hold me like a grudge

pairing: josh/reader

reader’s pronouns are unspecified. 

summary:

“Did you see that?” Josh asks frantically. Your first instinct is to respond, and you quite nearly turn around to look at where your friend is pointing. Just before you can do so, you realize that the fear in his voice is manufactured. You remember the elaborate tricks he set up. Anger boils in your chest and you grab him by the collar to shove him against the wall.

“Don’t even start with me,” you hiss, entirely unwilling to entertain Josh’s revenge plot. The fact that Josh can stand here and joke about everything… knowing damn well that he would inflict so much pain on his friends…

You're given several chances to fix things on that fateful night at Blackwood Mountain. This attempt, you decide not to entertain Josh's foolishness.

[ao3 version, which contains an alternate ending]

word count: around 5k

warnings: canon-typical violence & gore, spoilers, panic attack, hyperventilation

The first time you live through the night on Blackwood Mountain, you’re overwhelmed. Your entire world has been flipped on its axis, as your friends become enemies and your enemies become friends. Josh’s betrayal is difficult to swallow, but his death hits you even harder. Everyone else manages to survive. Everyone else can walk away from the night bruised and bleeding, but still very much alive. Josh, on the other hand… You can’t finish that thought. Right now, above all, you need rest. Once the helicopter arrives and you’re safely strapped in, you feel your eyelids slipping shut of their own accord.

You wake up to find yourself standing on the snowy path leading up to Josh’s lodge. You blink a few times and stare at it in confusion. What’s happening here? Are you lucid dreaming? Surely, that’s the only logical explanation. You walk up the steps and knock on the door. It swings open within a few moments and Josh welcomes you in. You step in warily, only to find that everyone else has already arrived. Dread coiling in your chest, you keep quiet and listen to their conversations. None of this seems right. You subtly pinch at your arm—hard enough to be rather painful—but nothing happens.

It looks like you’re living through the night all over again. You push away your growing anxiety and try to pretend that everything’s fine. Hell, you’re getting a second chance at things—you should be grateful. This time, you proceed with a little more caution. You make sure to keep a closer eye on Josh and, sure enough, the betrayal feels rather obvious once you’re expecting it. Still, you’re unable to get to Josh and interfere with his plans. At the end of the night, you’re alive. Matt, Emily, Chris, Ashley, Josh, and Jessica are all dead. Mike and you are the only survivors. It’s apparent that the two of you don’t know what to do with yourselves once the sun rises. When you’re taken away by helicopter once more, you’re willingly closing your eyes and hoping you get another chance.

Against all odds, you get another chance… and another… and another. Your third and fourth attempts are better, but you’re still unable to entirely prevent death. The fifth attempt is horrible—you’re the only one who survives. The survivor’s guilt stays with you, especially when you consider the fact that you had lived the night multiple times before. You should’ve been able to prevent those deaths. During that helicopter ride, you stare out the window in complete silence. It takes you a long time to find rest.

By the sixth attempt, you’re exhausted. You’ve lived the same horrible night over and over again. You’ve outran Wendigos and narrowly avoided death countless times. Somehow, the exertion is taking a toll on your stamina. You feel slightly slower, clumsier. You don’t respond as fast as you did before, and when a Wendigo throws itself at you, you’re thrown to the ground. The creature’s jaw nearly unhinges as it lurches toward you with sharpened teeth and a drooling maw. You try your best to push it off, but your efforts are to no avail. The Wendigo leans down and snaps your head right off. For a moment, there is intense pain. As soon as it comes, shadows overtake your vision and you’re swallowed by darkness.

The next time you open your eyes, you’re startled. You thought that sixth attempt would be your last—what with you dying and all. A traitorous part of you doesn’t even want to continue. You’ve tried countless times already—will anything really change? Is this night just destined to bring death and destruction?

A bird chirps loudly, breaking you out of your thought process. The brisk mountain air hits your skin and you shake your head, resolutely walking forward and towards the cabin looming in the distance. You have to do this again. You have to save your friends.

When you’re finally on the doorstep of the lodge, you realize you’re one of the first to arrive; thankfully, the rest of your friends arrive in due time. Once all of you are gathered in the common area, you realize that you may have been focusing on the wrong things in your past attempts. You lock eyes with Josh and come to a realization. He is the only person who had the same fate, regardless of your six different attempts. No matter what you did, Josh perished at the hands of a Wendigo. Something about that makes you pause. Maybe if you tried to stop Josh from all of the cruel tricks he planned… Maybe, just maybe… You take a deep breath.

“Josh, I need something from the basement,” you announce, deciding to bite the bullet, “Can you come with me?” You need to talk to him—the sooner, the better. The group seems a little surprised by your request, which only serves to confuse you. You’re closer to Josh than you are to the rest of them. Did they expect you to go with someone else? You don’t get to pursue that thought process too far, as Josh answers.

“Sure,” Josh grins, smirking at you. You refuse to find that attractive. “Eager to go into the basement with me?” His tone is suggestive and you roll your eyes. He wishes, you think to yourself. You decide to remain silent and watch as the rest of the group pairs off. Unsurprisingly, Emily and Matt go together. Chris goes with Ashley and Mike sticks with Jessica. You’re left standing in the foyer with Josh.

“Let’s go,” you suggest, shoving your hands in your pockets and walking towards the basement. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice Josh’s suspicious gaze tearing holes into your back. You bound down the basement stairs and take a few turns, making sure that you’re out of earshot from the others. Josh follows you and comes to a stop next to you, clearly a bit confused about your sudden unfounded confidence. You don’t bother to explore the halls, since you remember everything from your past attempts. You’re about to turn the corner when there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Did you see that?” Josh asks frantically. Your first instinct is to respond, and you quite nearly turn around to look at where your friend is pointing. Just before you can do so, you realize that the fear in his voice is manufactured. You remember the elaborate tricks he set up. His lighthearted pranks ended up being far more than pranks, though. Josh’s fake death—or, well, Ashley’s real one—was traumatizing for everyone involved.  Anger boils in your chest and you grab him by the collar to shove him against the wall.

“Don’t even start with me,” you hiss, entirely unwilling to entertain Josh’s revenge plot. The fact that Josh can stand here and joke about everything… knowing damn well that he would inflict so much pain on his friends… Safe to say, you’re not happy about this situation. There’s a strange expression on Josh’s face, and it almost looks as if he wants to dissect you before his eyes. You take a deep breath. “Now, you’re going to shut the fuck up and let me speak.”

“Ooh, feisty,” Josh grins, looking entirely amused and interested with this turn of events. You tighten your grip on his shirt, both to get him to stop and to reassure yourself that everything around you is real. This isn’t a dream. You’re living through this hellish night once more. And, this time, you’re not going to die. None of your friends are going to die—you’ll make sure of it. You take a moment to close your eyes and regain your composure.

“I’m serious, Josh,” you sigh, hoping that your tone will convey your sincerity. Josh seems to believe you, as his eyes widen minutely and he falls silent. “I’ve done this before. Your little game? It never ends well.” Josh’s eyes go comically wide at that.

“How-?” He chokes out. You silence Josh with a look.

“It never works out for you,” you continue. “You masterminded all this for revenge, right? You want us to feel the pain, the humiliation that your sisters did? Well, your game isn’t just a game—it has real consequences, Josh.” For the first time, there’s genuine emotion on Josh’s face. There isn’t a fake smile or a flat line. Just as you begin to hope that he’ll believe you, however, Josh continues to speak.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Josh says. You know that he’s in a bad place, that he has struggled with mental illness since long before his sisters died. Even so, that remark is unacceptable. You can’t dismiss the sudden wave of frustration and rage you feel.

“I wouldn’t understand?”  You look at him in disbelief. There’s nothing but sincerity written on his face and it makes your stomach turn. “I lost two good friends that day, Josh.”

“Good friends?” Josh remarks sardonically. “Don’t make me fucking laugh. If you were such good friends with Hannah, then why didn’t you stop that prank?” You freeze. The hollow feeling you’ve grown to associate with grief is returning, and your chest burns. You clench your fists at your sides.

“Josh, I think about that night constantly, and I know you do the same,” you sigh, swallowing past the lump in your throat. You’ve spent the past year regretting every single decision that led to that night, to Hannah and Beth’s disappearances. You’re not going to let Josh guilt you for it, not when you’ve been living with regret and remorse every damn day since then. “Don’t put this all on me; each and every one of us is responsible—including you.”

“I know,” Josh whispers, so quietly that you have to strain to hear it. He seems to finally have given up on arguing, so you let your hand fall from his collar. Josh massages his neck and you pretend not to notice. Instead, you take a deep breath and contemplate what to do next. Josh still looks confused, so you decide to explain what you can to him. You describe how you’ve lived this night over and over, how you’ve seen everyone—including yourself—die in increasingly gruesome ways. “Wow,” Josh remarks, once you’re done telling him everything. You feel inclined to agree with the sentiment.

“If everyone is going to survive, then we’re going to need to work together,” you say, “Are you with me or not?” You extend a hand to him and for a long moment, there is nothing but silence. The lights flicker in the dimly lit hallway and the expression on Josh’s face is far too complicated for you to pin down. It is rather hard to believe—that you’re stuck in some fucked up time loop. Just as you’re about to rescind your offer of cooperation, Josh reaches out and clasps your hand.

“Let’s do this, then,” he agrees. You spontaneously decide to squeeze his hand in a reassuring gesture, before letting your hand fall back to your side. Josh’s eyebrows furrow and he pushes himself off the wall, coming to stand next to you. “So… what now?”

“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be able to convince you…” You trail off, your confidence from before slowly dissipating. Josh shakes his head in disbelief and you’re quick to defend yourself. “What? I have a plan, sort of. I just… made it under the guise that I’d be alone.” You hadn’t tried to work with someone in your prior attempts. That may have been the problem, though.

“Well, you’re not alone,” Josh reminds you without hesitation. His confidence is reassuring—it pushes your nerves aside. Sure, there’s a million different ways this night could go wrong. Maybe this time, though, you’ll do it right.

“I know,” you eventually sigh.  You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to maintain your composure; the night is far from over. “Hm. Okay, well. Emily and Matt should be on their way back. Mike and Jessica are heading to the guest cabin- Oh shit. Oh shit!”

“What?” Josh asks, evidently startled by the sudden exclamation.

“We need to get to Mike and Jessica right now,” you answer, remembering that Mike and Jessica will encounter a Wendigo if they make it to the guest cabin. You don’t have the time to explain that to Josh. Hell, they could be in danger already. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, spinning around and racing back to the stairs. Josh pauses for a moment before running to catch up to you. You sprint through the house and down the path outside.

Thankfully, Mike and Jessica didn’t get far; in fact, it looks as if they’re having a snowball fight just off of the path. “Hey, guys. You should come back. We…” You’re suddenly struggling to come up with an excuse. The pair is staring at you with thinly-concealed suspicion and, for some reason, you’re blanking. You ran all the way out here with the fear that they would be in danger. They’re not, but now you need an excuse for them to avoid the guest cabin.

“We’re going to use a spirit board,” Josh interjects, before you can awkwardly stammer through an unconvincing explanation. You send him a grateful glance. Mike and Jessica both squint at you, as if they know something you don’t. “You guys in? It’s pretty cold out here; probably not the best idea to go to the guest cabin.” You’re momentarily amazed by how calm Josh sounds. You then remember that his calm demeanor was the reason you were so blindsided by his betrayal in the first place. You have to make a conscious effort to forget that realization.

“Sure, why the hell not?” Mike shrugs, looking to Jessica for confirmation. She shrugs and, with Josh’s guidance, the two of them walk back to the lodge. You let out a breath of relief once they’re out of earshot.

“I can buy you time,” Josh whispers, despite the fact that Mike and Jessica are now too far away to hear. You turn to him and raise your eyebrows. He looks thoroughly convinced. “I’ll fake the spirit board again,” he explains. How is he going to do that, exactly? Josh must sense your thoughts—sometimes, you swear he can read your mind—and he rolls his eyes. “Relax, I’ll just make it look like a ghost or something.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you nod, already planning out what to do with the time he’s buying for you. The two of you stare at each other in silence. Apparently, the conversation is over. You take a step forward, fully intent on walking towards the cabin, when Josh’s hand falls on your shoulder. You glance at him, only to find a conflicted expression on his face.

“Hey,” You blink at him in confusion, thrown off by the sudden remark. You look at him expectantly. Josh takes a deep breath and looks at you with a rather intense gaze. “How many times have I died?”

Your heart stalls in your chest, and you’re completely unable to hide an instinctual wince. You really hoped he would overlook that part. Josh senses that you’re evading the question and he sighs. “I think I deserve to know.”

You swallow hard. He does deserve to know. You inhale shakily. “Six,” you whisper, averting your eyes. You don’t want to remind him that you’ve lived this same night only… six times. Unfortunately, Josh seems to come to that conclusion on his own.

“My death is unavoidable,” Josh realizes aloud. There aren’t any words that can describe the tortured expression on his face—it’s a horrid mix of fear and resignation. Your eyes are burning and you wipe at them quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice. Josh’s own eyes look glassy in the pale moonlight and your chest tightens. You can’t even imagine how he must feel. You feel the overwhelming need to reach out to him, but you’re not sure if that will help. Instead, you swallow your nerves and muster as much confidence as you can.

“When I said we’re saving everyone, I meant everyone,” you remark. Josh looks at you in confusion. “That means you, too.” You clarify, crossing your arms over your chest. He stares at you more.

“Why are you giving me a second chance?” Josh asks, turning his back to look up at the stars. You can’t see the expression on his face, but the tension strung in his shoulders gives you a hint of what he’s feeling. “After everything I’ve done. Or, I guess, everything I… did.”

“Because I know you,” you respond, once the words start to feel heavy on your tongue. You have to avert your eyes as you say it, for fear of letting Josh see the emotion in your expression. “I know you and… you understand better than anyone.” You understand the grief better than anyone, goes unsaid. At that, Josh turns around to meet your eyes. There’s a complex expression on his face—something between disbelief and hope. The sight hurts to look at. He’s staring at you as if you’re some sort of hero. You choke on a wry laugh and put a hand on your face. If only he knew of the things you’ve done these six nights.

The snow crunches underfoot as Josh turns around to head to the cabin. You hesitate and eventually settle for following behind him, making sure to keep your distance. He seems to be rather rattled by what you told him—an understandable sentiment. You’ll give him some space. Once the two of you are safe within the walls of the cabin, you manage to gather everyone in the foyer.

The next few hours pass surprisingly fast. Josh and you manage to engineer ways to keep the group busy, mostly with silly games like Truth or Dare and Hide and Seek. They’re childish, sure, but they distract the group quite well. Hide and Seek gives you enough time to confront The Stranger and receive some flares to fend off the Wendigos.

Unfortunately, your luck soon runs out. The Wendigos had been lurking outside, but they’re starting to approach the cabin. You can catch glimpses of their shadows in your peripheral vision, and you don’t realize just how close they are until you spot one lurking on the doorstep. Its claws scratch against the door mockingly. Your heart races in your chest and you turn to the group.

“Everyone, go to the basement,” you order, knowing you don’t have the time to explain everything. The Wendigos are far too close now. Your friends all stare at you in confusion and you feel yourself snap. “Go!” The group breaks free of their stupor and races down to the basement, which is more secure than the other levels of the cabin. “Josh, you too.” To your surprise, Josh doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives you a knowing look before turning the corner and heading for the stairs. You try to push aside your betrayal at that—you thought you’d be met with a little more resistance than that. The Wendigo lets out a strange noise and breaks through the window, effectively breaking you from your thought process. You pull one of the flares out of your pocket and freeze in place. Despite your refusal to move, you think you can feel your hands shaking out of fear.

The Wendigo must notice the miniscule movement, and it lunges at you so fast that you don’t get the time to react. You’re roughly slammed down to the ground, hard enough to turn your vision grainy. The flare falls from your grip and clatters along the floor. The Wendigo leans closer, excreting drool from its gaping maw. It leans down further and you’re forced to grab at its jaw and push it away. Unsurprisingly, the creature is much stronger than you and its teeth rip into your hand. You bring a knee up and try to throw it off of you, but it doesn’t budge. You come to one earth-shattering conclusion: you’re going to die. You feel as if you’re watching in slow-motion, as the Wendigo lets out a loud screech and brings its hand back for another blow. You close your eyes and push at it desperately. Memories begin to flash before your eyes and it’s as if time freezes. You wait for unfathomable pain and infinite darkness.

Just as its teeth graze your skin, the Wendigo screeches in pain and moves back. You take the afforded opportunity to scramble towards the flare and throw it at the Wendigo, which immediately scampers backwards at the threat of flame. There’s the loud sound of a shotgun discharging and you turn to the side, only to find Josh with a shotgun in hand. The combination of the flare and the shotgun seems to keep the Wendigo at bay for now.  You know that you don’t have much time, though. You grab Josh’s arm and he seems to get the idea; the two of you sprint down to the basement and race through the winding halls, before finding an isolated corner and remaining still. You’re both breathing hard and trying to remain quiet at the same time. It takes several moments for you to catch your breath.

“Did you really think I’d leave you?” Josh asks breathlessly, still panting from the exertion. You can’t find anything to say. The ensuing silence must speak volumes, because Josh shakes his head at you disbelievingly.  “You alright?” He then levels you with a worried gaze that shouldn’t affect you as much as it does. The thought of being on the receiving end of that concern is enough to send your heart racing out of your chest once more.

“Yes, thanks to you,” you eventually murmur. Josh sends you another heated look and you avert your eyes, instead deigning to walk back through the halls. Josh seems to know where he’s going, so you follow him. Sure enough, before long, the two of you manage to regroup with everyone else in the basement. Your friends seem to be debating what to do for the rest of the night. Josh asserts that you all should stay in the basement. Mike brings up one core fault to that plan—namely, what you’re supposed to do if you need to sleep. Josh motions for you all to follow after him. You’re the first one to do so and, eventually, your friends get over their hesitation and follow you.

Josh leads you to a nondescript looking cabinet and opens it up. Before you can ask what he’s doing, he’s pushing the back of the cabinet back to reveal another room. You raise your eyebrows in surprise. This is a new twist; you hadn’t seen this in any of your prior attempts to live through this night. The others don’t seem to know about this secret space either, as they all have different surprised expressions on their faces. Once everyone is standing in the hidden room, Josh pushes the back of the cabinet into place and turns to look at the group.

“We should be safe here,” he maintains, his gaze wandering across the group before settling on you of all people. He looks over you thoroughly and you feel your skin prickling. You’re not quite sure what he’s looking for, and you don’t have the time to figure it out. “There are four bedrooms down here.”

“That’s convenient,” Matt remarks casually. Emily raises an eyebrow at him and they seem to have a telepathic conversation amongst themselves. Matt then turns his attention back to the rest of you. “Em and I can share a room. Then, Mike and Jessica… Chris and Ashley… That leaves one room, with-”

“You two,” Emily interrupts, pointing at Josh and you. Josh’s eyes widen and he sends you a strange glance. He almost looks nervous, and you’re not quite sure why. There’s a devious smirk on Emily’s face and you can sense that same mischief in your other friends’ eyes. Just what are they planning? You don’t get the chance to find out, as the group splits up and moves to their respective rooms. Josh exhales slowly, before leading you to the bedroom you’re supposed to share.

Your mind is reeling, even as Josh closes the door to the bedroom and takes a seat on the bed.  You had no idea that these rooms existed before. Would you have even found them without Josh’s help? You were adamant on living through this night alone—just how much did that hinder you? Were you really just too prideful to reach out for help before? You’re certainly relieved that you all seem to be safe [for now], but… This all feels like a slap in the face. You feel ashamed, humiliated, remorseful. The guilt is eating you alive.

Trying to remain calm, you kneel down to sit on the floor. Your head falls back against the wall. It’s far from comfortable, but you’re far too exhausted to care. Within the few seconds that your eyes are closed, you’re about ready to fall asleep. At least, until Josh interjects.

“What the fuck?” your friend asks. You open your eyes and look at Josh, only to find him staring at you with a scrutinizing gaze. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Oh, I just assumed-” You break off, not quite sure how to explain your thought process. In all honesty, you assumed that Josh would be the one to take the bed. That thought must be ludicrous, because he looks at you like you’re absolutely crazy.

“Get up here,” Josh says, moving over to leave you ample room on the bed. You push yourself up from the floor and sit down next to him. Silence stretches across the space and it’s both uncomfortable yet welcome. You rub a hand over your face, unable to calm your racing heart.

You’ve never made it this far before, and you can’t rid yourself of the fear that everything will reset again. You’ve already lived this night six times. Each time, you thought your actions would be final. Each time, you woke up to find yourself walking along the snowy path towards Josh’s lodge. This time, you think that you’ve done things right. No one died, and you want things to stay that way.

“I really don’t want things to reset again,” you murmur, unable to hide your fear any longer. You don’t realize that you’re trembling until Josh is reaching out and clasping your hands. There’s a strangely concerned expression on his face.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he reassures you. His gaze burns into the side of your face, but you can’t find the courage to meet his eyes. Josh’s thumb skims over your knuckles and a shiver rolls down your spine. “I won’t let that happen.”

You desperately want to believe him, but every time you close your eyes, you see your friends’ corpses. Each time you blink, you see Josh’s crushed skull, Jessica’s unhinged jaw, Mike’s smashed face, Emily’s broken body, Chris’s twisted neck, Matt’s corpse left to rot at the bottom of the cliff, Ashley’s gouged out eyes. You feel as if the breath is being robbed from your chest. You’ve seen so many horrible things over the course of this night, and none of it really settled in until now. You were forced to watch as each of your friends died—over and over and over again. Hell, you even died once yourself. The realization comes crashing down on you all at once and you find yourself gasping for air.

“Whoa,” Josh remarks. His voice sounds garbled and warped, as if he’s underwater. You watch with blurred vision as he squeezes your hands and stares at you, willing you to meet his eyes.  “Hey, breathe with me. In, out. In, out. Come on.” You take a ragged breath in at his command, and exhale in unison with him. It takes several minutes, but you eventually manage to regain your composure. You’re holding Josh’s hands in a death grip, but he doesn’t show any sign of pain.

“Sorry,” you say moments later, releasing his hands.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Josh shakes his head. There’s worry written all over his face, and it hurts when you know that you’re the reason for it. You adjust your posture a bit and lean back against the numerous pillows behind you. Your body is incredibly fatigued but your mind refuses to slow down. You don’t want to let your guard down. “Hey, why don’t you rest? You look like you could use it, no offense.”

You don’t even have the energy to respond with a witty comment. “Honestly, I don’t think I can.” You stare at the ceiling, pretending not to remember that there are vicious Wendigos still roaming around. The effort is rather difficult. Your eyelids are stinging and burning with the lack of sleep, but you don’t want to rest. You can’t rest—not until this night is over.

“You can go to sleep,” Josh eventually says. He then pauses for a moment, contemplating his next words. “I’ll be right here, keeping watch.” That’s a generous offer. You tell him as much and he chuckles. However, you know he needs sleep too. You remind him of that fact but he shakes his head. “You need rest more than I do. I’ll be fine.”

You bite your lip and look at him, trying to find a trace of dishonesty in his expression. There’s nothing to be found. You eventually give in, pulling the covers back and burrowing under them. Josh moves to turn some of the lights off and before long, you can feel your drowsiness catching up to you. You’re definitely nervous at the thought of sharing a bed with Josh, but your fatigue and exhaustion outweigh any potential embarrassment. Just before you succumb to slumber, you feel a feather-light touch on your cheek and you sink into the darkness.

You’re not sure how long you’re asleep, because at one point, you’re roused awake by an arm around your waist. You open your eyes, only to find that you’re practically trapped in Josh’s hold. He’s clearly sleeping and you don’t want to wake him… However, even your slight movement is enough to jostle him awake.

“What’s wrong?” Josh asks. Despite the fact that he’s awake, he makes no move to stop holding you. He squints at you sleepily and you feel a fond smile growing on your face.

“Nothing,” you say with a shake your head, leaning back into his chest and closing your eyes once more.

there’s a second chapter over on ao3 with a different ending. check it out if you want!

The Seven Emojis of Grief

  BY Emily Winter              4-6 minutes              

Sometimes your favorite app changes its font. Sometimes your boring but trusty eggplant ghosts you (without even a 👻 for good measure). Sometimes you make a new friend and muster the courage to invite her to brunch with a clear, concise text, only to have her flake on you with an emoji of a constipated monkey. When these instances arise, it is imperative to work through your feelings via these seven emojis of grief, so that you can heal.

First Emoji: 😱 It’s normal to comment 😱 after stumbling upon an Instagram post of your friends at a party that you weren’t invited to. Spotting a photo of your friends looking thrilled despite your absence will initially result in disbelief, and would make anyone want to scream, but, because you’re in your therapist’s waiting room, that’s not an option. Expressing yourself through an emoji that surely makes Edvard Munch turn over in his grave is the next best thing.

Second Emoji: 🙃 O.K., you weren’t invited to the party, and all of your friends were, and they clearly had a blast. You accept this. You’ve moved through 😱. But what you haven’t accepted are your feelings. You tell yourself, “Everything’s fine, everything’s great, everything’s 🙃.” You’re simply a little dizzy. That’s totally normal. You’re being hit in the gut with an invisible sack of bricks. But stranger things have happened! Have you heard of Roswell? Or potato chips that look like Jesus? In the grand scheme of things, this is no big deal! 🙃🙃🙃

Third Emoji: 😬 😬 is one of the most challenging emojis of the grief process. Suddenly, you realize that you could have been at that party, in that photo, if you’d only tried harder to befriend the host, after meeting her a few months ago, at a friend’s guacamole contest. You could have used more open body language in several group settings. You could have complimented her stupid Teva flatforms when you saw her on the street last week. In your mind’s eye, you see an alternate version of the photo: you, smack in the middle, beaming in a high-necked crop top, hair tousled in that cool, carefree way. It’s O.K. to feel 😬, but, if you use this emoji too much, your remaining friends will get annoyed and abandon you. Text it once, and then let it go.

Fourth Emoji: 😤 Not gonna lie—this emoji scares people. It implies that you might do something rash, like hurl your phone (no!) or make a deal with the devil to trade twenty-five per cent of your battery life to be in that photo. Unfortunately, nary a listless Gen Z-er wants to deal with your 😤. There simply is no good response. Still, 😤 is a necessary part of the grieving process, so it’s recommended that you set up an emotional burner phone to work through this phase. Simply text the emoji as often as you’d like to a proxy number that belongs to no one.

Fifth Emoji: 😑 You might think that your next emoji is 😭, but no. That emoji is a clear cry for help. You’re so dash-space-dash-return-long dash right now that you can’t even engage in phone-based human interaction. When you text an emoji with eyes and a mouth made of literal flat lines, you’re signalling to the world that, for the moment, you’re dead. In real life, you just need to be alone with your misery. People will respect this.

Sixth Emoji: 😐 The angel opens her eyes! Your rebirth begins. Of course, you still feel remnants of all the emojis that came before. You can’t completely leave them behind, but there’s no need to scroll up and relive them; you’re through the worst of it. When you text this emoji, the world will know that you’re passive but functional. At this point, you’re the perfect vessel for #content, so don’t be surprised if Instagram suddenly doubles down on targeted ads, which, admittedly, you very much enjoy. In fact, purchasing a $22.99 green jumpsuit from a cagey Internet vender with no return option is an integral part of the healing process.

Seventh Emoji: 💅 Congratulations! You’re back. Quick, post a selfie with the caption “💅💅💅.” Trust me, everyone will get it. Your emotional stock is up. You’re movin’ and groovin’! I mean, you’re still in your therapist’s waiting room, but to your followers you’re clearly a beacon of poise and effortless self-possession. Honestly, who even needs therapy when you’ve just promoted 💅 to your most-used emojis? Might as well just skip your session, head to Chipotle, and find out what you’ve been missing on Twitter.

The multiple Yuus' suffering won't end yet.

I feel like Villain! Yuu and Villainous Paranoiac! Yuu are similar personality-wise but do you mind switching them too?

I can imagine them sleeping with one eye open in their new world, cuz they don't trust anyone.

Thank you for the ask, dear anon!

You cover your nose and mouth to muffle your breathing as best you can.

Costumed adults run past your hiding place, crouched behind a series of pipes. They’re boiling hot, feeling like they could burn through your thin pajama sleeves even though you’re trying to keep your distance from them while staying concealed.

“Princess? Oh, little Princess? Come out, come out, wherever you are~” The voice of the older woman who tried to kill you when you woke up croons. You can see her shadow on the wall next to you.

Your lip curls involuntarily at the nickname, and you hunch down further into yourself.

“Are you sure we wanna do this?” The other man asks. “If the Night Raven finds out about this...”

“He won’t.” The woman snaps. “Not if we do this properly. That pampered little brat needs to die. If it’s another one of those annoying alternate versions, killing this one means there’ll be no way for our version to switch back here. If it’s a de-aged version, then even better. Either way, we’ll finally be free of that weak, pathetic pushover of an employer. Now go check over there!”

“R-right!”

You watch as their shadows move across the wall, until they vanish as their owners exit through the doors on the other side of the room.

You bite the skin on the side of your thumb. You thought this place was where that...reporter version of you came from, and that you were in the lair of one of the seven supervillains you met before, but everything you’ve seen and heard so far runs counter to that hypothesis. None of them were using the whole clockwork and steam motif that this place is decorated with, and the way those...minions? were talking, it sounds like a version of you is the one running this place.

And not very well, judging by the employee dissatisfaction.

You want to just curl up and stay hidden behind these pipes forever, but the longer you stay here, the more likely it is you’ll be cornered with no chance to run. Plus the heat’s making your head spin, and you know with your luck you’ll end up burning yourself. Better to get out now while the getting’s good.

You slip out, and go through the door that the two minions came from, peeking around to make sure the coast is clear before darting for the next bit of cover. You wish not for the first time you had shoes to muffle the sound of your bare feet against the rough floor.

You need to find an exit, get out of here as fast as you can. But if you can’t find a way to distract the minions, how long will it be until they just follow you to wherever you try to take sanctuary, just like the Scarabia students did back over winter break?

You’re in an even worse spot that you were then. At least then, you had Grim with you.

Here? You’re all alone. Defenseless.

Your right ankle twinges again, making you stumble and clip a bunch of nearby boxes. You frantically need to spread your arms to catch the boxes so the crash of them falling over doesn’t alert any of the security.

And injured. Can’t forget your overblot injuries.

You’re already panting after running for only a few minutes, your lungs burning in your chest. Nurse Kamac told you you’d find physical exertion much harder now, but it’s one thing to hear it and another thing entirely to feel how much effort it takes to do things you used to be able to do with ease, how much your body protests against the one advantage you used to have, how much more useless you are now.

You slump at a corner, sweat beading on your brow. Your vision is swimming, and your knees feel unsteady under you.

Something liquid and hot is sliding down your collarbone. You think your throat is bleeding again.

“Kreek?”

You yelp, tripping over your own feet at the sound, hitting the ground with a hard thud. You whip your head around to find the source of the noise.

There is a huge crow perched on a pipe above you.

It’s massive. Are birds allowed to get that big?

It tilts its head at you, before taking off from its perch and fluttering down to land next to you, hopping a few steps closer.

“H-hey, nice birdie...” You rasp. Then, recalling something the minions said earlier, you venture, “...Are you the Night Raven?”

There’s a moment of silence.

Then the crow erupts into a raucous, croaking squawks that sound suspiciously like laughter.

You purse your lips, running a hand through your sweaty bangs. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. It’s not like I’ve been sent to a whole other world again or anything, and whoever this ‘Night Raven’ is seems to be the only thing between me and those guys who think killing me will ensure some supervillain also ends up dead. Because of course they do, that’s just how my life is, it’s not like I don’t already know my birth was enough of a mistake. Ugh.”

You drop you head onto your knees and squeeze your eyes shut tight. You’re tired. You’re sore.

You just wanna wake up back in your bed at Ramshackle with Grim cuddled up next to you, muttering about tuna, and have all of this be some horrible nightmare.

You flail at the feeling of a series of sharp pinches on your good shoulder and a heavy, warm weight unbalancing you. “Hey, what the—!”

The crow croaks at you from its new perch on your shoulder, looking both mildly annoyed and unphased by your floundering. You jerk as it’s wickedly sharp beak darts forward and—!

Closes around a section of your mussed up bangs?

The bird pulls your hair back into place as best it can, tugging hard on your scalp as it repeats the process until it’s satisfied you’ve been groomed enough.

It is one of the weirdest experiences you’ve ever undergone. And you’ve played in a Heartslaybul crocket match.

The crow pushes off your shoulder, smacking you in the face with one of it’s wings in the process. It lands on another set of pipes some distance away and turns back to look at you. It caws in a distinctly impatient tone when you don’t immediately follow it.

You weigh your options. On the one hand, it could be leading you into a trap, and you’ll end up dead, though that doesn’t explain why it would try to groom you. You also don’t know your way around this place, and ignoring the bird could lead to it making even more noise as it attempts to get your attention again, which would alert your pursuers and get you killed even faster.

“So I’m following birds now. It’s official. I’ve finally lost it.” You mutter to yourself, pushing yourself shakily to your feet, and counting yourself lucky your vision only goes fuzzy once when you’re upright.

The crow guides you through the...lair is the only word suitable for it. It has a knack for landing on areas that will allow you to take some cover should some of the minions looking for you pass by, hissing whenever it wants you to stay put, and giving that same impatient caw once it’s time to move on again.

It’d be nice if that system could be foolproof.

Unfortunately, as you’re running past a doorway that you thought was clear, you hear a cry of, “HERE! THEY'RE HERE!! THE IMPOSTER IS OVER HERE!!”

You curse, and make yourself run faster, trying to ignore how it pulls the ridged scars along your left thigh and hip and your sudden shortness of breath. You can’t afford to acknowledge that right now, especially when you yelp as actual gunfire erupts behind you and real, genuine bullets whiz past your head to embed themselves in the stacked boxes near you.

The crow has the same idea, taking off to fly just ahead of you, soaring into the faces of any minions who try to cut off the path it’s leading you down with sharp talons and beak at the ready.

You follow it to a huge room, slamming the large double doors shut behind you.

You shove back against them as the doors jump when your pursuers collide with it. Your breath is coming in harsh pants as you fumble with the bolt and padlock, barely clicking it shut before the entrance is forced open.

You stumble away, blindly colliding with a desk and hitting the floor as you desperately and feebly try to suck in air that your lungs can’t seem to inhale, your breaths getting shallower and and more panicked as your vision fuzzes out again. You can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe—

A loud cry erupts above you, and you faintly see dark shapes descend down on you, feeling dozens of sharp pinches on your upper body, the force of what feels like dozens of dozens of wings dragging your upper body up and back until you’re leaning upright against something and there’s a monumental. warm, fluffy weight against your chest, alternating between getting heavier and lighter, forcing it to expand and contract in intervals of four seconds under it.

It takes a while, but eventually, your hyperventilating finally, finally stops, as you carefully and slowly suck in grateful lungfuls of oxygen and your eyesight gradually returns.

Then you have to blink hard.

You are covered in what you think Epel would describe as a metric fuckton of birds.

They’re all staring at you, some of them picking at your pajamas, others making a caw-like noise that can only be best described as a worried peep.

You lift a hesitant hand to try and maybe shoo some of them off, only for your heart to melt as one of them honest-to-Seven nudges into your palm, like it wants you to pet it or something.

You wonder if the supervillain version of you trained them to do this. If so, at least they did one thing right, because Great Seven this is adorable.

The monsterous crow who led you here lands next to you, squawking and flapping its wings indignantly. The black birds gradually hop off you at this display, much to your subtle disappointment.

“Alright, alright, I’m up.” You grumble, shakily pulling yourself to your feet. “Now what Crow?”

The leader of the birds lands on top of the desk you hit earlier, tapping on some sheets of paper with its beak. You pull them towards you, trying to puzzle out what you’re seeing. It looks like some kind of...schematic? For a water-powered machine that seems to be the power source of a death ray or something. What’s most interesting though is the part of the plans with a section labelled ‘self destruct’ near the top of the construction.

“Okay, so this going boom would make for a good distraction so I could escape.” You chew at your nail. “But now I’ve got to find where it is so I can do that...”

The crow pecks at your other hand. When you pull it away, it shoots you an unimpressed glare and turns around.

You lift your head and follow where it’s looking.

There, along the back wall of this huge room, sits an absolute behemoth of metal and glass surrounded by scaffolding, a huge clear water tank like the one in the plans already filled to the brim and gurgling with movement.

Oh.

You purse your lips at the Crow, which is still shooting you an unimpressed glare. “In my defense, I was kind of having too much trouble trying to keep those guys out, and then breathing to really notice...that.”

It laughs at you again.

There’s a percussive boom from the doors, all the birds taking off and circling with warning squawks.

You push off of the desk as you dash towards the machine, trying to ignore how you want to flinch as several more booms follow the first one. You grab the scaffolding and frantically pull yourself up, trying to climb as fast as you can. If you can just reach the top before they break through—!

There’s an ear-splitting explosion as the doors fly open.

“THERE! THERE THEY ARE!! STOP THEM!!”

You shriek as the gunfire starts again, the need to climb, to get away warring with the instinct to try curling up as small as you can so you’re less of a target.

Your footing slips when you jump to grab the last ledge, leaving you to desperately grab onto the scaffolding with your bad arm. You whimper at how the rounded scars on your shoulder scream in protest at taking almost all your weight, the blackened bite mark on your elbow throbbing with pain like a second heartbeat.

You feel a flare of agony in your right thigh that makes you almost lose your grip. You whine through your teeth as you grab onto the metal and heave yourself up and over, rolling away from the ledge and curling up so your attackers can’t hit you.

“Cease fire! Cease fire you idiots! You’ll break the tank!!”

It takes you a second to realize that you’re curled around the circular podium where the schematics said the self-destruct button was mounted.

“Come down, Princess!” The older woman’s voice floats up to you. “You don’t know what you’re doing up there, do you? There’s nowhere left for you to run. Just be a good little nepotist and come face your fate with some dignity. I swear to you it’ll be quick.”

You grit your teeth as you haul yourself up. “Fat chance.”

You can see her at the head of the pack now, scoffing as her face twists with hate. “Typical. Bloody typical isn’t it? Even the other version of you was an ungrateful little shit, but at least it knew when to keep its head down and listen to its betters. It’s galling to be demoted to working under an imposter, a fake human like that thing!! Spending all its time with birds and playing around with those stupid civilians, hah! You’re no better than an animal! Just a dumb little pet that the Night Raven thought would be funny to give a title and call his ‘heir’!! A disgrace to the pursuit of villainy and evil!!”

“Are you sure about that?”

You take far too much delight in the way she pales as she sees your hand hovering over the self-destruct button.

“H-hold on princess,” She babbles, reaching a futile hand up. “W-we can talk about this, just don’t—”

“Shut. Up.” You growl. “If you wanted a heroic little fairytale princess to terrorize, you picked the worst person you could.”

“‘Cause me? I’m the damn wicked witch.”

You slam you fist down on the button.

There’s a wailing of alarms as the structure below you shakes. Tons upon tons of water bursts out of the machine.

The woman can’t even scream as the flood swallows her.

The crows caw wildly above your head, and you tear your eyes away to see the largest one leading the flock in flapping around a ladder leading to a hatch in the roof. You stagger over to it, your hands almost slipping off the metal rungs several times.

You push hard on the metal hatch and breath in the cold, dry air of the outside, the rough stony roof feeling like it’s cutting into your feet. You can still hear the alarms blaring as you close the hatch again after the last of the birds have flown out.

You’re tired. So tired. Your eyesight is going blurry again and the right leg of your pajamas feels uncomfortably wet, giving off little pulses of agony that has you whimpering.

“Hey, Crow?” Your voice sounds very far away. “I think I’mma pass out now.”

The world tilts sideways before everything goes black.

Losing you pt II: Dressed to kill

Introductory part

Pairing: Spencer x fem!reader

Category: angst.

Resume: Reader goes undercover to trick an unsub and help the team catch him but things go dramatically down hill. She regrets not listening to Reid’s advice, he helps her cope. Basically, this is what would happen if Linda Barnes was the leader of the team and you joined.

Trigger warnings: Linda Barnes slander, death, blood, injuries, trauma, weapons; a gun and a knife, medication. (please let me know if i forgot something <3)

You checked yourself in the bathroom mirror. You wore a little black dress with glimmers that suited your morphology better than anything you’ve worn before. You ran your hands on your silhouette anxious at the thought of being so close to a serial killer. The worst part is that you had to pretend you liked him so he could trap you. You felt slightly dehumanised like you ridiculously were the cheese on a mouse trap.

“Are you done, Y/n ? I’d like to see how the dress looks on you.” JJ asked knocking on the door. You unlocked the door seeing Tara and JJ stand right in front. JJ slightly gasped and Tara’s mouth formed an ‘oh’ in reaction to your sultry beauty.

“Well, Tara, if you were ever considering an alternative career stylist might be just for you.” said JJ complimenting Tara’s choice.

“Are you okay, Y/n ? You look horrified.” Tara asked concerned putting a hand on your shoulder. “Oh, I’m fine. Let’s go see the guys,” you answered stepping out between them your heels clicking on the floor. They glanced at each other shrugging exchanging a contentment frown.

Spencer was rambling without catching a breath to Luke until he slapped his shoulder when he noticed you were out and ready. Luke made his way towards you. “Well, will you look at that ? Looks like I’ve got competition on the team’s most attractive member.”

“Shut up.” you answered playfully to which he laughed putting his hands up in defeat.

Spencer stood behind but not as far as he was before when he was chatting with Morgan. He licked his lips, hands in his pockets looking at you and only as if everyone around him disappeared. He saw you before and the fact that you wore a tight dress did not change that. His stare was more of the analytical type. As you walked down the few steps you almost tripped catching yourself thanks to the rampart. You closed your eyes with a hand on your chest to calm your heart throbbing at your ribcage. Before anyone had the time to say anything you laughed it off; “Stupid heels, pretty but could kill you in a flash.”

 The team went along and laughed with you except Spencer who only furrowed his eyebrows. You did not trip because of your shoes but because you were dizzy. You hardly slept or took care of yourself before this; you were too anxious. Spencer giving you the cold shoulder did not help either. You did not understand that very well, you thought things were good between you two. It’s not like you could guess every single that ra through his head when your own was spinning already.

Once you were all in the elevator Spencer whispered in your ear “You know, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to ?” You felt his warm breath on your neck, this closeness along with his voice made you feel fizzy inside.

“This is the only way.” you whispered back nodding your head now looking into his eyes.

You were going to meet the unsub at his favorite hunting spot; the dive bar. You were sitting aside Tara at the back of the SUV while Penelope was at your right violently typing at her laptop. At the front was Luke at the steering wheel. He pulled up by a secluded spot a few blocks away from the bar. Penelope was rarely on the field but you were glad she was. She was not only an anchor for you since the beginning, but your first true friend within the FBI. She liked to call you “kitten” or her “little protégée.” Plus she was taking care of your spying devices such as your ear piece and the mic she would hide in your dress including your GPS tracker.

Luke’s phone started ringing, he answered. After a very brief conversation he debriefed it to you three. “It was Barnes, they’re ready. Once you get out of the car, Y/n, the rest of the team is going to join us in this car to listen to your conversation enhance the unsub’s confession. Except JJ is going to be on the field undercover to update us on your every move.” You nodded to let him know you understand the instructions. “Then we’ll follow you to the location the unsub takes you to and arrest him. Tara and I will be out there in hiding in case anything happens. Got it?”

“Got it.” You said gesturing toward the door at your right. Penelope got out with you, before you left she said “Just know, we’ll be right here listening to everything but please be safe. I don’t want to lose my best friend.”

“Penelope, you’re not going to lose me.” You hugged her tight, “Plus you know if I died I’d haunt all of you.” You chuckled as you detached yourself squishing her hand before walking away for good.

Everything went according to plan, you gave the eye to the unsub, you perfectly fit his idea of the perfect victim. You acted naive and what if you were ? Because even though the whole time you had the worst gut feeling you still went thinking that was going to grant you validation from the leader of the team, Linda Barnes. The cold hearted one that can not trust a woman yet you trusted her, how pathetic.

The unsub took you to a dark alley but before Tara and Luke could get out of the SUV, Barnes told them to stand their ground.

“Why ?” Tara asked.

“Because I can’t risk the unsub seeing you and lose his confession or evidence.” he answered.

You started panicking, going from anxiety to a state of agony as the unsub pointed a knife at you.

“Well, can we go now ?!” asked Luke.

“We can’t take this risk just yet.”

“You know what ? I can’t risk Y/n being dead!” Spencer said rising from his seat but getting slammed back down by Linda.

“It’s okay, we’re not going to let anything happe-“ A gunshot interrupted this back and forth conversation. Everyone ran to you seeing you on the floor, blood slipping through the cracks of tar. Your shaky hands dropped the small gun right next to your boy bag purse. You tried to stand up but you couldn’t, you wished you could cry but you were too shocked, too numb to even let a whimper out. Spencer took off his windbreaker before running to you helping you up and slinging it over your shoulders with an arm around them. 

As he guided you towards the medics he bit back at Barnes, “Not going to let anything happen, right, Linda ?” He did not respond instead he looked down at the floor which would now let him forget the repercussion for his actions since it was tinted crimson. What the team was doing in your tear stained glory you were unaware nor did you care. You sat on the edge of the ambulance as Reid made sure you were taking care of properly like a polite version of a scientific Karen. He leaned in towards you, his head titled looking at your face.

“She has a scratch on her cheek, you might want to check for a concussion.” advised the genius doctor. He straightened his index finger a few inches from your face asking you to follow it with your eyes. As you did the exercise, he noticed your eyes fluttering to hold back tears. When the medic was done with cleaning and sanitizing your bloody hands and went back inside the ambulance to gather anything needed to heal your wounds and medication, Spencer sat down next to you in silence as you stared in the distance. His eyes landed on your face when saw you put your hand down drying a tear. You felt him looking at you.

“Suit yourself, you can say you told me so” you said breaking silence.

“You know, Y/n…” he started taking your hand in his, you looked back at him, “I’m really glad you’re alive.” This made you immediately sink into his side taking him by surprise, unable to hold back the tears. He leaned into your touch, shutting his eyes feeling your pain and mentally sending you his energy in hope it might heal you.

The medic walking towards the two of you, when she looked up from the container in her hands full of medical products she stopped in her tracks; “Alright, I’ll come back, uh, in a minute.”

“You should hydrate yourself,” he advised handing you a water bottle as you put your arms in the sleeve of his jacket. As you took it, he rose from his feet a hand on your shoulder as he said; “I’m going to go check in with the others, you’re in good hands.” You nodded looking up at the medic smiling at you, you managed a weakened smile back.

When Reid was back with the team, he noticed they were arguing. Linda took Reid’s presence as his opportunity to shut the other members down; “Ah Reid, how is she ?”

“She’s injured but she’s holding up,” he answered fidgeting with his hands. The team was concerned about you but did not want to circle around you, make you talk to too many people at once since that would overwhelm you. Your injuries were quite superficial, you were scarred, you were bruised but you were going to be okay…physically.

Once back at the police department, you took off Reid’s windbreaker folding it on his desk with a post it note that said “Thanks :)” You went back to your desk changing into some more comfortable shoes than the heels you wore all night. You tried to channel your thought but as you were about to get lost in the turmoil, a low male voice made you breakout of your trans.

“Y/n, may I see you in the sheriff’s office ?” You nodded hurtfully knowing things were about to heat up for you, fearing you were in trouble.

You’ve been in Barnes’ office for quite a bit of time or at least longer than usual.

“How long ?” Luke asked.

“Oh at least 10 minutes.” Garcia answered, “and he isn’t the very chatty type.” The entire team was in front of the steps that led to offices, some leaned on desks, some fidgeted in place in impatience.

“He was going to kill me, Barnes!” You screamed.

“We would’ve protected you!”

“But you didn’t!” You felt your heart sink, “you didn’t.” There was a beat too long for your own taste. As you were about to leave Linda stopped you in your tracks; “Maybe you should take the rest of the week off, take some time for yourself.” You looked back at her in disgust, shocked she had the audacity to blame it all on you. “Sure, my pleasure.” you responded almost slamming the door behind you. However, you weren’t as pleased as your pride made you claim you were.

Once you were doing your walk of shame, Garcia hugged you and handed you her favorite cat squishy toy knowing you were in distress. They all encircled around your desk as you gathered your things.

“She is making me take the week off.” you informed them.

“Yeah, we heard so.” JJ said nodding sympathetically.

“We’re with you, Y/n.” Tara said.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know.” Garcia told you moving her hands. “Snacks, blankets, a shoulder to cry on.”

“If I do I will, thank you Garcia but I think I’ll be fine.” When you were ready to leave, Spencer offered to drive you back which you decline. They all stood there watching you leave confused at how ‘fine’ you looked despite experiencing a near death experience.

It's Yours - Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Summary: You and Javier have been sleeping together for almost two years but after his name was leaked by the papers, he is sent home for investigation. You remain behind with Steve to catch Escobar but when he’s finally dead, you decide to go after the man you’ve fallen for. You don’t like what you find when you finally reunite with him.

Warnings: Angst, Kissing

Relationships: Javier Peña x Reader

Note: I picture that Si looks like Charlie Hunnam, hot but with the kindest eyes and face.

~

The guest house was beautiful. The wood panelling was whitewashed with two potted orange trees sat either side of the steps that lead up to the porch, a swinging bench hanging to the left and a small table and chairs say to the right of the front door. Javier unlocks the painted, white, door and leads you inside to the lounge with minimalistic decor. It was clear that the place wasn’t finished but it was certainly liveable.

‘The bedrooms are through here.’ He states as he motions with an open hand for you to follow.

He takes you down a long hallway. The first door to your left is a bedroom, its small with a single bed on one side and a desk and bookshelves on the other, then a little further on to the right is a bathroom, tiled white with a large double shower, clawfoot bath and double sink. Javier watches you as you admire each room you pass. He comes to a stop next to a door at the far end of the hall and you glance at him before heading inside. The room’s walls are painted a warm shade of red with a four-poster bed stood proudly within. A door sat in the centre of the wall opposite the bed with a wardrobe on one side and a dresser on the other, both the same rich shade of brown as the bed.

‘This is beautiful Javi.’ You say as you turn to look at him, noting his nervous expression.

‘The place isn't finished yet but I hope you’ll be comfortable here.’ He states ‘Well at least until you find a place or whatever.’

‘I’m sure I will be.’ You reply with a smile.

‘There’s no food in the fridge, didn’t get a chance to buy anything in but Pops has invited you to dinner tonight if you want to join us.’ He pauses as he studies your expression ‘Unless you and Si have plans.’

‘Si’s working tonight.’ You reply and he nods ‘I’d love to join you and your father. Be nice to get to know our baby’s grandpa.’

Javier’s heart tugged at the mention of the tiny being growing inside of you, the being that he had helped create but then his heart ached a little as he remembered that you wouldn't be raising this baby together. He showed you where the towels were and how all the appliances in the kitchen worked and then left you alone. You took your time looking around a little more before picking up the phone to call Si liked you'd promised.

‘Hey, baby.’ You say sweetly, grinning down the phone like a loon ‘I’m here. The place is lovely.’

‘That’s great baby.’ He replies ‘Everything okay? Not weird or anything?’

‘Well of course things are a little weird.’ You chuckle ‘I’m pregnant with my partner’s baby and living in a guest house on his father’s ranch. No way for this not to be weird.’

Si chuckles in reply and you laugh along with him, chewing your bottom lip as you swoon over him.

‘He’s invited me to join him and his dad for dinner tonight.’ You start ‘Should probably get to know my baby’s only grandparent.’

‘Probably.’ Si teases ‘But I’m taking you for breakfast tomorrow morning beautiful.’

‘Oh, are you indeed?’

‘What?’ He chuckles ‘Can’t a guy treat his girl?’

‘So I’m your girl am I?’ You tease, eyebrows raised in feigned surprise.

‘I hope so.’

‘I hope so too.’ You grin ‘See you tomorrow handsome.’

‘Bye baby.’

You hang up the phone and practically shake with excitement. You’d not felt this excited about someone in a long time. Simon exhilarated you in a way that only Javi had before, but you hadn’t been Javier’s girl. You unpack your clothes and decide to take a walk around the ranch, surprised at how many animals Javi’s father has. You perch yourself on the bench that overlooks the two horses you’d seen that first day you came, smiling as they play and prance.

‘Those two never stop.’ Chuckles Javier as he walks up beside you.

‘Do you ride?’ You ask, glancing up at him as he watches the two mares play.

‘Yeah.’ He replies plainly as he looks down at you ‘You?’

‘Used to.’ You reply with a smile ‘Haven’t in years.’

‘Well, maybe we can go for a ride some time.’ He says sweetly and you smile at him.

‘I’d like that.’ You pause as you place your hand on your belly ‘I uh… I made an appointment to get a scan done. It’s on the 17th.’

‘Okay great.’ He replies as he perches himself on the edge of the bench.

‘I’ll probably need you to drive me. I need to return the car tomorrow.’ You state and he nods.

‘Do you need me to collect you tomorrow after you give it back?’

‘No Si’s coming with me.’ You reply, a pang of guilt rearing its head when you mention his name ‘He’s actually going to take me to breakfast tomorrow morning so I’ll be gone early.’

‘Oh right.’ He replies, unable to hide his disappointment.

‘What?’

‘It’s nothing.’ He replies, giving you an unconvincing smile.

‘Javier I know when you’re lying. What is it?’

‘Pops bought a load of extra food in. He assumed as you had no groceries that you’d join us for breakfast too.’ He replies honestly, grimacing as he spoke.

‘I’ll cancel with Si.’

‘No don’t.’ Javier shakes his head ‘Why don’t you invite him? There’s plenty for us all. Pops won’t mind.’

‘Javi-.’

‘It’s fine really.’ He says, giving you a small smile ‘I better get back to work. There’s a really nice walk down that way.’ He says as he motions to a small dirt track ‘Just don’t leave the path. So easy to get lost.’

‘Okay.’ You reply as you watch him stand ‘Thanks.’

He gives you a brief nod and leaves, heart aching for you as he walks towards his truck. He doesn't want Si there but he knows that that man can offer you everything he can't so he has to accept he's lost you to the nicest man he knows.

~

‘Chucho, these are the best Enchiladas I have ever eaten!’ You gush and the man grins at you ‘Actually Javi made these.’

‘You can cook?’ You make no attempt to hide your surprise.

‘Yeah well, I’m Mexican. Cooking was forced onto me from a young age.’ He chuckles.

‘Well, these are delicious Javi.’ You smile ‘At least I know the baby will eat well when it visits.’

Javier’s face drops at this and you feel your stomach twist. You hadn't really discussed what the arrangement was going to be. It was a little early on to be thinking about it but you’d somewhat assumed that you would move back to DC and the baby would come to visit during the holidays. The distance is a bit much for alternating weekends.

‘Have you thought about what you want it to be?’ Asks Chucho, trying to relieve some of the tension.

‘Not Fussed’ ‘Girl’

You look up and Javier in shock, a small smile tugging at your lips.

‘You want a girl?’ You question ‘Didn’t know you’d given it any thought.’

He shrugs as he chews ‘I dunno… I've just always thought if I have a kid, I’d like it to be a girl. Boy’s are hard work.’ He chuckles.

‘You really not thought about it Chica?’ Asked Chucho, smiling at you.

‘Honestly, as long as it’s healthy I’m happy.’ You reply, smiling back at him.

‘Javi said your boyfriend is joining us for breakfast.’ You nearly choke on your food at this statement, you’d not labelled him yet.

‘Uh… yeah.’ You reply ‘If that’s okay with you.’

‘Not a problem.’ He replies ‘Plenty of food.’

‘Thank you, Chucho.’

Dinner goes by with relative ease. Some leftovers get wrapped up for you, you thank Chucho for a wonderful evening and then Javier walks you back to the guesthouse, casserole dish in hand. Stopping beside the front door you take the dish for Javi and smile sweetly at him, willing your heart to slow down.

‘Thank you, Javi.’ You start, feeling your heart flutter a little as he looked at you with his expressive brown eyes ‘Was a really lovely evening.’

‘Glad you enjoyed yourself.’ He replied ‘Goodnight.’

He leans in and kisses your cheek, your heart stopping as his soft lips make contact with your skin. You let out a shaky breath as he pulls away, just enough that he can look you in the eye and you find your gaze flitting between his lips and his glittering brown orbs. In the blink of an eye, his lips are on yours, kissing you with fervour and after the initial shock, you’re then kissing him back. Then your brain catches up with you and you push him away with your free hand, chest heaving as you feel tears forming.

‘We can't do this Javi.’ You sob.

‘Hermosa-.’

‘No… We can’t.’ You interrupt ‘I’m with Si. I care about him and he doesn't deserve this.' You pause as you wipe your tears with the back of your hand 'Goodnight Javier.’

You quickly unlock the door and disappear inside and leaving a heartbroken man in your wake.

~

‘You don’t have to do this baby.’ You say as you walk towards the main house with Si at your side ‘Still time to back out.’

‘Well, I should probably get to know the sober version that is the father of my girlfriends baby.’ He states and your heart skips a beat ‘If this is heading where I think it is then we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.’ He finishes as he spins you around to kiss you passionately, beard tickling your lips and making you giggle.

‘Girlfriend eh?’ You question with a wink.

‘That okay?’

‘More than.’ You reply as you place a sweet kiss on his lips.

You knock on the door three times and you’re greeted by Chuchos smiling face ‘You didn’t tell me Si’s your man!’ He exclaims as he gives the man a friendly pat on his shoulder.

‘Good to see you Chucho.’ Replies Si as he grins at him.

‘Come in, come in!’ He says excitedly as he motions you in with his hand.

The table is covered in food and you can’t help but smile at the effort that’s been made. Javier is busy at the stove and you make your way over to him, peering at the pan and seeing that he’s making scrambled eggs.

‘Good morning.’ He says with a smile and you wonder if he’s forgotten about what happened last night.

Then the smell hits you and your stomach rolls. You say nothing, just make a b-line for the bathroom and Javier’s face drops as he watches you run. Si sprints after you and holds your hair as you empty the contents of your stomach, letting out a sob as you try to breathe through it.

‘You okay?’ Si asks as he rubs comforting circles on your back.

‘What happened?’ Asks a flustered Javier as he appears in the doorway.

‘Morning sickness.’ Replies Si as you rest your head remains resting on your forearm ‘She gets set off by the smell of eggs and Coffee.’

‘Shit I-.’

‘You didn’t know man it’s fine.’ Interrupts Si and Javier nods before leaving, not wanting you or him to see the tears forming in his eyes.

He feels like he should know these things. You’re carrying his baby yet the local barman knows more about your triggers than him. You walk back in to the kitchen ans see him tossing the eggs into the trash and your brows furrow.

‘What are you doing?’

‘The smell makes you sick so we won’t eat them.’

‘You didn’t need to do that Javi.’

‘It’s fine Chica really.’ States Chucho ‘There’s still plenty of food.’

Si and Chucho talk each other’s ears off over breakfast but Javier doesn't say a word. You note that his eyes are bloodshot, that he keeps wiping his nose with his napkin and that he avoids any form of eye contact with you. You help clear up, hoping that it will give you a moment alone with Javier to talk but he doesn't say a word to you, doesn’t look at you and you feel yourself getting more and more irritated as it goes on.

‘Can I speak to you a moment?’ You say suddenly as you toss the drying cloth down and grab his arm, pulling him through the backdoor ‘What the fuck is your problem?’

‘What? He growls.

‘You’ve been in a shit mood all morning.’ You spit ‘I’m sorry that I got sick because of the eggs. You didn’t need to act like a child about it! You put this kid in me. You don’t get to be upset about some silly eggs.’

‘You think that's why I’m upset?’ He says, raising his voice a little ‘I’m upset because I don’t know what triggers morning sickness in the mother of my child and yet the local barman does. I’m upset that I won't get to raise my first kid with the woman I love. I’m upset that I’m not going to be able to do the feeds with you, the night changes... I’ll miss watching them grow, walk, probably talk. This is not how I imagined things would be when I finally became a father but it’s what I deserve right? I’m a bad man. I don’t deserve the perfect life with a wife and a baby. But he does!’ He finishes as he points at the closed door before he storms through it, leaving you speechless.

The woman he loves?

What were you supposed to do with that information?

You looked through the windows and saw him swiping up his keys and bidding his father and Si goodbye before leaving them as abruptly as he left you. Then your eyes drift to Si who’s looking at you with a sympathetic expression and your heart flutters. You’d waited years to hear Javi say that he loved you. It had been all you'd ever wanted but you also knew that he’d fuck it up. He wouldn’t be able to prioritise you and this baby. The job would always come first. Si was everything you’d ever wanted in a man. He was kind, loving, committed. He knew what he wanted and he would stop at nothing to get it and what he wanted is you. You could feel yourself falling hard from him already and that scared you because you had to decide. Do you want the man you’re in love with? The father of your child. Or do you want the man you’re falling in love with? The man who you know will give you everything you’ve ever wanted.

Time to decide.

~

Chapter 4

Your Fault (Supernatural)

Summary: Mary Winchester had died and Jack is in the wind. Sam and Dean just finished burying her and Dean is furious. He takes it out on Y/N and Cas, which leads Y/N attempts to take her life. Dean manages to save her before she follows through. He tries to comfort her but she refuses, so they bring someone else.

Warnings: mentions of self harm, mentions of suicide, attempted suicide, mentions of suicidal thoughts, please do not read if any of these trigger you. And please check up on your friends. You never know what they are going through and refuse to tell anyone about.

Characters: Dean x reader, Sam x reader, Castiel x reader, Jack x reader, Bobby x reader

--

You continue to pace back and forth in the study. "Pacing won't help anything," Cas states as he sits down at the table. "It helps my nerves, that's all that's matters right now." "How are you holding up?" Cas says, looking to you with concern weighing on his ocean blue eyes.

"What if they hate us, Cas?" "He can't hate you, Y/N. You're like family." "No, you're like family. I'm just.. I don't know what I am. You heard Dean, he said we were dead to him." "He's just in pain and he needs us," "We'll see." The door creaks open and the sound of the door closing echoes through the bunker.

Sam's face weighed with sadness, his forehead is absent of it's normal concern creases and his eyes were red and puffy. Dean on the other hand, his face was a neutral but the vertical crease between his eyebrows dipped. "Dean," you say, trying to hold his hand but he pulls away from you sharply. "Don't," he says before pushing past you.

"He just needs time," Sam says before approaching you. "Sam, I.. I'm so sorry." Cas says. "I know," Sam says softly before returning his gaze back to you. "I'll go check on Dean," Cas says before leaving the room. More tears escape Sam's eyes and you take his hand to lead his to his room. He follows you go the room and you close the door when you both lock in.

He sits on the edge of the bed and combs a hand through his hair. You stand in front of him and he looks up at you as he unravels before you eyes. You sit down next to him and his lips quivers. "Come here," you say, opening your arms and he leans into your shoulder. Your hold the back of his head and sobs into you.

The more time passed, the more intense his sobs became. Tears prick your eyes out of guilt and you lean your head against his temple. You were the support role for the Winchesters. The sound board of sorts. Even Mary came to your help for advice when she messed things up with the boys. She said that you knew them better than she did, well, the adult versions anyway.

You met the Winchesters through Bobby when you assisted with stopping the Leviathans and you just kept running into each other in various states. You were convinced that they were stalking you and they were convinced you were stalking them. You did not have any close family telling you to stop hunting, all you really had was Bobby. So you continued to find and go on hunts.

Soon enough, you ended up tagging along with the Winchesters and grew closer with each hunt. Sam is more in tune with his emotions, unlike Dean. Dean sees showing emotions as weak. Any other emotion outside of anger is rejected by him.

He was pissed at you and Cas, you knew it. And what's scares you is that you've never seen him that angry before, let alone at you.

The look he gave when he said if Mary was dead, that you were dead to him, sent chills down your spine. You love and depend on these boys. You would hope that the feeling would be reciprocated, but you're starting to question that. After thirty minutes of holding Sam and drawing circles on his scalp, he falls asleep.

You gently pull yourself away and kiss his forehead before quietly leaving. "You can't keep pushing yourself away, Dean," "Enough of this! Stop pretending to care! If you cared, you would have told me that there was something wrong with Jack ages ago!" "Hey, what's with all the yelling?" You ask, walking into the study.

"Sam is finally sleeping," you add. "How could he sleep after we just buried our mother?" "Hours of crying can drain your energy, believe me." You answer vaguely, not wanting to expose yourself.

"Why are you guys even here? It's clear what side you're on," "There are no sides here, Dean." "Yes there are. There's our side and there is Jack's side. Obviously, you're on his."

"You hated him from the beginning like some how he could control who his father was," Castiel defends. "And clearly I was right because she killed my mom!" Dean yells. "We don't even know the full story, Dean." You say. "I don't care about the whole story. It's about an eye for an eye now." "Dean, come on,"

"No, I think you guys should leave. Go somewhere else, anywhere else besides here." "You know that something goes wrong with the plan. Something always goes wrong," Castiel says. "Yeah, and why does that's something always seems to be you?" Dean snaps. "The angel with the bent halo and the leech overtook their stay," he adds.

"You don't mean that," you whimper with tears threatening your eyes. "I mean every single word." Dean snarks as he nears you. "Since Bobby introduced us, you were like a parasite trying to find it's host in us. No one else wanted you so you thought that we did. Sammy may have made you think that you're needed here but you're just a burgen. And that's all you ever will be," Dean spits.

A sharp pain pierced through your heart and you felt like you were going to be sick. "And you--" "Enough, Dean. You've said enough," Castiel snaps, knowing you were barely holding it together.

"I'll be gone by morning," you say softly before walking into your room. You close the door and lock the door behind you. Your eyes fall to the drawer where you hide your thin razor.

Everytime you relapse, you make the same promise to yourself saying that this is the last time and things will get better. But truthfully, things have only gotten worse and now you question if there's even a point from refraining. You slowly approach the drawer and open the top hatch to reveal the razor.

You take it's thin presence in your hand and smooth your thumb over it. You walk to the bathroom to take off your pants and pull down your underwear a little to see the other faint scars litter your butt and thighs.

You sigh and look at yourself like the filthy, disgusting scar that you were. Just as you were about to dig the razor in when I hear the door knob jiggle. "Y/N, it's me." Cas calls from the other side of the door.

The sweat from your palm makes the razor slicks and it slides right out of your hands. "Wait, no!" You watch helplessly as the razor falls down the unnaturally large drain. "Y/N, is everything alright?" Cas askss. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a minute," you call but fear got the best of Cas. He used his wings to fly into the bathroom and he sees your scars.

You quickly pull up your pants and buckle them. He opens his mouth to speak but you go off on a frantic tangent. "Castiel please don't tell them. If they find out that I'm doing this, they'll... they'll look at me like I'm some broken toy that needs fixing." "You are so much more than just a toy, Y/N," "It doesn't matter," "Stop dismissing yourself,"

"What can I say? I've been dismissed all my life, so I try to beat it to the punch." His face softens and he steps closer to you. "How long has this been going on?" "Since Bobby died,"

"That was yea-" "I know it was years ago but the pain is still fresh. I never got the chance to actually mourn him because I was busy helping the boys."

"Just please don't tell them," "Okay." You lean into his chest and he puts his head on top of yours as he hold you. He's less awkward than the first time I hugged him. "I'll pack my stuff tonight but can you drop me off in Boston. I've always wanted to go there." You ask. "Of course, if that's what you want." "Well what I want, I can't have. So this is the best alternative,"

"What do you want?" He asks, pulling away a little. "To escape," "Escape from the bunker or escape the world?" It's amazing how fast he catches on things now. He's come a long way from before. "Both," "Y/N-" "I'm fine, I'll be fine." "I'm sorry but I don't believe you. You've been suffering in silence while Dean takes out his suffering on you, it's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, Castiel. But if you really care about me, then you won't tell them and you'll let me leave. You'll let me escape," you say pushing on his chest. "Promise me," you add. "I promise," he says reluctantly. "Good," you walk back into the room and take out your duffel bags.

You can feel his stare on you but continue to pack. "You deserve better than this," "I'm not too sure about that. Hey, you mind stopping by the grocery store to pick up some snacks?" You ask. He eyes you suspiciously before saying, "Alright." He opens the door and walks out. You wait until the bunker door closes to pull out your laptop and scroll through your files until you come across ImSorry.mp3.

You click on it and look at yourself talking. This wasn't the first time you've had these deep, dark thoughts. But this is the first time they're winning. This seems like the best way to stop your pain. It'll be painless. You wait a few minutes to become one with your intentions.

A shaky breath leaves your lips before standing from the bed. You press pause on the video and activate the algorithm you created to send out the mp3 file an hour from now.

You should be gone by then. You close the laptop and advance towards the door. You walk past the kitchen and through the study when you hear Dean say, "Where are you going?" You stop in your tracks, careful not to let a sob slip. You take a deep breath before walking up the stairs to go to the garage.

"Y/N, wait," he says. You close the door and pick a random car in the garage to take out. You slowly drive out to the nearest bridge. You pull off to the side and put the car in park.

You hop outside and hold onto the ledge as you peer over. The water gushes and hits the massive rocks on the sides. Judging by the height of the bridge, it would kill you on impact.

You inhale sharply before hiking one of your legs over the ledge. You swing the other leg over and cautiously stand up on the ledge. Strong gusts of wind push and pull your hair every which way. You open your arms and close your eyes as you let the wind tug your body closer to the water.

Your feet stayed planted on the concrete ledge and you inhale the wet, salty air from the water below. "I'm sorry, Sam," you whisper. You hear a familiar hum of an engine. You look over your shoulder to see Dean getting out of the car. "Y/N, what the hell are you doing!" Dean yells.

You return your gaze back to the water and you move one foot off the ledge. "Damn it, I didn't mean anything I said. I.. I can't loose you too, please." You turn away from him to hide your tears. "Please, Y/N." "It's time that I be with Bobby, now Dean," "No!" You lean forward and lift off the ledge with your back foot.

Your hair covers your face, preventing you from seeing anything. And that's probably for the best. Gravity gains control of your body and you tumble down towards the water when you feel a strong hand grab your ankle.

Another hand grabs your waist pulls you back onto the ledge. Your eyes meet Dean's wide green eyes.

He pulls you down so your feet are planted on the ground. "You actually jumped. You were willing to die because of something I said," he says in disbelief. He holds the sides of you arms with a firm grip.

"Let me go, Dean," "I can't," "You were more than willing to push me away, how is this any different?" "Because I need you alive. Damn it, I need you."

He squeezes my arms and you stare into his eyes for a moment before looking over your shoulder at the water. He grabs your wrist and drags you towards the trunk of the Impala.

He lifts the trunk and grabs a pair of hand cuffs. He captures your wrists in the them and pushes you into the passenger side.

"Did you even think about us when you jumped?" He says sternly. You look out the window the entire ride back to the bunker. When he pulls into the garage, he lifts you out of the car and motions you to led the way back to the bunker's door. The door opens and there Sam and Cas stood at the bottom of the stairs.

"What happened? Why is she in handcuffs? And why did we get a I'm sorry video from you?" Sam asks frantically. You decided not to say anything and sit down at the table. Dean approaches them and tells them to go to the kitchen. He informs them of what you tried to do and Castiel was pissed.

"Im mean how can she be so selfish?" Dean snaps. "Selfish?" Sam repeats. He was about to say something else when Cas cuts him off. "You are such an asshole, Dean. She's dedicated more of her life and time to you both instead of herself. She hid her suffering and her pain to make sure you two were okay! She was hurting herself damn it, but of course you would give a damn about that!" Cas snaps.

"Cas," Sam mediates. "You have the nerve to shame her for having a big heart. I don't care if I'm dead to you because you blame me for Mary, you're dead to me for making Y/N believe that she'll never be good enough for you!" Cas spits. He pushes past them and makes his way over to Y/N long strides.

"Come on, Y/N, we're leaving." Cas motions you to stand up. You shake your head no and he adds, "You want to stay here?" "I don't know what I want, Cas, that's the problem."

"You should leave, put this -us- in your rearview mirror." Sam says, walking into the study. You shrug and lean your back into the chair. You lean your elbows on the table and rest your face in your hands.

"You could have told me, Y/N. You've been there for me more time than I can count. Let me help you." Sam says softly. "We can be there for you when you need it, Y/N. You just have to trust us." Cas says.

Sam pulls you in for a hug first and Cas followed suit. Dean walks into the study to see that they were hugging.

He didn't know what to do. He feels at fault for Y/N keeping to herself. He made everything about him and Sam and didn't think about how Y/N was holding up.

**

Even after Cas and Sam showed their support, you remained quiet. You appreciate their efforts, but nothing they can do is going to make you feel the closure that you needed to mourn Bobby.

You stayed behind with Charlie to make sure things went as planned on the flip side. Sam and Dean took Bobby to the hospital after Dick shot him in the head.

An hour after his surgery, he died and you never got the chance to say goodbye. "Are you sure this is going to work?" Dean asks Sam. "I really hope that it does." Sam says before looking to Cas. You were fresh out of the shower and in the process of pulling your hair into braids.

You heard a loud clash followed by the ground shaking. "Guys?" You rush out of the room and run to where you heard voices. "Sam? Dean? Castiel?" You call as you cough from the smoke entering your lungs. You swat away the smoke with your hand and continued to cough.

"We're alright," Dean says. The rest of them were coughing too and when the smoke and dust finally cleared, there stood Bobby in the middle of the dried twigs. Him in his favorite white and blue sea bass hat and the green rain jacket he always wore over his flannels.

"What are you idjits doin'! You know how many unwritten laws you're breakin' right now? Too many, that's how many," "Bobby?" You say in disbelief. "Hey pumpkin," he says with his face softening after yelling at the boys.

He knew you're past all too well and he tried his hardest to help you move past it. And here you are, right back where you started. Your body has a mind of its own and runs over to him. He reached out to smooth a hand over your hair and you gasp in disbelief that he was actually here.

"What happened to you, honey? I told you knuckle heads to take care of her," Bobby snarks. "I relapsed again, Bobby. I'm so sorry."

He holds the sides of your face and caresses the hood of your eyes with his thumbs. Bobby was not the physically affectionate type, but he knew that was the only way to show you that he cared.

"There's nothing for you to be ashamed about. You're human and you make mistakes." You duck your face to hide your tears from him and he pulls you into his chest.

You completely unravel and you sobs prevented your ability to breathe. You collapse to floor and Bobby followed you.

He cradled you into his arms and you sobbed into the crook of his arm. Bobby looks up to the boys and they stare at her. "What the hell happened?" "We don't really know. She's been in a rough patch, but we just don't know for how long." Sam says, watching Y/N's body tremble as she cries.

"You boys were suppose to take care of her," Bobby says. "We know, we-" "We failed her, I'm sorry, Bobby." Dean says, clenching his jaw. "Well don't tell me. Hug her and tell her you're sorry. And you better mean it, boy," he commands.

Dean reluctantly kneels down next to you and tugs you towards his chest. You lean your head into his collarbone and holds the side of your head. You sniffle a little but furrow your brow when you hear him sniffle. "I'm so sorry."

You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder. "Let's give em' a minute, we're all going to take some turns getting our heads out of ours ass. Come on," Bobby says, motioning the rest of the crew to leave.

Blue Monday, Chapter Six - Loki x T.V.A.! Reader

Chapter Six: Blood and Blade

...Asgard, some years ago...

“Amora!” teenage Thor shouted, tossing her a sword. “Train with me!”

She grinned, picking the weapon up and obliging, while teenage Loki glowered on the sidelines. He hated seeing them together, because he could always hear the whispers that accompanied it, even if there weren’t any.

They’re perfect...

He loves her...

She’ll be queen, someday...

Trying to breathe around the lump in his throat, he reacted, too distracted by his own pettiness to have care for anything else. And when he reached out his hand, the sword Amora was presently using to pin Thor to the ground transformed into a serpent.

“Ow!” she shouted, stepping away from it. “What?” asked Thor. “What, what’s wrong?” She shook her head.

“Nothing, it just... it bit me.”

Thor kicked the snake away, and she laughed, slightly, waving her hand over the bite on her arm and using magic to remove the venom.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, putting his arm around her shoulders. It was a brotherly action, Loki conceded. He saw that now. There hadn’t been anything between them, at all.

“Yes,” she said, smiling, slightly, her face trembling. “Yes, I’m fine.” Thor still looked confused as to what had happened, and Loki prayed that Amora wouldn't connect the dots, either - but she gave him a withering glance as she passed by, and he knew that she had.

He set down his book, following her to the wooded area where they sometimes went for walks.

“Amora!”

She didn’t turn around. “Amora, I didn’t mean it-”

She stopped in her tracks, and he caught up to her.

“You’re... crying,” said Loki, sort-of awkwardly.

Amora raised her blue sleeve to her face, drying her eyes, and she swallowed.

“I’m not.” “I saw you, love. You can’t lie to me. Thor, maybe, that wouldn't be so difficult-” “Fine. I was crying. I... I just...” Amora raised her face to look at him, and he felt frozen, made guilty by her red eyes. “We used to be... we used to be friends. Why d’you hate me?”

“I... don’t.”

Amora scoffed. collapsing on a tree stump.

“Then why do you send snakes after me? Or transform my sword, when I’m trying to train? Or... even little things, like using magic to tug my hair during ceremonies. Or avoid me. It seems like you’re always avoiding me.”

“...Yeah.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why, are you?” Loki sat down, cross-legged, next to her.

“Do you really want me to?” Amora nodded.

“...Yeah.”

He swallowed.

“It’s only because I love you,” he managed, fighting around the lump in his throat. “That’s... that’s why.” He took note of her confused expression, looking away. He was about to stand up again and walk away, but she reached over, grabbing his hand.

“...Why?”

“Because, you’re...” he struggled to find the right words. “You’re really... really... beautiful.” Amora looked hurt, almost. Disappointed.

“And... that’s it? That’s all there is?”

He tried, desperately, to think of what Thor would say. He’d know what to do.

“Well... what else is there?” If she looked hurt before, she was devastated now. Her hands crossed over her chest, and she turned, as if she was about to walk away.

It was at that moment that it really sunk in. She didn’t care what Thor would do.

She wanted to know what he would do.

“No,” Loki said, reaching out to her. “Truthfully, no. I didn’t mean that.”

“Tell me the truth, then.”

He gulped.

“I care for you because... because you’re the only person I’ve ever met who makes me feel not-so-lonely. I’m happier, with you. Different. You make me different.” She reached over, then, and kissed him, softly. “Don’t be too different, okay?” “Never,” he promised. “Let’s just... swear to stay the same, forever?” “Oh, I swear.”

Just then, he woke up.

...Alone.

...

It had been three days since the last mission.

You felt broken.

Loki had noticed.

You were upset with yourself, mostly. Upset that you couldn’t let it go - but even more upset that you’d let yourself become attached. You’d only known the female Loki for moments.

Even still... you were sure that you had loved her. You knew that.

“Agent?”

It was Mobius, standing in your doorway.

You cleared your throat.

“...Yes?”

Please don’t be a new mission, you thought, your heart pounding. Please, please-

"I think it’d be best if you underwent some training. Trained Odinson, as well.” You nodded, feeling relieved. “Of course,” you agreed, standing up and following him down the hallway.

Loki waited for you.

Of course.

You knew he felt guilty about how things had gone. Not that he regretted killing Lady Loki - he didn’t seem to. But he regretted your part in it.

And he still had his doubts that you could even tolerate him now that he was responsible for death of the woman you had fallen in love with.

So he’d kept his distance, for now.

“I’m here to train you, right?”

“Yes,” Loki said, “...But not only. Mobius has been made aware of the last mission’s... fate. He believes you should be trained with a weapon you could defend yourself with. From other supernatural beings, from... me.” “Alternate versions of you, you mean?” “Hopefully, yes. But you never know. People who liked me have tried to kill me before.”

“I never said I liked you, Odinson,” you said, teasing for the first time in awhile.

“You never said you didn’t, either - now, we’re going to have to get you acquainted with a few different weapons, so you know your options. Try these.”

Loki passed you his daggers.

“Here, hold them like this-”

You shrank away.

“What?” he asked, sounding vaguely offended. “What, you don’t like them?” You shook your head, slowly.

“The... weight doesn’t feel right in my hands,” you offered, trying to come up with an excuse. What else could you say? The truth, that you didn’t want to wield the same weapon that had killed female Loki? Could you say that, without hurting your Loki?

He nodded, taking your words as the truth.

“Have you tried a staff?” “A... a couple times. I’m clumsy with it.”

Loki hesitated, almost imperceptibly.

“...Sword?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and something familiar, yet new echoed through you.

Sword. Yes.

You wanted a sword.

“...How did you know...?”

“Amora used a sword,” he admitted, bluntly. “Though you couldn’t exactly wield hers... it was a powerful thing, really, called Kursebreaker - the long blade of the damned.”

“Kursebreaker?” “Yes, well... we were a little obsessed with fairytales back then. The Kursed were a breed of Dark Elf - well, they were. All the dark elves are dead, now. Nothing to worry about there. But Odin had loved to scare us with the stories - my mother, not so much. She’s terrified of them.”

Even though you were upset with him, you loved hearing Loki talk, no matter what the subject.

But listening to him speak about Asgard was nothing short of magical.

“Then again, Kursebreaker is gone.”

“Gone?”

“She was set off with it. At her funeral. That’s a thing Asgardians do... we bury our dead by casting them off waterfalls. It’s peaceful, really - of course, I can hardly remember it. I was well and truly drunk.”

You hadn’t known for sure before that his Amora was dead - you’d thought perhaps she had disappeared, or cast him aside. Somehow, there was something even more terrifying about living up to the standard set by a dead woman.

“ I can’t ever imagine you being a drunk,” you said, trying to tease and lighten the mood. “...Even on Asgard.” “Well, I wasn't. But I had begun being so many things I hadn’t been before she left us, I figured... why not add another? And it was only for the week of her funeral, anyhow. My father - Odin... had never liked the idea of us, had expected her as a wife for Thor. He spent most of the time around her burial trying to convince me that I would have been better with someone else. He didn’t understand. I didn’t... want anyone else. I still don’t.”

Loki swallowed, and you knew you were hearing all of this as a form of apology for the mission.

“Anyhow,” he spoke, clearing his throat and withdrawing a thin sword from seemingly nowhere, “You’ll need this. I want you to fight me with it.” “Fight you?” “You’ve never fenced before, and I have to see your form. See how hopeless you are at it.”

“...Hey!” He grinned, and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s alright, no one starts out good. Well, I did.” “Maybe I will, too,” you countered, assuming what you thought was a good fencing position. “What is that? What in Hel are you doing?” You shrugged, waving the sword, carelessly.

“I’m preparing to fence? ...I think?” “No, no, no,” he muttered, walking toward you. “No, this just won’t do - stand like me.” “I’m trying, Loki!”

“Don’t be difficult, now - I’m not going through this again...”

“What, do all your students give you trouble?” “Amora did.”

...

She was talented.

Amora, in recent memory, had been nothing. Which is why their friendship had always made sense to him - he felt close to being nothing, too.

And, since she had been nothing, just an orphan girl that Odin had rescued from a village in Vanaheim and given a home in the palace, she was absolutely miserable at fighting. Miserable at it.

To others, this was acceptable. She wasn’t meant for much else than a symbol of Asgard’s great kindness, how they’d taken in some pathetic girl, a girl who if Odin wanted it, would someday be the people’s princess, and then their queen. She was a sad story. A convenience of war. Someone Thor mostly ignored, someone Sif hated. No matter how good a warrior Sif was, as long as Amora was Odin’s chosen, Sif could never have Thor. No matter how kind or noble, Sif could never beat out the sob story of the poor little orphan.

To Loki, she was simply his best friend. The only person who ever spoke to him, or laughed at his jokes, or stood beside him at ceremonies.

But she was tiny, and frail, and easy to be picked on. That was completely unacceptable to him. He himself had experience with being pushed around from an early age, so he’d trained. Every bone in his body was a weapon, especially his mind. He could be outmuscled, sure, but never outmaneuvered.

Amora, he knew, shared many of these same traits. She lacked a certain cruelness that he prized, but he saw her become occasionally savage. He’d appeal to that instinct, draw it out. “Again,” he said, tapping his own sword on the ground. “Again.”

"Loki,” Amora groaned, struggling to get up. “We’ve gone five rounds-” “And I intend to keep going until you win. Again.”

...

"Again!” Loki shouted at you, and you could swear a rib was broken. Around your fourth dueling loss, something seemed to have snapped inside of him. He’d become manic, unhinged. He’d pushed you to limits you didn’t even know you had. Training had begun slowly, but he’d gotten to the point of even throwing obstacles at you with magic. He seemed to have forgotten, in his fever, that you didn’t have magic to defend yourself with.

It had to stop.

He was going to kill you.

“I said,” he yelled, running at you, “Again!”

You ducked, a curl of your hair cut off by the blade. You supposed you should have considered yourself lucky it wasn’t a finger, or your arm entirely.

“Loki, stop-” He knocked the sword from your hands, kicking you to the ground. “Yield.”

“I yield! I yield, okay!”

“Again.”

“I can’t!” “Yes, you can! I intend to keep going until you win!”

You took up your sword again, readying yourself.

Again, he trapped you. You were struggling, trying to escape the chokehold he had you in.

“Yield,” he insisted, and you tried to breathe long enough to get the word out.

“I... y...”

“Yield!” He wouldn’t really kill you, you thought, blood rushing to your head.

Would he? Loki seemed to have forgotten that he was fighting you, a Midgardian. Maybe on Asgard, this was training for beginners.

“I yield,” you choked out, and he released you.

“Again, Amora!”

The words escaped his mouth before he could think them, and all at once, you saw his face fall. He collapsed to the ground.

“Loki?” you whispered, timidly, approaching him and wondering if this was an elaborate sneak attack. If it was, he had no need for one. You hadn’t won a match yet.

...Oh.

He was crying.

You knelt down to his level.

“Hey, Loki,” you said, clutching your injured rib with one hand and taking his hand with the other, “I’m really okay, it’s not so bad-”

He shook his head.

“What have I done,” he spoke, quietly, looking at your bruised figure.

“I’m okay.” “I could have killed you.”

“I kinda thought you would, for a minute,” you admitted. He didn’t respond.

“Promise me you’ll be looked over? By... do you have healers here?”

“Yeah, we do - but Loki, can't you heal people?” “No. Not me.”

Loki wrenched his hand from yours, and without another word, he turned his back to you, retreating to his rooms.

...

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A/n : this is kind of an alternate ending to endgame ig? a version where your a long lost child of thanos and Peter lost the gauntlet only to find it at the same time as you and plot ensues. Kind of the same thing with Clint and nebula but way further down in the movie. I just really wanted to write a villain reader okay leave me alone idk what im doing. also sorry for any inaccuracies i havent watched endgame is so long😭im just going off what i remember. 

Summary : Despite your life on earth, your life with the avengers, you’ve always felt like something was missing. You never felt that longing to save the people of the world, their wide smiles and thanks never satisfied you like it did everyone else. That was until Thanos told you about your true past, your true purpose.

To destroy the universe.

Warnings : cursing, betrayal, (ik we should just give Peter a break, but its for the plot im sorry) just pretty angsty so you’ve been warned

Word Count : 2.8k

Heavily inspired by this and this playlist on youtube

Peter Parker x GN!Villian!Reader

...

“It’s under all that ruckus,” Sam yelled through coms, flying over the fallen building he once called the avenger’s compound, “Can anyone reach?”

Peter webbed one of the aliens, using the makeshift leash to pull himself over the creature, knocking it into another one of his kind. His new spider legs retracted from his suit, helping him land gracefully on the floor quick enough to see the domino effect he just caused.

He quickly caught Sam’s words, looking up to see he was right outside the fallen building.

“I can!” he quickly said, flicking his wrist to catch on to a random flying alien, pulling it down to the floor as he took flight, landing on the top of one of the cracked walls. He swiftly searched for an opening under the rubble with the help of Karen tracking where he looked.

Suddenly a red light flashed from a cave like opening, giving him a small cheer at victory. As he crawled into the gap, some static came through his ear piece signalling that someone was about to talk.

“Good luck Kid,” Tony muttered into his ear followed by a loud blast as the comms cut off. Even with the rough cut, he could still feel the small smile making its way to his face.

Though there was a full fledged war going on that might decide whether everyone lived or not, all his young brain could think about was how cool it was to be fighting alongside every superhero he’s ever known, and more. If only he could go back to when he first got bitten, to tell his past self that at some point in the future he would be fighting alongside the avengers.

That he himself was an avenger.

It was crazy to think about. To think about how far he’s come that he was able to save the world and not just help some old lady cross the street. As thoughts continued to bloom in his head, he carefully crawled through all the debris, taking care that he didn't stick to parts that might take down the small opening.

Soon enough he found a clearing, what looked like a living room area judging from the couch covered in dust and the familiar stone pillars and plants. He detached himself from the ceiling, landing softly on the floor as he looked around the dirty room, moving away from the flickering wires that hung from the slanted ceiling.

He soon caught sight of something shiny and gold from underneath a fallen pillar. He punched his arm in the air, running to the object and carefully pulling the gauntlet out of its snug position.

“Found it,” he said into his comms, grunting as it finally released, sending him back slightly, “Coming out now,”

“I’ll meet you outside,” Tony said before cutting off once again.

Peter looked back at the opening determined, strutting towards the exit, his confidence growing with each step. A crunch of debris shook him out of his pride, making him stop in his tracks. He quickly ducked behind a piller, looking at the shadows shown on the wall opposite him with his hand ready to web whatever it was making its way into the cavern.

But as soon as he caught your silhouette standing in the shadows, he let out a deep breath, his shoulders sagging as his muscles lost the sudden tension. He stepped out from his hiding spot to greet you.

“Oh thank god it’s you,” Peter chuckled, his hand falling to his side as he adjusting the gauntlet in his hand, “I thought it was another one of those alien thingies,”

You stayed silent, standing ominously with your arms to the side, twirling your gun slowly. He couldn't see your face hidden in the shadows, only the red glow of the necklace around your neck, illuminating details of your suit on your chest. He noticed how your body shook lightly, like a bomb about to go off. 

Peter chuckled nervously, tightening his hold on the glove.

“Is- is everything alright?” He said, taking careful steps towards you. 

He didn't listen to the voices in his head telling him to run, to get away as fast as he could. You were his friend, his partner in crime he liked to say. 

You would never hurt him.

You stayed silent a few seconds longer, the only thing proving to him that you weren't a lifeless manikin were your movements as you shifted from leg to leg. But he didn't think much of it, it was a scary time for everyone. Maybe you were just glad that he got the gauntlet and not someone from Thanos’ army. Maybe you were just glad to know he was okay after being separated.

“I’m sorry Peter,” you finally spoke up, your voice dangerously low, something he wasn't use to, “But I’m going to need you to give me that glove,”

Peter was taken back by your words, mostly still confused but also slightly worried at your words and sudden presence, “What! Why?”

“I can’t-,” you let out a harsh breath, “I can’t tell you why Peter, just give me the damn glove,”

“No, I-,” he let out a gasp when you raised your gun, aiming it directly at his chest, “Woah, woah, woah!” he held his empty hand up in defence, “What are you doing!”

“I’m getting that glove one way or another Parker,” you said harshly, your tone slashing at his heart, “So either you give it to me or i’m prying it off your dead corpse, you decide,”

Peter stayed silent, trying to process your sudden change in, well, you.

Only minutes ago, you were fighting alongside him, well what felt like minutes ago. He lost all concept of time when the army charged towards him, his main focus was getting that gauntlet away from Thanos and doing his job as an avenger. 

But you were there, using the same gun pointing at him now to blast the same aliens attacking him. That was until the land beneath you detached itself, creating a small floating piece of dirt that took you up in the air, taking you away from him.

He didn't have time to follow you when he got tackled to the floor, losing sight of you as you moved to the direction of Thanos.

That's when it clicked in his head.

But before he could question anything, his senses went off as he narrowly dodged the blast of your gun. With the distraction, you took the opportunity to lunge at him, knocking him to the floor.

“What did he do to you!” he grunted, throwing up the gauntlet and webbing it to the ceiling. Before you could jump for it, he tackled you to the floor, webbing one of your hands to the ground.

“He told me the truth!” you screamed, punching him in the nose with your other hand. He webbed that hand to the floor as it tried to reach out to your gun. He kicked away the weapon, webbing the rest of your body, making sure that you were secure, unable to escape.

He didn't want to, but you were unstable, not yourself. Whatever Thanos did to you, fucked up the person he knew, the person he loved and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. He was determined to get you back.

“What do you mean ‘truth’? Do you hear yourself right now!” he said in vain, his chest heaving with every breath. 

You stopped struggling in the webs, making Peter question if you ever were. You only laid with a wide smile on your face that soon turned into hysterical laughter. Tears flowed freely from your eyes as you tried to catch your breath making Peter’s breath hitch.

“loud and clear Peter,” you managed to get out, your laughs calming down to little giggles.

“Then why are you doing this? Why did you attack me!”

You rolled your eyes, “You refused to give the what i wanted that’s why,”

“But why do you want it?” he said desperately, growing annoyed with your vague words.

“Why do you want to save the world?” you countered, “Because it feels good right? You feel accomplished? You feel needed, you feel useful,” you shook your head, “You feel like aching pain in your chest to do the right thing, to do what you think is right for the world” you paused, “So what’s so wrong in wanting to destroy it,”

“I save the world because it's the right thing to do Y/n,” he said seriously, disgusted that you would think of the possibility of destroying the universe, “You’re killing innocent people! You lived through those five years, you knew how devastating it was for everyone,”

“But i enjoyed it,” you cut him off, “I enjoyed watching them suffer, because- because i knew it was the right thing, what Thanos did- it was destiny. It was fate! But you fail to see that, you all fail to fucking see it!”

“See what! See what!” he shouted, trying his best to understand what you were saying because none of it was processing in his head.

“People don’t appear out of thin air Peter! I didn’t have a family or friends! I woke up in the middle of nowhere! Knowing nothing about myself and you people fucking took me in and USED me because of my skil!” you spat, “When i asked to find my real family you all denied it, you denied everything i ever said, i asked, you people did nothing for me!”

He started to back away when he noticed your hands begin to glow red, the webs around your body melting off your skin. Suddenly his hands became heavy, something cold clicking around his wrists, pulling him to his knees. He struggled, his muscles strained as he tried to break free but it was futile.

He let himself get trapped, he let himself get distracted.

What confused him more was your sudden power. You were known for your slick fighting skills and use of your guns and various weapons. Not powers that made chains burst out of the ground strong enough to withhold him even with his super strength.

Did Thanos do this to you? Is this why you turned to his side, because he gave you special abilities?

“But now, I know my true self, I know my purpose,” you continued, “I’m not a superhero Peter, maybe not by your definition. Saving all those people, using my powers for ‘good’ means nothing to me,” you stood tall over him, power surging through your veins, “cause guess what! It’s repetitive! People will always find a way to get hurt, to use people for their gain! Humans! Humans are a fucking waste of time but you all never saw that. You just saw the good not the evil,”

“Because that’s our j-”

“Because that’s our job, yes I know, but it's not,” you cut him off once more, “Who ever said that we need to protect people who can’t even help themselves? Who ever said we needed to have this responsibilities on our shoulders for something we can’t even control,” you pointed at him, “You never asked to be spiderman, sure the same can’t be the same for iron man or captain america but they choose that, we didn’t,” you sighed, “But none of you understand that, only-” you paused, “only Thanos does,”

“Is that why you're doing this? Because of something our enemy said,”

“Your enemy, not mine,” you smiled weakly, “He’s made more sense to me that any of you have, he showed me my true powers, my true self in the matter of minutes, something you all couldn't do in years,” your hands dropped to your side, “because he’s my family, he knows my true destiny the real reason why I was given my gift,” you gestured to the gauntlet, “And that’s to complete what he started, that’s why he put me on earth Peter, and I can’t let you or anyone ruin that for me,”

That’s when it clicked, “You’re his child,”

You smiled softly at his words, “I’m not a hero Peter,” your shoulder shook as you let out a tired laugh, “I’ve tried telling you this so many times but you-,” you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, “You just never fucking listened!”

Peter stayed silent, looking down at the floor in defeat. You knelt down in front of him, talking his jaw in your fingers to pull his face up, forcing him to look into your eyes.

“I never wanted to hurt you Peter,” you whispered, your eyes softening as you looked directly into his now dull, dirty browns.

“You already did,” he sneered, feeling no remorse for his words, “You did when you took his side, when you betrayed us, after everything we’ve fucking been through your side with a purple fucking raisin,”

You only sighed, your head dropping as you stood back up, stretching your back, “You’ll understand Peter, one day you will,” you began to walk back to the gauntlet, flicking your fingers to get rid of the webs, “To bad I won’t be there for that to happen,”

The shiny piece of metal fell softly into your hands, laying snugly in your palms. Peter watched with dread as your eyes glimmered with glee, reflecting all the colours of the stones, glowing dimly when it landed on the red one.

“How do you think it’s going to feel?” you said out loud, staring in awe at the gauntlet, “I mean I’ve felt the wrath of one stone but six?!” you chuckled, “I could only imagine what that must feel like,”

Peter only grumbled at your words, looking around for something, anything that might spark a light in his mind. That might help him to escape but he found nothing. You had the power of a fucking infinity stone running through your body, if he were to try anything you were sure to break him back down despite which stone you got your powers from. It didn't matter, you were still stronger than him in every way.

“Question is, should I put the glove on, then the stones? Or maybe the other way around? Should I do them all at once or individually,” you looked back at him with a mad grin, “The options huh?”

“You really are his child,” Peter grumbled, looking off to the side, “Sick and twisted, just like him,”

“See! You finally get it!” you said excitedly, throwing your arms in the air, “Glad to know we’re finally on the same page,” you giggled right after. 

Normally it would make his heart flutter, but now it only made him sick to his stomach.

“God, It’s just-” you took a deep breath, “I’ve haven't used my powers in fear of hurting others that- that I never even cared about! I just acted like i cared cause- cause that was my job right? That’s what everyone said!” you flicked your hands at the glove, morphing it into the perfect size to fit your arm right in front of his eyes, “Now, I could explore its limits, its full power without being thrown into some tacky jail in the middle of nowhere,” You grinned, “Isn't that exciting?”

You began to take out each individual stone, keeping them floating by your ideas, your eyes flickering from each one to judge it like it was a beauty pageant.

Peter looked at you ridiculously, “No, it isn't,” he took a deep breath, “Y/n, this isn’t you,”

You chuckled, fitting the glove on your hand snuggly as you raised the six individual stones further in the air, spinning them around you, “On the contrary,” you moved the space stone to one of the slots, groaning as its power seeping into your body, “I think this is most i’ve felt like myself in a while!”

He watched in horror as you put each stone in its individual departments, your smile growing wider and wider with each one. Your body began to float off the floor, the light emitted almost blinding him at how bright it grew.

“You don’t have to do this Y/n!” Peter shouted desperately, grunting as he pulled on the chains keeping him locked to the floor, “God dammit Y/n! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

You ignored his pleas, his words void of anything to your ears. 

“I’m sorry Peter,” you whispered, turning back to look at him with red glowing eyes, “But the villains just have more fun,” you cackled, breath heavy as the power of all the stones surged through your veins, making them pop with colour, “And I’m about to have the time of my life,”

With that, a bright white light filled Peter’s eyes, knocking him back against the debris, taking him out cold on the floor.

...

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That last one-shot prompt made me realize I really love the interaction of outsiders to River and the Doctor's relationship. I'd really love more of that type of thing. I've no idea if this even counts as a prompt or not but just saying.

Hi! I promise, I've not forgotten about the prompts i have yet to do, though I might be getting a bit distracted with World Enough, And Time :D Yeah I guess this wasn’t exactly a prompt but here are more reactions to their relationship as Yaz learns more about River in the next instalment of Big, Vast, Complicated and Ridiculous! :D

Chapter 7: Lake Silencio

“Blimey, you do have a mind of your own today, haven’t you.“ The Doctor huffed as the TARDIS came to a halt.

“Where are we?“ Yaz asked sounding a little worried.

“Could be anywhere.“ The Doctor sighed. “She’s been all over the place. Surprised she managed to take me to you on time when you texted…“ She skipped to the door and Yaz followed, curious to see where they had ended up. The Doctor stuck her head out the door, then pulled back and glared at the console. “Oh you silly machine, you could break time…“

“That’s your TARDIS over there?“ Yaz asked taking a step outside the door while her friend hung back. She found they had landed on a cliff face in the middle of the dessert. The sun was blazing down on them, reflecting off the azure blue lake that stretched below. The could overlook the entire valley from their vantage point and Yaz had immediately spotted the other blue box.

“Earlier model, this was some time ago.“ The Doctor answered slowly, eying the younger version of her TARDS across the ridge. There was probably a reason for why the TARDIS had taken them here.

“Well, this is nice.“ Yaz put her hands on her hips enjoying the sunshine on her face. It made a change from dreary Britain.

“Great time for a picnic…“ The Doctor mused as she looked down into the valley, to the beach by the side of the lake. There she was, so much younger, drinking wine with Amy, Rory and River. The Doctor smile a little to herself, she missed her family so much.

“Are you down there?“ Yaz asked curiously, following her gaze.

“Yeah…“ The Doctor nodded with a melancholy expression.

“And River?“ Yaz recognised her head of hair, even from a distance. It was distinctive to say the least.

“And her parents, Amy and Rory.“ The Doctor smiled wistfully pointing them out to her. She hadn’t seen them in such a long time. She missed them dearly.

“But they’re… younger than her?“ Yaz stated, bewildered. They were relatively far away but she could make out enough to pose the question.

“First thing you should know about River, I guess… she’s a time traveller.“ The Doctor chuckled. The TARDIS seemed to want her to fill Yaz in so she obliged.

“Right, that makes sense.“ Yaz sighed, shaking her head bemused. This was just like the Doctor. Of course her wife was no ordinary woman. She was intrigued to find out more.

“This was the day…“ The Doctor hummed with a bittersweet smile.

“What day?“ Yaz prompted and the Doctor chuckled:

“My wedding day.“

“Really?“ Yaz’s eyes widened in shock. She looked back down to the Doctor’s younger self.

“You did ask, didn’t you, about my history with River? Think the TARDIS is trying to fill you in.“ The Doctor smiled. She shrugged off her coat and put it down on the ground before sitting down. She always kept her cards so close to her chest, not allowing anyone, not even her friends, to really get to know or understand her. Maybe she was going about it the wrong way. Perhaps it was time to let people in again. She didn’t need to carry all these burdens by herself. And maybe, just maybe, if she let other people see, shared her past with them, maybe she would feel a little closer to being the Doctor again.

“So that’s you?“ Yaz pointed at the young Doctor again as she sat down, surprised at the inviting gesture.

“Look at how thin I was, ugh. How did River fancy me so much back then?“ The Doctor mused, looking her old self up and down.

“Look at the lake.“ Something in the distance caught Yaz’s attention and she pointed towards the shore line.

“I know, I was there, remember?“ The Doctor chuckled, amused.

“What’s happening?“ Yaz asked. It looked as thought something was emerging from the water, a figure. The others had noticed it too. The young Doctor on the picnic blanket got to his feet, as did his friends.

“Well, it’s not just the day we got married, it’s also the day she killed me.“ The Doctor answered matter-of-factly.

“What?“ Yaz’s head flung around as she looked back to her friend and the Doctor laughed a little.

“It’s complicated.“ She admitted and pointed to the figure that was walking out of the lake. It appeared to be wearing an astronaut suit. “That’s also River, in the suit, a younger version of her. The Silence, an order that was trying to kill me, are controlling her. I knew that already at the time, that’s why I asked her older self here. All of them actually, Amy and Rory too.“ She explained as they watched the Doctor below make his way towards the astronaut. “I knew I had to die - or so I thought at the time - and I didn’t want to do it by myself. And I wanted River to know that she would always be forgiven.“

“That’s so sad.“ Yaz took in her words, mulling them over.

“You wondered why she’s a wanted criminal? This is why. She got sentenced for my murder.“ The Doctor tried to create context for her.

“So she’s innocent?“ Yaz confirmed, feeling a little bad for her previous snap judgement of the Doctor’s wife.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. She did try to kill me, several times. And she’s knows her way around a weapon, I’ll tell you… and she’s not afraid to use them. So innocent? Of this particular crime, but in general?“ The Doctor shrugged, amused. She couldn’t deny, she liked a bad girl.

Far below, the astronaut shot the Doctor. The Pond family rushed towards him. River shot and missed the astronaut as it walked back into the lake…

“So how did you escape?“ Despite knowing that she would survive, Yaz felt her chest tighten as they watched.

“I was wearing a suit that saved me.“ The Doctor answered.

“Soooo…. when did the marriage happen? Did I miss it?“ Yaz asked after they sat and watched in silence for a while.

“Oh you won’t see it.“ The Doctor laughed, realising only then that she was waiting for it. “It happened in an aborted timeline. The first time around, River couldn’t bring herself to kill me and therefore create a paradox. This is a fixed point in time.“

“So you’re not actually married? If it happened in another timeline?“ Yaz exclaimed. This was getting more complicated at every turn.

“All of time was happening at once for all eternity. Every moment that ever was or ever would be. That’s how I see it, from the beginning to the end of the universe. That means we’re always married, wherever and whenever we are.“ The Doctor gave a soft smile.

“That’s very sweet.“ Yaz smiled, realising it was all a matter of perspective.

“And incredibly stupid.“ The Doctor sighed. “It hurts, Yaz…“ Yaz looked at her surprised at the uncharacteristic confession. It didn’t seem like the Doctor at all to speak so openly about her feelings so she remained quiet, allowed her time to phrase her thoughts. “It hurts when… no matter how much you love each other, no matter how much you’ve done and overcome together, you still can’t be together.“ She got to her feet. She had seen enough. She didn’t want to be a witness to the Pond family’s grief any longer. Even though she knew it would all come right in the end, it didn’t change the fact that they truly believed her former self to be dead. Their pain was real, as was her own.

“Where is she now? I mean, I get that we can travel and see her wherever but where is she really? At the end of her timeline?“ Yaz asked, getting up as well so the Doctor could shake out her coat and put it back on.

“She died…“ The Doctor answered quietly. “The first day I met her…“ She turned back towards the TARDIS.

“Doctor I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…“ Yaz felt like she’d been punched in the gut. That was not the answer she had expected and she regretted the question. She hurried after her back to the TARDIS.

“It’s fine.“ The Doctor managed a thin smile as they stepped back inside the blue box. “I always knew it would happen, that was the deal…“ Slowly she made her way to the console while Yaz closed the door.

“If you always knew it would happened… couldn’t you do something to change it?“ Yaz asked, feeling terrible for her friend. There had to be something they could do.

“I already did everything I could, spent lifetimes thinking about it…“ The Doctor answered. “She’s not completely gone… I managed to save her mind, her consciousness to a super computer.“ She explained. “Best I could do.“

“I guess that’s something.“ Yaz felt a little better and the Doctor managed a smile:

“Better than the alternative.“

“So does that mean I could meet her?“ Yaz asked after brief consideration. “The version of her that had had all her adventures with you? I bet she knows you like no-one in this universe.“

“I guess that’s true…“ The Doctor hummed, thinking back to her visit at the Library. “Maybe some day.“

“Do you not go and see her?“ Yaz frowned, surprised by her reluctance.

“I did when I needed that bit of space to think… like you said, she knows me like no-one else.“ The Doctor revealed.

“And not before then?“ Yaz asked and the Doctor shook her head.

“It’s hard when there is so much… guilt and regret. And when you’re so close and you still can’t touch them… sometimes it’s better to just keep yourself busy and try not to think about it.“ She admitted and Yaz understood.

Sorry if this isn't the place to ask but I'm in need of advice. I have a canon character I truly adore, but I haven't gotten muse or any opportunity to write them at all. My blog is collecting dust and the fandom is kinda dead at this point. Not to mention, it's hard to find compatible writing partners, especially with how picky I can be. I'm honestly considering deactivating the blog (for the nth time), but I don't want to lose the writing I have. I know I could archive, but I hate having blogs just sitting around.

In short, I really want to write the muse/keep the blog but I'm not getting any incentive to do that.

Hello, Anon, it’s totally the place to ask!

I will say, though, that since finding and keeping muse can be flavored rather personally, I can’t promise that what works for me is going to work for you. I’ll even confess that in over two decades, I’ve never personally lost muse. I don’t know if it is due to underlying, neurodiverse style, fixating, or if it is due to keeping myself continually invested in both my muse and writing regardless of what else is going on. (Probably a combination of both, though, and the things I do to keep myself highly in touch with my muse I’ll be recommending.) I’m definitely happy to try to help, however.

That really is a very frustrating spot to be in, wanting to write the muse and keep your blog active, but logging in every day to be reminded of what little reason you have to do so. Since we’re drawn to the characters we are for reasons of personal appeal and writing in itself is a pretty personal form of art, it can also feel depressing on top of the frustration.

However, that’s also the good news, in my opinion, because your incentive here is, or can be, yourself.

You were drawn to this character because you connected with them. They mean something to you, you can relate to them, maybe they have qualities (good or bad) that you wish you could experience. Whatever it is, there’s a reason why you had this draw. Writing is like that as well, there’s a reason why this is a hobby that drew you, that you get enjoyment out of. Again, though all art (it doesn’t matter if it is a hobby) has personal bits of the artist in it, writing is uniquely personal. When you write, you’re exploring thoughts and feelings, giving them life in a character that matters to you. I know, all of that sounds really convoluted and hokey, but it’s true.

And it’s good! That means you always have a reason to write and that you have the tools necessary to find and keep muse without any outside push necessary.

I’d say, firstly, work on getting muse back.

Get back in touch with your muse the next time you feel a particularly strong urge to write. Instead of spending time trying to find people in a silent fandom or forcing yourself to write something you don’t want to, just do some exercises that will help you get back into your muse.

I don’t know what media type your character comes from, but especially if it is something like movie or show that you can have on in the background of what you’re doing, do that. If it’s a comic or a book, think about your favorite scene and read it over first. If you’ve ever made some playlists for writing/your muse, you can always do that instead or as well. The point is to do something passively inspiring while you actively create. Now, that creating...

You want to do something that requires you to think about your muse so you can get in touch with them, not something that is going to make you feel overwhelmed and shut down. So, maybe don’t pick writing prompts for this - you can work up to that. Try out headcanon and character development memes and other question lists instead for right now. Things you can scroll down a list of, find questions that jump out as interesting (or even simply answerable to you at this point, you’re jump-starting a dead battery, it’s alright) and answer them. You can also do something as simple as write down what you like best about the character or their story, or put down the basics of filling in missing information that has always bugged you.

The beauty of this is that it is all on your own terms, your only objective here is to answer what you want, as much as you want. You can stop any time, but you can also answer a single question for three hours, making it eight pages long if the inspiration strikes you. It’s only about recharging your inspiration and establishing a connection with your character again. (This is also going to help you with getting back into writing, or approaching it for the first time, with a more internalized focus of interest.)

When you feel like you’ve done that, you can branch out on these exercises more. Answer the memes more in-depth, answer more of them/the ones you don’t have immediate answers for. You can also try writing out scenes from the character’s canon from their perspective, if it wasn’t already so, adding in their thoughts and feelings, or changing the scene in some ways that would be interesting to write out. This is the point where it’s a good idea to try a writing prompt or two, as well! Take the prompt as a sort of starter sentence from a mutual, you’ve got the situation, fill in with your muse.

Write when you feel like writing. The RPC is great at saying this when it comes to muns not wanting to write, but kind of ignores the other side of the equation. The side where you want to write, have the inspiration and muse to do so, but it might not be the best time. As in, you’re not home/wherever you usually write, with whatever device you tend to write on accessible. No, you’re not going to be able to get as much done, but you can write without the usual situation and device regardless. You can write a scene or ideas down using your phone or tablet, or go old school and use a notebook. If you’re at work and your job isn’t applicable to being able to get down a single sentence, that still doesn’t mean you have to wait 8+ hours to get home; while you’re taking your break, write a little bit. It is a break, and writing is your hobby, it isn’t work. It’s good to do things you enjoy on breaks, and far more fulfilling to have also accomplished something you happen to enjoy.

Not writing when you have the drive to do, putting it off and holding it in until “the perfect moment,” is a great way to lose your inspiration and never actually have that moment. If you feel like doing it, that means it is the perfect moment. Life is restricting, don’t impose even more restrictions on yourself by having to be at home, in a specific spot, with a specific device, at a specific time, on a specific day. Was that annoying repetition? You’re right, it was. And that’s how your creative mind processes all the crap piled onto it that doesn’t allow for creativity.

Now, the other problem, the fandom situation.

There isn’t anything you can do about that, to be absolutely honest. I’m not going to blow smoke and tell you to be positive, wait it out, maybe the fandom will spring to life again. You know, maybe it will...but you could be waiting literal decades for that to happen. Not cool. Please, take my word for that, it’s personal experience that it blows even more than you imagine it will.

What you can do is take the matter into your own hands in other ways; putting yourself out there with more availability in multiple ways.

Are you a single-fandom blog, or are you crossover friendly? If you’re not crossover friendly, try to think of a single, relatively popular fandom that you enjoy. Don’t look at it like a hassle, but rather, just another creative exercise. A serious pitfall of creating alternate universe versions of muses is to take the simplest route, merely picking something you want from that other universe and applying it to your muse with no relevant changes that would naturally occur from it. It isn’t just reductive as hell, it’s not remotely creative, it’s like sticking a sticker on your muse’s forehead and saying that’s a whole different muse. It’s neither attractive to potential partners nor going to sustain your own interest for long. You want this to be a passionate investment on your own end, for yourself.

What not to do:

Let’s say the fandom you picked to do crossovers with is based around magic, the main characters are witches, and they are divided into factions based on how their magical talents display and develop. Not only do you decide to make your muse a witch, you pick the most badass faction. It’s the one full of assassins and action and (metaphorically or literally) sex appeal. Well, that’s also going to be the most popular faction in the fandom. That means there will not only be plenty of big name canons there but also that there’s going to be a plethora of OCs designed just for this universe...and other crossovers from other currently active fandoms.

While that might sound like it’s great for maximizing interaction chances, it’s really not when you’re just starting somewhere new with a character from another fandom that might not be known or liked. It can also take a minute in another fandom’s RPC to identify where the good partners are. Every now and then, it is the most popular and over-populous era/faction/etc., but most of the time, it isn’t. People who write with considerable dedication and talent fairly rarely are in the popular kids club even in their fandom choices. By inserting yourself into that area, you might be bypassing (and being bypassed) by better partners on the assumption that their characters are simply going to bore you to death since they’re not within the scope of your focal point.

It’s not a situation of not being allowed to be picky, you not only have that right regardless of your situation, you also should be. This is not a “beggars can’t be choosers” situation, you’re not beholden to anyone on the basis of being new and bored. However, some of my best, and longest lasting, writing partners over all 23 years I’ve been RPing didn’t/don’t fit with all the exact surface details that automatically draw my interest. It is as true within my own fandom as it is in dealing with crossovers. Opposites (with enough similarities) really do attract and work out well together!

Don’t judge and write people off for anything that isn’t an issue of compatibility with your muse, your writing, or yourself. Decline someone because they do one line only and you are novella, they write topics that are upsetting to you, you can see no way your muse and theirs can interact without instant murder, or because you cannot stand writing with someone who is pulling 90% aesthetics and purple prose. Not because their muse is a witch who uses life-based magic, loves nature, is a healer, and into their health...while your muse in this AU is all about the death, only appreciates an urban environment and is grossed out by animals, kills as an occupation, lives on cheeseburgers and caffeine. You see what I’m saying? Don’t limit yourself unnecessarily!

What to do:

Did you consider if, in that hypothetical idea of a fandom, your muse based on their purely canon self would even fit into that faction? Or is it just something you wanted to see? If you didn’t consider this, or it was the latter, fix that. That’s bad.

If you’re not absolutely dead set on that and only that, think about what really does fit the muse better. Maybe, they would be better as a healer, someone who messes with the very fabric of reality, or someone who manipulates natural elements at will. Then again, they might not even be a witch. They could be more mundane in terms of power, but more accurate and interesting as a normal, human (or whatever). They could even be greatly opposed to the use of magic and witches. Use your muse’s original canon as a base to decide these things.

If you are absolutely dead set on it, though, you have a lot of work to do making the character into what amounts to a markedly different one while still retaining some recognizable aspects of themselves. Consider what events, in this new universe of fandom, might have happened to alter the character thus. Keep in mind that even small changes can have great consequences in a character’s development, and you might need to think about the myriad ways in which that can display, how it changes still more things for this character.

While that job becomes so much more intense when you haven’t planned out a path that matches your muse’s canon characterization at all, it is still an important part of constructing an AU, of any kind, in general. Ask yourself what experiences led to the character you know as you already know them (including your own headcanons, yes). Then, find similar possible experiences within your new fandom verse that can have the same effect. Again, though, it’s important to understand that you are never going to have an identical set of experiences, so you need to explore relevant changes still.

When you do this, you’re allowing your muse to more seamlessly fit into this other universe in a fleshed out, interesting way. Interesting both new partners and yourself.

Okay, next obnoxious question from me! Do you have multiple verses, or are you single-verse?

Whether you are already exploring new fandoms or not, by creating a variety of verses for others to interact with, you’re increasing your chances for interest and activity. When you have a verse from a different fandom you can then, additionally, advertise your presence in both that fandom’s tags when you do a promo or applicable open starter and on active RPer lists for that fandom.

Every popular fandom has such lists. You can get on them by messaging/sending an ask to the blog or by reblogging their post to be added, following the directions. I haven’t seen one yet that doesn’t allow for crossovers. You simply have to tag it as stated in the post, such as “your canon’s name here - original fandom name - crossover.” By tagging your open starter or promo as “-insert fandom here- rp” and “-fandom here- open starter” you allow people in that fandom to find you to interact. Either way is excellent for getting started in totally new places with a character others might be unfamiliar with.

Please remember that if you tag a promo as “promo,” it’ll not show up in searches off of your blog. You know, where it actually needs to be searched. Thanks, tumblr, for being janky! Being more specific as to the fandom and character will help others actually find you. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot by tagging it as “promo.”

Make your verses accessible on your blog itself, in the nature of those verses, and how you set up your page or post that lists them.

Don’t put any page behind an impossible or complicated aesthetic. You really shouldn’t anyway, but when you’re needing interactions, it’s actively hurting your chances. Many people don’t want to have to play a game with your theme, it’s a turn off. Try a pinned post that lists all of your links to important pages like rules, verses, and bio instead. It means that, even from the dash, that information can quickly be found while other muns are first interested, and also that anyone who might be using the app can access it more expediently. (I’m genuinely not a fan or big supporter of doing google docs for rules, verses, bios, etc., as it forces people off site, so I can’t personally say, in good conscious and honesty, that I’d recommend it, but you do you!) You want to keep things quickly accessible is the idea here; when people are interested, you want to catch them right then and there before they have a chance to forget and lose your blog.

As to the nature of the verses themselves, give people real options. Don’t have 20 verses that all read same way. Same themes, plot possibilities, and backstories, or incredibly similar names. Have a diverse list of verses that can act as foundations for a variety of different muns. As many fandoms as you can reasonably have a good portrayal of, and different types of fandoms; not all the same genre (all fantasy, all horror, all scifi). Verses where your muse has substantially different goals, occupations, and other life situations that will involve another muse; don’t make your muse A Warrior™ in every verse, you can keep plenty of those aspects without being that literal. People love “modern” verses set in our own universe and, usually, in our own era. That doesn’t mean you have to go stereotypical or otherwise bore yourself by doing the standard “high school/college verse,” for instance. You don’t even have to designate that sort of thing, let alone make it the focus; simply create the verse by considering what your character really would be like if they existed within your reality.

As a final note on verses as pertains to this point, when you’re doing crossover verses, it’s alright to do some verses where your muse from their own canon existence somehow ends up teleported or whatever to another fandom’s reality, or even our own. Just don’t make every verse like this, it puts the onus of a great deal of creativity and effort onto the other mun by default; your muse has cluelessly dropped into the universe, and while it is high drama time for you, the other mun has to babysit, educate, deal with fallout, etc.

On making the list of your verses accessible, you want to focus on ease of browsing and not being overwhelming. People tend to look through a verse page and not read every verse listed, rather, they look at the titles and breakdowns to see if it is of interest, then read it. Don’t try to make everyone read them all, it isn’t going to happen, and shouldn’t change your effort any as the right people are going to find the verses that interest them...if you make it clear and easy enough.

Have a basic format you stick to, firstly. I do it this way: small verse banner, title of verse (linked to its overall tag so that muns can look through the tag at headcanons, aesthetics, pictures of the FC, and threads), muse age/age range, small blurb, possible triggers found uniquely or just heavily within this verse. In that order, one following the other in a simple, but pleasing way. Below that, is a more in depth breakdown of the “verse canon.” Sometimes, that is giving a brief rehashing of canon itself and anywhere my muse differs, be it in this verse only or overall, ending with where my muse is in this verse. Not literally where. I mean their present occupation, emotional and general state in life. At the very end, I provide any other relevant links and/or an expansion on the triggers mentioned at the top of the verse description if they’re that serious/recurrent so that muns can decide this isn’t the verse for them. I happen to have a potentially triggering muse, triggering verses, and writing triggering topics, though. That’s not something everyone needs to do.

Secondly, group your verses in a sensible way. I do my short list of default verses first. (And, I do mean short, you don’t want this be any more than four or five, it is overwhelming right out of the gate.) For me, that is two default verses of canon at different points on the timeline, one default AU that is a bit of a reversal of canon, and one default “modern” verse. Then, I list the verses that are in line with the altered canon one, just different possibilities, changes, points in history. After that, the different “modern” verse options. Then, verses for other fandoms, the crossover verses. And so on. This way, a potential partner can find the type of verse that might appeal to them and have an easier time picking from those possibilities and getting ideas.

Lastly, don’t be so succinct that you give too little information and underwhelm, but also don’t be so excessive that it takes all of the mystery of interaction away and overwhelms someone. It can be a difficult balance to strike, and some verses require more information than others, just experiment a bit. Additionally, it’s fine to link to pertinent information for the other mun to view aside from this, but don’t just link people to a fandom wiki as your “description/bio.” That isn’t giving information on how you write this muse, approach this fandom, or what another mun can otherwise expect. Keeping your descriptions interesting is important, you’re not giving a boring lecture, you’re trying to inform someone while making them hyped for their choices. It’s more interesting, and informative, to read if you do them with an ear to the “tone” of your muse in that verse. Is it a sad one? Sound that way. These can, indeed, function as snippets of your writing, so be sure you are writing them with the same care you should be giving your replies; spellcheck, good word flow and use, mind the grammar, and read over what you’ve written for common, easy mistakes.

Again, by giving a genuine variety of verses to choose from, you’re allowing for a greater reach in potential partners. Everyone from those still in your original fandom to those in new ones, all the way to fandomless muses will be able to interact with you this way.

Finally, in regards to what you can change or do when you’re in a dead fandom and seeking interactions; make sure you are increasing your reach by using proper tags, being honest about what and how you write, and don’t wait for others to stumble across you.

When you use tags properly, you’re increasing your chances of being seen at all. Every time you post something at all applicable on your blog, tag it with relevant things. Tag as described above with whatever fandom it is and “RP,” your character’s name, “open RP,” character name and RP, indie RP, open starter, and so on. Be sure you are optimizing your tags by placing the most relevant to finding you in the first four, those are what show up in site-wide searches only. Anything after that isn’t going to appear in a search across all tumblr.

By tagging your character’s name, as a canon, you should know that you are likely to get personal blog interaction. I’m pretty against being nasty to personal blogs for no reason, as I don’t appreciate personal and fandom blogs being shitty to me for the sole reason that I am an RPer. Please, use clear, short, attention getting directions for them. If you want no interactions with them, put right in the description of your blog “RP blog, does not interact with personal blogs.” When you say things like, “personals dni,” or “personals blocked,” you’re not doing anyone any favors. Personal blogs often don’t even know what the hell a personal blog even is! They do not denote themselves this way, to a personal blog, they’re just a blog. By designating first that you are an RP blog, you’re making it clearer that they’re the personal; they’re obviously not an RP blog, so that must make them a personal. Follow this up in a pinned post, right on top. Give a note to personal blogs that describes them as “any blog that isn’t an RP blog” first, then either tell them in brief what they can and can’t do or that you don’t interact and will block.

I don’t recommend taking your blog off of being findable, however. That’s alright once you have the RP activity you are looking for, but until then, it’s working against you. Other RP blogs cannot easily find you either, they will only find you if you’re on a list or appear in their recommended blogs, if you interact with a mutual, or are recommended by a mutual. You’re not just lessening your chances of personal blogs finding you, so if you have that turned off, turn it back on.

Don’t entirely rely on others finding you regardless, though. You can’t be 100% passive when you have no interactions, and by relying solely on serendipity you’re far less likely to get them. I know that everyone here is terminally shy, but seriously, you have to do more than put your silent will into the universe that someone perfect find you. You have to make this happen. Once you get a few people, you can afford to be more passive. Not only do you have some people to write with, you will be more visible to their mutuals, and more established as a presence. I’m not saying this is easy, or that it will become easy, not awkward or stressful, if you have a legitimate issue behind the shyness. Just that it is the only way to really proceed, and I believe you can do it!

So, go looking for interesting blogs. Be crossover and OC friendly (again, this doesn’t mean “accept everyone,” there are valid reasons for not accepting people you won’t work out with that have nothing to do with their fandom or being an OC), and search those fandom’s RPCs, following any blogs you think you might work out with upon reading their rules and other pages. Search for fandomless OCs and do the same thing. Fandomless OCs aren’t just floating around in the ether, they just weren’t created expressly for a particular fandom and within its confines. What is excellent about that is their ability to have a wide variety of verses and many possibilities to fit into any fandom or verse. So, don’t count them out solely on the basis of being an OC and fandomless. It doesn’t mean what people seem to think it does!

Do not stop at having followed 50 blogs. I mean, other than that you probably should stop following people for a bit. That you should do, as you need to be building writing relationships here, not following so many people that you cannot get to them. Don’t just stop at the follow, though. Since you’ve read their rules and information like a good RP partner, you should have some idea of what their interests are and where they align with yours, as well as how they prefer to be approached, if they accept memes right away to start, need plotting, have a rules password. When they’ve followed you back, proceed with interaction!

Ask if they’d like to plot when they have time, you’re really looking forward to writing with them. But...have some idea of a plot, please. It is a serious turn off to have someone message you wanting to plot, only to reply and get “lol I don’t have any ideas, anything works for me/whatever you want to do.” That isn’t plotting, it’s one party coming up with ideas and constructing a plot while they’re being told “I’m fine with anything.” That may be true, but it’s disheartening and a red flag for many people. If you genuinely can’t come up with anything, pick verses that match up well and suggest doing something within them.

“When you have the time, would you be interested in discussing writing? I was looking at your verses, and I think your verse -name- and mine, -verse name-, would mesh well.” Is a good way to start. Once you have a discussion flowing about the verses meshing and the muses, it’s typically easy to organically develop some plot ideas to go off of.

If both you and the other mun are alright with plot-free interaction and memes, you can send a meme any time. If you can’t find any memes on their blog, look for a wishlist or navigation page that shows you the tags for memes/wishlist. Still can’t find it? Ask them if they’ve got a wishlist or meme tag you can look through.

Additionally, if open starters are a thing you both do and are alright with, find some of theirs and respond. Post your own, tag it appropriately to be found in general and on your blog, and reblog it once or twice. Don’t excessively reblog it, and don’t get upset on the dash if no one interacts with it or any memes you reblog. Both are demanding to outright guilting, and not a good way to get partners. Just provide them with the ability to easily interact by making the posts available in the first place and by making them findable on your blog search and navigation.

Provide something for potential partners to see. Since you said you already do have writing, that’s great! That’s content on your blog that your partners can view. However, since you’re also having the issues you’ve stated, it’s likely that you haven’t many new posts. Show that you are active, interested in being here, and how you write your muse (and in general) by posting some newer content. For original content, do a headcanon or some meta, or post about new verses you are adding, the changes on your blog, a promo. For reblogs, things pertaining to your muse like canon imagery, fanart, quotes from canon or that generally express your muse, and aesthetics relevant to your muse are all excellent things to queue.

Use that queue. Not only do very few people appreciate having dash spam of similar content for the comparatively short time you might be around, but also, running these things on a queue means you spread that out for maximum view. While there are hours of heavier activity, you’ll have mutuals who are on at unusual hours due to their life and preferences or their timezone. This way, you’re not appearing inactive, if not outright invisible, to those mutuals. It’s not a bad idea to use a queue tag so that people know if they interact with a post that’s been queued, you might be here to quickly respond.

Ultimately, to fix your fandom and lacking partners problem, you just need to up your availability and reach beyond that fandom alone. Be proactive in following and approaching, decline blogs based on not working out only, utilize tags and fandom RPer lists, have everything on your blog easy to follow and not overwhelming, and have your verses meet as wide of a range of people as possible while also not being overwhelming.

Try updating your promo, as well, by the way. They’re not dead, they just really tanked when people kept making them based solely on aesthetic principle instead of being at all informative about the muse. They do seem to be coming back, so it’s a thing to consider.

Yes, make it visually appealing, it will draw people to reading it. No, do not just use a song lyric or quote with words highlighted linking your rules, verses, bio. Tell people basic info like the age of your muse and yourself, if you are multiverse and multiship, your muse’s canon verse and a couple of big interest verses of other major fandoms or themes that tend to be of interest to people, and what kind of RP you write - one line/para/multipara/novella. Absolutely give links to rules, verses, bio, and either memes, wishlist, or open starters, but give them just like that; make it very clear what this link is to. Put a very short statement of interest on there denoting that you’re expanding to new fandoms and looking for writing partners.

Do not sound desperate, demanding, or devaluing of yourself. Don’t say shit like “because my fandom is dead,” “trying this before I give up and delete my blog,” or “I suck at interaction/writing/ooc interaction/being a person but welp giving it a try, so follow and hit that heart.” (Conversely, calling yourself derogatory things and implying that your partners are too, such as the “we’re all just losers here” shit.) All of the above are not attractive, and they’re not even surprising enough to stand out anymore. It’s another reason to scroll right by that promo because nothing at all was different or of interest.

And as a wrap-up/rehash of the first topic, getting muse back: try starting over at the beginning by approaching the media involving your muse that has really stuck with you emotionally over the years, and exploring and developing your muse again.

Don’t tell yourself you can only write, for example, at home, on the laptop, after 7pm, and with a pop toy staring at you. The best thing about writing, as opposed to so many other hobbies, is that you can do it anywhere! So, do that. Do it any time you both feel the inspiration to do so and aren’t going to get fired or expelled for it. This isn’t work, it’s something enjoyable that does take effort (like literally all creative activities and skills do), but approaching it as though you need to follow novel writing advice from someone who has never published anything of note and isn’t you on the internet, with strict rules for success makes it feel that way. So does being frustrated with a dead fandom, no interaction. It’s disheartening, feels as annoying and fruitless as work often does. You probably need to break out of that mindset, and you can only do it by beginning to allow yourself to be creative on your own terms, entirely for yourself.

Do write simple things at first that you are inspired to do (you can’t get a scene out of your head, or a bit of dialogue), and/or headcanon/character development memes and question lists. Build from there as you get back in touch with your muse, writing things primarily or entirely for yourself still. Expanding on headcanons, doing some meta, or maybe writing out a missing piece of canon or what you’d be interested in seeing happen in canon if some event was altered.

Doing this sort of thing, you are getting in touch with your muse again and back into the real spirit of writing creatively, simultaneously.

Whatever you find most inspiring, do it. If it’s watching the movie or show again, do that, have it on while you write or simply think on the character’s actions, thoughts, and emotions during those scenes. If it’s reading the material again, do that, and read snippets of personal importance before you write. Maybe it’s some past playlists you can have on while writing, or even while you’re cleaning, walking the dog, driving or riding somewhere. It could even be your own previous writing! Go ahead and re-read that, it sounds like you still appreciate it, and that’s truly promising. If you find that you’re horrified by some of the things you’ve written in the more distant past, hey...that’s not just valid as hell, it’s natural. You know what else it is? An inspiration. You can clearly see that you could do better, that means you now know how to do better and are ready to do so. Validate yourself, prove it to yourself by rewriting or fixing something.

Don’t delete the blog or archive it. It is unpleasant to have a dead blog around, but don’t keep it dead. Use the same blog and simply transition it into wider things that will net you more partners and the interactions you deserve.

Look, even if you weren’t the most popular blog in your fandom before it went quiet, you really appreciated the blog, muse, and writing you were doing. You’ve defined that it wasn’t something you did to cause this situation, you just had the shit luck we all run into eventually of being in a fandom that ran out of material or interest. People are really fickle, so by taking a wider approach and fixing on the writing and muse instead of fandom now, you’re stopping this from repeating. Seriously, on a long enough timeline, every fandom dies or goes into hibernation. If you make a whole new blog with a different muse, it is going to happen again eventually.

So, don’t feel like you’re ridiculously clinging to the past and need to move on, you’re just sticking to something and can continue to stick to it through the next five fandom deaths. Just because it is the most popular thing to do to drop muses, constantly add new ones, and have this attitude that you can “blog refresh” your way out of recurrent, and inherent, problem doesn’t mean it is actually the right thing to do. It’s not even the most sensible, and certainly not the best thing to do with anything you’ve spent time and effort on.

That’s your incentive; yourself, the time and care you’ve put in, and your continued interest in writing and the muse. You’ll find good people, and bluntly, everyone else can fuck right off when you’re incentivized by yourself. It becomes a self-fulfilling activity at that point, I swear, and it feels really nice.

Just get back in touch with your muse and writing itself so that you can begin to expand and start interacting again!

Hurt | Roman Sionis x Male!Reader

This is a purely self-indulgent (and kinda vent-y) Hurt/Comfort fic with my fave comic book Roman version (Red Hood and the Outlaws Rebirth). If anyone should end up reading this, I do hope you enjoy this! Also, uh, reader has BPD in this and the TW’s should say it all, so be cautious when reading, please!

summary; Red Hood makes a snide remark that leaves you overwhelmed with negative emotions. Roman ends up comforting you, after Red Hood inquires about your relationship with him. 

notes; TW // BPD episodes; Intrusive Thoughts; Self-Harm (implicit; punching oneself; also attempted self-harm); Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Blackmailing, and a non-con relationship (FALSE accusations); Red Hood handles reader a little roughly at one point; Daddy!Kink. Male!Reader; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Hugs; Sitting on one’s lap.

"Look, Roman, I don't mind your whole BDSM theme you've got going on. It fits you. But this seems to go a little far, even for you. I mean, this is breakfast, right?" Red Hood said, ever sounding so dry and sarcastic, sitting at the other end of the table opposite from you and Roman. You lowered your head in shame, as your face burned with it, your heart clenched painfully and your hands balled into fists, bunching the fabric of your pants, as you started trembling. Roman's arm tightened around your middle. You sat on his lap, as he fed you forks full of food alternating between you and himself. Having woken up feeling bad, this was routine for such mornings. It grounded you, made you feel a little calmer and had you feeling less like you wanted to rip your own skin off. "I'm sorry. I'm embarrassing you," you whispered quietly, so only Roman could hear it. He squeezed you where he held you around your waist and spoke just as quietly, "Not at all, sweetheart." Black Mask encouraged you to lean back into him with a nudge. Your back rested against his chest and stomach, as your head was supported by his shoulder. Turning your head to the side, your nose pressed against his neck. The smell of his leather mask and perfume all too familiar and soothing to you. You inhaled, a quiet and content sigh left your lips, as you relaxed a little. "Now, now, Red. I don't see why this should be any of your business, hm? This is my home after all. I own everything and everyone in here. Therefore I can do as I please, wouldn't you agree?" Roman said finally, tilting his head a little, looking as inquiring as he sounded. "Sure, sure. Still, it's just... weird. No offense." A dry chuckle left Black Mask's mouth as he shook his head slightly and tightened his grip around you, sure to leave a bruise by now. That was that then. You knew Roman had plans for Red Hood, so he probably held himself back here because of it. Usually he would have shot the person uttering such things as soon as those words had left their mouth. You were glad he hasn't done it this time, as you didn't fancy having someone's blood on your hands. After a couple of minutes of charged silence, in which the three of you finished eating your breakfast, Roman squeezed your waist once more. You lifted your head and sat up properly. "I need to talk some business with Red, here. You can go and do whatever you like, as always, alright, baby?" You nodded and gave a quick, uncertain glance over to Red Hood before turning your head and leaning into Roman. Then you pressed your lips against the cold metal zipper of his mask, which he's closed back up seconds before. Black Mask hummed approvingly in the back of his throat and nudged his masked face against yours in mock of a kiss back. Then you leaned back again and slid off his lap. You waved good-bye and then left the room. As soon as you were alone, the crushing feelings from before came back in a rush. The shame, the guilt, the anxiety, the anger. It was so much. Too much. Promptly, you started trembling again. Your skin felt tight, you wanted to rip it off, scream, cry and disappear. You had embarrassed Roman. Red Hood probably couldn't take him seriously because of you. Just because you're so fucking pathetic that you needed to be sat on his lap and be fed. Fuck! Intrusive thoughts of hurting yourself came over you, such as the urge; and fuck, it was so strong. It hasn't been this strong in at least two weeks. A long time for you. You didn't want to do it, though. You didn't want to give in. Walking around the penthouse and trying to find something to do that would take your mind off things, the urge only became stronger. It loomed over you, suffocated you. It was so tempting. You just wanted to get rid of those feelings. You just wanted them gone so badly. Various images of how you could do it popped up, your mind's eye forced to take them in. It was an itch you desperately tried not to scratch. After an hour of having done skills and tried to get rid of the feelings through some exercise and such, you were still trembling with the urge and overwhelming tightness of the suffocating emotions. You figured that perhaps Roman was done with talking by then, so you went back to the dining room where you have left him. "Hey, Luke, is Roman still busy talking in there?" You asked one of the masked goons standing outside the door. Your voice sounded tight, restrained, and yet so very dull. All those emotions that still tried to claw their way out of you were held back by you by sheer force. "Yeah, he is. What d'ya need him for? I'm sure the boss doesn't mind if ya interrupt him if it's important." "Fuck," you muttered. "No, no thank you. I really don't wanna interrupt him," you then said louder, so Luke could hear you. He nodded and you turned to go back to your room. A while later, you were sitting in the hallway that housed Roman's family portrait. You sat on the floor in front of it, a sketch book in your lap and a pencil and eraser in your hands. Your ears twitched when an unfamiliar footfall came closer to you. When you looked up, you saw it was Red Hood. Immediately panic gripped on to your heart, squeezing it tightly, and surrounded your lungs, making it hard to breathe. Red Hood was looking from side to side before crouching down in front of you. "What are you doing here?" He asked, confusing you. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" "No, I meant here, as in, with Black Mask. Is he forcing you? Blackmailing you? Look, if he's got something on you, I can help you." Your face twisted with both confusion and anger. The panic hasn't subsided, but it made a little way for anger and hurt. "Excuse me? Do you- Who do you think you are? Why do you think you have any place to make such horrendous assumptions?" "He's a bad man and you know it. I'm sure you're not unaware to his 'business', right? It's not too far-fetched that he might have gotten a little too lonely and... y'know?" "What the fuck? Listen, Red, I don't give a fuck who you are or who you aren't. I don't give a fuck that you clearly don't know shit about what you're saying, so just leave me alone, will you?" Instead of leaving you alone, he gripped your arm and pulled it towards himself. "I'm not stupid, I've seen the bruises on you-" You snapped. "Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don't know anything! Shut the fuck up!" You shouted, pulling your arm free from him, as he loosened his grip in surprise. Your vision was blurry and red, tears burned your eyes, you were in so much pain all over again. You had just managed to get rid of it. Not without visible bruises on your arms. The bruises Red Hood mistook for abuse marks from Black Mask. It made you feel sick. You took the pencil from the ground where it had fallen onto, after you had jumped up when you had pulled your arm free. Close to stabbing it in your arm, someone embraced you from behind, one arm went around your waist and held you tightly against their chest, pressing their body against your back; and gripped tightly on to your wrist of which hand you held the pencil with. The soothing and familiar smell of leather and his perfume hit you. Roman. You trembled with the panic, the overwhelming emotions and the urge to follow through with what you've almost had just a moment ago. "Ssshhhh, sweetheart, ssshhh," Roman cooed, shushing you quietly. A whimper left your lips as you let go of the pencil. The noise it made when it hit the floor was crushingly loud in your ears.   "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeated over and over again, whimpering and sniveling. Roman continued to shush you quietly, lowered your arm to your side and turned you around, so you could bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and stroked over your back soothingly. "Leave now," he commanded Red Hood, whose quick footsteps you could hear fading away. "Oh, sweetheart, my darling boy. What did he say? What happened, huh?" Your sobs had died down by that point and while it took you a great amount of effort to be able to reply, you did. "He thought you were forcing me to be with you. That you were abusing me b-because of my-my bruises. I'm sorry. I've already embarrassed you at breakfast and now I did it again, I'm sorry, Daddy, I'm so sorry!" "Not at all, sweet boy. You haven't embarrassed me at all. Calm down, eh? It's alright. If anything, he was trying to get a rise out of me at breakfast. That's just how he is. I'll talk to him about this, later, hm? If I didn't have plans for him, he'd already be dead anyway." You nodded against his neck and the grip your hands had on his back tightened. As so very often, you couldn't possibly fathom why he put up with you at all, why he took his time to calm you down and reassure you. He could very well be the worst of the worst, like he was to so many other people; yet he seemed to have the patience and understanding of a Saint with you. It had your mind reeling. "Now, my sweet boy, I know you hate when I ask, but have you hurt yourself before this, today?" Roman asked eventually, his voice a gentle rumble. Once more, you nodded against his neck, inhaling sharply. "I'm sorry," you added quietly. "Why didn't you come to me, hm? I assume it was because of what happened at breakfast. Am I wrong?" "You're not, I'm sorry. I didn't want to interfere. And I didn't want to do it either, I tried not to, I promise. I did everything I could, but I just- broke." "Alright, sweetheart. It's okay. Though, am I remembering this incorrectly or have I really not told you that you could interrupt me and ask for help whenever?" "You've told me, I'm sorry, I know. I didn't want to... embarrass you any further, is all. I'm sorry, Daddy." He loosened his hold around your waist and leaned back, so he could look at you. Reluctantly, you faced him.  He let go of you with one arm completely and took ahold of your arm where you've injured yourself a few hours before. A big, blue and purplish bruise had formed already, taking up most of the space of your inner forearm. Ashamed, you averted your eyes. You should have just gotten him to help you. Then Black Mask lifted your arm to his face, as you felt the cold metal of his zipper press against the bruise. The pressure on it hurt, but it wasn't unbearable or truly painful in a way where you'd want it to stop. In actuality, the mock kiss made you feel warm inside. A small smile stole itself on your face.   You sighed as the warm leather of his mask gently pressed against your arm, as he turned his head to face you. "Will you promise me to get me the next time?" You could feel his jaw move against your arm as he talked, it tickled. "I promise," you whispered, in awe. He lowered your arm again and nudged his masked face against yours, the zipper pressing against your lips. You kissed it. Then again. And again. "I love you, Daddy. I'm really sorry about this whole mess, I didn't mean for any of this to happen." He sighed, "It's alright, sweetheart. I know you haven't done any of this on purpose." Then he let go of you entirely and bent down, picking up your sketchbook from the floor and looked it over. "You drew me," he stated, surprise clear in his voice. "Yeah, I needed to calm down after- well, you know. And I couldn't think of anything else to do, but sitting down and drawing." "And the best thing to draw was me as a child? Taking this horrendous portrait as reference no less. Although, you actually managed to make me look like a child." "Well, uh, I just thought I'd try myself on it, you know? Make it look less gloomy. Well. You. Not that I'd draw your fucking parents. They don't deserve it," you chuckled wryly by the end of it. "They really don't. It looks good, sweetheart. Will you finish it?" You looked at him in surprise, mouth a little slack. "I can try." "Good. I would like to hang it up, when you have." That surprised you even more. "Are you sure?" He just looked at you, and though his face - or rather, what was left of it - wasn't visible, you knew he was shooting you an incredulous look. "Right, okay. Sure, I will try my best, Roman!" "You always do, my boy." He gently placed the sketchbook back on the floor and put his arms around you once more. "Let's go for a walk then, eh? I feel like it might be good for you, after everything." Nodding, you smiled at him softly, leaning up to press another few kisses to the zipped up mouth of his mask. 

jjk; angel’s trumpet [08]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter–mentions of sex, a panic attack w.c; 4.5k a/n; can’t believe there’s one more chapter after this! (+the bonus chapter!) its such a bittersweet feeling to close this all up so i hope u all join me in my w2!jk sobbing party im making matcha cookies rn so i can wallow

[07] [08] [final] -> masterpost

Jungkook’s worried. 

After he left your apartment, he dove himself into his work and tried to get you out of his head. Somehow he ended up from his living room table to his bed, bleary and with a pen jabbing him in the cheek. He doesn’t know how he feels right now, and has micro analyzed every bit of your relationship in between breaks.

He fell fast, and loving you (as much as it scares himself to admit) was so easy it hurt. It’s why it’s so hard for him to accept that you would betray him like that. What could he have possibly done to deserve this? If you had just admitted your issues from day one, this crisis could have easily been averted and you would be with him right now. 

But that’s not why he’s worried. Jungkook wakes up the following day around 10AM, noting the dozens of messages and unanswered phone calls from Jimin and Taehyung. 

According to Taehyung, you’ve been missing for three days. Off-the-grid type of missing, to the point that Taehyung is debating on whether or not he should call the police. 

The first day you didn’t come home, Taehyung chalked it up as you spending the night at Jungkook’s. The second day however, he visits the library where your office hours are held only to find your usual table empty and your students upset over your lack of contact. 

“Here,” Doyeon had said, pointing to the vague email you sent. Taehyung skimmed through the barebones message, mentioning that you had to take an indefinite leave and that the students can email Professor Kim Namjoon if they still had lingering questions. 

Taehyung notes the sincere apology at the bottom, and how you tack on that “you are a wonderful group of students and I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.” 

Almost as if you aren’t planning to come back. 

He could hear Taehyung deflate on the line, knowing that Jungkook has no idea where you are either. 

“Did you…” Jungkook scratches his head, sitting at his kitchen table, “did you check her room for a yellow notebook?” 

“What?” Taehyung asks, “I checked her room yesterday. Y’know the weird thing is? Her room is clean, like clinically clean. There’s nothing on her desk, the sheets are washed, and her clothes are all folded and put away. Usually it’s like a whirlwind in here.” 

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, remembering how your room is usually quite lived in, with warm sheets and a candle glowing. 

“Why aren’t you more stressed out, dude?” Taehyung says, and Jungkook instantly feels guilty. “Your girlfriend’s fucking missing, are you gonna get up and help or not?” 

“Y-yeah, I’m just a little shaken,” he manages to reply, thinking about how you tried to explain to him the other night. He pinches the bridge between his brows, regretting not letting you have your word when refusing to listen to you. Maybe if he heard it, things would have turned out differently.

Taehyung sighs, “Yeah, it’s a bit of a shock. She really isn’t like this normally, but I trust her. If you can, maybe contact Jung Hoseok? I already visited Kim Namjoon and he doesn’t know anything, but he’s the only friend I know that could have any idea.” 

Jung Hoseok. He remembers that name frequently in your notebook. Not as frequently as his, but enough to have a good idea he could be involved in your sudden departure. 

“Okay, I’ll visit him today.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

The tables that you usually occupy for study groups are painfully absent of your presence, noted by your stressed out students that are hoping you’ll show up unexpectedly. 

Thankfully, Hoseok is working today. Jungkook eyes him from the doorway of the playroom, seeing Hoseok carefully distribute plates of snacks as a movie plays on the flatscreen. He looks like a preschooler himself, decked out in a sunflower yellow bucket hat and denim suspenders. Jungkook tries to see if there’s anything strange emanating from Hoseok, like if he also has secrets to hide, but feels nothing of the sort.  

“You’re really creepy, Mister,” the door swings open to reveal a little girl, tugging impatiently at his cargos. 

Hoseok makes a face at Jungkook, rolling his eyes. “God, just come in. You’re scaring my children.” 

The little girl practically shoves him inside, forcing him to sit at the playtable on the very end. She then hands him a plate of cheddar Goldfish and strawberry fruit snacks, a toddler’s delicacy. Hoseok makes a show of telling the children to be quiet, focusing on the movie’s “historical elements” and “symbolic imagery” but they don’t understand any of that and just want Hoseok to move so they can watch Mulan. 

Jungkook feels like he’s being crushed in the too-small chair and Fisher-Price table, munching absentmindedly on his Goldfish. Hoseok is playing on his phone, not sparing him a glance as he texts someone. 

Jungkook swallows, wishing he had some milk to down the snack. “Uh, are you texting y/n?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies coolly. 

“Well, do you know where she is?” 

“I can tell you where she went,” Hoseok replies eerily, plucking a fruit snack from Jungkook’s place, “as to whether she’s still there or not, I’m not sure.” 

“I’m sorry, but are you mad at me?” he whisper-hisses, not wanting to disturb the children enamoured at the front of the room. He’s tired of the secrecy and blurry answers. 

“Yes, I am,” Hoseok snaps just as quietly, leaning in to get into his face, “I’m mad because I believed in you.” 

“Believed in me?” he gapes, “you don’t even know me!” 

“I may not, but I believed you’d trust y/n at least. She’s a victim too, y’know.” 

A victim? 

“Look,” Jungkook puts some space between them, afraid he would get too heated, “just tell me what’s going on so I can understand. I know I messed up, but I feel like I’ve been in the dark for God knows how long.”

Hoseok bites his lip, “It’s really not my story to tell. Y/n didn’t want to tell you right away because she wasn’t sure of the circumstances. She wasn’t sure even if she was supposed to tell you.” 

Jungkook watches the expressions morph on Hoseok’s face. He sees the faith in his gaze, as he holds his phone expectantly, as if he’s also waiting for a sign that you’re okay. Jungkook suppresses a sigh, looking at his own blank screen. Shaking his head, he manages to smile knowing that so many people believe in you.

So why can’t he? 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

You hate this. Three days ago you felt peachy keen, ready to transcend into your own universe and live your life to the fullest. 

Now three days later you’re sitting at the wine lady’s cottage, waiting for the past two days for her to show up. 

“How long does she need to go on this ‘spiritual retreat’?” you admonish, looking on angrily at the same waitress that has served you for the past two days. 

“I don’t know,” the waitress has grown tired of your presence, waiting all day in the little restaurant for the owner’s presence, “until she feels more spiritual, I guess?” 

It annoys you further that this waitress has the spitting image of Sehlyung. It’s weird to see her with natural pin straight black hair, always loving the pretty blond-white color and sacrificing her hair health for the bright hue. Every time she sees you still in the same spot, she makes it a point to roll her eyes and walk a little louder. This version of her is just as temperamental, unwilling to budge. 

You groan, shamelessly annoyed as you drop your head on your arm. “And are you sure there’s no angel’s wine in the bar? I’m willing to take the risk of switching lives with my third dimension-self at this rate.” 

The waitress eyes the one empty bottle of soju that decorate your side of the bar, chalking it up as a drunk episode. “No,” she says flatly, jerking her hand out. “Now, please pay and leave. We’re closing up, but I’ll give you a call if she decides to show up late. Since y’know, you’ve left your number here despite our protests.” 

“Can I stay until you’re at least done cleaning—” 

“No.” 

You narrow your eyes, snatching up your half-finished bottle of soju before tucking it in your purse and offering up your credit card in exchange. You know you’re not in the right mind, but you’re pulling at strings at this point and you don’t know what to do. 

After a couple paces of shaky walking and trying very hard not to appear tipsy in public, you plop yourself onto the beach, overlooking the shore. You place your backpack next to you, taking off your shoes and dipping your toes in the sand. 

You glare hard at the moon, despite the distance the big ball of extraterrestrial rock is bright and full. It reflects in the ocean and bathes you in it’s grace. 

Sighing at its beauty, you take a swig of your soju as your feet wade in the water. The touch of the ocean is glaringly cold, but your body feels warm and the contrast is appropriately jarring. You feel stuck between two worlds, your body in one while your heart is in the other, desperate to find the bridge to bring you home. 

What exactly was the goal in bringing you here? Did you need a break from your real life? Did fate want you to remedy your relationship with Jungkook? Were you supposed to rewrite the wrongs you committed in your other life? 

You snort, taking a long swig. It's easy to see how well that went. 

You miss your life back home. As much as you love the one your alternate self has made here, nothing compares to Sehlyung’s humor and dirty jokes. Nothing compares to the look on Beomgyu’s face after getting a sentence translation correct. Nothing compares to the way Jungkook looks for only you after a concert, desperate to give you a hug and an affirmation that he did well. 

Just as you are about to sing to the moon and beg for a reprieve, a body plops themselves next to you, snatching the bottle from your hands. 

“Y’know, normally when people run away, they leave a mysterious note.” 

You frown at Jungkook, who looks absolutely ethereal as he stares at the moon. He’s glittering in his denim jacket and black jeans, as if he’s part of an intimate moment in a slice-of-life film. You have half a mind to grab your phone and yell at Hoseok, but it’s far too late since your location has already been revealed. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, trying not to snap when Jungkook pours the contents of your drink into the ocean. “Hey, I paid for that.” 

Ignoring you he says, “I’m here to take you home.” 

“I don’t have a home here,” you snap, and you mean it. 

Jungkook digs a hole for your bottle, letting the sea green grass sit in the sandhole. He turns to you, looking weary and worried. You try not to feel worried over the slump in his chest, or the way he looks like he ran a marathon to find you. 

“Then where is your home?” he asks gently, resting an arm over his knee and turning to face you. 

You curl up further into your body, hoping you’ll shrink if you press your legs close enough to your chest. “It’s not here,” you mumble into your knees. 

“Tell me where,” and you don’t shove him away when he puts his palm on your thigh, coaxing you out of your shell. “I’ll listen this time.” Deathly slow, you lift your head up, letting him catch your stray tears and spread your body with warmth. He scoots over to you, the rough sand making it difficult as he tries to wrap his arm around you. The both of you let out a breath, missing each other’s touch. “I’m sorry,” he says, the apologies melting into your temple, “I should’ve listened from the beginning, and been more patient. It’s my fault you’re all the way out here.” 

The oceans crash against both of your feet, the water eager to swallow you whole. 

“Two months ago I got into a fight with you, the other you,” you start, and Jungkook doesn’t budge, and you’re thankful he doesn’t attempt to bombard you with questions, “it wasn’t a stupid fight. It was something building for a long, long time. And I came home drunk. One second, I was two seconds away from being sideswept by an incoming truck, and the next second it’s daytime and it’s you that nearly runs me over.” 

He rubs small circles into your shoulder, and you almost hum at his touch. You miss Jungkook so much. 

“The Jungkook I’ve told you about isn’t dead,” you explain, “he’s—and I’m, we’re from another universe.” 

And between you, Jungkook, and the moon you profess your journey. Starting from the anxiety you felt from the first week, how you holed yourself in your apartment until Namjoon had to whisk you out, to your relief when Hoseok believed your crazy ideas. Halfway through you decide to piece your theories within the story, your last conversation with Jungkook, coupled with the angel’s wine and explaining how scary it was to see your matching tattoos and the meaning behind them. 

“But, I wasn’t trying to fall in love with you so I could go home,” you admit tearfully, feeling the weight of the night on your shoulders, “it, it just happened naturally. It made me believe that in another world, we would’ve worked out. Just like he said.”  

“I believe you,” he says firmly, exhaling. The whole explanation, understatedly, is a lot to take in. But he isn’t going to reject it, in fact as absurd as it is it makes far more sense than you planning out a Jungkook-inspired sci-fi novel or questioning your sanity. “I—I didn’t want to at first. It was easier to say you were crazy but, it doesn’t seem like the case. The way you saw me that morning we met, I could see how much you cared for me—him—us?” he scratches his head, unsure of how he should refer to himself in the situation.  

“I don’t blame you,” you shake your head, “Namjoon wanted me to see a doctor.” 

“It must’ve been hard,” he states, “seeing so much of him in me.” 

“You are him,” you retort, looking up so that your noses are touching. There’s pain in both your gazes, equally upset at the circumstances. “I’m sorry you got the short end of the stick. I wish you could’ve met me, the other me, under normal circumstances.” 

“Remember what I said before?” he asks, lifting a hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I said that our meeting was fate. And now I believe it more than ever.” 

You laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Y’know, Jungkook believes in fate too. He used to joke about hearing the bell when he found ‘the one’ like in Kimi No Na Wa.” 

Jungkook grins, “That guy of yours seems pretty cool,” he jokes, “let him know that in our case, the bell was my horn because I didn’t wanna run you over.” 

The whole situation is confusing, but you’re thankful that Jungkook seems to be at ease now that all your cards are laid out. 

“So does your Jungkook do film too?” 

“Uh,” you choke out a cough, “he’s actually a singer, dancer, producer, and films when he has the time. Mostly singer, the main one in a K-pop group. With Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin.” 

He gapes, “Kim Seokjin? The actor Seokjin? Damn he’s like, super fine—” 

“God this is so weird.” 

“So how many figures are they making a year? In the hundred-thousands, like six-figures?” 

“Er, more like eight,” you squeak, “and then some. But you put a lot of your money into donations.” 

“Damn babe, you downgraded,” Jungkook jokes, and you smack him playfully on the arm. “So that’s how you got the song, huh?” 

“Still With You? Yeah,” you say, running your hands through the soft sand, “it’s weird to live in a world without your music, byproduct of my job. It happens to be a big part of my life,” your eyes glaze over the ocean, “I missed hearing your voice.” 

“Y/n,” Jungkook threads his fingers through the sand to find your hands, “I’m really, really sorry I doubted you.” 

You disagree, “It’s a crazy situation. I don’t even know if I’m really sane at this moment,” you chuckle, “I mean, the time went by so fast. I would be paranoid because for you, it’s like being in a new relationship. I didn’t think it would be so easy to love you all over again like that.” 

“Neither did I.” Jungkook replies warmly, and he smiles when he sees you gaping. He leans over to press a kiss to your lips, a feeling long-missed. “And a little part of me knows he feels the same way, too.” 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s almost 12AM before you return to your apartment, dripping wet because neither of you anticipated the sudden spring shower. You tumble in like wet noodles, giggling like children in hushed whispers as you struggle to find the lightswitch. 

The lights blare on for you, Taehyung’s fingers hanging by the toggle. His hair is wet from the shower, and he looks like he sees a Christmas miracle when he wraps you up in his arms, despite the protest of you being dirty with sand and salt. 

“You dummy, don’t ever scare me like that ever again!” he sobs into your shoulder, and you return the embrace as you pat his head comfortingly. 

“Sorry Tae,” you say, “had to do a little soul-searching.” 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, more like world-searching if anyone were to ask his honest opinion. But Taehyung is looking past your body to mumble a teary ‘thank you’ to Jungkook, and he nods his head politely. 

“Well next time you soul search, you better call.” 

“Done and done.” 

Satisfied that you are going to stay the night and not budge, Taehyung returns to his room. He gives you a good scolding however, and he makes you promise that you’ll give him the full story over breakfast. 

After that bump, Jungkook and you can’t keep your hands off each other. You two shower the grime off your bodies, taking turns shampooing and scrubbing. Even after you’re clean and towel-dried, Jungkook’s fingers fail to untack from your skin, pushing you eagerly to your mattress as he presses kisses along your clothed body. He’s singing against your skin, waxing poetics about how beautiful you are and how much he loves you. 

“Jung—koo, Jungkook,” you say breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp locks, “Taehyung’s in the other room, we can’t be loud.” 

“Don’t,” kiss, “give,” kiss, “a fuck,” Jungkook pants, large hands trailing over your soft skin, memorizing every inch of you, He presses his length against your thigh, insistent, “if this is the last time, we’re going off with fireworks, baby.” 

And with that, you relent. It’s nothing short of electric, the way he takes great care but great power into your pleasure. He takes his time, as if it isn’t the first and last night, tracing every inch of your body because he doesn’t know what the future entails for the both of you. 

You’re equally stung like live-wire, wracking with pleasure as he seals his affirmation to you with sweet nothings, bodies pressed against each other feverently like they’ve always meant to be. Every bit of contact is purposeful, unbridled and overflowing with affection. 

When you’re done you’re both sweaty and almost painfully content, acceptant of the ambiguity of your futures. 

“Jungkook?” you ask, holding his hand tightly.

“Yes, pretty girl?” 

“Will you… fall in love with me again?” 

“Is that even a question?” he balks, leaning forward to peck your nose. He smiles at the way you scrunch your face. “Your office hours are 1-3PM, Mondays and Thursdays in the general library. If you’re not there, you’re teaching the History of Neuroscience in the ARC building on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10:20 to 12:10. I also know where you live, so.”  

You don’t care how sweaty you are, and tuck your head underneath his chin, needing to be closer. 

“I will find you,” he promises, “hopefully not under my bike the second time around, but I’ll take what I can get.” 

“You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, y’know,” you sigh into his chest, feeling it rumble as your hair dampens. Your hair has dried long ago from the shower, but you know Jungkook’s trying hard to be strong as he cries into your crown, “you should leave before I wake up, just in case.” 

“Hoseok and I will handle it,” Jungkook assures you, “we’re like the Power Rangers, defenders of space and time.” 

“Alright Red Ranger, make sure you’re at least clothed before I wake up, then.” 

He pulls away lightly, seeing your equally red-rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. Both of you bump arms as you try to wipe away each other’s tears. The moon continues its power over your bodies, the only source of light in the room. Despite its movement since your time at the beach, it continues to illuminate the room and make the moment glisten with the rhythm of time. 

“You really think this is the end for us, huh?” his voice cracks, his hands cradling your face. 

Stretching to reach him, you press a kiss on every available centimeter of skin on his face. His forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his lips. You take care to kiss the tears away, silently wishing nothing but the best for him. He immediately melts into your touch, and he gives you a teary smile. 

“It’s not the end,” you assure, “it’s our beginning. Thank you, for loving me.” 

Jungkook nods, pressing a long, sweet kiss to your lips. “I can’t wait to fall in love with you again.” 

The two of you sleep like that, not with a goodbye, but with a promise. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1. 

When you wake up, it’s loud. 

The transition is jarring, painfully so. Gone are your soft flannel comforter, replaced with dry, scratchy sheets that are a poor excuse for bedwear. Your hands are heavy, bounded by the fluids snaking into your bloodstream. Your eyes are crusty and bleary, taking in the plain white and wood room. The sharp sound of the monitor reverberates in your ears, a high-pitched reminder of your slow vitals. 

Everything is painful, confirming that in fact you did get hit by that truck. You give props to your alternate self for dealing with this for the past two months. 

Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the night sky and the full moon looming above you. The only other person in the room is your baby niece, who is just short of five years old. She has since ceased coloring at her little table, her little mouth gaping open like a pufferfish. You make eye contact with her, and she nearly spills over her 64-count Crayola pack as she throws herself off the chair, running over to reach for your hand. 

“Auntie!” she cheers, the biggest smile on her face, “you’re awake! Mama said you were hibernating like bears do, and that you would probably wake up by spring time. She was right!” 

Although it pains you to smile, you manage to squeeze her hand in return. You open your mouth, the inside feeling tacky and gross. “Ah-ah,” you grimace when no sound comes out, just rasps and ghosts of what once was your voice. 

Your niece’s face crumples, and she lets go of you. “Imma go get mama, she’ll bring help!” 

She leaves you alone to succumb to the beeps of your monitors and the pain in your bones. Your fingers grapple the paper-thin sheets, and your gaze drifts to the moon. You think of Jungkook, sleeping blissfully in bed, holding you with so much tenderness and care. In a matter of what felt like minutes since you fell asleep in his arms, disappears just like that. 

The doctors and your family find you hysterically crying, the monitors going crazy as you hyperventilate yourself into a stupor. You feel like you’re choking on air, whatever little tubes in your body restricting access to fully express how torn and conflicted you’re feeling all over again. The medical expertise does work to evacuate your family, chalking your reactions up as your trauma catching up to you and the shock of the past two months hitting you full force. 

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

It’s nearly 3AM when the music cuts out with no explanation, and Jungkook is annoyed. He just got that set down and he finally felt confident in adding facial expressions, but the manager killed the music and now his head is spinning. 

He’s heaving, hands on his head as he tries to get his body back to equilibrium. He watches intently as Namjoon immediately takes the call, not even bothering to leave the studio to answer it. The rest of the members watch as Namjoon’s expressions morph into happiness, combined with short “yes”es and “I understands.” 

Namjoon makes eye contact with Jungkook first and beams, “She’s awake!” 

What originally felt like a hot and stifling room, immediately dissipates into an air of relief. While not all the members may not know you personally, the thought of a fellow co-worker on the road to recovery is enough to ease their exhaustion. 

“What?” Jungkook doesn’t hide it, and collapses on the floor, thoroughly spent for today. “Is she okay?” 

“Well, she actually just passed out. But she’s conscious.” 

“What, why?” Jimin asks, rolling a water bottle over to Jungkook. 

“Doctors say she woke up in a panic, started freaking out when it sunk in that she’s been in a coma since winter.” Jungkook’s heart squeezes painfully of the thought of you scared and feeling trapped in that small hospital bed. 

“Well, can we go see her in the morning?” Jungkook says hopefully, biting his lip. 

“We can’t,” Namjoon confesses, looking down at his shoes in disappointment, “at least not right now. y/n was apparently terrified. The doctors think she’s suffering from some form of PTSD, because she can’t recall anything that happened after she got hit. Her guardians are sending her to a facility for her to process her trauma. It’s in the countryside, and she’s not allowed visitors until she’s fully recovered.” 

Just when Jungkook thinks he has you back, you’re already far from his reach. He should be happy, knowing that you are well on your way to get better. He’s thankful enough that you’re finally awake. But the small, selfish part of him wants to visit you, and comfort you. 

Whether you’ll let him or not is your choice, but this time, he decides he’s going to fight for you. 

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 4: going once, going twice

summary: you meet an interesting character while attending a charity auction.

warnings: soft moments, angsty moments. asshole ransom, soft ransom. you’ve been warned.

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader, overarching steve rogers x reader

word count: 3.4k

author’s note: before anyone asks, i don’t really consider this cheating since it’s just steve in a different universe. but i’d skip this chapter if it won’t sit right with you! 

p.s. i had to google translate some french, please don’t hate me if you speak french and it’s awful🥺

previous chapter / series masterlist

Sounds seemed to be the first thing you noticed as you entered a new universe. This was absolutely no different.

Well, except for the fact that the first sound you noticed was the announcing of your own name.

From the moment your eyes opened, you were met with a blinding yellow light, and the urge to stand up. You glanced over at the table that you’d previously been sat at, and received raised brows from Aaliyah, who’d been sitting at the white, round table across from you, along with a hand gesture that shoo-ed you away.

You timidly walked up to the small and raised platform of a stage, and stood next to a person who vaguely resembled your old boss from your main universe.

“Alright, ladies and gents! Our final lady of the night, well, not a lady of the night, is the gorgeous Y/N L/N! Starting at $1,000, do we have any takers?”

You looked out into the ocean of round tables, and watched a decently handsome man, with dark hair and a beard raise his paddle, “1,500!” he called out.

The man received a death glare from someone else at his table, and looked up at both the stage and you to raise his own paddle. “2,500,” he responded in a bored tone.

After getting over the extreme ego boost that was being bid over, you let yourself take a good look at the second man who’d offered the cash, and,

Holy shit.

It was Steve, but it definitely wasn’t Steve. 

His hair was slightly darker, he was wearing a cream sweater and long, multicolored scarf that your Steve would never be caught dead in. He held an air of confidence and cockiness that you could see from miles away, and according to his bidding style, he was loaded.

After seeing him, you desperately wanted to find a mirror and find out if your own appearance had changed at all.

“Fine, $4,000,” the bearded man offered, glancing back and forth between you, and this alternate version of Steve.

“$5,000!” A new contestant jeered, this one a rather old man whom you could tell you wanted nothing to do with.

“Old fucking geezer,” the alternate Steve muttered. “$7,000.”

There was a gasp, and a silence throughout the audience. 

“$7,000 for Hugh, going once, going-”

“15,” the bearded man lifted his paddle once again. You glanced over to Aaliyah, whose eyeballs seemed to be bulging out of her head at this. 

“Fuck it, 30,” Hugh sighed.

The bearded man threw his hands up in defeat, and set his paddle all the way down on his table.

“45, final!” The old man called out.

“75,” Hugh glanced around the audience, a rather smug look on his face.

“Oh wow, $75,000 going once, going twice… sold to Mr. Hugh Drysdale! Miss L/N, is there something you’re not telling us about the nature of your date?” The auctioneer passed the microphone to you, and you laughed awkwardly into it.

“Nothing that I know of,” the rest of the crowd seemed to laugh with you at this, but you couldn’t help but feel the growing discomfort in your stomach. 

“Well, I’m sure the folks over at One Mission will be very happy at this sizable donation. Can we get one more cheer for Miss L/N?” You gave a friendly wave before awkwardly stepping off the stage while the people around you clapped.

You’d had a decent idea at this point of what was going on, but you couldn’t quite piece together why this Hugh character had decided to bid so high on someone he’d never even met. You sat back down at your table, and slipped your phone out of your pocket to look at yourself. Yep, same you. 

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Aaliyah asked you, a mixture of confusion and excitement present in her tone.

“Hell if I know,” you sighed, and scratched your neck nervously.

“I mean, I get it, you’re hot. But the price of a luxury vehicle for a date? You’re gonna have to let him finger you at least,” she giggled.

“Shut up,” you groaned at the thought. You were still feeling pretty confused about the fact that the Steve in this universe wasn’t actually Steve at all. You so far, you’d only really met Steves that were well… Steve. 

You internally lamented the situation, until you noticed someone plop down at the open seat at the table, causing you to turn and look at him. 

“This seat taken?” Hugh asked, and you shook your head. “Great, now it is,” he quipped.

“I’ll give you two a moment. I’m gonna go find my own socialite,” Aaliyah bantered, slipping up from her chair and following through on her comment.

“So you must really love those kids you just donated to,” you awkwardly chuckled.

“Oh hell no. Fuck those kids. I just hate losing, and I absolutely was not gonna let those douchebags win,” he looked down at his hands and played with his pinky ring in an extremely bored manner. 

“Oh, okay,” you nodded slowly. This man was a complete 180 to the type of Steve that you were used to. Your Steve was warm and caring, but this man seemed cold and apathetic. Your Steve would gladly lay his life on the line for anyone, and this man didn’t even seem to have the emotional capacity to hold the door for someone else. “So Hugh, what do you plan to do on our date?” You lifted up your glass of champagne and took a little sip.

“Call me Ransom, only the help call me Hugh. We’ll probably just go to Europe or something.”

You nearly spat out your drink at this. In fact, you felt a little carbonation in your nose. Then again, Ransom just spent ¾ of a hundred thousand on a date with you. “Jesus,” you murmured. 

“Think you can head out tomorrow?” 

----

Waking up in the bedroom of the apartment you seemed to share with Aaliyah taught you two things. One, you could apparently sleep in these universes and not wake up elsewhere, and two, the walls of your apartment were far too thin.

You glanced over at the clock on your bedside table, and noted the time. You had about an hour before you needed to be at the airport. 

You quickly threw a mixture of clothing, a phone charger, a packet of birth control, and some skincare products into a suitcase before heading out to the kitchen to grab a granola bar. You chewed half the bar before hopping into the shower, then tossing on some ugly, but comfortable travelling clothes. 

Maybe you spent a bit too long checking yourself in the mirror that morning with the newfound knowledge that you were now worth at least 75,000 dollars. Frankly, having multiple (attractive) men fight over you was the greatest boost to your pride that you’d ever been given.

Glancing down at your phone after the matter, you realized that you only had a few minutes to order an Uber to pick you up, unless you wanted to be late and miss your flight. 

----

You had your baggage checked, stumbled through TSA, and showed the screenshot of your plane ticket a boatload of times to a multitude of people before you finally reached the lounge, and found Ransom sitting on a sofa with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Why the hell are you dressed like that?” Ransom asked you as you approached, looking up and down at your outfit of a college sweatshirt and loose joggers.

“Because I want to be comfortable, you dick. Do rich people not like being comfortable?” You sat down beside him on the sofa, and slumped into the chair. Who knew travelling throughout the multiverse could be so tiring? “Besides, you have like seven holes in that sweater. I wouldn’t be talking about anyone else’s clothes if I gladly let moths have a four course meal on my things,” you scoffed.

That seemed to shut him up for a bit.

Eventually, your flight number was called, and you, along with the few other first class flyers piled into the plane. 

You sat down next to Ransom in a soft chair that seemed to lower back into some sort of makeshift mattress, and slipped your phone out of your pocket to send your friends a message that you were taking off.

“You excited?” You asked Ransom while he began to slip a pair of Beats onto his head. 

“Yeah, I like Nice,” he nodded, then grabbed his own phone to connect to the headphones.

“So you’ve been there before?” Ransom nodded, clearly trying to ignore you. “Do you have a plan on fun places to take me?” He shrugged.

You got the message, and huffed as you sat back in your seat. Right before takeoff, you received a message back from Aaliyah of a picture of her cat, and that was enough to bring a smile to your face. 

—— 

About 7 hours into your flight, you noticed Ransom picking out a movie to watch, and you found the idea intriguing. 

“What’cha watching?” You asked, leaning over a bit into his space. 

“Nothing,” he said stiffly, and you rolled your eyes.

“Porn?” You joked, glancing up at him to see if it landed or not. It did not. 

“You know what? You’re a lot prettier when you’re quiet.”

You slunk back into your seat at this and turned your head away from Ransom. The words really bit at you, considering that it sounded just like your Steve, and if you squinted enough, it looked like him too. But your Steve would never say something like that to you, right?

For a moment, you twisted the watch on your wrist consideringly, wondering if you should go to the next universe, where you might gain a little more respect from your partner. Yet something told you to wait it out. If this was still, in some convoluted way, Steve, he’d come around, right?

That alone gave you enough reason to stay.

---- 

You dragged your suitcase into a hotel room much too big for just two people after nearly 12 hours of an extremely awkward flight, and even more awkward cab ride to the hotel. 

After plopping your things down into the bigger bedroom of the hotel, you stretched rather dramatically in hopes of waking up some of the stiff muscles in your body. In the midst of this, Ransom came up behind you, and set a hand on your back, scaring the life out of you. 

“What the hell, Ransom! A knock or a ‘hello’ will do it next time!”

You turned to look at him, and became a bit flustered at his shirtless, short-clad figure. It was silly, because you’d seen Steve naked a million times before, and this was simply Steve in another universe. 

“You coming to the spa with me?” He smirked as you blatantly checked him out. “Okay, yeah. You’re coming with me. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

You spent around an hour at the spa with Ransom, sweating yourself out in the sauna until you were likely majorly dehydrated, soaking in the heated pool until your skin became pruny and wrinkled, and ending the night with a massage that sent you straight to sleep.

Like, deep sleep. When you became even slightly conscious, Ransom was laying you in your pillowy soft bed. As your eyes opened the slightest bit at him, he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Pretending to sleep, how cute,” he muttered sarcastically. You’d argue with him, but you were simply too exhausted to do so. In fact, you were convinced you’d just given him a whole monologue about how travelling makes people tired, but the most that had exited your mouth was a tiny squeak. 

You watched Ransom leave the room, before your head collapsed onto your shoulder, and you fell back into a nice rest.

When you awoke, it was not on your own will.

An overly saturated light attacked your eyes from behind your eyelids, and came all at once, snapping you out of your dreamless slumber. When you glanced over at the harsh source, you noticed none other than Ransom by your window, with a hand on the drape.

“Time to wake up. It’s like, 3 PM, by the way,” he huffed before exiting your room, not even allowing you to reply. 

You groaned in annoyance, having an off handed thought about how jet lag was kicking your ass, before rolling out of bed and trying to find something nice to put on.

By the time you left your room, Ransom was standing by the door, aimlessly scrolling on his phone. “You wanna go for a walk?” 

“Sure, I guess. I’m kinda hungry though, so maybe we can stop somewhere first?” 

Ransom shrugged and gave you what seemed like the hint of a smile, and you hurried to put on your shoes before heading out. 

——

The two of you ended up on the patio of some local restaurant, your eyes skimming the menu while Ransom took sips of his complimentary water. 

What seemed to be out of nowhere, a burly man came rushing over to your table, and appeared to be approaching Ransom, as he turned his head to look at the man, then quickly looked away.

The man, who you could only assume to be the owner, clapped Ransom on the back, and in return, Ransom slumped over in embarrassment. 

You were definitely going to enjoy this.

“Où étiez-vous?, Ranny?” Where have you been?

“Occupé, Henri.” Busy, Henri. Ransom clearly had a dark red blush on his face now, and he glanced at you as if you could offer him some sort of assistance.

“Trop occupé avec la dame?” Too busy with the lady? Henri asked with a smirk.

“No!” 

“Présentez-moi à elle,” Introduce her to me. 

Ransom sighed dramatically, then sat up from hunching, “Y/N, this is Henri. He’s a family friend,” you couldn’t help but notice how pleased Henri seemed, “Henri, this is Y/N, mon rendez-vous,” My date.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Henri extended a hand out to you and you gladly shook it. He turned back to Ransom, and continued grilling him. “Est-ce votre cavalier ou votre petite amie?” Is she your date or your girlfriend?

“Mon rendez-vous!” My date! You don’t think you’d ever seen anyone become this flustered so fast.

“Hey Henri,” you interrupted, feeling a tiny bit left out, “any way that we could order first, then you could come back here and tell me all the embarrassing stories about Ransom you can remember?”

“That sounds fun to me,” he shrugged.

——

During lunch, you’d learned more about Ransom than you ever knew you needed to know. In the midst of it all, you couldn’t help but to think about how different he was compared to your Steve. His parents were extremely wealthy (no surprise there), he went to boarding school in Nice (which explained his ability to speak French), and Ransom was a bit of an art nerd (perhaps some characteristics could transcend universes).

Surprisingly, he was starting to grow on you. Which was why you were far from opposed to his suggestion of going sight-seeing around the town. 

The first stop you took wasn’t too far from the restaurant. A quaint little gift store with tiny knicknacks lining the shelves, and a relentless, old, orange cat who did not seem to want to leave Ransom alone.

“You should pet her, Ran,” you suggested, leaning down to do so yourself.

“First of all, don’t call me that. Second of all, if you pet her once, it’ll literally never stop,” He glanced over at you from where he was standing at a set of tourist-oriented keychains.

“Are you speaking from firsthand experience?” You grinned down at the cat who was now aggressively rubbing its head against your hand.

“Yes. Luis may seem nice, but one second you’re petting his head, and the next, you’re carrying him around the store, the whole time he’s whispering in your ear for you to buy more things.”

You were a bit taken aback at this, for a second concerned that the man you’d impulsively travelled to Europe with had a few screws loose, since he was apparently hearing local cats speak to him. That’s of course, when Ransom broke into laughter. It took you a second before you laughed a bit too.

“That was so weird, man. Don’t do that again,” you lightly punched his shoulder, then went to pick up Luis who was more than happy to be transported around like an infant. 

After buying a nice mug and a postcard to give to Aaliyah once you returned home, and parting with Luis who seemed to feel a bit, you suggested hopping in a cab to visit one of the many art museums Nice had to offer. 

After a bit of bickering in the backseat, the two of you compromised on the Modern and Contemporary Art museum, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit excited.

Around two hours post-arrival at the museum, you realized that, maybe modern art wasn’t exactly your thing. But it certainly was Ransom’s. He rambled on and on about different pieces that seemed completely mundane to you. Who knew that someone could talk for nearly half of an hour about a canvas painted completely one color?

You noted a shift in Ransom’s attitude towards you. It was clear that you were willing to put up with his little antics, and as the day went on, he began to let down more and more of the tough guy persona he’d had up for so long. To your Steve, at least, art was something that made him feel a bit vulnerable, and you figured that Ransom held the same sentiment. This thought made you feel vaguely homesick, and go in for a half-hug from Ransom, who gladly returned it while he shamelessly effused.

It wasn’t the same, but for you, it was good enough.

----

You very much enjoyed the rest of your day with Ransom, hopping from interesting site to interesting site with him, and sharing a multitude of fond memories that you hoped would stick with you throughout your inter-dimensional travels.

You ended the night with him on the piano bench in the lobby of your hotel. He wordlessly played a Chopin piece while you mindlessly listened. It was a rather relaxing experience, and quite the finale of your day. You had a bit of a nagging feeling that this was the finale of your time in this universe as well.

“Today was really nice,” out of nowhere, Ransom began.

You hummed in agreement, “it was.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have taken you to all my favorite places on day one, but oh well,” he half chuckled to himself, and you pulled back to look up at Ransom.

“You took me to your favorite places? That’s.. Wow. That’s really sweet,” you glanced down at the piano, then back up at Ransom. He gave you a soft smile in return.

This was the moment, right? The silence that followed that was your perfect opportunity to be kissed. Yet, Ransom wasn’t taking it. So you decided to lean forward slightly, and do it yourself. Catching onto what you were getting ready to do, Ransom moved away from you slightly, and shook his head.

“Hey, I don’t really do that,” Ransom looked down at you, and bit the inside of his lip. 

Deep down, you knew that this was just a man who looked like your man rejecting you, but the less rational side of yourself only told you one thing.

Steve was rejecting you.

He was leaving you again, he wouldn’t even kiss you. The thought of it put you somewhere between seeing red, and seeing nothing at all from the tears that were now flooding your vision.

The one thing that had once convinced you to stay, was now begging you to leave. 

You reached down to your watch, and fiddled aggressively with it. Part of you felt bad for leaving a version of yourself to deal with the awkward aftermath of what just occurred, but another part of you just wanted to get the hell away from all of the distressing emotions you were feeling. 

That part of you seemed to be stronger than anything else. You glanced down at your watch, pressed the button on the side that you were told could make you leave, and let nature take its course after feeling the soft vibrations run throughout your arm.

next chapter

So I watched LUCIDS 1-4 without any prior knowledge...

and here were my thoughts. I didn’t watch any backstory or anything so enjoy my suffering.

PART 1

“So what happens when the people inside of their dreams go to sleep?” They die

“What happens when we wake up? Do they go on living while we’re not there?” THEY DIE-

“Who are they anyway?” they’re faces that our brain catalogs and stores for later use, although it’s also arguable that every time we dream we go to an alternate reality and inhabit the body of another version of ourselves. Now, were you in a car accident and trapped underwater or-

Are they twins?

(Me tuning out to do something)

“-the squirrel in spongebob was your soulmate, making you a Sandy simp-”

Me, snapping back to the video: hold up-

[missed the part about the worksheet, realized it when i rewatched 10 mins later to make this post]

yall speakin gibberish idk what youre saying-

“I’m gonna go to bed.” bro it literally looks like morning-

“You should get some sleep you look terrible.” i get six hours of sleep a night minimum and i look worse than him shut up bro-

“jump into someone else’s dream” ah i know this con-

why they all got the same face-

haha funni meme

“--an interruptiion can create feedback and tear them apart.” Death. I long for thee.

Is that Karl Jacob’s jacket?

“a second grader” makes me think this is a different school system. [i was wrong? i think?]

“[get him to] eat your apple”

[in the dream sequence] weird dream, but ive had weirder. now, Why Pamper’s-

why does he suddenly have a knife-

“You put a filter on the Dreamscape feed?”

“Technically, you are seven years old.”

???????????

the second hand embarrassment is UGGGHHH

[reading the description] you mean like the guy who was knocked out for 2 minutes on a football field and woke to find he’d dreamt 17 years of his life? oh this shall be Fun

PART 2

[I check the description] “jasper cult” what the fu-

how many camp camp references can i make during this

Is the apple a reference to religion or does the creator just really ilke apples?

“meal.”

“meal?”

meal????

Wait why couldn’t that guy eat the apple? If he wanted it in the fruit bowl, wouldn’t there be a chance of the guy eating it anyways?? Why can’t the guy who brought the apple eat it?

well he’s Dead

[debating if I should read the backstory}

n a h h h h h -

Was he gonna feed the dead guy the apple or something? Why is he upset about the apple in this scene???

oooo the grownups are fightinnnngggg

Is he an antagonist?

HE WROTE A BOOK???

oh now i want food

ESTABLISH JUSTICE ENSURE DOMESTIC TRANQUILITYYYYYYYYYYYYY

“I watched all those aforementioned shows” what shows did i miss something what-

man why you gotta hate on her jane austen fanfic let her live bro

string theory! i can get behind that! sorta-

o no he found the memes-

BOY GOT KNOCKED OUT-

kim there’s people that are dying-

is SHE an antagonist?

quinn? calling himself jasper? u sure hes not just nonbinary? is this just a metaphor for transphobic parenting?

“He died... but somewhere, he grew up.” So is your plan to take a Quinn from a different universe and make him your own, thereby robbing another version of yourself from happiness? When does this ever go well?

Yknow most people, when they lose a kid,,,, kinda,,,,,,, dont go on a ceaseless quest to find another version of their kid that grew up without knowing that another version of his mother was invading other peoples’ dreams to find and kidnap him,,,,,,,, like aint u got a therapist-

“Once you get past the point of not knowing what’s real anymore, you realize it doesn’t matter.” Well, I Got Called Out-

PART 3

“you’re real, oliver.”

aRe yOu sUrE aBoUt tHaT-

“you’ve been infected by the anti-love parasite of Mandadon” the amatonormativity is strong

so anyways ive been infected since birth hbu-

“James Jasperson, creator of Japple” did you mean to Fancy Well-Educated Man in a Black Turtleneck? cause the only FWEMBT i allow near me is prof. hidgens

“are you winning?” says the capitalist

why did you rewind to see his face?? you have the same face????? is this just bc the creator doesnt like working with other people cause in that case same but???????

“it’s a bad idea. i’m not gonna do it.” we’ve all been there. and we’ve all done it.

looks like me trying to study. (i say, a person who has studied a total of five minutes throughout their entire life.)

your “Spartan trial” looks like a bunch of guys standing on a hill pretending to be something they’re not. Let The Man Bring His Snacks.

eat the apple.

is this your first existential crisis or something what a loser lets all point and laugh

“One of you should be spared, the other shall’nt.” did you mean shant or was that a choice-

yall gonna get called out for talking shut UP

“sorry if this is too personal, btw. are you okay?”

me, confused and half understanding what’s going on and also needing to sleep cause its almost one in the morning but wanting to finish what i can find of lucids which i only starting watching cause i saw an animatic of ranboo and dream w audio from it: i don’t know anymore

“i just want my life back... i was gonna get married-” AREN’T YOU LIKE SEVEN-

ay man if this is a sacrificial cult yall gotta get daniel-

UPDATE: I  H A V E  N O T  F O U N D  I T -

“oliver”

I  F O U N D   I  T -

WHICH ONE IS QUINN?? WHO’S JASPER???? WHICH ONE IS BENJAMIN???? I THOUGH BENJAMIN WAS SEVEN BUT I THOUGHT HE WAS THE ONE GETTING MARRIED WHAT-

oliver. eat the apple.

“Can you still have memories even when you’re dreaming?” One time I woke up to my alarm and fell back asleep and in my dream I remembered that I had class in a few minutes and my dream self woke my real self up so fast I thought I was gonna get whiplash. Anyways, I was late to class bc of my computer but that doesn’t matter.

NOPE I FOUND IT. HERE’S THE AUDIO. THE ANIMATIC ONE. FINALLY.

im thinking car crash. but also maybe murder. but also maybe both? is it raining or was he drowning? is he in a coma? hmmmmmm?

wait olivers the one with the apple does that mean he’s the one dreaming? is the ending gonna be him and jasper (quinn? idk) fighting against ben and mrs hills about jasper eating the apple to save oliver from the dream? hmmmmmmmmmm-

waitwaitwait i thought oliver was 7 how is benjamin 7 years younger than him if they look the same age what what what explain america explain what you mean arkansaw-

are the cuts on his nose plot-relevant or

“What if you hadn’t been driving?” So I was right about the car accident but Mrs. Hills still said he was seven so did i mishear her say that BENJAMIN was seven? but even then oliver would be 14 and that would still be illegal-

“How are you feeling?”

“Like you’re a pretty bad therapist.”

mood

“--it makes it all bearable to have power over the stories we write in our heads” that’s why i write fanfiction

HE’S GOT THE NOTEBOOK HE’S GONNA WRITE SOMETHING ONE OF US ONE OF US ONE OF US

WHAT YOU MEAN AN EXPERIMENT THAT’S HIS NAME-

[upon reading the description] so i was right.

wait was that supposed to be the twist in part 2 about the apple in his pocket is that what the existential crisis was about i thought it was because he was introduced to the multiple worlds theory-

PART 4

wait wasnt the other one january 2018 why we going back to 2017-

appol

“--the future and the past all already exist” mhm yep figured this out long ago

there was simultaneously a point in time in which i hadn’t known about this, had been looking it up, had been watching it, and had been writing an ending to this post, and had been posting it the next morning before class. that time is both now and not now. Welcome To The Multiverse Theory or whatever its called-

“--my favorite scene of the movie is waking up next to you.” Mine is eating fast food as I listen to AJJ and play Minecraft. We are not the same.

Now I’m hungry but it’s 1 in the morning and i already put my retainer in god fu-

[reading description] what do you mean previously??? she did that in the first episode????????

[still on description] WHAT DO YOU MEAN WILL QUINN BITE THE APPLE AND GO TO BENJAMINS REALITY ISNT THIS OLIVERS REALITY AND HE HAS TO GET BEN TO BITE THE APPLE WHY IS APPLE CAPITALIZED IS THIS THE DOING OF THE FWEMBT

i should have watched the backstory i should have watched the backstory i should have watched the backstory i should have wa-

[description] oh ive been spelling quinn right the whole time nice

i hope she rejects you /j

WAIT BENJAMIN WAS THE ONE GETTING MARRIED TO ISABELLE

ISNT HE IN SECOND GRADE-

HE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD HOW IS HE GETTING MARRIED ARE THERE TWO BENJAMINS THAT WE’RE FOCUSING ON-

bro get out of the road ull get hit

how do you knOW WHICH ONE IS QUINN THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON-

so

wait

hills wants ben to feed quinn the apple bc in his mind, that will give hills and quinn a happy ending and she doesnt want ben to see the apple bc thats gonna mean ben will know that his reality isnt reality at all. so then oliver has to,,,, not let anyone eat his apple? he just has to wake up?

IS HILLS THE VILLAIN AFTER ALL ORRRRR

wait but if ben sees the apple wont he realize that his reality is wrong and his reality will change, making it so that hills doesnt get her son? or is there some time-based rule that says they’re only transported to the reality that the person believes at that moment? or is this another stab at the multiverse thing where an infinite amount of hills gets their happy endings while an infinite amount of hills doesnt and etc etc?

i should have watched the ba-

oooo dramatique

they’re in a time loop?

nope thats a new powerpoint

wait so theyre,,,, no-

wait-

nvm-

IS THE BEN WE KNOW AN ADULT GETTING MARRIED TO ISABELLE OR NOT-

“they were actually pretty nice” didnt they throw someone off a cliff-

oh so it got confusing THEN??? NOT BEFORE?????

“it all seemed so real.” is that Not the point of vivid REM sleep hallucinations-

is oliver gonna show ben the apple and ruin hills’ whole operation

WHO ARE ALEX AND RYAN-

“what’s 25-8″ bro dont do this to me-

yep hes gonna show the apple

ayyy the guy who stole karl jacobs jacket it back

the second hand embarrassment is back and I Hate It

all that happens in episode ONE??? bro get some better writers that is bad pacing

“it’s the best!” wait until season eight. no show has a good season eight.

quinn knows about the apple thing w the dreams and multiverse and realities dont he

YOU KILLED HIM

NOT KARL JACOBS NOOOOO HES ALREADY DIED ONCE

oliver is v relatable

wHaT iN tArNaTiOn-

lemme hear that explanaton again-

is bill cipher gonna show up? i hope bill cipher shows up. i miss gravity falls

“ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree!” moooooooood

did hills murder quinn

is your family the jasper cult

TOXXIICCCCCC get that lady out of your life quinn that is so toxic

“ ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree!  ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree!” mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT’S THE END NO WHAT WHY NO

The Adventures of Benjamin and Oliver

he is Not Good

ope-

wait so ben is equal parts an adult AND a child?? okay that clears a lot up

I MEAN HE WAS RIGHT THO BEN U CAN’T REALLY ARGUE ON THAT-

ew get off the floor

butterfly effect, multiverse theory, memory decay, and your imagination ALL exist yall gonna ignore that cause you wanna be famous?

“We already know what the future looks like!”

aRe yOu sUrE aBoUt tHaT-

to add to the list of bad things: Cats (2019)

YA BOI THINKS IT’S NOT ALREADY FIFTY YEARS TOO LATE TO START FIGHTING CLIMATE CHANGE FFFFF

BINGO BABYYYY

get what what

what mapped-

awwwww he thinks THEY’RE creating the multiverse

you gonna dismiss the multiverse theory bc of something you created in your current reality? loooserrrrrr

ABUSE YOUR GODLIKE POWERS

she draggin that seven year old

a lot makes sense now why didnt i do this first-

Jasper

the food shortages-

bro that calculators like 90 bucks at walmart

imagine meeting a stranger and they know Everything about your life like that’s gotta be so weird

what’s even weirder is them telling you you’re the deity of a cult that sacrifices animals

THAT FOURTH WALL BREAK WAS-

KARL JACOBS IS DEAD NOOOOOO

ooohhh there’s context for that

OOOOHHHH THERE’S CONTEXT FOR THIS TOOOO

w h a t -

w  h  a  t  -

W   H   A   T   -

Conclusion:

it’s 2 in the morning and i need sleep but hOOOOO MY GODS THAT WAS GOOD IS IT OVER OR NOT IDK ANYMORE IM TIRED THAT WAS CRAZY I HOPE QUINN AND JASPER GO ON TO BE VERY GOOD FRIENDS, AND I HOPE BENJAMIN AND OLIVER STAY VERY GOOD FRIENDS AND I HOPE HILLS FINDS A THERAPIST WAS A LITTLE CONFUSING BUT I ENJOYED IT

if i dream about apples im suing /j /lh