#gonna go back to posting like once a season soon i just got consumed by this au over the past week. dont look at me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

you-cant-spell-subtext-without · 3 years

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so get this. I was gonna roll around in Tombstone related fluff today - but no, no - this post came across my dash so Now We Are Gonna Discuss the Carnal Consumption of Meat as it appears on That Show Supernatural. YEAH BUDDIES!

(also my sincere apologies to OP of the inspiration post who innocently tagged it with “lunch date!” because I am about to go Elsewhere, cursedly).

Let’s all go meat man, after the cut!

This analysis centers primarily on 5x14 Bloody Valentine. The title of course is a semi-homage to a 3D Slasher Film Jensen starred in circa 2009.

Which I will be renting soon I guess. ,[<- parasocial panda GET BACK IN YOUR ENCLOSURE]

Also Its Really Fun that the trailer for Said Cinema ends with “nothing says date movie like a 3-D ride to hell” [are you also thinking of Cas pulling Dean out of hell, or are you normal?] ***unironically the teaser for 5x14 is -

EXT. SIDEWALK - IN FRONT OF ALICE'S APARTMENT BUILDING

RUSSEL

First date.

They then eat each other. Literally they eat each others flesh. They also do it while dirty talking about it. SPN IS A SHOW

ALICE Ugh! I've been so alone. So empty...

RUSSEL I know. Me too.

ALICE I want you, Russel---All of you... inside me...

[they both take bites out of each other, Alice chewing on a piece of Russel's flesh]

****Remember this detail, as it is important.

ANYWAY, it’s truly Cursed that not only are we doing an homage to this 3-D Jensen Horror Date Flick but also this episode is specifically centered on Valentine’s Day. The day honoring romance and love Now Coopted by Hallmark, everyone, that is the day spn writers chose to introduce us to

Sir Horseman of THE Biblical Apocalypse Famine.

Canonically, we are aware that the show is drawing from the book of Revelations in its depiction of the Four Horsemen. Here’s what it says about Famine -

"When He broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a black horse; and he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand.”

-Revelations 6:5

Famine holds scales (used to weigh out grain in times of food scarcity). Spn’s depiction is represented as hunger, a bottomless pit of need. It consumes souls (demon and human alike).

Cas describes Famine a little more poetically:

CASTIEL

"And then will come Famine riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty... "

"... and great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he is hunger. "

"His hunger will seep out and poison the air. "

***Consider a prior season in which we are introduced to the Seven Deadly Sins. Which are the sins associated with hunger?

Gluttony

and Lust.

***this is also important

Back to the episode. Case cold open, and we find out that Alice was a Nice Girl. In that she didnt drink, smoke or

have premarital sex.

***So Alice’s hunger for the sin of Lust caused her to succumb to it; and her demise was presented as Gluttony (literally eating her partner’s flesh). HMM

Famine’s presence is affecting the town, and Cas is not immune.

DEAN

And when did you start eating?

CASTIEL

Exactly. My hunger-- it's a clue, actually.

***They lay it out a little more in case you missed it ->

SAM

I thought famine meant starvation, like as in, you know, food.

CASTIEL

Yes. Absolutely. But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something--Sex, attention, drugs, love...

***this is so important. but of course because its spn and our textual narrators are generally unreliable (even in a Ben Edlund episode, yes I know)

we get a red herring

CASTIEL

Right. The cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came, and made them rabid for it.

***but that’s not accurate. they didn’t get married or become obsessed with each other (remember the cursed coin in 4x08 Wishful Thinking and the unconditional love wish? not what happened here). they had premarital sex. they did the thing Alice considers wrong, and dark, and sinful. and then they ate each others’ flesh.

DEAN

Okay, but what about you? I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?

CASTIEL

It's my vessel-- Jimmy. His, uh, appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine's effect

***mad lad Jimmy Novak’s hunger is for...red meat? He is starving for red meat? You are telling me that the Novaks, red blooded conservative religious midwestern Novaks, ate RED MEAT SO SPARINGLY that Jimmy Novak was LITERALLY starving for it?!?! No way. Absolutely no way. This is a man who was such a religious zealot he STUCK HIS HAND IN BOILING WATER and accepted an angel of the lord into his own body but his secret hunger was for fucking ground beef?

give me a damn break.

to me this is an absolute coverup. Because Cas’s burger consumption is not related one iota to his vessel Jimmy Novak.

it is a representation of Cas falling. Cas’s cravings for meat represent his growing (and very much prohibited) feelings for...humanity (Dean Winchester), and they are presenting as Gluttony in the form of his downing more and more copious amounts of red meat.

SERIOUSLY, consider this - at one point the depiction is so desperately carnal that he is eating raw ground beef with his bare hands. It is fucking uncomfortable. and it is SUPPOSED to be. Famine stirs up hunger for the prohibited. For the sinful. That which we are starving for but do not believe we can ever have, so we lust and we lust and we LUST after it, but should we allow ourselves even just a taste of what we have been ravenously craving, we binge it until we ourselves disappear into the oblivion of our own sinful, dark desires.

Since You Want More Examples of why this cant possibly be hunger for Cheeseburgers and Cheeseburgers alone, Consider Famine’s effect on Dean. Remember his doctor kink?

**when its revealed that Doctor Corman has succumbed to Famine’s poison by drinking himself to death, Dean - very uncharacteristically by the way - reacts by saying out loud

DEAN Thanks. Crap! I really kind of liked this guy.

***please note that Doctor Corman says the following to Dean in the prior scene they have together -

DR. CORMAN [to Dean]

Agent Marley, you just can't stay away.

****was that a flirtation?

***Also, Dean doesn’t want to go out and chase tail for Valentines Day.

SAM

I mean, what do you always call it-- Uh, unattached drifter Christmas?

DEAN

Oh, yeah. Well... be that as it may...I don't know. Guess I'm not feeling it this year.

SAM

So you're not into bars full of lonely women?

DEAN

Nah, I guess not. [takes a sip of his beer] Ahh. What?

SAM

That's when a dog doesn't eat-- That's when you know something's really wrong.

***oh look we are relating things to eating again. sex/lust to gluttony. hmmm hmmm hmmm

ANYHOW - *takes deep breath*

this is also the Episode Where This Scene Lives

****JACKTING JOICES

oh and speaking of jacting joices, this is also the Dean Notices Cupids Crotch Episode.

frAckles, I am once again asking why you only permit celestial beings to hug you from behi-[gunshots]

but Dean isn’t hungry. Why? Famine has the explanation, and we get it after Dean immediately runs inside after Cas heads in to complete his portion of their plan barely giving him any time to do so because he misses him that much.

FAMINE

I disagree. [Famine moves closer to Dean and touches him] Yes. I see. That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex.

DEAN

Oh, you're so full of crap.

FAMINE

Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me!

***not Dean making all of those homophobic/homoerotic jokes every time he’s in danger or feeing uncomfortable; not that, that can’t possibly be what Famine is referencing, right?

I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated.

***not THIS parallel:

AMARA:

You're a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel, except… It's cloaked in shame

You can't win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just... keep going through the motions.

***not the motions of performative heterosexuality!!

***Dean’s not hungry because in his heart he truly believes that he can’t actually have what he hungers for. That Thing Which This Episode Overtly but Also Very Clearly Made Obvious. It’s an angel riding shotgun [I did Do That and I am Not Sorry], eating a burger in the front seat of the impala. But, I’ve deviated from the meat of this essay [gunshots] [this time just for the bad joke].

BONUS

there’s Exists another episode in which a man ravenously consumes red meat; eventually succumbing to eating raw beef with his bare hands in the season prior to this one.

Yes Supernatural the Show That Brought Us Not One But Two Scenes of Persons Carnally Consuming Red Meat With Their Bare Hands.

This episode is a MOTW - the man in question is a rougaru - a monster that starts out as human but due to some specific genetic disorder (hmmm hmmm hmm crack in THE chassis hmmm hmmm) soon begins to be extremely hungry - “for everything, but eventually long pig.” AKA human flesh.

Wanna know the kicker?

Episode’s called Metamorphosis.

(GIF by jackttwist)

I’ll see myself out.

[DOUBLE BONUS for extra credit:

if you really wanna wild out, go watch the scene of Jack the rougaru looking at himself in the mirror in 4x04 - and then meander on over to 7x01 and check out God!stiel looking in the mirror as the leviathans writhe inside him over there. It’s worth the walk.]

***oh and @lilac-void im tagging you in this one because in exchange for your KIND creator content nomination I guess I will respond by cursing you with an Honorary tag in this, a Meat Meta. you’re welcome slash I'm sorry XO [but seriously thank you again for your kindness and appreciation; it really motivated me to sit down and get moving on making more content <3]

#yes I did do a meat meta #and what of it #destiel #spn #spn fandom #supernatural #spn family #myspnmeta #my spn meta #hellerism #deancas #longpost #spn analysis #spn 5x14 #spn bloody valentine #meat meta #<- I do not even want to know or see what else that tag would lead to

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chloelucia13 · 3 years

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Chapter 17: The Flayed

Pairing: Jonathan Byers x Henderson!reader

Prompt: You always thought Hawkins was the most boring town of all, stuck in a vacuum void of excitement and entertainment. Well, it seems that way until the world decided to flip upside down, literally.

Chapter Summary: After what had occurred the night before, everyone was on edge. However, when everyone is grouped back together to combat this monster that was once thought to be gone, things take a dark turn.

Warnings: more angst bc what else do you expect from me, the tiniest bit of fluff if you squint, language, violence, gore, descriptions of possession

Word Count: 2441

A/N: We're getting close to the end of season 3!!! I've got a lot of ideas planned for the finale, and I've also been thinking about maybe posting some filler drabbles for the story while we wait for season 4! Let me hear your opinions and head canons, and as always, my taglists and requests are open!

Tags: @just-my-fandom @nightbu-g

The cold concrete of the warehouse made your skin sting, nipping at the exposed flesh despite the nearly-impermeable humidity that blanketed the air.

You couldn’t force yourself to move, staring idly at the mind flayer that laid just feet from you as you thought of what occurred between you and Jonathan earlier in the night.

You knew it was wrong, it was stupid and impulsive and damaging. And it wasn’t you. If you were in your right mind, you never would’ve even gotten close to kissing him. You would’ve never betrayed Nancy.

Maybe it was a good thing that the creature took over when it did. If it didn’t, you truly couldn’t imagine what else would have taken place.

The creature lifted its head slightly as you thought of it, reminiscent of a dog that heard the crinkling of a wrapper. A mutant, rotting dog that made you nauseous whenever you looked at it. But now, staring at it was the only thing that kept you grounded, keeping you in the horrifying reality that you were unfortunately living in.

It was moments like these, your mind caught in a loop of morbid curiosity, that you wished you had El’s powers. The ability to look into people’s lives without anyone else being aware of it. You just wanted, for a moment, to check on Jonathan and make sure he was okay. Though, you couldn’t decide if you wanted to stay away to keep him safe or if you wanted to keep yourself safe.

As the creature settled back onto the ground, you let out a huff and silently cursed yourself for getting into this situation (well, whatever this situation was).

***

“Are you positive?” Nancy questioned, everyone eyeing Jonathan worriedly.

After coming to the conclusion that Billy’s surge of power was linked with what Nancy saw happen to Mrs. Driscoll that same night, Jonathan had realized that what happened with you also fell into that same time period and also sounded extremely similar. He debated bringing it up at all, but knowing that this put so many people at risk, he spoke about it.

He explained to everyone what happened with you last night (minus the kiss, for obvious reasons), claiming that you seemed normal until you just... weren’t. He also noted the black veins that were present on Billy and Mrs. Driscoll as well, another thing that held many similarities to Will’s case last year.

“Yes, I’m positive,” Jonathan responded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did she feel cold?” Mike asked, his brows furrowing.

Jonathan froze for a moment, panicking at the question’s possible insinuation. He thought back to the night before, feeling your lips against his and the gentle touch of your fingers on the back of his neck. He didn’t remember you feeling cold, but at the same time, he wasn’t really focused on the temperature of your skin when it was pressed on his.

He shook his head and shrugged. “I-I don’t know. Like I said, she seemed normal. And she was wearing a sweater and jeans, too.”

This made Max look at his confusedly. “Why would she be wearing a sweater and jeans in the middle of summer?” she pondered. “Especially if she’s one of the flayed, she’d want to stay as cool as possible.”

Nancy gnawed on her bottom lip as she thought. “She knows how we got the mind flayer out of Will,” Nancy began. “Do you think... She’s trying to sweat it out?”

Again, Jonathan shrugged. “Whatever it is, we need to find her and get this thing out of her. Out of all of them.”

***

The search for you, Billy, and Heather had led the group to the Holloway house. After walking through the hallway and into the kitchen, they stumbled upon a slew of cleaning products and other chemicals scattered along the surfaces, the containers crushed as if they were emptied hastily.

As everyone discussed the possibility of the flayed consuming these chemicals to make a new substance within themselves, Jonathan’s mind once again wandered back to the previous night. There was no way that the same Y/N who ate ice cream with him less than 24 hours ago had also ingested copious amounts of cleaning products. It just didn’t make sense to him.

He didn’t have much time to think about it, though, as Nancy led the group through the dining room and into the living room. She glanced at the wine bottle that was discarded on the floor before kneeling down in front of a puddle of a red substance. “Blood,” she whispered, glancing over at Jonathan when he knelt beside her. “Yesterday, Tom had a bandage on his forehead.”

As Jonathan watched Nancy slowly pick up the blood-stained wine bottle, he was struggling to wrap his mind around the fact that you hurt someone, or at least assisted someone in doing so.

“He was attacked,” Nancy continued. Nancy began to walk, following the trail of drag marks and disturbed rugs that led to the garage where a pile of rope laid. “They must have tied them. They must have taken them somewhere.” Nancy stood silently, thinking for a moment. Mrs. Driscoll, she kept saying ‘I have to go back.’ What if the flaying, it’s taking place somewhere else. There must be a place where this all started, right? A source.”

“Somewhere he didn’t want me to see,” El added.

“If we can find the source, then maybe we can stop them. Or at least stop it from spreading, or whatever the hell they’re doing with those chemicals.”

“How do we find it?”

“Mrs. Driscoll,” Will spoke. “If she wants to go back so badly, why don’t we let her?”

“Okay, but this doesn’t make sense,” Jonathan argued, unable to pull his eyes from the rope that laid at his feet. “Y/N wouldn’t be able to hurt someone, let alone tie them up and drag them god-knows-where.”

“Jonathan, this isn’t Y/N,” Nancy argued.

He huffed. “Last night, when she changed, I tried to stop her from leaving because I was worried. I-I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I needed to help her, so I grabbed her arm.” He gulped. “She begged me to let her go. She said that she didn’t want to hurt me.”

A silence fell over the whole group as his words sunk in.

“Maybe she can control herself around you. But around other people, she can’t keep the flayer from taking over,” Nancy spoke finally, reaching out and touching his shoulder. “But you’re her weakness. And that’s gonna help us a lot.”

***

Silently watching Mrs. Driscoll’s body melt and condense into a meaty mush made you want to retch, but your body stood stock still as the lump inched from the room and down into the pipes. Once the mass disappeared from sight, you wandered out of the room, down the hall, and out into the stairwell, aimlessly walking down the stairs to pass time as you waited for whatever task the mind flayer would assign you next.

For once, you wish you were working at the pool, boiling under the scorching July sun. At least you’d have something to do.

Those thoughts left as soon as they came, however, when that strong fog began to flood your mind, your body switching onto autopilot as your feet led you onto the second floor.

A sharp pain stabbed through the right side of your head as you were about to turn the corner, doubling over in pain and clutching your head as you heard quick footsteps coming down the stairs. Immediately, you straightened up and jogged down the hallway, grabbing a pair of scissors from a nurse’s station before rushing into the wing of the hospital that was under construction and slipping into a room.

You heard the heavy footfalls sprint past your door, followed by another flayed that stalked slowly behind them. You stepped out of the room and walked beside him, tightly clutching the pair of scissors in your hand as the lights flickered around you.

The man beside you led you both over to a locked door, two voices echoing through the door. You nodded your head at the door and he slammed his fist through the glass, screams sounding from the two within the room as he peeked his head in before undoing the lock. As he pulled the door open, you stepped inside, a sinister grin on your face.

But that grin immediately fell when you saw who exactly was behind the door.

The man pushed past you, disregarding your clear shock as he threatened Nancy in a sing-song voice. Jonathan, who clearly was also reeling with shock but shoved it down, stepped forward and pulled his fist back, ready to attack the man. the man’s hand shot out and grabbed onto Jonathan’s neck, choking Jonathan and shoving Nancy away with his free hand.

The flayer’s control faded from your mind and you took advantage of it, hurrying over to Nancy and trying to help her up. “Y/N?” she coughed out, her eyes wide with fear.

“You have to go,” you forced out, using as much strength as you could muster to pull her to her feet while also fighting to keep your consciousness.

Behind you, you heard a groan of pain coming from Jonathan, and you and Nancy turned to look just in time to see the man slam a metal stool down on Jonathan’s back.

Nancy finally got onto her feet and you threw your scissors to the ground when you felt the flayer’s control slowly start to seep back into you. Through blurry vision, you watched Nancy take the scissors you discarded and embed them into the back of the man.

You and the man hunched over, and you let out a groan of pain as he pulled the scissors from his back. The man cursed at her, quickly regaining his composure and stalking over to her.

“Run!” you and Jonathan screamed at her, and you waited until she had led the man out of the room to go run over to Jonathan and help him.

"Jonathan,” you whispered, crouching down next to him and gently resting your hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

He gasped in pain, turning his head to look up at you. “What’s going on? How are you-” he began before you shook your head.

“I don’t know. Come on, let’s get you up.” You pulled the stool over to him and he gripped onto it, lifting his upper half up with all his might.

Moments later, the stool fell from his grip, Tom menacingly grinning down at the two of you. “Where are you going?” he hummed, nudging you to the side so he could pick Jonathan up by his shirt.

“Let him go!” you screeched, stumbling to your feet.

Tom held Jonathan by the collar of his shirt, locking eyes with him before glancing back at you. “Let him go? Sure.” He picked Jonathan up and threw him into the lockers, Jonathan’s body falling to the linoleum floor a moment later. Tom picked him up once more and threw his body into a cart, letting his body crumple to the ground.

You watched in horror as Jonathan crawled along the floor towards the pair of scissors, your whole body exhausted from all the strength it was taking to keep the monster at bay. Tom knelt beside Jonathan and grabbing him by the hair, lifting his face from the ground before slamming it down.

Once Jonathan finally fell unconscious, if only for a few moments, Tom grabbed the scissors and lifted them over his head.

“I’m in control of you! Stop!” you screamed, allowing the creature to take hold, black veins snaking up your face and arms. “Leave him alone.”

Tom turned to you, the scissors still held above his head. Tears streaked down your face as you glanced down at Jonathan, your vision slowly going dark.

However, before the creature fully took hold, a harsh pain cracked across your face, making you cry out in pain. You clutched your nose and watched Tom stumble away, only for the two of you to be tossed around by another strong force.

Jonathan and Tom both scrambled to their feet, the scissors held tightly in Jonathan’s hand. Jonathan hesitated though, looking down at you on the floor. He had realized that whatever happened to one of the flayed was felt by all of them, and that meant that whatever he did to Tom, you would feel as well.

“Do it,” you gasped out, rising to your feet with the gracefulness of a newborn fawn.

“I don’t want to hurt-” Jonathan stuttered.

“Do it!” you screamed.

Tom lunged at him, and Jonathan plunged the scissors into Tom’s throat. Both you and Tom let out a ghastly gasp/moan of pain as you collapsed onto the floor.

As the lights continued to flicker overhead, Jonathan rushed over to you and turned you onto your back, clutching you in his arms.

Your eyes searched his, both of your chests heaving with ragged pants while you both silently communicated to each other.

“You need to go, I can’t control it anymore,” you choked out before rolling out of his arms and crawled over to Tom’s body. The two of you silently watched as Tom’s body began to convulse and turn to that all-too-familiar mush (well, familiar to you, at least). Jonathan let out a gasp of horror, though his eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion when your body didn’t do the same.

He realized then that his theory was right. You were different than all of the other flayers. On one hand, he was relieved because he knew it was truly you. On the other hand, though, it horrified him that it was you who committed all of these horrible acts. That, and the fact that you somehow had control over these creatures truly made his skin crawl.

He realized he didn’t have much time to dwell on it because the strange mush of blood and meat and bones slowly began to inch out of the room the same time that your eyes fluttered closed. He contemplated staying to check on you, but decided against it after a moment, instead following behind the disgusting mass.

A strange sense of calm washed over him when he saw Nancy standing at the other end of the hallway, following her own strange substance. Silently, the two masses led the two teens down the hallway, joining together in the middle and morphing into something even more sinister.

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uncanny8ellen · 2 years

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Some songs show me images. Inspirations. I rant instead of writing fics. Cuz who has time for that? I barely got time to eat. But I always got time to say how Hunter got it bad for the Mechanical Lord. Maybe too spicy for empty stomach lol.

I like the phrase 'mental breakout'. I came up with that from a song. Hysteria - Muse

That song fits Hunter so well when he lets himself go. Here's this chill, calm, self-effacing fella who likes to perch on the highest branches and stare off into horizon for hours on end.

Then a certain metal hobo pushes one too many wrong(correct) buttons and he goes 'So you can talk the talk. Let's see if you can handle the walk.'

Really, he didn't even blink an eye when Karl broke his arm to bits, took all the temper tantrums with the adeptness of a seasoned parent, caught and dragged his unconscious ass to the bed since the dumbass erased the concept of sleep from his dictionary, kept off any wayward villagers or lycans off of the said man's territory, all the while collecting Intel for the stinky man and doing his part of the job around the village.

So he's a little stressed.

His humanity was purely a product of nurturing. His nature only ever speaking in ravenous hunger or absolute apathy doesn't help.

Karl getting in his face with those glimmering eyes too often alight with blazing golden fire doesn't help.

Those full lips curling around cigar into well-loved but such insufferable smirk doesn't help.

As Lumber once wisely said, "My brother might have a patience of a saint, but don't go thinking that he is one."

They fuck for days and no work in factory gets done. "I thought you were gonna break me.", "Where's that confidence, my Lord?"

There is absolutely no more place left on his skin to mark. Neck, shoulders, back, chest, thighs, just name it. There's a cut on his cheek that's still bleeding. Some tears on lips from bites that can't quite be called kissing. Karl bit too hard one time and honest to God he felt his canines hitting a bone. Just when he tries to pull back in actual concern what does the maniac say? "Now that's a bite."

He gives as good as he gets too. After they're done chomping down like they want to cannibalize each other rather than fuck, they lap up the blood, all the while the brutal pounding never slowing.

When Hunter got too frantic Heisenberg tried tying him down with chains, like many times before, then soon finds out that Hunter let himself be chained down, because this time he just tugs and breaks the thing off, just like that, and immediately lunges at him.

Anyone would wonder if they're having sex or fighting to death. Or both.

With the mechanic's metal bending ability you'd think holding down a man will be like a breeze but no. Hurricane Katrina doesn't hold a fucking candle. The huntsman just dodges everything. Surely he can't dodge the entire factory wall that's been ripped apart in rage? Apparently not. The guy grabs the railing, barrel rolls around the platform, and fling himself back on like nothing happened.

Karl isn't even mad anymore. Hunter runs like crazy, eyes bloodshot and never once breaking away from his. Karl can never let him out of his sight until it eventually happens, and he's on the ground again because, once again, the little fuck appeared out of thin air and tackled him. Aaand they're right back to where they left off. Wrestling around, not caring who's dick is in who.

They keep going at it. At anywhere but where they should be doing it, really. When they somehow reaches bed Karl is the one who calls time out. "Just what the fuck are you?" he asks, gulping down a cup of water. That unsettling look still hasn't washed off from those all-consuming gaze, and the reply he gets is, "You're asking me now?"

10 mins and they're back on humping. No words. Time blurs. None of them remembers nor cares if they've even eaten during those 3 days. On fourth, Heisenberg wakes up from post coital coma and cannot move. They are bedridden for a whole day. Hunter manages to sit up and every single bones in his body crack. He semi-crawls to the kitchen to get emergency ration, just some left over bacon they are, and feeds half conscious Karl in bed.

When they have feelings in their limbs, that's when they finally start functioning again. The mad engineer has learned to test the water ever since, toning it down a bit with his teasing and all, in case Hunter's on the verge of that madness again.

If anything, he's more interested in the marksman now. 'Beware of a silent man and still water.' And here he thought that silence was simple timidity.

Who knew such gentle demeanor could come from a little monster like that?

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg #lord karl heisenberg #the hunter #iron steed #oc Hunter #my writing #i need death or coffee #Hunter: *lost it*#Mr. Heisenberg: Hot damn #inspired by music #song i listened to:#Hysteria - Muse #Little Monster - Royal Blood

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justlookfrightened · 4 years

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Birthday surprises

For the prompt: Jack secretly loves surprise parties

“So how did you celebrate Canada Day when you were growing up?’ Bitty asked, carrying the pie to the table. “Was it like the Fourth of July, with parades and fireworks and red and white bunting everywhere?”

“Sort of,” Jack said. “It wasn’t such a big deal in Montreal, because, y’know, Quebec. A few years ago they made it moving day in Quebec just to screw with the government in Montreal.”

“Moving day?” Bitty asked. “Wait just a second.”

He turned to the counter behind him and picked up a small Candian flag, which he stuck in the middle of the pie.

“Happy Canada Day!”

“Euh, thanks,” Jack said. “Moving day is when everyone’s leases end and their new leases start. So thousands of people are moving on Canada Day. There were always fireworks over the harbor, though. Sometimes we’d go see them if we were in town.”

“Well, then, happy moving day,” Bitty said. “So not much like Madison on the Fourth of July?”

“Bits, nothing is like Madison on the Fourth of July,” Jack said.

“I’m sure the fireworks aren’t as good --”

“I have very fond memories of the fireworks in Madison,” Jack said. “Best fireworks of my life. Are you okay staying here for the Fourth this year?”

Bitty shrugged.

“I guess so,” he said. “The shop’s just getting on its feet, and I can’t really take much time off yet, and that would mean flying down on the morning of the fourth and back the next day. And Mama and Coach said they’d come up to see us for a weekend before school starts down there. We can still go to the fireworks and all here on the Fourth, right?”

“Your parents are coming up?” Jack asked. “Do you know when?”

“Beginning of August,” Bitty said. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure their visit doesn’t conflict with your big birthday celebration.”

“My … what?”

“Your birthday?” Bitty said. “You’re turning 30 a little over a month from today. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“No, but a big celebration?”

“Oh, no, sweet pea,” Bitty said. “I meant ‘big birthday,’ like turning 30 is a big deal. Not a big celebration for your birthday. I know you don’t like that kind of thing.”

“Oh,” Jack said, looking down at his pie. “Okay. That’s good.”

“Unless you want my parents here for your birthday?” Bitty said. “I was thinking your parents might come, but … I’m sure my folks would be happy to.”

“No,” Jack said. “No, that’s fine.”

****

“I’m so glad you and Bits decided to do this,” Shitty said, taking another drag on his joint. “You guys aren’t usually around on the Fourth, but the rest of this summer looks crazy for me, and then you have the season coming up. I wouldn’t want it to be too long between visits.”

“Crazy this summer?” Jack said. “What’s up?”

“Work stuff,” Shitty said. “It looks like we’re going to trial against that chemical plant at the end of August, and it’s gonna be like seven days a week getting ready. I already told Lards to prepare for work-widowhood.”

“Yeah?” Jack said. “How’d she take that?”

“I’m not sure,” Shitty said. “You think I’m crazy enough to say shit like that when she’s awake?”

“Haha.”

“No, seriously, she’s leaving next week for a six-week residency at some artist colony in the Berkshires, and then she’s got a show to mount for the gallery at the end of August. I’m not sure she’ll even notice.”

“Come on, Shits,” Jack said. “You know she will.”

“I know,” Shitty said. “It’s just fucking hard sometimes, you know? I mean, it seemed like all the lawyers I knew when I was a kid had lunch and played golf all day. Plenty of time for fucking around. Too late I learned it doesn’t work that way in the public interest sector. And who knew being a successful artist was so time-consuming? How do you and Bits make it work?”

Jack shrugged. It was difficult, with his life consumed by hockey and Bitty’s time taken up more and more by a successful career in -- baking media? Jack wasn’t even sure what to call it, since Bits wasn’t just a baker, just a cookbook author, just an Internet and TV personality. He somehow did all of that, and just this summer had lent his name, personality, and talent to a new shop that sold both baked goods and baking equipment (toys for bakers, Bitty called them) in Providence.

“Remember Bits’ birthday in May?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Shitty said. “The big two-five. Remember how you wanted to throw him a surprise party? That was never gonna happen. Like that boy would ever let anyone else control the menu.”

“I guess you're right,” Jack said. “But I like surprising him. Remember Betsy II?”

“That was sweet,” Shitty said. “And the proposal at Faber, too, you romantic son of a gun.”

“Who told him about the surprise party in May?”

“Uh --”

“Was it you?”

“No.”

“Was it Lardo?”

“Um, she maybe told him not to make plans for that day? Because he was telling her he wanted to plan an overnight getaway because it was the only time it would work with your schedule?” Shitty said. “He took it from there. My understanding is that you caved under questioning.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I guess I did.”

“But don’t worry, brah,” Shitty said. “If I heard about a plan for a surprise party for you, I would totally warn you. I know you’re not into that.”

“Euh, okay?” Jack said. “But --”

“I got your back, brah,” Shitty said, giving Jack an exaggerated wink and nod just as Bitty and Lardo pushed open the sliding door and carried trays of drinks and snacks to the terrace.

“So what did we miss?” Bitty said. “Fireworks haven’t started yet, have they?”

“Nope,” Shitty said. “You’re just in time.”

****

“Jack?” Bitty asked, looking up from his laptop. “Do you know where you want to go for your birthday dinner?”

“Birthday dinner?” Jack said. “We’re not having it here?”

“Well, since I know you don’t like parties, and thirty is kind of a big deal, I thought maybe we should go out.”

“Who said I don’t like parties?” Jack said, pausing the tape of the last game of the Stanley Cup final.

“Please, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “I used to have to beg to get you to show your face at a kegster, and your mama’s told the story about you hiding under the bed to get out of going to that banquet more than a dozen times.”

“I was six,” Jack said.

“I know, sugar, and you haven’t changed a bit,” Bitty said. Then his eyes dropped to Jack’s chest, and lower, and Jack suddenly felt warm. “Except in the obvious ways. I was thinking Hemenway’s for seafood or maybe Waterman Grille or Al Forno with your parents. But it might make more sense to go the night before. Hemenway’s at least is closed on Mondays. Then on the night of your actual birthday, we can eat at home. Steaks on the grill, maybe? Do you want to invite your parents for that, too, or have it be just the two of us?”

Jack wanted to protest that he could want a party even if he didn’t want the debauchery of a kegster, and he shouldn’t be judged by his six-year-old self not wanting to go to a stuffy banquet (even if he still didn’t like stuffy banquets). But the moment seemed to have passed, and really, what Bitty was planning was fine.

Maybe he would get a surprise party for his fortieth, when he wasn’t playing and his friends’ careers were more stable and everyone had more time.

“Any of them are good, but Papa really likes Al Forno,” Jack said. “And I guess they can come on Monday for dinner, as long as they leave early.”

“Now, Jack, that’s not very hospitable of you,” Bitty said with a smirk. “I almost think you have plans. Maybe once I finish making this reservation you can give me a preview.”

He pecked at the keyboard for a few more moments and then closed the laptop.

“Ready when you are, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack clicked off the TV and followed Bitty to the bedroom.

****

“Maman?”

Jack had put off this call until Bitty left for the market.

It wasn’t like his husband was a busybody or nosy. It was just that, what with Jack’s schedule, and the wedding, and Bitty’s career, they were still in the condo Jack bought for himself in Providence when he signed. It wasn’t really small -- it probably had almost as much square footage as the Haus, and only two of them living there -- but it was mostly open-plan and Bitty would know if Jack was hiding in the office to call his parents. Which he was supposed to have done two weeks ago.

“Jacky!” his mother said. “It’s been ages. I saw those pictures you posted from your beach excursion last weekend. It looked like the two of you had fun. But I didn’t know you got a dog.”

“We didn’t?”

“But Bitty --”

“Was playing with a dog in a lot of the pictures?” Jack said.

The dog had run up to their picnic blanket when they moved off the beach proper, into the shady park, for lunch. Jack wasn’t sure exactly what kind it was. It was black and brown, like he thought of a German shepherd being, but much smaller, with long, skinny legs, a pointy nose and floppy ears.

Bitty had immediately started cooing over and petting the creature, despite Jack pointing out that they didn’t know who it belonged to, if it belonged to anyone, where it had been, if it was friendly.

“You don’t know if this dog is friendly?” Bitty had been incredulous. It was pretty ridiculous, given that the dog was more or less washing Bitty’s face with its tongue while Bitty giggled. “And she has a collar. And a tag. Stand still, girl.”

Bitty had still been trying to read the tag, and Jack was still taking pictures, when a teenage girl ran up, a leash in her hand.

“There you are, Eleanor! I’m so sorry! She just jumped out of the car and took off as soon as I opened the door. Eleanor, come!”

“No worries,” Bitty had said, holding the dog while her person clipped the leash to her collar. “We’re always happy to visit with a friendly puppy.”

Jack had been thinking about adopting a dog ever since, if only to see Bitty giggle so much. A dog that could go on runs with him, and keep Bitty company when Jack had to be gone … it might be a good idea. But it wasn’t something to surprise Bitty with. If they adopted a dog, it had to be a joint decision.

“That was just a dog that got loose and came to visit,” Jack said. “Although now that you mention it, I wonder if Bitty might like to have a dog around. I’ll have to ask him.”

“Judging from those pictures, I’m pretty certain he’ll approve,” Alicia said. “Now, did you need to talk about something?”

“Euh, the plans for my birthday?” Jack said. “Bitty wants to take you and Papa to Al Forno on the second, and then cook dinner here on the third.”

“Bitty wants to?” Alicia said. “What about you?”

“I’m not sure why we need to do both,” Jack admitted. “Either would be fine with me. But he seemed set on going out to celebrate because it’s my thirtieth, and a lot of restaurants are closed on Monday. And he was equally set on celebrating on the day of. But he has to work early the next day, so it’ll be an early dinner.”

“You never did like a lot of fuss,” his mother said, not calling him on what he thought was an obvious … not untruth, exactly, Maybe more of a manipulation? “Grumpypants. Of course your father and I will be there for both.”

“I don’t mind fuss,” Jack said.

“Jack, mon coeur, when have you enjoyed people getting together to focus on you?”

“They had a birthday dinner for me at the Haus,” Jack said. “Before my senior year. Bitty made a pie and everything.”

“Were you part of the planning for this dinner?” Alicia said. “Did you even know about it?”

“It just sort of … happened,” Jack said. “But it was nice.”

“Jack, dear, was that the first time Bitty made a pie especially for you?” his mother asked. “Forgive me, but that might have more to do with your fond memories.”

****

“Jack, what kind of pie do you want for your birthday?”

Bitty was sauntering between the farmer’s market booths while Jack trailed along, watching Bitty more than looking at the produce.

“Pie?” Jack asked. “Don’t most people get cake for their birthdays?”

“Do you even know me?” Bitty asked, then turned to examine at a table full of cherries.

Jack accompanied Bitty to the farmer’s market almost every Saturday in the summer. It was an errand, sure, but some weeks it was also the closest they got to a date.

Bitty would probably scoff at that. What did they need with dates, now they were an old married couple? Neither of their schedules permitted a regular date night most of the time, anyway. But in the summer, at least, they had Saturday mornings at the market.

“If you know me, you know what kind of pie I want,” Jack said.

“Maple-crusted apple,” Bitty confirmed, then shook his head sadly. “Have you seen these cherries, Jack? Or the blueberries? There will even be decent peaches up here by the beginning of August. Apples won’t be in season for another six weeks or so.”

It was a familiar argument with no heat in it.

Jack shrugged.

“I like what I like,” he said. “And there are always apples available. You know you’ll make it for me. And something else for whoever wants it.”

“See, you do know me,” Bitty said. He stopped in front of the booth with honey soap but paid it no mind. “Jack, are we becoming old and boring?”

“We always were old and boring,” Jack said. “From the beginning of time.”

“First, speak for yourself, old man,” Bitty said. “Second, I’m not sure whether that was a chirp or flirting. Don’t you know you had me at ‘Eat more protein’?”

“That’s not what you said then.”

“Hush,” Bitty said. “I mean, you don’t have to have the same thing for your birthday every year. Branch out a bit. Maybe a pear tart?”

“I wanted to do something different for your birthday, but then everyone went and told you,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “I would have gone along with it and pretended it was a surprise, but I had to get out of other plans somehow. And people did want to eat. Good food.”

“By which you mean your food,” Jack said.

“I like to think I have a reputation to uphold,” Bitty said, stopping to examine some melons. “Truthfully, I kind of wish I hadn’t found out. You give good surprises.”

“Yeah?”

“Come on, you moose. You know I would have married you after you bought me Betsy II,” Bitty said. “Too bad parties aren’t your thing. Could you imagine a party with all your mom’s A-list friends and your hockey uncles, plus your team and Kent and all? It would be the talk of Providence.”

Jack shuddered.

“Definitely not my thing,” he said.

“I know, sweetpea,” Bitty said. “Besides, celebrating on our own has its advantages. Catch.”

He tossed Jack an eggplant with a smirk

Jack groaned. “Really, Bits?”

“Sorry,” Bitty said. “That was bad. I have what I need. Ready to head home?”

****

Jack was set up and sitting at his computer, half-listening to Bitty going on about whether his deadlines for the next cookbook were remotely reasonable, when the call from Tater came through.

“Zimmboni!” The image of Tater on the screen waved. “Hey, Tater,” Jack said.

“Is that little B?”

Tater’s face moved, like he was trying to see around Jack.

“Yeah, Bitty’s here,” Jack said, waving a hand to get his husband’s attention. “You want to say hi?”

Bitty leaned over his shoulder.

“Hey, Tater! You look good. How’s the family?” he asked.

“Everyone is good,” Tater said. “My mother and my sister Tatiana want to visit this year, so they can meet the baker I’m always talking about.”

“I’d be honored and delighted,” Bitty said. “Don’t forget those recipes you wanted me to try, alright? We can work on them together. You translate and I bake.”

“You speak better Russian you think!” Tater said.

“That’s what you think,” Bitty said. “I have to go to the shop. ПοКа!”

“Bye, Bits,” Jack said. “So, Tater, how’s the conditioning? You keeping up with it?”

“Of course,” Tater said. “Russian training every day.”

“And Russian home cooking every night?”

“Of course,” Tater agreed, grinning.

“How’s everything else?” Jack said. “When are you heading back?”

“Not long now,” Tater said. “No plane ticket yet, but early August, probably. We have dinner then, yes? To celebrate you becoming an old man.”

“Uh, we can have dinner,” Jack said. “But it doesn’t have to be for my birthday. Just to celebrate getting ready for a new season is enough.”

“Why don’t you celebrate?” Tater said. “I hear from Marty, Snowy, Thirdy, all the guys, that Jack is having a big birthday and didn’t invite them to the party. I say, ‘You know Jack. He probably isn’t even having a party.’ And they say, ‘You’re right, Tater. Jack hates parties.’”

“I don’t hate parties,” Jack said.

“You were not at Marty’s daughter’s party,” Tater countered.

“That was a kid birthday,” Jack said. “And Bitty had to go to New York for work that day, so I went with him.”

“Right,” Tater said. “But Bitty would be here for your party.”

“I’m not having a party,” Jack said.

“But you could if you want,” Tater said. “So you don’t want. So why do you hate parties?”

Jack ignored the question in favor of saying, “Just let me know when you're coming in, and I’ll pick you up at the airport if you want,” Jack said. “As long as you shut up about the party.”

“What party?”

****

Jack put on the new blue suit that Maman and Bitty had agreed (insisted, more like) that he should buy. He hesitated over the tie: stripes? paisley? miniature hockey sticks that Papa would find amusing?

No. If he couldn’t be sentimental on his birthday, when could he be? He picked up his pale blue tie, the one Bits told him brought out his eyes on his graduation day, and slid it around his neck.

Bitty was already ready, he knew, in a charcoal grey suit that he got from Jack’s tailor. Getting to see Bitty all dressed up almost made it worth it to Jack to put on a suit on a Sunday in the summer. Well, that and the look that Bitty gave Jack when he emerged from the bedroom.

“You always did clean up nice,” Bitty said. He picked up two boxes of baked goods -- a pie in one, and a couple of kinds of cookies in the other.

“You’re taking food to a restaurant?”

“No, of course not,” Bitty said. “The cookies are for Lauren downstairs. She has a shower to go to and she wanted to bring something. They’re shaped like … you know.”

“Babies?”

“No, a bridal shower,” Bitty said. “A lingerie shower.”

At Jack’s blank look, Bitty muttered something under his breath and said, “A party where they give the bride-to-be sexy underwear and tell naughty jokes.”

“So the cookies look like underwear?” Jack said, all innocence.

“No, Jack,” Bitty said. “They look like dicks, okay?”

“What about the pie?”

“That’s for your mom and dad,” Bitty said. “We’re supposed to meet them at the hotel. They can drop the pie off in their room and then we’ll go to dinner.”

That meant going inside the hotel, probably. Which meant parking and then retrieving the car, and pleasantries in the hotel lobby, and …

“Are you sure we’ll make our reservation?” Jack asked. “I’d hate to get all dressed up for nothing.”

“Aw, sweetpea, I think I can guarantee that won’t happen,” Bitty said, reaching up to pat Jack’s face and give him a peck on the lips. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late.”

Jack pulled up at the hotel valet stand, and when he got out, said, “We’ll only be a few minutes. Keep it close, eh?” with a twenty-dollar bill folded into his palm.

“Your folks said they’d meet us down here,” Bitty said, heading into the lobby. His head swiveled and stopped when he caught sight of Jack’s parents at the hotel bar. Both had drinks in front of them. Great. They’d want to finish, and there might be a bill to settle, too.

He followed as Bitty picked his way across the lobby, exchanged a half-hug with his father while his mother swept Bitty into her arms, and then traded places.

“Jack, you look wonderful,” Alicia said, finally letting go and holding him at arm’s length. “You both do. This summer has agreed with you.”

“Thanks, Maman,” Jack said. “You look great too. Um, are you two almost ready to go?”

“The pie, Jack!” Bitty said.

“Oh, and I have something upstairs to show you, Bitty,” Alicia said. “Come up with me and we can leave the pie in the room.”

“Fine,” Bob said. “That’ll give me time to watch the end of this round.”

Jack looked at the TVs above the bar. He couldn’t mean the golf tournament? Who knew what time that would end? But it was that or … competitive cornhole?

“Only a couple more tosses,” Bob confirmed. “If this one pushes that bag in, they’ve got it.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Jack said.

“Oh, come on, Jack, relax.” Bob said. “It’s fun. Sit down and tell me about your summer.”

“It’s been more Bitty’s summer than mine, with the shop and this new book he’s working on,” Jack said. “He’s been busy.”

“I remember those days,” Bob said. “When I’d finish the season so tired I didn’t know how I’d even haul myself upstairs to the bedroom, and by the time I was ready to face the world again, your mother would be on location on the other side of the world somewhere. I always wondered why our schedules couldn’t align.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Jack said.

“Of course not,” Bob said. “Any more than it was mine. Hockey season is hockey season, and filming schedules are filming schedules, and cute little shops on streets popular with tourists open during the summer.”

“No, I know,” Jack said. “I wasn’t complaining.”

He stopped at the look his father gave him.

“Okay, I was complaining, but not about Bitty,” Jack said. “Just the way things worked out this summer. I was thinking we could maybe have a party for my birthday this year --”

“You haven’t wanted a birthday party since you were eight!”

“Not a big party,” Jack said. “Just a few people. But Shitty’s in the middle of preparing for a big trial, and Lardo’s off being an artist in residence somewhere, and Tater’s not back yet. Bitty’s too busy to plan anything anyway, and no one would let me plan it.”

“Get it all out, son,” Bob said. “Before your mother and your husband get downstairs. Even if Bitty didn’t plan a party, he did plan this evening for you, and it doesn’t do to feel sorry for yourself on your birthday. Especially when you have someone who thinks the sun rises and sets on you like he does.”

“I know,” Jack said, then caught sight of the time on one of the TVs.

“Oh, no. We’re late for our reservation.”

“We’ll make it.”

“No, we’re late. Already. Maybe I should call them?”

He was picking up his phone when he saw Alicia, carrying a large shopping bag, and Bitty crossing the lobby from the elevator. Bitty was on the phone. Of course he had it handled.

Bitty did not have it handled.

He hadn’t said anything about the reservation to Jack on the way to Al Forno, just squeezed Jack’s hand on the console as they pulled away from the hotel.

“I really hope you enjoy tonight,” Bitty said.

They left the car with the restaurant valet and headed straight into trouble.

“Bittle-Zimmermann, party of four,” Bitty told the maitre d’. “We have reservations.”

The maitre d’ scanned his sheet, made a face, and looked up at Bitty.

“This reservation is for thirty minutes ago,” he said.

“I know,” Bitty said, “And I’m sorry we’re late.”

“Surely half an hour can’t be a problem,” Bob said, trying to shoulder his way into the conversation, folded bill just visible between his fingers. “We promise not to linger. It’s my son’s birthday.”

“Papa!” Jack hissed, tugging at his father’s sleeve like he was eight years old again. “Let Bitty handle it.”

“Yes, Bob,” Alicia said, drawing herself up to full height and looming over the desk. “My son-in-law, Eric Bittle-Zimmermann, has this under control.”

Jack took a moment to be pleased that his mother knew Eric’s name would have more clout than theirs in a restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” the maitre d’ said. “But we gave that table away not five minutes ago. We didn’t think you were going to show up.”

“We can wait for another table,” Bitty said.

“Not tonight,” the maitre d’ said, looking truly regretful. If Bitty had liked the dinner and mentioned it on his vlog, that would have been very good for the restaurant. “We have a large private party coming in. I’m afraid it won’t be possible.”

Bitty’s face fell and Jack’s heart clenched.

“It’s fine, bud,” Jack said. “We have the food for tomorrow at home. We can go make dinner, and then head to the store in the morning. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Bitty said. “It’s your birthday. I planned this dinner, and it’s my fault it got screwed up. Your mother wanted to show me your present and I got to rambling on … and why can’t I pay more attention? I’m sorry, Jack. I spoiled your birthday dinner.”

“Bitty, it’s okay, really,” Jack said.

“Perhaps next week?” the maitre d’ suggested.

“But then it won’t be Jack’s birthday anymore,” Bitty said.

“Perhaps the gentlemen would take a coupon for their next meal here?” the maitre d’ said. “For the inconvenience.”

“That’s not necessary,” Bitty said. “It was my fault.”

“I insist,” the maitre d’ said.

Jack took the offered envelope and slid it into his jacket pocket.

“Come on, Bits,” he said. “It’s not the end of the world.”

He ducked closer and whispered, “At least we can get out of the suits, eh?”

“Jack!” Bitty said, giggling through his frown. “Your parents are here!”

“Not what I meant, bud,” Jack said, but he grinned, because he’d gotten a laugh from Bitty.

“Need anything before we go home?” Jack asked while they waited for the car. “Or do you want to just pick up dinner on the way?”

“I think we have all the food we need,” Bitty said. “Maybe a bottle of champagne? Shoot, no, it’s just after six.”

“Just after six?” Bob said.

“Rhode Island law,” Jack said. “No packaged liquor after 6 p.m. on Sundays.”

“So unless you want to drop me at home to get started and drive to Attleboro, a champagne toast will have to wait for tomorrow,” Bitty said.

“We don’t need champagne,” Jack said. “Come on, let’s head home.”

Jack drove again, Bitty in the passenger seat next to him, his parents in the back. It was completely normal, and that thought struck him as odd. Here he was, 30 years old tomorrow, married to Eric Bittle, the love of his life. His parents loved Eric, too, and were here to celebrate with them, and in a few weeks he’d be getting ready for training camp for next season. He wished his 18-year-old self could have seen this future. It was better than anything he’d ever expected.

He would have liked to celebrate with Shitty and Lardo, Tater, maybe Marty and Gabby and Thirdy and Carrie, but this was good, too. Better than he had any right to expect.

He stopped at a red light and glanced at Bitty, who was also looking at him, a sly grin on his face.

“What?” Jack said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s your birthday,” Bitty said.

“Not until tomorrow,” Jack said.

“You know what I mean.”

Jack took Bitty’s hand in the elevator when they got back to the building and held it for the whole ride up. He was still holding it when he got to the door and opened it.

He dropped it as the crowd shouted “Surprise!”

“What the --”

“Surprise, sweetpea,” Bitty said, reaching up to whisper to him. “You can still change out of your suit if you want.”

“Jackabelle!” Shitty was there to claim a hug. He wasn’t dressed in a suit, but he was dressed. Jack probably should thank Lardo for that. And there she was, hanging back, talking to Gabby.

So Marty was here somewhere -- by the pool table, talking to Tater while Snowy lined up a shot. Thirdy was in the corner, deep in conversation with Coach Bittle, and there were Suzanne and Carrie bringing more napkins in from the kitchen.

The island was covered with catering trays from … Al Forno, and Jack could see a maple-crusted apple pie among a selection on the kitchen counter. There was also a cake and some cake pops (for the kids? Were they here?) and it looked like someone (Shitty, probably) had been serving drinks from the bar. There was a bottle of champagne chilling.

Jack’s mother slipped past him to deposit the gift bag on the hall table with the other gifts.

“Happy birthday, Jacky,” she said. “When Bitty said our job was to help distract you, I wasn’t sure we could pull it off. I thought you might insist on leaving for the restaurant too early.”

“You were in on this?” Jack said.

“Everybody was,” Bitty said. “Even the maitre d’ at Al Forno.”

“But the gift certificate …”

“A gift from me to you,” Bitty said. “For when we can have dinner, just the two of us.”

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of conversations and congratulations. Marty and Thirdy’s kids were there, hiding in the guest room, watching gamers play Animal Crossing on YouTube and coloring, but they came out to help blow out his candles.

“What about your trial coming up?” Jack asked Shitty. “And your residency?” he asked Lardo.

“Those are both real,” Lardo said. “But a funny thing about being an artist in residence: They don’t lock you in. And Shits needed a break for a little while.”

Coach Bittle looked tickled to be sharing a room with so many professional athletes, and Suzanne helped Bitty shuttle food and dishes in and out of the kitchen.

“Told you they’d want to celebrate your birthday,” Bitty said. “They flew in this morning and Shitty picked them up at the airport. They were waiting around the corner for us to leave.”

“You do like parties!” Tater boomed at Jack before leaving. “I knew it! But it took your husband to invite me.”

“That’s because it was a surprise, Tater,” Bitty said. “Jack didn’t know.”

Once everyone was gone -- not too late, because it was a Sunday -- Jack helped Bitty stow the leftovers and wash the dishes.

“How’d you know?” he asked Bitty.

“Know what, hon?”

“That I wanted a party,” Jack said. “A surprise party.”

“Jack, sweet pea, you’ve been moping around this house for weeks,” Bitty said. “All woe-is-me because your friends were busy this weekend. Of course you wanted a party. And you wouldn’t have tried to plan a surprise party for me unless you at least didn’t hate the idea.”

“How did you do such a good job planning it?” Jack said. “I really didn’t know.”

“You don’t have a suspicious mind?” Bitty said. ”Now come on. It’s nearly midnight. Let’s get to bed and you can have another birthday surprise.”

****

Jack groaned when he opened his eyes the next morning. It was late, later than he usually slept anyway. But he’d been up late the night before.

He could hear Bitty in the kitchen, opening drawers and moving plates and cookware around. Coffee was ready, probably.

He got up, dragged a T-shirt over his head and tugged on a pair of shorts, and wandered down the hall.

“Morning, bud,” Jack said.

“Jack, happy birthday!” Bitty said. “Breakfast’s almost ready, and I put all the cards and gifts from last night on the table.”

Jack worked his way through them, shaking his head at Shitty’s selection of boxer briefs emblazoned with the logos of female superheroes and grateful for the small painting from Lardo. There were restaurant gift certificates and a tie from Papa (“You always wear that old blue one!”) and reading glasses from Marty.

Then he opened his mother’s gift. It was a flat box, and it held a red leather leash and collar, along with a gift certificate for adoption fees from the animal shelter.

The enclosed note said, “I think this will be a good gift for both of you, but of course I’m not about to surprise you with a puppy. Take your time deciding which dog to adopt. In the meantime, know that there was also a $10,000 donation in your name to help support all the animals.”

“Bits,” Jack said. “Did you have any plans this morning?”

“Nothing in particular,” Bitty said. “Maybe see my parents at some point. D’you mind if they come for dinner?”

“Of course not,” Jack said. “But do you think we could go to the animal shelter?”

#jack zimmermann turns 30 #zimbits #omg check please #omgcheckplease #my fic

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incarnateirony · 3 years

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So here we are, The Great Supernatural Rewatch, 01.01 Pilot. If unfamiliar with this rewatch, please check my Objectives and Bracketing post [x], and then my Methodology Notes [x]; Also, reminder that I’m not the only person doing this, though each in their own ways. My Objectives and Methodology are my own.

I’m trying to get a little ahead of the official Jan 3 start date, since I know I will... inevitably fall behind, and this episode was ripe for the initial pick-through for the inevitability of a thousand call backs.

That said, with level 1. SYNCHRONIC: As it reads, unto itself, as best divorced from future knowledge of the story, it’s difficult to do much actual “meta” as much as review and commentary since literally it’s all character and story introductions. There’s some to be had, but beyond things like lighting, the Level 1 viewing tier is not going to lend towards much beyond basic archetypes, and a lot of mythology breakdown. This post will be heaving Level 2 weighted as a result. Most tier-1 posting is going to be an early build of key words, phrases and signs to assemble throughout the season watching (and tap back on later for tier 2 by tagging.)

Also a few unannounced side projects; I’m about to start a “Combat Counter” and “Marksmanship Counter”, to see how Sam and Dean handle both in physical battles/scraps over time compared to each other, and who has the better overall aim in the long term.

Some things saved in this post will seem random and arbitrary, but are potential flags I intend to keep, mostly for later level 2, DIACHRONIC study.

Now to get to the meat:

STUDY: REWATCH/REVIEW STAGE

Allow me to lead with: this episode even unto itself is a fine spectacle of just how much the genre shifted over time. I am a huge fan of David Nutter’s directing; many would know him from, say, Game of Thrones. He didn’t stay long--just Pilot and Wendigo--before moving on. But some of his touches stayed with the show for a few years. The entire ambiance is a giant testiment to survival-horror, a grimness to it, even if the CW itself could never truly capitalize on it. The mood and ambiance was successfully played on. The entire episode is rife with cloudy lighting beaming between bars and through windows, bold silhouette shots, and more that gives an air of mystery even after some characters are established. Dynamic shots are plenty.

Your early reading here isn’t going to tell you much you don’t already know, but is for filing, review, and even reminder/refresher purposes. As the season unfolds, there’s going to be more to interconnect, obviously. If you would like to read more observations on actual parallels, scroll to the DIACHRONIC STUDY header. If I’ve taken a screenshot, even in Synchronic, it’s because it’s a flag I do expect to come back up in diachronic study later and need to catalogue for future parallels and address.

So, imagining it’s 2005, we’re watching Supernatural for the first time. We’re in a very different world, Both in the show, and in the real world. A standard, haunting discord rattles the minds of the audience as a tree moves like a hand towards the window of a suburban home.

We see a classic, nuclear family in this standard home, saying their charming goodnights to an infant. But within moments, we’re told in every classic way that everything is wrong. The infant’s mobile turns on its own accord; the clock stops.

It’s 8:12pm when the world goes haywire. The decorative moon in the room flickers, growing dim. The mother wakes to the sound of a distressed infant on the baby monitor. She rises from bed in her gown.

This is a point I’m left to negotiate cursed knowledge: to all visual cues, the mother’s attire appears to be white. The audience perceived it as white. But we know it, and Jess’ gown later, was actually pink; the film stock failed to capture it. Both short term and much louder in the long term, these two colors can deliver two very different meanings. But for us, a viewer consuming a digital medium with no knowledge beyond what they published, I’m left to decide that the text seems to determine her in a white gown.

The wife sees a stark silhouette, asking if the child was hungry, assuming it was her husband that quieted her. She turns away, tapping on a flickering light over an old marriage portrait that one can only assume was a previous family generation. She descends the stairs.

Here she finds her husband is sleeping. Panic takes her, bringing her to the room. Quickly, chaos erupts. As does she, once seen bleeding down onto the hand of the father from above the crib. We see her, sunken eyes, already dying, screaming without a sound. Silent. Unable to make a noise.

The camera details the desperation of the father rushing his infant to his older child. “Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back. Now Dean, GO.”

I’m unclear what John thinks he’s going to achieve running back in for Mary as fire takes the home. But soon, he finds young Dean, 4, outside, holding an infant, “I've got you Sammy.” John erupts out of the house as the windows begin to blow, sweeping in to carry Dean, who carries Sam.

As the fire department arrives, the first cords of a song we would later come to recognize as Americana haunt through otherwise chilling music that climbs actively to punch out through our first cold open.

The Winchesters are our first cold open.

We find ourselves in modern day with the rick of a rock cord, and a young woman in a white nurse outfit adjusting her earings while framed by an image of John and Mary--the mother and father--in a picture frame. Though she calls for Sam, we see nothing of Dean--not even a picture. The image on the counter tells of a life Sam(my) was too young to even know, but perhaps is in his blonde-haired woman who teases him about halloween while standing in front of a mirror.

Sam is clearly in his young prime, celebrating his LSAT with a 174 score much to his chagrin with friends dressed up in all styles of wardrobe. Behind Sam a neon black cat sign may just jinx his future in warm but dull lighting; ghostly drapes hide behind Jess in a blue, sharper light.

Sam’s friends perceive he must be the Golden Boy of the family. Jess is proud of him. “What would I do without you?” “Crash and burn.”

Night onsets. Dim lighting feels dusty despite the otherwise hopeful environment. Heavy creaking, groaning, footsteps; Sam rises on instinct, spying an open door and catching haunting noises--sounds. An intruder. And one fateful fight. The choreography spares little.

In actual combat, the intruder--quickly identified as Dean--comes out on top. (Combat ticker: Sam vs Dean: Dean 1) Easy there, tiger. As Dean haunts, revealing his roguish personality quickly, he’s then gotten the better of (this is not going to be considered a combat ticker, it’s not actual combat, but aftermath).

Sam challenges why Dean broke in, but Dean knew Sam would have never picked up without him. They’re interrupted from their silhouetting by the light flicking on, and Dean further displays his roguish charm, enjoying her smurfs, not dreaming of her getting dressed; but soon, it’s down to business--Dean says it’s private family matters. Sam, a unit in the doorframe with Jess, says it can be said in front of her. Until the fateful line: “Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.” The camera zooms on Sam’s set jaw to tell the audience how much weight is in that line as the audio itself drags a raw cord of suspense.

The dizzying stairs are a descent into a world Sam seems to have left behind, with the audience viewing from below. Quickly, we’re introduced to ideas: the Poltergeist in Amherst, the Devil’s Gate in Clifton, “always missing and always fine.” Sam’s bitterness is thick: rather than telling him not to be afraid of the dark, “dad gave me a .45″, though Dean challenges what he should have done. They soon stand in a cage of sharply lit bars, arguing if this was what their mother would have wanted--to be raised like warriors.

Dean challenges if Sam would want a normal apple pie life; Sam slaps back: not normal, safe. “And that’s why you ran away.”--But John told him to stay gone. Regardless, Dean doesn’t want to do it alone. Sam asks what he was hunting, and why Dean wasn’t there; Dean was working a voodoo thing in New Orleans.

Dean reveals Jericho, California--10 men over to years on the same 5 mile stretch of road.

The “Ran it through A Goldwave” is a funny side comment but I’m not gonna get into why beyond LOL “through a goldwave”, that’s-- whatever. But we hear, in EVP, “I can never go home.”

The average viewer, at this point, isn’t going to be deeply instructing the story parallels--and in the scheme of it, Sam’s fear of going home barely scratches the meta surface. We do know John has been missing for three weeks. And find out Sam has a Monday deadline for his entry to lawschool, “whole future on a plate.” Jess worries over disappearing with his family, reminding of the deadline, but he promises to be back in time.

A sharp cut to JERICHO, CALIFORNIA. The driver shares similar concerns to Sam, “if I miss it, dad’s gonna have my ass,” he tells his girlfriend on the phone. A woman in white appears down the road as the car clock fries at 10:17, asking to be taken home. “Take me home?” “She lives at the end of breckenridge road.” “A girl like you shouldn’t really be alone out here.” She hikes her skirt. “I’m with you. Do you think I’m pretty? Will you come home with me?” hell yeah.

They arrive at a dillapidated home. “I can never go home.” No one even lives here. He steps out, turns around, and she’s gone. An eerie handprint appears on the window.

He decides to leave, clearly feeling the offsettling vibes, but isn’t alone. She steams with animosity in the backseat.

He looks into his mirror.

And wipes out.

After a violent death, we cut back to our boys and another exposition: credit card scams (jesus, could sam have yelled it any louder?), breakfast in a gas station bag, you gotta update your casette tape collection--why? because for one, they’re casette tapes. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica--it’s the greatest hits of mullet rock. “House rules Sammy, Driver picks the music, rider shuts his cakehole.” “Sammy is a chubby 12 year old.” “What, can’t hear you.”

ENTER, JERICHO

Internal impala shots galore will end up being a major vibe of our next few years. A spunky guitar theme plays that we will eventually come to know. Dean pulls out a cigar box full of fake badges ranging from FBI to Bureau of Tobacco from the glove box, quickly showing us how deep this path goes for them already.

The cops review the mystery: no fingerprints, spotless; we find out that the victim was dating the cop’s daughter, who was posting missing flyers downtown. The boys introduce themselves as federal agents, are challenged for being too young, and Dean sasses his way through, “that’s very kind of you.” -- while gathering basic intel, we quickly find Dean’s tongue getting ahead of him, calling their lack of ability to find a connection beyond them all being male victims, calling it crack police work. The brothers’ dual personas exit the crime scene with a cuff upside the head from Sam to Dean, a bickering match, and Dean leaving a Mulder and Scully crack on the cops.

They quickly find Amy, the girlfriend, and lie to claim that were Troy’s relatives and had heard about her, and move to a diner to talk about events.

No major unusual things to warrant events; Sam compliments her necklace. She jokes that Troy got it for her to freak out her parents for “devil stuff”, but Sam quickly educates her on the pentagram meaning the opposite, a symbol of protection.

But there are weird rumors in town--people talk. In-sync, “what do they talk about”; a local legend. She tells them of a girl murdered on centennial where anyone who picks her up disapears forever. The brothers quickly move on to a library with a clunky monitor, fully dating us; not just the lack of good cell phones and wifi, but the equipment and the appearance of the search engine alone. Right, we’re watching this in 2005.

The brothers slapfight again, but Sam shows that even away from the life he never lost his prowess. He asks, “Angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” and searches for suicide. 1981, 24 years prior. “Our babies were gone and Constance couldn’t bear it.”

So they go to see where Constance took the swan dive.

The brothers begin to fight.

SAM Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—

DEAN turns around.

DEAN Monday. Right. The interview.

SAM Yeah.

DEAN Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?

SAM Maybe. Why not?

DEAN Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?

SAM steps closer.

SAM No, and she's not ever going to know.

DEAN Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.

DEAN turns around and keeps walking. SAM follows.

SAM And who's that?

DEAN You're one of us.

SAM hurries to get in front of DEAN.

SAM No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.

DEAN You have a responsibility to—

SAM To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.

DEAN grabs SAM by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge. A long pause.

DEAN Don't talk about her like that.

They’re interrupted as Constance appears, diving off the cliff, and immediately taking control of the Impala.

“Dude, who’s driving your car?” Dean holds up his keys.

They flee, over the bridge, and share another movement. One more fake card later, they find themselves in John’s room, room 10, in a motel. Sam remarks that the place is covered in Salt, and Cat’s Eye Shells. The entire room is covered in case work and lore.

I’ll break down the lore of these in a later mythos reblog, though the Asmodeus one really catches my eye for reasons outside of this episode.

Sam finds a photo-- a distinctly different family than the one on his college dresser. There, it’s John and Mary as an ideal image that framed Jessica. Here, it’s the life he walked away from. But while Dean heads out, he’s spotted by police, and their old coded dialect pops out, “Five Oh, take off.” Federal marshalls confront him: They’re looking for his partner (cue Wincest fans trying to make meta that’s about to be shot down one scene later, in the distance), fake US Marshalls, fake credit cards, is there anything about you that’s Real. My boobs.

Just putting a flag in the name Sheriff Pierce, we’ll figure out if that’s ever valid to anything later. But he tells Dean of the trouble he’s in with a room full of missing people and devil worship, for Dean to snap back he was 3 when they went missing. But they knew he had more than one partner. An older man. John’s journal is thrown out (Wincest meta dies a terrible death beyond previous scene)

Again, I’ll translate the FUTHARK in a follow up post, this is already taking a lot of time as it is.

Meanwhile, Sam is investigating the leads they and John both found. Previously spoken intents to burn her has him ask about her being buried at an old plot by Breckenridge at their old place.

SAM And why did you move?

JOSEPH I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died.

SAM stops walking. JOSEPH stops too.

SAM Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?

JOSEPH No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.

SAM So you had a happy marriage?

JOSEPH hesitates.

Putting a flag in this for later.

But Sam decides to call the man out.

SAM A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman?

JOSEPH just looks.

SAM It's a ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really.

SAM starts back toward JOSEPH.

SAM Um, they're spirits. They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places, in Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women.

SAM stops in front of JOSEPH.

SAM You understand. But all share the same story.

JOSEPH Boy, I don't care much for nonsense.

JOSEPH walks away. SAM follows.

SAM See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them.

JOSEPH stops.

SAM And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.

JOSEPH turns around.

SAM Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again.

JOSEPH You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!

SAM You tell me.

JOSEPH I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!

Sam is flushed out, and makes a fake 911 call to break Dean out, pointing out that the husband had been unfaithful. More dramatic silhouette shots really capture the early spirit of the piece, with Dean using a phone booth in lieu of other options. Hell, Dean was able to find a phone booth, let that take you back. They determine that John left Jericho, and establish his ex-marine habits with the coordinates, 35-111 that Dean had lied through to the cop. But while on the phone, the woman in white appears in front of Sam on the road, non-crashing.

She controls the car again, and forces him to drive to a broken home, repeating, “I can never go home.” Sam recognizes: “You’re scared to go home.” And that’s when the creepy ghost rapey vibes start, mounting him, demanding he hold her, she’s cold. “You can’t kill me, I’m not unfaithful.” He argues. You will be. Just hold me.

As she goes to rip out his heart, she flickers with the beat of his.

Dean breaks into the scene, unloading 12 shots into the ghost with iron bullets to disrupt her manifestation, giving Sam time to sit up and say, “I’m taking you home.”, where he drives through the house. Dean helps Sam out of the car, only to be telekinetically pinned by a dresser to be disabled.

The lights flicker again. Children manifest, water runs down the stairs, looking eerily like the light could be the Winchester’s old home

Here, she falls when reunited with her children. Sam clarifies--she could never go home, she was too afraid to face her kids (while not viable for the synchronic study, for my own sanity I’m going to note this season, Home will be all but mandatory to touch back here.) Dean says Sam found her weak spot.

They drive down the road with a blown headlight, Sam using an old map and ruler to locate the coordinates. But it’s realized Sam isn’t going with Dean to blackwater ridge, colorado 600 miles away. His interview was in ten hours. Dean declares, “I’ll take you home.”

There’s banter over meeting up later, and being a good team, but Sam goes inside and calls for Jess. “You home?” He finds a plate full of cookies with a note “missed you, love you” and relaxes in bed with the distant sound of a running shower.

And of course.

And so it began.

SYNCHRONIC STUDY: IN-EPISODE PARALLELS

In a first episode, there’s only so much to address. While we may question how much the Woman in White being in White may have been intentional with Jess and Mary, who wore pink (a diachronic full text body note later), in the initial review, it’s worth mentioning for the reasons in part 1 I’ve decided to air towards white in the final text product. Resultingly, the tie between Constance->Mary->Jess seems tangible. But it isn’t really so simple.

“Home.” Home is a huge keyword.

"I can never go home." within the episode unto itself, Sam is struggling to well, get back home. And frankly, returning home is the key of it. (hears distant uppity Wincest stans) The difference here is, this isn't a direct parallel, of course, as much as a general ambient mood that will haunt is forward through the show, even if current viewers just watching episode 1 don't recognize it yet. Sam going home kills Jess, essentially; or at least witnesses her death. At the same time, Sam fears returning to the hunter life, or more doesn't think he can because John told him not to come back. But now that Jess is dead, well, Sam can never go home to the life he was building. He has no choice but TO go back to the other home--the hunter life. Even if he’s certain it’s not what Mary would have wanted for them.

DIACHRONIC STUDY: IN-SEASON PARALLELS, LOOKING FORWARD

There’s no way I’ll have them all in mind, these are just what are flagging me along the way.

1.09 Home As the “Home” rewatch is not that far away, I’m going to save this as a placeholder with general notes about “Mary apologizing to Sam,” even if frankly, she should have to Dean too. But even if, at the time, the exact details of the deal may or may not have been established or hashed out by the authors--we’re not picking at arguing if the authors intended it or not here. Here, Mary apologizes for her deal. Here, Mary apologizes--for drowning her children. For magnetizing this poltergeist to this place that she demands let her sons go, where she forces the spook to let go of Sam. She couldn’t really go home in the truest sense until that passed. (I’ll have deeper chain-link connections on this looking-forward once actually at the episode.

DIACHRONIC STUDY: IN-ERA PARALLELS, LOOKING FORWARD

They’re here, but not pinging me at 1 AM beyond vagueblogging about Lucifer showing up as Jess to haunt Sam and the inevitable time travel episodes about Mary, so placeholder for later updates.

DIACHRONIC STUDY: BEYOND-ERA PARALLELS, LOOKING FORWARD

Obviously compare to above-dropped screenshots.

11.04: Mistakes were made.

Listen, Dean’s grimace seat has been in discussion lately, don’t blame me for thinking of Joseph’s mistakes right after the season as Dean-mirror Pastor Joseph. Funny how Sam’s get shown and Dean’s don’t.

11.23/12.01: Mary’s return in the (white or pink, I’m rolling with white as-above) gown, and all extending details.

12.22: Mary's dreamspace.

12.23: Dean, Castiel's death, Sam removing Dean

15.01: Woman In White, We've got work to do

I feel like the Woman in White is the most interesting of these that hasn’t been as talked to death as, say, the 12.23 elements with the Destiel parallel. After all, the Woman in White largely focused on Sam. It was his fear of home. It was him being faithful to Jess (and being unfaithful can be more than sex, really; after all, he made a promise to come back.) But in season 15, it’s Dean that the ghost of the jilted lover approaches, shortly after Dean nearly killed Jack in his pain. Was Dean the weeping woman? Or was Castiel? Who held the animosity in the back seat?

Or is this a shared path? As Dean puts the Equalizer away under the Cigar Box, he has his own haunting issues in the mirror.

Those will be addressed more deeply when we get to that episode in like half a year. But for now, I’m just putting a pin in it. With a side scribble of “Cas got his Secrets/Mary, Sam got his serial killer and clowns and Dean got... the woman in white with Belphegor.”

15.02: Road Closed

15.03: If one insists Mary and Jess’ dress are pink, Rowena’s dress upon wedding and unbirthing to death (and queendom)

15.04: I still think about Jess (shortly before Eileen’s return.)

15.13: If one insists Mary and Jess’ dress are pink, atop the eventually-addressed meaning of lighting (death and transformation) vs the Empress symbolism (fertility, rebirth), Castiel in pink light.

15.15: If one insists Mary and Jess’ dress are pink. Amara’s trenchcoat.

15.20: Beyond the obvious quotes, and the (IMO failed) attempt at nostalgia, there’s honestly very little callback to the original episode.

That’s it on first glance, I’m sure more will rattle out as we go forward. Well, mostly. Keys to the Legacy from Mint Condition is flagging me alongside control mechanisms like Castiel losing control of his vessel. But those are thoughts to put pins in for now and develop later.

COMBAT COUNTER:

DEAN VICTORIES: 1 (sam vs Dean)

MARKSMANSHIP COUNTER:

DEAN SHOTS: 12 shots, 12 hits.

(hits for any individual will be considered accurate even if targets teleport/flicker out as long as it should have hit the body)

The mythology pasted all around John’s Room is worth a second trip, but off the top of my head I see the Bell Witch and Asmodeus from the Lesser Key of Solomon (near the motel door).

I’ll reblog later to add commentary on that.

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metaphorical-love-for-a-car · 4 years

Text

Sunshine After Rain-- Connor (RK800) x Reader (Part 1)

Summary; After the death of your little brother, Cole, your dad hated androids. He blamed them for Cole's death. Hank couldn't stand to be around them. How the hell are you supposed to tell him that your soulmate is an android?

Warnings; swearing

Word Count; 2.2k

Notes; Originally posted on AO3, this was the first ‘x-reader’ fic I had ever written. Since it’s finals/death season at my uni, I won’t be doing much original writing and figured that this would be a good time to re-upload this old thing to my current blog. It’s full of flaws, but it has a special place in my heart. ((will have minimal editing, so I mean it when I say full of flaws))

Soulmates aren't all the things the media makes them out to be. Some people have one, while others don't. Sometimes, people's soulmates can change. That's exactly what happened to your parents. Hank Anderson fell in love with a woman he met in during his first year at the Detroit Police Department. He just knew she was the one. Being the suave man that he is, Hank marched up to her, said some cheesy one-liner, and took her hand in his. The moment they made contact with each other, the world around them exploded into color. As soon as he let go, the world sank back into its grayish hues. Over time, whenever they touched, the world seemed less and less colorful. The colors finally faded away when your little brother, Cole, died.

There was a little theme park not far outside the city. Hank had taken the two of you for the evening because your mom drew the short straw for the graveyard shift at the station. As the sun began to set, the snow fell harder. Hank eventually tore the two of you away from the park and got everyone packed into the car. He muttered swears under his breath as the engine sputtered to life. “Can't see five feet in front of me with all this fucking snow,” Hank growled.

“Yeah, look at all of that shit in the road,” you commented. Hank snorted. A lopsided grin crossed his face.

“Don't let your mom hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“’Cause she'll kill me,” he said with a huff.

You and Cole played spotting games in the back seat to pass the time. He was only a few years younger than you, and the two of you usually got along fairly well. Cole was leaning forward to look out of the windshield in an attempt to find whatever blue object you were thinking of. He reached over to unbuckle in an attempt to move and see better. “Dad! Cole is trying to unbuckle!” you tattled. Hank peered up into the rearview mirror to see what was going on.

“Cole, sit down and buckle up. It's snowing too much for you to--” The car skid on a patch of ice. Time seemed to slow. The car spun as Hank struggled to control it. Without warning, the vehicle rammed itself into a nearby tree. The sudden impact caused you to hit your head on the car's interior. Your ears rang violently, and everything seemed out of focus. It didn't take long for the darkness to overtake your vision and consume you.

The first thing you noticed was the yelling of your parents. The second was the smothering smell of cleaning supplies. You started to open your eyes, but it felt like the lights were trying to blind you. A steady, hammering sensation radiated from the front of your head. You began to toss and turn in an attempt to get comfortable. Your parents noticed your movements and quieted. “I'll go tell the nurse that they're awake,” your mother sighed. There was no doubt that she just needed a moment to escape. Hank nodded, pulling a chair closer to the bed. He gently touched your shoulder.

“Hey, kiddo, how ya feelin'?” You turned your head to face him. It took a couple moments to process his words.

“Lights are...” You paused, taking a breath. “too bright.” Hank glanced up at the overhead lights as he stood from his seat. He switched them off before sitting next to the bed again. You slowly opened your eyes, squinting at him. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, you hit your head pretty hard and got a bit of a concussion, but the doctor said you'll be fine.” You furrowed your brows, eyeing the few cuts across his own face. He shook his head with a scoff. “Don't worry about me. I just got a few little scratches. I'm fine.” You continued to survey your surroundings.

“Where's Cole?” Hank looked away. “Dad?”

“He was thrown from the car when we hit the tree. He's in surgery right now, but...” He sighed. “He's not in good condition. They've got one of those plastic bastards operating on him right now.” A heavy silence filled the room. Neither of you spoke for several minutes.

“That's why you and mom were fighting,” you whispered. Without you having to say anything else, he realized you had picked up on more than he would have liked. Your mom blamed him for what happened to Cole. After all, he was the one driving. Hank opened his mouth then closed it. He wanted to disagree and tell you that everything was okay, but he couldn't. You were right.

Cole didn't make it through the surgery. The android surgeons assured your parents that they did everything they could, but it was no use. Hank wrapped his arms around your mom as she wept. He'd be lying if he said he didn't weep alongside her. When he opened his eyes, the world had lost all its color. They knew the day was coming, but they never expected it to come at a time of such tragedy. They stayed together for a few more weeks, mainly for your sake. They wanted to tough it out at least until you got a little older, but things at home just got worse. They fought more often, which usually turned ugly. They would scream at each other until they lost their voices. Your mom would throw things at Hank, who would then turn and climb into a beer bottle and shut out the world around himself. Then, one day, she just left without a trace. She mailed in her letter of resignation to the DPD, and that was the last bit of contact anyone had from her. You and Hank never heard from her, but then again, you two never really tried to track her down either.

There's no doubt that life was rough after that. You and Hank had an unmeasurable amount of grief weighing down your hearts, but you two tried to tough it out. You had to be strong. You had to be strong for each other.

You always had a fascination with your dad's job as a detective. Every time you walked into the DPD, your eyes would fill with wonder. It didn’t take you long to decide you wanted to follow in his footsteps. As soon as you were able, you joined the department's K9 unit. You loved the dogs and spent most of your time training them. You were quickly able to get even the most stubborn dogs to listen to your commands, which earned the respect of a few of your peers. Several of them, however, still made you the butt of all jokes since you were one of the youngest in the department. The worst one was Gavin Reed. He loved to get under Hank's skin, which often led him to you. Unfortunately, that often left him with a bloody nose and you with bruised knuckles.

You sat at your desk, staring at the mountain of paperwork littering your desk. You groaned, running a hand through your hair. The german shepherd laying next to your feet lifted its head. A grin twitched at the corner of your lips as you reached down to pet it. A steady stream of officers trickled in to start the day. You noticed an android make its way over to Hank's desk. It poked around his desk, analyzing everything. Curiosity getting the better of you, you pushed yourself away from your paperwork and approached the android. You always found the bots intriguing. You thought it was interesting that they made them colorblind to be 'more relatable to humans.'

"Hey, you must be the android CyberLife sent to help investigate the deviant cases," you chirped before introducing yourself. The android looked at you and tilted its head slightly.

"Yes, I'm Connor. I have been assigned to help Lieutenant Anderson with the investigations." You couldn't help but laugh, which seemed to confuse the poor android. "I do not understand what is humorous."

"You're his partner? No wonder he's been so grumpy lately," you said with a grin. "He's not very fond of androids." Connor furrowed its brows with a nod. As you turned around, you spotted Hank walking into the bullpen. "Speaking of the son of a bitch, there he is." Hank rubbed his face.

"Give your old man a break. It was a rough night." He stopped in his tracks. Hank's face paled as his eyes widened. "God.. I saw you get shot in the head last night." You turned to face Connor. The android seemed unfazed.

"My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed. CyberLife transferred its memory and sent me to replace it. This incident should not affect the investigation." Hank looked disgusted, while you grinned.

"Interesting, so every time you get destroyed CyberLife produces another android that looks and sounds exactly like you as a replacement?" Connor nodded. You crossed your arms with a hum. "How many models have there been before you?" His LED indicator flashed a different color. He opened his mouth, but someone interrupted him.

"Hank! In my office!" Fowler boomed. You shot Hank a look.

"Well, he looked pissed."

"Yeah, wish me luck," Hank grumbled as he trudged into Fowler's office. You glanced back at Connor.

"I'm gonna get some coffee if you want to tag along. I know androids don't eat or whatever, but you might just want to explore the place a little bit," you said with a shrug. A small grin tugged at the corner of its lips.

"I believe it would be beneficial for me to be aware of my surroundings." You smiled and looked at your desk. You whistled, and the dog sat up in attention. You pointed to the floor beside your foot. The dog bounced up from its perch and quickly scurried up to you. As you continued to walk towards the break room, the dog paused to stare at Connor before following you once more.

Gavin sat at one of the small tables, talking to another officer. You nodded at the two in greeting. Gavin stared at you, while the other officer gave you a small wave. They continued their conversation, leaving you to fix your coffee in peace. Gavin stopped talking for a few seconds before going on about ghosts. You turn away from the coffee machine to see Connor standing in the middle of the small room. The android looked at you, and you just rolled your eyes with a shrug. "Hello, Detective Reed," Connor greeted. Gavin approached the android, asking what model it is. You decided to answer the question instead.

"It's clearly written on the front of the jacket, dipshit."

"Fuck you."

"Only if you ask nicely," you said with a wink. Gavin scoffed, returning his attention to the android. He ordered Connor to make him a coffee. No one said a word. They all watched Connor to see what it would do.

"I'm sorry, but I only take orders form Lieutenant Anderson."

"Oh!" Gavin looked around, feigning an apologetic look. Without warning, he punched Connor in the stomach. The android doubled over. Gavin kneeled down beside it, threatening it. You set your coffee down on the counter. Storming over to the two, you shoved Gavin away from Connor.

"Alright, Gavin, that's enough."

"Oh, come on, (y/n)! Don't tell me you're actually humanizing this thing. It's just a tin can!" Gavin raised his voice, pointing at the android.

"If it's just a tin can, then why do you feel the need to assert your masculine dominance over it?" You quipped. The other officer sniggered. "Why don't you go find a middle schooler to steal lunch money from?" Gavin glared at you. He looked over at the android and shoved its head downward. Your dog broke its silence and growled.

"Get control of your dog, (y/n)." With that, Gavin sauntered out of the break room, the other officer trailing behind.

You sighed, sticking your hand out towards Connor. "He's such a dick." Connor looked up at you and blinked. Androids didn't need help getting up, but you were offering assistance as a sign of camaraderie. Connor took your hand, and you helped him to his feet. Right after he stood, your breath got caught in your throat. His jacket was the first thing you noticed, then his eyes. There were bright colors all around you. Connor furrowed his brows. His LED briefly flash red before settling on a steady strum between blue and yellow. He stared at your eyes, then your hair. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in every feature.

You quickly snatched your hand away from his. The color slowly drained from your field of vision. Your eyes were wide and frantic. It felt like someone replaced your heart with a drum. You rushed out of the break room, calling for your dog to follow. Connor watched you retreat. A message clouded his vision.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY.

~*~*~

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coveredinsweetpea · 4 years

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me and you [ross butler imagine]

A/n: This is cheesy don't mind me. I finally have time to write again and I'll probably be here A LOT so hmu! Let's talk, tell me what you thought!

Summary: Ross comforts you after you receive online hate due to the age gap in your relationship (requested)

"What're you doing over there?" Ross asked, mindlessly walking through the living room. He didn't get you a chance to answer before he walked into the kitchen, only to pop his head back into the room and call for you again, "Babe?" "Hm?" you mumbled, tilting your head in his direction, even if your eyes never actually left the screen of your laptop. "What are you reading?" he questioned, now leaning against the wall, eyes trained on you. "I wanna cook something" you said softly, your attention divided between your boyfriend and the recipes displayed in front of you. "Why?" Ross laughed. "Stop" you scoffed, amused, "Our cheat day turned into a cheat month, and I'm really in the mood for something home cooked and healthy." Still unconvinced about your motives, he reluctantly accepted to help you choose a dish. Eventually, you settled for some fancy stake with brown rice. About half an hour later you were both in the kitchen, laughing your asses off. It all started with Ross trying to fake an Italian accent as he read the instructions for the sauce, and it ended with him posting three different videos of you two to his Instagram story. In the first one, he wasn't completely prepared, and his shyness came to light. His cheeks bright red and the room filled with his nervous laughter - it was definitely your favorite of the three. In the second one, he had gotten a little bit more in character, and he may or may not have done an adorably sweet impression of The Godfather. "He's Italian, right?" Ross laughed over your shoulder, as you watched the videos on his story.

"Yes, he is, babe" you laughed, leaning your head back, "Or was" "Did he die?" he asked, genuine curiosity visible in his eyes. "Haven't you seen the movie?" "Nope" "Well, then I'm not gonna tell you!" you exclaimed, turning around. You discarded his phone, carefully placing it on the counter. Your hands met behind his neck, your fingers intertwining. Ross looked down at you with a smile that was hard to read, but it warmed you up nonetheless. "Tell me" he begged, grabbing your waist and pulling your body flush against his, "I wanna know" "What kind of an asshole girlfriend would I be if I spoiled one of the best movies ever made for you?" Ross cocked his head to the side, and pursed his lips, "Pretty sure you'd still be the best girlfriend...." "Sweet talking won't get you anywhere, babe" you giggled, pulling yourself up on your tip toes. He met you halfway, leaning down to press his lips to yours. It was really sweet at the beginning, even though he tasted like the garlic he swore he didn't steal from your plate. But you didn't really care. The taste faded away quite rapidly, and soon, you were already clinging to his chest, your body asking for more. His tongue pushed past your lips and you welcomed him with no intention to hold back. Much to your dismay, things didn't go any further. At least not until you feasted on the food you worked so hard to make. This was probably one of the most relaxing nights you've had in ages, and were beyond thankful for it. For the past few months, your schedules had been hectic, but you just enjoyed a night in, and in the morning you were ready to head out for breakfast. You and Ross were supposed to meet your parents at a café nearby. Despite the short distance, you two were again running late. You ended up brushing your teeth at the same time, bumping shoulders and playfully bickering until you were actually too late for your own good. Ross had to physically drag you away from your make up table, "Babe, it's just our parents, they won't care when color your eyelids are" "Oh my god" you laughed, and hurried to apply the last touches of mascara, before he wrapped an arm around your middle and pulled you to your feet. "Ok! I'm done, I'm done, let's go!" Giggling, your sprinted to the hallway, hurrying to slip your shoes on. "Where the fuck is my wallet!?" you heard Ross's muffled voice echo through the apartment. "Jeans?" "Which ones?" he yelled back. "Jesus-" you laughed, rolling your eyes, "I have mine, leave it" "What if I need my ID?" Ross asked, finally coming back into your line of sight, eyes all mopey and shoulders all slumped. "What are they gonna do?" you taunted, "Assume you're not old enough to have alcohol for breakfast" "Good, point" he shook his head, and started putting his shoes on. To be fair, this was what most of your days were like, and you loved it. There was a specific air of comfort and acceptance between the two of you that you never had with anyone else. The safety he provided and the love he had for you, were the only things you needed to keep going. About 30 minutes later, you and Ross were seated on a small terrace, across from your parents. It was their idea for all of you to go out today, considering the last season of 13 Reasons Why just dropped, and even if was just a croissant and a cup of tea, it called for celebration. "I've only ever been once to the set" his mother shook her head, sipping on her smoothie, "And I feel like I'm gonna miss everything about it" "I know what you mean!" you smiled, "I've gotten the chance to meet most of the cast and they're all such amazing people!" "They love you, you know?" Ross grinned, elbowing you in the side. "Oh god" you giggled, feeling your cheeks catch a new shade of pink. "It's true" he shook his head, looking at everyone around the table in turn. A devilish smirk popped up on his lips, "Apparently we're perfect together, or something?" Everyone at the table ended up shaking their heads and chuckling at Ross's attempt to make a joke, and it only warmed your heart. Unconsciously, you leaned into him, and cuddled against his side, ignoring the looks yours and his mother gave you as he turned and kissed the top of your head. "We get it" your dad playfully scoffed, "You're young and happy and all that crap. But where are my grandkids?" Although he didn't really have a very exquisite sense of humor, you all laughed, some out of amusement, some out of nervousness. You're sure the parents didn't take it seriously, but the thought of a little Ross running around your apartment brought a ridiculous smile to your lips. The breakfast date didn't last much longer after that. About 30 minutes later, you were in the passenger seat of your car, as Ross drove the two of you home. Out of habit, you pulled out your phone, your thumb mindlessly tapping the Instagram icon. That was when you saw the amount of tags and mentions you had. Thousands of them. Your stomach filled with dread in an instant. This was never good. And even so, you still always checked what people had to say. You were not a celebrity, having people talk about you still made your skin crawl. When the comments were good, you'd just get a rush of anxiety that you started to manage better and better over the last few months, but when the comments are bad, it feels like your lungs are on the edge of collapse. And that was the case now. You only got a chance to read a few comments, all of them, without exception, picking at the age gap between the two of you. Your eyes watered instantly, forcing you to lock your phone and turn your head towards the window. "Hey, baby girl" Ross called lovingly, placing his hand of your thigh, "You good?" You just nodded. "Tell me, love" he pushed, squeezing your leg, "Come on" "I'm fine" "Obviously you're not, angel" "I'm good" you repeated yourself, and forced a fake smile. You did your best but it wasn't enough to fool him. However, he did drop the topic. The rest of the car ride was spent in perfect silence. But once you got inside, you felt him eager to pick the topic back up. So, you did the only thing that you felt was able to help you dodge the situation, and excused yourself, claiming you needed a shower after spending so much time in the sun. It would have been a great lie, but it was 11am on a cloudy July morning, you all had breakfast under a big umbrella that kept you cool in its shadow, and the AC in the car kept the unwanted high temperatures away from you. As you jumped into the shower, you hoped Ross wouldn't look too much into it. As the water poured down your body, you let your mind wonder. It was not a wise choice. If his fans managed to only find flaws about you and bring them forward, you had the upper hand - you knew yourself, and knew all the other flaws you had, the ones they couldn't pick apart. But you could. And that was what you did. For at least an hour, you soaked yourself in hot water, feeding all the negative thoughts that consumed you. When you finally decided to get out of the shower, you were by no means in a better mental state, but you didn't want to let Ross see that. Even though you had some specific opinions about yourself, you felt like opening up about them only made you a victim. So you decided against it. You got dressed up, put on one of your own shirts instead of his', something you never did inside the house, and then walked in the living room. Although you felt like ignoring him, you knew that would only raise suspicions. "What're you up to?" you asked, as you stopped right before you headed into the kitchen. Ross hadn't heard you come in, and only looked up when your voice reached his ears. "I was productive" he grinned, standing up from the couch. "Oh, what did you do?" He laughed, and walked over, "Literally nothing" Quite impossible for you to understand how his little dumb lines like these, could always make you loosen up. Of course, he noticed your faint smile hid a lot, so he leaned down to kiss your forehead and placed his fingers under your chin to get you to look up at him, "I'm not gonna ask what you were mad about earlier, because I know" "Ross-" you tried to excuse yourself, and pull away from his hold, but he was by no means having it. "You know you're my whole fucking world, ok?" he said softly, his breath fanning over your skin, "I'm the only one that gets to decide who's good for me. Falling in love with you is only up to me. Not them, ok?" "I know..." you sighed, your insecurities overwhelming you again. "But?" he nudged you, obviously aware of how much you were holding back. "But what if you're wrong?" "What do you mean, wrong?" Ross questioned, his eyebrows furrowed. "What if you only think I'm good for you? What if they're right, and you just can't see it?" He sighed, obviously deeply hurt by the lack of trust and confidence you showed, "They're not right, I'm 100% sure. But even if they were, I'd have to see for myself, wouldn't I?" "Even if what they're saying is more rational?" you asked, voice all choked up by the lump in your throat. "I'm not gonna listen to anyone talk shit about the woman I love" he explained, "I really do see myself living the rest of my life by your side, what's a stranger gonna do? Convince me otherwise? Right now, in my life, you come first. Anyone could come and tell me anything they wanted, and still, it wouldn't change the way I feel about you. My opinion on you is based on what I know, on who you are, and you're the only one that could ever change it" His words managed to get to you, and although your knees were weak, you were still not quite there yet. "What if that's what's gonna happen? More time will pass and you'll see I'm not right for you" "That's how relationships work, love" Ross shook his head, "And it certainly does not have anything to do with you being younger than me." Too many things were coming at you at once. He made a good point, but your mind was already drunk on all the possibilities, and on all the things that could go wrong. Accepting that he might actually be right, and acknowledging the fact that in your current state, you couldn't possibly think straight, you hoped he'd understand you when you ask to continue this conversation later in the day. "We can talk about this whenever you want, baby girl" he said, and unlike before, now he sounded defeated. As if he realized he did not manage to et his point across, and that you were still down. If you had your eyes open, you would've probably noticed hurt in his expression when he failed to lift your spirits, but your vision was clouded and all you did was leave the room without a single word. What was hard now, was the fact that deep down, a part of you knew he was right, and that he made a legitimately fair point, and that of all things, breaking up was the last thing you wanted. But you backed out of situation like these before, and all you did in the end was regret your choices. Regret the fact you didn't fight and didn't believe the person next to you, who spent their days proving just how much you mean to them. Exhausted and in need of a break, you opened up your phone to call your best friend. When the screen lit up, your Instagram feed popped up, refreshing as it hasn't been used in hours. Out of habit, you allowed the posts to load, and thank god you did.

Words could not describe the storm of emotions taking place inside your belly. You knew Ross, knew he would never lie, deceive or manipulate, and the fact that he posted that for his 8.5M followers to see, had to mean something. And when you checked the time, you saw that the picture was posted while you were still in the shower, before that little conversation you tow had. As cliché as it sounds, it really did it for you. Him standing up for you in front of his own fans, meant everything in that moment. You only realized you stormed into the living room when you were already slumping down into the couch, grabbing Ross's hand into your own. "Thank you" was all that came out of your mouth, despite the monstrous battle of thoughts that was going on inside your head. "For what, baby?" he asked, voice all soft and loving as he leaned his head to the side. "I saw the post and I wanted to th-" "Don't thank me for that, ok?" he cut you off, his free hand coming up to guide your chin. He searched for you with his stare, and only continued to talk after your eyes met his, "I didn't do it because I thought that was what you wanted. I felt like doing it. I did it for you, because you're my girl, and I hate seeing you down. And I did it for me too, because there is no chance in hell I'm ever allowing anyone to poke into our private business like that" As stray tears roamed down your cheeks, a small giggle came out too, "I feel kinda stupid, you know?" you snorted, "I don't know why I needed to hear you say this to everyone. It should have been enough that you said it to me. I'm sorry" His eyes softened even more as he opened his arms. You crawled over, and rested against his chest. In this position, where we felt the safest in the world, you started to wonder how on earth you even doubted him. "Listen to me-" Ross said sweetly but with an affirming tone. "Fears and insecurities? We're working through them. Together. Whatever it is, I got you. You're my world, Y/n, the love of my life, I really want the best for you. I have a lot to learn, but I really wanna make you the happiest. I am always here for you, and always will be, ok? I really need to know you know that" "You're an angel" you nodded, cuddling deeper into his chest, "I love you" "You're the angel" Ross laughed, playing with your hair, "And no more hiding, ok? It's me and you, that's it" "Me and you"

#ross butler #ross butler imagine #13 rw imagine #13 reasons why imagine #riverdale imagine #riverdale imagines #zach dempsey #zach dempsey imagine #zach dempsey angst #zach dempsey fanfic #ross butler fanfiction #ross butler writing

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dt-canim · 3 years

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Oh boy, this is gonna be a long one haha. This is a bit of an unusual post, but Tumblr, I need some assistance.

Ok so I've always have known about autism and stuff like it but it wasn't until about a year ago that I started looking into neurodivergency more. If you're wondering, it was brought about by my favorite Ducktales episode (season 3 episode 6: Astro Boyd) airing for the first time and I saw people talking about its autistic/neurodivergent themes.

Since then, I’ve been picking up some of my tendencies and it got me wondering. I never remember getting tested for this stuff so this is just based on my experiences and research. So for educational purposes, I'm gonna put some of the traits I do and see if any neurodivergent ppl relate lol

The first thing I want to touch upon is something plenty of us are probably familiar with: stimming. My experiences include;

Excitedly hitting a book I'm reading because of a cool call back, a really funny joke, or simply something badass happening (this just happened to me other day lol)

Flailing my arms and/or legs when something similar (to the point above) happens in a movie or tv show I enjoy

“Vibing” with my best friend includes: waving my arms and head around, bobbing up and down like I am an idle video game character, and/or just generally moving in place for a solid minute or two

The next thing I will mention: Hyperfixations

If you have seen my Tumblr, profile, or simply paid attention to the beginning of this post, you may not be surprised that I hyperfixate with my favorite show, possibly ever, Ducktales. I got emotional last year when I heard it was ending and legitimately cried at the end of the last episode. I mean watching those final credits still makes my heart hurt. (And I know I'm terrible at posting but I will never truly leave the Dt fandom)

Sometimes it happens rather quickly. For instance, I went to the mall with my friend last Saturday and impulsively bought a book called The Extraordinaries. I finished it in 3 days and I swear if I don't go back to that Barnes & Noble and get my hands on the sequel soon I will do crimes.

When I find things to hyperfixate about it is all I want to talk about with people for a while. But then I feel bad when they don't share my interests because I don't just want people to listen to me babble my head off all the time about stuff they don't care about.

Something I found out recently, losing track of time apparently can be a neurodivergent trait.

So yeah I've done this a lot. Overall, I just have terrible time management skills. I'm not great at putting things down on a timeline and it makes me anxious when I do so.

Also, since going into homeschooling about 5 years ago, I constantly lose track of time. Most of the time, I only know what day and time it is because I have a calendar next to my bed and a phone around me at all times. (off-topic but it annoys me that I used the word time so often here)

Prioritizing tasks, knowing how to start things, and just overall getting shiz done..???

I have. So many. Sketches I want to finish. But I keep going to a new one cause woop I just got a new idea must do it now right?! (Seriously though, I'm sorry that I haven't been posting much art lately)

I have a comic I want to start developing but I have no idea how on earth I should do that. And sometimes things seem obvious, like get the outlines for your story, get main plot points down, PUT YOUR DAM IDEAS YOU HAVE IN YOUR HEAD DOWN SOMEWHERE ANYWHERE. But nooo I'll just sit here and keep starting new sketches of my main characters. That'll get you a product you'll be happy with.

Sometimes I will just sit there thinking ok I'm sitting here but I have work I need to get done and I am running out of time to do it and it is stressing me out right now but I can't move I can't do it but I need to because it needs to get done and I am running out of time but it is stressful. Rinse and repeat for at least a half-hour, maybe take a nap lol.

This point is the fact that even though I never got tested I know I have maladaptive daydreaming which has a link to Adhd and neurodivergency in general.

For those who don't know what that is, I will try to explain. Yes, it is daydreaming but it's more than that. (you know what? I'm just gonna put the traits I found off of a site and add my feelings toward it lol)

extremely vivid daydreams with their own characters, settings, plots, and other detailed, story-like features

daydreams triggered by real-life events (mostly media I consume in my case)

difficulty completing everyday tasks (kinda like the stress-sitting I mentioned earlier just with daydreaming mixed in)

difficulty sleeping at night (at the time of making this point is it currently 3 am, though I am aware I'm up rn because of this post, it is usually because of the daydreaming)

an overwhelming desire to continue daydreaming (ok that's just...accurate)

performing repetitive movements while daydreaming (typically I walk around my house like a ping pong ball)

making facial expressions while daydreaming (idk I usually mouth what my character are saying or replicate the face their making)

whispering and talking while daydreaming (^^)

daydreaming for lengthy periods

The last thing I will mention for now is my family cause many sources say that this stuff is commonly genetic soooooooo

My mother has been diagnosed with dyslexia since she was a kid.

We've suspected that my brother has Adhd. To put it in perspective I will paraphrase something that his 2nd-grade teacher once said. “He moves around so much I want to just strap him to a chair sometimes but I am afraid to do it cause I think he'll explode”

I have more I could potentially talk about but I don't want to make this too long. I just want to know if anyone relates to this. So here take this mess of me hahahaaaaaaaa

#neurodivergent #adhd #austism #adhd things #stimming #hyperfixation #maladaptive problems #maladaptive daydreaming #maladaptive behaviors #neurodivergencies #does any if this make sense

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sigridhr · 3 years

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Darcyverse Drabbles

Written for the Darcyverse Drabble Race game on discord. If you'd like to join the Darcyverse on discord, drop me a line! We'd love to have you, and we're always looking for new Darcy fans to hang out with.

Prompt 1: Ultraviolet

There’s something about the way Carol looks in the dark, a glow off of her skin, that makes Darcy feel like she’s peering into an alien world. Like colour is suddenly brighter and more wild than she’s ever thought it was possible to be before. She can almost see the far bits of the spectrum, just beyond what her eye can reach, dancing on Carol’s skin.

She wonders what it’s like to hold so much magic within you. But beneath her touch, Carol’s skin comes alive, sparking under her hands, and Darcy thinks she’s come close to knowing after all.

…

Wanda’s magic leaves a faint smell of ozone in the atmosphere, so when Darcy walks through the door she knows something is up. Cautiously, she pads into the kitchen, making no noise, and puts the shopping on the counter.

Wanda’s by the window, her hair flowing in a breeze of her own creation, dark purple swirling around her.

“Bad day?” Darcy asks softly.

The magic falls, the smell in the air clears, and the room lights up once more. “In a manner of speaking,” says Wanda. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Darcy rests her chin on Wanda’s shoulder and says, “always.”

…

The problem with an alien species that is ultraviolet in colour is that they’re fucking invisible. At least, they are to people who aren’t mantis shrimps, which is the first time Darcy has wondered if life would be simpler if she were a shrimp.

She’s holding one of Jane’s scanners up like a weapon, wandering around the lab with her arm carefully outstretched and wondering if this is truly going to be her inglorious and undignified end.

It’s then that Jane flips a switch flooding the lab with a strange purple light and making the creature visible. Darcy strikes.

…

Space is weird. Space is super weird, and Darcy has decided that space is arguably too weird to live in and that she’s had quite enough of everything being super, stupidly weird.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, furious at the weird stupid space predicament. “They shot us with a light ray that somehow took out our sensors.”

“That is about the shape of it,” says Rocket. “I can honestly say I didn’t see it coming.”

“So, you’re saying we’ve been… blinded by the light.”

Peter gives her a high five, but all Darcy feels is annoyed. Honestly, fuck space.

…

Prompt 2: Black Hole

“Ah,” said Carol mildly. “Shit.”

“Shit?” Darcy asked, a little less mildly. “No, not shit. Don’t say shit when you’re flying a space ship. Do pilots say shit? No. Because shit is bad! No shit!”

“Yeah, shit is bad,” said Carol. “We, uh, may or may not be going into a black hole.”

“A black hole?” Darcy said.

Carol sighed. “You know what I’m gonna just go out and push.”

There was nothing Carol had ever done, or possibly ever could do after this, that would be more astounding to Darcy than watching her literally push the ship out of the gravitational pull of the black hole.

…

Black Hole coffee was the only place in town that served java bitter enough to suit Valkyrie, whose taste in coffee was that it should be nearly undrinkable. Darcy’d got used to it though, braving blacker and blacker coffee until the caffeinated sludge the Black Hole served started to actually become appealing.

Valkyrie smiled at her over her cup, a half-torn glow-in-the dark print of one of the Hubble photographs peeling off the wall behind her. Everything about the black hole screamed bitter grunge, but Darcy was surprised to find it had suddenly become the happiest place she’d ever been.

…

Valkyrie joining a Ska band was somehow both something Darcy hadn’t expected and something that made total sense as soon as she said it. Anyway, it was for this reason that Darcy wound up spending most of her nights tucked away in the corner of the Black Hole, curled up at the back table, watching her girlfriend’s mediocre-at-best band play.

It was worth it, for the smiles Valkyrie flashed at her – just for her – or the way she came over and kissed her at the end of the set, her breath tasting like coffee.

Darcy bought the band’s shirt for everyone she knew.

…

“I just don’t think it could. There are rules about matter – it might be magic, but it’s still matter,” said Jane emphatically, gesturing with her mug.

“Yeah, but it’s a magic hammer. It’s virtually indestructible. I think it would make it through.”

Jane sighed. “Virtually doesn’t mean actually. The laws of physics still apply, Darcy.”

“Says you. We could always try it…” Darcy suggested, grinning maniacally.

Jane gave her a flat look. “No,” she said bluntly. “We are not asking Thor if we can throw his hammer through a black hole.”

“But it’s for science!” shouted Darcy. ...

Prompt 3: Solar

Darcy first gets the sinking feeling when the little kid says, “mister Obi-Wan, sir?” in a voice that suggests something is about to go completely, thoroughly and utterly tits up.

“It’s just, we’re going to have to pass through a solar flare,” the kid says, very earnestly.

Darcy can’t really see why it’s a problem, but all of her senses say this kid knows something she doesn’t. The Mister Obi-Wan Sir in question, however, carries on.

It’s only later when they’d crash landed in a strange and foreign galaxy, camping under the worlds most undulating and pungent trees, that Darcy gives the kid a nod. “No solar flares; got it.”

…

Carol can feel the power humming just beneath her skin, wanting to be let out. It’s like holding on to a sun in her bare hands. Every touch she gives to Darcy has to be careful, so careful – careful she doesn’t burn, or hurt. She feels sometimes like the energy within her is burning her up like a real sun, and that one day she’ll be consumed by it.

Alone at night, so glows faintly in the dark. Her skin is luminous and the light flows out through her. And she lets it out, lets it burn through her, bright and hot, until she can lie back down on the grass and stare up at the stars.

…

There’s a side to Valkyrie Darcy really hadn’t seen coming. They’re waiting for the sun to rise again on the longest day of the year – it’s barely set, and she can still see the faint flicker of light on the horizon, a pale gold that catches Valkyrie’s face and seems to bring out the colour of her skin. Valkyrie is staring intently at the horizon, waiting.

“We used to hear them call,” she says softly. “This was a holy day.”

Looking at Valkyrie’s face, so enraptured by the sun, surrounded by the survivors of Asgard, Darcy says softly, “it still is.”

…

New Asgard does everything by the sun, and it’s a kind of living Darcy thrives in. Before you never would have caught her dead out of bed at 6am, but now, now she rises and moves with the sun, changing with the seasons. It’s on New Asgard that Darcy finds herself again, post-snap, post-everything. She presses her hands into the earth, weeding around seedlings and watching over them as they grow. And as the press up through the dirt, rising to meet the sun, so does she.

For the first time since the snap, Darcy remembers what it is to be alive.

…

“Are you growing weed?” is the first thing Jane asks when she visits Darcy’s apartment.

“No, I’m growing houseplants. Why, do you need weed?”

“It’s just, it looks like a grow-op in here.” And it sort-of does, with all of her grow-lights everywhere, blasting artificial sunlight down on her sun-starved houseplants. Darcy grimaces from within a small jungle of calatheas around her desk.

“I ran out of windows.”

Jane snorts, managing to find a seat nestled between two huge parlour palms.

“Well, I suppose as hobbies go, this one is fairly inoffensive,” Jane says. “Although I don’t know how you get any work done.”

...

Prompt 4: Cluster

There’s a gaggle of space penguins in the lab that definitely weren’t there when Darcy left to get a sandwich. They’re clustered around what Darcy has nicknamed ‘the teleporter’, an attempt by her and Jane to replicate Strange’s magic. Which, by the look of the space penguins, worked.

“Uh…?” was the best version of the question Darcy managed to ask.

Jane sighed, looking distinctly wet. “They came in on a wave through the teleporter. I can’t figure out why it’s not connecting to the right point.”

One of them nestled up to Jane’s leg, and there rest of the cluster seemed to take the hint and surrounded her.

Darcy did the only logical thing: snapped a photo.

…

Star clusters looked amazing from the telescopes Darcy had access to. Both in terms of the data she had, but also just to look at – bright collections of light in the night sky.

Turns out, flying a ship through them was horrible.

“Do you guys do this often, because I’m not gonna lie, it feels like we’re gonna die,” she said.

“As long as we don’t run into a solar flare, we’re fine,” said Rocket. “I’ve heard weird things about solar flares.”

As always, in space, Darcy came to better understand the difference between observing and being – and she wished she were back home.

…

Total number: 15

#darcylanddrabblerace #darcy lewis #darcyverse discord #stark r&d

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seijch · 3 years

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ANNOUNCEMENT: NOT A HELLO, BUT NOT A GOODBYE EITHER

omg hi ... im like . ashamed to come back after saying brief hiatus in october and then disappearing off the face of the earth til FEBRUARY but under the cut i will be explaining myself and the following, if youre interested (and a tl;dr at the very bottom if you don’t wanna scroll thru this obnoxiously long post):

the reason(s) i was gone for so long

what i was doing during that time (its just a personal account yall can scroll past this idrc)

the status of those um . halloween requests

the future of this account

i. so . Hiatus .

i know. i know . i probably mentioned it when i made the announcement post, but my mental health likes to go on one of those rides. yknow the ones where you go like up rlly fast then down maybe and then up then DOWN .... its like that. i needed a break and every time i wanted to come back or thought about it, something would happen and i would get stuck in my own head.

a big reason for getting stuck in my head was (and i hate to admit this ... i hate to admit that i have Insecurities On The Internet) my feelings of inadequacy regarding my writing. i love to plot fics, i love concepts and characters and making little headcanons but i dont ... know if i love writing rn. and i thought for the longest time that like . whatever ill just push thru it its fine ill be fine but it kinda wasnt lmao you can kinda see it in my halloween reqs and what become of them when i get to that but i began to feel like nothing i had put out or would put out would hold up prose wise (and normally i dont feel like this im much more “idc its my life im living it” but thats not a rant for tumblr LMAO). i still feel like that -- like im better as a reader than a writer. but . You Know :-)

tl;dr: mental state go brrrrr

ii. anywhere here’s wonderwall

when i left, i was in a steadily decreasing mental and emotional state, made worse by a situation at work that really was a case of petty jealousy on my end and rlly isnt very consequential now despite how much pain and resentment it gave me when it Was a problem so i wont get into it. the tl;dr of november and december was me using work as an crutch and distraction -- i know my job, i do it well, it helped me not think about my responsibilities and obligations and inadequacies. of course, as the holiday season grew busier n busier i was scheduled so often that i moved 88 or so miles (according to my apple watch, which i ONLY wear at work since im never anywhere else outside my house) and fell into a cycle of showering n sleeping at my house before going back the next day. (theres definitely something to be said abt capitalism and “grind culture” here but once again its not the time or place snsjkdfds)

at the turn of the new year, i happened to remember a birthday card i hadnt filed away for safekeeping from a friend of mine that id been horribly out of touch with til that point. i started crying because i realized how out of touch id been in general up until that point. the month of january was great for me: i was focused, happy, and in a much better place than i had been before. the end of it brought me down focus wise and im hoping that enough time away from my distractions will refocus me bc i ... need it LMAO and though ive burned out from that level of productivity and gotten distracted again im ... trying to stay positive which i think is the most i can do 😁👍🏼

media wise, i got real into stardew valley (but burned out bc i played it extensively as a way to wind down after work), the pokemon platinum romhack renegade platinum (still havent finished it bc of school n i played it w the intent to see if i could nuzlocke it ... bitch its so hard but its so fun bc of it), briefly assassins creed: odyssey (im one of those ppl who completes an entire region before i move to the next so you can tell i burned out of that one + wouldnt have the time to properly devote to it even if i didnt), got back into genshin impact after pulling for xiao (after not touching it for like . months), and danganronpa. yes . danganronpa 😐 i Know. i stopped playing it after the second trial of the first game bc i was so hurt by the outcome and picked it up in late january only to get sucked in (thank god i had the foresight to buy the second and third games during the steam winter sale). rn im at the start of chapter 4 if anyone wants to come in my asks and um . talk to me abt danganronpa

tl;dr: I’m Into Danganronpa Now

iii. you realize halloween was three months ago right

i mentioned this in the first section, but i love to plot things. every request is plotted or at least has a solid foundation. i had fun detailing what concept i wanted to go with considering what i was given, and there were some bangers i might touch up in the future. but heres whats going to happen to the requests themselves:

there are two finished requests. one will be posted tomorrow and the other will be touched up (just bc i finished it doesnt mean its good 🧍‍♂️) and scheduled for next saturday. as for the ones i never got around to ...

i will not be finishing those requests. i hate to be That Person, but i feel like we all expected this 🧍‍♂️ what i will do is post all of my notes for each request in batches -- requests that have an @ to go with them will be mentioned in the post proper, but anon asks will be pictured. (there are some asks that came from blogs who are now deactivated but i wrote down all the prompts and remember most of those askers so ill cross that bridge when i get there) there will most likely be an excerpt or two simply bc i think i mightve written a few plot points or interactions in the form of bullet points. i rlly am sorry about doing this but i remember looking at my notion doc with all the prompts and feeling ... like i wasnt measuring up n it wasnt just to myself or to some intangible concept of “other” id constructed but it was instead to those who requested n actually WANTED to see and hear and read my writing and i ...... im gonna admit thats another big reason i avoided this site.

regardless, youll definitely get what i have (and likely more than just my bullet points and illegible handwriting).

tl;dr: im sorry. what i have in terms of plot, concept, and interaction for every request will be posted, but i cant say ill ever complete them and mean it.

iv. so what now?

well i mean . im not entirely sure how sold i am on haikyuu in the content creation department (as a creator n to a lesser extent, as a consumer). as mentioned previously, its no longer my primary focus. it doesnt mean im not into haikyuu anymore; i have a lot of love for those boys but i cant rlly say im even caught up w recent fandom activity and also havent even finished s4 pt2 LMAO thats on my to do list

and despite all that, i still want to share my plots n concepts and snippets and maybe even fics. it wont happen anytime soon. it might not even happen. but i mean . its better than me saying i wont write ever again shjdkfs but either way ill probably use this blog as a personal blog w the occasional ask game for dialogue prompts (those are always so fun i love making up aus to fit like . the most mundane prompts)

as for my works (past and any potential future), ive opened an ao3 acc here n ill be editing n possibly expanding on my old works to post there. tumblr, to me, is The x reader hub, but i figure more x reader fics on ao3 is never a bad thing.

ill be deleting/posting drafted posts to the queue since they were all meant to be queued anyway as well as (sorry again 🧍‍♂️) deleting or answering asks in the inbox. (moots if you get a notif from me saying i rbed your post from months ago ... mind your business) im very hard to get ahold of and its ... a problem. expect an overhaul of the nav n shit to reflect my new direction n also because i feel like i cant tell if my passion for carrd is shared by the majority HSDKLFS maybe its better to read my info in a normal post ykwim .......

and of course . if youve read all this n decided im no longer worth the follow, i sure as hell cant stop you. thank you for wanting to, at some point, hear what i have to say -- it means more than you think.

tl;dr: writing will be edited and reposted to ao3, this blog will be a personal blog with a hint of writing (sometimes)

the tl;dr to end all tl;drs:

im back! i wont be as active as i used to due to a lessened interest in haikyuu in general, but i have an ao3 acc now where all my past work will be edited, possibly expanded, and reposted. any future work will also find itself there. my halloween requests will be posted in batches as incomplete concepts, plots, and snippets of scenes; i wont be promising to finish any of them.

there are still fic concepts im attached to and want to finish, but i cant promise any more writing on my end. this blog will be a personal blog with maybe writing, not a writing blog with my personal thoughts all over it.

regardless if you stick around or not, its been crazy sexy cool (equal emphasis) being on haikyuu tumblr even tho i wasnt around for long ... even tho its not my main focus anymore, im still excited to see what the future might hold 🤝

love, ari 💌

#did i have an announcement tag #announcement #also regarding work hsjkdfsd the company i work for didnt give my location the opening for the full time position i wanted #my managers all agree id be promoted if we had it but we dont so i . hee .#anyway um i hope everyones doing well #some of my moots changed urls while i was away and now i have no idea who anyone is #its like when you see your familys friends and theyre like omg youre so big now! i remember when you were a baby and youre like 🧍‍♂️#and you have to play along bc apparently they remember you hskdfsd #im not very funny in this post but i figured id rather be honest considering my lengthy absence #consider this my comeback stage

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cole-grey-writes · 4 years

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Pains & Stains

Universe: The Witcher (Netflix)

Timeline: Post-Season One

Character(s): Ciri, Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier

Pairing(s): Ciri x Trans Male Reader (platonic), Geralt of Rivia x Trans Male Reader (platonic), Jaskier x Trans Male Reader (platonic)

Warning(s): not episode 6: Rare Species compliant, blood, period talk, vomit, swearing, temporary misgendering

Summary: When you wake up one morning in a puddle of blood, you look to Ciri, the only one who knows about you. You’ve kept this part of yourself hidden from your other travel companions, Geralt and Jaskier, for a reason. But, now it looks like you can’t hide anymore.

A/n: I had the worst period of my entire life. This is basically a retelling of what happened to me (with some embellishment of course). Sidenote, ciri x reader can actually be read as either romantic or platonic, whichever you prefer (it says platonic only because it’s not explicitly romantic) but since ciri and reader are both teenagers (id say 14-15 ish, give or take a few years) the geralt and jaskier x readers are strictly platonic/familial type relationships. Also, i got another week of spring break so pls send in asks before i have to focus more on school again. But anyway, enjoy °u°

Side Note: in regards to Geralt at the end, I genuinely don’t think he’s being transphobic or misgendering on purpose and that’s not how I meant for it to come off as. In my opinion, I think geralt is just wholely... unaware of the situation. He’s basically been isolated (with the exception of other Witchers) for a vast majority of his life so I think with that comes ignorance to certain things. So, he’s not being malicious, he’s just very uneducated.

You know exactly what wakes you up. You know what the painful cramps and squishy, warm feeling in your pants means, but you don’t want to look down and confirm it.

The sun is slowly rising which means Geralt will be waking up soon and you don’t want him to find you bleeding all over yourself. You wouldn’t be able to explain yourself without having to tell him about you, so you accept your fate begrudgingly.

Sneaking a peak at Geralt and Jaskier, you take note that they’re both still sleeping in their separate bed rolls on the opposite side of the burned out campfire. You roll back over as quietly as you can and reach out to Ciri, who’s sleeping right next to you, and try to get her attention. It takes a few calls of her name and a shove before she finally wakes up confused. All you can do when she looks at you questioningly is ask for help.

Ciri is, rightfully, concerned and immediately up and ready to help. She gets her bag, fishing out the cloth she uses for her menstrations before she gives it to you. You stand to leave when Ciri asks, whispering, “What are you gonna do?”

“Go to a stream close by or something and wash my clothes.”

Ciri nods. “I’ll deal with the blood.”

You eye the small puddle of blood that had dripped down your leg and into the forest floor. You turn away quickly, agreeing. You head off in some random direction and it isn’t long before you come across a stream and begin stripping. It’s awkward being naked out in the open, even worse when the water you’re washing up in only comes up to your waist but you figure it would be even more awkward to explain to your travel companions why you have blood all over your crotch.

You bear the vulnerable feeling and refuse to look down while you allow the flowing water to clean your lower body, simultaneously scrubbing vigorously at your pants and smallclothes. You decide to take longer than necessary to wash. You know it’s gonna be a long day of walking so you wanna make sure you don’t immediately feel gross.

After the washing is finished, you just get your clothes back on, still stained but less so and now damp, when Ciri comes into view.

“I couldn’t get the stain all the way out,” you tell her, feigning nonchalance when all you can feel inside is panic.

Ciri tells you, “It’s fine,” before she’s pulling her cloak off and handing it to you. “You can wear it until we can sneak you some new pants.”

You sigh, relieved and grateful. “Thank you.”

Ciri smiles and you both begin to head back to camp. As you walk, Ciri questions you about the pain. You and Ciri go back a long time, practically grew up with each other. Your parents were soldiers of noble blood who fought alongside Queen Calanthe so you’ve known each other since you were kids. It didn’t take long for you to confess to Ciri about how you felt when people called you by the name your parents gave you or when your dad called you his little baroness or when the peasant boys you and ciri played around with called you little girl. And since you were so close, she knows all about how painful your time can be.

“It's not so bad right now,” you tell her, subconsciously rubbing at your abdomen.

“That's good,” Ciri says. You agree but silently wonder how long it will take before you’re completely consumed by pain.

You’re both silent as you make it the rest of the way back to camp. As you step back into the clearing where you had slept, you note that the camp is completely put away. The only thing left as a sign that anyone had been here is the circle of burnt firewood.

“Ah, there you two are, you little scamps,” Jaskier exclaims upon seeing you walk into the packed up camp, throwing up his hands dramatically. “We were beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”

Beside Jaskier, Geralt doesn’t look all that worried but he does look mad, although he does always look like that. He leans against a tree with his arms crossed, glaring at you as you approach. “Where have you been?”

“I told you I was going to the bathroom,” Ciri explains quickly.

Geralt says, without looking away from you but still gently, “Not you.”

Geralt’s tone doesn’t bother you as much as it used to. He was worse in the beginning actually. You used to think that Geralt hated you for some reason because he wasn’t as distant with Ciri as he was with you and then Jaskier joined Geralt in his travels again. And he treated Jaskier about the same as he treats you. It took a few days of observing interactions between the two men to figure out that Geralt wasn’t being mean or, rather, wasn’t trying to be. He was just reluctantly accepting of the presences of men.

It also crossed your mind more than once that it could be because Ciri was his child surprise, as Jaskier eventually explained. But whatever the reason may be, he acts differently with you and there isn’t much you can do about it so you ignore it as much as you can.

“I was washing up,” you explain lamely.

“We did that last night,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. Which, yeah, they did while Ciri bathes by herself away from sight — still within Geralt’s earshot for safety reasons, obviously —, the men bathe together. And since you haven’t had the courage to tell Geralt and Jaskier your situation, you, in fact, did not bathe last night.

“Oh, hush,” Jaskier says, waving Geralt off. “So he wanted to wash in the morning. I actually do it often when I'm not spreading the tales of your heroics and I find it quite refreshing. You know, some say people that wash in the morning actually-”

“We should’ve left by now,” Geralt huffs. “We’re late.”

You sigh, watching Geralt walk away and start leading Roach down the path.

Jaskier comes to stand beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulders. He playfully tells you, “Don't let Geralt bother you any. He's not a morning person, clearly,” which makes you instantly smile.

“Where are we headed?” Ciri wonders as she comes to stand next to you, too.

“About a day’s north,” Jaskier says.

You groan, throwing your head back. “A day?!”

“Yes, I’m afraid,” Jaskier confirms sympathetically. “Ah! But, if you would like a nice way to pass the time, I am always willing to give a little… sneak peak of my new ballad.”

Ciri gasps, eyes sparkling. “Yes please!”

You hum, “Sure.”

Jaskier begins strumming his lute and you all set after Geralt, doing your best to ignore the increasing pain in your abdomen.

As always, it doesn’t take long at all for the force of the pain you usually feel to hit full throttle and in turn, the nausea sets in.

You wrap your arms around yourself, fingers digging into your sides with all the strength you have, doing your best to ignore it. You had hoped it would even out the pain so it wouldn’t be that bad, maybe distract you for a while, but it doesn’t work even a little bit and it’s downright unbearable.

By mid morning, your muscles are shaking, you’re sure you’ve carved little crescents into your sides even through your shirt, and you're dripping in sweat with the effort to not cry and fall to the floor in blinding pain. You blame the last one on the blistering sun when anyone questions you about it.

Your problem causes you to lag behind everyone else quite often, although Ciri does her best to stay with you and keep you mind off the splintering pain. She talks endlessly about anything and nothing at all but it helps only a little bit.

It’s during a particular lull in the one sided conversation between you and Ciri that you hear Jaskoer badgering Geralt insistently about something. You almost don’t pay any attention to it, it's Jaskier and Geralt so that's how they always are, until you hear him say your name.

“He needs a break, Geralt,” Jaskier says sternly and louder than his previous tone, which catches Ciri’s attention as well. Geralt continues to ignore the bard. “Maybe your witcher eyesight is starting to diminish in old age, so I suppose I'll enlighten you. He is positively sweating rivers, Geralt. He’s soaked through his little-”

Geralt pulls Roach to a sudden halt so he can growl in Jaskier’s face. “Fine, we can take a break if it will get you to shut up!” Then, Geralt ushers Roach forward faster, veering off the path.

Jaskier turns to you and Ciri, smiling a very smug smile. “Well, time for a well deserved break. Hopefully there’s a river nearby, we can fill up our waterskins. Maybe splash about for a while if Geralt doesn’t threaten to leave us behind for taking too long, if we’re lucky, if-“ and you tune him out as he keeps talking on account that a hot spike of pain stabs you directly in the pelvis. You barely manage to swallow a cry, although your face contorts in the effort. It caused Jaskier to pause mid babble. “Are you alright?”

“No, I'm fine,” you say, rather quickly. Too quickly.

“Are you sure? Because you really look very pale. And, actually, your hands are-”

You’re yelling before you can stop yourself. “I said, I’m fine!” Pushing past Jaskier roughly, you rush to catch up to Geralt who’s almost completely immersed in the foliage a little ways away from the path. You prefer, at the moment, to deal with an annoyed Geralt than a chronically curious Jaskier who questions you nonstop about what’s wrong with you until you get so fed up, you spill all your secrets.

There’s no river or stream where Geralt decided to stop and let Roach chew on some grass near his feet, but there is a small sized pond. You don’t wander too close to Geralt, keeping your distance like you always do, instead choosing to sit against a tree while pressing your knees hard against your chest to try and control the pain.

Jaskier and Ciri approach only seconds later. Jaskier immediately walks over to Geralt and starts talking to him about his new ballad, even though they’ve all heard it five times that morning so far, and Ciri comes to sit down next to you.

Ciri leans close to your side, whispering, “How high is the pain so far?”

You show her your hands, shaking visibly, causing Ciri to frown. She grabs one of your hands and holds it in her lap soothingly, rubbing her thumb across the back. “I also feel like throwing up.”

“That might have to do with the fact you didn’t eat dinner,” Ciri tells you as a matter of factly, side eyeing you pointedly. “And breakfast.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. You add, in a sad attempt to use comedy to cope with the pain, “I've made mistakes.” In response, Ciri doesn’t laugh but she hums with a small smile.

You sit silently for a few moments before you turn to Ciri and say, “I think, maybe it would be a good idea to throw up a little bit.”

Ciri shakes her head doubtfully. “I don’t know, Y/n.”

“I should at least try it,” you tell her, shrugging. “It might help get rid of the feeling, even for a little bit. Maybe hold me over until Jaskier can convince Geralt to stop for another break.”

Ciri looks like she thinks it over before she nods reluctantly. “I guess that makes sense.”

You and Ciri stand together, seeming to grab Geralt’s attention. When he begins to approach with Jaskier in tow, you turn sharply to give Ciri a questioning look. Ciri nods understandingly, sending you walking away speedily in a random direction, not bothering to spare either man a glance. You can feel the burn of Geralt’s golden eyes on the back of your head as you retreat into the forest, but you don’t slow your gate. You hear Ciri explain that you had to pee and silently thank her for being such a good liar.

You only stop walking when you feel you’re far enough from Geralt’s impressive hearing won’t catch the pitiful noises you’ll inevitably make. You notice that you’re near a fallen tree and you decide you can use it for support. Walking over to it, you drop to your knees and put both hands on the horizontal trunk. Waiting only a few seconds for the nausea to bubble up, but it obviously doesn’t when you want it to and you figure since Geralt’s been in a bad enough mood all morning, it’d be best to make this experience as quick as possible.

Opening your mouth, you stick a single finger to the back of your throat, gagging instantly. Except nothing comes up. Your breathing increases tremendously though and you do feel the sickness set back in quickly after. You gag twice more without any help from your fingers before you feel your stomach finally give a wet gurgle. Gagging once final time, a yellow liquid comes up. It's warm and slippery but there's hardly any of it, barely a handful.

You were right earlier, it seems, because you do feel better, if only a little. Your stomach finally settles and the sickness isn't burning the back of your throat anymore. You kneel on the ground for only a few more moments, making sure you’re done. You stand when you deem yourself stable enough, wiping the slime from your lips. Your turn to make your way back to your companions before you’re left behind, ignoring the quivering that spreads from your hands to your stomachs to your thighs.

As it turns out, you couldn’t quite ignore your trembling libs and apparently, neither could Jaskier. He stopped you multiple times on the long and agonizing walk, asking if you were alright, and every time you told him you were fine every time. Jaskier clearly didn’t believe you if the increasing number of worried glances were anything to go by.

Your condition, as the day drew on, only grew worse and it was getting bad enough to cause a crease to appear on even Geralt’s brow. You barely make it to midday before Geralt is suddenly deverting from the path and leading the group through the woods to a new destination. It confuses you and Ciri, causing you to exchange glances, but you both choose not to say anything.

The new destination, as it turns out, is the nearest civilization that actually only takes a little over ten minutes to get to. It’s a small backwater village with barely ten families, only a single story inn, a quaint little tavern, some food vendors scattered around in the center of town, and, thankfully, a stable for Roach. Surrounding the village is nothing but yellow fields on one side and the blossoming forest on the other side, which is an odd combination in your opinion. Obviously, given it’s miniscule size, there’s nowhere to sightsee — not that you do much of that anyway, thanks to Geralt’s workaholic attitude — so you all immediately head off in the direction of the inn.

Outside, Geralt hands you and Ciri some coin. “Go inside, book a room–”

“–preferably with two beds,” Jaskier jumps in easily.

Geralt, ignoring him, continues, “–while I drop off Roach–”

“–and I look for work at the tavern.”

Ignoring Jaskier even harder, Geralt wonders, “Think you can manage that?” You side eye Geralt at that because you know he’s talking about you, but it doesn’t sound melicious like you would’ve expected from him. In fact, it sounds to you like his tone leans more towards slight concern than anything else.

Shifting around on your feet, you look down and fidget with the sleeves of Ciri’s cloak that is darker now at the ends from you wiping away the sweat from your face all morning.

Ciri takes the coin bag from Geralt. “We will.” When Jaskier and Geralt walk away, you follow Ciri into the inn. She turns to you as soon as you walk in, saying, “It might take a bit to get the room. Do you think you’re able to stand and wait just a little bit long before resting or maybe you should sit down?”

You shrug even though you feel like your limbs are weighing you down. Ciri gives you another doubtful look of the day and tells you to just have a seat while she gets a room. You watch her walk over to the innkeeper before your brain catches up.

You do as Ciri said, walking over to a stool that sits next to an empty table and drop into it, your feet dragging the whole way. Resting your head on the table feels more relieving than it should, but you really don’t have any more strength left to think about it or to keep your eyes open any longer. They droop and fall close.

It feels like only seconds that you sit there before a hand grasps onto your shoulder. Your eyes snap open, vision blurry with rest even though you feel like you got none at all.

“Sorry,” Ciri apologizes. “The innkeeper was trying really hard to negotiate a price.”

You shake your head drowly. “Didn’t really notice.”

“Well, the room is paid for now so we can go settle in,” Ciri seems overly happy about that but maybe it’s just for your sake. “You can change cloths before Geralt and Jaskier get here. Dinner won’t be served for hours so there’s plenty of time for a nap before that.”

You nod, agreeing. It does sound nice and it would be good to change cloths so you don’t leak while you sleep.

You stand to start walking with Ciri to your room, but as soon as you’re upright, a flash of cold air whooshes through your body and you immediately feel light headed. Stumbling, you accidentally knock over your stool and another next to you. Ciri grabs onto your arms to help you stay standing but it’s no use. Your knees buckle anyway, vision going dark just as you feel yourself collapse into Ciri’s arms.

You wake up slowly only because you still feel like absolute shit. Your arms feel stiff and your legs feel as shaky as they have been all day. Your stomach is tying itself in knots and the nausea is back.

Your eyes actually don’t hurt from the dim light at your left, but you close your eyes anyway in hopes of going back to sleep.

“Oh, you’re awake.” You open your eyes at the undeniable sound of Jaskier’s relieved voice. You have to turn your head to actually see him, noticing as you do so that there is a cool damp cloth on your forehead and that you are laid above the covers. Jaskier, when he comes into view, is kneeling in front of the fireplace, setting two more pieces of wood in the dwindling flame. “That’s good. I was getting a bit worried.”

Not wanting to move your head more than you have to, you just look where you can from this certain angle. Thought, to be honest, there’s not much to look at. You are obviously in the room Ciri paid for. It’s small like you expected from a one story inn. There’s a chair in the corner by the fire with Ciri’s cloak thrown over the back of it. The dark blue curtains over the windows are closed and it would be drowning the room in complete darkness if it wasn’t still daytime out. But, given the bright orange light coming seeping through, you suspect it’s not going to be much longer. Also, there’s a small table next to your bed with a lit lantern sitting on it.

“It’s on low,” Jaskier says suddenly. You look at him questioningly. Jaskier smiles softly, saying, “The lantern. I put it on low so it didn’t hurt your eyes.”

You guess he must have seen you eyeing it.

“You’ve spent an awful long time without food,” Jaskier tells you, almost as if you didn’t know that yourself. But, still, you grimace at that thought of food. “Yes, I imagine food really doesn’t sound all that appealing given the nausea and cramps. But, alas, you must eat something.”

You wonder for a moment if Ciri told them about you but you shove the possibility away violently. You know she wouldn’t do that. Ciri had promised when you first started traveling with Geralt that she would never say anything if you didn’t want her to. But, then again, it’s not a real surprise Jaskier knows. You’ve heard many tales of Jaskier’s many sisters while he’s traveled with you. He’s grown up with many women in his life, and while you are no woman, that doesn’t discourage your body from acting like one.

Jaskier walks over to you with a wooden bowl in his hands. Jaskier sets the bowl on the table next to the lantern. He says, jokingly, “It’s no rabbit stew, but it’s good, I suppose. Do you think you can sit up a small bit and have some soup?” You can groan minutely and turn your head away in response. “Come on, cub.”

You pause at the endearment. It's not new but it is surprising in this situation. Jaskier uses it often with you and Ciri given your high status Cintran blood. But, he’s never used it all those times he’s lectured you and Ciri about wandering around towns without supervision or when you swear when he’s around or when you and Ciri sneak away with his lute for some of your own concerts. Which means Jaskier is clearly not mad at you for keeping your secrets or at least he’s really, really worried about you.

“It’s been almost an entire day since your last meal. There’s no way you’re not starving.” Still not willing to force food down right now, you swallow around your dry, swollen feeling tongue. With a scratch to your voice, you ask about Ciri with as little words as possible. “Out. With Geralt, getting some… products.”

You don't miss the obvious way Jaskier stumbles. You have no doubt what word he skipped over in his explanation and it confuses you. Usually everyone just assumes–

Geralt comes clambering into the room with Ciri right behind him. Unlike Geralt, who has that permanent scowl on his face, Ciri is smiling brightly.

Ciri comes over to sit down next to you immediately, setting down the loaded bag on the bed in front of her. “How are you feeling?” She asks. When you hum noncommittally, Ciri hums back empathetically. “Well, we went into town and look!” Ciri exclaims, pulling out some black pants from the bag. “We got you some new pants. They might be a little big but I know you don't mind that,” Ciri tells you, smiling a little too cheerfully for something so simple as a pair of pants, but you smile back anyway.

Ciri goes to say something else, no doubt still praises about the pants, but Geralt interrupts her harshly. “Are you going to explain what happened or not?”

Jaskier’s head whips around from where he’d been looking on at you and Ciri. “Geralt,” he hisses.

Geralt is unbothered and continues despite Jaskier’s warning. “Why were you keeping secrets?”

“Geralt, is this really the time?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Jaskier fully turns towards Geralt, hands resting on his hips. “Oh, I don't know, Geralt, maybe it’s because he’s sick!”

“She lied,” Geralt growls.

You sigh, resigned. You were expecting it but it still makes your belly sink with ice.

Your eyes flash open when the bed shifts violently. When you do, you see that Ciri has jumped up on the bed, towering over Geralt. “She?!” Ciri screeches indignantly, catching everyone off guard. “He is a boy!”

“Ciri,” Jaskier says gently, attempting to calm the obviously furious girl.

From behind her, you, as well, do your best to appease Ciri, even if you would really much rather crawl into the mouth of a Kikimore and never come back out. “Ciri, it’s fine…”

“No, it’s not. Do you even know how hard it is for him to be seen as who he is?” Ciri says, voice still booming. Geralt looks rightfully surprised. “He did not spend years publicly reinventing himself to be mistaken as a she!”

When Geralt tries to speak, Ciri doesn’t let him have the chance. In fact, Ciri raises her fists and starts hitting Geralt, saying multiple explicit ‘fuck you’s. Geralt, in turn, blocks her attacks but doesn’t try to stop her while Jaskier rushes over to calm her down himself.

The fighting only stops when you curl in on yourself from a painful cramp. You barely have enough sense to roll over to your side to vomit over the side of the bed. The puddle is even smaller than the one in the forest.

Ciri breathes heavily, crossing her arms while scowling that rivaled Geralt’s own. “Get out.”

“Ciri,” Jaskier tries, but Ciri moves away from Jaskier and tells them to leave again, more steely. Jaskier sighs. He puts his hand on Geralt's arm and shoves him towards the door. You have no doubt that Geralt allows Jaskier to move him, knowing that there’s no physical way Jaskier is strong enough to move him on his own. Jaskier turns back towards Ciri as he stands in the doorway. “Try to get him to eat, alright?”

Ciri doesn’t give any sign that she’s heard what he’s said or that she’s going to follow his direction. With that, Jaskier leaves and shuts the door behind himself.

You sigh from your fetal position, far more relieved to have them leave than you feel you should be. Actually feeling comfortable in this position, you’re reluctant to move. “You didn’t have to do that,” you tell Ciri, deciding not to face her.

“I did,” is all Ciri says in response. She sits in bed behind you, doing so slowly and softly so as not to jostle you. “You want some sleep?”

You hum, thinking. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Yeah, I suppose it wouldn’t,” Ciri agrees. “You can eat and change your cloth when you wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you joke lightly.

Ciri agrees again, shifting and wrapping her arms around you, curling up behind you. “I’ll be here when you wake up this time.”

You smile, shutting your eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

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#ciri x male reader #ciri x reader #jaskier x male reader #jaskier x reader #geralt of rivia x male reader #geralt of rivia x reader #reader insert #the witcher

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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You Know You Love Me, Chapter 2 (Branjie) - Kiki

A/N: Wow I can’t believe I’m updating this in less than a week since I posted the first chapter, there’s a first time for everything lol. Thank you so much for the feedback on chapter 1, I really appreciate every like and comment so much. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Brooke Lynn Hytes returns to New York City after being shipped off to boarding school and her ex best friend, Vanessa Mateo, isn’t too happy about it… which would be bad enough, but add in the fact that they’re lowkey in love with each other. (Gossip Girl AU)

Rise and shine, Upper East Siders! It’s officially Fall, which means that all of us get to go back to school for yet another scandalous year. Will today be the day we see Brooke Lynn Hytes return to being the socialite she once was, or will she be shipped off yet again? Only time, and the tips you send in, will tell. XOXO, Gossip Girl.

Vanessa’s alarm clock – also known as Dorota – woke her at precisely seven o’clock. She removed her pink silk eye mask and immediately went to hop into the already prepared bubble bath, allowing her body to fully submerge into the bathtub as she mentally prepared herself for the day ahead. The first day of her senior year.

After she stepped out of the bath and slipped into her fluffy robe, she headed to the bathroom to start her morning skincare routine. Some people may say it’s time consuming, but not Vanessa. Her mother has drilled the importance of youthful looking skin into her brain from a very young age. Vanessa didn’t know any other seventeen-year olds who used two different anti-aging serums on a daily basis but she had promised herself that she was not going to get surprised with any wrinkles or frown lines…not before she could make her first Botox appointment.

She returned to her bedroom to find her school “uniform” laid out on the bed in front of her. Once she had her short black skirt, black stockings, white blouse and school blazer on, she slid her black heels onto her feet and walked over to her vanity where she stored her accessories. This is where she added the finishing touches to her outfits. On this particular day, she chose one of her signature headbands (a red one) and placed it delicately onto her hair that was curled to perfection.

After she finished applying some makeup, along with her signature red lipstick, she headed downstairs to the dining table where her family’s chef had prepared a variety of different breakfast options for Vanessa and her mother to choose from – a selection of pastries, fresh fruit and yoghurt. She picked up a chocolate and hazelnut croissant from the tray and paired it with a selection of different berries while Dorota poured her some green tea.

Alexis Mateo – Vanessa’s mother – entered the room hurriedly and frowned as soon as she saw what was on Vanessa’s plate.

“You’re eating carbs this early in the morning, darling, that’s…brave.” Mrs Mateo said as she fixed her hair in the mirror, not paying attention to her daughter who rolled her eyes at her mother’s comment and took a big bite out of the croissant as if she had a point to prove.

“I just hope you know that your metabolism won’t stay like this forever. One day all of these treats you allow yourself to have are gonna come back and haunt you,” This comment earned another eyeroll from Vanessa as she took a deep breath in and tried as hard as she could to force her frown into a smile. “Oh, also, I won’t be coming home tonight. There’s been some kind of disaster in the Paris office that everyone else is apparently unqualified to handle which means I have to go and solve every single problem, yet again.” She said with an exasperated sigh.

“But you just got back from Europe, you said we could go to dinner tonight to celebrate my last ever first day of school!” Vanessa replied with a pout on her face.

“Well Vanessa, that’s the joy of owning your own company. You can’t just expect me to stop working every time you want to go out for dinner. Sometimes work is a more important priority than a meal we can have at any time…isn’t Brooke Lynn back from boarding school? Take my card and bring her instead, you can celebrate together.”

Vanessa immediately rolled her eyes again at the mention of Brooke’s name. She really wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again. She tried to convince herself that she wasn’t nervous but deep down she had a few butterflies floating around in her stomach that she really wanted to murder.

Her mother left shortly after breakfast, muttered a quick goodbye to Vanessa and ate only a handful of grapes before she screamed at some staff members to come and carry her bags down to the car.

Vanessa continued to sit at the dining table for a bit longer and tried her best to hide the fact that she was upset with her mother for leaving her alone yet again. Sure, she had Dorota, but ever since her father moved to France about nine months ago, she had been feeling overwhelmingly lonely. Not to mention, her mother had started to work longer hours to keep herself occupied when she was finalising the divorce from Vanessa’s father.

The pout on her face slowly started to disappear as Vanessa focused on the positives of the day she was about to have: she was going to walk into school with Akeria and Silky by her side, ready to retake her throne as the most powerful girl in school and there was nothing Brooke Lynn Hytes could do to take that away from her.

Feeling a lot more empowered, she hopped up off of her chair and grabbed her purse and strutted towards the elevator. She found her family’s black limo with the driver ready and waiting to take her to school and as she stepped inside, the familiar smell of leather and the pine air freshener that was dangling from the mirror made her feel at ease.

—

The first half of Vanessa’s school day had been pretty uneventful so far. She had met up with her girls before school, yelled a sophomore for wearing last season’s shoes and gotten an A on her summer English literature assignment. She also hadn’t run into Brooke yet, which in her mind made it an all the more successful day.

At lunchtime, Vanessa, Silky and Akeria were sat at their regular lunch spot – the steps of the MET. Plastique Tiara, a freshman girl from Brooklyn had been helping Vanessa out by making the invitations for the party ever since Vanessa had noticed how good her calligraphy was and had bribed her with an invite to the party in return for her work.

Plastique nervously handed over the stack of envelopes and Vanessa took them, ready to thoroughly inspect them before she gave her the seal of approval.

“Oh my God, Plastique, they’re so cute!” Akeria exclaimed as she took her invite from the pile and smiled widely at Plastique.

Vanessa and Silky nodded their heads in agreement and Vanessa picked up the invite from the bottom of the pile and handed it back to Plastique.

“Your invitation, as promised!” Vanessa fought the urge to roll her eyes at how excited the younger girl had gotten just from the invitation. Her face changed entirely as she saw a tall blonde figure casually approaching them with a frozen yoghurt in her hands.

“Hey, here you guys are! I looked all over the dining hall for you.”

Vanessa had pictured her reunion with Brooke many times. But this? The blonde just walking up like absolutely no time had passed? Definitely not what she had in mind.

The other girls were all noticeably shocked too. Others, such as Plastique, looked starstruck. Vanessa, however, looked absolutely fuming.

“Hi, I’m Brooke Lynn.” She stretched her hand out to shake Plastique’s hand, which the younger girl accepted immediately.

“I know. I mean, uh, I’ve seen you around and—” she stopped rambling as Brooke bended down to pick up one of the invitations that were sitting in Vanessa’s lap. Vanessa found herself trying to suppress an eyeroll for the second time in the last five minutes, and only half succeeded this time.

“So, when’s the party?” Brooke looked directly at Vanessa when she spoke, as if there were no one else there. Silky, Akeria and Plastique were looking at Vanessa with anxious faces, waiting for her to answer, whereas Vanessa had turned on her signature bitch face and threw on one of her passive aggressive smiles for good measure.

“Saturday…and…you’re kinda not invited, since until twelve hours ago everyone thought you were at boarding school and now we’re full, and Plastique used up all the invites.” Brooke raised her eyebrows slightly and Vanessa shrugged her shoulders with not a single care given.

“Um, actually—” Plastique started to speak, Vanessa knowing full well that it would be easy to get Brooke an invite if she wanted to. But Vanessa managed to get her to shut up with just a single raise of her eyebrow, the look instilling fear in the younger girl and making her stay silent.

“You can go now.” She said to Plastique who slowly started to pack up her things, still not wanting to miss the battle that was undoubtedly about to happen. However, all that happened was a classic B and V stare-down accompanied by a deafening silence.

Vanessa was looking at Brooke Lynn with her protective shield – her bitch face – up, but underneath the surface she was trying her hardest not to break. She should’ve known that seeing the girl she’s been in love with for more than a year for the first time in a long time would’ve had some kind of emotional impact on her. Everything had an emotional impact on her. She cries at every romantic movie eve made and feels so much love for all of the important people in her life. Why did she think that this would be any different? Why did she allow herself to believe that she hated Brooke, when in reality, all she had to do was say three simple words to her and Vanessa would do anything she asked. But she couldn’t let that show to anyone…especially not Brooke Lynn.

“Sorry…” Vanessa apologised half-heartedly, trying to sound at least somewhat sincere.

“No, it’s okay…I got a lot of stuff to do anyway.”

Vanessa started to pack her lunch up which meant that all the other girls immediately started to copy her and pack their lunch up too.

“Well…we should get going then. Unless you want us to wait for you?” Vanessa stood up and predictably, the girls copied. “Looks like you got a lot of yoghurt left.”

Brooke was not an idiot, she could tell that Vanessa had no intention of waiting around for her, especially since she was already standing up and slowly moving away from her.

“No, go ahead.” Vanessa responded by just rolling her eyes and walking away, Silky and Akeria on either side of her but still slightly behind. That was when Brooke Lynn decided to make a daring move.

“Vanessa? Think we can meet up tonight?” she asked innocently, causing the three girls to quickly turn back around. Brooke would pay someone to photograph Vanessa’s face at that exact moment – shocked, confused and feeling out of control. She crossed her fingers that someone had their cell phone out and she could relive it later on Gossip Girl.

“I’d love to…but I’m doing something with Nate tonight.”

It technically wasn’t a lie. Nate was a cute boy that had been trying to date Vanessa for a while now and while she had turned him down repeatedly, he had kept coming back and asking over and over again. He hadn’t exactly asked her out on that specific day but she was sure she could just bat her eyes at him a couple times after school and he’d ask her out immediately…and she would actually say yes this time.

“The Palace. Eight o’clock. Nate will wait.”

Vanessa stood there stunned. How dare Brooke Lynn just waltz back into their friend group and try to call all the shots like she was in charge? Vanessa would be feisty and snap back if she could remember how to function.

“I could probably do a half hour…” Vanessa responded quietly, readjusting her headband as if it were a crown on her head.

“Thanks for making the time.” Brooke Lynn said sarcastically, clearly letting Vanessa know she was enjoying the control she had over the other girl.

“You’re my best friend.” Vanessa replied with the fakest smile she could possibly create in that moment. Not saying anything else, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted ahead of Silky and Akeria, storming off to their next class.

—

Spotted on the steps of the MET: a power-struggle between B and V. Did B really think she could waltz home and things would be just like they were? Did V think B would go down without a fight? Or can these two hotties work it out? There’s nothing Gossip Girl likes more than a good catfight, and this could be a classic.

—

2 years ago:

The two girls were sat on the large grey couch in the Hytes’ penthouse trying to study for their Latin exam the next day. Brooke was sitting on the couch looking at her phone without a care in the world whereas Vanessa was sitting on the floor, hunched over the coffee table with her head in her hands, mumbling to herself.

She had all of her study materials spread across the table in front of her. This included four binders, colour coded of course, three decks of flashcards and two textbooks. Not to mention the abundance of pastel highlighters that seemed to have made their way onto every bit of paper that Vanessa owned.

When Vanessa had suggested they should study together, Brooke Lynn didn’t actually think she was serious. So when Vanessa showed up with Dorota following behind her, carrying her massive bag of supplies, she was a bit disappointed. She thought they would at least get to talk or cuddle on the couch together but clearly, Vanessa had other plans.

“Why do we have to study Latin anyway? It’s a dead language for a reason.” Vanessa grumbled as she leaned her head on the table as if it were a pillow.

“Because you decided it would look good on college applications and signed us both up for it, that’s why.” Brooke reminded her which earned her an eyeroll in response. Brooke patted the empty space beside her on the couch, signalling for Vanessa to join her. Vanessa ignored her by opening one of the textbooks in front of her and reached for one of her pink highlighters.

“Hey, no—” Brooke grabbed the highlighter out of her hand and closed the textbook. Before Vanessa even had a chance to complain, Brooke used all her strength to grab the smaller girl and pull her onto the couch beside her. She took the blanket that was folded over the back of the couch and placed it gently in Vanessa’s lap.

“I think it’s time for you to stop studying now…we all know you could get an A on this test without even trying.”

“That makes one of us…” Vanessa replied playfully with a small smile on her face. Brooke replied by shoving her in the side which got a laugh out of Vanessa. Brooke smiled as that was all she wanted to do in that moment – make Vanessa forget about all of the things that caused stress in her life and focus on making her happy.

Vanessa rested her head on Brooke’s shoulder which somehow lead to Brooke wrapping her arm around Vanessa’s body and locking their hands together. Vanessa released a deep breath that she didn’t realise she was holding in and relaxed into Brooke’s touch, slowly closing her eyes and allowing herself to feel completely at ease.

This wasn’t something that should worry her and make her overthink. Friends cuddle all the time, right? A small frown came on her face as she tried to picture herself cuddling with Silky or Akeria like this. She wouldn’t enjoy it as much. Now, after that realisation, she had a reason to worry.

“I can feel you overthinking from here.”

“I’m not…” Vanessa lied with ease. If she could try and make Brooke believe it, then maybe she could make herself believe it.

“If you really wanna study some more I won’t stop you again, I just figured you probably knew it all by now…” Brooke said quietly, afraid that she had upset Vanessa and caused her to stress more.

“No, you were right, I am gonna ace this test. Now I just wanna spend time with you,” Vanessa replied softly. Brooke smiled and couldn’t stop the feeling of butterflies in her stomach from overtaking her. The fact that Vanessa could control her emotions with such a simple sentence like that was worrying. “Plus, you are really comfy, I have to admit.”

“I’ll be your pillow anytime you want, V.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t like when you’re stressed or sad…if I can help stop that, then I will.”

Vanessa smiled and sat up slowly to look at Brooke Lynn properly. All she wanted to do was lean in and kiss her. Sure, they had kissed before but it had never really meant anything. It was always a drunken thing or part of a truth or dare game at one of Vanessa’s famous sleepovers. But the thought of kissing Brooke properly was consuming Vanessa’s mind more than any exam stress ever could.

Thankfully, Brooke was thinking about doing the exact same thing. Her eyes broke contact with Vanessa’s to look at her lips before returning to her eyes. Her hands seemed to have a mind of their own in that moment as they cupped Vanessa’s face, her thumb stroking her cheek gently.

“Can I?” Brooke whispered extremely quietly, so quietly that Vanessa wouldn’t have heard her if Brooke wasn’t already so close to her face. Vanessa nodded slowly, not able to get any words out as excitement and nerves took over her body.

Brooke Lynn closed the tiny gap between the two of them and pressed her lips to Vanessa’s. Just a small peck to test it out. But Vanessa decided that she wanted more and leaned back in immediately and before either of them knew it, they were having a full-blown make out session on Brooke’s family’s couch.

Unfortunately, they were interrupted by Brooke Lynn’s mom returning home not long after. They went to Brooke’s bedroom to get some sleep – but not before Vanessa stole a couple of more kisses. They didn’t do anything other than make out that night but needless to say, they didn’t get as much sleep as they should have the night before a big test.

Unsurprisingly, Vanessa still got an A.

—

Now:

Vanessa looked at the rose gold watch on her wrist for what felt like the millionth time. It was almost eight thirty, half an hour after the time Brooke had said to meet up at. She felt like an idiot. Meeting up to talk had been Brooke’s idea in the first place and of course Vanessa jumped at the chance of spending some alone time with her, but Brooke hadn’t even bothered to show up. Not even a text to let Vanessa know that she was going to be late.

Needless to say, Vanessa was pissed.

Every single time that Brooke had ever done something wrong in their ten years of friendship was playing in Vanessa’s head like a movie clip on repeat. Like that time when Brooke’s parents had gotten her the diamond earrings that Vanessa wanted for Christmas and didn’t even offer to share them. Or when Brooke had let Vanessa’s arch enemy, Scarlet Envy, play with her new Barbie doll before she had even shown it to Vanessa when they were eight.

Vanessa’s hand was clutching her martini glass so hard that if she tried just a tiny bit harder, she could probably break it. Thankfully at that exact moment, Brooke Lynn strolled into the bar, her long blonde hair braided to the side in a messy fishtail braid. She sat down beside Vanessa who was giving her quite possibly the angriest look that Brooke Lynn had ever seen in her life.

“Hey…sorry I’m late…” Brooke said cautiously. Vanessa’s only form of reply was her narrowing her eyes even more. “Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay to you?”

“You look great, but, um…maybe a bit angry?” Brooke tried to lighten the mood a bit by complimenting her, which would usually work perfectly, but not this time. “Are you angry at me?”

“That’s the dumbest fucking question you’ve ever asked me.”

“What did I do? I’m sorry I’m late, I just haven’t unpacked yet and I couldn’t find the right outfit and –” Vanessa could feel herself about to burst with anger and didn’t let Brooke finish her sentence.

“Not about that, you idiot! You left me…you didn’t even say goodbye, you just fucking left. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was when people would ask me where you went and I had no idea? It was humiliating.” Vanessa replied, her voice broke slightly as she got emotional but hoped that Brooke didn’t notice.

“V, I’m sorry but it was all so last minute and…” Brooke replied, her voice quiet and full of so much shame that she couldn’t complete her sentence.

“Did you even think about telling me or were you just too excited to leave and go make new friends? Am I really so low on your list of priorities that you couldn’t even send me a text? Not even a “Hey V, I’m leaving, see you next year”? I had to find out from your mom, B. That’s not okay.”

“Vanessa, you have to believe me, it wasn’t my fault!” Brooke tried to reason with her but Vanessa was having none of it.

“Nothing is ever your fault, B, that’s the problem! You just do whatever you want and don’t think of the consequences or the fact that what you’re doing actually hurts other people sometimes.” Vanessa’s voice started to get louder and full of anger as she spoke, a year’s worth of repressed emotions finally coming to the surface.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” Brooke fought back with equal amounts of anger, not one to sit back and take being yelled at.

“Doing what? Telling you the truth? I know you haven’t been here for a year and I’m sure that you’ve had everyone kissing your ass since you got back but that’s not gonna happen with me. You don’t get to leave me and then just walk back into my life like nothing happened.”

“Don’t act like your innocent, V. You could’ve called. My mom gave you the number for my school when she told you where I was and you didn’t call once.” Brooke Lynn tried as hard as she could to keep any hurt from her voice, wanting to only show anger.

“You left me. Are you not getting that? You left. I was here. Waiting for you,” Vanessa’s anger seemed to leave her body all at once and the only thing she could feel was pain. It was like she just found out that Brooke had left all over again. The feeling of rejection and of not feeling good enough crept back into her body, not caring how hard she had fought over the past year to get rid of it. “You clearly didn’t feel the same way that I did back then. I really thought you did but you didn’t…and you still don’t.”

Vanessa grabbed her purse and practically sprinted past Brooke and out of the door of the hotel bar as fast as she could, leaving Brooke frozen to her chair.

She felt awful. She didn’t realise that Vanessa had been so affected by her leaving. She also didn’t think that Vanessa had felt the same way about her as she did about Vanessa. Just yesterday, the idea of Vanessa having even the tiniest amount of feelings for Brooke would’ve made her burst with excitement, but now all she felt was guilt.

She grabbed the rest of Vanessa’s drink and downed it quickly as she tried to think about how she could fix everything and make it all okay. She ordered another two drinks after she came to the conclusion that she probably couldn’t.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #high school au #gossip girl au #rich girl au #you know you love me #kiki #submission

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thedoctor1002 · 4 years

Text

Idk, I never posted one of my fics here but guess I'll try ~

Also, English is not my first language so feel free to correct me QwQ

Fandom: Psycho-Pass -season 1- (is this still a thing?)

Characters: Kogami Shinya, Sasayama Mitsuru, OC

Prompt (it was in Italian, so I'll translate): write a story using three among these words: cloud, dusk, thunderstorm, storm, hull, bay, shelter, sail, night

Title: Log date: 2110/02/28 (Friday) 22:04

---

The lights of the bay flicker dynamically before your eyes.

They dance hypnotically, of the same cyan colour of your office’s walls, but with a whole different beat. They drink the red and white trails from the traffic, they shatter and multiply in the tears of an inclement rain. I know how much you hate it, you just can’t stand going on recon with an umbrella. On the other hand, I love it.

Rain brings us close together under the waterproof cloth and I manage to observe details that neon lights often hide from me: the precise way you part your hair, the last few drops of the jasmine perfume on your jacket, your long lashes. Shion thinks they’re fake. We always fight over it, can you believe me?

After all, you’ve never been the kind of woman to wear such frills.

A notification arrives, the acid light of your impalpable PC breaks through the sacred dark from where you pretend you don’t see me. It digs your silhouette and paints you like a ghost on the huge windows of the Public Safety Bureau.

Your jet-black hair lay on your back like varnish pouring over the white silk of your blouse.

“Pulling an all-nighter, Inspector Matou?” I ask casually, exposed. With you, after all, I always am: you’re the only one that can shush my shitty jokes.

But this time you laugh slightly: nothing more than a spike, a trembling breath that shakes your ribs and lips.

“The forecasts say that the storm won’t stop until tomorrow morning,” you tell me, sitting at your desk, “also, I’ve been delaying this paperwork through all week, it's about time I get it done. Might as well do some overtime and get rid of it, don’t you think?”

“You’re such a workaholic.” I label you, realizing how lucky I am being allowed to do it: Ginoza, that prude, would have never let it slide “You should leave some for the rest of the precinct: make 'em earn their wages.”

A tired smile crosses your face as you tap your fingers on the keyboard. It’s so clear you’re trying to avoid my glance.

You used to look for it.

You looked for my eyes at briefings, in that discrete way that eventually shocked everyone. You looked for them among alleys, as soon as you heard a gunshot or the chocked sound of a fight.

And when you found me, it felt like a 7 miles free fall.

“How are the legs going?” I dare to ask. I see the hollow structure of your new shins below the hem of your pencil skirt. They swing a bit underneath the glass of your desk. You didn’t lose your damn tic, your right heel shakes like the needle of a sewing machine even when you seem calm.

You shrug and drink the bottom of an already empty glass of water.

I shouldn’t have asked. It breaks my heart, to see you like this.

You don’t give me an answer and massage the back of your knee with a sigh. Lately, I feel like you’re avoiding me.

You’re turning back into the one you were before: uncompromising, cold and distant. I wonder if the bunch of ingrates downstairs have been calling you Dobermann again. I wonder if you’re still as relentless.

You worry me: your stress level is getting darker and darker. You don’t want old Kasei to take issues with you, not again.

I can imagine how you must have felt, the night when this mess happened.

You most likely got pissed, if I do know you.

I mean, did they really think I got away on my own? I bet you never doubted me: no one knows an Enforcer better than its Inspector.

“Runaway?! Have you lost your minds?” Sasayama?!”

Those were the first words you said when they rescued you. You spoke them way before cleansing your lungs from the rotten water of the river, way before asking Masaoka if you’d have ever got back to feeling your lower legs. They hurt like hell and you had to pull them around like sandbags.

“They got him” you panted, holding tight on your mentor’s coat “They took him away, I tell you!” The one that kidnapped him wasn’t a latent criminal. The Dominator didn’t activate, not even when they shot me. Please, believe me. Check on the log files, please.”

Crime coefficient: 0.

I know that bug still haunts you.

Cause, after all, it’s can’t be anything else: who on earth is that Makishima to fly under the Sibyl Sistem’s radar? Who can fool a network that knows your crimes before you do? And how is it possible that the silhouette that kneecapped you and threw you into a river could possibly be innocent?

You haven’t lost your mind, Inspector: the Dominator betrayed me, too.

Don’t think I don’t know how pitiful must have been, the next three days.

Makishima isn’t real. Forget it, it was just a delirium. You were in shock.

It was the trauma, dear. It was a breakdown. It was burnout syndrome.

You’d use some holiday, darling. Take a week. Take two. Go somewhere far, no, better: just stay at home. Go to therapy. Keep yourself busy, don’t think about it. Work. Also, don’t work: it wears you out!

They put you back on your feet in less than six hours, but nobody allowed you to join search parties. Heaven forbid your stress level getting any darker. Heaven forbid that yet another good Inspector gets demoted among those damn Enforcers. But, still, in the whole IT section, there wasn’t a single nerd that could get that night's logs. That's one funny thing, ain't it?

Woman, sometimes I wish your damn head wasn't that hard. I wish you didn't follow the Forensics to get a lift, so soon after the deed.

At least, you could have listened to Kogami. Shit, didn't you see how pale he was? You didn't even need the Dominator to read him, his stress level was mindblowing!

You should have believed him when he told you you didn't want to enter that alley. First off, it was already full of other detectives and analysts. I have no idea what kind of business you had to do in there. Second thing second, Kogami has an eye for certain matters. Do you think he didn't notice I’ve always been all over you? Not gonna lie, maybe I told him about you, once or twice.

But no, of course, you had to get in.

The software that taught you how to walk on those carbon stilts made you stand your ground and bark a "For fuck's sake, Shinya, move!" worthy of the Dobermann’s reputation. Even those who hadn't been called out made way.

But your new legs didn't hold you, when you saw what they had made of my corpse.

I'm sorry, Katsumi, I never wanted to upset you like that.

You know how much I would have rather have a more heroic death. I don't know, like, in the middle of a shooting, saving the day. It would have been much classier, less tacky, less trash. I think I deserved it, that's all.

You stop typing and rub your temples. You shelter what’s left of your lipstick behind your hand. I wish I could kiss it off, instead of watching you consume it in a ruby red halo in the notch between your thumb and your index.

You lift your eyes only for Kogami, who’s passing by your office like a nurse in its night shift.

“So?” he asks in a whisper, putting more care in that question than I could have ever done. More than anybody could have ever done, because he’s the only one that gets you, right now. You two seem like the only ones who lost something.

You shake your head slowly, staring at the monitor and the dangerously high Crime Coefficient on the display.

“It's not working” you wail softly, misty-eyed. I can’t believe it, is it still you?

“They’re gonna kick me out anyway, if it doesn’t lower quickly” you continue, with that realism of yours. I used to call you a jinx for that but, at the end of the day, you always got our backs. “It’s for the best if I just resign. I’m gonna keep what's left of my dignity, at least.”

The dark profile of my best friend looks through me, as he sits on the armchair next to mine. He would like to say something, a word of encouragement maybe, we all know it in this damn room, but numbers shut our mouths.

“You could become an Enforcer” he proposes.

Goddammit, Shinya, did we work with the same person? Katsumi as an Enforcer?

And there you go, shaking your head. You hold your face in your hands and let your raven hair hide your visage.

“Can you imagine me, following orders? I do know how to work, I can do it better than three-quarters of our colleagues and I’ve never had problems remarking it. They’d eat me alive if they had the chance. Dogs celebrate on the corpses of lions.”

“But lions remain lions and dogs stay dogs.” Kogami finishes, stealing my lines.

I notice the slight trembling of your finger, as you tap your touchpad to send that last confirm.

In a few moments, the system will have your resignation registered. Your profile won’t unlock your Dominator anymore and in a few days time, just enough for you to collect your belongings, you won’t even manage to enter the office.

Who’s gonna explain to old Kasei that there's more of your stuff here than in your apartment?

I’d ask you what do you plan on doing with your life, but tonight’s decision seems definitely brave enough to call it a day.

I look at the tabs you open in your browser, they mirror in the windows behind you.

Air travel.

Argentina, Cuba, States, New Zealand, Germany, Kenya. You go around the world in 80 seconds flat, you multiply your chances and spread them all through the air in front of you, in a complex diagram that doesn’t lead anywhere.

I never wanted to take you away from your home, you don’t deserve this.

You cover your eyes with a hand and use the other one to pick a random selection from your atlas.

Greece.

“Well, at least it’s on the sea.” you wrap up, condensing in a handful of words the only satisfaction you can find in starting a brand new life.

You two stare at the transparent screenshot of your flight, the countdown on the web page seems way too joyful.

“It’s so exciting, Katsumi Matou! Check-in your luggage. Your journey will begin in: 06 days: 17 hours: 34 minutes: 21 seconds”

20.

19.

18.

Seconds pass by, in complete silence.

“Do you think it would be a burden to him?” you ask Shinya, “Do you think he’d understand?”

Who would have guessed that a cynic one like yourself could believe in the afterlife? I wish I were here to ask you. I wish we could have spoken about life, death, sex, about things long gone and things yet to be.

His hand squeezes yours gently, as he looks at you in the eye, hoping to stop the train to Paranoidland from setting off.

“It’s not your fault” he reassures you as he can: the both of you wouldn’t make the average person’s empathy.

But he’s right, though, it really isn’t: I know you’ve done anything you could. It’s always been like that.

“Maybe I owe him” you draft “Even if they don’t believe in Makishima, maybe one day I could have proved he exists.”

The teal of your Psycho-Pass would suit you wonderfully, if it wasn’t a description of your mental health.

What could you possibly do in these conditions? You’d have ended up in a cubicle, filing loss and theft reports. You would have never made it to the dossiers, surely not to those of such a controversial case. Making you end up in a study room would have been my final bullshit. I’m happy with your choice, really. I would have loved visiting Europe someday.

“Don’t talk nonsense.” Kogami rebukes you, externalizing what I’ve been thinking all along: “I’m going to look out for your man: your team has already given way too much. I’m gonna find him, Matou, cold case or not.”

You nod, but it’s clear you don’t believe him. I can read through you, you’re a terrible liar.

I don’t think you don’t trust him, most likely you’ve done the math and figured that working on an independent case is far too difficult for an Inspector, let alone for an Enforcer.

And there it is, my fall. After an exhausting chase, you finally look into my eyes, even though -according to Shinya- you’re most likely staring at the void.

Despite being used to such races, believe me, I’ve missed you.

“I’m just so sorry.” you finally whisper, giving me a bitter smile.

Try and stop me, Ginoza, tell me once again how inappropriate it is: I don’t mind anymore. I get up and I don’t hesitate while holding you and leaving a kiss on your hair, shamelessly.

“I’m going to grab some coffee” I announce, walking backwards to the door like a shrimp, just to look at my dearest friends a bit longer. “I’d get you one, but I’m short on coins. Maybe next time.”

“See you, Inspector.”, Kogami greets you, leaving alongside me.

“Be good.” you wave back, as we were all to meet again tomorrow.

Walking through the dark alley, I can hear an excerpt from our last conversation through the opaque glass of your office.

“You’re jerk, Sasayama!”

I can hear you laughing out loud, through the crackly recording. You laughed at my gall, with that warm, strong, sweet voice of yours, mocking me. Admit it: mine, after all, were the only compliments that could make you blush.

It’s incredible how we managed to joke even inside a car that was taking us on a crime scene. To an external eye, we might have looked disrespectful. Truth is I’ve always feared death so much I just had to laugh at the reaper.

“Oh, come on, what would it take? Come with me to the Precinct’s New Year’s dinner, the 17th is around the corner!” I kept annoying you, as you were too busy driving to mind my dumb flirt attempts. I still can’t get how we never had an accident. “Be good, Katsumi, give me a joy to live for!”

“You could always ask Shion, you know? You always give her more attention, after all.”

I hear the subtle sound of the wheels stopping, the parking brake cracking and it’s like Ogishima’s outskirts appear before my eyes, in that same January night. That place gave me goosebumps, but I would have hated if you understood it.

“Here we are” you announced, with still a bit of resentment in your voice. You unlocked the passenger’s door and I remember I left your Dominator in the car’s trunk: I didn’t want you to follow me. Not that time.

“You scare me when you pay so much attention” you commented, noticing how serious I got “will you tell me why are you insisting so much to keep on searching? Kogami got the guy. Tomorrow we go, we arrest him and it's thank you, next.”

My answer has been recorded as a distant and muffled noise, but I still can trace it: “He’s not the one, I tell you. I have another suspect, but I need a more solid base. And you’re staying, Inspector.”

“Staying?! You’ve gone crazy!” you laughed, locking the corporate sedan behind you “If something were to happen to you, or worse if you didn’t come back, Kasei would…”

“I said you’re staying: it’s dangerous.”

“Sasayama, our work is dangerous,” you replied, contemptuous, understanding that clearly among the gear I brought I didn’t count yours and going back to the car to get it “One more risk won’t make a difference: if I have to drop dead, it can either be here, at home or god knows where.”

“Will you join me for the precinct’s dinner, though?”

And here is a sequence that the voice recorder surely can’t have grasped, but that I could remember even in a thousand years. You cast an outraged glance over me from above the trunk’s door, panting through a half-smile. You shook your head, tucking your hair behind your ear. And finally, after refusing my invitations since 17th November, during lunch break, you smiled shrugging.

“Deal, come on, just make way” you sighed, as your heels echoed on the wet concrete “Still, you’re a jerk.”

“I recorded it: you have no excu-”

The audio file interrupts.

End of recording.

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betweenlands · 5 years

Text

? ? ?

[ a fic written for @mine-sara-sp‘s shadow people au, specifically the “season 7 shadows” au-of-an-au. fun fact, simplysarc did a series with zedaph once. ]

content warnings: possession.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 00

Okay, so they’re still working out all the issues with the shadow mob - apparently it wasn’t supposed to become a new form of artificial intelligence, who’d have thunk it? X managed to do some admin stuff and port the old shadows over, though, so I’ve still got Merino.

A lot of the new shadows have turned out, uh, concerning though? Bdubs got a plant monster even though the whole nHo plotline was two entire seasons ago, Grian’s is - well I don’t know what Grian’s is, but it’s got wings and eyes on it. Honestly, even Joe’s new one seems sort of off-putting for some reason. Keeps staring at me.

Or maybe there was just something on my face that day and he was too polite to point it out?

Whatever the case, I kind of want to get my hands on some shadow equipment as soon as possible, mostly so I can fend off Grian’s double-trouble shadows. Which means I’ve gotta head into the shadowlands as soon as possible, and I figure I’m gonna do it right now before my new shadow ends up sentient and has back pain from me trying to get a full armor set.

Also, I’m taking notes, because that’s the difference between science and screwing around.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 01

I have to admit, I was really worried about going into the shadow temple and doing the whole summoning thing considering that so many people have gotten big spooky monsters as their shadows. I guess the devs wanted to buff them because some of the stuff that happened with people’s shadows, like Shadoc and Murmur?

But, you know what? Everything went great! Sort of. Okay, so I didn’t actually see my shadow because I double-summoned it as quickly as possible and then leapt right on into the shadowlands. I’m sure it’ll be fine - it seems like you can hit any yellow-colored shadow with the scythe to get out, and guess what I got on my first run of the shadow boss! And… the second one. And the third one.

I think it’s probably a guaranteed drop.

I had to leave after three fights, though, because it turns out they definitely nerfed the livability of this dimension when they updated the Nether to be more homey. If you stick around for too long, you start getting slowness; stick around even longer, you get a really slow version of wither. Supposedly there’s a third drawback, something about the bottom of the shadowlands. I didn’t read the update notes too closely.

Anyway, I’ll have to go back soon, I want a full armor set and I only managed to get the chestplate - you know, the piece of armor I probably won’t use most of the time. Oh well, having spare scythes isn’t that bad.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 03

Full armor set obtained. Also, I think the third consequence for staying in the shadowlands too long is bugged. I got the slowness and wither effects in the middle of finishing off the last boss, and when I headed back to leave, it looked like something was rising from the bottom of the abyss?

But the animation sort of… looped, glitchily, like the amorphous blob of shadow was only consuming the bottom layers of the shadowlands repeatedly and not actually advancing upwards. So, yeah, it might be bugged.

I did get hit with a killer headache when I left the shadowlands this time, though. But hey, I don’t actually have to go back there for a good amount of time when I have the full set of gear, so I don’t have to worry about getting a post-shadowlands-exploration headache for a little while.

Merino’s been staring at me like there’s something wrong, recently, I’m not sure what’s going on. I tried to ask them and they just said it was nothing.

I guess it’s nothing to worry about, then. Maybe they just want me to get back to herding sheep so they can kill them again, like old times. I’ll do that.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 04

Okay, maybe there’s something to worry about. Thing is, Merino’s not the only shadow that’s been staring at me. Now it’s Joe’s new shadow - Joyful - tailing me, and Puzzler - Grian’s brand-new bastard - is always watching me specifically when it’s not being creepy at Grian.

I’d assume they’re jealous of my really cool clothing, but the shadowvex are normally all over that kind of thing and both the old and new ones are… I think they might be avoiding me? Which would be super convenient if not for the fact that it’s very out-of-character for them to outright avoid people.

The other thing is that… I still have that headache from exiting the shadowlands. Maybe that’s the third consequence, is a really long-lasting headache that can’t be cancelled out by milk? Either way… ugh. Just, ugh, I’ll start seeing what might cure it.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 05

I’m going to talk about the not-interesting part of today first, because I know someone’s reading these notes and I think it’s more fun if I add narrative spice to their poking and prodding.

Yeah, that’s right, buddy, I’m talking about you. I don’t know who you are but I know you’re reading this. (Are you Joyful? I think you’re probably Joyful.)

Anyway, boring parts first! I went into the shadowlands again to test something - turns out, the headache debuff might be a thing that happens when I’m not in that dimension, because the moment I teleported there, it went away. That was a real relief, honestly, because I’d had a rough morning. The glitchy stuff at the bottom of the abyss was still glitching, everything seemed as normal as a weird dark hellscape could be.

So, about the rough morning…

I was heading out to the shadow temple to do more shadowlands testing when someone grabbed me by the back of the collar. Biffa’s old shadow, Apex - I could tell it was him and not the nearly identical new one, on account of his visor being up and his eyes being blue. And, y’know, him lifting me up by the collar.

Basically, we had a talk - apparently, according to him, there’s something very bad in the bottom of the shadowlands. He called it the “old shadows” and told me that since I was there so often, I should be extremely careful.

He said even the Vex were scared of it. I told him that the old shadows seemed to be glitched, because last time I saw them they were only rising up to a certain point (and my trip inside later proved it). Apex just dropped me, and shook his head, told me to be careful again.

So yeah, Joyful, there’s your juicy tidbits for the day. While you’re reading these, d’you mind helping me clean my desk? It’s the least you could do in exchange for me letting you snoop around my stuff.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 06

Something really weird happened.

Grian’s been menaced by Puzzler a lot lately, and I sort of ended up running into one of those menacement sessions? I figured I should chip in and help out, so I butted into the conversation and tried to be obnoxiously cheerful, as Puzzler plays nice around anyone that isn’t Grian.

The second I popped out of the bushes with a “he-LLO guys!” though, purple shadow jerk’s eyes widened - all of them, even the ones on its wings - and it took a step back. Eyes flicked from me to Grian and then back again.

“He’s dangerous,” it told Grian, and then flew off.

I have no idea what that was about, because it’s not like I’m particularly skilled at PvP or even PvE, and I don’t have a special creepy shadow like Joe (or any shadow besides Merino, actually). Grian didn’t seem to know what was going on, either, but he thanked me for the help.

My headache flared up as soon as he approached… went from background annoyance to full-on migraine. Grian seemed worried, but I told him it was really just a me problem and that I’d be fine.

After that, I headed out to the shadowlands for a bit, because my head just wouldn’t stop pounding and I needed a break from it. I didn’t do any dungeon-crawling this time, just sat on the uppermost layer and stared into the abyss.

It didn’t stare back because, y’know, it’s a pit, pits don’t have eyes, but the cool air made me feel a lot better and when I returned my headache was less bad.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 07

So apparently the person reading my notes isn’t Joyful, because I confronted him today and he seemed… super, super on edge, but about something entirely else. Apparently, he’s got some sort of outcome-controlling power, except he can’t use it on me. He says that he blanks on the words whenever it comes to me.

He said I should be careful. And then my headache flared up again, particularly badly this time, and Joyful got concerned and said he’d leave me alone for the time being.

I tried to track down Puzzler again, since it seemed to actually know what was going on with me, but nobody’s seen Grian’s shadow around in a while, even Grian himself. From what Grian says, Puzzler might have gotten desummoned somehow, and nobody really wants him resummoned except for the shadowvex.

I really hope I don’t run into desummoned Puzzler in the shadowlands next time I go, because that would be even worse.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 07.1

Maybe the old shadows are rising. The glitchy abyss seemed to have risen up a little more than before - I was going to leave off the week’s entry before, but I wanted to make note of this before I forgot to do so.

I didn’t see Puzzler anywhere, though.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 08

Still no sign of Puzzler. Good riddance, Grian says. But now, in addition to the other shadows, even the jerks like Apex and Jigsaw are starting to avoid me, and I’m really not sure why. I don’t think I’ve changed much as a person, and none of the other hermits have come up with anything.

Joyful used to sort of watch me from around corners, and now he’s intensified that activity. If he wasn’t reading my notes before, then he definitely is now. So, uh, hi - please stop staring at me, and actually talk to me? I promise I’m not going to start a fight.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 09

I woke up and my mouth tasted like oil.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 09.1

Okay, I don’t remember writing the first part of this entry, so I guess I must have woken up really early, written it, and then immediately fallen asleep again? Best guess, I might actually be sick - between the headaches and now me feeling a little woozy while in the overworld, I’ve probably gotten a very mild version of the bends.

So I stayed in bed today, drifted in and out of sleep as a couple of the other hermits stopped in. One of them - the guy that stuck around the longest - was Joe.

Apparently nobody’s seen Joyful around for a few days…

I’m not an idiot. Something’s wrong.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 09.2

Snuck out of bed to check the shadowlands. The old shadows rose another few blocks. I watched the abyss for a few minutes, glad to be rid of all the weird illness symptoms, and then I felt a hand rest on my shoulder. They didn’t push me, so I just let them leave it there for a minute more…

And then I turned to look up at them, and there was nobody there. The hand still felt like it was on my shoulder, but nobody was actually there.

I should probably not go to the shadowlands again.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 10

So, I’ve abstained from going to the shadowlands for a while now, but shadows keep vanishing, and my bends keep getting worse and worse. It’s the new shadowvex, this time, they’re just straight up gone-gone. Can’t be summoned even to go into the shadowlands.

Man, this new mechanic is really buggy.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 10.1

I caved.

The abyss has risen higher.

It’s not staring back yet.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 11

I keep waking up places that I don’t remember going to sleep. I’ve decided this is way too dangerous, because I’m pretty sure I’m the reason that shadows keep vanishing. So far it’s been mostly the mean ones. I don’t want them to get at anyone else, either one of the nice shadows or one of the actual hermits.

I also don’t remember writing the entry for 10.1, so it’s safe to say that something is horribly, awfully wrong. And it’s probably my fault…

I have a dumb idea - I’m gonna see if jumping into the abyss does anything. Maybe it’ll reverse all this if I die to the mechanic? Also, it’d be my first death on this new server, and that’d be a pretty neat way to go out.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 11.1

So I’m standing there, fully prepared to yeet myself into the abyss, when I feel a hand on my shoulder again. And this time, when I turned around, there was something there.

I’m pretty sure it was my shadow, because it had the same proportions as me, only it was absolutely as pitch-black as the abyss below. I couldn’t make out any details besides yellow eyes and the glint of sharp white teeth when it spoke.

“Not yet,” it told me.

And now I’m back in the overworld somehow. My mouth tastes like oil again.

ZEDAPH - S7 - 12

Xisuma’s gone.

...My eyes have always been yellow, right?

ZEDAPH - S7 - 13

It told me, one last thing, the place I should go when it’s all done.

Craterville.

I’m going to see an old friend.

#THIS IS NOT CANON BECAUSE IF IT IS THEN HC WOULD BE OVER.#RIP THE FUCKING SERVER #yt #txt #shadow people au #zedaph

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ashleyfanfic · 5 years

Note

Do you have any Jonerys nsfw fic recs? I need some smut in my life any kind extra points if it starts with Jon masturbating and turns into a hot session with his queen. 😏

Oh, Anon - this could take a while. Buckle up, this is gonna be a bumpy, but pleasurable, ride! I’ve divided this up from Modern AU and Canon/Canon Divergent. I know there are more than one entry for most of these authors, but what can I say? When I find an author I like, I usually consume everything they write. CANON/CANON DIVERGENT Up Against the Wall - by @meisiesmut A shameless love story told with a backdrop of war, politics, past trauma, heroes and villains, dragons and duty. Goes from Dragonstone, to Kings Landing, to the North, and eventually back again. Falling in love amidst the War for the Dawn, as told by Daenerys Targaryen. The explicit rating is no lie. Damsel In Distress by @meisiesmut There is very little that is weak and defenseless about the Mother of Dragons, but sometimes it’s fun to pretend. In which Daenerys blows off some steam from the pressures of ruling, and her husband grudgingly indulges her, until the wolf comes out to play. Roleplay smut, trigger warning for dubious consent. Ozymandian - by @frostbitepandaaaaa She should have been more prudent, instead of falling into him like a spell. She should have handled this thing like the fatal tangle of thorns it was, instead of drinking the air from his lungs like the sweetest Arbor gold. She should have picked it up about the edges, holding it at arm’s length until she could find a safe enough place to rest it upon the earth and walk away forever. On Fire’s Gentle Shore - by @justwandering-neverlost This one shot is post season 8. Dany and Jon are ruling Westeros and escort Missandei back to her home in Naath. How We Heal - by @justwandering-neverlost What was intended to be some love-filled Jonerys drabbles, but has turned into a full-blown S8 canon adventure complete with romance, dragons, drama, angst, politics, prophecies, and the Battle for the Dawn. Fluff, smut, and all the feels still included. Go South, Get Warm - by @lawonderlandwriter An alternate route to Winterfell! After being resurrected, Jon Snow leaves for Oldtown to stay with the only person he can trust - Samwell Tarly. But after he receives a raven from his sister Sansa requesting help to take back their family home from the Boltons, Jon goes on a mission collecting allies in the South - the Tyrells of Highgarden, the Sand Snakes of Dorne, the portion of the ironborn fleet commanded by Yara Greyjoy...and of course, the queen across the sea, Daenerys Targaryen. Jon and Daenerys build a quick rapport and she soon makes him the Lord Commander of her armies. Together they face the Lannister, the Boltons, Euron Greyjoy...and finally, the Night King. Note: Main relationship of this fic is Jonerys and Dany comes into the story at chapter 8. A Wolf In The Sand - by @notpmahlem I did what I thought was right. And I got murdered for it. He died. He was resurrected. Coping with that betrayal, additional information upends him again and sends him to the last place anyone would expect him to go. In search of Dragons. The Burnt World - by @xxthewolvenstormxx Its been over two decades since the Mad King burnt the world.Now Daenerys has finally returned home to right the wrongs of her father. But once again a mad ruler threatens to burn the world anew.Up North, Jon Snow is racing against time to defeat a swarm of undead that threatens to kill all that remains. The Painted Table - by @muttpeeta Daenerys summons Jon to the Chamber of the Painted Table the night before his journey beyond the Wall to give him a proper farewell. Slight canon divergence. Held Captive - by @fierypen37 - Upon landing in Westeros, Daenerys makes a pact with the King in the North, with interesting results. Or, in which Robb lives as King in the North and Jon is given to Daenerys as a hostage of war. Can I Be Your Prisoner? - by @tomakeitbeautifultolive Following their first tense meeting on Dragonstone, Jon is left stimulated in more ways than one when he asks the dragon queen whether or not he's her prisoner. After Daenerys clarifies by answering "Not yet", three dreaded words slip from his lips, to his horror—"Can I be?"

MODERN AU/AU You Heard Me. Take. It. Off. - by @meisiesmut Jon and Daenerys are young professors at a spooky gothic pile of a university with a unique relationship. BDSM episodes in a modern setting, a somewhat dark and twisted little romance. Likely the only Modern AU I will ever attempt, enjoy the kink. The Pirate Queen - by @meisiesmut In which Lord Commander Snow meets The Pirate Queen and her crew of cutthroats, much to his annoyance and later delight. AU, 18th Century Caribbean setting, pirates, scenery, bad jokes, canon winks, Jon in a pretty uniform (and eventually a dashing pirate outfit), and shameless smut. I got nothing else, enjoy. Lord Snow and the Madam - by @meisiesmut Madam Daenerys runs the finest gentleman’s establishment in Mayfair, and knowing men and all their ways, has little time for the pleasures and distractions of an alluring stranger. But a persistent, mysterious visitor to her brothel may just change her mind. Alternative universe, Edwardian London setting, luscious smut, splendidly handsome mustache bean. Quality Assurance - by @muttpeeta AU where Dany and Jon are CEOs of competing sex toy companies and meet at a convention. Love In Leather - by @muttpeeta Before they dock at White Harbor and leave the safety of their ship, Daenerys wants to make Jon's wildest fantasies come true. Thumbprint Scar - by @frostbitepandaaaaa For so long, she had only dreamed about getting away, never of what that place might be. It wasn't until it had started to become a reality, to solidify under her hands, that she started to paint details into the visions of her sanctuary in earnest. Between the Raindrops - by @notpmahlem In modern Westeros, Daenerys Targaryen and her foreign army are joined by Jon Snow and the North to unseat Cersei Lannister. Written In the Scars of His Heart - by @notpmahlem and @jalenmara Daenerys Targaryen, supermodel and face of House Targaryen, a rising star in the world of Fashion, is commonly known as the most beautiful woman in the world. And someone wants her dead. Jon Snow, running from the ghosts of his own past, lands the job any man would kill for— protecting her. But can he protect his own heart from her? Mustache Rides - by @xxthewolvenstormxx Jon's sporting a new look and there's really only one thing Dany can do. A PROUD Contribution to the #RideJonsFace2019 and #Twenty69teen campaigns. Let's have Dany rub that mustache off. Vim and Vigor - by @xxthewolvenstormxx Seven smutty scenes to ring in the New Year. Jon and Daenerys are a Young Couple living their best life. The Oasis - by @fierypen37 With uptight and stressed CEO Daenerys Targaryen's regular masseur on leave, she has to make do with the replacement Jon Snow. Relaxation is not something she can find with his hands on her. Too bad he doesn't feel the same. Except unbeknownst to her, he definitely does. When a threat on her life pushes them together, they must both learn to deal with their growing feelings. Sinfully Yours - by @adecila Jon Snow finds himself being summoned by a beautiful but dangerous woman. Daenerys Targaryen is a demon hunter looking for a precious treasure. He is a demon with a particular set of principles. However, he also has a dick; and he hasn't used it since way before he died. Instinct by @lawonderlandwriter "She heard a twig snap behind her and spun around, heart beating quick as a hummingbird’s wings inside her chest. A lone figure emerged from behind a tree, watching her; she should have known. HIM. The dark-featured male that had wandered into the area a few days ago. She sighed, somewhat in relief that it wasn't something else, but eyed him warily all the same. Sometimes newcomers were harmless. Other times they were not..." Can I Keep You - by @lawonderlandwriter "...She patted at her chest over her heart, pointed off in the distance, touched her hair yet again, and then pointed to a nearby dandelion with its wispy white seeds swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly he thought he understood, at least the last part of it. Hair. White hair." Sequel to Instinct! Begins a little bit before Jon and Dany meet. Now You See Me - by @daenerys1417 Dany has just moved into a new apartment which happens to have a crack in the shared wall between her and her next-door neighbor, Jon Snow. One night, she gets more than she bargained for when she decides to take a peek.

#jonerys #jonerys fanfiction #jonerys fic recs

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