine #unusual #elsie writes

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gaiatheorist · 6 years

Text

Food, again.

I’m in one of my precarious states in terms of Mental Health, or Emotional Well-being, or Warm and Fuzzies, or whatever we’re supposed to be calling it this week. I’ve been driving this clapped out bus of a carcass long enough to recognise the warning signs of an impending crash, to be fair, it’s not surprising at all that I’ve ‘lasted’ this long, it’s me, isn’t it? (The counsellor is supposed to be exiting me today, after more-than-double the number of sessions he’s meant to allocate. At the last session, he dropped in “A lot of people wouldn’t have come through what you have.”, and I had to bite back “I’m not ‘through’ it, I’m ‘in’ it.”, and respond “Resilient and tenacious, aren’t I?”, which reminds me of Creepy Carpet Tile Man telling me “You’re like a social experiment, to see how far a person can be pushed, and still remain functional.”.) Without self-diagnosing too much, I’m dealing with a set of external circumstances that aren’t particularly pleasant, and I’m too bastard stubborn to just give up, and live under my duvet. This ‘Nervous Breakdown’ is dragging its arse like a dog with worms.

I can’t ‘fix’ myself any more than I already have, I have plateaued at ‘superficially functional’, a fair approximation of an adult-human, albeit one who has brain injuries. Not that anyone would know, unless I told them. I’m ‘surviving not thriving’, and, while I do still have enthusiasm for some things, they’re quite a narrow range of ‘things’. “Get a hobby”, “Join a group.” “Go out for a walk somewhere nice.”, aye, those suggestions are helpfully trotted out by people who don’t have brain injuries, they don’t mean to be insensitive, they’re just suggesting what they think they’re supposed to. ‘Normal’ situations, to everyone else are profoundly debilitating to me, and explaining that, repeatedly, is exhausting. (Yes, I could get some little cards made up, with “I’m not being ‘off’ with you, I have brain injuries.”, and a list of my common symptoms, but I fear that people would either start asking me even more questions, or, worse still, start talking to me in the loud voice, with the small words. I’m difficult. Appearing ‘normal’, with brain injuries, is difficult.)

I do have brain injuries, and fluctuating Mental Health, what I also have, in a Liam Neeson voice, if you please, is ‘a very particular set of skills.’ Apart from being able to sneak up on people, which is fun, and being able to cross-reference, and apply pre-existing knowledge at a speed that freaks people out, I have an uncanny ability to ‘get underneath things.’ (You at the back, stop laughing, I don’t mean hiding underneath other people’s desks.) I used to flippantly describe that ‘particular skill’ as “I can get where water can’t.”, and, begging for gin on Fakebook aside, it’s the reason I’m not dead. Hyperbole? I don’t think so. The Universal Credit unemployment benefit I’m on, while my PIP disability Tribunal comes through, doesn’t cover my outgoings. It never did, I used my own money to make up the difference at first, and I’m just about to run out of ‘Trust Fund’ payments from my Employment Union, I won’t be coy, it’s a ‘hardship grant’, and, when that runs out, I will start to accumulate significant arrears. (Did you know that utility companies can apply for deductions to be made directly from benefits? I didn’t, until last month, when the water board took a breakdown of my income/outgoings, and noted that, paying my rent, and keeping my phone and internet on, for work-search, and emergencies, what with me being single-and-disabled, left me £40 per month for food. “Instead of £38 per month, you could pay £7.70 per week, would that be OK?” Would £10 per month for food be OK, let me think about that one?)

I’m effectively ‘shoplifting, but only from large chains’, here. (I’m not ACTUALLY shoplifting, stand down. Some people will be shoplifting, I’ve seen one hell of a spike in ‘security’ vacancies over the last year or so.) Utility companies are corporations, while it’s not ideal for me to go into arrears, they have back-up funding, I don’t. Last month was the first month of arrears, well, technically THIS month is the first month of arrears, when you stop your direct debit, the companies automatically bill you for the payments until the end of the tax-year, asking for money for services you haven’t used yet, which is why I didn’t cancel the utility bills until now. See “Getting where water can’t.”, hopefully I’ll have sorted out the disability benefit before my utility providers can sort the paperwork to take me to County Court, if not, I can evidence to the judge that you can’t pay £749 out, when you only have £662 coming in, and use the StepChange debt advice service templates to offer a ‘temporary payment arrangement’ of £1 per month. Delightful, isn’t it?

All of that is background noise, but it is impacting on my Mental Health, my ‘work coach’ is going to refer me to the DWP ‘Work Psychologist’ at our next session, my money is them telling me I would be in better emotional health if I was working. I know that. This vile predicament I’m in now isn’t a ‘lifestyle choice’, it’s me trying to fight my way through the unfit-for-purpose UK disability benefit system. I’m exceptionally high-functioning on some levels, but not at full-time capacity, I need to work part-time, to compensate for my deficits, but I can’t afford to work part-time on minimum wage. If I’m compelled into full-time work, there is the potential for my known-disability to place myself or others at risk of harm. The bit of DWP that deals with PIP doesn’t communicate with the bit of DWP that deals with UC, my work-coach is really sweet, but, if ‘the system’ kicks in, I could be compelled to apply for jobs that I know I’d be unsafe doing. What a mess. I don’t know how many times I’ll be able to evidence that a job is unsuitable before incurring ‘sanctions.’ (Reason for referral to UC psychologist: UC.)

Background noise aside, I know I’m heading for one of my periodic ‘dips’ in emotional well-being, the symptoms are stacking up. I’m laughing at myself, because my ‘solution’ is very much one of the symptoms as well. To get a little bit personal, without boring you with all of the details, my sleep-pattern is wrecked, I have no energy, very little enthusiasm for most things, lots of “Don’t want to.” days, and a noted increase in urges to self-harm. I’m not standing on the motorway bridge, I never will be, but, yet again, I need to catch myself on this slide before I hit the bottom. (I genuinely CANNOT hit the bottom, as much as that niggly little voice in the back of my head whispers that being sectioned under the Mental Health Act would trigger appropriate support. I don’t believe that it would, I think it would trigger a short stay on D-ward, where I’d be medicated into the same state-of-compliance as the other patients. I’ve visited D-ward a few times, the staff are stretched beyond capacity to cope, I’m not planning to add to their burden.)

The symptom/solution? A ‘project’. Yes, I know, I bang on all the time about the ex and his ridiculous ‘projects’, I can’t use my shed, because it’s full of his project-crap, and the spare ‘bedroom’ (That you wouldn’t be able to fit a bed in and open the door, I’m probably bedroom taxed on a large cupboard, there.) is also full of crap that he’d bought and then bored of. As is about 3/4 of the loft, oh, and there are two canoes and a ‘spare’ door for his 4wd in the back garden, it’s like living in Steptoe’s yard. My Dad visited me this week, he does ‘projects’ as well, and, while I usually just think ‘knob-head’, and move on, having a different stinky-man sitting in my house, telling me about a greenhouse he was building, and how one of his Facebook posts had “more than 200 likes!” (It was a two-line comment, starting a heated debate about he US president, and it had typos that made me twitchy, I’m not selling myself back to my father as admin, though.)

Dad banged on for about 300 years about tomatoes. In fairness to him, he doesn’t know I’m allergic to raw tomatoes, and, if I want to keep open the prospect of eventual inheritance, I’m probably going to have to accept occasional carrier-bags of surplus tomatoes. (Nasty side-thought there, not my half-sister on my Dad’s side, and her ponies, and multiple trips overseas, but the fact that my half-sister on my Mum’s side was given their old house when they inherited my Step-father’s maternal home. Oh, and my brother’s extortionate wedding in Greece. I cut off my nose to spite my face in terms of family, I’m gritting my teeth gradually increasing contact, but it looks like I’m smiling.) I will accept the surplus tomatoes, albeit not as enthusiastically as I accepted the birthday gin. What I’m doing here is what I always do, I’m advance-planning for a summer-glut of tomatoes, after almost two years of not having horrible tasteless-mushy ‘Moneymaker’ tomatoes from the Father-in-law occupying fridge space. I’m advance-planning sauces that can be frozen, and chutneys that can be preserved, because eating raw tomatoes makes me really ill.

I subconsciously started preparing for the likely fruit/veg glut from my Dad yesterday, with my first venture into pickling. ‘Back of the salad drawer pickle’, because one of the peppers had a soft spot on it, and I’d already meal-planned how to make one pot of soup last me all week, without sacrificing a pepper. (Must remember to give the kid the better of the two griddle pans I have. griddle-seared peppers are great.) The ‘project’ isn’t pickling, or soup, or pickle-soup. (Terms and conditions apply, we’ll see if I fall far enough into the rabbit hole to start making pickle-soup.) The ‘project’, inspired by a Twitter conversation at daft o’clock this morning, insomniac Twitter has some fantastic brains in it, and mine, is ‘Nowt thrown out.’ (I’m a Yorkshire lass, I’m allowed to say ‘nowt’ instead of ‘nothing’, for comedic effect.) When I prepare meals for the kid and I, there are always ‘leftovers’. That’s not actually sloppy portion-control, it’s deliberate now, with the combination of a very low income, and a disability. “Cook once, eat twice.” is now the accepted normal in this house, because the additional effort I need to put in to remain safe whilst preparing food is a drain on my already-diminished resources. ‘Leftovers’ mean that there’s always something immediately available, or something that can quickly be re-purposed. That can be as simple as the kid and his friend having leftover (home-made, from scratch, get me) pizza for breakfast the day after I’ve made it, or more involved, like that time the ‘leftover’ pizza sauce appeared in four different meals. (There’s a side-rant bubbling up about a recent internet issue about the packaging-plastic on pre-prepared vegetables, the insinuation being that EVERYONE who buys pre-chopped food must just be lazy. No, some of us are disabled, the bags of pre-chopped vegetables in my freezer are thumb-savers, as well as life-savers sometimes.)

As I plate up meals for the kid and I, I’m already planning what to do with the remnants. (Admittedly, I don’t think I’ll repeat the ‘Everything left from the fake-away bunged on one tray, with the last of the pizza sauce, and some more cheese’ experiment, that was a Thursday, I don’t usually cook on a Thursday, so I hadn’t ‘planned’ it as such, it was just that there was food ‘left’, and I can’t afford to throw it away.) When the kid isn’t here, I’m even more frugal in my exertions with ‘preparing and cooking’, if anyone from the PIP-end of DWP is reading this. Actually, if anyone from the UC-end of DWP is reading it, that’s probably relevant, too. Hello, DWP, I’ve had the same pot of soup for every meal this week, you can make that work by only eating once a day, my hair is falling out, my fingernails are splitting, my skin is dull and flaky, I’m hardly ‘polished for job interviews’ right now, because I’m probably malnourished. That’s very ‘me’, I have a hell of a lot of food in the house, but I’m rationing it, because I don’t know how long it will have to last. Welcome to 2018, the siege-mentality chapter.

Everyone is ‘feeling the pinch’, and there are no indications that the current trajectory of domestic affairs in the UK will improve any time soon. Food costs are increasing, the cost of everything is increasing, but very few people have an income that is increasing in proportion. There are various incentives on-going in the UK to reduce wastage, but that’s not going to have much of an impact immediately. People in general are used to having a wide range of food readily available, and throwing away far too much of it. (The ex was a swine for it, he’d throw out things that had “Gone bad.” despite not actually having checked whether they were still OK. It became evident, over a period of years, that he had no sense of smell, there’s nothing quite like trying to work, and having someone shove a carton of milk under your nose. I married a gibbon, who once fished a packet of Quorn slices out of the kitchen bin and ate them. Yes, they were sealed, but I’d binned them because they were a month past the use-by date.) That’s what some people won’t understand at first, that ‘best before’ might as well say ‘buy more.’

Retailers might be paying lip-service to the whole ‘reduce, re-use, recycle’ idea, but they’re not going to kill the golden goose of ‘best before’ any time soon. Some people don’t know how to ascertain whether food is spoiled, so that little date on the packaging is taken as the expiry date, then edible food is thrown in the bin, and replaced by more food that might well follow it. There is information out there about ‘best before’ and ‘use by’ dates, but the big supermarkets aren’t really shouting it from the rooftops, the Co-op IS trialling a scheme of a 10p “Don’t be a binner, have it for dinner!” selection of ‘expired’ canned and dried goods, but the scheme is limited to 125 stores in the east of England. The cynic in me wonders how prominently displayed the reduced goods will be, before the Co-op declares the scheme is closing due to poor take-up.

I was browsing ‘recipes for leftovers’ yesterday, no particular reason, as I didn’t have any leftovers to use up. I’m not counting the last portion of soup in the slow cooker as leftovers, that’s meal-planning. The results of my internet search made me angry. Everything makes me angry, and, on reflection, looking at the recipe sections on the websites of major supermarkets was the wrong place to start. (I’d started there because I couldn’t risk the sudden pop-up of video-adverts on independent sites, it’s a brain damage thing.) Supermarkets don’t *really* want you to use up leftovers, what they want people to do is keep buying more than they can use, and throwing it away on the mystical ‘best before’ date, then replacing the thrown-away product with an identical one. Oh, and that thing that’s on 3-for-2, and one of those ‘New!’ things in the display near the checkout. The supermarket recipes-for-leftovers were deliberately complicated, and, in most cases, required ingredients that people might not have ‘in the house.’ Wahey, I have a portion of ‘whatever’ in the freezer, I’ll have a look for ideas of what I could whip it into. Oh, wait, I don’t have any saffron (I do.) or any fresh rosemary (there’s some in the freezer, I need to clean the bits of rosemary out of EVERY bloody freezer drawer.), better pop back out to *Insert supermarket here* to pick some up, ooh, a 3-for-2 on something I didn’t go in for, what a bargain. (It’s only a bargain if you wanted 3, and you can use them...)

This is where the ‘Poor people eat rubbish’ comments happen, and where I feel compelled to shout “No, we don’t!” I am living well below the poverty line, my UC is something like 1/3 of the national ‘average’ income. ‘Poor people just order take-away!’ ‘Poor people cannot cook from scratch!’ ‘Poor people think chickens lay cheese!’, OK, I exaggerated on that one a bit, but it wouldn’t surprise me. It’s the outsiders-looking-in thing again, yeah, you can’t see much if you look in here, because my massive telly is in the way of the window. “Don’t buy pre-packed, it’s lazy, it’s cheaper to buy from a farmer’s market!” One of my hands doesn’t work, and the farmer’s market is on once a month, in a town a £4 return bus journey away, do you really think I can carry a month’s worth of vegetables home on a bus? “Don’t buy from convenience shops, it’s more expensive, use one of the discount supermarkets!” Again, I live in a village that’s relatively remote, not as cut-off as some, but the £4 return bus fare for a ‘big’ shop at Aldi, or even the £2.50 back home if I manage to walk there are pounds no longer in my pocket for food. “Don’t use the ‘big’ supermarkets, it’s better to buy from small, independent retailers!” Mate, have you SEEN my High Street? We have a Tesco, more charity shops than I can count, some nail-bars, some take-aways, and about four billion hairdressers. There’s a butcher, I’ll just subsist on hooves and tripe, to ease my civic conscience, shall I?

Until you’ve made one slow-cooker of soup last all week, don’t get judgemental at me for using 28p own-brand dried mixed herbs, instead of hand-chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley. Don’t tell me that I’ll ‘ruin’ a dish by using sunflower oil instead of extra virgin olive oil, or that own-brand and budget-range foods are ‘cheap and nasty’. More than that, don’t assume that, because my weekly food allowance is roughly £10, I must be living on £1 ready meals, and white cider.

My ‘project’, to distract myself from my ‘emotional well-being issues’ is something I dabbled with the idea of a while ago, but never got around to doing. I’m going to set up another blog somewhere, on the theme of ‘Nowt thrown out.’ When I speak to Approved Food about my kidnapped sausages (Better just not to ask about that.), I might ask about linking up, for ad-revenue as store credit. People who have always had plenty of food are going to need to reduce wastage, as costs increase. People who have ‘never’ cooked are going to have to learn. People scraping by on next-to-nothing might appreciate tips on how to make f*ck-all go a little bit further. I’ll feel like I’m doing something useful, and it’ll keep me out of trouble. Possibly.

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