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feelingsuicidal21 · 3 years

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Thekellinunderthevic the_kellin_under_the_vic the-kellin-under-the-vic

A multi-part vent, personal story and open letter written years much too late

Dear Sarah,

I spent so many hours reading your stories. I was truly enthralled by your never-ending twists and turns, how you made my heart race, or cry from the emotional overhaul you created. Checking your blog became a part of my daily routine; not only for chapter updates but just to hear you talk about music, your own interests, or personal life.

I spent years following you until the time came where I decided to step away from social media, including tumblr. When I came back your blog was gone; like it had never even existed. I checked the other platforms but found them empty.

I spent time googling your username trying to find anything I could about where you had gone. I didn’t find you; just support groups, chat logs, and the devastating news that you had left writing fanfiction behind.

I was told you left because you began feeling uncomfortable writing stories based on real people and it had started to give you anxiety. I understood your reasons, but it didn’t make it any easier.

I spent a good deal of time thinking about how I had secretly feared that a day might come, where you would feel this way. But in the back of my head, I always thought that you were more secure in your position. After all, you were older than most fanfic writers at the time and so I naively assumed you were past the point of squeamishness and embarrassment over it; that you had made your peace with your interest in it.

You had once said that when you wrote your fics you didn’t consider them the actual individuals, that you saw them as different people. I always personally felt they took on a new life in your stories.

I admit, I was completely unprepared for the reality of your disappearance but there was nothing I could do. Although I’m certain it seems dramatic to some, I felt genuine grief. It was like losing an old friend.

After you left, I stopped reading fanfic, and truthfully I stopped reading much at all. In a way I had lost my wonder for the written word.

All these years later I am writing this and it’s because of the simplest thing. I was scrolling and stumbled upon a fanfic based around a popular tv show I watch, and found myself instantly drawn in. I ended up reading it for hours until I became overwhelmingly discontent; because I could only think about your writing, your stories, and how I wished you were still there and that I could read them once again.

For the second time I found myself embarking down the rabbit hole, searching for your blog name, your stories, looking for any remnants of your work.

I found people who claimed you were rewriting your stories but with different names on a new account, which has since disappeared. Others claim you created another new account, completely removed from fanfic, writing original short stories.

I found people who had saved some of your work; so few in comparison to the numerous you had before. Despite knowing it would make me sad that I couldn’t read them all again especially some of my favorites, I was sucked into reading a republished version of your work. One of your original stories and I simply couldn’t stop until I finished it.

Afterwards I thought about many different things. For instance, I remembered how when I was younger, I had started saving your stories in Word because I had wanted to keep them just in case, however I thought it might be strange and decided to stop; and now I am filled with regret over something so small.

I allowed myself to ponder over whether or not you had kept your stories. I struggle to imagine how someone could delete so many years worth of effort and hard work no matter how they may have felt about it. But then, you deleted your blog seemingly without hesitation; you always were the forward, no nonsense know exactly what you wanted kind of person. So perhaps you are in fact the person who could erase it all and move on.

Part of me secretly and perhaps foolishly hopes that, even if I can never read them again, that you saved your stories somewhere. In case somewhere down the line your feelings change, and you wish you could come back to where you started to see how far you came, in case one day you regret deleting a part of yourself even if it made you feel conflicted. Maybe it’s because I never was the person who could let things go. I was never the person who could burn everything someone gave me in order to move forward or throw away old things I made in the chance I would want to turn and look back on them.

Most of all I wondered where you are now and if you ever think about those days and how it used to be. I wonder if you stopped writing after you left fanfiction, I hope that you didn’t. Although someone once told me a writer can never truly stop writing for long. So, even if you no longer wanted to share your stories with your old readers, I hope you never lost your passion for writing.

Wherever you are and whatever you are writing now I wanted you to know that I don’t think of fanfic as a lesser form of writing, and I hope you don’t either. Whatever you feel about your past in this world of ours I want to say to you that; I don’t believe that it was about bands or smut or anything else. Our strange connection to the writing went beyond who’s namesake they were inspired by. I think the names simply made it easier to connect to the stories faster, that it created a connection to the story before we even started reading it.

I think fanfic satisfies this desire we have to feel connected; whether to bands who’s music made us feel less alone, to shared concepts between stories and writers, and the rest of the readers, knowing we can all see the same faces that we are reading together.

In some ways I think that fanfic authors offer us more in their stories than “official” authors who write printed books. Fanfic authors write stories in a way that would never lead to them being published; they write intensive interpersonal narratives that take us on a roller coaster. They write so detailed about all the minute things that get left out of “official” books and are left for the reader to wonder about; the characters, their thoughts, and life outside of the plot. (All the things that supposedly dredge down “real” books that secretly I think we all wanted to read about.)

Perhaps now, as an adult it does seem strange to have read stories naming real people, with often times extreme plots or outrageous concepts. Stories that are “cringey” that we should be embarrassed about reading or in your case writing. But I find myself unable to feel regret or embarrassment now over something that brought me so much joy; especially at a time I needed it the most.

In a strange way it was like we almost took you for granted. Holding you and these stories dear and therefore being unable to imagine them as anything other than permanent; something that would always exist and always there to be relived. Your disappearance reminds us all of the impermanence that exists in this life.

Perhaps that’s why I now of all times I would come back to this, to feel so passionately about something so seemingly silly as to write about it as an adult. Is it just remembering and being unable to let it go again so easily, is it nostalgia for the past, or is it the way even years later life has found ways to mimic the circumstances that led me to reading fanfiction in the first place. Writing to you here in the void of the internet is a way to remind myself, others and perhaps even you that these times we shared were real.

I know that your writing was causing you anxiety, and that you likely felt strange about your involvement and maybe even still do. Fanfiction is almost like a taboo. I really hope that you found your inner peace with it; because speaking from experience I know that you can destroy everything relating to something that makes you feel embarrassed or ashamed, but it doesn’t change that part of your life.

I hope you know that you were never just a fanfiction writer to me; you were an author and one of my favorite ones. However you may feel about your past, your stories reached hundreds of thousands of readers; readers just like me who fell in love with your stories just the way they were.

You influenced an entire subculture of youth with your stories; you were my inspiration for my rekindled interest in reading at the time and my desire to try writing too. Something I always thought I couldn’t do.

Even now as I grow older and struggle to remember certain details of what was discussed on your blog, the time you changed your username and everyone panicked, to struggle to remember all of the specific titles of the fics I cherished. Despite that I can still remember the stories even if I can’t recall its name, I remember where I was and how I felt when reading them.

I still follow tkutvfics tag on tumblr, my one and only followed tag on tumblr. Maybe it’s a desperate hope, maybe it keeps the memory alive, but no matter what it’s a piece of the past we shared and is a bittersweet reminder of all the good times.

So, as I said, however you feel about your past, your stories and your existence continues to live on in all of those readers including myself. Who even now remember them, miss them and you like one misses an old friend, who were effected in whatever ways they might have been by your writing; for the better.

Wherever you are, (down under), I hope you found the mental peace you were looking for, I hope you continued to imagine stories and be creative in whichever way you choose, I hope you are happy and living your life filled with passion. Although, wherever you are I hope perhaps you haven’t and won’t forget about us, because I sincerely believe that I am not alone, that we haven’t forgotten you.

Sincerely yours,

A faithful and loving reader

#tkutvfics #thekellinunderthevic #kellic #jalex #lashton #bandfic #band fic #the-kellin-under-the-vic #the_kellin_under_the_vic #open letter #personal #fanfiction #fanfic

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cg29 · 3 years

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Fanfiction 21 Q&A Tag Game.

Answer the 21 questions then tag anyone who’s fics you’d like to know more about.

1. What fandoms have you written for?

Apart from 1 fic all of mine are Thunderbirds.

2. How many works do you have on AO3 &/or FFNet?

I’ve 21 on A03 & 22 on FFNet. The extra fic that’s not currently on A03 is a short I wrote many years ago set in the OZ universe. Plus - 47+ mini fics in my Pic & Mix collection.

3. What are your top 3 fics by kudos on A03 &/or Favs on FFNet?

A03 Kudos:

93 - Virgil Drabbles.

79 - Pick & Mix.

70 - Gone.

FFNet Favs:

50 - Gone.

22 - Virgil Drabbles.

21 - Pick & Mix.

4. Which 3 fics have the least kudos & Favs?

A03:

6 Kudos - Birthday Wish.

7 Kudos- Moving on. Episode TAG Flame Out.

8 Kudos- Scayo. Episode TAG HyperSpeed / Bring on the Fluff

FFNet: only including TAG fics.

1 Fav - Bring on the Fluff.

2 Fav- The Games.

3 Fav - The retribution of Scott Tracy.

5. Which Fic has the most comments and which has the least?

A03 Comment Threads:

Gone, 72.

Scayo Episode TAG for Hyperspeed, 0 comments.

FFNet: Only inc TAG.

Gone, 347.

Scayo Episode TAG for Hyperspeed, 2.

6. Which complete fic do you wish had gotten more attention?

Moving on, episode TAG Flame Out. A fic explanation for Grandma Tracy’s 8 episode absence until her hysterical return in Flame Out.

7. Have you written any crossovers?

I’ve started 1 (only put 1 chapter up so far) a cross between Thunderbirds and Hunger Games.

8. What is the craziest fic you’ve written?

The retribution of Scott Tracy. I wrote the short crack fic while high on pain meds, and it shows! 😂

9. What’s the fic you’ve written with the saddest ending?

Definitely White Light: I was actually in a fairly good mood when it popped in to my head, but it was one of those that demanded I write it down. Finished it in one day, and personally (even though I cry whenever I read it) I think it’s one of the better shorts I’ve written.

10. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Considering how much angst it contains probably Gone.

11. What is your smuttiest fic?

The night of Anderbad, it’s set after the original series episode of the perils of Penelope and features some Virgil/Penny hotness.

12. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes, all were anonymously sent and are usually deleted and forgotten about. The two that have stuck in my mind were for The Tracy Family - apparently saying that I accepted prompts for future chapters meant I was stealing other peoples ideas and I was a rubbish writer who couldn’t come up with my own content. The other was for Bad Day, and they sent a homophobic rant because I wrote Virgil and Brains in a relationship.

13. What is the nicest comment you’ve received?

I love all my comments. I did receive a private message once on FFNet (which I kept until FFNet decided to delete it) saying that I was their favourite writer and they had read Gone multiple times. ☺️ I can’t remember who it was but the message helped me through so many ‘I’m crap at this’ moments and inspired me to write many more TAG fics.

14. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware.

15. How many fics do you have marked as incomplete?

I have 8 in total, also around 10 WIPS that I’ve only shared bits of on here. 😅

16. Which of the WIPS will most likely be finished first?

It will most likely be Reflections as I have the final 2 chapters planned out and a some in 1st draft stage.

17. Which WIP are you looking forward to finishing?

Avalanche. I’ve really enjoyed the challenge for this fic and personally think it’s one of my better multi-chapter stories. No idea when it will be complete. I was a little bit stumped with the next few chapters. I do know how it ends though.

18. Is there a WIP that you’re considering abandoning?

All the posted WIPS that I’ve put up should hopefully get completed at some point. I’m currently expecting The Games and Virgil Drabbles to be the last ones to be marked complete. However, there are a couple of fics I’ve only shared early chapters/snippets for on Tumblr which may unfortunately go no further - if I decide to leave them, then I might post as they are in my Pick & Mix collection or on their own.

19. Which complete fic would you consider rewriting?

I won’t rewrite it but I had considered Tracy Family. There are some bits I’ve cringed at when reading again, foreshadowing ideas I had after posting . I also had an idea for a part 2 but it would only work if I rewrote parts of it.

20. Which complete fic is your favourite?

Bad Day. This was a self-indulgent fic which included one of my favourite tropes, (repeating days) contained a heap of Virgil suffering lows and highs and although I’m no longer into the OBannon/John pairing some of my other favourite pairings are included.

21. What’s your total published word count?

According to A03 it’s 246722 😮

Tagging: @burningcowboyhoagietaco @gumnut-logic @janetm74 @psychoseal @womble1 and anyone else who’d like to join in.

#21 questions #Fanfiction tag game #thunderbirds fanfiction #cg29 fics #thunderbirds are go

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imsolovelylovely · 4 years

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Red - Felix 🌺

Warnings 🌹 : dom!reader, sub!Felix, female reader, choking, cock-stepping?, footjob?, degradation, slight praise, couch sex, riding, this is pretty long 🤷‍♀️

Words: 2.8K

Tumblr deleted the last part so I had to rewrite and it’s not as good :( feedback is appreciated! ;)

The day started with your boyfriend, Felix, and you chilling on the couch watching random movies. Well, more like you two talking and cuddling while the movie played in the background. You two laugh and tell each other about your week and how you were doing. It’s always a fun time with Felix and his adorable self.

He looks especially cute today with his messy hair and puffy cheeks, his freckles splashed on them like little stars. The sunlight from the window made his beautiful skin glow and his eyes sparkled. His giggles and jokes had you smiling like a maniac. You bring your dominant hand up to squish his cheek and move the stand of hair covering his face behind his ear. Slowly dropping down to his exposed neck and staying there for a while. Your fingers caress his neck and thoughts flood your mind.

Something about his neck has been making your eyes trail towards them the past few days. Maybe it was because of that video you watched of a boy being choked and begging for more.

Whenever you cuddle, his neck would be right in front of you. Just an inch away and you could bite it, make red marks all over him. Hear the pretty sounds he would make. You could glide your hand up and give his neck a soft squeeze. Feel the way he would gulp and shiver under your hands and gaze. Would he ask for more?

“Um, Y-Y/N?”

You’re put out of your trance when you hear Felix clear his throat. He had stopped speaking, his face a bit red and a sheepish smile on his face. Your eyes widen, finally realizing you were staring and your hand has been holding his neck for a whole. Feeling embarrassed at your thoughts you quickly try to retract your hand. Felix’s eyes trail down to your nails and before you hide your hands, he takes a hold of it.

“Your nail polish is coming off,” he says casually with a pout. Like you hadn’t just stared at his neck for maybe minutes. Not weird at all.

“I know. I’ll repaint it when I have time later on,” you look at your nails that have blue nail polish on some parts and other parts had already come off. Your nails had gotten long as well.

You try to put your hand down but Felix doesn’t let go. You raise an eyebrow at him, confused at his actions. He looks at you, holding your hand with both of his.

“Can I paint them?” He asks with an eager tone. You don’t know why he would want to but you weren’t reluctant. “Sure.”

With a huge grin, he gets off the couch and runs towards the bedroom where you kept all your make-up and nail polish. You’re very curious at his eagerness.

You sigh, thinking about how to bring up the subject to Felix. You don’t know if he’d be willing to try. You’ve had sex before but you never established who’s dominant or submissive, though Felix preferred to be taken care of. You don’t know if he’d be into choking and being a little rough. Hearing footsteps coming back into the room, you straighten up and clear your head.

Felix is back with red nail polish and remover. You move over to let him sit down next to you but he doesn’t, deciding to sit on the floor instead. On his knees and looking up to you with his big eyes. You pause to just stare at him, the position he is in giving you dirty thoughts. Again. You shake your head, getting rid of them.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks with a head tilt. He reaches out to you to take your hands in his.

“It’s nothing,” you lie.

Your sitting position is very uncomfortable so you lay on your side, legs stretched out and one head supporting you head while Felix works on one hand.

His left hand wraps around your right one and he starts by removing your old nail polish. You just stare down at him. He’s sitting like an anime girl, his thighs squished together, and humming a soft tune. You notice his hair has gotten a bit longer as well.

You begin to wonder how it would feel to run your fingers through it and give it a tug. How would he react?

And you get lost in your thoughts again because Felix has to bring you back again. While you’re daydreaming, he had finished painting your nails and he’s looking at you for approval.

“Did I do it well?”

Felix has both your hands in his which makes you sit up on the couch, towaring over him. He has his neck bent in order to look at you, his neck and chest on display for you. Your hands are right there in front of his neck. And the dark red nail polish contrasts so much with his skin. You move your hands towards his neck slowly, testing if he would stop you once you place them there.

He doesn’t.

His hands are on your wrists but he makes no effort to stop you as you wrap your hands gently on his neck. You can feel him taking a deep breath and gulping.

“I’m guessing I did extremely well,” Felix chirps in a teasing voice. Which makes you look up from his neck. His mouth has formed into a smile and his eyes, a gleam of mischief.

Confused and afraid he’s noticed, you begin to pull your hands away from his neck only to be stopped by him again, keeping your hands on his neck.

“Did you-?”

“Know?” He finishes your sentence. Slowly, he moves towards you more so that he is situated in between your thighs, your hands still on his neck putting more pressure on it. “I did.”

“How and when?” You demanded.

He smirks. Which is ironic considering the position he’s in.

“Come on, baby. It’s pretty obvious with the way you’ve been staring at my neck at any chance you get these couple of days. Why do you think I made sure to wear low cut shirts and chokers for?”

Honestly, you are shocked to say the least. You wouldn’t think for Felix to do such a thing on purpose. Just to tease you when you’re already dying? That made you a bit angry but also relieved that you don’t have to verbally tell him that you wanted to choke and bite him. Save you some embarrassment.

You give his neck another squeeze, a bit harder this time making him gasp from surprise.

“So,” you start getting Felix’s undivided attention. “My baby boy has been teasing me this whole time?”

Felix nods slowly, all his earlier cockiness gone out the window. “M’sorry. I love your eyes on me. Wanted more of your attention. I love when your hand lingers on my neck.”

“Yeah? Like this?”

He lets out a soft moan when you squeeze his neck just a bit more. With you nails digging in slightly.

“Y-yeah. Love when you look at me, touch me, and c-control me.”

Felix blushes at his own words and closes his eyes in embarrassment.

“Didn’t think you were so dirty, Lixie. Acting all innocent when you’re just a little slut.”

Felix’s breath hitches at your words and you wonder if you shouldn’t have said that. Until you notice him squirming and you feel him lightly rutting against your leg. You let out a laugh in disbelief, putting a bit more pressure on the sides of his neck.

“Babe, you really are a desperate slut. Rutting against my leg like that. I guess that’s enough for you, right? Wanna make a mess in your pants?”

He whines. “W-want your touch please~”

You hum, acknowledging him but not moving anywhere to give him what he wants. Only your left hand slides over to the back of his head, a yelp escaping Felix when you give it a harsh tug. He continues to move against your leg, his hands gripping at your thighs. He pants and moans at the friction and just gets lost at the feeling of your hand on his neck, slowly scratching along it, down to his chest and giving a pinch to his nipple over his shirt.

“Nghh!”

Felix yelps when you push him back, his hands flying out to hold him up. His thighs instinctively try to close when you press your foot on his clothed cock.

“Spread your legs,” you demand, putting pressure on him and moving your foot.

He does as he’s told and whimpers when you move your foot faster.

The friction on his dick overwhelms him and the way you look at him makes him feel so small. Using your leg to get off makes Felix feel dirty and he’s loving every part of it. The amount of times he’s fantasized about you choking and degrading him. And now it’s actually happening and he feels dizzy from the pleasure. His hands that are holding him up, shake under him. His back arches when you toy with just the head of his sensitive cock.

“A-ah! Pl-please, please, - agh- m’gonna c-cum. Wanna feel you~ please,” he says, his sentence cut off by his sweet moans.

Though he says that, he doesn’t stop you. His head droops to the side and his eyes are lidded, looking at you, then closing them when he sees your intense stare. The smirk on your lips that told him who’s in control.

He moves his hips desperately chasing his orgasm. And the cry he lets out when you step on his cock to stop him from moving. He sounds so desperate and broken. He’s become putty in your hands and you’re loving every second of it.

He tries to move again but you press your foot down even more.

“Mgh. Whyyyy? I w-was so close,” he pouts, glaring at you but he doesn’t look intimidating at all.

“Oh? I thought you wanted to feel me, Lixie. Did my dumb little slut forget already?”

You move your foot harder a few times, laughing at Felix’s reaction.

“Ah ah ah! Sensitive! P-please!”

His thighs shake where they stay open and spread for you. His shame long gone and pleasure clouding his mind.

“S-sorry. Felt so g-good. Wanna fuck you, p-please?”

Felix’s eyes are big awaiting for your answer. Still looking so innocent despite the words he’s speaking and what he’s doing now.

“Dirty mouth you have, Lixie. Let’s see if we can do something about it, hmm? Get up, baby.”

He’s obedient. Gets up as he’s told, though he does have trouble because his legs are a bit shaky.

“Aww. I haven’t even touched your cute cock properly and you’re already shaken up?”

Felix’s cheeks become impossibly redder, getting even more turned on by the humiliation.

“Strip and come over here,” you command, laying down on the couch.

You watch as he nods and begins to take off his shirt and then his pants. You stare at his beautiful body waiting for him to fully show himself.

“My baby’s always so pretty, huh? Come on, take off your boxers. Don’t be shy now,” you encourage.

Felix takes off his boxers, albeit shyly, his dick slapping his abdomen, making a wet noise. You giggle at that while he whines in embarrassment.

“Why don’t you help me with my clothes now?”

You had already taken off your shirt and pants and were only in your underwear and bra just to tease him.

He comes over to you, getting on the couch, on top of you. You spread your legs so he could sit down in between them. His breath is shaky as he takes off your bra and his hands trail down to take off your panties.

“See how much you turn me on, Lixie?”

“Mhm. I love that, too. Love to make you feel good, Y/N.”

Without another word, you grab onto Felix’s hair and pull him to you, smashing your lips on his. He stumbles from the force, his body pressing on yours. He moans at the wet feeling of your pussy against his dick, the sound muffled by your mouth. He kisses you desperately, mouth opening eagerly for your tongue. You lick over his lips and bite down lightly, before letting him go.

“Get up, babe.”

Felix is breathless, panting and confused at your command. He whimpers thinking that you’re gonna deny him. Though he follows your orders and gets up.

You get off the couch and push him down on his back.

“It’s easier to choke you this way, Lix,” you smirk, throwing your leg over his hip and straddling him. You start to grind on him.

“Please~ F-fuck me. Choke me. A-anything. Just p-please,” Felix begs. His hands have found yours and he tugs at them, bringing them to his neck.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll reward you, cutie,” you say, taking a hold of his cock with one hand and slowly slipping it inside you.

You both moan at the sensation when he’s fully inside. You stay still for a few seconds so you can get used to it. Felix squirms and tries to buck up into you.

“P-please move.” He begs. “Ah~”

“Impatient brat.”

With that, you raise yourself and slam back on to him. The quick pace pulling out delicious moans from the boy underneath you. His back arches at the feeling of your walls squeezing him. He holds your hands again.

“Choke me- nghh- please ch-choke me!” He stutters out.

“Of course. My little slut loves being choked doesn’t he?”

“Mhm! Ah! Th-thank you, thank y-you!” he gasps at the feeling of your fingers pressing at the sides of his neck.

His noises get even louder and high pitched with the feeling of being inside you and your hands wrapped around his beautiful neck. You wouldn’t be surprised if you got weird looks from your neighbors tomorrow.

Felix loves the lightheadedness and the pleasure from your walls squeezing his dick. He’s riled up so much and probably won’t last long.

He looks so lost in his pleasure. He’s babbling about how good it feels, incoherently. His head is thrown back with his mouth hung open, a dribble of drool leaking down the side of his mouth.

“Filthy boy,” you remark.

His noises spur you on to go faster and Felix lets a particularly loud moan when you squeeze around him.

“You look so pretty with my hands on your neck, Lixie.”

“Mmm. T-thank you,” he mumbles. His toes curl at the compliment pushing him more into his headspace.

“S-shit. Make more of those cute noises for me,” you’re breathless and close, too.

You use one of your hands to hold Felix’s waist and get a steady rhythm. With you other hand, you make light scratches on his neck, red lines awaking under the nails.

Leaning down, you sucked on the side of his neck and made marks down to his chest and sucked a nipple into your mouth. Felix was going crazy with all the stimulation all over his body.

“Nghh! Gonna c-cum. Need t-to cum! P-please! C-can I cum?”

“Go ahead, baby,” you say. He doesn’t hear you because he continues to beg and pout.

“I said, s-said p-please?! C-cum! C-cum need! P-pleathe!”

You lean down to give him permission. Felix’s body shivers even more at your hot breath near his ears. Your words that come next make his eyes roll back and finally spill into you with a loud moan.

“Can’t even say a sentence properly? My cute, pathetic slut. Cum for mommy, slut.”

His cum fills you up but doesn’t get you to cum. You slow down to let him ride his orgasm but don’t stop. His moans start to pick up again when you speed up to reach your own orgasm.

“Ah! A-ah! Sen-sensitive!”

“Just a bit more, baby. Be a good boy for me, yeah?”

Despite the overstimulation, Felix nods wanting to be your good boy. He tears up from the sensitivity and his moans get loader.

You let go of his neck to touch your clit, the two stimulations finally making you reach the edge. Felix whimpers because of you squeezing around his dick. And you finally stop.

There’s only heavy breathing in the room as you plop down on Felix. Both of you are fucking tired and sleepy.

“Didn’t know you’d be into that, Lix,” you tease.

He whines. “You’re one to talk. ‘Mommy?’ I think you unlocked a kink within me.”

You giggle at his cuteness.

And silence. A comfortable one.

You raise yourself up with your arms to look down directly at Felix. His little tears have dried up and his hair is all over the place. There’s a soft smile on his lips and his eyes are filled with love looking up at you.

“Thanks for indulging in my fantasies, Lixie,” you say.

He winks. “My pleasure, Y/N. Literally.”

You shake your head and chuckle. “Let’s get cleaned up, love.”

#dom!reader #i love him #stray kids #dom reader #sub idol #sub!idol #sub!kpop #felix #felix skz #skz smut #skz #skz fanfic #skz felix #felix smut #sub!felix #felix fanfic #sub!skz #stray kids smut #sub kpop

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abusybuzzingbee · 4 years

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Pilot | Supernatural Season 1 Episode 1 Rewrite | Dean x Reader

A/N:::: Hello!! I am a royal dumbass and just accidentally deleted my whole tumblr. I was trying to get rid of my main account and accidentally got rid of it all!! So, this is bee from @abusybuzzingbee coming back at you with reuploads of my supernatural rewrites. So sorry to all of my supporters for my tomfoolery.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Major Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: Canon violence, language, Dean and the reader being assholes to each other, this is going to be the slowest burn that ever did burn, so buckle up!

Word Count: 7,643

Summary: The reader is a lonely young hunter on the road to Jericho, California where she bumps into two boys on the search for their father.

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Season 1 Masterlist

It was an early morning yesterday

I was up before the dawn.’

‘Funny how the sun’s just rising,’ you thought.

‘And I really have enjoyed my stay

But I must be moving on.’

The sound of the familiar tune of “Goodbye Stranger” coming from the radio of your new hijacked wheels-- a 2002 Toyota Camry, to be exact-- put a smile on your face.

‘Like a king without a castle

Like a queen without a throne

I’m an early morning lover

And I must be moving on.’

As you drove along a remote highway on the way to Jericho, California, you threw a glance to the wind lightly rustling the leaves of the trees outside of your driver’s side mirror.

‘Now I believe in what you say

Is the undisputed truth.’

Scenes such as this have always calmed you. The first beams of light stretching up from over the horizon, the vivid colors of the tree leaves, the hum of the radio of your newest car, and the sound of your tires gliding over the pavement.

‘But I have to have things my own way

To keep me in my youth.’

These road trips in between hunts were the only taste you had ever had of a normal life. Not that you wanted a normal life, you think you would be too bored in the suburbs. However, it is comforting to have a small break from monsters while driving from place to place to relax.

‘Like a ship without an anchor

Like a slave without a chain

Just a thought of those sweet ladies

Sends a shiver through my veins.’

The latest case you had picked up on was the disappearance of several men on Centennial Highway in Jericho.

‘And I will go on shining

Shining like brand new

I’ll never look behind me

My troubles will be few.’

The last disappearance had been some kid named Troy. Poor bastard.

You had very little knowledge of what you were walking into. You decided that you would head to the scene of the crime to try and get a better idea of what you were dealing with.

‘Goodbye stranger

It’s been nice

Hope you find your paradise

Tried to see your point of view

Hope your dreams will all come true.’

Just a few more hours and you’d be there.

‘Goodbye Mary, goodbye Jane--’

You turned the music up just a bit as you picked up your speed on the highway and thought about my last successful hunt in Alexandria, Louisiana.

‘Will we ever meet again?’

You were proud of how you did on that hunt, but it was freeing to leave towns you had previously hunted in in your rearview mirror.

‘Feel no sorrow, feel no shame--’

It wasn’t a matter of feeling guilty about what you had done while you were in that town; you had nothing to feel guilty about. It just always hurt you to think of the sad faces of the people who had already lost family members before you got there to do your job.

‘Come tomorrow, feel no pain--’

There would always be that little bit of trauma that you carried with you because of all you had seen on hunts, but c’est la vie.

‘Sweet devotion (Goodbye, Mary)

It’s not for me (Goodbye, Jane).’

You let your mind go blank and get completely absorbed in the music as you continued to drive along.

‘Just give me motion (Will we ever)

To set me free (Meet again?)’

Music was the one constant in your life that kept you grounded. It was so powerful. Music could express so many feelings and bring those same emotions out of its listeners.

‘In the land and the ocean (Feel no sorrow)

Far away (Feel no shame)--’

You loved oldies music. From ‘70′s hippie music to ‘80′s rock, all the way back to Edith Piaf in the 1940′s.

‘It’s the life I’ve chosen (Come tomorrow)

Every day (Feel no pain)’

You wished you had the time to sit down for long enough to learn to play an instrument. There was a whole list of things you wanted to learn to play including piano, guitar, ukelele, and drums.

‘Maybe one day,’ you thought.

‘So goodbye, Mary (Goodbye, Mary)

Goodbye, Jane (Goodbye, Jane)

Will we ever (Will we ever)

Meet again? (Meet again?)’

****

A few hours later, you were parked on Sylvania Bridge in Jericho. You had stopped a few miles back at a gas station to change into an outfit that looked a little more professional than a pair of baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt and opted for one of the many police uniforms you carried around with you. This one was a federal marshal suit. Included the khakis, shirt with a little police badge on the pocket, and a belt with your fake badge on it. It was your mom’s. She threw herself into the many roles she played on the job and made sure she had the costumes to fit the part. Once she passed, you just couldn’t let them go.

You hopped out of the car and walked over to the scene of the crime. You noticed two boys that looked about my age talking to one of the deputies on site. You watched them flash badges to the deputy, but neither was in uniform.

‘Oh, boy.’

"You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?” you heard the deputy remark as you walked up to them.

“Thanks, that’s awfully kind of you,” the shorter guy laughed.

'That’s my cue,’ you thought.

“Hiya, fellas,” you smiled brightly, glancing between the three of them.

The two guys turned back to look at you. The shorter one pointed at himself with a questioning look on his face directed at you. You eyed him, attempting to tell him to just go with it.

“Why aren’t you two in uniform?” you asked, standing next to the taller boy and glancing between the two of them. You looked at the deputy. “Sorry to have them bothering you. New hires,” you lied, rolling your eyes. “I’m supposed to oversee how they handle this case.”

“Mm-hmm...” the deputy said, squinting at you. He was clearly suspicious.

I extended my right hand to the deputy and reached for my badge with the other. “I’m Agent Nicks, nice to meet you.” I showed him my badge.

“Deputy Jaffe.” He shook my hand and nodded at my badge.

“Man, you guys can’t catch a break. You just had another killing like this, right?” I nodded my head at Troy’s car at the center of the crime scene as I spoke.

“Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that,” the deputy spoke as I walked over to the car, the two boys trailing behind me.

“So, this victim, you knew him?” The taller boy questioned.

The deputy nodded. “Town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

The shorter boy circled the car once and stopped between the taller boy and I. “Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?” he asked.

“No,” Jaffe answered, “Not so far as we can tell.”

“So what's the theory?” The taller guy asked.

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?”

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys,” the shorter guy quipped.

Your eyes widened as you watched the deputy’s incredulous expression. You didn’t like this kid already. You bit back a snicker when the dude who was with him stomped on his foot.

“Thank you for your time. Gentlemen,” the tall guy nodded.

You turned to follow your two “colleagues” away from the crime scene. The shorter guy smacked the taller one on the back of the head.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Why'd you have to step on my foot?”

“Why do you have to talk to the police like that?”

The two men realized you were following them and turned to look at you.

“Uh, can we help you?” the shorter one asked.

“No,” you replied. “I’ll be out of your hair in a second. I just think it’d be a little weird if I left the scene of the crime without regrouping with my ‘proteges’ first.”

The taller one nodded. It became clear to you he was the sensible one of the two.

“About that--” the shorter one came back, implying that you should explain yourself.

“Yeah, sorry for stepping all over your hunt.”

The two seemed in disbelief that you had figured out their secret.

“Takes one to know one,” You snickered. “I had to get the same information you two did, and it’d look really weird if two rounds of federal marshals came through for one case. I’m (Y/N), by the way.” You stuck out your hand for the two of them to shake.

The taller one took it first. “I’m Sam,” he smiled, “that’s my brother, Dean.”

You shook Dean’s hand after Sam’s.

“You shake hands?” Dean asked.

You shrugged with a tilt of your head to the side.

“Weird.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well,” you sighed, “I got this hunt under control if you boys wanna hit the road.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, lady,” Dean started, “We were here first.”

“Geez, sorry. I thought I was doing you guys a favor by letting you hit the road.”

“Sorry,” Sam spoke for his brother, “We’re looking for our dad. The only information we have on where he could be is here, so we’ve got this covered.”

You nodded. “I hope you find him soon. Good meeting you two.” You turned to leave.

“Wait,” Sam called after you. “Three heads are better than two. We could use your help.”

Dean was quick to cut in. “No, no we do not--”

“What?” you asked, smirking. “You don’t like me Dean-o?”

He opened his mouth to respond, obviously trying to think of something to say. He came up blank after a few seconds.

You chuckled. “I’m down to help.”

Sam smiled brightly at you. “Great!”

You glanced over Sam’s shoulder and your jaw clenched. Sam turned to follow your gaze.

The sheriff was talking to two FBI agents. He looked at you three pointedly. “Can I help you kids?”

“No, sir, we were just leaving,” Dean told him. He then nodded at the FBI agents as they walked past your trio. “Agent Mulder. Agent Scully.”

The three of you headed past the sheriff, whose gaze you could feel piercing through your back.

You noticed the 1967 Impala parked a little farther back than your car, wondering how you could have missed it when you pulled up to the scene.

“Aw, cool!” you exclaimed, quickly walking over to it. “Sweet ride.” You ran your hand over the hood.

“Hey,” Dean called, “Hands off my baby.”

“You dating a car, Grumpy?” you smirked.

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Those your wheels over there?” Sam asked. He nodded towards your Camry.

“Unfortunately. Had to jack that car a few states back,” you responded.

Sam nodded. “You can catch a ride back with us if you want.”

Dean tossed a look at his brother.

“Cool, thanks,” you answered, smiling. “Let me just pull it off the road into some trees or something.”

***

"Who are we looking for again?” you asked the boys as you strolled around town. You had ditched your federal marshal getup and left it along with the rest of your stuff in the back of Dean’s car.

Dean scoffed at your question.

“Hey, you didn’t answer the first time I asked, so I had to do it again,” you threw back.

“Troy’s girlfriend,” Sam answered.

“Thank you, Sam.” You threw a pointed look at Dean. He just turned his face away from you.

A few paces down from your pack, a young girl with brown hair was putting missing posters up with Troy’s face on them.

"I'll bet you that's her,” Dean pointed out.

“Yeah,” Sam affirmed.

Your group walked up to her as Dean spoke, “You must be Amy.”

“Yeah,” she answered plainly.

“Yeah, Troy told us about you. We're his uncles. I'm Dean, this is Sammy.”

“And who’s that?” Amy glanced at you.

“I’m (Y/N). A friend of theirs.”

Amy nodded, looking back to Sam and Dean. “He never mentioned you to me.” She began to walk away with her posters.

Dean was quick to follow her. “Well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto.”

“So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around,” Sam continued for Dean.

A friend of Amy’s came up to her and asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

Once Amy responded with a simple, “Yeah,” her friend stayed with her.

"You mind if we ask you a couple questions?” I asked Amy.

***

You, Amy’s friend, Rachel, and Amy were packed into one side of a diner booth while Sam and Dean sat opposite you.

Amy spoke about what happened the night Troy went “missing.” “I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did.”

“He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” Sam asked.

Amy shook her head. “No. Nothing I can remember.”

You glanced at the pentagram pendant she was wearing. “I like your necklace.”

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents with all that devil stuff,” Amy laughed.

You smiled. “Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

“Okay,” Dean cut in. “Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries.”

You rolled your eyes at him while he took his arm off of the back of Sam’s seat and leaned forward on his elbows. “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything...” he trailed off, waiting for them to answer.

Amy and Rachel glanced between each other.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Well, it's just,” Rachel began, “I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk."

“About?” You questioned turning a bit more inward to Rachel.

“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago,” Rachel stated.

You watched Rachel attentively, nodding.

“Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

You glanced at the boys with a quirked eyebrow.

***

Dean typed away on the library computer on the archive search page for the Jericho Herald. He had the words “Female Murder Hitchhiking" typed into the search bar. When he pressed enter, nothing came up. Dean replaced “Hitchhiking” with “Centennial Highway,” and once again, crickets.

“Wait a minute,” Sam started, “So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied as if it was obvious.

“Well, maybe it’s not murder,” Sam stated.

“Ohhh,” you started, “I’m pickin’ up what you’re puttin’ down.” You knew Sam was thinking suicide.

Sam smiled at you.

“Let me try,” Sam told Dean.

“I got it,” Dean came back.

Sam shoved Dean out of the chair and took over.

“Dude!” Dean hit Sam on the shoulder. “You're such a control freak.”

You laughed at their banter.

“Can it, (Y/N),” Dean told you.

“So, what I can’t laugh?”

“No, no, you can’t.”

“I literally just met you and I’ve had it up to here--” you flattened your hand and put it up by your eyebrow, “--with you already--”

“The feeling is mutual, sweetheart,” Dean cut you off.

“You two wanna stop?” Sam asked. “Come look at this.”

Just as you thought, Sam had put “suicide” in place of “murder” in the search bar.

Sam snapped you out of your thoughts by saying, “This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.”

“Does it say why she did it?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” you started, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to get a better look at the screen, “An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently, her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die.”

Something about the situation did not sit right with you; it sounded familiar.

Sam continued reading. “‘ 'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch.’”

“The bridge look familiar to you?” Dean pointed out, looking at a picture of a man-- presumably Constance’s husband-- crying standing next to Sylvania Bridge.

“Well, we know where we’re headed,” you commented, walking toward the exit of the library. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you left.

***

By the time you finally got to Sylvania Bridge, it was late at night. You and the boys had stopped for a bite to eat before going back to the bridge. Troy’s car had long since been removed, the crime scene completely cleared out.

Dean looked out over the edge of the bridge, standing next to you and Sam. “So this is where Constance took the swan dive.”

“So you think Dad would have been here?” Sam looked over at his brother.

"Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him.” Dean continued down the bridge, the taller boy trailing behind him.

“Okay, so now what?”

“Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while.”

Sam stopped. “Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

The brunet stopped, turning around. “Monday. Right. The interview.” Aggravation was clear in his tone.

“Yeah.”

You thought it best to take a step back while they had this discussion.

"Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?” Dean’s tone got a bit more of an edge to it.

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam pushed back.

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

Sam stepped closer to Dean. “No, and she's not ever going to know.”

The older boy did not back down. “Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” He turned around and kept walking.

Sam followed him, his arms out in question. “And who's that?”

“You're one of us.” Dean gestured to himself and back to you staying several paces back,

Sam hurried to get in front of his brother. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

“You have a responsibility to—”

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

When Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against the bridge, you jumped into action.

“Hey, knock it off, Dean.”

“(Y/N)--” Dean warned, giving you a sideways glare. He looked back at Sam. “Don't talk about her like that.” He let Sam go and walked away from him.

You hurried over to Sam. “You okay?” You put your hand on his shoulder and met his hazel eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Guys,” Dean called.

You looked to Dean who stared down to the railing at the edge of the bridge.

“Constance,” you let out, coming to stand next to Dean.

Constance looked back at your group before stepping off of the railing.

The three of you ran to the railing.

“Where'd she go?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know, wanna jump down there and find out?” you sassed.

Dean glared at you as the sound of the Impala’s engine roared behind you.

The older Winchester flipped around. “What the—”

Sam wheeled around, too. “Who's driving your car?”

Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and jingled them, his green eyes never leaving the Impala.

The car jerked into motion, barrelling over the bridge straight toward you and the Winchesters.

“Go! Go!” you yelled, turning and sprinting away.

Dean and Sam sped ahead of you, and you noticed the car gaining on you. Your heart raced and your breathing was labored. The car was way too close for comfort and left you with just one option.

You threw yourself over the railing, just barely managing to hang onto the edge of the bridge.

You heard the car engine stop just as something-- or someone-- hit the water.

You pulled yourself back over the railing and noticed Sam sitting on the railing calling for Dean.

You rushed over to Sam, leaning over the railing to try to find Dean.

He popped up a second later, his usually spikey hair flattened to his head with mud. In fact, his whole body was covered in mud.

“You okay?” You called down to him.

Dean sarcastically held up a thumb and pursed his lips.

“Hey, I’m just checking on you, don’t be an ass,” you yelled back, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Fuck off,” he grunted, annoyed.

Sam laughed and got back onto the bridge.

You headed over to the Impala and checked it over, grabbing a towel out of your bag.

Dean had managed to climb back onto the bridge and made his way over to his baby. He opened the car’s hood and poked around to see if Constance had damaged it at all. After a moment, he shut the hood and leaned on it.

“Your car all right?” you heard Sam ask are you walked over to Dean with the towel.

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!” He yelled at the spirit.

You put the towel on Dean’s head and started to dry his hair off when he jerked away from you.

“What are you doing?”

You were quick to put the towel back on his head. “Helping.”

The dirty blond ripped the towel out of your hands. “I got it.”

“Fine.” You raised your hands up in surrender. You leaned against the car next to Dean. “You know, I been thinkin’.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Shut up, Dean. I’m serious.” You paused, taking in a breath. “Constance is a woman in white.”

Sam pursed his lips, shrugging. “Makes sense. I mean, the dead kids, suicide, killing unfaithful men.”

“Maybe.” The older Winchester’s monotone voice was followed by silence. A silence that was broken a few moments later by Sam.

“You smell like a toilet.”

You scrunched up your nose and giggled.

“Can it, (Y/N).”

***

“You guys having a reunion or something?” the clerk asked, looking at the credit card Dean had placed on the motel’s front desk.

Sam cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month.”

Dean looked over to his brother briefly and then turns his head back to the clerk. “What room’s he in?”

“Listen, kid, I can’t go around giving out people’s room numbers.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

You stepped out from behind the two boys. “Oh, please sir? He’s family, and we haven’t seen him in a while.” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine.”

***

“That how you get all the guys?”

“What?” you asked, not bothering to face Dean to answer his question. The two of you were stationed outside of John Winchester's room playing lookout while Sam picked the lock on the door.

“You know what I mean. I saw you makin’ eyes at the clerk.”

“Yeah, to get a room number.” You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. It worked real well.” He turned to face you.

“You know, you don’t have to be such a dick all the time. I met you yesterday and have given you no reason not to like me. What’s your deal?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my plate is kind of full. I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened to my dad. I have no idea whether he’s alive, dead, or captured, and he’s the only parent I have left. And my little brother is solely concerned about getting back to fucking Stanford, and I’m not even sure he cares about what happened to our dad. And now, enter (Y/N) trying to take over a hunt that is the only tie I have to my dad.” Dean’s face was incredibly close to yours.

Sam had long since gone into the room and decided to leave the two of you alone to hash out your frustrations.

You held your ground, but your voice took on less of an angry tone. You were strictly playing defense at this point. “But I wasn’t trying to take it over to be mean, and as soon as you got so defensive about the hunt, I backed down and just offered to help--”

“Yeah, and I didn't want your help. Sam was the one who let you in, probably hoping that if you were here he could shag ass back to Stanford. So forgive me if I’m a little on edge.” He pulled his face away from yours, wheeling around to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Well, I’m sorry for being such an inconvenience. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the fact that I’ve helped you guys more than I’ve hurt you. I pulled your asses out of a crack when you were talking to the police. I was the one who figured out what kind of a spook we’re dealing with here. I want you to find your dad. I really do. But I also want you to stop being so awful to me. And it’s just me specifically!” You threw your arms up in the air. At some point during the first part of your rant, Dean had looked back at you over his shoulder. “You’re so nice to Sam--I mean, about as nice as brothers are to each other-- and I can tell you care about him. I can tell you have a good heart. So why choose to be an ass?”

When Dean didn’t answer, you shook your head. “Whatever. I’m leaving.” You clutched your duffel bag strap on your shoulder tightly, your knuckles turning white.

“To go where?”

“Away. You win. Ya got what you wanted.”

“Wait, (Y/N)--”

“Tell Sam I said ‘bye.’”

***

The heat of midday had your baby hairs stuck to your head with sweat. You had been walking for a while now, just trying to find somewhere remote enough that you could steal a car without getting seen.

You hiked along a highway surrounded by dense trees, the rustling sound of the green leaves filling your head. You took a deep breath, allowing peace to wash over you. You never had to see Dean Winchester again, although you would miss Sam. He was the closest thing to a friend you’ve had in a while.

A familiar engine roar overpowered the sound of the rustling you had been hearing. The car pulled off of the highway just behind you, coming to a stop.

You took your bottom lip in your mouth under your top one, closing your eyes and stopping your walk.

You heard the opening and closing of the car’s door as you turned around, a small smile on your lips.

“You know,” Sam started, walking toward you, “It’s kind of rude to leave without saying ‘goodbye.’“

You let out a laugh. “Hey, Sam.”

He pulled you into a quick hug. “Hey. I heard what happened.”

You looked down at the mixture of grass and gravel below your combat boots. “Yeah.”

“And I know you probably never wanna see Dean’s face again, but we need your help. I do, and he does, whether he wants to admit it or not. We can all get out of here a lot quicker if we work together. You can get away from Dean, I can get back to Stanford, and Dean can find our dad.”

“Where is Dean?”

“Arrested.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, nodding. “Okay.” You put on a smile. “What now?”

***

Much later in the day, after going to visit Joseph Welch, you and Sam were sitting in a diner grabbing a bite to eat. The both of you were brainstorming what to do to get Dean out of jail and what to do about that Constance bitch. The conversation had shifted from those two topics once you had a solid plan to simply small talk between friends.

“So what’s your story?” you asked, taking a bite out of one of your fries.

“What?”

“I picked up from conversations between you and Dean over the past two days and the very loud conversation I had with your brother earlier that you left hunting to go to Stanford. What happened there?”

Sam chuckled, looking down.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I crossed a line,” you told him sincerely. You stared at your ketchup.

“No, no,” he responded. He took in a sharp breath. “My dad and I had a big blowout fight before I left for college. He told me if I left for college to never come back. Haven’t talked to him in two years.” He took a bite of his salad after he finished talking.

“Oh,” you said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

You decided to change the subject. “Alright, we’ve let Dean rot long enough. I’m gonna go call the police.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll get the check.”

You walked outside of the diner, heading to the payphone you spotted at the entrance of the parking lot. You picked it up and dialed ‘9-1-1.’

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

You made your voice frantic, forcing tears to well up in your eyes. “My-My husband! He’s been shot!”

“Ma’am, calm down for me, okay? Where are you?”

You screamed. “He- He just shot another guy! Oh, my god!”

“Ma’am, where are you?”

“I’m on Whiteford Road,” you said. “Please, please, please hurry!”

“Okay, okay, um, w-we’re sending a unit out to you now. Can you stay on the line for me?”

“No, no! Please!” you cried. “Plea--” You cut yourself off and hung up the phone.

You noticed Sam standing next to you using one of his forearms to hold the door open as he leaned on the door frame.

“What?”

“That was damn good acting,” he noted.

“Thanks,” you chuckled. “I actually wanted to be an actress growing up.”

“Hunting got in the way,” Sam figured.

“Exactly. But, acting is kind of part of the job. Gotta be real good at lying and pretending to be feds,” you shrugged, making light of the situation.

A comfortable silence blanketed you and Sam as you lamented over what life could’ve been for you. You sucked in a breath and said, “We better get going. To Constance!”

***

Sam’s phone ringing pulled the two of you out of a conversation about his girlfriend, Jess, and his life at Stanford.

Sam looked at the caller ID, shrugging at you when he didn’t recognize it.

“Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal,” you could hear Dean jest through the phone.

The brunet grinned. “It was (Y/N), actually.”

He paused. “(Y/N)? She’s with you?”

You took Sam’s phone out of his hands and said, “Yup. Hi, Dean,” into the receiver. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You gave the phone back to Sam.

The older Winchester changed the topic from you to something else. “Listen, we gotta talk.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam jumped in. “So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop--”

His brother tried to cut him off. “Sammy, would you shut up for a second?”

“--I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet.”

“Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho.”

Sam threw a look to you before glancing back to the road. “What? How do you know?”

“I've got his journal,” you heard the dirty blond explain.

“He doesn't go anywhere without that thing.”

“Yeah, well, he did this time.”

“What's it say?”

“Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going.”

‘Ex-Marine crap?’ you thought to yourself.

Sam noticed your puzzled expression and directed toward you, “Coordinates.” He spoke his following words to Dean. “Where to?”

“I'm not sure yet.”

You propped your head up on your elbow on the passenger’s side door, legs tossed in an ‘L’ shape on the seat beside you. You stared out of the window into the dark night, taking in the gloomy appearance of the dead trees and fallen leaves.

The younger Winchester shook his head. “I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job?”

A figure in the road caught your eye, causing you to squint and look out the windshield.

Sam was still rambling to his brother. “Dean, what the hell is going on?”

You registered that Constance was in the road. “Sam, look out!” you shrieked.

Sam looked up, dropping the phone and slamming the brakes hard. You had to brace yourself on the dashboard in front of you, your body jerking forward and backward in your seat.

Constance was gone, and you and Sam tried to catch your breaths.

“Sam? Sam!” Dean’s voice came through the phone.

You picked up the phone from under the glove box. Dean had hung up before you got the chance to tell him Sam was alright.

You turned to the brunet, who swallowed hard and looked into the backseat through the rearview mirror.

You whirled around to look in the backseat, and there Constance was. “Take me home,” she ordered. She looked directly at you. “Take me home!”

“No,” you stated firmly, holding her gaze.

Constance glared back at you as you heard the doors of the car lock. You wheel around in your seat and try to reopen them. Suddenly, your body was thrust back into the seat as the car began to drive.

“Sam?” you yelled over the roar of the engine.

“That’s not me!” He tried to grab the steering wheel to drive, but Constance wouldn’t let him.

You continued to struggle with the doors until the two-- well, three, counting Constance-- of you pulled up to an abandoned house, presumably the Welches’ old house. The windows on both of the two floors had been covered with boards, the paint was peeling off of the wood slats, and the screen door had been ripped. The house looked like it was falling apart more and more with every passing day. It had the stereotypical appearance of a horror movie house.

The engine of the Impala shut off.

“Don't do this,” the younger Winchester pleaded.

Constance flickered in the backseat. “I can never go home,” she moaned, her voice sad.

As if a switch had been flipped in your brain, your face shifted from scared to enlightened. “You're scared to go home.” You turned to look in the back seat, but Constance was gone. As soon as you turned back around, you noticed Constance in between you and Sam on the leather bench seat.

You jumped, back pressed against the passenger’s side door. Constance climbed on Sam’s lap, shoving him back against the seat hard enough to tilt it backward.

You tried to lunge for Constance, but she shoved you against the Impala’s door hard enough with a flick of her wrist to send the door flying open and you sailing through the air.

“(Y/N)!” You heard Sam yell.

You skidded to a halt on the rocky gravel surrounding the house, feeling your arms and legs get cut up. The wind was knocked out of you, and your head bounced against the small rocks.

“Ow,” you groaned, trying to get up. You saw Constance had closed the passenger’s side door once more, and through the window could see her kissing Sam as he reached for the keys.

Another thing you saw was a figure appearing on the other side of the car through the driver’s side window. You hoped to god it was Dean.

You heard whoever it was fire a shot as Sam screamed in what seemed to be pain, so you immediately ducked. A few more shots were fired and you felt safe enough to raise your head.

You scrambled to your feet when you saw the Impala go careening through the porch and into the old Welch house. You ran into the house, being as careful as you could to avoid any of the broken pieces of wood and furniture the car had left in its path.

Dean was quick to follow you, calling out to his younger brother. “You okay?”

Sam groaned. “I think...”

“Can you move?” you asked, leaning through the passenger’s window. You looked him over for serious injury.

“Yeah,” he told you. He reached a hand out to his brother. “Help me?”

You stepped to the side as Dean pulled Sam out through the rolled-down window.

You noticed Constance picking up a picture frame of her and her children that had fallen to the ground.

She turned her attention from the picture to you and met your eyes.

She pinned you and the boys against the Impala with a bureau. It hit the boys in their pelvis but nailed you right in the stomach. You groaned in pain, desperately trying to push it off of you.

You stopped your struggle when a sound caught your ear. It sounded like liquid trickling and watched as a stream of water just thick enough to cover each step cascaded to the ground. You followed the stream to the top of the stairs to see the dark silhouettes of a little girl and a little boy holding hands.

“You've come home to us, Mommy,” they spoke in chorus.

Constance looked distraught as she got closer to the stairs. They were suddenly gone from the stairs and appeared behind her, hugging her and looking up at her with warm yet slightly disturbing smiles.

Constance screamed, and she and her children melted to the floor flickering between apparitions of skinless and skeletal forms of humans. They melted into a puddle of an electric purple goo that seeped through the floorboards as the ringing in your ears from Constance’s shrieks subsided.

You and the Winchesters shoved the bureau over, and you dusted off your hands as Dean spoke.

“So this is where she drowned her kids.”

“That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them,” Sam told you and his brother.

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean slapped him on the chest where holes had been burned through his shirt that you were assumed were the products of Constance. Sam groaned out in pain but laughed nonetheless.

“Actually, it was all (Y/N). I’m just the jackass who drove your car through the side of a house,” Sam smiled, jutting his thumb back at you.

Dean hummed as he continued to walk away, clearly disinterested but making an effort to sound impressed. He leaned on the open window of the passenger’s side door, looking over his baby. “Speaking of that, if you screwed up my car--” he paused, looking back at Sam, “--I’ll kill you.”

“Aw, shame,” you cut in, “Sam’s my favorite Winchester.”

Dean glared at you. “Can it, (Y/N).”

***

You lip-synced the words to AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” which boomed through the speakers of the Impala. You were sat in the backseat, leaning on the front seat between the two Winchesters with your forearms atop their bench seat. You looked over Sam’s shoulder as he opened up a giant map and opened his dad’s journal. He went to tuck a flashlight under his chin so he could actually see what he was doing, but you stopped him.

“I can hold that for you.”

“Thanks,” was his short reply as he handed off the flashlight to you, his eyes never leaving the things on his lap. You clicked the flashlight on and held it over his shoulder as he scanned the map for the coordinates “35-111″ as was written in his dad’s journal.

Sam tapped the spot on the map once he found it. “Okay, here's where Dad went. It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado.”

“Charming,” you quipped.

“How far?” came Dean’s question.

“About six hundred miles,” the younger Winchester told his brother.

“Hey, if we shag ass after we drop (Y/N) off in the next town over we could make it by morning,” Dean suggested, looking over at Sam.

‘This guy is so ready to get rid of me,’ you thought, shaking your head.

Sam cocked his head to the side and looked to his brother. “Dean--”

Dean stared back to the road, his pitch dropping lower and his disappointment apparent. “You're not going.”

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there,” Sam reminded him.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home.”

You clicked the flashlight off, sinking back into the backseat.

‘Awkward.’

***

Dean’s face was still set in a frown as the Impala pulled up to Sam’s apartment complex. You jumped out of the car as Sam did, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you told him, squeezing him harder with your eyes shut. You were genuinely disappointed. Sam was so nice and the two of you had become great friends very quickly.

“Hey, you have my number. Call me.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.” You pulled away from him. “Say ‘hi’ to Jess for me.”

The brunet chuckled. “I will.” He leaned down into the open window of Dean’s car. “Call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded.

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

“Yeah, all right.”

Sam clearly did not know how to end the conversation from there, so he simply patted the inside of the car door twice and turned away. Dean leaned toward the passenger door, calling out to Sam in one last attempt to get him to come with him. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, which was clearly not the reaction Dean was expecting. He just sighed and waited for you to get back in the car. You had barely shut the door before Dean shoved off.

You jerked around in your seat. “Easy, tiger. Jesus.” You slumped down in your seat after getting no response from Dean. You crossed your arms and looked out of your window.

The familiar smells of coconut and tobacco filled your nose, and you immediately straightened up.

“Turn around,” you told Dean, your eyes wide.

“What? No,” he snorted. “Why?”

“Just do it!”

Your exclamation caught Dean off guard. “Jesus, fine.”

He put the car in reverse and headed back up the street.

Dean hadn’t even stopped in front of Sam’s apartment complex before you threw the car door open and sprinted toward the apartment as fast as you could.

“Whoa, crazy lady, where are you going?” Dean caught up to you and grabbed your arm, spinning you around.

“Sam’s apartment. Which one is it?!” You asked in a panic.

“Uh--” He glanced away from you, still puzzled as to why you were a basketcase at the present moment.

“Dean!”

He looked back at you, shaking his head, but he ran up the stairs and led you to Sam and Jess’s shared apartment.

He stopped in front of the door, turning back to face you. “Now, why--”

Before he could finish his statement, you used all your might to kick the wooden door in, yelling Sam’s name in concern.

“No!” you heard him yell from another room.

Dean jumped into action, sprinting through the apartment with you hot on his heels. The two of you got to the younger Winchester’s bedroom just in time to see a woman in a white nightgown stained red at her belly from bleeding with blonde hair on the ceiling burst into flames.

“Jess!” Sam yelled, paralyzed on his bed in shock. He quickly moved one arm to shield his face as the flames got closer to him. “No!”

‘Oh, shit. His girlfriend...’

You shook your thoughts away from you and helped Dean lug a screaming Sam out of the door and out of the apartment complex. You fished through your bag in Dean’s car for your phone and called the fire department as Dean tried to hold Sam back from going back in for his charred girlfriend.

***

Flashes of red and blue broke through the black of night, emanating from police cars and firetrucks all around you. You walked through the chaotic scene of police and firemen holding back onlookers and firemen dousing the remaining embers of the fire in water. Black, charred wood stuck out from the turquoise exterior of the complex, and you could see into the apartment through giant holes that had been burnt out of the wall.

You walked back over to the boys who stood by the Impala. Sam was fooling with weapons concealed within the hollowed-out bottom of the trunk, and Dean stood next to him, watching his brother’s face. As you got to them, you put a hand on Sam’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. He looked up at you, his normally soft and cheery expression suppressed by a look of both desperation and anger. He shut the trunk with a hard slam.

“We got work to do.”

Tags are open and feedback is always appreciated!

Series Rewrite Tags:

@rach5ive @ppeachygemss

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galvanizedfriend · 4 years

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The thing about waiting a month for an update is really unfair for the ones that are constantly giving you all the support. I mean, i will support any decisions you'll make for sure but although you didn't ask for opinions I'm gonna say i really don't like the idea of waiting a month. Personally, i tend to forget a lot of things and this happens specially with fics, waiting that long (cause an update once a month is looong) now that we are getting close to the end will kill me. I totally understand your point of view and you are not the first author i see talking about how the things here in tumblr have changed, but for the ones that are really trying to get you no only the recognition you deserve but also tones of love and support with the story, well, is kinda sad. And i get it's not about us (although i make it sound like it is so im sorry lol) cause i know you certainly care for us, but still, waiting a month specially with all those cliffhangers? 😂 Of course i will wait if i had to but i rather not wait that long, i think an update every 15 days if more than perfect, but again, it's your decision and you should do whatever makes you happy and confident with your work.

The thing with the Wolf is that this universe is really important for all of us, this has become huge in our lives and at this point i consider it a masterpiece (yes, masterpiece), honestly this is one of the few stories I'm constantly reading over a over again.

The problem is tumblr? yes, but please don't consider deleting it, for some of us (and i mean me) this is the only way we can make close contact with our favorites author, and in my case is you and it will make me really sad if one day all of that is gone. You have to realized that you are a really important part of our lives now (want it or not lol) cause all the joy and happiness your work bring us, and we want somehow to give you that back, and the way we can make that is thanks to tumblr and the communication it allows us with you. So yep, i will always be grateful for all that you have brought to this fandom, literally all the dreams we had have become true because of your stories and i will be forever in debt with you for that, for all those moments you gave us that i keep really close to my heart ❤

I don't feel like waiting a month either, anon! 😂 Taking almost a whole year to complete this story is something that gives me the chills just thinking about it. Because it is being written as though it were a season of the show, the ideal for me would be to update it once a week, but I understand that I can't expect people to keep up with that and because these chapters are so long, I'd rather give people more time to read than kind of pile up a bunch of chapters on people to the point it would make people uninterested.

But I just want to make it as comfortable as possible for the readers. For me, it doesn't really make much of a difference because the story is written. I might edit the chapters a bit, rewrite one or two paragraphs, but it's basically done. So it's really about the readers. If it turns out people don't want more than a chapter a month, then, you know... 😂 So it's good to know more people prefer the 10 to 15 days time frame, because that's honestly as far as I personally think it can go. More than that and I'm sure I'll start to drift off. lol

So, you know, I didn't ask, but I welcome opinions on that from anybody who feels like sharing. So appreciate your message!

I really do like tumblr as a way to keep in touch with people and there are so many great fandom initiatives all around, I get SUPER DISTRACTED by the pretty gifs (I’m a girl of simple pleasures!), but if I say it doesn't bring me down hard sometimes, I'll be lying. 😂 The anxiety and the pressure is almost kind of inevitable sometimes, and I'm sure many people feel the same way. It's nobody's fault, obviously, it's a personal thing, but if it gets to a point where it becomes too much, I might feel like taking a step back.

It's not the case now, though. I took a day off yesterday and now I'm here distracting myself from elections anxiety in my country, so it's all cool. 😂😂 I’m glad I have some asks to answer.

Thank you so much for this really sweet message, anon. ❤️❤️ I've said it countless times before, but writing this fic has been the thing that kept me sane this year. With so much crap happening and the pandemics and some personal problems, both because of the pandemic and not, I would've definitely flipped if I hadn't found something to keep me grounded and distracted. I plunged into writing this like never before, got SUPER involved with the second season, even more so than the first, so I am both grateful to the people who have read it, who have shared their thoughts with me, who have left me comments, who have showed their appreciation in any way and have followed me here and kept up with this process, because that kept me motivated to keep going and I really, really needed that. So thank you!

#yokan answers #anon

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meet-me-in-the-kitchen · 5 years

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the reader passes out as soon as boyfriend!harry comes home from tour because she has been studying day and night to finish all her assignments before harry returns

EXHAUSTEDLY IN LOVE

It had been months since Harry had come home. Months spent sleeping on his side of the bed, burying her face in one of his pillows to catch his scent. Nights spent wearing his shirts, waiting for his calls, and settling with the recording of his voice during the voicemail message, in moments when she especially had missed him.

The point was, it had been ages since she’d seen her boyfriend, and Y/N is determined not to let coursework take away more time spent with him.

So, she scrambled to get it all done, in order to have more time for Harry’s kisses, cuddles, and love. She hadn’t felt him in so long, so without hesitation she’d buried herself under assignments, final projects, and studying for major examinations that would take place the following weeks. She started a few days before Harry was to get off the plane, starting with basic reviewing and taking creative breaks by writing and proofreading final essays and projects.

Somewhere along the way, she’d traded meals (the ones Harry had made with his own hands and left frozen for her in the fridge, because she can’t cook for shit and he’s too fond of her to let her become sick by eating burnt toast) for processed food, muffins and coffee. She stayed in their living room, where she had spread all of the work so it lid in unorganized heaps and papers scattered on the ground she could somehow navigate through. One half haphazardly crumpled and tossed ball of foil paper she’d eaten a muffin from had quickly turned to a couple, a dozen, and then bred to the point where it had escalated north to a much greater number. Wrappers littered the floor, despite her prior hate for disgusting messes rather than comfortable messes, she didn’t care. Coffee cups lay strewn aside, muffins half eaten, eyes bleary and nose sniffling a little from congestion.

The messiness crept up on her. Parts of her life began falling off, forming an eclectic debris that dribbled gradually into every corner. Empty sushi containers, Diet Coke cans, sweaters, sweatshirts (Harry’s), socks, her running shoes...when was the last time she’d washed her hair?

However, she really wanted to see Harry properly and get those assignments finished, so she writes that essay.

There is the thesis, which she painstakingly rewrites in every paragraph or else the teacher will say something like ‘???’. There is her restating the first bit of the thesis statement again, maybe with a different word or two. There’s that one character she does remember vaguely, and a purposefully verbose depiction of them so she can take up as much space as possible.

Transitional sentences she shambled together out of the remains of her hopes and dreams.

A rambling, off-topic sentence which probably should have been deleted but it's four in the morning and she honestly doesn’t care and I need those full ten pages. A drastic shift in the paper where for five seconds she actually thinks she knows what she’s talking about. There’s her analysis of a quote in which she tries to explain why it supports her thesis like explaining to a small child why the wind blows. It just does, okay, but I'm only going to be able to express this in really confused and circular speech. Here's her mentioning that character again, but this time she’s talking also about a second character. She secretly hopes she never has to take a test on this stuff. Concluding line. Transitional sentence, but with a vague sense of foreboding and dread attached to it. Her sore hands are starting to slow down. She has now grown to resent the two characters she has been talking about, and she sincerely hopes they both die in a fire, because literally nothing interesting happens to them; literally nothing interesting happened in this book whatsoever, but here's the analyzation of a quote dedicated to them.

When she’s sent in the last assignment and reviewed her brain numb, she feels wonder. Such magic. Somewhere in between killed-someone and just-saved-a-baby-dolphin. Euphoric. Such hope that she swears she just felt a rib snap. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah. She falls back on their bed.

Then, there’s fatigue. Tiredness gnaws at her aching bones, her head heavy, and body feeling unusually cold. A little drowsy, too, because she’d grown alarmed at the distracting dry coughs she was having while reviewing macro economics two, and had downed a bunch of foul smelling (expired?) Tylenol, like taking shots.

Her fingers were blistered from writing down all of the information she remembers from anatomy class for the examination, because it’s been scientifically proven that if you physically write the information down, it’s easier to remember. She’s never been one to like organization, and seeing girls with carefully handwritten tumblr study notes makes her furious, because they’re so slow and her mind works so fast, she’s too impatient and unable to catch her train of thought before it flees the scene, and write in perfect times new roman, size twelve, double spaced and in gel pen shades of fuchsia. It comes to bite her in the ass when she witnesses the disastrous scene of flashcards and sushi and bad handwriting and realizes she must clean it up.

All in all, she wasn’t feeling her best, but Harry was here, and it would definitely pass, right?

—

The night came when Y/N drove to Heathrow airport to pick her boyfriend up, excited and eager to have him back, but also suppressing the low throbbing in her head. It was later at night, so rush hour has passed and traffic was laid back, and the crowd in the airport had significantly dwindled.

We’ll have a few moments privately to ourselves before the press come, she thought, content and dreaming of him.

The time comes when the lights start flashing, and she knows that he’s back.

“Harry,” she breathily laughed, biting her lips, and trying to blink back the welling tears in her eyes as she catches sight of his sparkling forest green eyes from behind the transparent barrier between them. He runs off of the plane, and she runs to him at the same time. It’s like a scene in the movie, before her body collided with his, his comforting, striking scent engulfing her and his strong arms wrapping around her, catching her as she jumped up into his arms. He buries his own face into her neck, breathing in her girlish scent. It’s a scene from a Lifetime movie. They both cry.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you more,” he whispered the promise, before sealing their lips in their first kiss in months.

There’s a lot to say behind that kiss. In his head, mainly. Questions and worry that had been intensifying every waking moment to the nights prior to this one, when he had called Y/N and she had responded hours and sometimes days later with a text saying she was fine. It had been so long since they’d had a proper conversation, and it would be a lie if Harry hadn’t thought the distance was affecting them. Causing her to care less. Now, he was confused. In love, definitely, but confused at how the woman who had seemingly avoided him for days was now leaping in his arms, holding on tightly to him like a koala bear and clinging for life.

The screams behind them started growing, cameras clicking, and fans growing desperate. After pushing one last kiss against her lips, Harry smiled at her adoringly, dimples poking out as her eyes fluttered open.

“Come on, it’s time to go, Princess.”

She nodded, and they kept their heads down, security surrounding them methodically as they moved through the gathering crowd. Through the middle of it, however, Y/N begins to feel a bit dazed. No, not now, she thinks to herself, nervously. The flashes and clicks and screams do nothing for her terribly painful headache, and worsen the heavy feeling in her chest. Her legs feel detached from the rest of her body, moving robotically and at a quick pace as they move hand in hand, Harry pulling her closer to his chest in order to protect her from the crowd. Her hands are becoming sweaty, and she wonders if he can feel it.

She’s taking deep breaths, training her expressionless face to the ground, and trying to focus on the steadiness of Harry’s arm around her waist, how it was warm and unwavering. However, this lessens her attention and causes her to forget that one step as Harry and her step into the elevator, hidden by the security who let them pass and keep everyone else out. They’re the only two going inside, when her foot slips into the little crack in the machine, and she lurches forward. Harry’s arms tense around her, pulling her inside the elevator before it shuts on her foot.

“Jesus, you alright, baby?”

She tries to make a confirming noise, but it comes out as more of a groan, and she’s so hungry, her stomach is painfully empty. This strikes his alarm, and so he places his large hands on her shoulders, finger tilting her chin up as he gazes down at her with tentative, cautious green eyes, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Mhm,” she mumbles, not quite wanting to let go of his chest just yet. It was warm and smelled of him, and she was afraid she’d lose her balance if she let go. Instead, she slung her arms around his hips and closed her eyes, face against his chest. Before murmuring: “I just missed you so much, H.”

He relaxes some at this, visibly becoming less tense. His expression softened as he looked over at his girl.

“Sleepy?” He asked softly, a finger stroking her cheek while his other arm wrapped itself around her waist, securing her to him. She hummed, and he kissed her hair.

“You smell nice,” she confessed. “Like.. like... Harry candles.”

“Come on, love,” he laughed lightly, guiding her out of the lift and brushing it off as she stumbled some, again, blaming it on her exhaustion. “Let’s get you home, in bed. Y’very sleepy.”

“No,” she protested, eyes narrowing while she pointed at his chest determinedly as she remembered all the work she had done, waiting for this moment. “I’ve made dinner, and you’re going to eat that, and then I’m going to put on lingerie and look irresistible and you’re going to seduce me into getting into bed with you.”

“I’m going to seduce you, hm?” Harry teased, a signature smirk on his face. He nuzzled his face into her neck and peppered kisses there, after they’d gotten into the car and he had sat in the drivers seat next to the passengers seat, where she sat. “You don’t need lingerie. You’re already irresistible.”

With a weak smile and a killer migraine, she rolled her eyes.

“Shut up and drive, Styles.”

—

The aching in her body would go, and then come back full force as Harry drives, one hand easy on the steering wheel, other grasping hers and rubbing circles into her much smaller palms as he talked of the places he’d traveled and how much he’d missed her, home.

She’d smile and nod, but what was this? She’d spent all of her energy finishing her assignments to spend time with him, but now she spent the time she had feeling sick.

They’d entered into their flat, and Harry had heaved a long sigh, comforted in the private confines of his home. Y/N had instructed him to freshen up, swatted away his lingering hands from her hips, and gotten dinner ready. She’d made his favorite.

She was just setting the wine on the candlelit table, when the all consuming drowsiness for her again, but she breathed in and out and gulped down some cool water, waiting for it to pass and then fixing the table, again.

He’d snuck up behind her, planting his hands on her hips and sponging kisses down her delicate neck when she clenched a bit in surprise, before relaxing slightly, still a bit stiff.

“Wow,” he’d muttered, green eyes sparkling as they ran over what she’d done. She’d pushed him down into a chair. “This is amazing, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she promised, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ve waited so long. Now, come on! There’s a cake you have to cut.”

There’s an apparent slow burn that situated itself in her ribcage, her stomach twisting in unease as she continued to smile and walk towards the counter, uncovering a big cake she had made for him in his favorite flavour and colours. She grabbed a lighter and quickly lit all the candles, the heat causing her chest to flush uncomfortably, arms prickling due to the unwanted warmth. Her head spun.

Carefully, she had began walking toward Harry with the cake, a faint smile still on her face as he stared at her lovingly. She had placed the cake in front of him.

“Welcome back home, baby,” she’d murmured, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she held him, nuzzling her face into his neck, chest against his back. He lifted his hand to rest where hers did, before exhaling and blowing out the little fires on the candles, smoke billowing past them, as a result.

“I love you.”

She heard the phrase, but it sounded more distorted. The smoke and heat surrounding her becoming too much, migraine worsening, nausea uprising. She became more aware of her fatigue and hunger and dizziness. What was happening?

Harry’s own forehead had creased in concern as he eyed her after she hadn’t responded like she usually did. There was a strange, faraway look in her eyes, as he watched as her face fell with a frown downturning his own cherry lips. Eyes darkening in worry.

“Love?”

The last thing she felt was her own body turning against her, feeling weightless as her eyes closed shut. She collapsed, his arms quickly wrapping around her to break her fall.

—

Y/N felt as if she were nestled in a cloud, entrenched in softness and white and the warmth that could only be from the body heat of someone very close and very familiar. She yawned, stretching beneath the heavenly comforter. How long has it been since I’ve last slept here? Pushing the thought away, she had smiled sleepily. Harry must have changed the sheets into new, fresh ones. He was sweet.

Her eyes snapped wide open.

Harry.

“You’re awake.”

His voice was as gentle as the breeze, but his darkened eyes held emotions she couldn’t figure out, ones that caused her stomach to roll in unease.

“Drink,” he motioned to the glass filled with what looked like foggy water which he had ripped over slightly, nudging her lips. Inwardly grimacing, she parted her lips and he silently tipped the glass further into her mouth. Bleh. It was sugar water. “It’s to get your blood sugar up.”

“I spoke to the doctor,” he said. His voice hard as steel, but he restrained from sounding too firm or saying anything he didn’t mean. She already knew what he’d say.

“Harry,” Y/N whined, she was still tired. How about a rain check? She mused. On this conversation. I want to sleep some more.

“Y/N.”

His voice had a warning edge to it.

“You haven’t been eating,” he stared at her blankly as he stated the facts, but the worry in his eyes was now evident. She felt the urge to look away, but couldn’t. “—sleeping, and the doctor’s said you’ve been looking stressed. What’s going on? Tell me the truth.”

“I wanted to spend time with you..”

“So you deprived yourself of food and sleep?” He asked, disbelief colouring the sentence.

“I had a lot of coursework,” she confessed, looking down to where she fiddled with her fingers, a nervous habit. It all seemed so silly, now. “It’s becoming exam season, and I had a lot of projects and major assignments and reviewing to do.”

“You’re gone for ten months,” she pressed, a little pained. “I didn’t.. I didn’t want to spend the time I have with you doing coursework and stressing over prepositions and definitions, when we could be going places or doing nothing together. It’s been so long, Harry. I missed you.”

His eyes softened at the explanation, but hers were still downturned. She felt vulnerable. Had he missed her as much as she’d missed him?

“I guess, I kind of lost track of time and forgot to eat and stuff during all of the hustling to get things finished. I ate,” she offered with a weak smile, knowing it was futile. “I ate muffins and drank coffee.”

Harry shook his head at that.

“You silly girl,” he laughed wetly, tears springing to his own eyes as he pulled her near him, sponging soft kisses to her hairline and looking down at her sweetly. “I know the feeling. I hate being far from you, too, baby, but. You need to take care of yourself. You can’t be getting sick.”

She snuggled further into his warm chest, content with his familiar scent— of sandalwood and boy and home. His arms wrapped around her, holding her as close as physically possible, feeling every curve and dip he’d missed being against for so long.

“I was so worried,” he whispered. She felt her own heart ache at how he sounded a bit broken. “It was so sudden. One second you were smiling, and the next you’d fainted. I thought you were.. I thought something was wrong. I need you.”

“I’m sorry, H,” she apologized, sighing delicately as her boyfriend ran his fingers under the shirt (his) she was wearing, skin contacting with her warm back and tracing around until his palm lay flat against her bare stomach as he spooned her. “Hey.. did you change my clothes? “

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively: “did you see my new lingerie?”

He rolled his eyes in amusement, before dramatically widening them for exaggerated emphasis. “Loving you,” he poked her nose. “Is exhausting. I’ve lost years off of m’life.”

“Yes, but you get to see me naked. So, you see, it’s all worth it in the end.”

It was. These months apart. The forces that tried to break them apart. Every ache, every second apart was worth it. She was worth it, and so was he.

He laughed, lips stretching into a wide smile as he pulled her closer to him while continuing to smother her squirming self with smacking kisses.

MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #this was kinda trashy kinda classy whats new

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betterdaysareatoenailaway · 4 years

Text

Sleep Tight For Me...I’m Gone

Lately I’ve been writing these Better Days Are A Toenail Away™️ posts in Microsoft Word, selecting all and changing the font to Garamond, which is so readable and beautiful, and posting the Word docs, paragraphs by paragraph, inside these Tumblr drafts. It makes things look nice, to my old fashioned sensibilities, but fixing errors is a time-consuming and needlessly convoluted four-step process.

First, I have to copy, then delete the paragraph containing the error. Then I open the doc. and paste the error-ridden paragraph back into Word. After I find and fix the error, I need to save it and copy and paste it back into the post. It's time-consuming because I’m not just copying a paragraph. As you can see from more recent post, what I copied looked more like a photograph of the paragraph, not the words themselves written in Tumblr’s default font Arial. For an example of this, see below. I like the way it looks like old newspaper clippings. I posted an article about how my fent dealer John Smith kept getting robbed, and had resorted to putting a machete in front of his front door as a way of preventing this, a lever of sorts, which is plainly visible in the video I posted,

So today I’ve given up on trying to make my posts look like books or zines, and have given into the Tumblr font, which is about as pretty as a horse with his snout shot off.

There are two much longer posts I’m working on right now, one about Nirvana and one about Soundgarden, respectively, and how both bands were very unlike their public perception, but those posts are taking a lot of work so I’m putting them on the backburner because today is some dumbass corporation’s day where it tries to synthesize mental health and profit and the end result is as baldly capitalist and clumsy as you would expect.

I’m not gonna name the company, or repeat their stupid fucking slogan. As far as I can tell (which isn't very far), talking about my trauma has never made me feel better. And in fact it has sometimes made me feel worse, because in telling you what hurts and scares me, I’ve given a part of myself away that I can’t get back. When you’re like me, and you’ve lost everything multiple times, sometimes the only form of power you have is how you choose, or do not choose, to tell your story. And in a world where everybody wants to tell “their truth,” silence is power.

You don’t get to know me, sorry. I’m not gonna hand you my life, both my bad and good experiences, and conclude: “Welp, that’s why I’m so fucked up. Case closed.”

Honestly, I used to be a little confused, or miffed that my former partner (who is an amazing person btw, in every respect) almost never spoke about some of the traumatic things she’d experienced in her past. I took it as a sign that she either didn’t trust me, or she didn’t think I would be a sympathetic listener, or the mere fact of my gender precluded her from sharing because I couldn’t truly understand what it was she had gone through. It’s not like I ever asked her to talk about it, but I did say, once or twice, “hey if you ever wanna talk about that stuff, I’m around.” She never took me up on it, and I let it go.

But as I watched her, and saw her life unfold, over the years we spent together, I began to realize I wasn’t exactly in any position to be telling her how to live her life or how to be mentally healthy. After all, she has found success in a number of avenues, both creative and occupational, and I’ve found neither. I'm not saying the fact that she didn't talk much about her trauma is the reason for her success. I'm saying that she's forged a better path through life than I have, and maybe I should take a cue from that.

She never told me what to do, per se. It was more like living by example. But because I’m pretty dense, and a severe addict, our time together actually sorta reminds me now of that Cornell lyric from his first record: She’s going to change the world. But she can’t change me.

I have certainly found that talking about how shitty my life is only makes me feel more shitty, not free, or unburdened, or better. If you wanna talk about your problems, and you find it helpful, more power to you. Just don’t wait for a corporation to tell you it’s okay to not be okay.

When Chris Cornell died I was so shocked. Of all the grunge icons he seemed the most stable, and he'd survived the rise and fall of two major label rock bands. If anyone had survived the media machine that chewed up and spat out Staley, Cobain, and to a lesser extent Andrew Wood and Shannon Hoon, it was Cornell. He would be the last guy to support hashtag activism like #StarbucksMyLifeSucks. Chris Cornell actually loved to fuck with the best laid plans of corporate rats. Molson once had a few promotional concerts in Tuktoyaktuk, Northwest Territories, called Molson Canadian Rocks Arctic, with both Hole and Soundgarden playing to a crowd of flown-in grunge fans and bemused locals. But the whole anti-corporate thing grunge was known for actually came through when Courtney Love told the crowd she “use[d] Molson Canadian to douche.” Lol. Here’s a photo of Love arriving in Tuktoyatuk.

Cornell told the same people “so we’re here because of some beer company? Labatt’s?” Both artists’ jabs are funny. Cornell’s was a bit more subtle, but that’s what Cornell was like.

So today’s post is about Chris Cornell’s suicide, more specifically the media’s reaction to it. For whatever reason, when Cornell died, every single news outlet, from CNN to Fox to CBC, posted “Black Hole Sun,” as if it’s the only song he ever fucking wrote, or – and this is far worse – the only song he wrote that’s worth hearing. The problem with this is more than twofold or threefold. It's fucking hydraheaded.

Not only is “Black Hole Sun” a mediocre piece of music, it’s a complete misrepresentation of Soundgarden’s sound.

Now, I’m a huge fan of the A.V. Club series HateSong, in which public figures gleefully talk shit about the one song they hate more than any other song in the world. The Max Bemis (Say Anything) one where he talks about Nirvana’s “Rape Me” as a terrible rewrite of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is terrific, but comedian Anthony Jeselnik’s HateSong takes “Black Hole Sun” apart, and I love it. I think the best line is: I think the more I hear it, the worse it gets. AVC: After the song became a huge hit, Chris Cornell said that he’d written it in about 15 minutes. AJ: I totally believe that. I don’t believe that Soundgarden likes that song. Like, I remember Eminem once said that he knew his song “My Name Is” was going to be a huge hit because the first time he heard it he was annoyed. It’s something about an annoying song that just grabs onto people. But I don’t think that anyone likes “Black Hole Sun.” I’ve never heard of anyone who likes it. I don’t understand why it gets played so much. It’s become a summer jam, and it’s not a summer song at all. Jeselnik is right that Soundgarden didn’t think much of the song. Guitarist Kim Thayil wasn’t kidding when he disparagingly called it the “Dream On” of their live show. And Cornell himself, known for a meticulous approach to his songwriting, had admitted that with “Black Hole Sun”was “probably the closest to me just playing with words for words’ sake, of anything I’ve written. I guess it worked for a lot of people who heard it, but I have no idea how you'd begin to take that one literally.” I mean it’s obvious from the opening lines that Cornell is just playing with words and how they sound: in my eyes/indisposed/in disguises no one knows What songs would have been more appropriate for Cornell’s untimely death? Glad you asked! Cuz there’s like…fucking at least ten that would have been better. I’m not tryna be one of those “the deep album cuts are better maaaaaan,” but with Soundgarden, it happens to be true. With some bands, the single are their best work. With other bands, the singles are the hors d’oeuvres for the entrees. So what deep cuts would have celebrated Cornell’s death a bit better? Well, to begin with, Superunknown’s strange and stately closer “Like Suicide” would have worked, for obvious reasons.

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“Tighter and Tighter,” a song that is actually about the moment of death and what it might feel like, is one of my all-time fav Soundgarden songs. Not only is it a creepy and prescient prediction of what Cornell’s death by hanging himself may have felt like, it’s opening line is a good description of the personification of death: Shadow face/Blowing smoke and talking wind

Another sample lyric: “A sucking holy wind will take me from this bed tonight/and bloody wits another hits me and I have to say goodbye/sleep tight for me, I’m gone/and I hope it’s a sweet ride/here for me tonight/cuz I’m feel I’m going/feel I’m slowing down.”

The morning after Cornell’s death hit the news my buddy and bandmate James told me that en route to work his phone, which was playing music randomly through his car speakers, landed on “Tighter and Tighter” and he had to pull over because he was tearing up.

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“Fell On Black Days” is another song about depression and mortality. Cornell had the following to say about the song: “Fell on Black Days” was like this ongoing fear I’ve had for years ... It's a feeling that everyone gets. You're happy with your life, everything’s going well, things are exciting—when all of a sudden you realize you’re unhappy in the extreme, to the point of being really, really scared. There's no particular event you can pin the feeling down to, it's just that you realize one day that everything in your life is fucked!

Now, if that’s not a cogent and even-tempered explanation of suicidal thoughts, what is? Why else would Cornell have admitted to being “really really scared” by his depression unless he knew what that depression could ultimately leasd to? Here’s some lyrics to “Fell on Black Days.” Dig the high literary use of “whomsoever” and “whatsoever.” Whatsoever I’ve feared has come to life Whatsoever I fought off became my life Just when every day seemed to greet me with a smile sunspots have faded and now I’m doing time cuz I fell on black days

Whomsoever I’ve cured I’ve sickened now Whomsoever I’ve cradled...I put you down I’m a searchlight soul they say but I can’t see it in the night I’m only faking when I get it right I sure don’t mind a change but I fell on black days how would I know that this could be my fate?

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Eagle-eared listeners might think this version different from the album version. They are right. The rendition in the video was recorded live off the floor @ Bad Animals, the Seattle studio owned by Heart, where Soundgarden would record Down on the Upside.

“Boot Camp” is a scary meditation about loss of agency that for years was tied with Zeppelin’s “I'm Gonna Crawl” for Creepiest Song to Cap a Discography, until Soundgarden reunited and released King Animal.

“Taree” is about ghost light, influencing events after dying and features Cornell’s most exhausted, convincing “yeah” @ 2:57.

“Applebite” is a Matt Cameron-penned ponderous clunker about Adam’s original expulsion from Eden. Doomy and death-laden.

“Let Me Drown” is a song about letting someone die.

“The Day I Tried To Live” is frequently cited as Soundgarden’s finest achievement, its odd time signature somehow sounds straight, thanks to Matt Cameron’s brilliant time keeping.

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“4th of July” is a song about a post apocalyptic urban landscape, where the speaker isn’t sure whether he is seeing fireworks or bombs.

“Limo Wreck” is a cool death song and has an eerie 9-11 prediction. “Building the towers belongs to the sky/when the whole thing comes crashing down don’t ask me why.”

ANY of the above songs would have been better than that fucking asinine dirge-like major key fuckaround that has somehow not just become Soundgarden's signature song...but their ONLY song.

Does nobody remember Johnny Cash covering “Rusty Cage?”

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“Outshined?”

“Burden In My Hand?”

“Blow Up The Outside World?”

Did none of these other songs get stuck in the electric head? (The electric head is Rob Zombie’s term for the technologically advanced culture we have found ourselves enmeshed in, or imprisoned by. It was the subtitle for White Zombie’s 1995 hit album Astro-Creep 2000: Songs of Love, Destruction, and other Synthetic Delusions of the Electric Head.)

For my money (which ain’t much honey), the song that best fits both Cornell’s artistic integrity and the sad circumstances of his suicide is “Tighter and Tighter.” I once wrote a whole article on the way artists use “yeah” as a placeholder or as a way to convey emotion when words themselves aren’t adequate. Dig that tired, world-weary exhausted “yeah” at 5:35 of “Tighter & Tighter.”

Or the creepy line going into the first chorus: remember this...remember everything’s just black or burning sun. Not that I agree with such a bleak worldview. It’s a writer’s line. And Randy Bachman has said, “when you’re a writer, you’d step over your own mother.” That’s the Cornell I want to remember. Not that he would step over his own mother. By all accounts he was a committed family man. I mean, I want to remember the Cornell who created strange atmospheric sonic worlds, who explored the dark side that sadly, eventually won out. His otherworldly beautiful music is what I choose to remember about Chris Cornell, not his estate tastelessly exploiting “Black Hole Sun” by using a line from the song to title a posthumous Cornell album of covers No One Sings Like You Anymore. Sigh.

First Cornell’s widow said this was “Chris’s last album.” Okay. What about the Soundgarden songs he recorded vocals for before he died? Kim Thayil was pretty diplomatic about it when asked recently. Cornell did record vocal tracks for the follow up to King Animal.

Kim Thayil: “Given our love for Chris, I do not see us reconfiguring without him.”

But he makes it clear in this interview that Cornell’s widow Vicky has those tracks and won’t release them to the band. Maybe because she blames the band for Chris dying that night? She’s not wrong to believe that they would have known, and seen, what kind of shape Cornell was in, at least at the venue, maybe not later at the hotel.

Kim Thayil: “It’s entirely possible that a new Soundgarden album will be released. Certainly. All it would need is to take the audio files that are available. I tighten up the guitars. Ben does the bass. We get the producers we want to make it sound like a Soundgarden record.”

Interviewer: “Is there an obstacle stopping that?”

Kim Thayil: “There shouldn’t be. There really isn’t. Other than the fact that we don’t have those files.”

Interviewer: “They’re not under your auspices?”

Kim Thayil: “Right. It would be ridiculous if [the record wasn’t made]. But these are difficult things. Partnerships and...property.”

You’re just gonna keep those wav files? And why title his covers album Volume 1 if it’s his “last album?”

Oh right. $$$

No one does sing like Cornell, but is “Black Hole Sun” really the best thing he ever did? The best song he ever sang? Should an album of covers be the last thing he gives to the world?

The only honest answer is no.

Sleep tight Chris. You’re gone.

#betterdaysareatoenailaway #soundgarden #chris cornell #suicide

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