#and driving around to test my knowledge of how to get back from going where ive never been

[lunarfuneral]

i think the pitt being set in pittsburgh was psychologically damaging to me

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Doing a hot lap together with him driving. (You choose which circuit) Thanks!! :)(

Hold on tight

Word count: 1.1k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader

Summary: Toto and Y/N Wolff’s Nürburgring hot lap showcases Y/N’s hilarious reactions to Toto’s driving, with Jack adding his adorable excitement.

Because I thought it was very similar to the other Fics I’ve written I made this one in to part four of the social media Toto Wolff x wife!reader fic series

Part one: Unscripted Moments

Part two: A guide to modern slang

Part three: Getting It Right (and Wrong)

________________________________________________________

The sun was shining brightly over the Nürburgring, casting a golden glow on the iconic circuit as you and Toto prepared for yet another video, the third in a series that had quickly become a fan-favorite. The sleek Mercedes-AMG GT gleamed behind you, the anticipation of what was to come buzzing in the air.

Standing side by side, you and Toto exchanged playful glances as the camera crew set up. This wasn’t your first rodeo; the first video had been a fun “This or That” challenge, where you’d both revealed surprising things about each other. The second video had tested your knowledge of Gen Z slang, which had led to a lot of laughs—and a few hilarious misinterpretations on Toto’s part. But this time, things were about to get a lot more intense.

As the camera began to roll, you and Toto turned to face it, ready to introduce what was sure to be a wild ride.

“Hello, everyone!” Toto greeted the camera with his signature grin. “Welcome back! For those of you who’ve been following along, you’ll know that we’ve done a couple of fun videos already—first, a ‘This or That’ challenge, and then we tried to guess some Gen Z slang. Both were… let’s say, very educational,” he added with a wink in your direction.

You chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Educational is one word for it. I think we both learned that Toto is definitely not up-to-date with the latest slang.”

Toto laughed, shaking his head. “True. But today, we’re doing something completely different. And a bit more in my territory. We’re here at the Nürburgring, and we’re about to do a hot lap in this beautiful Mercedes-AMG GT.”

You turned to the camera with a slightly nervous smile. “Which means I’m going to be the terrified passenger, holding on for dear life, while this guy here,” you nudged Toto, “drives like a madman.”

Toto put his arm around your waist, grinning widely. “She says madman, I say skilled professional.”

“Tomato, tomato,” you replied with a smirk, earning a chuckle from the camera crew.

One of the cameramen stepped forward, asking, “So, Y/N, on a scale of 1 to 10, how nervous are you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Eleven. Definitely an eleven.”

The cameraman then turned to Toto. “And how excited are you?”

Toto grinned, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “A solid twelve. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at the camera. “Well, there you have it. I’m nervous, he’s excited, and we’re about to take off. Wish me luck!”

Toto opened the passenger door for you with a teasing flourish. “Your chariot awaits, madame.”

You took a deep breath and slid into the seat, glancing up at him with a mix of affection and exasperation. “Just remember, we’re doing this for the fans. And don’t forget—I’m holding on to whatever I can if you scare me.”

Toto chuckled as he settled into the driver’s seat. “I’ll try to keep it interesting. Ready?”

“Not really,” you admitted, your voice a mix of nerves and excitement as you buckled your seatbelt.

With that, Toto started the engine, and the car roared to life. He shot you a quick grin before hitting the accelerator, and the Nürburgring immediately became a blur around you. The speed and intensity of the hot lap were unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, and as the car whipped through sharp turns, you instinctively reached out, gripping Toto’s arm.

“Toto, langsam!” you yelled, slipping into German as the adrenaline took over. “Du bist wahnsinnig! Scheiße!” ("Toto, slow down! You're insane! Shit!")

Toto only laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Liebling, bitte,” ("Darling, please,") he replied with mock seriousness, the grin on his face widening as he expertly navigated another sharp corner. “This is just getting started!”

“Fucking hell,” you muttered in English, switching between the languages as the car sped through another tight curve. “I’m holding on to you whether you like it or not!”

As the car took a particularly steep turn, you instinctively grabbed onto Toto’s leg, holding on for dear life. “Verdammt, Toto! Du bist verrückt!” ("Damn it, Toto! You're crazy!")

Toto glanced down at your hand on his leg and shot you a teasing look. “Oh, holding onto my leg now? Didn’t know you were so eager, Schatz.”

Despite the fear coursing through you, you managed a glare. “Not the time for jokes!”

He just laughed again, thoroughly enjoying your flustered state. “You know, there are other times when I wouldn’t mind you holding onto me like that…”

“Toto!” you exclaimed, your face flushing as the car finally began to slow down, signaling the end of the lap.

Toto brought the car to a smooth stop in the pit lane, turning to you with a wide grin. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “Fun is relative. I think I just aged ten years.”

As you both got out of the car, the camera crew was still filming, capturing every moment. One of the cameramen walked over, grinning. “That was amazing! The fans are going to love this. You two are hilarious together.”

Toto chuckled, clearly pleased. “She’s the best co-driver I could ask for.”

Before you could respond, you heard the sound of little footsteps running towards you. Jack came charging over, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Mommy!” Jack called out, reaching up for you as he ran to your side.

You bent down, scooping him up into your arms, feeling a wave of relief and joy as you held him close. “Hey, sweetheart,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Did you have fun watching?”

Jack nodded eagerly, his eyes wide with wonder. “You were so fast, Mommy! Like a race car driver!”

Toto walked over, wrapping an arm around your waist and giving Jack a playful ruffle of his hair. “Your mom was very brave, wasn’t she, Jack?”

Jack nodded again, looking up at you with wide, admiring eyes. “Yeah! But why were you holding onto Daddy’s leg?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your face flushing as you glanced at Toto, who was grinning mischievously. “Well, Daddy was driving really fast, and it was a little scary.”

Toto leaned in close, his voice low and teasing as he whispered just for you to hear, “I didn’t mind it at all, you holding onto me like that… Maybe we could try that again later?”

You blushed, swatting at him playfully. “Behave yourself.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Can’t promise that, Schatz.”

Jack giggled, oblivious to the teasing between his parents. “Can I come with you next time, Daddy?”

Toto smiled, his hand gently squeezing Jack’s. “Maybe when you’re a little older, buddy. For now, let’s keep your mom safe from my driving.”

You laughed, leaning into Toto as you held Jack close. “Yes, let’s do that.”

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 5: The Departure (Warning: this chapter will contain violence. Read at your own risk.)

It’s been around two months since you accepted the Megamycete into your body and for the first time since you were dragged to Gotham, you’re actually happy. With its vast archives, you’re bursting with knowledge spanning over the course of four-hundred years, ranging from the academic to the arts and it’s thanks to that knowledge that your grades have skyrocketed in the past few weeks; where once you struggled with something, now you know better than even the teachers, even correcting them when they make a mistake and outpacing the best students in your class. Sure, by this time, it’s a little too late to get to the top of your class, but you really don’t care about your ranking; all that matters is being able to complete your homework, class assignments, and tests in record time, giving you time to work on more important things, like your game.

Included in the Megamycete’s records are the knowledge and memories of many computer programmers, some of them working for Bruce in his tech division; you also have many artists and musicians swimming in your head, many of them talented in making art on computers, so with your newfound knowledge, you’ve made tremendous strides in making your game. A year ago, you thought you would have to find a way to crowdfund the game in order to pay artists, musicians, and programmers and it would take a few years to make it ready for players, but now, you’re sure you can have this game ready by yourself within the year.

Not only has your intellectual attributes increased, but so have your physical abilities; the Megamycete’s records also include many athletes, both professional and student, and you know how to play every sport that’s ever been played in Gotham, but you haven’t shown any improvement in gym class. You never had any interest in sports before and you sure as hell don’t know. Plus, if you suddenly start showing everyone in the school that you’ve all of a sudden become smarter and stronger out of nowhere, you might attract enough attention that not even the Waynes can ignore.

And that won’t end well for anyone.

Speaking of them, you know they heard about what happened at the My Alibi bar and are working overtime to find the culprit, the only thing they know for certain is that it was the work of someone new. It actually brought a smile to your face when you learned about it, that for all their detective skills, they have no idea that the person they’re hunting for is under their own roof. While Damian is the only one to have ever told you to your face, you know they all think you’re stupid; that because you chose to deal with your fucked up life in a semi-healthy way and not dress up in some stupid little costume and fistfight psychopaths, that must mean there’s something wrong with you in the head.

Fuck all of them. You don’t need them and tomorrow night, you’ll be driving back to Goodsprings.

When you turned eighteen, you inherited all of your Momma’s assets, namely her life insurance policy, bank accounts, and royalties from all her books, all of which was worth a little over two-million; at first, you were going to save that money for when you moved back to Goodsprings in case you had to fix up your old home and pay the bills, but after almost dying due to relying on bus stops and bumming rides off of Alfred was unfair to the man, you decided to take some of the money and invest it in a car. The Megamycete had absorbed many modern car experts, so you were able to pick out a brand new car that was worth the hit to your wallet.

Plus, you had a way of earning a pretty penny and stick it to Bruce at the same time: sell his proprietary technology to Lex Corp. Many of Bruce’s employees are buried in Gotham’s cemeteries, some of them working on the latest technological breakthrough at the time of their deaths and you knew Bruce’s biggest business rival would kill to see what Bruce’s scientists are cooking up in their lab.

You reached out to the man using your computer knowledge to send him an email that couldn’t be traced back to you, stating you had the specs for several of Wayne Enterprises’ latest large scale projects and asked him if he was interested in buying them for a couple million in cash. Knowing he’d never consider the deal without some proof, you included bits and pieces of what you were offering, just enough to show you were legit, but not enough to be useful without the rest of it.

Sure enough, he took the hit and now, here you are, meeting with the most powerful man in Metropolis in his office, which overlooks the entire city. Of course, you’re smart enough to not show him your face, so you took the form of some Joe Schmo that died years ago.

“I don’t believe it,” the man exclaims as he sifts through the papers you drew the designs on. “Medicine, experimental aircraft specs, software designs! Over a million spent in corporate espionage and nothing to show for it. Then you come along, offering more than enough to recoup those losses and then some.” He looks back at you, an ominous twinkle in his eye that makes you shiver. “Any chance I can rely on your services in the future?”

“Perhaps,” you say in your disguised voice. “If I get my hands on more WE secrets, I’ll keep you in mind. Now, about my money?”

“Of course,” he purrs. He snaps at his assistant, who places the briefcase she was holding on his desk and opens it, revealing more money than you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “Twenty million in unmarked bills. I trust that’s more than enough?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to hide your shock from earning enough money to last you the rest of your life in just a few seconds. “I believe it is.”

(We see no signs of sabotage or subterfuge,) the Megamycete says. (It would appear Luthor intends to keep his word. For once.)

“Mercy will see you out,” Lex says as you take the briefcase. He then holds out a business card. “And this is my personal number and email. If you have more secrets you’re looking to sell, call me day or night.”

“Thank you,” you say as you pocket the card.

And with that, you follow the assistant out of Lex’s office and down to the lobby.

(You must be happy to have amassed such a fortune,) the Megamycete states as you walk out the front door. (And exacting revenge on Bruce Wayne makes this moment all the better.)

“You’re damn right,” you respond with a chuckle.

(Perhaps you could use some of that money to enjoy yourself? Since our joining, you have been hard at work with your education or your project. Taking some time to have fun will do you a world of good.)

Its words resonate with you. Sure, you’ve been busy with catching up on school and the gaps in your game, but you’ve done some fun things the last few weeks, right?

(No, we are afraid you have not.)

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should change that.” You glance down at the briefcase in your hand. “Well, we have twenty mil of Lex’s money in here. How about have a night out in Gotham?”

(We agree wholeheartedly,” it exclaims, its voice full of joy and anticipation. (We look forward to seeing what you have planned.)

You chuckle as you change your form to your hardened mold armor and wings and take flight into Metropolis’ night sky. Fortunately for you, it’s a quiet night in the massive city, so Superman isn’t flying around, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into the Man of Steel.

“I gotta say, this city looks a helluva lot better than Gotham,” you remark as you soar above the skyscrapers. “Gotham looks like a giant tomb while Metropolis looks like the future.”

(Yes, we have noticed that no matter the era, the architecture of Gotham refuses to change. The city seems to be doomed to remain locked in a by-gone age. We look forward to seeing the world beyond.)

“You’ll love Goodsprings. Sure, it’s the size of a stamp compared to a behemoth like Gotham, but you can actually sit on your porch at night and not have to worry about gunshots or escaped lunatics. People actually have conversations with one another instead of telling you to fuck off.”

In a less than thirty minutes, you arrive back at Gotham and land on the roof of Wayne Manor and quietly sneak in. Joker’s still on the loose, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his latest sick and twisted plan, so everyone’s out and Alfred’s stuck in the Batcave, keeping an eye on camera feeds.

You take out a few bills from the briefcase before hiding it under your mattress and heading out to the back where you keep your car parked. While Bruce has multiple cars, every single one of them is a high-end luxury car that costs way more than yours, so you didn’t want to take the risk of Bruce or the others finding it and doing something to it, so you keep your car behind a large barn that’s used to hold all the groundskeeping equipment.

As you drive off the property, you tell your phone to dial Alfred, who answers it halfway through the first ring.

“Master Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Alfred, everything’s fine. I was just letting you know that I’m going out for a bit. Thought some time outside the house would do me some good.”

“While I agree that you need to get more, perhaps tonight isn’t the best time,” he says hesitantly. “I mean, the Joker is still out there, no doubt planning another heinous act.”

You’re touched by the man’s concern for you. Really, you are. But, with the Megamycete, you have nothing to fear.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’ll be fine.,” you reassure him. “I promise I won’t be gone too long. I’ll just be in Amusement Mile for an hour or two.”

“Still, I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Perhaps I can get one of your siblings—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m going out to have fun before I graduate, not be miserable. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d throw myself in Arkham’s Intensive Care Building.”

“I know why you feel that way, Master Y/N, but maybe you can give them another chance? You’ll be graduating tomorrow night and leaving after the ceremony. I just don’t want you leaving us under such bad circumstances.”

You know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to notice you, but they’re all busy with their own lives in addition to being vigilantes at night, either fighting crime in Gotham, Blüdhaven, or elsewhere around the world. And when they’re all home, they’re spending time together, having fun that was never meant to include you. You learned that after countless times coming downstairs and seeing them, eating delicious food, laughing, watching movies, and enjoying themselves without you. After a while, you stopped going downstairs when you heard noises coming from the living room.

You don’t belong here, either in the Wayne Family or in Gotham. You never did. You know it, they know it, and deep down, Alfred knows it, whether he wants to admit it or not. You’re a Gould, not a Wayne and there’s nothing that’s going to change that.

“Alfred, I think the ship for us being a ‘happy, loving family’ sailed long time ago. They’ve made it clear that there’s no room for me in their world and I sure as hell don’t want them in mine. All I want to do is go home.”

“I understand,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “I hope you have fun, Master Y/N. And please, if you get into trouble, call me straight away.”

“I will, Alfred. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, you hang up.

You let out a sigh when the line goes dead. You hated saying things like that to the poor man, but it’s how you feel about the Waynes. Ever since you moved in, all you heard about Bruce is that he’s a caring man and a loving father, but that care and love only appears to be for those he deems worthy of it. For someone like you, a bastard born from a careless one-night stand, he has nothing but neglect and indifference.

And the same goes for the others. They’re all a dysfunctional hodgepodge that are saturated with so much trauma and paranoia that it’s a miracle that they haven’t killed each other yet. You’re sure if they were locked up in Arkham and studied, they could fill an entire library’s worth of psychological textbooks.

(You should not concern yourself with them. They have made it clear that they are not worthy of your love or forgiveness. After so many years of suffering, you are so close to breaking free from your prison. By this time tomorrow, you will be back where you belong.)

“Yeah, back home. Finally.”

After thirty grueling minutes of dealing with Gotham’s traffic, you finally reach your destination: Bat Burger. As much as you hate any mention of Batman, Gotham’s cashed in on the “Bat Craze” and inserts him into anything they can. At least the food’s good; almost good enough to make you ignore the cartoonish Batfamily designs on all the walls. Emphasis on the almost.

“Welcome to Bat Burger,” the teenage cashier, dressed in a uniform designed around Batman, says in a monotone voice as you approach the counter. A brief look in his eyes tells you he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “How can I bring justice to your hunger today?”

“Can I get a Batburger with ketchup, large fries, and a large Bat Cola?”

“Do you want to Jokerize those fries,” he asks as he types in your order.

“No thanks.” You hand him a hundred dollar bill. “I don’t need the change. Keep it as a tip.”

“Oh,” he exclaims, the dead look in his eye gone, replaced by shock. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you respond, happy to see such a transformation in the teen.

“Thank you,” he stutters as he hands you your cup for your drink. “Your food’ll be out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod as you take the cup to the drink station.

(That was quite charitable of you,) the Megamycete remarks as you fill up your cup. (Such an action is rare in this city.)

“He looked like he needed it. I know what it’s like to be that miserable. Plus, it’s not like we’re hurting for money. If I ever run low, I still have plenty of Bruce’s secrets I can sell to Lex for a couple million.”

(Indeed. It would appear he had many of his employees working on secret projects that were not meant to be released. Perhaps such things were only meant for his nightly activities?)

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” you say as you sit down. “Kinda surprised no one’s figured it out. Batman’s toys look expensive and there’s not that many people in Gotham that could foot a bill that big other than Bruce Wayne.”

Not long after that, your order was called and you collected your fast food goodness. You practically moan as you take your first bite.

(This is quite appealing,) it says as you take another bite. (Savoring the food in real time is far batter than savoring it from the memories of the deceased.)

“I’ve wanted to come here for a while,” you say as you take a few fries. “Always saw the garbage cans full of Batburger bags when they came back from patrol. They never offered to take me and I never asked.”

(Their loss, we assure you. We can think of no better meal companion.)

“Shucks,” you chuckle. “You’re making me blush.”

After your meal, you decided to go to the arcade a few blocks away from the restaurant, eager to show the Megamycete all your favorite games. Also, with it behind you, you might be able to earn more tickets and win some of the bigger prizes. Your stride’s broken when you hear screaming, gunfire, and people running from the Gotham Arcade.

“What’s going on,” you ask a man as he tries to run past you.

“It’s Joker,” he exclaims, his eyes full of fear. “He’s shooting up the place!”

He runs away as you duck into an alley and call upon the mold to form the armor you’ve been using a lot lately. As you walk towards the arcade, you look through the roots and see the Bats scattered across the city, handling other crises; meaning they wouldn’t be here anytime soon.

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day.”

(The Clown has added many into our archives, all of whom spent their last moments of life terrified and in pain. We think it is time he knows fear.)

You walk into the arcade and are greeted by with over a dozen bodies, all of them riddled with bullet holes.

“My god,” you say, stepping over two teen boys who look like brothers. “There wasn’t a point to this. This is an arcade, not a bank. He just did this because he could.”

You follow the sound of gunfire until you see the Joker, dressed in his signature purple suit, shooting at a bunch of arcade cabinets.

“This is so much fun,” he exclaims as he rips a bunch of tickets from the machines. “Don’t you agree, Harley?”

“Sure do, Mistah J,” his partner, clad in her usual red and black spandex and jester hat, answers as she slams her giant mallet down on a poor Whack-A-Mole machine. She bends down and rips out a bunch of tickets from the smoking husk and holds it up to Joker like some offering to an ancient god. “Look, Puddin’, I won so many tickets!”

It’s then the two lunatics notice your presence.

“Well, well, well,” Joker says as he pockets his ill-gotten tickets. “Not the costumed freak I was expecting.” He holds his hands up to his head. “You’re missing the ears and everything.”

The two laugh and you roll your eyes under your mask.

“Looks like Ol’ Batsy has a new brat in his nest,” she jokes. “So, who’re you?”

“Oh, Harley, his name doesn’t matter.” He pulls out his gun and points it at you. “He’ll just be another corpse.”

He fires the gun and this time, the bullet actually penetrates your armor and pierces your lower torso. You wince at the feeling of a bullet in your gut.

(It would appear the clown uses a higher caliber than the common scum of Gotham,) the Megamycete explains as it heals your body, stitching the wound closed and hardening your armor to repel the stronger bullets. (Funny how he possesses such toys after being in Arkham for so long.)

“Oh, you’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he says, seeing that you’re not going down. “Normally, his little birdies go down from just a little love tap. Are you sure you belong to Batman?”

Now that pisses you off. Bruce may have had a hand in bringing you into the world, but you’re not his. You’re so pissed, in fact, that you raise your right arm and call upon a long tendril that pierces the center of the clown’s chest and pull him towards you.

“Mistah J,” Harley shouts in fear as you bring Joker to your face. She’s obviously paralyzed by fear because she stands there, doing nothing but watching the scene unfold before her.

His pasty white chin is covered in blood as it pours from his mouth and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“Now ain’t that a surprise,” he says with a chuckle, causing him to cough up blood.

“Get this through your sick and twisted head, clown,” you hiss. “I’m not Batman’s anything. There’s no words in any language that can express how much I hate him.”

You twist the tendril and take pleasure in watching him wince in pain.

(He fears you more than the Bat right now. Good. You are far superior than that worm and his collection of misfits. You always were.)

You feel yourself grin at that. You are better than them, aren’t you?

“And as much as I hate to admit it, Jason was right on how to deal with you. When you have a tumor, you don’t dress up in some stupid costume and beat it until it stops being a tumor.” You lift him far above, his head almost touching the ceiling. He flails around, but your tendril holds him in place. “You take a knife and cut it out.”

And with that, your tendril sprouts dozens of smaller ones that burst through his body, rendering it full of holes that it looks like a blood soaked piece of Swiss cheese. Said tendrils twist around until what was once the Joker is reduced to chunks of meat.

“Mister J,” Harley shouts, her voice full of agony, as his remains fall to the floor, landing with a wet splat. She looks at the pile of flesh, tears streaming from her eyes before turning to you, her gaze full of hate. “You bastard!”

She charges at you, her mallet raised and ready to strike, but you wrap her in your tendril, stopping her advance and making her drop her weapon. She struggles and as she does, she lets out loud sobs; ones were intimately familiar with. You let out similar ones when you lost your Momma and over the years you’ve spent in Wayne Manor.

“You killed my Puddin’,” she weeps. “When Bats hears about this, he’ll hunt you down like a damn animal! And when you’re thrown in Arkham, I’ll be waiting for ya!”

(She has a point. Batman and his flock are already looking for you and when they learn you have killed the clown, they will make finding you their top priority; they will marshal every resource at their disposal to finding your identity. Even if she cannot provide them with your identity, she presents a risk to our secrecy.)

You ponder on this as you watch Harley struggle against her bindings, her sobs now filling the arcade. You know the Megamycete is right; she’s a loose end you can’t afford, especially when you’re so close to going home. Plus, you know with Joker gone, Harley has no one to control her and with how racked with grief over the loss of her “love,” she’s a huge risk to everyone on Gotham.

You decide the risks are too great and command a smaller tendril to emerge from the one holding Harley, have it wrap itself around her neck, and quickly snap it, the noise it makes ringing in your ears like a gunshot. You release her from your grip and she tumbles to the floor, lifeless.

(It had to be done,) it assures you. (She represented a threat not just to you, but to the rest of the city. There is no telling how many people would have been hurt the next time she broke free from the asylum’s confines. Plus, the influence of the clown would have stayed with her, even after his death. She would most likely never have returned to what she once was. The rest of her life would have been spent mourning over the clown, inflicting pain onto the innocent, and escaping from and being returned to the asylum. You showed her mercy.)

You hear the words and in some way, they make sense, but right now, you don’t feel like you showed mercy. You’ve heard of the Tragedy of Doctor Harleen Quinzel, everyone in Gotham has at one point or another; the story of a poor psychiatrist new to Arkham who had been prayed upon by a manipulative mass murderer, turning her into his demented partner in crime and cutting a bloody swath across Gotham every time they escaped, leaving behind many orphans, widows, and corpses in their wake. She had spent years listening to other people’s problems and for once, wanted someone to listen to her, to make her feel like she was important.

In many ways, you can relate. Maybe in another life, you two could’ve been friends, wallowing together in your shared misery.

Just then, you learn from the roots that the Bats have been informed of the Joker’s appearance and are now on their way here to capture hm, unaware that you’d already beaten them to the punch.

“Let’s go,” you say, moving quickly. “We’re done here.”

In no time flat, you’re back to your car and out of the area before the Bats showed up.

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like we may have to take a rain check on that night out.)

(We understand. And you should not feel guilty because of your actions. It is thanks to you that not only many will be able to sleep peacefully in their beds, but many beyond this mortal realm will finally know peace. While many threats to Gotham remain, its largest one has finally been put down.)

“Yeah, I guess.”

(It is also worth noting that we have only been joined for a short time, you have accomplished much more than Batman has the last two decades.)

That actually makes you feel a little better. Yeah, Bruce has been doing this for years and Gotham’s still a hellhole. In the span of a singe night, you make it visibly more safer. And to top it all off, he’ll be racking his brain trying to find out who the hell killed him and he’ll have no idea it was you, his forgotten firstborn son.

“That does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”

“Ok, when you find out who did this, can you please tell me so I can end them a thank you card before you lock em up,” Jason says as they watch what remains of the Joker being collected into a large evidence bag by GCPD while Harley’s body is placed on a gurney and covered by a sheet before being wheeled out.

“You know, I hate to say it,” Jim says as he dismisses a detective. “But I think this is going to make the city way safer. Hell, the mayor may want to offer whoever did this a key to the city.”

“It doesn’t matter if all crime in Gotham stops because of this,” Bruce responds. “It was done the wrong way and when I find out who did this, I’ll deliver them to Arkham myself. I’ll take Joker’s remains back to the Batcave, see if I can find any clues on the identity of his killer. I’ll give them back to you along with my findings.”

“Thanks,” the police commissioner responds as he takes the bag from a forensic investigator and hands it to him.

“Come on, B,” Jason whines as they leave the arcade. “Joker was a piece of shit and it was only gonna end with his death. Whoever this person is, do they really deserve to rot in Arkham over someone like him?”

“Whoever this person is, they took the law into their hands.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason mutters, but Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the remark.

“And this person clearly has powers. If they go off the deep end, there’s no telling what will happen. We need to find them before something happens and someone gets hurt.”

Finding this person just became their top priority.

This is it, the night you’ve been waiting for: graduation. It’s funny, when you first woke up this morning, you could feel every second of the day tick as you waited for the graduation ceremony. The only thing that made the time go by fast was you thinking about the conversation you overheard in the kitchen this morning.

Bruce and Tim talking about spending the day at their computers, analyzing every camera feed in Amusement Mile to look for whoever killed Joker. You had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing. Here you are, the person they’re chomping at the bit to catch, and they have no idea you’re in the other room. You should be happy that they finally want something to do with you, but you know it’s only because you sent Joker to hell, something Bruce should’ve done years ago.

And when you heard that Tim was skipping the graduation ceremony to aid in patrolling? You immediately did a cartwheel down the hall. Not only will you finally be free from Gotham, but you won’t have to share the spotlight with Tim and risk catching their attention, though they probably would’ve had no idea who you were. Alfred tried to get Tim to reconsider getting Bruce to attend, but when those two are obsessing over something, it’s impossible to tear them away from it. The butler tried to tell Bruce that he had another son graduating, but the man left before the sentence could be complete, stating he had work to do.

At this point, it doesn’t even phase you. You know they’ve practically forgotten your existence and you couldn’t care less. You have everything you need to go back home and start your new life, you don’t need them for anything.

“Master Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to call master Bruce and have him attend your graduation,” the butler fusses over your cap and gown for the umpteenth time. “As you father, he should be here to see one of the most important moments in your life.”

“It’s fine, Alfred, I don’t need him here. Frankly, with the way he’s acted over the years, I’m glad he’s not here. Same with Tim.”

The butler looks at you and you grimace at your remark. Ever since becoming the Megamycete’s host, you’ve noticed changes in your behavior. Where once you use to keep comments like that to yourself, you know say them in front of Alfred, unafraid for his reaction. Or how you use to always speak in a barely audible whisper for fear of being overheard by the Waynes, now you talk to Alfred at a volume that could easily attract unwanted attention. And you’re certain he’s noticed your change, too. God knows that man is aware of everything that goes on in his house.

(It is because you no longer have that fear. Before, you were a timid little thing, afraid of being seen by a predator lying in wait. Now? You are the hunter. They can’t hurt you anymore.)

Alfred opens his mouth to day something, but one of the teachers calls for all seniors to make their way to the field, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. He heads to the stands while you follow your fellow seniors to the field where you’re herded in alphabetical order. Once the teacher was satisfied with the order, she typed on her phone and the graduation music started playing from the speakers at the top of the stands.

As you follow in line, you look up to see Alfred in the front row, holding his phone up, no doubt intending to take several pictures and record just as many videos. You smile at the man, thankful to have him here on this important night. It’s then you think about your Momma and how she’d be cheering for you so hard, everyone could hear her. You feel something slide down your face and realize you’re crying. This is an important day in your life and you’re missing an important person in your life.

(She would be so proud of you. If your memories are anything indication of her character, she would give anything to be here right now. While the butler can never replace her, he is an acceptable stand-in.)

“Yeah,” you whisper as you take your seat near the front of the stage set up in the middle of the field. “He is. And I’m gonna miss him like hell.”

While you’re overjoyed to leave Gotham in your rear view and never step foot in it ever again, you’ll really miss Alfred. The man has been your rock since day one, celebrating your birthday which also happens to be the day of your Momma’s death. He held you while you cried and was your only company in the lonely halls of Wayne Manor.

Maybe you can hire him as your butler? Your smaller house would no doubt be much easier to clean than that behemoth of a mansion. Plus, Alfred is way more than people like the Waynes deserve.

After an eternity, the valedictorian finishes his speech and takes his place at up front, which is when the headmaster walks up to the podium and begins to call the students to come up and receive their diplomas. With each name called, you feel chest begin to tighten. This is the first time in years that so many eyes will be on you. What if you fall flat on your face while walking? Or try to shake the headmaster’s hand with your left instead of your right? Or—

(Relax,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out of your thoughts. (All will be fine. When your name is called, you will rise, walk with a level of pride none of your peers could ever hope to match, accept your diploma with such grace the headmaster will b in total awe, and walk back to your seat with the same pride as before. You are better than any of these children and you will make them know it.)

Hearing those words instantly makes you relax, your the knot that had been building up in your chest untangling, allowing you to breathe again.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a much needed deep breath. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

(We speak only the truth. We have seen the lives and memories of countless people over the past four centuries and not a single one holds a candle to you. You possess much potential and now that we are joined, we know you will unleash that potential and the entire world will be in awe of it.)

Wow. You actually have no idea how to respond to that.

(Pay attention, now. You will be called soon.)

It’s then you realize the headmaster is now on the Fs, almost to the Gs.

There’s three people ahead of you.

Then two.

Then one.

Then…

“Y/N Gould.”

This is it, your biggest moment in Gotham Academy. You stand up and walk with the grace the Megamycete said you would, accept your diploma from the headmaster with your left hand and shake with your right, and walk back to your seat. As you do, you see Alfred, a smile stretched across his face and cheering your name as he continues to hold his phone, probably recording a video just before your name was called.

(Excellent, Y/N,) the Megamycete praises as you sit back down. (We offer our most sincere congratulations on your triumph.)

You stare down at the piece of paper down in your hands and you while the evidence is right there in black and white, it still doesn’t feel real. You’re actually in awe of the fancy kind of paper Gotham Academy uses to print its diplomas, with its Coleen gilded edges, bold ink, beautiful calligraphy, and soft feel.

Hell, Alfred may fight you to keep it so he can frame it and mount it somewhere in Wayne Manor.

After that, the rest of the ceremony seems to speed up, the last of the names being called, the headmaster deeming all of you graduates of Gotham Academy, and the graduating class being told to gather behind the chairs for the moment every senior looks forward to: the Cap Throw. You follow your fellow graduates with bated breath, eager to throw your cap and complete your graduation experience.

“On three,” the valedictorian yells from the center of the crowd. “One! Two! Three!”

You eagerly toss your cap with everyone else, your cheers and laughs joining everyone else’s. You watch with joy as the caps soar above you all and begin to float back down to the field, your eyes tracking your cap, which you had decorated with paintings (the Megamycete allowing you to make them flawlessly) of the team you beat Cynthia from Pokémon Platinum with: Infernape, Luxray, Staraptor, Floatzel, Lucario, and Garchomp (you had no idea so many used the same team before you discovered the internet).

You collect you cap while so many try to find theirs and had towards the exit to meet Alfred.

“Congratulations, my boy,” he greets you, his wide smile still adorning his face, before bringing you into a tight hug.

“Than you, Alfred,” you respond, returning the hug.

When you separate, he flags down a passing man. “Pardon me, sir, would you be so kind as to take a picture of the two of us?”

“Sure,” the man says, taking his phone and aiming at you and taking the picture.

“Thank you, good sir,” the butler says as he takes his phone back.

He types on his phone and not even a second later, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket beneath your gown, indicating he sent you the picture.

“I’m so proud of you, Master Y/N. You’ve certainly earned this.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And not just for this, but for everything.”

You two leave the field and he follows you to the gym so you can return your gown and once you do, you two make your way to your car, which is when you realize this is the part of the evening where you two say your goodbyes and you leave for Goodsprings while he returns to Wayne Manor. And the sweet moment you’ve been waiting years for now turns bittersweet. You’ve looked forward to this moment ever since you started high school and while you’re ecstatic to finally leave this godforsaken city, you hate that you have to leave Alfred behind.

“Master Y/N,” he says, breaking the tense silence. “I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but do you have to leave right now? Maybe your return to Nevada can wait until morning? You really shouldn’t be driving so late.”

“We can put it off for as long as we want, still won’t change the outcome.”

“I know,” the poor man sighs. “But still, it’s over forty hours from here to Goodsprings.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred. Really. I’ll be super careful. I’ll stop at a motel a few hours from here, take regular breaks, stop at restaurants to eat, and I’ll be there before you know it and in one piece.”

“I just wish I could convince you to stay. I’ll miss you, terribly. The manor won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Alfred.”

You two pull each other into another hug.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you run into any trouble, be it on the road or in Nevada.”

“I will.”

“And that you’ll try to visit whenever you can. I’ll arrange for Master Bruce’s jet to come and get you, you just say the word.”

“I’ll try.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and both of you know it. But, neither of you bring it up.

“And promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I didn’t raise you for over ten years just for you to end up in the hospital just because you didn’t feed yourself.”

“I will,” you laugh. You know he’s joking, he taught you everything he knows about cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping. That, combined with the Megamycete’s records, you have everything you need to keep your house together.

“I just wish your father and siblings were here.” You just did manage to fight off the flinch at the mention of those assholes. “This is an important moment of your life and they should be here to celebrate it with you.”

“I know you do, Alfred,” you respond, thankful that you’re still hugging so he can’t see the face you’re making at the thought of them being here, insulting you and making you feel like graduating somehow made you feel like a failure.

Finally, you two pull apart and with one last goodbye and promise to be careful, you get into your car, the backseat covered by boxes that couldn’t be placed in the trunk. When you woke up this morning, you packed your computer, video games, books, and other things that you refused to leave behind at Wayne Manor, your Momma’s pen sitting in your pocket as you refused to part with it. Sure, there were some things were left behind and while Alfred told you repeatedly he could arrange for them to be delivered to your house, you told him that anything you left behind wasn’t important and could be thrown away.

You didn’t leave much behind, some stuff like a few books you hadn’t read in years, a bunch of notebook paper with stupid ideas for video games that you had years and threw away when you realized no one in their right mind would play them, and an old journal you kept when you first move to Gotham. You archived every major event leading up to Damian’s arrival in those pages, which is when you finally filled it up. You briefly thought about keeping it, but decided against it. You had your stay at Wayne Manor burned into your memory and weren’t eager to have been more reminders around you. Plus, you’re about to start your new life, so there’s no need to carry it around. Maybe you can start keeping a new journal?

You start up your car, put it into reverse, and when you backed up enough, put it into drive and wave at Alfred as you leave the parking lot and follow your GPS to Goodsprings. That’s when your phone finally connects to your radio and starts playing music, Hollow from FFVII Remake, playing at just the right volume.

“Wow,” you chuckle as the music begins. “Talk about great timing.”

(We agree. This song is about heading into the unknown with hope; perfect for the start of your new life. It is as if fate itself is smiling down upon you.)

“Seems like it. You with me, buddy?”

(Every step of the way. Until the very end.)

And with that, you pick up speed as you get onto the interstate.

Alfred watches you drive off and only when you’re out of sight does he finally shed a tear. To see Master Y/N leave is one of the most difficult moments of his life.

He understands, of course. Not only did you leave much behind after the tragic and unexpected loss of your mother, but Master Wayne and the children had given you zero reasons to stay. In fact, they’d given you a million reasons to leave.

But he can’t let you go. Not his favorite member of the family.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but out of everyone in the Wayne Family, he cared for you the most. You were raised by a wonderful, loving woman who knew how to properly raise a child and didn’t skulk about at night, battling with criminals night after night. You had a normal life and knew what life was like outside of being a vigilante, bringing a much needed balance to the manor.

You were a delight to raise, always saying please and thank you, offering to help around the manor, and carrying on pleasant conversations that were the highlight of his day. And if the family would take the time to get to know you, they’d come to the same conclusion he did many years ago.

However, as brilliant as everyone in the family is, they can also be equally foolish. Too wrapped up in their civilian and vigilante lives to see the gift they had been given, but spurred for years. And now, you’re gone.

But not for long. You belong here, with your family, and by God he’ll make sure you know it, your father knows it, and your siblings know it. One way or another, he’ll bring your father to his senses, and when that day comes, he’ll make him go to you and beg for your forgiveness, even if he has to get on his hands and knees. And after that, your father will bring you back home, where you’ll be lavished in the love they should’ve shown you from the beginning.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home, where you belong. He doesn’t care what he has to do or how long it takes, he’ll make sure you come back to the place where you belong. And when you, you’ll be showered with so much love that you’ll never want to leave ever again.

A/N: I got lucky this week. I was going to have 4 tests this week (2 regular tests and 2 midterms), but a professor I have for two classes got sick and cancelled, pushing the tests for next Monday and Tuesday. With only one midterm left and a study guide basically matching the test, I had plenty of free time to make this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it!

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @meechibee @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @marsmabe @ellaprime7

[studioeisa]

unadulterated loathing! 🪄 mingyu x reader.

madame moribble's sorcery seminar has space for only two students this semester. you're forced to make a case for yourself with the one person you despise the most: kim mingyu.

★ shiz university students!mingyu x reader. ★ smau with some fic work. word count for the fic: 2.8k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: modern shiz university, inspired by wicked, academic rivals, forced proximity, use of pet names, feelings realization/denial. cussing/name-calling in the spirit of bickering. this only draws from the setting of the wicked, so the given plot (i.e. wicked witch) doesn't exist here; prior knowledge of wicked is not necessary to understand the story. title is from what is this feeling. ★ footnotes: wrote this in one deranged sitting, but this is an early christmas gift for my favorite gyuldaengie, @maplegyu! 🎁 not quite the fiyero!mingyu agenda we have, but still in the same verse. ilysb. ♡

Mingyu has spent the better half of his years in Shiz going toe to toe with you.

It's to be expected, really. The two of you are the brightest of your age, tearing through your academics with ruthless precision. He always raises his hand in class. You can recite book passages word for word.

Both of you are hard to ignore, and neither of you are about to back down.

This application for the coveted Sorcery Seminar is yet another curveball that you two must navigate. You would think that after the disastrous Life Science group work in freshman year— or the Runes incident in sophomore year— that the higher-ups would know better than to force you and Mingyu into any sort of proximity.

But Madame Morrible seems intent on getting the last laugh, and Mingyu will go down swinging, if he must.

That doesn't mean he can't have a little fun, though. He shows up at the Quad at exactly five in the afternoon, making his leisurely way towards you. Everything about him is seemingly perfect. His pressed, navy blazer. His coifed dark hair.

Even the way he carries himself— practically swaggering to where you're waiting, less-than-amused— has people making way for him.

"Why the long face?" Mingyu asks sweetly in lieu of a greeting.

Your answer is curt, bordering cold. "Nothing."

Youch. "Ice queen," Mingyu mumbles under his breath as he settles onto the bench next to you.

You shoot him a glare. He flashes you a winning smile.

This was the nature of your 'relationship', or admitted lack thereof. It was a push-and-pull of Mingyu getting on your nerves every so often, of him testing how far he can draw it out before you crack.

You had your moments, though, where you could also drive him up the metaphorical wall. Like this afternoon, for instance.

You talk over him more than once. You shoot down every single idea he proposes. And you keep shifting restlessly— prompting your knee to bump into his, your elbow to hit his ribs.

When you accidentally step on the tips of his shoes in your animated, passionate denial of his nth concept, Mingyu has had just about enough.

His hand darts out until his fingers are wrapped around your wrist. Not to bruise or control, just to draw your attention to all your exaggerated movements.

"Could you stop that?" he hisses, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "I swear to the Wizard, I'm going to come out of this meeting battered and bruised."

You coo at him in retaliation, your voice sickly sweet. "Aw, what is it? Gyu-Gyu of Gillkins can't handle a little roughhousing?"

Oh, it's like that? Mingyu lets out a derisive huff before dropping your hand. You give him the small concession of scooting a bit further down the bench, putting some much-needed distance between the two of you.

Mingyu's not about to let your little jab slide, though. "You talk big game for someone who goes running in the other direction whenever there's a spider around," he says wryly.

Your response is defensive, sending the two of you shuttling down your typical back-and-forth. "That was one time! Might I remind you that you once thought river fairies were mayflies?"

"Bringing up stuff from freshman year, huh? I vaguely recall you mixing up Bunbury and Bunnybury for years—"

"You still can't cast a half-decent Alarte Ascendare charm—"

"And your voice cracks whenever you try to hit the high note in Dear Old Shiz—"

"Okay, enough!"

Mingyu presses his lips tight in a poor attempt to hide his smirk. Your expression is positively murderous, contorted in one of sheer annoyance.

No, annoyance is too light of a word, too generous of a feeling. Your flushed face and Mingyu's jackhammer pulse are not mere products of some petty vexation, some harmless flirtation.

It's unadulterated loathing. True, deep loathing; total detestation.

You loathe Mingyu, and Mingyu loathes you.

As you pull the plug on your short-lived brainstorming session, marching off towards your dormitory with a dramatic flourish, Mingyu can't help but revel in the feeling. He feels like he just ran a damn marathon, all from spending twenty minutes of bickering with you.

Odd as it may seem, Mingyu has never felt so alive.

Even though you don't say it, Mingyu knows you think his idea is good.

He can see it in your acquiescence, in the way you let him run his mouth just a little more. He wants to preen over getting this little upper-hand, no matter how insignificant it may be. The two of you are working on something he suggested.

You can call him all the nasty names in the book, but your begrudging acceptance is like a trophy to him.

It's why he's so cheery as the two of you reconvene to flesh out the project. You're benevolent enough to let Mingyu wax poetics about cursed objects being integral to Oz's landscape, though you keep him from rambling when he tries to position himself as the more brilliant one between the two of you.

"Don't get cocky," you warn as you lay out the material you'll be working on for the day.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Mingyu shoots back, though he does give in and shut up for once. He's not about to push his luck. It's only half-time, after all, and he has a whole lot more of winning to do.

The two of you had agreed on flowers. For a moment, neither of you do anything about the assortment of blooms laid out on the desk in front of you. It takes Mingyu a beat too long to realize that you're looking up at him.

"What?" His free hand— the one not holding his practice wand— reaches up to his cheek. "Is there something on my face?"

The unamused glare you give him almost makes him chuckle.

"It was your idea," you point out. "So you start us off."

Ah. Mingyu knows you'll tear him a new one if he tells you the truth, which is that he didn't really think he'd get this far.

He was fully prepared for the two of you to disagree until the deadline, or to perhaps start groveling at Madame Morrible's feet for a new partner.

With this half-baked idea, though, the two of you are more likely to have to see this affair to completion.

"Right." Mingyu squares his shoulders, eyeing the flowers atop the table. "I suppose we could, er, start with some basic curses."

There's a Cheshire cat-like grin on your face that Mingyu doesn't like one bit. He steels himself for the blow, which inevitably lands in you saying, "You have no idea what we're supposed to do."

He scrunches up his nose in an expression of mock displeasure. "We're going to show off practical knowledge of enchantments," he rattles off. "Provide insight into the ethical implications of magical creations. Equip sorcerers with problem-solving skills necessitated by—"

You cut into Mingyu's tirade with a dismissive wave of your own wand.

"Blah, blah, blah," you drawl. "Ethics, insight, got it. But application? What about that, Kim?"

Mingyu has to bite back a curse from slipping past his lips. You're so infuriating. He wants to wipe that smug look off of your face, though he isn't exactly sure how he might go about that just yet.

"Maybe you want to contribute something," he grumbles, his lower lip jutting out in an almost-pout. "I already came up with the idea of the project, sweets."

Anyone else who might've been on the receiving end of Mingyu's pet names might have swooned. You always bristled, acting like he had uttered something vile.

Today, you remain perfectly unperturbed, content to have Mingyu squirm as you roll up the sleeves of your school blouse.

"Watch and weep," you say, your wand poised over the flowers.

There's nothing Mingyu hates more, really, than the reminder of just how good you are. The two of you were academic monsters to begin with, though you had your respective strengths and weaknesses. Mingyu excelled in theories; you dominated practice.

In some alternate universe, the two of you might have been an unstoppable duo. As it is, though, Mingyu can only hope that your fragile truce will hold long enough to secure you both that class slot.

He tries his darndest to keep his awe at bay as you mumble incantations. The curses you leave on the flowers seem to be mostly minor.

The daisy's leaves begin to flutter like propellers. The carnation starts to rapidly change colors. The rose goes through a constant process of wilting and rebirth, the dried petals pooling on the table with each cycle.

When Mingyu steals a glance at you, he notices the sweat beading your temples. Magic took a lot out of a person, and to cast three spells in a row was no joke.

"First, we should do a magical construction analysis." Your voice is a little tighter, a little more strained. Probably from the exhaustion. "And then a de-cursing process. Strategies and techniques for reversing or neutralizing the curse."

You go on to talk about how your demonstration for Madame Morrible should go— something about a live reversal or containment of a curse, and a detailed explanation of their findings— but Mingyu is only half-listening.

His eyes keep flitting to your quivering fingertips. His own hands twitch in his lap.

It's a sudden feeling. It's a new feeling.

Mingyu never thought he'd care for you, and yet here he is with his aborted attempt to reach out, to soothe, to comfort.

In between piles of schoolwork and preparations for the demonstration, Mingyu hardly has any time to notice the shifts in your relationship. You don't seem any the wiser, either, which is saying something. You tended to have a better emotional quotient than his overdramatic self, anyhow.

But there are shifts. Small changes in the day to day that are imperceptible to the less-discerning eye.

The two of you remain cutthroat in the classroom, drawing your peers' ire with your relentless rivalry. Behind closed doors, though, there's something more akin to… civility?

Mingyu wouldn't dare call it friendship. He's not that naive. He just knows there's an ounce of kindness, now. Some self-imposed restraint, some begrudging respect.

As the two of you move on to executing more complicated curses, the changing dynamic bears down in the most glaring ways.

"Enough."

The word comes out as a wheeze, but Mingyu injects it with just enough authority to have you pause. You don't look any better than he does. You're folded in half, your hands resting on your knees as you try to catch your breath.

The spell that neither of you could conjure just yet involved a hand mirror and an ancient curse. So far, all the two of you have managed is to make the mirror sing.

"Let's— take a break," Mingyu offers.

Your response is to be expected. "I don't need a break. I need to get this stupid curse right."

A muscle in Mingyu's jaw jumps. He stares down at you with a look of sheer incredulity, and you only return his glare with a defiant one of your own. Someplace else— with someone else— the electricity crackling between the two of you might have been sexual tension.

Alas, Mingyu knows it's nothing more than your shared animosity.

… Right?

He breaks the silence with a mumble of, "I need a break. Give me five minutes."

Honestly, Mingyu could keep going. He thinks he has it in him to try and cast the spell a couple more times, but he's willing to look weak if it means getting you to pause.

You don't even have a snappy retort or a smartass insult to his declaration. All you give is a jerky nod of your head before you lumber off towards the nearest chair in the otherwise-empty classroom. A peculiar expression flashes across Mingyu's face as he watches you walk, almost like every step that you take is an effort. You miss the look in favor of practically collapsing on to one of the desks.

"Wizard Almighty," Mingyu cusses lowly. He reaches your side in a couple of strides, though he pauses with his hand hovering over your shoulder.

At the last moment, he clenches his hand into a fist and draws back.

"Is this seminar class really worth dying for?" he muses, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"I'm not— dying," you choke out. "I just need— a—"

There's an edge of exasperation in Mingyu's tone. "You need a break. It's just me. You can admit that."

Before you can shoot back, Mingyu wanders off to his backpack. He digs through it for a moment before he can procure his water bottle, which he wordlessly places onto the desk you're on.

You give a quiet sound of appreciation before uncorking the bottle and taking a long swig. The rehydration seems to invigorate you in the slightest, enough for you to straighten to your full height. Mingyu holds back on teasing you over the way you've emptied his drink.

The first words you say after you've caught your breath are "It's because it's you."

Mingyu's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He tilts his head to one side, looking every bit like the confused puppy he's often likened to. "Pardon?"

"You said— I can admit that I need a break, because it's just you." You place Mingyu's water bottle down, your hands bracing the edge of the desk as you speak. You're looking up at Mingyu, but you're not quite looking at him. It's like your gaze is fixed on something just beyond his line of sight, and it hits him that you're avoiding his gaze.

You clarify, "I didn't want to admit that I needed a break to you."

His immediate reaction is to protest. To laugh and call you stupid, to question your faulty logic. But when Mingyu's lips part, the insult at the very tip of his tongue—

He finds that his words are just out of reach.

Because, for better or for worse, he understands where you're coming from. The two of you have exploited each other's weaknesses, have poked and prodded holes into each other's defenses. Why should this be any different?

There's an inexplicable twinge in Mingyu's chest. A tangible, physical tightening, over the spot where his heart is.

He had wanted it to be different. He doesn't know why, but he thought that this might make things different.

Instead, he manages to push out a heatless, "Right. That adds up."

Neither of you say anything for a while. The five-minute break stretches into seven, then ten. Right before the fifteen-minute mark, you say, "I think we should call it a day."

Mingyu— who has spent the past quarter of an hour trying to untangle his thoughts— jumps at the suggestion.

"Definitely," he says a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah. Let's… tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. Same time?"

"Got it."

You gather your things and begin to make your way out of the classroom. Mingyu moves a little slower, not wanting to have to prolong any conversation if the two of you were to leave together.

He thinks he'll never have an answer to the question clanging in his mind until you pause halfway out of the door.

"Kim Mingyu."

He freezes in the middle of adjusting his bag strap over his shoulder. "Hm?" he hums, trying his best to act noncommittal even though his entire posture is already defensive in nature.

The sight of it seems to amuse you, because the ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. It's not a smile that you've ever given him. He's seen it in the corner of his eye, witnessed you dole it out to underclassmen and friends. And maybe he's always been a bit envious, a bit desperate to be on the receiving end of it.

Now that he is, he feels like he just got punched in the gut.

"Thank you," you say.

Plain, simple, unadorned. No explanation. It could be grace for the water. Grace for the break. Grace for the partnership. Mingyu doesn't know, doesn't care. He'll take what you have to give.

His mind tries to conjure the perfect response, one that might have you feeling the same way that he is. No problem or you're welcome or it's just me, sunshine.

What he eventually settles on is an exhale of "Always."

He wants to kick himself for it. Who the hell says 'always' to 'thank you'? a chiding voice screams in the back of his head. What does that even mean?!

He winces outwardly. Your smile widens slightly, just enough to throw him off balance once again.

And then you're gone, your footsteps echoing down Shiz' hall, leaving Mingyu with the answer.

Mingyu loathed you in theory, but in practice? Well.

He's so caught up in trying to unpack his realization that he nearly misses the quiet ping of his phone in his pocket.

[unloved-cadillac]

Flashback. (Aizawa x Reader)

C/n: erm hi. Ehe.

——————————————————————————

Teaching was something you never considered a job. It was a honor to teach future generations and then see them use that knowledge to do good in the world. And that was exactly what you were doing now.

“So, you see? Physics is important when using your quirk. You can’t just go out there and do what you want. You need critical thinking and judgement before using it.” You say and lean on your teachers table. “Any q’s?”

The class shakes their heads and you smile. “Alright. Go to your last activity in your textbooks and read over the next section and attempt the questions.” The bell rings and the class begins to pack up. “That’s your homework.” Your class leaves and you sit in your chair when a student comes up to you. “Ma’am, are you okay?” She asks and you tilt your head. “I am, why?”

“Oh, it’s just because of your bruise.” She points to her neck showing you where it was and you quickly cover it with your hand. “Oh! Haha, yeah. Hair straightener.” You say, trying it let the nerves take over your voice and the girl smiles. “I know all about that. Aloe Vera helps with it. See you tomorrow.” She bids you goodbye as you walk her to the door. You close it before leaning against it. “Fuck.” You whisper and close your eyes.

~~~~

Your moans were like honey to his ears as fingers danced in you. He has you against his bedroom wall, his skin bare as yours as he toys with you. Your hands around his shoulders, gripping on them as you feel yourself reaching your point. His lips move to your neck, sucking and biting before pulling away and admiring his work.

~~~~

You groan as you open your eyes and make your way back to your desk. Thank god you had no class right now. You don’t how you’d ever concentrate. “Relax, Y/n. Relax.” You breathe in and out to calm your libido before diving your head into your next class prep. As your mind began to focus on your work, a knock is sounded on your door. “Come in.”

The man your mind was occupied with enters and greets you.

“I have some things I need you to double check.” He says and you take the papers from his hands. Yours come into contact with his and you look at the papers. “Oh, the kids’ tests. All looks good.” You say and look at him. He was staring intently, watching you work. “There’s more coming later today. Gonna need an extra hand with it.”

You bite your lip and nod. “Okay, my place or yours?” The question was asked so many times, normally and with his lips right by your ear. “Mine.” Is all he says before he leaves. Sighing, you lean back into your chair and cover your face with your hands.

~~~~

His hands move up from your waist to your bare neck, gently squeezing it. His large fingers wrapped around it making you softly gasp. “Sho.” You whispered as he thrusted deep into you, his face next to yours as his lips trailed by your ear. “Say it again. Say my name again.”

~~~~

“Sho.” You called and he looks at you with a hum before eyeing you page. “What is it?”

“This question. Doesn’t make sense. The kids won’t get it.” You mumble as you circled it with a red pen and looked at him. He reads it over and shit, it really didn’t make sense. “Oh. Good eye.” Is all he says before going on his computer and retyping the question. He could feel your eyes on him and your close proximity was driving him insane but he behaved and you both returned to doing your work in silence.

~~~~

Your hands were in his hair as you pulled it his head closer in between your legs. He loved your hands in his hair and he groaned as he complied to your silent request for more.

~~~~

Aizawa tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear as he looked over his class as they began to write. Arms crossed and leaning again his desk, he looked around at the kids then outside where he saw you walking out of your class, phone in hand before looking up and catching his eye. You smiled and gave him a wave and he swallowed. He wanted to wave back but his kids..the test..they’d see. He looked at the students before quietly walking to the door and stepping out for a second, beckoning you over.

You walked to him and stood behind the wall besides the door where the kids couldn’t see and looked up at him. “What’s up?”

“Come over tonight.”

You widened your eyes and looked around to see if anyone heard and thank god, no one was in the hallway. It wasn’t like him to just say things like this, especially at school. You looked back at him and nodded. “Alright. 8 okay?”

“6.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at him and nodded. “6 it is. See you then.” You whispered before turning and walking backwards to go to the staff room. Aizawa watched you turned around, his eyes trailing down to your ass and walk off and he groaned softly before heading back to invigilate.

~~~~

His hands kneaded the plush cheeks of your ass as he pounded into you and watched the way your back arched and muscles contracted under your skin. His torso was covered in a thin layer of sweat as he thrusted into your sweet cunt. “Fuck.” He groaned before slapping your ass hard and leaning down to press his chest to your back. His hand moved your hair before kissing and nipping your neck as he whispered. “Feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking good.” You could only moan in response as he moved deeper into you.

~~~~

Your legs were resting on his as you both sat on his couch, him reading and you watching TV. His hands involuntarily moved to your shin as he squeezed it, making you smile as your eyes remained on the movie that was playing. You slowly shifted your thighs together before looking at him, who was still engrossed in your book.

“Hey.” You nudged his book making it move and he looked at you. “Yeah?” You smiled before laying your head on the sofa and looked at his face. “Nothing.” He rolled his eyes before turning his attention back at his book, his fingers trailing on your shin, gently and softly. He couldn’t help the smirk that formed when he felt the goose flesh form on your skin when he trailed them higher. He felt your thighs slowly open and in an instant, his book was on the table and he was in between them, his lips kissing and biting your inner thighs while looking at you, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your chest heaved under your tank top.

“Damn tease.”

——————————————————————————

“Hey kids. How you been?”

🖤🖤Thanks for reading🖤🖤

-Caddy.

[tgmsunmontue]

I never knew I was missing you 8/9

Jake is just trying to find a connection. Shame the guy he connects with the most is lying about his identity online; because he sure as hell isn't A-list Hollywood star Bradley Bradshaw.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

PART EIGHT

              Jake doesn’t really want to leave, but he doesn’t yet feel comfortable just loitering around in Bradley’s space, no matter how much he’d seems even less happy about Jake leaving. He’s on leave, there’s nothing forcing him to be anywhere but still… He has to maintain his fitness, but Bradley has a fucking home gym and pool, much nicer than anything on base. Plus Bradley is there, which is a pretty big incentive, but also a distraction. Although he supposes they could motivate each other… that could be fun.

              Those thoughts keep him occupied the entire drive back, and he should talk to Bradley about them, because he’s certain he would be on board. Wonders when it would be too soon to go back. When he gets out of his car he guesses he shouldn’t be surprised to see Maverick sitting on the steps waiting for him.

              “Sir…”

              “Flying colors lieutenant, you passed with flying colors…”

              “I wasn’t aware it was a test sir. Was about to raise my concerns about your declining cognitive function with Cyclone…”

              Maverick barks a laugh at that and Jake shakes his head, because he supposes it makes sense now, all of Maverick’s questions and his entire attitude. Yeah. He’s already protective of Bradley’s privacy and he’s only known him a short while, regardless of whether he believed him or not.

              “I did want to introduce you to him actually. You just beat me to it…”

              “Well, you are slowing down in your dotage.”

              “Jesus. You and Bradley are perfect for one another… his favorite hobby is giving me shit too.”

              “Thought it was restoring pinball machines.”

              “He does that when he’s stressed or overwhelmed. If he’s happy and relaxed his favorite hobby is giving shit to the people he loves. We dish it right back of course…”

              “Yeah. He’s, uh… “

              “Mmm. He is. Right. I was just popping in to invite you to dinner, family dinner, tomorrow night.”

              “Uh. Where?”

              “Bradley’s. Bring an overnight bag,” Maverick instructs with a shit eating grin and Jake just shakes his head, because he’s on leave, he doesn’t have to do what Maverick tells him. Except for the fact that he wants to. Fuck.

              “Yes sir.”

              “And let it be a surprise for Bradley. I’ll just tell him I’m bringing a guest.”

              “You… you’re a bit of a shit stirrer,” Jake says with dawning realization.

              “You’ve only just figured that out?” Maverick asks with a grin and Jake shakes his head, thinks he’s going to enjoy getting to know the people Bradley keeps close almost as much as he’s enjoying getting to know Bradley.

…           …           …

              Bradley grins at his phone, the messages from Jake saying he made it back safe and that Maverick is being a dick as per usual, waiting for him when Jake got home. It should make him nervous, having Mav so involved and knowledgeable about his relationship, or the person he’s starting a new relationship with. Instead though it makes him feel settled, that the hurdle of needing to somehow get his approval isn’t there. Maverick already apparently likes Jake, at least according to Slider; who also seems to approve of Jake. Although he’s pretty sure Slider would approve of almost anyone who was an aviator.

              He wants to ring him and talk to him, but Jake’s not even been gone a few hours. He doesn’t want to come off as needy but… Jake will be deployed soon enough, and he won’t be able to simply call him and talk to him whenever he wants. So what if other people think they’re moving fast, he agrees with Jake. It isn’t fast if this is what they both want. He presses call and waits for Jake to pick up.

              “Hey…”

              “Hi.

              “You miss me?” Jake asks, and Bradley can hear that he’s teasing, that he doesn’t expect a serious answer, or that Bradley is actually missing him. He’s not going to lie.

              “Yeah. Actually. I know you just got back to base but I was wondering if you just wanted to… pack up and come back and stay with me until your next deployment.”

              “You serious?”

              “Yeah. Too fast?”

              “Who the fuck cares. You want me there I’ll be there… I just. It’s a fucking big house.”

              “You’ll figure it out quickly enough. Just think of it as a luxurious base with fewer people.” That earns him a little laugh and he grins, glad that Jake has simply agreed. “I just… I don’t want to waste time being apart when we’ll spend so much time apart anyway.”

              “Yeah, that’s a sound argument. Give me a couple of hours.”

              “Great. You want your own space or want to share mine?”

              “You offering?” Jake asks, like Bradley isn’t obvious.

              “Yes.”

              “Then I’m with you.”

              “Yeah… good.”

              “Good. I’ll see you soon.”

              He ends the call with a grin on his face, starts wandering through the house to find Ron or Callie or Neil. He could message them, they have a group chat, but he wants to bask in the moment for a bit.

…           …           …

              Jake opens the Dagger group chat, mindful that he’s now pushed for time. Not that Bradley will care if he’s twenty- or thirty-minutes past when he said he’d be there, but Jake cares. Wants to see him again as soon as possible. Honeymoon phase he guesses, he’s never experienced it before. Not like this.

Hangman>> Doing a call in 5 minutes. I have news and either you hear it direct from me or you hear it second hand. Your choice.

              While he waits for the five minutes to tick down he packs, able to do so quickly and efficiently. It’s not like he’s going to leave anything behind. He doesn’t need a lot, used to travelling light. He’s packed and ready in seven minutes, and he can see that about seven of the Daggers have responded in the affirmative and he calls the group and waits for them to answer. Phoenix, Coyote, Bob, Fanboy, Fritz, Payback and then Harvard and Yale appear together on one tiny screen. Holy shit, that’s nearly everyone.

              “So, is this like… a team meeting?”

              “Meh. Little bit. Just wanted to let you lot know I’m not going to be on base for the rest of my leave…”

              “Where are you going?”

              “Staying with my boyfriend,” Jake provides, and he’s waiting for Javy’s reaction; isn’t disappointed at the eyes bugging out and silent what the fuck and Jake can’t help but grin. “Also, I’ve got some spare tickets to SDCC next weekend. Anyone want one?”

              “Aw man, I bought mine ages ago… how many have you got?”

              “Wait. Go back. Someone likes you enough to want you to move in with them? I didn’t think you were seeing anyone…” Fritz says and Jake gives him the finger which simply makes him laugh.

              “It’s moved pretty fast, but we’re… well. We figured with deployments we’ll be spending plenty of time apart so might as well make the most of it while I’m here.”

              “Make something…” Harvard says and Yale gives him a high five. Jake shrugs, because they’re not wrong and he’s not ashamed.

              “Anyway, just wanted to let you know I’ll be down in Capistrano Beach instead.”

              “Cool. Happy for you bro. Tickets. How many you got?”

              “Uh. Ten. I can get more if I need to probably, but…”

              “Holy shit. Did you win the lotto or something?”

              “Or something…” Javy says and Jake shoots him a sharp look.

              “And as if I needed to add an incentive, but I’m going with my boyfriend. So, if you want to meet him this will be your opportunity…”

              “You… are you serious?” Javy asks and Jake’s cheeks are going to be sore from smiling so much but he nods, because yeah, he can’t believe it either but there you go. Javy is mouthing holy shit and Jake shakes his head. Suddenly everyone wants a ticket, making plans to fly back early and he shouldn’t be surprised; knowing they’re a bunch of nosey fuckers.

              “It’s a real person right? Not someone you… imagined?” Phoenix asks.

              “Fuck you. His name is Bradley and he’s Maverick’s godson, so he can vouch for how real he is.”

              “Really?” Javy asks and Jake nods again, but adds a little grimace this time because yeah. Maverick as a potential father-in-law figure is a little bit daunting. He’s not sharing that with Bradley though, it’s so far from being a deal breaker it’s not even worth mentioning.

              “Man, I spent so much money on my tickets, and here you are giving them away,” Fanboy moans and Jake feels a little bad for him, can’t and won’t say anything more though.

              “Are we doing costumes?”

              “It’s a bit late to try and organize a costume if you don’t have one already…”

              “I am definitely doing a costume. Going as a cowboy,” Jake provides.

              “A cowboy? You’re meant to be a character, not yourself…”

              “Haha. Jedediah, from Night at the Museum,” Jake states, because that had been the movie he and Bradley had watched together first, lazily making out while it played and he’s going to forever have fond memories of it. “Anyway, you don’t have to come in costume unless you want to. Just… they’re four-day tickets. I was thinking of going on the Friday. I know lots of people go on the Saturday, but uh…”

              “Friday sounds good,” Javy chips in and Jake shoots him a grateful look. Bradley’s schedule for the Saturday involves two panels and a photo session with fans. He’d suggested Jake try and encourage his friends to come on the Friday when he’d be able to meet them and spend more time with them.

              “I’m going every day… that’s the whole point of getting a VIP pass.”

              “And that’s why we call you Fanboy.”

…           …           …

              “Thanks for coming back…” Bradley murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jake’s shoulder, sweat cooling on their skin and he knows they’re going to need a shower but can’t bring himself to move.

              “Yeah, was a real hardship… gorgeous boyfriend, comfortable bed, chance of sex exponentially higher…”

              “Boyfriend huh?”

              “Well, not sure what else to call you when you talk about wanting to hang around while I’m deployed. Not exactly dating then are we. Bit more…”

              “Yeah. Bit more serious.”

              “Exactly.”

NINE

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Are you now or have you ever been

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Fic masterlist

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Chapter 9 - Fight or Flight

You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and you know you won’t be able to sleep.

Thoughts of what happened are racing through your head in an endless circle. Karl’s friend showing up, the friend he’d never told you about, who apparently knew all about his mission. The one who took him outside to talk to him. When he came back, Karl seemed different, disturbed. Barely looked at you.

When he avoided your questions about what happened, he said he had work to do. You offered to help, but he froze you out. It hurt. Hurt when you grabbed your bag, slung it over your shoulder, left the room. Looked back before closing the door behind you. He didn’t look after you, had already seemingly forgotten you had been there.

You are tossed back and forth between the sobering knowledge that you don't really know this man at all, and the deep need to connect with someone, anyone.

Of course your thoughts also keep going back to the kiss.

You twist the end of the pillow you are lying on between your fingers, sigh.

It was a strange kiss, that much you know, even without remembering any other kiss you might have ever had in your life. It was more like he was exploring the experience, testing it, but still you can’t deny the way it made your heart beat faster. The way he suddenly pulled you against him, the familiarity of it. Like he snapped into something. From a school boy’s kiss to one of a lover you’ve had for years.

You roll onto your side, frown into the dark, at the red numbers on the alarm clock on your bedside table. One in the morning. You sigh again.

No, you decide, you’re not going to do this. Lie here in the dark, and wonder at the why’s and the how’s. Karl can tell you what was going on, what happened when he walked outside with his friend.

You push yourself up, stand. Grab your sweater off the back of the chair you laid it over, pull on your jeans, your boots. You grab your jacket on the way out.

The night air is cold still, although there have been the first signs of spring. You wrap your arms around you as you walk across the motel lot, straight to Karl’s room. You probably shouldn’t wake him up, but he hasn’t answered any of your messages, nor picked up when you called him twice earlier in the evening. You’re just checking on him, you tell yourself.

You knock on his door, call his name. No answer. A car passes by on the street in front of the motel, headlights briefly illuminating you. You knock again. Still no answer. Could he have gone out? Or is he just a deep sleeper?

“I’m afraid he’s not there,” you hear a voice behind you and whip around.

It’s Marv, Karl’s friend that showed up earlier. He’s standing a few feet behind you, friendly expression on his face.

“You scared me,” you say, trying to make your voice sound light. He tilts his head to the side like a dog that knows he’s done wrong.

“Real sorry about that,” he replies, then motions to the door. “I’ve been knocking for about half an hour. I don’t think he’s in there.” You turn around briefly, look at the door, still no light coming from the one window. With a frown, you turn back to Marv.

“Where is he?” you ask. Marv’s eyebrows go together, and he looks embarrassed. Maybe scared. It’s hard to tell.

“I think he might be doing something really stupid,” he says, then shakes his head, “and I think it’s my fault.” You take a step forward.

“Marv,” you say, your heart beating faster, panic suddenly rising in you. “Where is he?”

You’re driving faster than you probably should, but you can’t seem to take your foot off the gas.“And this angel you’re talking about,” you repeat, voice a little shaky in worry, “the one Karl’s going after, he caused the Fall?” You see Marv nodding out of the corner of your eye, but don’t turn to look at him in the passenger seat.“He’s a real bad one,” he says and you bite your lip, hope to get your nerves under control. “Mean, dangerous guy. He forced all the angels out of Heaven, not caring that some of them would do some more than questionable things to find a vessel.”“Damn it,” you mutter, taking a left.“I only found out by accident where he’d be,” Marv continues. “I thought I’d let Karl know, but I didn’t think he’d actually go after him. On his own, too. Turn right at the end of the street.” You shake your head.“Why would he go on his own?” you ask. Yes, Karl has never wanted you to join any of his rescue missions, but if this angel is as dangerous as he sounds, it would be exponentially stupid to go on his own.“Because he’s the one who killed his friend,” Marv says. This time you do look over at him, only for a second.“But…” you say, blinking. “I thought that angel died. Ripped itself apart along with his vessel.” You hear Marv sigh.“I’m afraid he made it out at the last second,” he answers. “Karl and I weren’t sure, but then I found him. He’s tricked another vessel into accepting him. I mean, the poor guy’s married, has a young daughter, and this monster tricks him into letting him in.” You shake your head.“He’s a real abomination,” Marv continues, “this Castiel.”For a second, you can’t place the name and then you can.“No,” you mutter. “No, that can’t be.”“What can’t be?” Marv asks, voice a softer pitch.“I know Castiel,” you reply. “He’s, he’s good, he does good, I mean.”“You know him?” Marv asks, now sounding shocked.“Yes!” you reply, frustrated at his slow uptake. “He’s a…a friend of a friend, kind of.” You shoot another look at Marv, and he’s looking intently at you.“Anyone who works with Castiel,” he says, emphasizing every word, “is just as much of a monster as he is.”You turn back to the road. No. You don’t believe it. Not for a second. You step harder on the gas.

Dean cannot believe that after months of guilt, shame and lies, after his little brother told him they are no longer family, after seeing Sam suffer and then turn to apathy, which Dean finds a million times scarier, he finally has the dick responsible for it all tied to a chair in front of him.

All this started as a planned meet-up with Castiel, who’d picked up Metatron’s trail. The would-be God is hiding out in Utah, it turns out. And his second-in-command, Gadreel, the one who hijacked Sammy and killed Kevin, is there as well.

Dean paces before the tied up angel, runs the angel blade through his fingers. He would love to just stab him. It’s how he deals with problems – stab them, shoot them, set them on fire. But the truth is, he thinks Sam should do it. Maybe killing the angel that is the cause for all the upheaval between them will get Sam back on track. At least a little.

When they arrived, there was no Castiel, but they did pick up Gadreel’s trail. Turns out he’s been icing angels all over. They trapped him, Sam and Dean, because together is how they work best.

If this is like looking into a funhouse mirror for me, I cannot imagine what it is like for you.

That’s what the angel said to Sam, and it made Dean’s skin crawl. Reminded him too much of what had happened, of what he had allowed to happen. He doesn’t understand the loss of control Sam has experienced, the loss of autonomy. Doesn’t really get what that does to a soul. So when Sam started pummeling Gadreel, Dean was almost happy, since anger and hate he can understand. Almost happy. Because it’s so uncharacteristic of his brother.

It was a good justification to send Sam away, though. Send him to look for Castiel. It allowed Dean his own chance to let off some steam. The blood dripping off Gadreel’s face is proof of that, as well as the way his head is hanging down.

Gadreel said a bunch of stuff before Dean rearranged his face. About Sam being weak and pathetic, a mess inside. About how he hated Dean, pitied him. None of it matters now. The angel’s a tough son of a bitch, one of the tougher ones Dean has met. It took him a while to get him to this point. But he still got him there.

Dean’s phone rings, breaking him out of his thoughts. He flexes his hand, stretches the knuckles where they’re bloody, then reaches into his pocket to answer. It’s Sam.

“Anything?” Dean asks by way of greeting.

“I’ve been calling you,” Sam says, voice just a little bit reproachful.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, turning to look at Gadreel. “I’ve been busy. Anything on Cas?” He turns, starts walking. He doesn’t want to look at the angel anymore. He needs some fresh air.

“He wasn’t in his motel room,” he hears Sam answer as he jogs down the metal stairs to the ground level of the old factory they’re in. “No sign of him, either. Looks like he just…walked out.” Dean frowns. Castiel’s known for doing weird stuff, but that is strange, even for him.

“How are things with Gadreel?” Sam asks, and Dean’s pretty sure he can hear him swallow.

“Good,” Dean answers, because he doesn’t feel like elaborating. “Are you on your way back?”

“Yeah,” Sam replies. “I’m close.” Dean takes a breath through his nose.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you in a bit.” And then, after thinking about it for a second, he adds: “Drive safe.” Then he ends the call.

He looks up. He’s outside now. The night sky is massive out here. He closes his eyes for a second, breathes in the cool air. Then he turns, walks back in towards the factory. He doesn’t have long with Gadreel. He wants to make the most of the time.

He sees it at the last second, freezes for a moment. A car that wasn’t there before. He narrows his eyes. He knows that car. A Coupé.

He’s jogging up the stairs, his heartbeat in his ears. When he turns the corner, Gadreel is still sitting in the chair. But there’s someone else there with him.

“Hey!” he shouts and you turn around.

Your eyes go wide when you see Dean and so do his. You’re clearly surprised by his presence, but if he’s not completely wrong there’s a hint of relief as well. But then your eyes flicker to his bloodied hand. He’s sure there’s some on his clothes as well. And with that, your expression changes.

Your hands are cupping Gadreel’s head, like you were just holding his face, looking at him, and that in itself is wildly confusing to Dean. Why in the world would you be checking on him?

As Dean approaches you, you move your arm. It goes to your back, and you pull out Sam’s demon knife. Dean stops dead in his tracks. Not because he feels threatened, but because the fact that you think you have to pull a knife on him is so immensely strange.

“Dean,” you say, voice shaky, your other hand still on Gadreel, his shoulder now, motioning to the cuffs around the angel’s wrists. “Give me the keys.” Dean frowns, and then slowly shakes his head.

“What are you doing?” he asks, then: “What is going on?”

“The keys,” you repeat, voice a little breathless. “He’s hurt.” You swallow, Dean sees, maybe force down the need to point out that it’s clearly him that hurt him.

Dean opens his mouth, mostly to ask another question about why the hell you are here, when he tracks movement out of the corner of his eye. He whips his head around, and there’s someone approaching him, someone in a nice gray pantsuit. Angel, he thinks, because these douches all have the same fashion sense, but then his attention is dragged to the other end of the hall, where another one is approaching. Both have blades, and both look pissed off.

“Dean, please!” you say, fear in your voice, and in response, Dean pulls his angel blade as well.

You see the Impala when you and Marv pull up to the factory, and still you try to convince yourself that there has to be some other explanation. That this is all a big misunderstanding.

You get out and then you and Marv approach the abandoned factory, enter it. You’re trying to be quiet, but every nerve, every muscle in your body wants to rush forward, run. Still, you don’t.

Marv grabs your arm, suddenly, and nods down one of the long hallways you’ve been walking along. Two people in business attire. They carry long, silver blades.

“Angels,” Marv whispers, and you think you detect fear in his voice. “We should split up, find Karl and get the hell out of here.” You barely nod, still looking after the two angels, but when you turn around, Marv is already gone. Slowly, you keep making your way.

When you walk into one of the larger halls, you see him. You feel a sick twist in your stomach. You look around, but only for a second, before you are rushing towards him.

Karl’s blood stains your hands when you hold his face, tilt it up at you. He’s unconscious, there’s cuffs around his wrists and the chair he’s on has been placed inside some weird, large pentagram.

You say his name as you survey his face. Cuts and bruises, blood freely running down his features. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t react. He’s out cold.

“Hey!” you hear behind you and turn quickly.

It’s Dean. You expected him to be here because of his car being outside, but it’s still shocking. Both the fact that Marv seems to have been telling the truth about the Winchesters’ involvement with Castiel, as well as the fact that he is here when you didn’t expect to see him again.

Then you see his bloodied knuckles, and a cold shiver runs over you. He’s the one who hurt Karl, he must be. It’s one thing to believe a friend, to be tricked by what someone you trust is saying – but the sheer capacity for violence, to beat a tied-up man into unconsciousness makes your blood boil.

You reach for your knife and everything goes to hell.

Metatron watches as you find Gadreel. This wasn’t part of his plan, to have his closest ally beaten to a pulp by Dean Winchester. He doesn’t really want Gadreel to die, could still use him. But the truth is, it’s out of his hands now. He’s brought these characters into position. Now he needs to see how things play out.

He could have simply snapped your neck if he wanted to. Just a twist of his finger, somehow make it look like it was the Winchester’s fault, blah blah blah. The truth is, seeing Gadreel allow himself to be caught like this, beaten, makes him wonder if he may have misjudged him again. Gadreel’s one of the strongest angels he knows. He has a sneaking suspicion he didn’t put up that much of a fight if this is where he wound up.

Maybe killing the Winchesters is against whatever moral wreckage the angel has made of himself. A bunch of angels that already look at him like he is a monster? Sure. One pesky little prophet, fine. But not the Winchesters. It’s laughable how many pull their punches when it comes to them, only for that decision to come around and bite them in the ass. Metatron has done the same, if he’s being honest with himself.

So he decides, at the last minute, to simply let things play out, not get involved. Yes, there’s the angels, a handful of his flock, that he ordered to come here. Castiel, the only one who could hold a candle to Gadreel’s power, is out there somewhere on an imaginary road trip with the hallucination of an archangel, courtesy of Metatron’s power taken from the angel tablet. But he’s mostly going to let things play out the way they do.

He smiles to himself. He’s gonna take the evening off. He deserves a little break, after everything he’s done. And tomorrow, he’ll check back in, see who’s made it out alive, and who hasn’t. He snaps his finger and disappears.

Gadreel distantly feels that someone is touching him. He’s been through millennia of torture, but experiencing pain in a human body is something different. He’s mostly numb, which is probably a blessing.

He hears voices, distantly, as if they are at the other end of a tunnel. Someone is saying a name, but he does not think it’s his. Still, it stirs at a part of him, deep inside, that isn’t really him. Still, it drags him slowly towards consciousness.He senses the other angels before he sees them. They’re like bright presences at the periphery of his vision. He’s learned long ago to be careful what others of his kind to surround himself with. Most of his brothers and sisters look at him like he is the lowest of the low. All of them, actually. There’s few in general, both of his own ilk and otherwise, that have treated him with kindness. Only Metatron. And you.

That’s when he recognizes one of the voices.

“Dean, please!” you say, pleading. He doesn’t like that you’re pleading, that you sound like you’re in distress. So he slowly fights his way back.

Sam pulls up to the factory with a yawn. He’s worried about Cas, and he is more than reluctant to go back in and see Gadreel and his brother. The angel makes his skin crawl. Even though he is in a different vessel, one that Sam doesn’t know, there’s something intensely familiar about him. With a sigh, he gets out of the car.

He hears the noises before he reaches the room they tied Gadreel up in. They make the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Someone’s fighting. He pulls the angel blade he equipped himself with and rushes towards the noises.

One of the angels goes for Dean, and one goes for you. Or almost does. It – or she, a woman in a gray pantsuit – walks towards you, but then skates around you. She’s carrying one of the knives that Karl has. You raise your own knife, but it only makes her grin. She and you both know it won’t have any effect on her.

Your eyes flicker to Dean, even though they shouldn’t leave the woman. He’s fighting the other angel, keeping his own. You look back at the woman. She’s still circling you, and you don’t understand why she doesn’t attack you. Then you look down, see that she is skirting the pentagram drawn onto the floor. It must be one that protects from angels, but if Sam and Dean are working with Castiel, why would they want to protect Karl from angels?

The woman finally turns with a huff, accepting she’s not able to get to you. She turns and makes her way towards Dean and the other angel. It makes your blood freeze. Two against one.

You look back at Karl. His eyes are moving under his lids, but he seems unable to regain consciousness.

You look up when Dean catches the male angel he was fighting with his own knife, and the man goes flying, falls to the floor. But the woman is still approaching, and she reaches Dean before he has a chance to steady himself.

She rams her fist into his gut, and then punches him in the face, sending him sprawling. Dean drops the blade as well as something else. Something small and silver. Keys.

You rush forward, out of the circle drawn on the ground.

They are right there. You can grab them, free Karl and maybe make it out of here before the angel is done with Dean. Because if Dean is willing to help someone like Castiel, maybe he deserves what he’s got coming to him.

The woman raises her hand, blade gleaming. You come to a stop, reach down, and your fist closes around what you grabbed for.

Her head snaps back violently when you bury the angel blade in her back. Her eyes and mouth rip open, as bright white light exudes from her. She drops to the floor to reveal Dean, one arm reaching up as if he’s trying to somehow stop the attack this way. You huff, and he stares at you wide eyed. He must be as surprised as you.

Without another word, you reach down, grab the keys. You see Dean’s gaze flick down, and you wonder if he’ll stop you. Before he can, you turn around to walk back to Karl.

The blade enters you somewhere close to your kidney, which you would know if you still had the anatomical, life-saving knowledge from your life before. As it stands, you don’t know that you’re lucky in that it misses the organ, but very much unlucky in that it runs all the way through you, pierces your abdominal aorta. When the first angel, the one Dean originally fought, pulls the blade out again, it makes all that precious life blood run from your body.

You gasp, but there is no pain yet. Only a second later does it arrive. Compared to all the pain you have experienced – hellhounds, torture – it’s relatively minor.

But it is deadly.

Sam bursts into the large room and his world breaks apart. What’s once more, after how many times it has already happened.

Gadreel is still where he left him, but he only just distantly notes his wounds, his damage. The angel’s head is rolling to the side right in the moment Sam sees him, but he doesn’t connect the dots that that means he’s waking up from the unconsciousness Dean put him into.

Speaking of Dean, Sam sees his brother on the floor, immediately rushes towards him. He sees you, but just like when he did at the police station, for a second, he doesn’t believe it’s you. Why would you be here, after all. He thought he’d never see you again.

The man on the ground, the one Sam shortly will know is an angel, gets up so quickly that Sam doesn’t have time to yell out a warning. Because you turn around and he realizes it is you. But by then it is too late.

He sees the blade go into you, but he is still so far away. He feels as if time freezes, slows. Like he is stuck in amber that is quickly hardening around him. And no matter how much he fights, he cannot move quicker.

An image of the night you died flashes through his mind. Of the numbing fear, the terror. Please, some part of his brain thinks. Not again. Don’t do this to me. Please don’t.

He plunges his own blade into the back of the man who stabbed you, uncaring if he’s an angel or a demon or a human. He just knows he needs the danger to you gone. The man tenses, head thrown back, white light bursting from him and then he stumbles to the floor. And Sam has an unobstructed view of you.

You seem surprised, more than anything. Your hand goes over your wound but immediately blood gushes through your fingers. Sam moves closer to you, still so slow, so useless. You reach your other hand out as he grabs for you. Then you fall.

Sam has his arms around you as the world jumps out of slow motion. You are lying on the floor, but your head is resting in the crook of his arm as you stare down at yourself, eyes wide.

“It’s okay, you’re gonna be okay,” Sam immediately defaults to, and he presses a hand over your wound, over your hand that is still there. You make a loud whimpering sound at the touch.

“I know,” he says, because he does know. “I know it hurts but we have to stop the bleeding.” He needs something, something to put over the wound, the wound that is emptying you so quickly. With all the strength he has, Sam tears his eyes away from you. He can’t let go of you, but he needs something to stop this bleeding.

His brother’s name leaves his lips but he’s already by his side. He’s torn his shirt off his shoulders, is bunching it up and then Sam is telling you to move your hand, let go, but you look up at him, at his face, shake your head violently. You’re terrified.

"No," you mutter, voice cracking even on the one syllable.  

“Please,” Sam says, and he’s not sure to whom he’s begging for a moment. “Please, you have to trust me.”

You look at his face for another second. There’s tears in your eyes. But you press your lips together, and Sam can see how brave you are making yourself, and then you pull your hand back.

When Dean presses the shirt over your wound, you turn your head, press your face against Sam’s chest and start crying. He holds you closer while Dean tries to slow the bleeding.

He knows it’s useless. He’s going to lose you. How is this happening again?

Maybe he never left Hell, he thinks for a second. Maybe he’s still in the Cage, after all these years. Because this is the most exquisite torture that has ever been. To get you back and then lose you, over and over again. It all makes sense, if he thinks about it like this. It would explain the last two years perfectly, everything that’s happened to him. The madness, the nearly dying, losing his body, again, to someone who thought it was okay to use him that way.

Sam blinks, looks up. Gadreel. The angel, just then, is blinking himself awake, looks around, then is drawn by your low, sick sounds and turns his head. His face changes to something Sam cannot place when he sees the three of you cowering there.

“You!” Sam says, and his voice is shaky, weak. “You can help her.”

Dean’s head snaps up, and then he’s shaking it.

“Sammy, it’s too dangerous,” he says, but Sam couldn’t care less. He takes over where Dean is holding the shirt in place, keeps the pressure up.

“Do it, Dean,” he says and if he has to give up everything, every single fight with his brother, has to give Dean the upper hand for the rest of his life, he’s fine with that. So fine. He only needs him to do this one thing, and all will be forgiven, all will be right.

Dean looks at him for a moment, and then you make another whimpering noise, and he looks down. That seems to help him make up his mind. He looks around, locates the keys to the cuffs lying next to you. Grabs them, stands up.

Sam, meanwhile, turns back to you. Already, blood loss is making you pale, but he knows now you’ll be fine. Gadreel will save you and you will be okay. And then, if Sam needs to never contact you again, never see you again to guarantee your safety, he will do that. So long as you are alive and healthy.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says, quietly, and he’s not sure you hear him. Your eyes are squeezed shut against the pain. “I promise.”

He hears shuffling and looks up. Gadreel towers over him, Dean only two steps behind him. For a second he wonders if the angel will simply reach out and kill him. It’s a likely possibility. But he doesn’t.

Gadreel kneels, slowly, painfully, grimaces at the pain. He reaches out, removes the shirt covering your wound, Sam letting go of the fabric. He feels you stir, feels you move your head.

You look at Gadreel, just as he raises his hand to hold it over your wound, and Sam doesn’t understand what he sees in your face. Pain. Confusion. And something else.

You’re gone for a second, and then you’re back, and you’re not sure if time has passed or it hasn’t.

You feel dizzy, even though you’re lying down, which you don’t think makes any sense. You blink, eyelids heavy, and when you look up, Sam is the first thing you see. You would appreciate the view but then someone kneels before you. You move your head, a Herculean task, and then it’s Karl you’re looking at. He’s alive, he’s awake.

There’s something happening with your wound, but you barely feel it. Come to think of it, you don’t feel much of your lower body at all. It’s a strange sensation, made infinitely more strange by the fact that there is a light emitting from somewhere on your body. You look down, the effort nearly knocking you out again, and you see the light is coming from Karl’s hand. It doesn’t make any sense and then it does.

Karl drops his hand, panting, and Sam doesn’t seem happy with whatever he did.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice tense. “Heal her!” Karl looks away from your wound at Sam.

“I’m weak,” he says, then swallows. “I—I don’t know that I can.” Sam must have one of his arms around you, because you feel him squeeze your shoulder. It must be involuntary, because you’re pretty sure he’s not talking to you.

“Please,” he says, voice so incredibly broken that you wish you could do something to make him feel better. “Please, Gadreel.”

Gadreel. You remember the name. Castiel told you about him, way back when you first came to the bunker. Gadreel. The angel.

You blink your gaze up at Karl. Except of course that’s not his name.

He’s not a human. He’s an angel. The angel who possessed Sam. You blink again. He looks back at your face, must notice your expression. Shame washes over his features so violently it shocks you. How could you not see it? You feel like you should have.

He raises his hand once more, and then there is that light again. He makes a face, as if he’s in pain. You hear Dean say something in that deep, rough voice of his, somewhere over you, and then Sam answers.

Sam. It’s nice and warm here in his arms. You’re tired, need to sleep. It should be fine if you only close your eyes for a second. Surely there’s nothing wrong with that.

You hear Sam call your name, and think how nice it sounds when he says it. Your eyelids flutter closed and you think you can hear your own heartbeat, can hear it slow, and then everything goes dark.

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 8

I apologize for not posting last week. How about this longer chapter to make up for it?

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: First day of HYDRA work, social gatherings

Word Count: 2,270

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7]

The next morning dawned bright and chilly. You only know this because you happened to pass by a window covered in frost on your way to one of the HYDRA labs within the facility. 

Your first few hours on site had you running through various tests and exams to study your mental capacity and knowledge on the interest that HYDRA holds in the biology field. There was nothing shocking or unexpected that your new supervisors asked you, but the implications of what they expect from you sends shivers down your spine. You studied and memorized and read for weeks in preparation for this assignment last year, and you’re so glad that your brain retains this kind of information like a sponge – you’d have been disposed of on the spot if your background hadn’t checked out.

But now you’ve ‘officially’ joined HYDRA. The thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but you wash it down with the knowledge that what you’re doing is going to help the world by eliminating whatever disgusting and horrible work is being done here.

The plan is to spend as much time as it takes to gain HYDRA’s confidence in your abilities and allow you access to the higher level projects – the world-ending projects. This could take weeks. Or months. Hopefully not years? Being Bucky’s sister for that long would drive you insane.

“You,” a scientist snaps from behind their desk as you pass their open office door. You stop in your tracks and peer into the dingy office, noticing scuff marks and mysterious stains on the floor. The man’s desk has every square inch covered in files and papers. So much so that there is a noticeable curvature on the desktop, the cheap material unable to handle the amount of weight it has been subjected to over the years.

“Yes, sir?” you inquire.

He refuses to look up from his work, instead opting to dangle a set of keys from his fingers in your direction. “Go and grab the files for project 0B276HG21 in storage room C.”

Repeating the string of numbers and letters in your head, you take the keys from his outstretched hand and make your way to the storage room. There are so many rooms within the facility that you would be lost without the information your informant sent the team. But even with it, the facility has undergone changes since the last facility plans were uploaded, so you run into dead ends where there should be access doors.

You can only hope that your experience and knowledge will allow you to work your way up quickly – you don’t know how long you can stand to be a lackey. You roll your eyes at the errands you’ve had to run so far, but you know that the new person never gets given the big jobs on the first day.

And so the rest of the shift passes in the same manner and you arrive back at your and Bucky’s house with little energy and even less information.

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” Bucky reassures. “Slow and steady wins the race, right?”

“That’s such a stupid fable,” you grumble. “The hare would have won if it didn’t have such an inflated ego.”

Bucky grins at your disgruntled face before you flop your head backwards to rest. You release a sigh and relax further into the couch where you collapsed after walking in the front door, relieved to smell dinner simmering away on the stove since you arrived home later than expected and hadn’t had the opportunity to grab lunch. 

You tilt your head and watch as Bucky shuffles around the kitchen. He’s long since showered after his time at the repair shop: his hair nearly dry and the strands sticking out in a way that you know he tousled it with his towel and let it finish air drying. The new shorter strands allowed for the minimal work to pay off in dividends because it was damn near impossible to remember how soft his hair used to be and not be able to run your fingers through it now. 

Your fingers itch to reach out, but you grip the cushion instead. No one said that this would be easy. Well, no one has said it’d be anything because Nat’s mission has her radio silent and Wanda is busy spending time with Vis for you to complain about your one-sided love with someone who doesn’t know the feeling. You know that if they knew what was happening right now, they’d be plying you with ideas on how to survive this mission with minimal heartbreak.

“The food is done,” Bucky says as he gathers plates and utensils to set the table. “Are you coming in here or do you want me to bring you a bowl?”

Unfortunately, your best friends aren’t available to provide their wisdom, so here you are: suffering in silence with no outlet. 

“I’ll be there in a second,” you respond. You unclench your fist from the couch’s fabric and stretch out your stiff fingers. Rising from your seat, you make your way into the kitchen and take a seat at the table as Bucky brings the pot over from the stove. You stare intently into the soup as Bucky ladles it into a bowl and sets it in front of you.

“Did something happen today?” he questions with a worried expression.

“You know HYDRA,” you tiredly reply. Looking up into his eyes for the first time this evening, you see the crease between his brows and mentally slap yourself. “I’m fine, Bucky. They don’t have me working on anything specific yet.”

“I know,” he says, “but just be careful with those people, okay?”

You smile up at him and nod your head, your heart squeezing in your chest.

You’re both silent through dinner with the exception of your compliments on Bucky’s cooking. It’s hard to clear the air after bringing up HYDRA and their actions, even in the vaguest way.

***

The week stretches on for an eternity, but eventually Saturday rolls around and you and Bucky prepare to meet the neighborhood.

You arrive at the restaurant right on time. Light pours from the windows and the snow on the ground glistens gold. As soon as you open the car door, you hear laughter and chatter forcing their way through the walls.

“I hate entering a party where everybody is already best friends with each other and then you’re left standing there like a loner,” you decry, already dreading the feeling of ‘otherness’ you will be experiencing in a few short moments.

“You’re not a loner,” Bucky laughs. “You make friends as easily as breathing.”

“Not true,” you counter. “I can make ‘friends’ with strangers, but it’s never anything real. I’m a spy, remember? It’s literally life or death to get people to like me.”

“Trust me, doll,” Bucky says as he looks intently at you from across the car. “People can’t help but love you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you hope the light from the restaurant isn’t bright enough to reveal them to Bucky. The feelings squirming around in your stomach feel suspiciously like hope, and you can’t have that. You deflect any seriousness by laughing off Bucky’s comment.

“Tell that to all the people I’ve thrown in prison.”

Bucky calls your name with some disappointment and a slight frown on his face. You shrug your shoulders and motion towards the entrance. “It’s time to head inside. Come on.” 

You walk away from him and lead the way into the building. Upon opening the door, a blast of warm, humid air hits you. The smell of beer and sweat sweeps up your nostrils, and the interior design reminds you more of a local dive bar than a restaurant. But everyone is laughing and having a good time, so you plaster a smile on your face and look around for the Gretens.

You see Christopher speaking to a short, skinny man, deep in conversation and barely acknowledging anyone else. Tessa stands in a corner surrounded by three other women, all of them laughing and having a good time. Bucky walks up behind you as you stand in the doorway and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Divide and conquer?” he asks. You nod your head and make your way over to the group of women.

When you’re within ten feet of her, Tessa notices you. She beams at you and raises her hand to usher you closer. 

“Ladies!” Tessa introduces. “Meet our newest neighbor!”

A round of introductions follows and you can’t help but admire how blatantly obvious these women are about their curiosity.  Tessa seems to have already told them everything she knows about you, but they have to ask their own questions. 

“And where’s that brother of yours?” one of them asks. “Tessa’s told us how handsome he is! I’ve got a daughter I’ve been trying to get out of the house for ages.”

You laugh through the twist of your guts, replying merrily, “Oh, I’m sure he’d appreciate the introduction.”

Before the woman can demand a personal introduction, Tessa interrupts when the entrance opens once again and lets in a blast of cold air.

“Petre!” She performs the same waving hand motion that brought you over earlier to the new arrival. “Come here!”

Glancing back, you see a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes making his way over to you. He stops in front of Tessa and wraps her in a quick hug.

“This is my son, Petre. Petre, this is our neighbor.”

Petre greets you warmly. “Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you. My mother hasn’t stopped talking about you since you moved in.”

You giggle when Tessa pats his arm roughly and shake his proffered hand. His skin is warm and dry, the skin on the back of his knuckles chapped from the winter weather. Tessa not-so-subtly draws the other women away from you and Petre and into another conversation, leaving you to speak with each other.

“Your mother seems to think we’d make a good pair,” you comment with a glance over at her.

“Ah, yes,” Petre says while fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “She’s been introducing me to every woman of marrying age. I think she’s afraid I’ll end up alone.”

You can’t help but laugh at his deprecating tone of voice. “We’re young – we’ve still got time.”

“Try telling her that,” he responds. “Being 30 and unmarried is one of the worst things you can be in her eyes.”

You chat with Petre between introductions for the next couple of hours. He sticks close by his mother which keeps him close to you, as Tessa demands everyone that walks by to greet you. Countless faces come and go, but there seems to be someone missing.

You turn to Tessa when the party seems to be winding down and a few people have started to leave. “Where’s your daughter?” you question.

“Kerri and Chrissie are right over there,” she nods, indicating the two young women in a cluster a few feet from you.

“Yes, I remember them from a little while ago. Where’s your other daughter? Sasha?”

At this, Tessa’s face drops and Petre looks at her worriedly. He places his arm around his mother’s shoulders and brings her into his side. “She’s not well,” Petre answers for his mother. “She has been sick for a while now.”

“Oh. Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s – it’s alright,” Tessa responds with a sorrowful smile. “She’s at home. Resting.”

“Well I hope she gets better soon,” you reply hopefully. Petre and Tessa nod tersely before steering the conversation off to something else.

It isn’t long after that when you feel Bucky sidle up next to you. He places his hand on your upper arm and pulls you closer into his side. “You ready to go?” he questions.

You hum and say your goodbyes to the people standing around you, promising to come out with Tessa to more gatherings. You and Bucky make your way back out into the cold night, the moon full and bright in the sky.

The car doors close behind you and Bucky starts the engine. You rumble along the road for a few minutes before Bucky says anything.

“Who were you talking to all night?” he asks you.

“Ah.” You sigh. “That was Tessa’s eldest son. The one she mentioned at dinner.”

“And?” he prompts.

“And…?”

“You were with him all night – what was he like? Anything seem off with him?”

You’re not exactly sure what Bucky is getting at, as he’d been talking with a couple of the same people throughout the night as well. “Well no, but it’s not like I could dig any deeper than surface level with so many people coming in and out of the conversation.”

Bucky hums noncommittally. You furrow your brow, but brush it off. “Did you find anything out from Christopher?”

“Not really. I did notice that one of his daughters wasn’t there tonight. Sarah?”

“Sasha,” you correct. “And no, I asked about her, as well. Petre and Tessa seemed really bothered when I brought her up: apparently she’s been pretty sick lately.”

“How sick?” Bucky asks.

“I’m not sure. It didn’t seem like they wanted to talk about it, though.”

“You think she’s been sick enough to require hospital stays?” he proposes, leading the conversation towards what could have possibly happened to the family’s financials that has lead to their worn down clothing and home.

“It’s worth looking into, isn’t it?”

Part 9

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

[swiss-mrs]

PORTALS (I)

Eddie Munson x Reader/OC - Intro

This AU takes inspiration from The Witcher Series and DND, but prior knowledge of The Witcher or DND is not needed.

AU "Warnings": Violence, Angst, Adventure, Gore, Supernatural Elements, Adult Themes and Language. No Use of Y/N

Reader/Unnamed Character Description: Medium-Long Hair, No Mentions of Race, Ethnicity, Age, Etc.

(WC 5,038)

‘Fuck, this sucks!’ Eddie thinks to himself as he blows hot breath into his hands. ‘Of fucking course I lose my keys right now.’

Round 4 of pacing through the woods and still no luck. Eddie ducks down to try and get a better view of something metallic looking under a bush. “Oh thank God. AH-” He stumbles forward and braces himself, squeezing his eyes shut, preparing to eat dirt, yet it doesn’t happen. He wheezes as his back hits the ground with a dull thud, 'fucking tree.' He tries catching his breath, opening his eyes to see the moonlit treetops above him. ‘The fuck?’ He furrows his brows, lifting his back off the ground, adjusting into a sitting position. He stares at his legs in front of him. “What the fuck?” He repeats out loud.

Eddie looks around the ground beneath him. ‘How did I…’ He moves his left hand feeling the mulchy ground before hitting something hard. His features relax a bit as he turns toward the glistening item, reflecting a warm glow. “Sweet.” A little smile forms on his lips as he grabs his keys and begins to lift himself up, but he is quick to furrow his brows again. Eddie then finally looks up to take in his surroundings. Doing a quick 360, he now notices he can no longer see his van nor the parking lot just beyond the tree line. In fact, it seems the trees just go on forever. “What the fuck?” He questions again, a bit more panicked.

Eddie faces the source of warm glow. ‘A campfire? There’s no way I didn’t notice that before. I couldn't have wandered THAT far.’ His mind starts running a million miles an hour for an explanation of his current state, retracing events over and over. ‘Maybe I should just go over and see if those guys can help…’ Though he can’t see anything past the fire and there doesn’t appear to be anyone huddled around it, he feels a natural instinct to head towards it. Just before his foot touches the ground to take a step, he’s back to laid out and wheezing.

He hit the ground a lot harder this time, and his body is quick to try and regain air, but it can’t. Eddie starts coughing and gasping so much that he barely has the chance to notice the sting of cool metal against his neck.

“You better have a good reason for me not to kill you where you lay.” a voice calls out, low and threatening yet incredibly calm for the situation at hand. Eddie's eyes shoot open as his coughing fit dies down. He stares up in shock at the kneeling figure on his chest.

“What the-” His mind goes blank as he takes in the silhouette above him. It’s hard to see every detail as they are covered head to toe with various layers and the brightest light source is behind them.

They are hooded and masked with an entrancing, mystical glow emitting from their eyes and a few trendless of hair flowing from beneath the hood. Even with one knee jabbed into his chest and a sword against his neck, Eddie couldn’t help but be completely awe struck. This stranger was right out of his character journal but better.

“You mustn't test my patience now.” The figure stated, knee driving deeper, blade nearly drawing blood.

“waH- WAIT! WAIT!” Eddie stammers, putting his palms up in surrender. The figure's glowing eyes narrowed, urging him to continue. “Please! I- I swear I’m not here to bring harm! I’m just lost!” He shouts out in a panic. The figure’s head cocks to the side. Eddie can’t see clearly, but he swears he sees an eyebrow raise. “Please… Take this really awesome looking sword away from my jugular and just let me explain.” Eddie tries to reason with the stranger. They stare at each other for a few seconds before the stranger gets up, standing next to Eddie’s laying figure, sword unwavering.

“Up.” the voice cuts through the air as if speaking directly into Eddie’s mind. He moves as quickly as he can with caution, not wanting to spook the sword’s wielder into chopping his head clean off. He slowly lifts his hands in the air again to show no harm.

“Okay, okay.” He breathes out quickly as his mind tries to explain himself. The stranger’s face gets slightly more illuminated as they now stand. Eddie can see them eyeing him up and down, their gaze now holding a hint of confusion. Eddie takes a deep breath, “My name is Eddie. I lost my keys after coming out here to take a piss and right as I found them I tripped and now I have this super badass looking warrior standing in front of me with a blade to my neck.” He rambles. “ I have no idea how I managed to get this far from my van, and, though really cool and really scary, I am really confused as to what is happening right now.” He answers truthfully. The hooded figure only continues to stand still, staring into his soul. “I swear on my life, I am just really lost… Please.” He begs, hoping his story is enough.

“Where are you from, Eddie?” The shift in their voice as they say his name is almost taunting, untrusting.

“Hawkins. Hawkins, Indiana.” He answers quickly.

“Hm.” It is short, testing. A second later, the sharp coolness on Eddie’s neck disappears, and he relaxes. The blade flickers by the stranger’s side. “Eddie of Hawkins.” All tension floods back into his body, awaiting for the next sentence. “It is quite obvious you are not from here, but I fear you may be more lost than you know.” The masked swordsman turns their back on Eddie, walking back towards the fire. “I advise you to go back to… Hawkins.” The words unfamiliar to their tongue. “You do not belong here.” Eddie stands there with his hands hanging in the air, dumbfounded.

‘Ouch…’ He’d hate to admit it, but for some reason, that stung. He breathed a sigh, resting his arms back at his sides. He watches as the figure gets farther, sitting on a log next to the fire. Eddie stares for a moment, then glances behind him to look at the never ending woods, then looks back to the figure next to the fire. He takes a few steps back, turning to head the opposite direction of the fire.

He doesn’t know it, but the figure's eyes find him again, watching as he stumbles further into the night. The figure shakes their head as they continue to tend to the fire.

》》》

“Fucking Christ.” Eddie mumbles to himself. He’s been walking in no particular direction for what feels like a good 20 minutes. ‘There is no way I managed to get THIS far from the lot.’ He sighs, wrapping his arms tighter around him and his jacket. ‘I should have just asked for directions. Maybe even ask if I could stay by the fire with them until morning.’ Eddie shakes his head at his own foolishness. “Stupid.” Another seemingly 10 minutes pass and he hears the sound of rushing water. ‘Maybe it’s a river. I’m pretty sure following a river is a good idea to lead somewhere.’

Eddie changes direction a little, leading him to a wide body of shallow water. If it weren't for the circumstances, he would’ve loved to just sit and admire the way the moonlight shone like glitter atop the water. As he looked around Eddie noticed another light emitting from the other side of the river. He is quick to spot a fallen tree that looks to be his best option to get to the other side of the water without soaking his feet. Eddie uses a couple rocks to help hop his way over to the tree. Walking across the tree, he starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. ‘What the fuck was up with that masked person back there? A sword?’

Eddie hops off the makeshift bridge and to the ground, continuing his trek toward the fire. The closer he gets, he notices what looks to be several people laying on the floor next to the fire. He sighs in relief, ‘Maybe a group of campers will be of more help.’

Just as he is about to announce his presence, something catches his foot, causing him to trip forward. This time, landing as gravity intended, on his face. “Really?” he says out loud in frustration. He spits at the dirt stuck to his lips and turns as he sits up looking down at what tripped him this time.

His eyes nearly jump out of his head. ‘No way.’ He scoots back a bit further, scrambling away. ‘Is that a LEG?!' He feels the need to scream as his breath picks up. He turns towards the campsite and now realizes a crucial fact he did not notice from afar. The bodies that littered the ground around him were just that, bodies. Mangled bodies. Dead people.

Eddie scrambles to get farther away from the gruesome scene in front of him. “AHH!” He yells out. “What the shit fuck!?” His panicked eyes scan around him. The bodies, rather body parts, that litter the forest floor are all torn as if jagged claws or teeth ripped them apart. He can't bare the sight yet he can't tear his eyes away from the scene. He scrambles to his feet and begins to slowly walk backwards, back toward the river. Crack. Eddie stills, ceasing his movements, holding his breath. 'That wasn't me. Is whatever did this still here? Shit, I really shouldn't have made so much noise.' Crack. Eddie can feel his heart pounding in his ears. Snap. What he'd originally thought was the sound of twigs, now sounds an awful lot like the breaking of bones. God, how he wished he didn't have to be so familiar with that sound.

Crack. Eddie's head whips to his left, trying to find the source of the noise. There he sees two piercing white dots looming in the dark. Eddie remains frozen in place, holding the gaze of whatever this is. His heart quickens impossibly faster as the floating dots start to menacingly raise higher and higher. "f-fuck." his trembling voice coming out as a whisper. He stumbles back further, his brain screaming for his body to run. This thing in front of him stands at least 8 feet tall. As it stands to its full height, it lets out a piercing, high-pitched screech, rattling Eddie's skull.

"fuuUUUUAHHHHH!" He yells out as he turns and starts running back toward the river. "Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" He repeats his entire run. He can hear the rapid footsteps of the creature behind him, quickly catching up to him. 'I'm not gonna make it!' He has no idea why he urges himself back to the way he came. There is no out running this thing. Maybe he's just instinctually trying to reach that masked being he encountered before? They had weapons at least, but they were a good 30 minute walk away. He wasn't even sure if they were still there. Who was he kidding? There was no way he'd even reach them in time even if they were still where he left them. He could see the tree he came across on, but would he even have time to climb back on it and make it across?

"GET DOWN!" a voice booms. Eddie quickly dives toward the fallen tree and into the shallow water, hoping to at least use the wood as a barrier between him and that thing.

The horrid, inhuman shriek of the monster blares once again, a more human-sounding yell interrupting it, challenging it. The sounds of a struggle could be heard, but Eddie was too preoccupied with trying to catch his breath. All he can hear is the sounds of water sloshing, monster shrieks, and the occasional huff from presumably the one fighting off the beast. Everything in him wants to run, but he fights the urge.

Eddie makes his way to his knees, kneeling behind the tree and lifting his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the battle happening. He doesn't catch much as not a second after he lifts his head above the tree does he catch a familiar assailant flit from the ground to a large rock just on the edge of the riverbed to the creature's spiked back, a black smoke-like substance following each move. Their movements were so swift and fast, Eddie could have sworn they just teleported.

The monster shrieks again in panicked defiance, the assailant driving their sword down into the back of the creature's neck, cutting the noise short. The fighter swings down from the creature's back, around its right shoulder, passing its front and landing a few feet away from the tree hiding Eddie. The fighter lands with a splash at the same time as the creature's head falls into the water behind them, the rest of its body falling suit.

Eddie stares in absolute awe. 'Holy Christ...' The fighter stands from their slightly crouched landing. As they lift their head, Eddie notices their mask has slipped, revealing their face 'Woah.' He couldn't help but stare, tracing each feature of their face with his eyes. He waited for them to look up, finding himself longing to see those glowing eyes again.

"You can come out now, Eddie of Hawkins." Eddie's breath hitches. He stands slowly, glancing from the figure to the decapitated creature behind them. "Come." Their voice demands as they begin to walk toward the monster's head, picking the cursed thing up, wrapping it in a dark cloth, and continuing out of the water to the side they originally came from. Eddie is quick to follow, stumbling along the tree's length and to the river's edge, jogging up to meet the familiar stranger once out of the water. He stays a couple of paces behind, a little weary of the covered, massive head in front of him. "I thought I told you to go back to Hawkins." Eddie is a little at a loss for words. "I told you. You don't belong here."

'Again, ouch.'

"It is quite obvious you are not of this world."

Eddie sighs in response. 'You got that right'

"You lack the self preservation even a doe or babe would have. Your choice of robes seem to work against your already evident lack of skill… and you smell-"

"Excuse me!" He interrupts, quickly lifting his jacket to his nose, sniffing himself. "First off all, Ouch. I get it. I'm no teleporting warrior, but where I'm from, things like that," he points at the bag accusingly, "are not common." He pauses, "Second of all, I told you. I have no idea how I ended up here, and... I have no clue how to get back…" He finishes, his tone dropping a bit as he realizes how truly lost he is. As he and his strange companion fall into a thoughtful silence, his mind begins to run.

'What if I never find my way back? How does time even run here? What if I do get back and everything is different? What about Wayne? Will I ever see him again? God he will be so worried. I told him I'd make a point to call him every payphone I passed. He's going to go mental. What if there is no way back? What am I going to do? How are you going to get out of this one, Eddie? You're all by yourself this time.' Eddie is so lost in these thoughts, he doesn't even realize the previous fire he first met this stranger was coming into view. The warmth from the blazing fire was what brought him back to reality, or this reality.

He watches as the stranger walks to the other side of the fire, opposite of him, crouches down, and stuffs the clothed head into a large leather bag before tying it off. The hooded stranger stands, leaving the bag on the floor. "Sit," They say, gesturing to the log they were seated on earlier that night. "if you want." Eddie blankly follows instruction and takes a seat next to the fire on the edge of the log. A loud huff causes Eddie to nearly jump out of his skin. He whips around to find a huge horse a few feet behind him. He sighs, relieved it isn't another monster. A small, airy chuckle breaks the silence. "Do you not have draughts in Hawkins?" The stranger teases.

"Draught?" he asks in confusion.

"This is Rogue." The stranger says tenderly, gently stroking the animal's massive head.

"We call them horses." He replies, only to be followed with another short, breathy laugh from his savior. 

"Yes, that is what they're called. A draught is a working horse. A big horse, in lamest terms." The stranger breaks down. Eddie's face heats up a bit.

'Nice, now not only are you as skilled as fucking Bambi, you're also a dumbass.'

"Rogue is my most trustworthy friend. He's the best guy around." The stranger smirks, Rogue huffing and nodding his head up and down as if to agree with the statement. Eddie grins, amused at the horse's actions. "One moment." The stranger says abruptly, catching Eddie off guard a little. They make their way to the other side of Rogue and start rummaging in a sack. As they come around to the front side of Rogue, Eddie notices them carrying a stack of fabrics. "Here." They walk towards Eddie, placing the stack on the log next to him. "You are soaked to the bone after diving into that river. You'll find the weather is not very kind this time of year." Eddie shivers just as the sentence ends, as if on queue. "I would apologize if they are too small, but by the looks of it, you do not mind tighter garments." Eddie scoffs at the comment, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Just keep 'em comin'." He replies, earning an amused but confused head tilt from the stranger next to him. "Thank you." He stated gratefully, picking them up as he stands. 

"Not to worry, this hunt ended a bit sooner than expected, so I won't be needing the change of clothes. I should be the one expressing gratitude." the stranger takes a seat on a tree stump adjacent to the log. Eddie's nods, not wanting to ask any further questions until he was out of his wet clothes. He stands awkwardly for a second, trying to decide where to change. "Just on the other side of Rogue is a hanging cloth. You can change behind there." the stranger says as if reading his mind.

"Got it." Eddie nods, walking around the log and around the front of Rogue, nodding to him as if to give a Hello, Rogue softly huffing back in response. Eddie makes his way behind the hanging cloth and begins stripping off his sneakers and soaked pants with some difficulty. Feeling incredibly exposed, he hurriedly shuffles through the pile of clothes and slides on the new pair of pants. They fit about the same as the jeans he'd previously wore, but they were more comfortable and had more give than the stiff jean material.

Next was his shirt. The shirt the stranger gave him was a bit looser than the band t-shirt he came here with. It had longer sleeves with lacing at the neck. He mentally compared it to a pirate shirt but in black.

'Metal.' he thought to himself. He never owned something so fantasy-esque. He never felt so in character. He smiled to himself a little, imagining how cool he would look in his own variation of his saviors attire. 'Now is not the time, dipshit. Get back to the fire before you freeze your nuts off.' he interrupts his own mental tangent. 'You're right. Of course I am. Wait why the fuck am I talking to myself.' He shakes his head at his inner dialog, and makes his way back to the fire.

As he rounds Rogue to get back to the log, Eddie notices the stranger has taken off their boots and placed them just out of the fire's reach. They also moved the log a bit closer to the fire as well. They look up at Eddie as he walks toward them. "Lay your clothes there, so they can dry by morn." They state, pointing to the log with the stick they held. Eddie did as he was told, placing his shoes next to the strangers and laying his shirt and pants over the log. Just as he was going to lay his jacket down, his heart sunk.

“Shit.” The stranger looks up at a frantic Eddie as he rummages through his jacket pockets. On one side, he finds his van keys and wallet. As his hand pats the left side of his jacket, he sighs in relief feeling a hard box in the pocket. He fishes the contraption out of the pocket, throwing the jacket over the log haphazardly, next to his other clothes. His hooded companion glances between him and the unrecognizable item in his hands. “Please don’t be broken.” He begs the thing. It is relatively dry, so he has some hope. He presses a button on the side of it, putting it up to his ear. He lets out another sigh of relief as the stranger looks at him quizzically.

“What in the realms is that?” they say, grabbing Eddie’s attention.

“Music.” He answers matter-of-factly. The strangers face scrunches further.

“I am not sure our worlds have the same meaning for music.” Eddie grins, dropping his hand from his face.

“Here.” He goes over to the stranger, kneeling on the ground next to them. “This is called a walkman.” He holds up the small box. “Inside of it is a tape.” He pops the door open, causing the stranger to jump back a bit. This causes Eddie to chuckle. The stranger shifts their hard gaze to him, causing him to end his laughing short, covering it up with a cough. He tilts the box towards them a little to expose the tape inside. “The music is held inside the tape. You can change them out with different tapes for different songs.” He pops it back closed. “When you press these buttons, you can play, pause, fast forward, or rewind the music. These things attached to it are headphones.” He explains, stretching out the wire to unravel it. He places the headphones over his curls to demonstrate how you wear them. “This is where the music comes out from.” He takes the headphones off his head then clicks play. A muffled noise can be heard coming from the devices. He brings the headphones a little closer to his savior's face. The stranger leans in a little, hearing what sounds like a man singing and strange muffled whines they’ve never heard before. Their brows are drawn together.

“What kind of music is that?” They say, not quite understanding the instruments that can be heard.

“Rock music. This is a mixtape I made. This one in particular is one of the best bands ever. Black Sabbath. This song is from their Paranoid album. It came out over a decade ago, but I can’t seem to get tired of it. I have an original vinyl. It’s one of my greatest possessions. I actually swiped it from a record store when I was 11 as a birthday gift for myself. Cherished it ever since.” He rambles on, the stranger staring at him as if he’d grown an extra head. He notices the stare and stops talking. He pauses to take a breath. “Sorry… I know probably nothing I just said made any sense to you… I get a little passionate about music, and it’s exciting to introduce someone to my favorite bands.”

“Are you a bard of some kind?” They ask, curious about Eddie’s life in the land of Hawkins. Eddie chuckles, lighting up a bit.

“I guess you could say that. I’ve studied the art of guitar my whole life.” He says dramatically, lifting his head proudly, slipping into his DND fantasy character persona a little. The stranger looks at him curiously.

“Guitar?”

“Yeah, Uh, simplified, it's like a wooden box, with strings, that you strum to make music.” He stumbles to describe a guitar, holding his hands up to mimic himself strumming a guitar. 

“A lute?” Eddie snaps, pointing at the stranger, slightly startling them, but he doesn’t notice, too wrapped up in his explanation.

“Yeah! It’s like a lute, but mine uses, uh, like controlled lightning; we call it electricity. It is used to amplify the sound, and it also changes the sound a bit.” He rambles again, “But, yeah, it’s very similar.” The stranger nods, trying to wrap their head around the description.

“It is like a magical lute…” they reply. Eddie smiles a bit wider, liking their interpretation.

“Yeah, you could say that.” The stranger nods again, going back to tending the fire. Eddie stays there, kneeling on one knee, taking in each feature of his savior’s face, admiring how the soft light of the flickering flames dances across their skin. He notices their eyes are no longer glowing from within. They have now softened to their natural hue, reflecting the light from the flames.

“Do I have something on my face?” the stranger asks seriously, yet not changing their position at all, still poking the fire with the twig in their gloved hand. Eddie is knocked out of his trance. His eyes widen in embarrassment as he jumps to face the fire.

“No, no. I was just, um,” trying to find his words, he pauses then lets out a light, awkward laugh, “Are you some kind of monster hunter or…?” He switches topics. The stranger shortly laughs through their nose, amused by the question.

“Yes, something like that.” they respond vaguely. Eddie waits eagerly, waiting for his savior to expand on the concept. “You should rest.” the stranger cuts short. Eddie’s shoulders fall slightly. He was ready to get a full lore dump, akin to what his little sheep would do in Hellfire when they’d introduce a new character, but he had to remind himself that this, in fact, was not a roleplay. It was real. This is a real person with very real skills and a very real backstory.

‘Come on, dude. Chill out. You can’t really expect them to divulge into their whole backstory, right now. There is no telling how long you are going to be here. We got time… I think…’ Eddie sighs deeply, his eyes flutter at the dreaded thought.

The stranger stands, bringing Eddie out of his own head. He follows suit, standing slowly. He watches as the stranger goes over to Rogue and unlatches a buckle to release a thick roll. Eddie’s eyes follow as they make their way to the opposite of the fire as the log that held his clothes and starts to unravel the roll into a makeshift bed.

It’s about 3 inches thick with a sturdy linen exterior. They then go back to Rogue and lift off a large fur pelt, walking back around to the bedroll and laying the pelt out.

“Here.” The warrior states shortly, making their way back to the stump to sit and continue tending to the fire. Eddie stays standing in his place.

“Wait, that was for me? Where are you going to sleep?” He protests, eyeing his hooded companion.

“I will not sleep. I will keep watch. As you may now know, these woods,” they gesture to the bag that held the decapitated head, “are not very safe… though, a little safer now that I've rid it of its Alghoul problem.” They poked the fire a few times. “Hence, I prepared for a restless evening. I will be fine. Now rest.” They continued, shutting down any opposition before it started.

Eddie stared down at them, tempted to argue, but when a pair of stern eyes connected with his, a slight glow building from within, he instead made his way to the bed, sitting upright, facing the fire. The warrior side eyes him as he chooses to sit up instead of lay down. They shake their head a little as their gaze returns to the fire.

Eddie’s gaze stays fixed on the flames. A chill runs down his spine, just now feeling the effects of the cold night air licking the back of his dampened shirt.

Realizing the wetness of his hair was causing the issue, he takes the black scrunchie that was around his wrist, hidden under his sleeves, and pulls his hair up, tying it in a lazy bun to get it off his back. He then moves to grab the heavy pelt behind him, wrapping it around his shoulders. As he settles back into his cross-legged position, the silence, though comfortable, only allows room for his mind to wander.

Eddie's thoughts were filled with dread at first, so much so he didn't notice the soft humming coming from the stranger seated beside him. As soon as their humming started though, Eddie could feel his breathing slow, and subconsciously, he began to relax.

His mind began to silence, as if the voices in his head were getting farther away and eventually locked in another room, muffled. His eyelids began to fall and his body became more slumped. A couple seconds after his eyes completely shut, he could hear the faint sound of dirt shuffling just barely noticeable underneath the wood crackling fire. The humming began to get closer with each shuffle. He then felt the faint touch of two hands pushing on his shoulders, forcing him to lay. Drifting in and out of sleep, he feels his head hit the linen beneath him. The humming becomes more and more distant as his senses begin to leave him, slipping into a deep sleep accompanied by an angelic voice and the crackling of firewood.

-🦇-

I have no idea where I'm taking this but I just like this AU 😫 forgive me

Swisslist (General Taglist): @rosecentury @solacedthistest @madelynraemunson

[ace-does-stuff]

take one step forward (two steps back)

summary: guarding the Master Emerald gave him purpose when had nothing but corpses surrounding him, no wonder it's so hard to drop the urgency

tags: character study, angst

authors note: a gift for the wonderful @ohposhers because i missed their birthday by A Very Large Margin and wanted to write them a fic regardless, hope everyone enjoys

How long has it been since he started doing this?

...

. . .

.  .  .

Yeah, too long.

Knuckles shrugs just enough to return feeling to his arms. He doesn't stand up though. It's his resting day, where he allows himself to sit instead of pace circles around the Master Emerald.

He should go find food.

Or water.

It's been a while since he last did so.

Maybe he should've given himself breaks more often then once a day.

But what if it happens again?

Eggman, Robotnik, whatever the people call him now, what if he returns? Comes back for a second shot at getting the Master Emerald?

What if he succeeds?

No!

Fuck, no, bad thoughts. It won't happen again, he's better than that now. Nothing will ever touch the Master Emerald again unless it's his own two paws or someone who he dearly trusts.

He stands up and paces circles around the Master Emerald. He just needs to get it out of his head, doubts, fears, worries, he's better now.

The telltale sound of wings flapping alert him and he finds Rouge dropping down. In her arms is Shadow, being carried similarly to a cat with one hand under each of his arms. She places down Shadow and drops down beside him with a small flourish as usual.

"Knuckles, why are you still here?" Shadow asked.

Knuckles scoffed, "I'm doing my job, why aren't you doing yours?"

"We were supposed to meet up at one of the cafe's today for a drink, sweetheart," Rouge said.

Knuckles faltered.

That was today?

He should get a calendar, or a more accurate tell of time. He doesn't even know how old he is in an exact number these days, just the rough estimation from Tails' DNA test. There is no exact date of birth, so he chose January first, an easy one to remember.

"What's wrong with you?" Shadow questioned as he stepped closer.

"It slipped my mind," Knuckles said. He was lying through his teeth and everyone knew it.

Shadow quirked a brow.

So did Rouge.

"I have to guard the Master Emerald-"

Rouge bit back at his statement, "No you don't. Nobody wants to steal it anymore."

"You do, for starters."

"And? Who else?"

Again, Knuckles goes silent.

"That's what we thought," Shadow said rather curtly.

"Sorry for forgetting, it won't happen again."

He knows that's a lie.

He knows his mind is still full of worries about the emerald. That he'll never truly be able to empty it and leave behind the need to protect the emerald. He knows he's a dog in that aspect.

"You better not, we were all looking forward to hanging out with you sweetie," Rouge said with a bit of a pout.

"Don't forget that you have a mission with Sonic tomorrow," Shadow said.

Rouge elbowed him, "Ease up, don't be so snappy."

"I'll do better next time."

-/-/-/-

Knuckles doesn't do better.

He swears he tries too, but everything just sort of, falls out of his brain. There was one little scare, a stray degraded beebot made its way onto the island. It had no real directive or drive to move to obtain the Master Emerald but it sets off every single alarm inside of Knuckles' head.

He just reverts.

All of his knowledge remains but it's shoved aside and replaced by an instinct to hunt and herd and protect. He does laps of the entire island, scouring for anything that could be out of place. He knows logically he doesn't need to, that it was just a leftover stray badnik.

But deep in the recesses of a mind molded to one purpose since he was naught but a child, he needs to do this. And he can't deny his instinct, he never could.

-/-/-/-

Shadow finds him passed out by a creek in the Mushroom Hill's. It just looks like he collapsed. Face down on the mossy grass and body splayed out like he's dead.

"Rouge! I found him!" Shadow called out.

In mere moments Rouge came crashing down from between mushrooms that threatened to bounce her back. She brushes herself down before standing at attention. With a brief glance at Knuckles' her cockiness evaporates. "I think we should be worried."

"Our mission-"

"He's passed out on the ground something happened to him!" Rouge snapped, pressing a gloved paw to Shadow's chest to nudge him back, "He's your partner, start acting like it. Cut him some slack."

Shadow huffed, "Fine."

Rouge crouches down and shakes Knuckles' awake.

He's groggy and slow to gain his senses again. His body is strained. Fuck he didn't actually get any water before passing out, did he? He scrambles to the creeks edge on auto-pilot and near fully submerges his snout.

With a heady gasp he resurfaces.

"Finally awake?" Shadow asked.

Knuckles snaps over to face him.

"What happened, red?" Rouge asked. There's a near pitying look on her face, one of worry.

"Badnik, Master Emerald," Knuckles said. He was still hacking on taking in too much water. "You know how it is."

"One Badnik?"

"They're like bugs, if you see one there's bound to be a hundred."

"Was there a hundred?" Shadow asked before taking a seat on the dirt. Rouge followed suit.

Knuckles shook his head, "I still had lap Angel Island to be sure."

Rouge felt worry build faster in her stomach, "How many times did you lap it?"

Knuckles shrugged. "Enough."

"Until you passed out, is how many times," Shadow corrected, "You need a vacation."

"That Badnik only further proves why I can't leave my post even once," Knuckles said. He didn't know why he was arguing in favor of this awful cycle. He had to. He had duty. He had purpose. This was his existence. He can't abandon, not now, not after it's been proven it has a point again.

For a stagnant moment both Rouge and Shadow are silence, then Rouge speaks.

"We'll stay with you then." She speaks with finality to her tone, "If you can't visit us off island then we'll visit you on island and protect the emerald with you."

"You just want to steal it like you always do," Knuckles spat.

Rouge scoffed, "Please, there are far bigger fish to fry than a thing like The Master Emerald."

"Even if you kick her out, I'm still staying here to guard it with you," Shadow tacked on.

"It's not your job."

"It will be."

"It will never be your duty the way it's my duty."

-/-/-/-

They still come to pester him daily on his laps.

He still tries to ward them off out of an instinct then real conviction towards them. He loves them too much to actually want to get rid of them. He still can't kill the thing in his head that says that anyone with sentience stepping foot on the island wants the worst.

That won't stop them from bothering him non-stop regardless.

"We brought you some grape jello," Rouge stated as she handed the cling-wrapped bowl to Knuckles.

"And a blanket for your hammock hut you have set up out in the woods," Shadow tacked on as he tossed a crocheted blanket at Knuckles. It consisted of muted hues of reds, blacks, pinks, blues- nearly the entire rainbow really. "Everyone wanted to pitch in and cast a few rows of their own color."

Knuckles wrapped himself up in the blanket, "That's sweet."

"Do you think we could help you guard the Emerald yet?" Rouge asked, "Robotnik is back out."

Knuckles paused before nodding, "Yeah, you guys can help if you really want to."

Rouge grinned, "I hope your hut has room for two more hammocks then, cause if it doesn't we're all dogpiling."

[albrightnow]

Frequencies

Blinkspace flights get boring. Sure, sometimes Sarah is contracted to travel to a planet beyond the blinkgate - that’s mostly just travel through the dead space between stars, but it at least gives her time to catch up on a telenovela or two. There’s nothing going on, for days at a time, and she can handle that. But blinkspace flights mostly consist of taking ships back and forth through blinkgates. Waiting around for cargo to be loaded or unloaded, waiting around for your callsign to be called to take off or land, waiting around for crew or passengers to embark or disembark. But Christ the Buddha forfend you’re even a minute late when other people are done making you wait.

She can’t nap, she can’t watch TV, she can’t do anything to relax. She just has to wait on standby. It sucks, and the tension combines with the constant source of caffeine NL422 Sarah Albright provides herself to leave her feeling wired and twitchy.

The radio helps.

Well. Most pilots call it a radio, but it really hasn’t been a radio for hundreds of years; funny how names stick like that. It’s really more like a basic low-amplitude omnihook designed to keep working on bare minimum power, with basically no features other than sending and receiving audio on open channels. Simple, reliable, and built tough enough to survive a meteor strike. Allegedly. Not that Sarah wants to test that one.

Still. As she waits for her seventh flight of the day to clear through the backlog of blinkgate traffic, she twists the analog dial on the top of the omnihook. Static, static, static.

“Alrighty folks you're listening to one-twenty-one-point-five The GUARRRRRRD, bringing you the latest in deep space disasters, piracy, and tragedies! Coming up next, four more hours of nonstop cat sooooounds!”

She keeps twisting the dial.

“-l passengers, we will be arriving at Nairamdal Station in a little over thirty minutes. Please be aware that due to nearlight time dilation, the time of our arrival will be galac…” A pause. “...I am SO fucking sorry.” There’s the click of a transmitter turning off, and Sarah snorts a laugh. Wrong dial, mate. She’s been there.

Sarah goes back to channel-surfing.

“This is IPS-N contracted vessel Venn Diagram reporting my last known position. Encountered an unexpected meteor storm, the nearlight drive has taken heavy damage and–”

“--Hey, ND785, you busy?” “Same old, same old.” “Remember that sushi place on Elbert?” “The one that gave me food poisoning?” “HAHA, yeah. We should go back there next time we’re both in Rocky Mountain, their calamari was–”

“--Votive. Seven. Two. One. One. Instinct. Four. Seventeen. One. Spiral. Sixteen. Three. Nine. Message repeats. Votive–”

“--will always find you, like it’s written in the stars. You can run but you can’t–”

“--Union is a lie! They feed you the promises of a utopia, but it’s all bullshit! Free food, free medicine, and all you have to do is not ask what They put inside it! But I’m asking. It’s Soylent Green, people. Our Ancestors know, our ancestors predicted it, that’s why They had to kill them all with the Fall. But we got the knowledge back, if you know where to look for it. It’s all there. Microchips, Project Duplivox, food supplements, contrails, constellar reality, Mattica, it’s all there. They don’t want you to know the truth! They want to silence me! But I will never–” “Hey, man, shut up.” “See? SEE?! Change frequencies if you don’t want to hear the truth, if you’re not ready to know, Union shill! But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be–”

Sarah twists the dial one final time, and ends up on…some sort of Karrakin station playing polka music. The people who play music over these channels are probably the weirdest. No, okay, that’s a lie. The weird conspiracy guys are the weirdest.

She taps her goncharovs against the dashboard of her ship to the beat of the music. Until, just like that, the waiting light flicks off and she receives a message from the blinkgate tower control NHP. She’s cleared to blink, finally.

As she pilots her ship forwards, sending it gliding towards the vast portal of nonspace she calls her income stream, the sound of the polka distorts slightly. Bends, in ways that don’t quite make sense.

The nose of the ship touches the portal.

“--the funny thing about blinkspace is that it’s like a dream. You’re here forever, and here for no time at all. It’s so real that it replaces whatever life you had before. Think about it. In dreams, whatever reality they impose becomes all you know. You should know that blinkspace travel is instant. That there’s no way you could hear all this. But in the logic of the dream, it makes perfect sense. You don’t even question it. Because time is a realspace concept. It doesn’t have any place here. You could live a whole different life here, buried in the never-was. It would feel more real than anything you’ve ever known–”

STOP.

“--But the moment you open your eyes, it’s gone.”

Sarah switches off the omnihook, and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. Her vision started blurring after that last jump, and now there’s a fuzzy grey haze over her vision.

She’s okay. She probably just didn’t get enough sleep last night. 

But she knows she didn’t dream of anything at all.

[arwenlalaith]

Dating App Mishaps (Ch. 19)

Ship: Alex Blake/Emily Prentiss/Reader

Summary: Alex didn't have Tinder by choice...but that doesn't mean it isn't going to come in handy.

Word Count: 1073

Author's Note: This wasn't intended to fill a @cmkinkbingo2024 prompt, but it does! Yay me!

"She's got a smart little mouth, huh?" Emily asked Alex as if you weren't even there.

Alex barked out a laugh. "She does."

"Does she know how to use it?" Emily asked, her smirk making it all too clear what she'd meant by that.

As she poured them both another glass of wine, Alex called out from the kitchen, "Take the slut for a test drive if you're curious."

Emily gave you a look that made you quiver with anticipation. "Hear that, Angel? Daddy wants to share..." You nodded eagerly. "You'll be a good girl for me, right? You want to make me happy?" Another nod.

Pulling her fingers from your mouth, she stood and slowly unfastened her belt, which is when you noticed for the first time that she was packing (and if you'd been in better control of your faculties, you might've wondered what exactly they had planned...). "Go ahead," she said with a cocky smirk, "Make me happy."

You made short work of divesting her of her jeans and panties, your eagerness making her chuckle. With a glance over her shoulder at Alex, she said, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you haven't been taking proper care of the poor thing, given how desperate she is..."

With a snort of amusement, Alex replied, "That's just how she is..."

As she settled back in the armchair, Emily gave you a pointed look, clearly waiting for you to follow the unspoken command. You glanced back at Alex one last time, just to be absolutely certain that this is what she wanted.

Her returning nod was enough to sufficiently reassure you, so you decided to simply go with the situation as it presented itself... You made a good show of crawling towards Emily, tongue lolled out in anticipation of the head of her cock.

Emily chuckled at your theatrics, but she also couldn't take her eyes off you. Once you were kneeling between her spread legs, she proceeded to slap your tongue with her cock a few times, teasing you until you whined, practically drooling.

Alex strolled into the room and you could practically hear her smirk as she passed behind you. She paused, stroked your hair away from your face, then wound the strands tightly around her fingers. She yanked your head back so you were forced to meet her gaze. "Remember your manners, Princess: hands off your clit while you pleasure Sir."

You whined and were about to say something in protest, but before you could, she was guiding you down onto Emily's cock.

Emily groaned aloud at the sight. "Goddamn, that's a sexy fucking sight," she husked.

Unable to help agreeing, Alex said, "The sight of her lips wrapped around your dick is the Eighth Wonder of the World..." She released your hair and took the seat across the room where she'd have the best sight to get off to.

You languished in the praise, in the knowledge that both of these gorgeous women wanted you, that they were both getting off because of you. You felt all powerful in that moment. You proceeded to put on a porn star worthy performance of sucking her cock and, if Emily's reactions were anything to go by, it was having the desired effect.

"That's enough," Alex interrupted and, for a brief moment, you panicked, thinking you'd done something wrong. "We've got other plans for you," she added.

The way Emily smirked at that had a shiver of anticipation running down your spine. She tapped your chin, indicating you should release her cock. Once you did, she smirked down at you as she settled back in her chair, patting her lap.

"Sir?"

"Ride my cock, Angel," she coaxed, stroking the cock a few times as she gazed down at you, "Let's give Daddy a good show, hmm?" The blatant lust in her eyes was practically enough to make you cum on the spot. Your earlier feeling of omnipotence came crashing down as you realized you were far from being the one in control here...

As you climbed onto Emily's lap, sinking down on her cock, you could feel your face heating up with sudden shyness as you felt Alex's eyes on you, watching your every move with almost clinical intensity. Your eyes fluttered shut as you began moving your hips and almost immediately, you were met with a scold of, "Open your eyes. I want you to look me in the eye while you fuck yourself on Sir's cock like the little fuckdoll you are."

With a little whine of complaint, you reluctantly locked eyes with Alex – the raw lust you saw reflected in them had you soaking Emily's cock with arousal, which only made Emily laugh. "Oh, you have trained her well..."

Alex just smirked.

Emily's fingers were deft on the clasp of your bra, discarding it to the side so she could tease your nipples, fingers rough as they toyed with the sensitive buds, and you were having significant difficult focusing on keeping your pace as her skilled fingers worked to draw little whimpers and whines past your lips.

Every time you began to slow your thrusts, Emily's fingers pinched at your nipples in a silent reminder to keep your pace and, desperate to please both women, you did your best – in spite of the fact that your muscles were burning with exertion.

"What do you think?" Emily asked Alex, as if you weren't even there, "Is she doing a good job? Putting on a good show?" Her thumb ghosted over your clit, causing your hips to buck sharply and you whined desperately.

Alex smirked, watching your obvious desperation, knowing you needed more stimulation to be able to cum and also knowing that you weren't about to just ask for it... "You're completely at our mercy, aren't you?" she taunted. When you nodded, she grinned. She loved you like this: desperate and needy, so close to the edge that you'd do nearly anything to gain permission to cum.

"Please, Daddy?" you whined in desperation, "Please, let me cum..." You added in a pout for good measure.

"Well, if you're begging..." she drawled, the smirk on her face letting you know they were far from done with you...

[pumpkinhcad]

HAMMY'S POSTING. Had to go do other stuff after posting all those asks (they were in my priority list today), buuuut!! Since this was a very funny Freudian slip on my part (it was improvised and also funny, so I was not going to change it anyways), how about we go back to the subject of Pump burning things?

Pump's fascination with fire stems from a 4th of July incident where he, as a curious four-year-old, got too dangerously close to a lit aerial firework that did not fly up as intended. Even with experience with previous years, this was a freak accident waiting to happen, and he could have gotten seriously hurt if he had gotten his hands on it. Something about the smell of burnt grass, black powder stains in his hands, and getting flash-banged, had a life-changing effect on this kid that, for a couple of years, remained dormant. It was only after his grandfather stopped using his smoking pipe, and Pump came across his old Zippo lighter that... it awakened. And it has stuck around since.

Due to state laws pertaining to the subject, firecrackers are one of Pump's most valuable resources. They are only legal for purchase during the 4th of July season, and so he will put aside and hoard a bunch of firecrackers in his toy box and make them last until the New Years season for the rinse-and-repeat. It is for this reason that Pump carefully chooses when to use firecrackers, which takes an insane amount of self-restraint on his part. After all, who does not like tying something to a firecracker, lighting it up and watching it explode? Most of the time they are saved for more complex pranks or, because this is Pump we are talking about, scaring people he does not like. They could also be used for a very childish form of self-defense, but this has never crossed his mind.

EXTRA POINT: Pump is not the only one who handles firecrackers all year long: Roy and his friends also have their own hoard, as they get them from friends and relatives that live and/or drive out of state where it is legal to buy them. Knowing this, Pump has bought firecrackers off them at least once. He lost his entire allowance for that week, sure, because this is Roy we are talking about, but it was worth it.

Funnily enough, Pump knows a good degree of fire safety from his family. He knows how to put out small fires from going on camping trips with his dad (and because of that 4th of July incident) as well as the risks that come with leaving small fires, such as those from tossed lit cigarettes, unchecked. All of this knowledge, obviously, comes in handy whenever he wants to light something on fire. Or Eyes tells him to burn something. Most of his fires are small and controlled, usually things he wants to put under "the fire test", as he puts it. So what he wanted to do to Skid's Happy Fella the second he bought it, basically. Before the thing started moving on its own and Pump outright wanted to make it disappear. Have any of these fires ever gotten out of control? Yes. But they have never happened with enough of a frequency for them to be linked back to him. Yet. He is incredibly lucky he has not had the cops called on this.

[groenendaze]

Do you have any tips for getting into dog sports? I've got an 8-month-old dalmatian/gsd/pit mix (my absolute best friend and also the bane of my existence, teenagers are a menace lol) who's crazy smart and athletic. The stuff you do with your pups looks awesome and I think we'd both really enjoy it! I'm just not sure where to start to look for clubs/events/etc. Any advice is appreciated!

Dog sports are one of those things where you either just happen to accidentally fall into it or you fight tooth and nail to find a place.

Some of the best ways to find places are to reach out to trainers/competitors in your area or close to you (FB and instagram are the easiest for this imo - if you have found any!). The rest depends on the sports you want to do and where you're located. A good way to try and find more sports would be to see if there are any in your area: google your city + "dog training club" or the sport you're looking for. See if any places offer classes (classes are a GREAT way to get started and test the waters!). Or look for events in your area and go watch! I wouldn't recommend trying to volunteer my first time watching an event, but it's a great place to get started and look for people who might know more people in your area that could help you. Most people are nice and like helping newbies out, but there are always some bad eggs in the pot!

Unfortuently, I'm not super great at finding non-American events, so I apologize if you aren't in the US! But if you are, there are a couple websites that you can check out. For AKC sanctioned events (FastCAT/AKC agility/Rally-O/Confo/etc), AKC has an event calendar.

For things like disc, you can check out UpDog's event page, Skyhoundz event page, USDDN (international), UFO (international), Quadruped, or AWI.

Agility has a couple besides AKC: UKI, CPE, NADAC, and USDAA.

Dock has a few with the main one being NADD and Ultimate Air Dogs.

For flyball, UFLI has a tournament list page. NAFA also does tournaments but I only do UFLI and NAFA's website looks like hasn't been updated since, like, the 90s.

There are other sports, like bitesports (PSA/IGP/Mondio/French Ring) or racing (AOK9, etc) but I know nothing about the racing world and bitesports are one of those sports (much like Flyball tbh) where you'd need to reach out to a club first because a club will make or break a dog.

I got into agility back in like, 2019 or something because I took classes from a local facility and went to some AKC events and asked around. I got into PSA because I googled "bitesports [city]" and found the closest club was an hour a half, so I emailed them. And then made that drive every weekend for 10 or so months haha (I put so many miles on my car). Moved to Wisconsin and reached out to a disc club local to me asking for a private lesson in disc on Facebook, ended up accidentally getting invited to play Toss & Fetch and my disc obsession spiraled from there. Ended up getting into flyball because I made friends with a lot of flyball people at disc. Everything else I've tried (like barn hunt/herding/etc) was a combination of looking on the AKC event page and going "I can do that", a friend going "you can do this, come to X event", or me frantically googling locations or sports or classes or private lessons.

When I first started out, I struggled a LOT. In Texas, there were quite a few places and clubs around me, but I only had about three months of that before I moved to Arkansas, which was a dog sport dead zone. I didn't have the connections or knowledge to even know where to look to get access to those places. It took me months to find the one single place where I could rent an agility field. I spent most of my time throwing a frisbee in a park not even knowing that disc was a dog sport I could compete in. Luckily, where I am now is pretty dominated by the sports I love and I've made a lot of really amazing connections which helps with knowing the who's/what's/how's of everything!

Good luck and I hope this helps!

[starfleetwitch]

Berenice Griselda Wolfe tried to kill me and when that didn't work, she sabotaged my home set up by being a flirty MF with a TARDIS.

(Not a sentence I thought I'd EVER write completely sober or seriously but here we are)

This is a bit of a long story and now I've written it and got it out of my system I fully realise just how much I resemble a dog barking at a corner for no reason.

There is a TLDR at the end

Story time:

So I got this Tardis themed external USB hub for Christmas a few years ago.

It's kinda cool, lights up when you plug in a USB and what not. Fantastic. It also made that scrapping TARDIS sound when you plug in USBs. Also a fantastic feature, quite quirky. Much wow... For a week and then it really grated on my nerves. Found out after a month there was a switch on the side that let you turn the sound off. Wonderful. Fantastic. Problem solved. They all lived happily ever after, end of the story.

Except it wasn't.

Because the internet exists and with it, great knowledge that I shouldn't have been allowed access to.

I got bored and last year during some death scrolling, I found out I could change that hideously irritating TARDIS scraping sound...

...TO WHAT EVER I WANTED...

... And lesbian jesus help me, I wanted to be funny 🙈

So I decided to use sound bites from Holby City. Specifically from Bernie Wolfe.

We had "I say ding dong" for when a USB was pushed into a slot and "Easy tiger" for when a USB was pulled out of a slot.

Link here for reference: Where it all went wrong

Anyway. For a while it was quite funny... Except for you know... When my volume was turned up full blast and I was getting jump scared by Bernie Wolfe's voice every time I plugged in, lord knows what the rest of the house thought every time it went off.

I lived with it for a while... You know... Haha, scared me, GOT ME AGAIN BERNIE YOU OLD SCALLY WAG! But then things started going wrong. The jump scares started going into heart failure mode when in the middle of the night if I was doing a long download, she'd just randomly yell 'DING DONG!' or even worse, she'd start stuttering on full volume 'I SAY I SAY I SAY DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG'. GENUINE heart failure territory. Like FOR GODS SAKES BERENICE STFU!!!

Me being me, I forgot how I'd changed the setting to be her voice... And also at this point, I should add, the switch on the side to stop her talking stopped working.

I must assume murdering me in cold blood via jump scares just wasn't working fast enough for her because for a while she stopped.

All seemed well in the land of Starfleet Witch but unbeknownst to me, Bernie was plotting something bigger. Something she knew would REALLY insta kill me.

I started working from home for a bit and randomly about a week in, she did it again... Except this time she yelled 'EASY TIGER' and that was it. Nothing seemed out of place, she never spoke again after that. Everything was fine for a couple of weeks.

Until last week (AKA THE WEEK THAT NEVER ENDED.)

I'd been in an anxious spiral. Shit was happening IRL and I was TERRIFIED of the future. She saw this weakness in me, witnessed first hand how on the edge I was and decided, like the spiteful cunt she is, that now was the time to hatch her brilliant plan.

Wednesday morning. I had a deadline. 9:30am arrived... But my computer wouldn't turn on. I rang for help, I had switched it on and off many times... Nothing. 10:30am rolled around. I unplugged everything, had the very guts of my computer spread out across my floor praying it would be an easy fix... Nothing. At the 11th hour, I plugged everything back in and tried to turn it on again, constantly pressing F8 to reboot it and miracle of miracles, it worked! I downloaded some software to test the hard drive health, did some diagnostics and everything seemed fine. Better than fine. The computer was HEALTHY AF! So I prayed it may have been just a one off glitch.

It wasn't.

In fact my computer repeated its issue of booting up every morning after that, an expense I couldn't afford to fix any time soon but I NEEDED the computer for work.

Friday morning rolled around, I unplugged everything, held the very heart of my computer in my hands trying to find a loose connection or SOMETHING. Nothing. Everything was fine. Dejected, this time when I tried to turn the computer on, I only plugged in the power cable, screen and keyboard.

It worked first try.

And that's when I FINALLY got suspicions.

Over the weekend I decided to do some experiments. I tried plugging in different things I hadn't plugged in when I last tried switching it on and low and behold it wouldn't turn on when Bernie TARDIS was plugged in.

And that dear friends is when I decided aging 40 years in the space of days over a joke isn't actually funny and that I'd CLEARLY wronged a god somewhere along the way, for what crueller punishment could they bestow upon me than to have my very muse almost kill me via an anxiety induced heart attack?

TLDR:

I haven't found out how yet but my TARDIS with Bernie's voice clearly got possessed by a disgruntled spirit insisting on making my life a living hell and now it's in quarantine until I can cleanse it's soul and work out how to take it's voice away again.

Moral of the story: Don't give things Bernie Wolfe's voice, no matter how funny you think it'll be. Bolting upright in your bed because you heard Jemma Redgrave say "ding dong" at 3am isn't actually as pleasant an experience as you might think and when it happens several times, it's terrifying.

[duckapus]

Incorrect Quotes (ssenmodnaR Edition)

Now that it's been a while since "It's Gotta Be Perfect," SMG4's once again feeling comfortable with the idea of being more ambitious with his videos. Thankfully he has learned his lesson and won't be striving for perfection, and he also won't be trying to go it alone. Instead, he's taking inspiration from the man he was designed as a self-insert of and putting together a production crew (of actual employees, not enslaved Toads. That's another low point he doesn't want to go back to.

Next up on the applicant list is Baljeet, for some reason, who's been asked to put together a meme compilation as a test of his editing skills.

"Alright kid, show me what you got."

"Of course," he moves to hit the play button, but pauses to add, "I should warn you, however, that it is a bit... strange, at certain points." He hits the button before 4 can ask what he means.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

FM: *gestures incredulously at a car* Who parked their car...

*the view shifts slightly to reveal a jpeg of a BLT under one of the tires*

FM: On my sandwich!?

Steve: I did!

FM: *gets so angry he explodes into a coin*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*MarioMario54321 and Tari face each other on a version of final destination, with MM wearing a Duel Disk and Clench transformed to fulfil the functions of one*

MM: You ready?

Tari: *grins* Born ready.

MM: Well then... *starts using the Yu-Gi-Oh! intro Yami voiceclip* It's Time to D-D, DD-D-DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD *D-ing continues as he starts spazzing out*

Tari:

Clench: 'da fuk?

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Elanore: *runs around in an office building, throwing raisins around like confetti* RAISINS! RAISINS! THEY USED TO BE GRAPES!

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Meggy: *wandering through what's clearly a Zelda dungeon for some reason*

Random Evil Wizard Dude: *appears from the shadows, pointing menacingly with a staff* Stop right where you are, Maddy.

Meggy: *gasps* How did you almost know my name?

Wizard Dude: I have approximate knowledge of many things.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Desmond: *sitting on a bench, minding his own business*

Franky: *rises up behind him* I can smell you.

Desmond: *jumps up in shock while yelling in Homer Simpson's voice*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

MM: DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

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Perry: *assumes a fighting stance in the middle of a warehouse while Doof does an evil laugh off-screen*

Doof: You are too late, Perry the Platypus! I am now... *drives on-screen in a forklift* FORKLIFT CERTIFIED!

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*this would work better in a visual format, just picture Paige doing the same actions as the music video while Crabcake keeps showing up in the areas they point out in funny poses*

Paige: Now everything smells like salmon!

My shirts!

My couch!

My sheets!

If I had a couple more square feet,

I imagine this would not happen!

Everything smells like salmon!

Straight-up salmon.

Smell it from the bed to the door,

when you're living in a space that's not much more than a cabin,

well sometimes this happens

Everything smells like salmon.

FUCK IT UP ANDI!

Andi: *epic keyboard solo*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Avatar Kirby: *reenacting Speed of Kirb...through the Showgrounds, while the SMGs watch him through the coffee shop's window with resigned annoyance*

SMG3: I'm not helping him if he pisses off Marty.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*back at the Yu-Gi-Oh! duel, Tari and Clench have resorted to playing against each-other while they wait for MM to hopefully pull himself together*

Clench: ...Well this sucks.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*The Abyss and Juliano are in the middle of a fancy restaurant...for some reason*

The Abyss: I poisoned one of our glasses, but I can't remember which.

Juliano: The way this dinner is going I hope it's mine.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Mario: Fuck you, Baltimore!

Bob: If you're dumb enough to buy a new car this weekend,

Mario: You're a big enough schmuck to come to Big Bill Hells Cars!

Bob: Bad deals!

Mario: Cars that break down!

Bob: Thieves!

Mario: If you think you're gonna find a bargain at Big Bill's,

Bob: You can kiss my ass!

Mario: It's our belief that you're such a stupid motherfucker-

Bob: You'll fall for this bullshit!

Mario: Guaranteed!

Bob: If you find a better deal,

Mario: Shove it up your ugly ass!

Bob: You heard us right!

Mario: Shove it up your ugly ass.

Bob: Bring your trade!

Mario: Bring your title!

Bob: Bring your wife!

Mario: We'll fuck her!

Bob: That's right! We'll fuck your wife!

Mario: Because at Big Bill Hells,

Bob: You're fucked six ways from Sunday!

Mario: Take a hike!

Bob: To Big Bill Hells!

Mario: Home of Challenge Pissing!

Bob: That's right!

Mario: CHALLENGE PISSING!

Bob: How does it work?

Mario: If you can piss six feet in the air straight up-

Bob: -and not get wet-

Mario: You get no down payment!

Bob: Don't wait! Don't delay,

Mario: Don't fuck with us, or we'll rip your nuts off!

Bob: Only at Big Bill Hells!

Mario: The only dealer that tells you to FUCK OFF!

Bob: Hurry up, asshole!

Mario: This event ends the minute after you write us a check!

Bob: And it better not bounce or you're a dead motherfucker!

Mario: Go to hell!

Bob: Big Bill Hells Cars!

Mario: Baltimore's filthiest,

Bob: And exclusive home to the meanest sons of bitches in the state of Maryland!

Mario: Guaranteed!

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

*several robed figures stand in a circle around a chained up Teletubby*

Robed figures: Chanting in unison, chanting in unison, chanting in unison... (yes, they are actually chanting the words "chanting in unison" in unison. it's even an actual voice clip from the Adventures of Jimmy Neutron: Boy Genius.)

Luigi: *opens a door to whatever room these guys are in, sees what's happening, and swiftly backs out the way he came*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

Hex: *dancing to Buck Bumble's theme music*

fucking Jerry the Goomba kid: Buck Bumble sucks, ya dumbass!

Hex: *the music stops with a record scratch and she slowly turns her head to look at him with a vacant expression*

A Few Seconds Later

Hex: *back to dancing, now with Jerry's burning corpse off to the side*

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

MM: DDDDDD-DUEL! *finally done, he looks up to see that Tari got tired of waiting and left* Ah, crap.

ssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnarssenmodnar

"...The hell was that?"

"That is what I said! Oh sure, give all the weird stuff to Baljeet! It definitely will not make no sense without context! I do not think some of them are even from our universe, and I am not sure how that is even possible!"

"Well...it's at least well-edited? Might work as part of a "Ssenmodnar" video or something, we haven't had one of those in a while. I'll, uh, I'll get back to you later, alright?"

After he leaves, Baljeet sighs and looks back at the monitor, "I need better clips."