#Invisible Ch 9

[arminsumi]

I Want to Kiss You (4)

You and Satoru falling in love despite a language barrier.

2.6k

★ Synopsis : struggling to communicate on an aquarium date.

★ Pairings : fem reader / Gojo さとる / Geto すぐる

★ Content : fluff, lighthearted love triangle

↺ Ch.3 | M.List | arminsumi | Library

すぐるのアパート 9:15 AM

A soft redness dusted Satoru’s face as he vigorously washed his face with a foaming cleanser in the bathroom. Early morning. Very hot. Peak summer heat. And on this stark-bright day he had plucked the courage (thanks to Suguru’s motherly encouragement) to ask you out on a date. You’d agreed with a smile – and the image of your smiling response lingered in Satoru’s head while he got ready for the date.

Satoru looked in the mirror at his reflection and noticed that the corners of his lips were naturally upturned; he was at a genuinely happy point in his life. Ever since you came to visit Japan, Satoru felt like an invisible weight lifted from his shoulders. One he wasn’t aware of before it lifted.

He blinked at his reflection, white lashes quivering.

私は大丈夫に見えますか？

Do I look okay?

He checked himself out in the mirror, observing how his white t-shirt draped over his shoulders.

私はカジュアルすぎる服装ですか？

Am I dressing too casually?

He dabbed cologne on his neck and sprayed it under his shirt to trap the minty-vanilla scent.

When he entered the living room, Suguru took one inhale of Satoru and his nose immediately scrunched up at the minty scent that hit his nose.

「ミント？」 he fake-belched, "Better vacate the area." he said dramatically and went to the kitchen, which was not divided by a wall but just a ceiling-tall shelf panel that you could peer through.

You and Satoru laughed at Suguru's overreaction.

Mint hopped on one of the shelves near Suguru, and then he extended the joke by freaking out.

「私はミント地獄にいる。」 he said. "I'm in mint hell."

Satoru giggled and tormented Suguru with his cologne by trying to trap him in a hug — Suguru was having none of it. Their banter settled down after a few minutes.

Mint was just observing and swishing her tail peacefully the whole time.

"Satoru should put that cologne on you, Mint, then I'll hate you even more!" he cooed condescendingly at the Turkish Angora.

You laughed, "Suguru, it's no wonder Mint hates you, if you speak like that to her."

"Hey now listen — this cat is the reincarnation of a murderer that tried to kill me in a past life." Suguru said dramatically, "See that evilness in her eyes? She's out for my blood."

電車 / Train / 10:00 AM

Satoru used the translator to talk with you during the train ride to the aquarium.

At some point, a translation of one of your replies made him laugh so hard that tears formed in his eyes.

Google translate felt emotionless, so Satoru brought out his phrasebook and tried to speak with it. It looked personalized with his notes. You could tell that he’d consulted the book many times already in the past.

You wanted to look at it closer, so you asked, “Can I?”

“Mhm.” He handed it to you.

You flipped through the phrasebook and read the section names. Basics. Practical. Social – there was a big red circle drawn around a particular phrase on page 140. The romance section.

Satoru’s cheeks burned. He felt a bit caught. He gave you an awkward but cute smile.

What he had circled in the phrasebook was;

キスしてもいい？

The train stopped at the station you had to get off at. The lady over the speaker sounded so sweet that your attention was drawn away from the phrasebook. Satoru surreptitiously took it from your hands and packed it into his backpack.

The two of you boarded off the train, bumping shoulders at the doors and laughing about it.

Satoru squinted because of the sun, and you distinctly remember looking at him and thinking about how attractive he was when he squinted.

Because the sun was blazing so bright, Satoru hovered his hand over the back of your head to make sure you didn't heat up too much while you and him walked to the aquarium.

水族館 / 11:00 AM

Satoru felt a self-conscious feeling kick in when the two of you bumbled through the aquarium together.

Hand gestures flew between the two of you. You shared confused faces which were followed by laughter. It felt like you were playing charades at some point.

Sometimes Satoru would say "uhh" for so long after saying one English word that he'd start smiling and laughing at himself.

He'd end his incomplete thought with "You know?" and you'd shake your head and start laughing, "I have no idea." you'd reply.

Then Satoru would use google translate, practicing each word under his breath.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

While waiting for you by the aquarium bathrooms, Satoru practiced asking "Can I kiss you?" over and over. He paced around and muttered under his breath.

It's not that he couldn't pronounce it, it's just that he wanted it to sound less stiff and more emotional.

I want to kiss you with desperation, not I want to kiss you with dullness.

An old man who looked about ninety blinked at Satoru and wondered why this young man was pacing back and forth while practicing romantic English phrases.

("What are you doing?") he asked Satoru.

("Learning to speak English.") Satoru replied.

("Why?") the old man asked.

("Because the girl I like speaks English. I'm waiting for her right now.") Satoru replied.

("Well, I teach English. I don't think you should ask to kiss her, that’s too direct. If the universe wills it, you two will fall into a kiss and it will just happen.") he advised.

("I don't really believe in the stars bringing people together. I want to kiss her whether or not the universe wills it.") Satoru said.

("You've got it all wrong. The stars really do bring people together. I'm sure the same stars that brought her to Japan will also bring her to your lips.") the old man said.

("... are you a poet, too?")

You came out of the bathroom. The ethereal aquarium light lit your face beautifully.

("Oh... is that girl the one you are in love with?") the old man noticed you.

Satoru looked at you. His cheeks warmed up.

("Yes, that's the girl I'm in love with...") he replied dreamily.

("It's no wonder. Well then, good luck.") the old man said.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

It felt like the aquarium was a whole other world, like a paradise in a bottle corked shut, one which only you and Satoru could exist within.

He watched the spin of aquatic life with you in silence. You seemed captivated.

The back of his hand brushed against your arm.

Satoru's hand trembled a little.

背が高すぎるんです。

I'm too tall.

Satoru had to be tactful about it.

どうすれば彼女の手を握ることができますか?

How can I hold her hand?

He awkwardly bent his knees a little to shorten himself.

Then he poked the back of your hand softly to get your attention, blatantly hinting to you that he wanted to hold your hand.

So you offered him your hand and then he seized it like a treasure being presented to him. His lips grew into a smug smile.

You saw him go red in the face, even in the dimness and blueness of the aquarium light.

You and him gently held hands and stood in front of the tall glass of the jellyfish enclosure.

つまりこれが愛なんだ？

So this is love?

The room was dark blue, but the enclosure lights lit up the see-through sea creatures with a magenta color.

It felt like a sight you could stare at forever and ever and always be at peace; magenta jellyfish pulsing then drifting then pulsing again, their bell-shaped bodies and tentacles behaving like a chiffon dress in water.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

クラゲのようにあなたの愛の中で漂いたい。

I want to float in your love like a jellyfish.

You and Satoru held hands as if your hands were glued to each other.

While exploring the map in the afternoon, he stayed at your side like a magnet. If he lost your hand, he immediately searched for it and held it again.

The summer heat got intense. He sweated more than you did, but even still looked attractive and fresh. To cool off, you and him searched for cold things to eat.

"Uhhh — do you want to eat shave ice?" he asked.

"Mhm, sounds good." you nodded.

So the two of you went on a long, long search for someone selling shaved ice and eventually found one. You zoned out a bit while enjoying his voice.

Satoru mentally kicked himself because even though he thought he was prepared for this date with you, he forgot to bring extra money. He could only get one cup of shaved ice.

"What flavour?" he asked you.

You told him cherry, so he got cherry.

The two of you shared it. It made his lips go red and cold.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

真っ赤で冷たい唇でキスできたらいいのに。それは冬のキスのようなものでしょう。

I wish I could kiss you with red, cold lips. It would be like a winter kiss.

The train shuddered.

You'd noticed that Satoru always kept his knees together when sitting next to you — to give you space. But now after holding hands, closeness was being chased and chased; the both of you scooted closer together and tried to translate your thoughts to each other with the phone.

Satoru typed in:

JPN : 私たちはくっついています。

ENG : We are stuck together.

You chuckled softly in response. His eyes always lit up and he really relished in making you laugh, even if it was just a soft chuckle.

You replied to him:

ENG : you are warm.

JPN : あなたは暖かいです。

He replied to you:

JPN : そう、あなたのせいで。

ENG : yes, because of you.

You replied to him:

ENG : are you flirting?

JPN : イチャイチャしてるの？

Satoru gave you a cheeky smile.

JPN : 私はいちゃいちゃしてます、はい。

ENG : I'm flirting, yes.

You smiled as he continued typing. His thumbs hesitated, like he was nervous about what he was about to type next.

Satoru's heart was beating harder and harder in his chest.

JPN : 頬にキスしてもいいですか？

ENG : ! NO CONNECTION

You both groaned.

The connection kept failing from then on, so the two of you laughingly attempted to communicate by using the outdated pocket phrasebook for the rest of the train ride home.

"Kiss...?" he tapped his finger on his cheek.

You thought he meant he wanted you to kiss him on his cheek, but he meant to ask if he could kiss your cheek.

So he malfunctioned when you leaned in and gave him a small but firm kiss on his left cheek. His ears and cheeks burned.

When you two stepped off the train, Satoru lingered behind you for a moment and grazed his fingertips over the place where you kissed and smiled to himself.

こんなに柔らかい唇。。。

Such soft lips...

すぐるのアパート 9:00 PM

The boys were talking about you at home while you were in the bathroom freshening up after the long, hot day out.

("Satoru, you're glowing. Did something good happen on the date?") Suguru smirked.

("She kissed me.") Satoru told him dreamily.

Suguru widened his eyes.

("She kissed you?!")

("Just on the cheek.") Satoru sighed, ("Her lips were so soft...")

("Were they now? I think you're exaggerating.") Suguru teased.

("I'm not exaggerating! Ask her for a kiss on the cheek, and you'll see; she has the softest lips ever.")

Suguru went quiet and pink in the face after Satoru suggested that he should ask you for a cheek kiss.

("Alright. I'll see for myself...") he mumbled.

⁕⁕⁕⁕

Come the evening, the three of you piled up like cats on the couch in the living room and watched an old movie together.

"Seems like someone's comfy." Suguru commented.

You smiled and looked at Satoru; he curled up against you with his noodle-like limbs and fell asleep mid-way through the movie. Your warmth had made him too drowsy and dreamy to keep his eyes open.

"You know, I was worried that we wouldn't have the same chemistry in real life as we've had through the screen." you said.

Suguru let out a breathy laugh and replied.

"Yeah, I thought it would be like that too. When I hugged you at the airport, though, I felt the same spark I felt when we first video-called." he said.

You felt your cheeks warm up the more he talked.

"...spark?"

"Huh?" he raised his brows.

"You said you felt a spark between us?"

Suguru's heart throbbed. He didn't seem to know how to respond, but then he decided to act a fool.

"Oh, did I say spark?"

"Yes, you did! You said spark, I heard you." you playfully smacked his shoulder.

He started grinning so he hid his mouth with his hand.

"Well, I think you heard wrong." he teased.

You looked at each other in silence.

"... hey, Suguru?"

"Yeah?" he replied breathlessly.

He withdrew his hand from covering his mouth and his face became serious.

"What were you two talking about earlier? I heard my name being tossed around a lot. You can't keep gossiping behind my back like this!"

"Oh... earlier? We weren't gossiping. Satoru was boasting to me about how soft your lips felt on his cheek." Suguru said.

"Boasting? You seem jealous." you said.

"Don't prod at me now just because you think I'm jealous."

"I will absolutely prod at you." you teased.

"I'd rather you kiss me." he said.

"What?"

"What?"

You looked at each other for a moment.

"Not like... on the lips." he backtracked.

"Oh."

"Satoru said I should ask you for a cheek kiss because I claimed he was exaggerating how soft your lips are."

"Well... he's not exaggerating." you teased.

"Oh yeah? I need proof."

"What kind of proof, Suguru?"

"Kiss me."

So you kissed his cheek very slowly.

He felt the press of your lips, and how damn soft they were, and thought to himself;

Shit. Her lips really are as soft as Satoru said they were.

When you pulled away, you asked "So? Are they as soft as Satoru claimed?"

"Soft enough." he teased.

"Soft "enough"?! What does that mean?"

"Soft enough to make me feel that "spark" again." he said.

"Huh?"

"Huh?"

You looked at each other with wide eyes.

Satoru made a wakeful noise.

「うるさい。」 he mumbled, then snuggled into you like you were his pillow.

"Oh. We woke the cat." Suguru joked. 「おい、バカ。あなたは映画全体を通して寝ていました。」

「残念な。」 Satoru replied and let out a sleepy sigh.

"Okay, let's get to bed... it's late."

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

★ Tags

@miwanilla / @sukunasdirtylaugh / @coco-cat / @babydiamondblog / @mp3playerblog / @froufrousnowman / @lovesickramblingsofmine / @arminswifee / @instantmusico / @kaechannn / @sabo-has-my-heart / @yoonjinhusbands / @honey-i-will-come-back / @thirtykiwis / @satoruiloveu / @iamthedetective / @melaaaara / @xakilicious / @i-am-the-geek-overlord / @starrylibras / @beanluvsmilo / @kittytoru / @reese-is-right / @rains-mae / @c0pkiller / @baepsays / @hueanhdang / @fuck-imstillhere / @yourimaginaryfriiendd / @alwaysminhyuk / @andromidagalaxie / @vianna99 / @akumakitsune21 / @ducksdoughnuts / @itsnotmelo / @animechick555 / @hypernovaxx

Thank you for enjoying the story 💗

[hope-ur-ok]

Surprise Song Master post ~ European Leg

5/9 Paris, FR: Paris + LOML

5/10 Paris, FR: Is It Over Now?/OOTW + My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

5/11 Paris, FR: Hey Stephen + Maroon

5/12 Paris, FR: The Alchemy / Treacherous + Begin Again / Paris

5/17 Stockholm, SE: I Think He Knows / Gorgeous + Peter

5/18 Stockholm, SE: Guilty As Sin? + Say Don't Go / Welcome to New York / Clean

5/19 Stockholm, SE: Message In A Bottle / How You Get The Girl / New Romantics + How Did It End?

5/24 Lisbon, PT: Come Back... Be Here / The Way I Loved You / The Other Side of the Door + Fresh Out the Slammer / High Infidelity

5/25 Lisbon, PT: The Tortured Poets Department / Now That We Don't Talk + You're On Your Own Kid / Long Live

5/29 Madrid, ES: Sparks Fly / I Can Fix Him (No Really Can) + I Look In People's Windows / Snow On the Beach

5/30 Madrid, ES: Our Song / Jump Then Fall + King of My Heart

6/2 Lyon, FR: The Prophecy / Long Story Short + Fifteen / You're On Your Own Kid

6/3 Lyon, FR: Glitch / Everything Has Changed + Chloe Or Sam Or Sophia Or Marcus

6/7 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: Would've Could've Should've / I Know Places + 'Tis the Damn Season / Daylight

6/8 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: The Bolter / Getaway Car + All of the Girls You Loved Before / Crazier

6/9 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: It's Nice To Have A Friend / Dorothea + Haunted / Exile

6/13 Liverpool, England UK: I Can See You / Mine + Cornelia Street / Maroon

6/14 Liverpool, England UK: This Is What You Came For / Gold Rush + The Great War / You're Losing Me

6/15 Liverpool, England UK: Carolina / No Body No Crime + The Manuscript / Red

6/18 Cardiff, Wales UK: I Forgot That You Existed / This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things + I Hate It Here / The Lakes

6/21 London, England UK: Hits Different / Death By A Thousand Cuts + The Black Dog / Come Back Be Here / Maroon

6/22 London, England UK: thanK you aIMee / Mean + Castles Crumbling w/ Hayley Williams

6/23 London, England UK: Us w/ Gracie Abrams + Out Of The Woods / Is It Over Now? / Clean

6/28 Dublin, IE: State of Grace / You're On Your Own Kid + Sweet Nothing / Hoax

6/29 Dublin, IE: The Albatross / Dancing With Our Hands Tied + This Love / Ours

6/30 Dublin, IE: Clara Bow / The Lucky One + You’re On Your Own Kid

7/4 Amsterdam, NL: Guilty as Sin? / Untouchable + The Archer / Question...?

7/5 Amsterdam, NL: imgonnagetyouback / Dress + You Are In Love / Cowboy Like Me

7/6 Amsterdam, NL: Sweeter than fiction / Holy Ground + Mary's Song / So High School / Everything Has Changed

7/9 Zürich, CH: Right Where You Left Me / All You Had To Do Was Stay + Last Kiss / Sad Beautiful Tragic

7/10 Zürich, CH: Closure / A Perfectly Good Heart + Robin / Never Grow Up

7/13 Milan, IT: The 1 / Wonderland + I Almost Do / The Moment I Knew

7/14 Milan, IT: Mr. Perfectly Fine / Red + Getaway Car / Out Of The Woods

7/17 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Superstar / Invisible String + "Slut!" / False God

7/18 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Speak Now / Hey Stephen + This Is Me Trying / Labyrinth

7/19 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Paper Rings / Stay Stay Stay + It's Time To Go / Better Man

7/23 Hamburg, DE: Teardrops On My Guitar / The Last Time + We Were Happy / Happiness

7/24 Hamburg, DE: The Last Great American Dynasty / Run + Nothing New / Dear Reader

7/27 Munich, DE: Fresh Out The Slammer / You Are In Love + Ivy / Call It What You Want

7/28 Munich, DE: I Don't Wanna Live Forever / Imgonnagetyouback + LOML / Don't You

8/1 Warsaw, PL: Mirrorball / Clara Bow + Suburban Legends / New Years Day

8/2 Warsaw, PL: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) / I Can See You + Red / Maroon

8/3 Warsaw, PL: Today Was A Fairytale / I Think He Knows + The Black Dog / Exile

8/15 London, England UK: Everything Has Changed / End Game / Thinking Out Loud w/Ed Sheeran + King Of My Heart / The Alchemy

8/16 London, England UK: London Boy + Dear John / Sad Beautiful Tragic

8/17 London, England UK: I Did Something Bad + My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys / Coney Island

8/19 London, England UK: Long Live / Change + The Archer / You're On Your Own Kid

8/20 London, England UK: Death By A Thousand Cut / Getaway Car w/Jack Antonoff + So Long, London

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Hook Man | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of religious trauma/parental abuse

Word Count: 4869

A/N: Guys. We hit a bit of a milestone earlier in the week. Just wanted to say in celebration that I am so beyond grateful for all of your love and support. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Giving big big kisses to all of you!!! Taglist is open!!

Edit: Hey.... I suck I forgot to add the taglist when I published. So sorry!!! fixed now!!!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and Dean were sat at an outdoor cafe; coffee cups in hand. He was clacking away at his laptop while you wrote in your journal. You wrote your excerpt on the shapeshifter next to a drawing of Dean’s necklace. 

“Is that…?” Dean asked, pointing to your journal.

You nodded. 

“I didn’t know you could draw,” he said.

“No offense, lovebug, but you don’t know much of anything about me,” you retorted.

He scoffed. “Will you take the compliment and be quiet?”

“I didn’t hear a compliment,” you giggled. “Well, maybe in ‘Dean Winchester Land’ it was a compliment.”

“Oh, shut up,” he responded playfully. 

Sam hung up the payphone he was standing in and came back over to your table.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis,” Dean jabbed at his brother.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” you told him.

“So, anything?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam huffed. “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam looked disappointed.

“Check this out.” Dean turned his laptop around to you and Sam. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“Thank god, a short trip,” you sighed. 

“ ‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road,’ “ Sam read from the article.

“Keep reading.” Dean nodded at his laptop.

“ ‘Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.’ “

That last line caught your attention. “Could be something interesting.”

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam protested. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out,” Dean responded.

***

The one hundred mile drive concluded with the boys dropping you off at a sorority house. 

“Remind me why I have to play barbies for the week again?” you asked.

“Because this is Lori Sorensen’s sorority house; the witness from the killing,” Sam replied.

“Great,” you mumbled.

“Have fun making s’mores and singing campfire songs,” Dean remarked.

“Bite me,” you snarked. “You’re going to a frat, though, Steve McQueen, so I wouldn’t be so cocky.” 

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he grumbled. 

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” you said and shouldered your duffel bag. You bid them goodbye and reluctantly marched up to the door of the sorority house.

A girl with long, dark curls opened the door. “Hi,” she said. “Can I… help you?”

“Yeah, I’m (Y/N),” you explained. “I’m your sorority sister from Ohio State. Do you guys have an extra bed I could sleep in? I just transferred here.”

“Sure,” she grinned. “I’m Taylor, by the way.” 

“Nice to meet you.” 

She led you inside and introduced you to Lori Sorensen. She was a sweet girl; very naive and a little stuck-up. Taylor seemed a little more like a party girl, but still relatively tame. You decided you could gel with these girls for the time being. 

They told you they were headed to Sunday service at Lori’s father’s church and invited you to go with them. You obliged.

In the middle of the introductory rites, you heard the heavy church door slam shut. Your head swiveled to find Sam and Dean frozen and looking guilty. You scoffed amusedly and rolled your eyes, turning your attention forward for the rest of the service. 

Taylor invited you and Lori out to a party after the service, but Lori said she couldn’t. Her father had dinner with her every Sunday since her mother passed away. She and Taylor hugged and Taylor bid you goodbye before heading off.

Sam and Dean came over to you and Lori.

“Guys!” you said excitedly. “Sam, Dean, this is Lori.” You introduced her to them. “They’re my friends from Ohio. They transferred with me.” 

“I saw you inside,” she told them.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and…”

Dean cut his brother off. “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

You knew where this was going; he was cruising for another hookup.

“I kind of know what you’re going through,” Sam broke back in. “I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Lori nodded slightly. Just then, her father came up to your group.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). They’re new students.”

Dean shook the reverend’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much,” he smiled. “It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” 

“Yes, sir,” you replied and began leading him away from Sam and Lori. “Actually, we’re looking for a new church group…”

***

Later that day, you and the boys were sitting together in the local library. Sam relayed to you what Lori had told him about the passing of the guy she was with.

“So, you believe her?” Dean asked him.

“I do,” he nodded.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean smirked at him. 

“You think almost everything with a vagina and legs is hot, Dean,” you remarked.

“Not you,” he jabbed back, still smirking.

You clutched a hand to your chest. “I’m hurt, you dick.”

He rolled his eyes at you.

“Can we focus, please?” Sam broke in. “There’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the—”

 Sam cut you off. “Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.” 

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” Dean added. “You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.”

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began,” said Sam.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?” 

You had the librarian bring over boxes of arrest records. The three of you poured through pages upon pages for hours. 

“Hey, check this out. 1862,” Sam said finally. “A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’ “

“Get this, the murder weapon?” Dean was looking at another page. “Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.” 

You pointed to a page in Sam’s book. “Look where all this happened. Nine Mile Road.”

“Same place where the frat boy was killed,” Sam chimed in. 

“Nice job, Dr. Venkamen and Annie Potts. Let’s check it out,” the older brother quipped.

The three of you headed to Nine Mile Road. Dean parked off the road in a clearing in the woods. He popped the trunk and handed Sam a shotgun. “Here you go.”

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good,” Sam said.

“Yeah, rock salt. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” Dean led the three of you through the clearing. 

“That’s pretty good. You and Dad think of this?” 

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.”

“Cool it, Winchester. You and your daddy aren’t the first people to think of rock salt bullets.” You loaded your own gun with shells of your own.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“They’re a bitch to roll,” you said.

“Oh, one hundred percent,” he remarked. 

You suddenly heard rustling in the bushes.

“Over there,” you whispered to Sam. The two of you aimed your guns and cocked it. 

The “ghost” came out from behind the trees. A sheriff. 

‘Dammit.’

“Put the gun down now!” he yelled. “Now! Put your hands behind your head.”

“Wait, wait, okay!” Dean told him. 

You immediately dropped your gun and put your hands up.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!”

You three obeyed.

“Now get down on your bellies,” he commanded. “Come on, do it!”

“Are you just on a power trip or something? ‘Cause— ah!” you were cut off by a sharp kick to the shin from Sam. 

The sheriff brought the three of you into the station. It was early the next morning by the time you were able to leave.

“Saved your asses!” Dean jeered. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. I am Matlock.”

“How was it that you were left in charge of talking him down?” You raised a brow at him. “And how in the fuck did you do it?”

“Sweetheart, this may surprise you, but I’m good at my job. And I told him Sam was a dumbass pledge, you were his girlfriend we’d dragged along, and we were hazing you.”

You and Sam both recoiled at the idea of dating each other.

“First of all, ew,” you started, “No offense, Sam.”

“None taken.”

“But what about the shotguns?”

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?” you asked incredulously.

“Well, Sam looks like a dumbass pledge.”

“Can’t argue with that.” You stuck your tongue out at Sam.

Moments later, several officers ran out of the building to their cruisers. Barely needing to share a look with the boys, you hurried into the car and sped away to follow them.

You could see Lori wrapped in a disposable blanket in front of the sorority house you were staying in. You weren’t exactly sure what was going on, but you had no doubt that it was another murder. The stretcher carrying a body bag rolling out of the front door affirmed that thought seconds later.

Dean parked the Impala around the back of the house. 

“Why would the Hook Man come here?” Sam asked as the three of you crept around the building. “This is a long way from Nine Mile Road.”

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggested. 

You pulled his arm back seconds later to avoid being seen by your “sorority sisters.” You used the fact that you had now pretty much pulled yourself in front of him to allow you to lead the way up to the second floor. 

While Dean made a stupid joke about a naked pillow fight, Sam was busy giving you a boost before climbing up himself. You looked back down at the ground to see Dean struggling to find his footing.

“Need help?” you smirked.

“No,” he grumbled.

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You waited patiently, leaning your head in your hands on the railing of the balcony and smiling down at him. He struggled for a few more moments before he conceded. All he did was open and close his hand he was extending upwards, similar to a toddler asking to be picked up.

“What’s the magic word?” you sing-songed.

“Come on!” he hissed. “Please?”

“There we go,” you smiled. You dug your heels into the ground and pulled him up.

You then realized the window you were entering was the one in Lori and Taylor’s closet. You hoped to god in that moment that Taylor wasn’t the one dead.

Your fears were realized, however, when you entered Lori and Taylor’s room to find the words “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?” crudely etched into the wall above Taylor’s blood soaked bed. You didn’t exactly get attached to people on hunts, but seeing good people die was never easy for you. It didn’t get easier. Your dad would call you soft, but you always liked to look at your compassion as a strength.

“ ‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’ That’s right out of the legend,” Sam whispered.

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean tapped his nose as he spoke. “It’s definitely a spirit.”

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before,” Sam muttered.

“(Y/N), you okay?” Dean asked you. 

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah. Fine. It’s just… look at this symbol.” You were referencing the one beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

Your head jerked toward the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly shooed Sam and Dean back into the closet and out of the house. Thankfully, you made it back to the car without being seen. You pulled the copy you’d made at the library of one of the pages on Jacob Karns out of the backseat. That was where you had seen the cross symbol; on Karns’s hook. 

You showed it to the boys. “Told ya.”

“Alright, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean said.

Sam took the page from your hand. “ ‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.’ “ He flicked the page with his finger, looking aggravated; as were you and Dean.

“Super,” the older brother muttered.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why,” Sam pointed out.

“I could just be spitballing here, but Lori definitely has something to do with it,” you said, looking up at the sorority house.

***

You managed to get into a party at the fraternity house Sam and Dean were staying in later that night. Dean had been busy mingling with thin college girls dressed in mini skirts while Sam stuck to the outside wall. You bounced around from talking to Sam and hustling some of the drunk frat guys in multiple rounds of pool.

The three of you reunited around the pool table you’d been dominating that night.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean told Sam. “This college thing is awesome!” He smiled and winked at a passing girl.

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “This wasn’t really my experience.”

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?”

Sam nodded. You chortled.

“What a geek. Alright, you do your homework?” 

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam unfolded a piece of paper. 

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage,” Dean read.

Your eyebrows knitted together.

“There’s a pattern here,” Sam explained. “In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out— get this— with a sharp instrument.”

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Dean asked.

“Her dad. Man of religion who openly preaches against immorality,” you pointed out. “Maybe this time, though, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his kid.”

“Reverend Sorensen,” Dean tsked. “You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe it’s like when a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place,” you suggested.

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” Sam chimed in.

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean told his brother.

“What about you?” 

Dean looked over to the opposite side of the pool table where the blonde you’d been playing with smiled at him. He reluctantly said, “(Y/N) and I are gonna go see if we can find that unmarked grave.” 

“We are? I wanted to play more eight-ball,” you told him. 

He looked back over at the blonde, back at you, and shook his head in disappointment. “C’mon. I’m not happy about it either.”

***

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back?” you asked Dean as the two of you trudged through the Old North Cemetery. You were holding shovels and flashlights searching for the grave of Jacob Karns.

He shot you a look.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding,” you laughed. “But seriously. Now that we’re… acquaintances, we should go out to a bar sometime. Preferably one with a pool table.”

“That’d be cool, actually,” he said, smirking at you. “You’re pretty good.”

“What, at pool?”

He nodded. “I could probably still kick your ass, though.”

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

He stopped and turned to you. “Don’t objectify me.”

“What?” you asked, stopping next to him. “You know you’re gorgeous. You frequently use it to your advantage.” You marched on.

You smiled when you heard him mutter, “You are so confusing, woman.”

You walked for a few more minutes before your flashlight landed on a grave marked with that cross symbol from Taylor’s room. “Jackpot.”

You and Dean set to work exhuming Jacob’s corpse. Your back and shoulders ached more and more the deeper you dug. “How fucking far down is six feet?” you remarked breathlessly. 

“I don’t know, but next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house,” he replied.

“Aw, you don’t wanna spend quality time with this cute girl?” you asked playfully. 

He eyed you strangely with a lopsided smile. 

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing. You’re just funny,” he told you.

You smiled back and got back to digging. Your shovel finally hit the wooden box lying below. You broke through it to reveal his corpse. Or at least, what remained of it. 

“Hello, preacher,” Dean said. He threw his shovel aside and helped you out of the hole you had dug. After he had climbed out, you poured salt and lighter fluid all over the bones. 

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean threw a match down into the grave.

Your nose twisted up in disgust. “I will never get used to that smell.”

“What, burnt, hundred-year-old preacher? Me neither.”

You and Dean packed up and headed back to the car that was parked in the cemetery’s parking lot. Your body was exhausted. 

“Um, weird question,” you started. 

He turned to you and threw his shovel and duffel bag in the trunk. 

“You think we could sleep in your car for a bit? I’m running on two days of no sleep.”

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It should all be over now and Sam should be layin’ it down with Lori.”

And so, you did. You stretched out over the backseat, and Dean laid down on the front. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, and strangely, you no longer felt tired. You supposed it was the strangeness of the situation. You were now sharing a somewhat intimate moment with a man you despised just weeks prior. You weren’t quite sure where your relationship with Dean was heading, and that bothered you a bit.

“Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

***

Four hours of shut-eye later, you felt recharged. You awoke to the sound of Dean’s phone vibrating over which Sam told you to meet him at a hospital.

“Hospital? Why? Is he okay?” you asked Dean, climbing over the front seat to sit shotgun. 

“I think so, but he said the reverend’s hurt.”

About fifteen minutes later, you were walking down a long corridor only to be stopped by two cops in wide-brimmed hats. 

The sheriffs put a hand to Dean’s chest to stop him.

“No, it’s alright, we’re with him. He’s my brother,” he explained. “Hey! Brother!” he called, waving dorkishly at Sam.  

“Let them through.”

“Thanks.” 

You and Dean began walking toward Sam, who met you in the middle.

“You okay?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah,” sighed Sam.

“What the hell happened?” 

“Hook Man.”

You looked incredulous. “You saw him?”

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?” Sam responded.

“We did,” you rebutted, confused. “You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“It sure as hell looked like him,” Sam returned. “And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, duh, he wouldn’t send Hook Man after himself,” you remarked.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” He whispered that last part.

“Damn.” You gritted your teeth. “I could see how that could upset her.”

Sam nodded. “She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Ok, so she’s conflicted,” Dean chimed in. “And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right,” the younger brother nodded. “Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” Dean muttered. “But we burned those bones, buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?”

“We must’ve missed something,” you said. 

“No, we burned everything in that coffin.”

“Did you get the hook?” Sam asked the two of you.

Realization struck you. “Fuck,” you grumbled. “No.”

“Why does that matter?” Dean asked.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” Sam told him.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.”

“So if we find the hook—”

The three of you finished Sam’s sentence in unison, grinning. “We stop the Hook Man.”

“Well, back to the drawing board,” you said as the three of you began walking away from the reverend’s hospital room.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Do you know where the hook is?” you raised your eyebrows at him. 

He said nothing.

“Exactly,” you giggled.

***

Your next stop was the library for the second time this hunt. As much as you liked to read, obnoxious amounts of research was not your thing. Finally, you thought you’d found something. “Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary. ‘Karns, Jacob. Personal effects: disposition thereof.’ “

“Does it mention the hook?” Sam asked you.

“I don’t know. ‘Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church,’ “ you read aloud. “That’s where Lori’s dad preaches.”

“Where Lori lives, too?” Sam asked, but it was more of a statement than a question.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past two hundred years,” Dean added.

“Yeah, but I think someone would’ve noticed a blood-stained, silver-handled hook hangin’ around the church or Lori’s house.”

Dean pulled out another book and slapped it down in front of you. “Check the church records.”

Sam pulled the book to sit between the two of you. You and he flipped through pages upon pages of records before he found something. “ ‘St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.’ “ He sighed. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“Goddammit,” you grumbled. 

Later that night, you and the boys returned to St. Barnabas Church. Dean shouldered a duffel bag and began leading you to the church. Sam followed close behind.

“Alright, we can’t take any chances,” the older brother began. “Anything silver goes in the fire.”

“I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in,” Sam added.

“Okay, take your pick,” you told him.

“I’ll take the house,” Sam responded.

“Dean and I will take the church, then.”

“We will?” the older brother asked.

“Yup.”

You led Dean up to the church. He called back to his brother. “Hey. Stay out of her underwear drawer.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice and giggled.

You took the top floor of the church while Dean scoured the basement. The two of you, along with Sam, met up in the furnace room. 

“I got everything that even looked silver,” Sam told you.

“Better safe than sorry,” Dean said. 

Your head turned upward at the sound of footsteps. You could hear Dean taking his gun from his jacket as you grabbed yours.

“Move, move,” Dean told you quietly.

You crept up the stairs as quietly as possible. When you got back to the ground floor, you could see Lori hunched over, her shoulders shaking. You lowered your gun and lightly pushed Sam forward. He shot you a look, but headed over to Lori anyway. You and Dean went back downstairs to continue melting the silver. 

“I feel for her,” you said quietly. “I know how much religion can fuck you up.” Silver clanked against the coals in the furnace as you spoke.

Dean turned his head to you. “You do?”

You nodded. “I’ve watched so many people go through crisis after crisis when their loved ones end up dead.”

“Me too,” he said earnestly. “Probably why I don’t pray.”

“Well, it’s a little difficult to believe in a higher power when all day, everyday is blood, guts, and monsters,” you remarked.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’ve met one religious hunter.”

“I have,” you said. “My mom.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was somehow still convinced of ‘God’s plan.’ “

“Catholic?”

“Oh, very.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied playfully.

“Yeah, me too,” you smiled. “My dad wasn’t, but, uh, he had his… other issues.”

Before he could ask further questions, you heard commotion upstairs. It sounded like running heading toward the opposite side of the basement.

“C’mon,” Dean urged, sprinting out of the furnace room with his gun in hand. You followed closely behind. You could hear the breaking of boards and slamming of what you assumed were bodies that practically shook the walls that got louder as you got closer. Sam was maneuvering himself behind the Hook Man’s clunkily-moving apparition. 

Dean gruffly called to his brother, “Sam, drop!”

His brother obeyed and Dean shot the Hook Man, who disappeared.

“I thought we got all the silver,” you said.

“So did I,” the older brother answered.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam’s voice was frantic.

“Well, maybe we missed something!”

You looked around and noticed Lori’s cross necklace. “Lori, where did you get that chain?”

“My father gave it to me,” she responded nervously.

“Where’d your dad get it?” Sam asked.

“He said it was a church heirloom,” she answered quickly. “He gave it to me when I started school.”

“Is it silver?!”

“Yes!”

Sam ripped the chain off her and threw it to you. You caught it with ease and went to start running back down the hall when the invisible Hook Man started dragging his hook along the wall.  

You threw Sam your gun and started running down another corridor you hoped would bring you to the same destination. You could vaguely hear Dean say to his brother, “I’ll cover (Y/N), shoot anything that moves!” before you heard approaching quick footsteps behind you.

You sprinted down winding hallways and thankfully quickly made it to the furnace room. You threw the necklace into the fire and watched as it slowly began to melt. “C’mon, c’mon,” you muttered anxiously. It took longer than you would’ve liked, but the cross broke off the necklace and burned into ash. As soon as it did, you and Dean ran back to the latter’s brother to make sure the ghost was gone. Thankfully, he had, but Sam seemed injured. He was clutching his left shoulder and wincing. 

You called the police to the scene and urged them to send an ambulance. They arrived in no time, and Sam was able to get his injury patched up. 

“And you saw him, too?” A sheriff was asking you and writing in a notepad. “The man with the hook?”

“Yeah, we all saw him,” you responded. “We fought him off and then he ran.”

“And that’s all?” The sheriff was skeptical.

“Yes, sir.”

“Listen. You and those two boys—”

Dean came up behind you and answered for you. “Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.”

You laughed at his response. Sam and Lori talking near the ambulance caught your eye. You continued watching them in the rearview mirror once you’d gotten in the backseat of the car. Sam soon left Lori, who looked after him sadly, and stooped down into the car. 

“We could stay,” Dean suggested. 

You could tell Sam wanted to, but he shook his head. A deflated air had settled over the car, but you knew the younger Winchester wasn’t ready for anything yet. He’d been dating Jessica for a year and a half and had just lost her less than four months ago. You knew he needed more time. The best way you knew to comfort him was to wrap your hands around his shoulders gently, minding his injury, from your place in the backseat. He tensed for a moment, but allowed you to hug him nonetheless. He responded by holding your arm with his good hand. And for a moment, if you closed your eyes, it was almost like hugging Steven again. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: mentions of wet dream, fantasying of 2 guys, oral f receiving, praise, probably more im not sure

A/N: hope you beautiful humans enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

also requests are still open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid & i would love love to write more so shoot me something :)

haappppy readingggg!

chapter eleven:

With a weary slump of her shoulders, Evelyn followed in Hotch's wake, her feet dragging the ground as though shacked by invisible weights. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping in a slow cadence, fighting the lull of sleep that beckoned with each laboring blink. Her lips parted in a slow, drawn-out motion that mirrored the sluggishness of her body. The latte sat in her hand, a supposed ally against the drowsiness, but her yawns betrayed its ineffectiveness as her eyes grew heavier still. The trip had been a marathon of activity--packing, the airport, the plane--all leading to a touchdown in Somerville just as the sun began to rise.

On the way over, Hotch had briefed her on the details of the case. A couple weeks ago, a polyamorous couple--two older men, and their shared partner, a younger woman--were found dead. Then, two days ago another household with the same victimology were killed. The coincidence wasn't lost on Evelyn as her mind wandered to that god forsaken dream that had haunted her since.

And on top of that, throughout the trip, Hotch's silence was a wall between them, broken only by the case details. Despite herself, Evelyn tried to profile him knowing it was wrong. Evelyn replayed the hot tub scene in her mind, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd crossed a line, even if it was unintentional... right? Her head was a battlefield of jumbled thoughts and creeping doubts, all clamoring for attention. She blamed the fog in her brain on the lack of sleep.

 Evelyn, under the weight of Hotch's intent gaze, gave way to a yawn so extravagantly drawn out it seemed less a sign of fatigue and more a playful challenge to his enduring patience.

"Stop staring; it's too early for judgment," Evelyn murmured, her eyes slits of defiance as she ambled after him towards the station. "This is just my face before the caffeine kicks in. It gets better, I promise."

Hotch offered no reply, merely casting a glance over his shoulder at her. The warmth of their close encounter in the hot tub enveloped his thoughts, an unwelcome yet intoxicating recollection. He wrestled with the memory, a guilty pleasure, even as he held the door open for her. Yet, he steeled himself, shoving those dangerous reflections to the back of his mind, all too conscious of the professional boundaries that he dared not to cross.

"Okay, Hotch, I get it, we can't all be as chatty as me with zero sleep. But come on, give me a smile, or at least a grunt," Evelyn coaxed, her laughter not quite reaching her eyes. "Anything to show you're still with us."

There was a pause, a look from Hotch that cut through her words, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, before he turned and walked away, his back a silent command to keep up. Evelyn's expression dimmed, her lips curving into a faint frown as she trailed behind him. The team's warm welcomes echoed around them as they entered the conference room. Evelyn's smile spread across her face, skillfully painted on to mask the twinge of disappointment that Hotch had left.

The moment Spencer's eyes found Evelyn, a soft blush bloomed across her face, and she offered him a smile tinged with complicity, which he mirrored back, a small but significant lift to her mood. The brief contact of Spencer's hand grazing her shoulder as she passed was enough to deepen the shade on her cheeks as she fought to maintain composure. 

"How was Miami hot stuff?" Morgan questioned, as his arm sling around her shoulder with a teasing squeeze.

"Hot," Evelyn declared, her hand theatrically waving in front of her face in a mock fan, while her elbow lightly collided with Morgan's side. "Nearly had me seeing stars. Poor Hotch was this close to performing CPR," she said, her words a deliberate prod as her eyes sought out Hotch's, hoping for any form of reaction.

"I'd say it was less about the heat and more about you neglecting to eat properly," Hotch commented dryly, his words carrying a hint of reprimand, but hey at least he was talking.

"Well, we really shouldn't dwell on the past," Evelyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Speaking of meals," JJ added, sliding a blueberry muffin towards her with a knowing smile. 

"You're a saint, JJ," Evelyn said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. "I'm this close to giving you a thank-you kiss."

"As tempting as that sounds, you can actually thank Hotch for this one," JJ laughed as she nudged her. "He made it clear--no breakfast for you means a mountain of paperwork duties for us."

Evelyn's tension eased a fraction as she shot Hotch a teasing smile, her heart fluttering at the gesture. "Well, sir, rest assured, I strictly adhere to the 'no kissing the boss' clause. It's somewhere in the fine print, right?"

Evelyn's cheeks took a shade of pink at her own words, hanging in the air, laden with the what-ifs she couldn't quite push aside. Hotch's eyes, sharp and discerning, momentarily betrayed him, darting to her lips before he caught himself.

"Agent," he cautioned, his voice low but clear. Evelyn quickly raised her hands, a silent truce, as Hotch redirected his attention to the team. "What do we have?"

"At this rate, they'll be naming the next HR workshop after you," Morgan murmured, barely containing his amusement. 

"What if the unsub is part of a group like this themselves and feels wronged by it?" Rossi muses out loud, his fingers tracing thoughtful patterns against the stubble of his chin as he stands, back pressed against the brick wall.

Reid paced slowly around the table, his fingertips grazing a file as he passed. "It's possible," he began, his voice a soft murmur, eyes narrowing slightly. "The specific targeting and overkill suggest a perceived slight or trauma associated with such relationships."

Prentiss gave a firm nod. "Let's not rule out the possibility of the unsub viewing these groups as a threat to their moral or social beliefs."

"The female-centric dynamic could be important too," Evelyn tossed out, her steps halting beside the pictures of the victims.

As she pondered aloud Spencer found himself focuses intently on her face, her nose scrunching ever so slightly in thought--a gesture that drew a fleeting smile from him as he cast his gaze downwards in hopes no one else noticed how he looked at her. 

"Maybe the unsub feels wronged by the idea of a woman being the main focus? Or it could be jealously. Someone who wanted into a group like this but was rejected," Evelyn continued. 

"Or the opposite," Hotch contemplates, his brow furrowed in thought. "Someone who was in a group and cast out." He pauses, hands clasped as he leaned forward. "Let's dig into the background of the victims and see if there's a common thread."

The conference room was steeped in the day's fatigue, the air heavy with the tang of frustration and the stale scent of coffee. The team had returned from their respective tasks--interviews, crime scenes, and calls--all roads leading to dead ends. 

The room's stillness is shattered by Garcia's voice emanating from the screen. "I've got something," she declares, the pixelated glow casting an ethereal light in the dim room. "Both triads belonged to an ultra-elite society known as 'The Labyrinth.' It's like Fort Knox meets Fight club--no one talks about it, and no one gets in without an invite. I mean, you don't even want to know the lengths I went to find this in the first place."

"I mean, if the society is as exclusive as P says," Evelyn begins, her hand sweeping through her hair in a fluid motion. "Then the unsub is likely also part of it or they have resources that could get them information on it."

Garcia's voice bursts through the speaker. "Prepare to be dazzled," she trills, the clatter of her keystrokes punctuating her excitement. "The Labyrinth is rolling out the red carpet for a gala tomorrow night at the old Whitmore Estate. And you, my darlings, are virtually invited to the ball."

Morgan hunches over the table. "So, we need a cover," he states, "We can't just show up at the doorstep and demand to look around; it'll spook the unsub."

"Evelyn and Reid could blend in," Prentiss nods. "They fit the profile of two of the victims. Maybe they can draw the unsub out." Evelyn's eyes widen as she glances towards Spencer.

JJ chimes in, "And maybe Morgan could--"

But Rossi interrupts, shaking his head. "No, the second male victim's profile is different--older, more experienced. It's more Hotch's profile."

A crease forms between Hotch's eyes, a shadow of concern etching his features as his protective instincts surge to the forefront, coupling with a deep-seated unease about the unfolding plan. A delicate warmth crept up Evelyn's cheeks, her pulse quickening at the thought. The idea of going undercover with Hotch and Reid, a scenario plucked straight from her wet dream, sends a shiver down her spine and her thoughts into a tailspin. She opens her mouth, to joke it off, but it dissolves into a muddled string of half-formed words, leaving her with a bashful silence.

Hotch's words falter, a rare hesitation flickering across his usually impassive features. "I'm not sure if this is the best course of action--," 

Emily interjected swiftly, her words slicing through Hotch's protest. "Hotch, we may not get another shot at this. Using you three as bait isn't ideal, but it might be the only way to corner our unsub."

Hotch's eyes settle on Spencer, who gives a firm nod. His gaze than shifts to Evelyn, and though he resists the urge to analyze, the rosy flush of her skin and the accelerated pace of her breath betray her feelings. It's a jarring contrast to the professional distance he's been striving for. Hotch's nod was there, almost imperceptible, but the frown that follows is deeply etched, a clear sign of his disapproval despite his acceptable. 

The room hums with a focused energy as the team pores over digital and paper archives alike, each article detailed events like this and of the couples who frequent. Garcia curates a comprehensive collection of profiles detailing the Labyrinth and its attendees, while JJ and Morgan sift through social media for the gala's guest list. In a corner, Spencer and Rossi huddled over a cluttered desk examining the blueprint of the Whitmore Estate.

Meanwhile, in a makeshift office provided by the local police chief, Hotch and Evelyn are deep in study. The walls, now a gallery of whiteboards, are dense with the scribbled complexities of polyamorous relationships and the backgrounds of the victims.

"I've come across open relationships in case studies, but an entire society? That's a statistical outlier if I ever heard one--Spence would have a field day with those odds." Evelyn says with a soft shake of her head.

A faint arch forms in Hotch's brow, a muted signal of surprise to the informal reference of Reid. Catching the lift of Hotch's brow, Evelyn quickly adds, "You know, Hotch, the silent treatment isn't going to work when we're undercover," she started with a tilt of her head. "You've going to have to convince everyone we're together soon, remember? So, you might want to start practicing liking me now."

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment, Evelyn." Hotch remarks, his countenance flat, eyes reflecting any readability. 

"Sure, if you say so," Evelyn replied, her eyes thin slits of skepticism. "But if you're not up for this, Rossi could step in. We need to be believable, or people could get hurt."

"That's not going to happen," Hotch assets, his gaze unwavering, the firm set of his jaw sending a flutter to Evelyn's core. "I've played the part before; I can do it again."

"Then what are you so worried about?"

"I just want you to remember boundaries, Evelyn." Hotch reminds. "The seriousness of this cannot be understated, and I need to know your focus will be on the right aspects of the plan."

Hotch could see the subtle crumble of her face, the faint twitch of hurt that flickered across her features. She masked it swiftly, her voice laced with feigned indifference. "Understood. I'll try to keep my inevitable swooning over your pretend affections to a minimum, sir." The lightness of her words contrasted sharply with the hurt in her eyes, and Hotch felt an immediate ache in his stomach for causing it.

"Evelyn, that's not--" Hotch's voice trailed off, the hardness in his eyes giving way to a rare vulnerability. His fingers twitched with the need to reach out, to smooth away the creases of pain from her expression, but the opportunity slipped away as Rossi emerged at the door.

"Hotch, can I see you for a second?" he asked, gesturing subtly with his head.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his gaze holding Evelyn's for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes etching a mental image of her--the tilt of her head, the unresolved tension in her shoulders, before he reluctantly turned to follow Rossi. Spencer, shadowing Rossi's steps, pauses at the threshold, his gaze fixed on the departing figures. With a soft click of the door closing, he turns, the hush of the room settling around him as he turns to Evelyn.

He steps behind her, his hands coming to rest gently upon her shoulders. Evelyn tips her head back, her eyes lifting to meet his. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and soothing.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up, slicing through the heavy air. "Had a moment with Hotch. Pretty sure he was subtly hinting that I keep my feelings in check as if I'm incapable of that."

Spencer's lips curled into a half-smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Hotch tends to get a bit tense with these high-stakes operations," he reasoned, his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her shoulders, easing the knots. 

Evelyn melts into the warmth of his hands. "That feels good," she sighs, her head gently reclining in contentment. "And tell me about. I'm the one who's going to be all up on my boss and coworker. Talk about awkward."

The thought of sharing Evelyn with Hotch sent an unbidden rush of blood straight to his cock, a visceral response that caught him off caught. He clears his throat, a subtle cover for the fleeting thought that, perhaps, the idea isn't as disconcerting as it should be.

"At least with you I don't have to pretend."

"I don't know, I think additional practice might be beneficial." Reid says, his fingers edging closer to the delicate skin of Evelyn's neck, prompting an involuntary hitch in her breath. "My room tonight? Purely for preparation purposes, of course."

"Dr. Reid, w-what are you suggesting?" Evelyn managed to tease out, despite the gentle pressure of his hand on her pulse point making her senses swim and her focus waver.

He leaned in, his head tilting to plant a gentle kiss in the hollow of her neck. "You're smart enough to deduce it," he murmured softly against her skin, the words almost a sigh, "missed you."

A giggle escaped Evelyn, and she nimbly evaded his grasp. "Spencer, we're practically inviting an audience at this rate."

"Which is precisely why I'm saving it for later, just wanted you to give you a preview, sweetheart."

The remainder of the day unfolded without incident, with Evelyn buried under a towering pile of research papers, its weight causing a dull throb behind her eyes. Every detail was meticulously arranged for tomorrow--the tickets secured, the outfits chose, the escape routes mapped. However, no degree of preparation could quell the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. This is precisely what led Evelyn to Spencer's hotel door, perched anxiously, her knocks rapid and insistent, her gaze sweeping the corridor for onlookers.

The door finally creaked open, and Evelyn breezed inside, her voice a soft tease, "Took you long enough." Spencer, with a quick glance over his shoulder, closed the door with a silent snap.

Spencer's laughter echoed through the room, a carefree sound that made Evelyn pause. "Sorry, I was in the shower," he said, a sheepish grin on his face. 

It was then that Evelyn really looked at him--his hair damp and tousled, clinging to his forehead, chest bare, skin dotted with water beads that caught the light, the soft material of his pajama pants hanging from his hips. Her eyes lingered, almost hypnotized by the sight, and rendered mute. 

Evelyn's lips parted, ready to unleash a clever comeback, yet only a soft, airy giggle escaped. Without thinking, her arms encircled him, her heart thudding erratically from the sheer nearness of him.

His fingers tenderly framed her face, his laughter a comforting hum. "Evelyn, you're going to get all wet," he teased, thumb softly grazing her cheek.

"That's what I'm counting on," Evelyn replies, a coy smile on her lips as she lets her hands wander down his chest, her fingers flirting with the edge of his pants. "I believe I was promise there would be a rehearsal on the agenda this evening."

"Mmm, is that what you want baby?" He questioned teasingly, his hand guiding her gaze to his with a soft tug at her locks. "Be the good girl I know you are, get undressed, and get on the bed."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, her feet barely touching the ground as she hurried to the bed. Her gaze locked with his and with deliberate care, she pinched the hem of her shirt, swiftly gathering the fabric and sending is flying across the room in a fluid motion before she attended to her pants. His eyes followed her every move as he inhaled a sharp breath, his thumb brushing against his bottom lip. Her gaze followed down to his pajama pants and the tent that was growing within them, excitement growing in her chest. 

She carefully turned her back towards him as she hooked her thumbs around her pants and underwear letting them drop to the floor. She crawled on to the bed, arching her back in an exaggerated motion, giving Spencer a full glance at her glistening pussy. She turned quickly, resting on her elbows as she smiled sweetly at Spence who was all but drooling at the sight.

"You're so good sweetheart," Spencer exhaled, each step towards the bed measured, the corners of his mouth lifting at her eagerness, "so pretty."

Evelyn's legs instinctively clasped together in a silent plea for relief as a wave of warmth surged through her cheeks and pussy.

"Take this off, baby," Spencer commanded, the sound of his tongue clicking in disapproval as his fingers drummed a soft rhythm against the material of her bra, "Wanna see all of my beautiful girl."

She quickly complied, sitting up just enough to unclasp the pesky thing. His large hands splayed over the expanse of her thighs, coaxing them open as he settled between them, his gaze penetrating as her tits bounced out of the cups of the bra. "God, you're so pretty sweetheart."

A soft moan escaped Evelyn's lips as she squirmed on the mattress, "Spencer, need you."

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving closer to her heat, fingers tracing back and forth in a tantalizing motion. "Gonna take such good care of you baby."

His thumb began to rub slow circles on her swollen clit, Evelyn's breath hitched, her hands frantically searching for something to grasp on to, landing on his wet curls. He teased her slowly, his fingers moving across her soaked folds. Evelyn felt as though she could see stars as she watched Spencer begin to plant soft kisses up her thighs, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him. 

She jutted her hips off the mattress, her fingers curling around his hair as if to move him towards her throbbing cunt. "Evelyn, patience teaches us to regulate our emotions. Neurologically speaking, it's linked to serotonin levels in the brain, did you know that pretty girl?"

"Spencer, please, baby put that good mouth to use."

Spencer let out a soft laugh before placing his mouth to her clit, sucking as if it were his full-time job. The moan that released from her was loud and unrestrained, her body thrusting against his mouth. His tongue curled into her, eating her out like it was his last meal on earth.

"Need you to be quiet, baby. Hotch is on the other side of this wall, don't want him hearing you, do you?" Spencer asked, his voice muffled. "Or maybe you do? Is that what you want? You want Hotch to know how I treat this pussy?"

Evelyn's body trembled with pleasure, her hands grasping against the cool sheets as if to steady herself. His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer as if to suffocate himself between them. "I-I,"

His tongue lapped greedily through Evelyn's folds, her cunt trembling against the pressure as broken moans escaped her lips. He met her eyes, peering up from his position devouring her aching pussy. 

"Spencer I-oh, fuck, I'm so close," Evelyn moaned out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she humped against his face, his nose brushing against her clit every so often. "I can't, I'm gonna-"

A knock at the door caused Spencer's motion to freeze, a panicked gasp releasing from Evelyn's lips as her orgasm dissipated into thin air.

"Reid, are you up?" Hotch's voice, firm and unexpected, pierced the silence. Evelyn's mind was a whirlwind of foggy thoughts, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. Beside her, Spencer's limbs flailed in a hasty attempt to feign alertness, both like deer caught in headlights.

"Oh my god," Evelyn hissed, her hands flying to shield herself. She leaped from the bed, her eyes darting desperately around the room for her scattered clothes.

"Just a second!" Spencer called to Hotch. Meanwhile, Evelyn snatched the nearest shirt, one of Spencer's and yanked it over her head. It was a clumsy dance, one that nearly ended with her sprawled on the floor, tripping over the bulky obstacle of his go-bag. "Get under the bed."

"Under the bed?" Evelyn's voice was a hushed blend of disbelief and urgency. Spencer returned her gaze with an unwavering stare. "God, you're lucky you're so good with that scholarly mouth of yours."

"Radio waves... they're the longest wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum," Spencer began, his voice a low hum as he paced the confines of the room. "First predicted by Maxwell in 1864," he continued, more to himself than to Evelyn. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "And they--"

He was cut off as Evelyn interjected. "Spencer, why are you giving me a physics lesson right now?"

"I'm trying to, uh... calm down."

Evelyn's gaze traced the path of Spencer's, her eyes light up at the sight of the tent still evident in his pants. A soft giggle escaped her lips, a delicate sound in the quiet room. Their eyes met once more, and she exhaled a prolonged, "Oh," the syllable stretching out as brought a hand to her mouth.

"Just get under the bed."

Evelyn's laughter was a soft echo, quickly muffled as she deftly maneuvered herself under the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, the only sound the creak of the door swinging open.

Spencer was met by Hotch, his figure framed by the hallway's dim light. "Reid, can I come in?"

With a subtle clearing of his throat, Spencer managed a casual tone, "Uh, yeah, sure, of course."

He swung the door fully open, his expression carefully schooled into one of practiced composure. Hotch stepped over the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the room. Spencer's gaze flitted after his, a silent prayer of gratitude that the room bore no trace of Evelyn's clothes. 

"I just wanted to talk to you about tomorrow," Hotch stated, his voice betraying none of the scrutiny his eyes had just performed. 

"Sure, what's up?" Spencer asked, the words slightly pinched at the edges, his voice climbing a register.

Hotch's arms locked across his chest like a barrier. "This undercover operation is delicate, and we can't afford any... complications."

Spencer swallows hard, his eyes darting to the bed for a fleeting second. "Of course, I understand."

With a casual lean against the desk, Hotch's features relaxed just perceptibly. "I know you understand, but it's not just about the operation. It's about perception too. Evelyn's already under a bit of scrutiny."

An awkward cough escaped Spencer, a clumsy veil over the tension he felt, knowing well that Evelyn hung on every word. "Right," he responded, an unspoken understanding that they were discussing her father.

"Gideon set a high bar, and it's clear Evelyn is rising to meet it," Hotch begins, his voice steady, a tinge of pride in his tone. "She's carved out her own space on this team, a fact we all recognize. But rumors don't always favor the truth, and any suggestion of her involvement with another agent could be damaging..."

"There's nothing unprofessional going on, Hotch," Spencer quickly countered, his voice a swift defense. 

Hotch raised a hand, a gesture of pause and consideration. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he clarified, his voice firm yet fair. "I'm just asking you to exercise caution," he articulated. "For her sake. She has a bright future, and it shouldn't be jeopardized by baseless chatter."

Under the bed, Evelyn's brain was in overdrive, dissecting every word, her mouth suddenly dry. 

"I understand."

"Good," Hotch affirmed with a supportive squeeze on Spencer's shoulder. "Goodnight, Reid."

"Yeah, you too."

next

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya @carley12041 @satellitelh @greatdinosaursalad @malewife-cas

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter One - Damn Mailbox

W/C: 5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Relocating to the small town of Knife’s Edge in hopes of leaving your old life behind and starting brand new solves all of your problems, right? Wrong. It only creates more and one of them may live right next door. Side effects may include blaring music at 3AM, a scowling neighbor, and one too many shots of tequila on several occasions. (That The Bourbon will not be comping.)

A/N: I'm super excited to start this lil series, I've had this idea for a little while and I can never resist writing total opposites, it's just so fun to explore their dynamic when they want to reject each other so bad. Also a lot of this fic is inspired by Smoke Signals by Phoebe Bridgers (hence the name). As always I would love your feedback and any comments y’all have 🙂 OH and finally...the hugest largest biggest thank you to @uglypastels for beta reading and proof reading and all that good stuff, it was SO appreciated and really helped smooth things out ILY Z YOU'RE SO GOOD AT WHAT YOU DO 💜

Masterlist

Next

Morning dew was like an old friend, someone you hadn’t paid attention to since childhood but felt so familiar with, so…safe.  Maybe it was a little too ridiculous to find security in a few dew drops but arriving in a new town with a population of less than five hundred would have that effect.  Twists and turns of windy roads unknown, trees larger than any house, and barely any infrastructure would all frazzle anyone not accustomed to its elements.  Normally you wouldn’t get car sick but these roads were a beast you’d never encountered before in your life, stomach threatening to send back your lunch of tuna on white bread and a bag of Doritos.  You refused to let bile even trace your tongue so with just enough self control, you swallowed any sickness down and pushed forward.  Now you were hunched over in the driver’s seat, the door open as you sucked in the fresh mountain air, perfect lengthy blades of grass grazing the bottom of the door.  Just before you, up the driveway made up of damp dirt, was home.  A home you were a stranger to at the moment but hoped to at least become acquaintances with.  Lower expectations created less disappointment.  If you dive in head first, you can only guarantee yourself vulnerability and pain, slow and steady was the only pace.

It’s not permanent; you are just figuring things out.

It’s what you kept preaching to yourself during the altitude change, where flatter land transformed into large mountains, the tallest peaks coated in white.  Where your ears popped and your brain felt pressure.  And then shortly after, you were submerged deep into the forests, far from home, where you knew there was no going back for quite some time.  It was a trial run although it didn’t feel that way when the moving truck packed with your life pulled up just minutes after you, delivering every piece of your life to some cabin in a secluded town that was nearly invisible on any map.  Temporary was starting to feel foreign when everything felt more set in stone.

You’d think a town called ‘Knife’s Edge’ would steer you away and maybe that was the intent when it was first named; to ward off newcomers who had no business being out in the woods.  But it only intrigued you.  From what you could find out in a few tourism magazines, Knife’s Edge was not somewhere you went for a getaway, not according to the locals who were a tight knit community where everyone knew everyone.  The economy relied on the small businesses down in The Village, on Main Street which according to your calculations was about five miles down the road and around the lake then up.  That was the extent of knowledge you’d had on your new home and yes, maybe you should have gathered more information before daring to even place a down payment on some random cabin in the woods but when a new start calls, you either answer the phone or stare at it until nothing happens.  The cabin was either yours if you paid the down payment or it would’ve been torn down and sold to the neighbor for more land which would’ve sent you on your way again, on a wild goose chase for a new place that you could fit into.  Not that you were too sure that you’d even fit in here.  But it seemed too obvious that this was where you were meant to be when the realtor advised that it was yours at a low down payment, a steal.  So you’d try to make it work.

The moving truck’s door startled you, slamming against the top as two men got to work, unloading all your belongings.  You figured this was your cue to exit your beat-up sedan to unlock the front door–wide-paneled and made of a beautiful dark oak.  The crunch of pebbles and dirt alerted the movers to your presence where you let them know you were going to open up so they could begin their tedious process, one of them grumbling something incoherent in response.  As you approached even closer, there were knicks and dents decorating the surface of the door but it seemed to add to the essence.  The wooden steps creaked underneath your weight and upon glancing around the porch, you found two well built rocking chairs that the previous owner must have left behind.  Other than that, there were pine needles and other debris from the surrounding nature caked in the corners, some scattered along the rest of the floor that would need to be swept up but it wasn’t an urgent task in comparison to actually setting up your bed and other necessities.

The lock was stubborn as you twisted the key but with one more persistent shove and turn, it clicked and you were able to push your way in, the hinges painfully squeaking as you made a mental note to pick up some WD40.  The air inside was stale, smelling of dust and maybe a half hearted spritz of air freshener.  Or maybe it was drenched in air freshener but it did little to nothing to cover up the smell of an old abandoned cabin; you weren’t sure.  It was a modest size, the kitchen off to the right, tucked into the corner with a small island in the center.  The living room was the first room you walked into from the front, the floorplan more open than you’d expected.  A little to the left was a narrow hallway with shutter doors lining both sides, you assumed one side had to be the laundry.  The door at the end had to be the bedroom and the door just before you embark into the hall had to be the bathroom but you had no time to explore right now.

Morning light trickled in through the kitchen window just above the stove, creating a beautiful hue against the wood paneling of the walls which you only noticed as you came back in, setting a box that was labeled ‘kitchen’ on the counter before rushing back out to retrieve more of your belongings.  It was too early to be doing such strenuous work but that's what you get for securing a slot with the moving company first thing in the morning.  In hindsight, you didn’t realize you were signing yourself up to meet said moving truck at 6:00 AM but in your defense, you’d never done this before. 

By 7:00 AM the truck was fully unloaded and on its way out and with it went the grumpy movers, more than likely unsatisfied with the fact that they’d have to trek back down the mountain.  You graciously offered them an extra twenty bucks which they gladly took but still appeared crabby nonetheless.  Now for the part you had been dreading the most: unpacking each box and putting everything in its respective place.  But first, you wanted to take it all in.  You were right; the laundry was on the left side of the hall behind the shutter door and on the other side was a closet.  The bedroom was settled right where you had guessed, at the end of the hall and rather than being empty, it now held your bed and mattress, sheets still yet to be found among the boxes labeled ‘bedroom’ in thick sharpie.  The wallpaper was something you could do without but maybe you’d find time to peel it off later and replace it with something more to your taste.  Currently the bedroom walls were lined with floral designs and pale blue stripes and if you could be honest, the design was a bit too busy for your liking.  But it was a roof over your head for a good price so complaining was out of the equation.

At the opposite end of the hall, just off the living room was the bathroom, sporting a less off putting wallpaper of faded yellow and white vertical stripes.  You first ensured your hygiene essentials were in place, toothbrush and toothpaste in a glass on the sink, towels on the rack, and soaps set up in the shower including shampoo, conditioner, and bar of Dove.  Having these accessible was a priority, cleanliness being one of the most important factors of your daily routine.  

Clothes were next and you’d forgotten a box in your trunk of your most worn items of clothing that you could pick through until you were fully settled.  Lazily carrying yourself back to the driveway where your maroon sedan sat on top of the copper-toned dirt, you do a double take when you realize your mailbox was taken out, wood splintering out of the ground as the poor box lays among the grass at the edge of the street.  From what you could remember, it was fully intact when you first drove up so you’re forced to conclude that the movers you’d tipped generously must have run it over and not given it a second thought.

The half of the mailbox that rested on the ground was a lot heavier than it looked and you would’ve thought it was made of cement just by the weight.  You felt pathetic dragging it up the driveway, creating a prominent line in the dirt along the way.  A brief break in getting the damn thing up to your porch has you about half way up the driveway, glancing around at your surroundings, only to finally take into account that you had a neighbor relatively close by, a cabin similar to yours only a few hundred yards away except it was a darker wood and a red pickup sat idle in front of it.

You braced yourself, catching your breath to continue hauling the mailbox back until you can figure out how to repair it when your eyes catch on figure, a man making his way down the steps of the cabin you’d just been analyzing.  And you’re quick to shy away until you realize he’d already been looking at you, a cocky grin on his face as he slowly, almost tauntingly stepped off his porch.  The way he walked closer reminded you of a lion declaring its territory, especially with the mane of curls he had, shaggy and brunette.  He wasn’t close enough to allow you to examine any further; however, you caught the click of his tongue before he spoke.

“Gonna get splinters draggin’ wood around like that.”

It’s all he says, a toothpick between his teeth before he turns on his heel, combat boot digging into the soil and it’s only then that you realize he wasn’t offering assistance, he was simply picking up the hose connected to his spigot to rinse off his windshield which now that he’d drawn attention to it, was filthy with mud and leaves.  He wore a red and black flannel which reminded you of a lumberjack but this man just didn’t fit that description based on your short interaction with him.  Or rather his interaction with you.  Your first indication was that he had no facial hair; he was clean-shaven.  And his tight jeans that had black rips at the knees didn’t seem very suitable for a job that required a larger range of motion.

Without any further acknowledgement of your existence, he hopped in his truck and sped off around the bend without a care in the world.  He was a resident douchebag and you’d never even spoken a word to him.  You quickly realized you were still stood in the middle of the driveway with half a mailbox, grunting in protest as you lugged it the rest of the way up to the porch, leaning it against the railing for future contemplation on how to repair it or if you’d have to fork up money for a brand new one.  That was a problem for future you and though future you would be pissed at past you for putting the responsibility on her, you had other things to sort out such as unpacking the rest of the kitchen so you’d be able to actually use it to feed yourself.  And then of course you’d have to make your way into town a ways down the road to actually get groceries because not a crumb of anything edible was packed.  Aside from a bag of Chex Mix that sat in the passenger seat of your car that you’d picked up at a gas station.

–

Going overboard was an understatement when it came to how much you’d actually gotten done.  By 12:00 PM you almost had each room unpacked and put away, moving boxes discarded next to the front door to be thrown out later.  Your plan was to finish off the kitchen and then go into town.  Instead you finished the kitchen and moved from room to room with more motivation than you’d ever experienced in your life.  Maybe it was the adrenaline of living alone, no one else could tell you what to do or where to put things.  It was all up to you and maybe you were a little drunk off that power.  Regardless, you were now worn out and that energy didn’t last very long.  At least you had a freshly made bed for when you came back, that’s what you would reward yourself with. 

If you go grocery shopping then you can come back and nap.

There were still various projects to be done, items to be organized, and objects without a home but for the most part, you could sleep peacefully with the work you’d done today.  The floors were yet to be cleaned and the fridge still needed a good scrub down but that could wait until tonight after you properly refueled.  

Humming to some song you’d heard on the radio earlier, you make your way out the door, patting your pockets for your keys and wallet, both of which you had before locking up and heading for the car.  You rolled your eyes passing the mutilated mailbox, settling into the driver’s seat with an ache in your back from the grueling labor in the early hours of the morning.  Shifting into drive and then rapidly back to park, you remember that these roads are foreign to you and that you could easily get lost and possibly become a bear’s lunch with your luck.  With a tug, the glove box opens and reveals the map you had set in it before embarking on our journey.  The map that was mailed to you of the town didn’t seem very complicated.  But if you happened to make a wrong turn it could land you amongst some rocky cliffs which you thought better to stay away from.  So you carefully examined the route to town, what the people here seemed to call The Village Square.  You took the liberty of drawing your house on the map, a cute little doodle in blue gel pen and then proceeding to draw the rest of the route in the same blue so you’d always have it.

This was it.  A fresh start where no one knew your name.  This would be good for you.  At least that's what you kept trying to convince yourself.  

Goodbye someone else’s daughter and hello new self-made woman.

–

You weren’t lost.  You were just…exploring.

Okay, you were a little lost but the signs for The Village Square kept passing you by and yet you found yourself also passing the same exact pine trees–and you knew they were the same pine trees because every time you saw them you thought ‘hey that kinda looks like a dog’.  At some point it started to feel as if you were spawning in and out of some dimension until you finally turned into a lot directly behind one of the signs, sick of this game of hide and seek.  There were no signs for parking which is why you’d passed by so many times in the first place, and now it seemed like you were behind a restaurant of some kind.  This couldn’t be where everyone parked, right?  Anxiety was pooling in your stomach and before you could sike yourself out, you ultimately decided to park and walk from here.  You would only be a few minutes and hopefully you’d be able to muster up the courage to ask someone where to park from now on, even if it did make you seem like an idiot.

Leaves crunched under your sneakers, an obvious indication of the Fall season trickling one leaf at a time.  As if you were a wary animal, you cautiously walked around the building, finding that it was someplace called The Bourbon; the letters written out in neon red lights that weren’t yet illuminated, the open sign in the window dull signifying they were closed.  You let your eyes roam up and down the street, small businesses lined up all the way through and a few patrons, clearly with an agenda making their way along the sidewalks.  It was a cute place, nestled in a little valley.  Instead of plain old cement the sidewalks were cobblestone and overall it seemed to be a pedestrian oriented community with several cross walks and barely any traffic.  

From here you had no idea how to get to Marvin’s Grocery, which seemed to be one of the only produce stores around according to your map.  The others were a little more out of the way, your house conveniently only around five miles away from The Village Square.  The shops you passed as you attempted to gain a sense of direction were exquisite.  Mom-and-pop shops that either smelled of delicious baked goods or hunger-inducing aromas that filled your nostrils with savory goodness.  The smell would haunt you in the best way for days to come.  A candle shop piqued your interest, as well as a flower shop that bloomed so beautifully among the muted tones of the brick buildings around it.

Everything was so unlike what you were used to, back home things were more commercialized, built for quantity not quality.  Here it seemed to be the polar opposite which you could appreciate.  Corporations were the root of all evil and you had yet to see one single corporation among the several businesses you passed so far.  People seemed friendly but also confused by your presence, offering you a meaningful wave accompanied by a puzzled expression written on every face you encountered.  You were a stranger and it was becoming more apparent the deeper you found yourself in the square.  Some people whispered and you happened to snag onto a few words, mostly grasping ‘is she new?’.  In return, you graced them with a polite smile.  It wasn’t like you to initiate small talk or approach new friendships.  If they happened, they happened per the other party’s account, not yours, never one to try and stand out in the crowd only making this infinitely more uncomfortable for you, which was no one’s fault other than your own insecurity.

Eventually you were able to come face to face with the giant ‘Marvin’s Grocery’ sign which looked to be handpainted in big white letters outlined in black with a few cartoony carrots, a tomato, and a head of lettuce.  Wandering around for an extra ten minutes and refusing to ask for help certainly wasn’t ideal but it did familiarize you with the shops you would soon be buying from on the regular.  And it did give you a soft introduction to the small population of Knife’s Edge which despite the name, the people seemed lovely enough.

The store wasn’t the slightest bit crowded and it wasn’t very large either.  A mother and her two kids skimmed one of the aisles while an older man pondered over the produce, apples specifically.  Grabbing a cart, you begin gathering the items you had sorted out on a list in your head.  First bananas, grapes, and blueberries, you didn’t want to bother with too much produce as it went bad fast and you were only one person so those would do for now.  Then you moved on to pantry essentials, canned goods that you could stock up on and always have on hand.  Green beans, corn, peas, baked beans, even soups such as tomato, cream of mushroom, and the standard chicken noodle.

You’d built up a cart full in no time, and by then,  no one else was around so you noted that this time would be perfect to get your shopping done in the future so as to avoid as many people as possible.  The cashier was a woman, probably in her early sixties who seemed not all that intimidating which you were grateful for.  She smiles warmly and you appreciate the sentiment, grinning back at her as you place each item at the register. 

“You’re new.  But I bet you’ve already had an earful of that, haven’t you?”  She lightly teases.

You laugh softly, avoiding eye contact while still trying to remain well mannered, taking notice in small glances that the woman’s name tag reads Donnie in bold red letters as well as the ‘help wanted’ sign perched up against the window.  She seems friendly, a little rough around the edges though in the sense that she had several tattoos that disappeared into the rolled up sleeve of her blue crewneck sweater as well as a fire in her icy blue eyes.  You could already guess that she was quite the character.

“Don’t let them scare you off.”  Donnie carefully bags the eggs with a few more light items, her confidence radiating, as if she doesn’t even need to try, as if it just comes to her so naturally.  Something you could only wish for every once in a blue moon.  “We don’t get many newbies.  They’ll get it outta their system.”  Her voice is a tad scratchy but smooth otherwise, bringing a strange sense of comfort.

“Thank you.”  A mouse may as well have been louder than you but you tried and that’s what counts, right?  New people were not your thing but they would have to become your thing, moving to a place where no one knew you existed and all.  Or maybe you could fly under the radar?  It couldn’t hurt to become the mysterious outsider that spoke to no one although it wasn’t a very realistic ambition.

This was fucked.  You thought to yourself in the solitude of your brain.  Of course the second thoughts were coming now and not before you bought the damn property that tied you to this place.  Initially, the idea was a temporary situation far from home but the deeper you delved into this town, the more permanent it started to feel.  Not just anyone up and moved here and that was clear by the reaction you pulled from several onlookers.  And yet you moved here, bought that damn cabin with the money left to you from your father’s estate, and ultimately, left everything you knew in a manic state.  A mid life crisis in your early twenties.  

“Miss, your change.”  The woman broke through your thoughts and you must have shifted into autopilot, not even remembering handing her any money in the first place.

“S-sorry.”  You mutter, collecting the filthy coins in your palm, shoving them into the front pocket of your jeans which you knew would be a pain to dig out later but again, that was an issue for future you.  She hated your guts.

“No prob–”

It was abrupt, your exit but despite your rude departure, she called out “I’m Donnie!” and you never felt like a shittier person.  She was welcoming you to her home and you didn’t even have the decency to introduce yourself.  That’s how it looked at least, on the inside you were panicking and needed to isolate yourself immediately.  

You must have looked like a maniac carrying your groceries in a near sprint toward the direction of your car.  Everyone else seemed to move at such a mellow pace, not a single vein close to popping out of stress whereas you looked like you’d crumble under the slightest inconvenience.  Which you would if you didn’t get to the car fast enough.  A small misstep causing you to trip?  No chance, you wouldn’t show your face again for weeks.  Your groceries spilling all over the pavement because of said possible misstep?  You would consider moving all over again.

Thankfully the majority of the walk back to the little lot behind one of many businesses was blacked out, your heart practically pumping in your ear the whole time.  What you couldn’t black out from was the man-the same man from this morning smoking a cigarette as he stared at your car.  Fear drenched you; you couldn’t gauge his expression with his back to you but you could guess he wasn’t going to be smiling with the way he was lingering, shuffling his boots back and forth in contemplation.

Announcing yourself felt like the most daunting task in the world, humiliation melting into your skin like an uncomfortable burn.  Maybe some higher power heard your pathetic struggle because the crunch of your sneaker on a perfectly placed leaf called his attention to you, his head snapping in your direction instantly.

The urge to just run was strong but you maintained whatever cool was left within you, fingers waving at him weakly.

His expression was blank, unreadable.  He didn’t say a word as you slowly inched your way closer to the vehicle, only eyeing your every movement like a predator protecting his territory, much like he did that same morning.  The closer view of his face showcased his stoic yet soft features, eyes almost puppy dog-like but something glazed over them, a facade of some kind.  Something that overtook the puppy dog nature they were capable of and replaced them with a cruel glare.  The shape of his nose was endearing at least, rounded at the tip and tinted pink from the cold.

“You just park anywhere you want where you’re from?”  He asks, gesturing vaguely with a tip of his cigarette toward the car.  

Your shaky breath has him furrowing his brows at you, seemingly offended.  It’s not in your nature to offend people but you can’t seem to stop doing it, especially today whether you mean to or not.  But you definitely don’t think you mean to.

“N-no, ‘m sorry.”

“Sorry?”  He mocks, scoffing before inhaling a puff of smoke once more.

“I-I uh, I’m leaving.  It won’t happen again.”  You rush out, all the while forcing yourself not to cry.  “I just–I couldn’t find parking–I was driving around and—there was no–I couldn’t–”

“Don’t let it happen again.”  He warns, stern but easing up on his intense demeanor.

“Promise.”  You whisper, a tear betraying you and rolling down your cheek to which you quickly gather your grocery bags in one hand to swat away at your cheek.  It’s too late, he already saw.

No empathy is detected in his stare, not that you feel you deserve any.  It was just an observation.  “Now, get out of my lot.”  It’s a demand, a non-negotiable demand that if you were brave enough to argue, would probably have him towing your shitty little sedan.  

So you nod, blinking back the water works as best you could while tossing your groceries into the passenger seat, him watching the whole time.  With your seatbelt suddenly feeling like the most complicated thing in the world, you expect to look up and meet pure rage but instead your ears perk up at a few knocks on the window.  Rolling it down as fast as possible with the manual handle, the man stands towering over you, cigarette abandoned sometime in between you getting in the car and struggling to remember how a seatbelt works.  Did he have more choice words for you for illegally parking on what he deemed ‘his lot’?  You really didn’t want to stick around to find out but you had no choice.

“Left on Main.  Then right on Cherry.”  His dark eyes hinted at hues of warm honey but they were briskly dismissed by his cold attitude.

“What?”

“Next time.  So you don’t turn into my damn lot again.”  

You still didn’t know what he meant by ‘his lot’ and you didn’t have the backbone to ask.  You did however fully get the message that you were to never park here again and were now aware of which streets to search for to avoid it at all costs.  You’d memorize every detail of it if it meant you could steer clear of the apathetic man before you.  With a nervous nod, you were off, not once looking back just as he did that morning except he had more grit in his actions, you just came off as a scared church mouse.  You never even caught his name and you didn’t mind not knowing it at this rate seeing as he was all bite and bark for no good reason.

This place never felt so far from home.  Nowhere was home.  Your heart was in a sense homeless, lost and longing for the connections that these people had with each other that you couldn’t seem to tap into even if your life depended on it.  In all fairness, it had only been a few hours and you couldn’t gauge your success based on that but it was tugging on your brain like a parasite, eating away at your final optimistic thoughts.  

I don’t belong here.

I don’t fit in.

The drive ‘home’ was flooded with tears and muffled sobs into your now sticky sleeve, coated in snot and if anyone were to pass you along the way you would look psychotic with how your face scrunched up at every exhale, doing your best to keep yourself quiet despite being the only one in the car.  You were always doing your best.  Always to please others.  And it never worked.

~end~

Masterlist

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645

[eldritchgriffin]

Shadow the Hedgehog Scarf Pattern

Some people said they wanted the Sonic Speed Simulator character scarves in real life, so I made the Shadow Scarf!

I wrote up the pattern below the cut, so you can create your own!

This is a crochet pattern based on the Shadow Scarf model designed by Gamefam. You may use anything you make from this however you like, but please credit me if you redistribute the pattern. You may not sell the pattern. I will not stop you from selling items created from the pattern, but you should check Gamefam’s and Sega’s policies for fanworks first to avoid copyright infringement. You may modify this pattern, and share modified versions of it. You may not sell modified versions of this pattern.

Tools and materials:

Crochet hooks in sizes N, K, and G

Yarn needle

Super bulky (6) weight yarn in your main color (black if you’re making Shadow). It took almost an entire 160 yard skein. I used Lion Hometown in South Dakota Black.

Super bulky (6) weight yarn in your secondary color (red if you’re making Shadow). I used Lion Hometown in Tampa Spice.

Super bulky (6) weight yarn in white. I used Lion Hometown in New York White.

Medium/worsted (4) weight yarn in brown/tan. I used Lion Basic Stitch Anti Pilling in Cedarwood.

Stuffing

Abbreviations:

R - Round

Sk - skip

Ch - Chain

Slp - slip stitch

Hdc - Half-double crochet

Fhdc - Foundation half-double crochet

Blo - Back loop only

Sc - Single crochet

Inc - increase (single crochet)

Dec - decrease (single crochet)

Inv-dec - invisible decrease (single crochet)

Sc3tog - single crochet 3 together

[something] * 6 - repeat “something” 6 times

Alternate techniques:

The listed stitches are the ones I used. However, as some of them are a bit tricky, there are substitutions that can be made. Any invisible decrease may be replaced by a standard decrease. A magic ring may be replaced by chaining 4, slip stitching to the farthest chain from the hook, then chaining one (for height) and working stitches into the center of the chain-ring like you would a magic ring; note that this will leave a hole in the center of your circle, which you may want to cover with the tail while weaving in the ends. Also, the foundation half-double crochets may be replaced by adding a starting chain as follows:

Row 0: Ch 5 in red; change to black, ch 5; change to red, ch 5; change to black, ch 77 (75 + 2 for height), turn.

Then simply use regular half-double crochets instead of the foundation stitches, beginning in the third chain from the hook.

I have tried to make this easy to follow, but if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out to me, and I will do my best to answer them.

Pattern, scarf:

Starting with black yarn (N hook) Row 1: Fhdc 75 in black. Change to red, fhdc 5. Change to black, fhdc 5. Change to red, fhdc 5. Ch 2 and turn. Row 2: Hdc 5. Change to black, hdc 5. Change to red, hdc 5. Change to black, hdc 75. Ch 2 and turn. Row 3: Hdc-blo 75. Change to red, hdc-blo 5. Change to black, hdc-blo 5. Change to red, hdc-blo 5. Ch 2 and turn. Rows 4-5: Repeat Rows 2-3. Row 6: Hdc 75 in black. Change to red, hdc 5. Change to black, hdc 5. Change to red, hdc 5. Finish off and weave in ends

Head:

Starting with white yarn (K hook) R1: Make a magic ring, ch 1, then sc 6 in the ring. R2: Inc 6 R3: [sc 1, inc 1] * 6 R4: [sc 2, inc 1] * 6 R5: [sc 3, inc 1] * 6. Change to black R6: [sc 4, inc 1] * 6 R7: [sc 5, inc 1] * 6 R8-9: Sc 42 R10: [sc 5, dec 1] * 6 R11: [sc 4, dec 1] * 6 R12: [sc 3, dec 1] * 6 R13: [sc 2, dec 1] * 6. Finish off leaving a long tail for sewing.

Forehead/top of eyes:

With black yarn (K hook) R1: Sc 6 in MR R2: Inc 6 R3: [sc 1, inc] * 6 R4: [sc 2, inc] * 6 R5: [sc 3, inc] * 6. Finish off, leaving a long tail for sewing.

Large spikes (create 2):

With black yarn (K hook) Ch 8 Row 1: Ch 1 and turn, dec 1, sc 4, dec 1 Row 2: Ch 1 and turn, sc 1, dec 2, sc 1 Row 3: Ch 1 and turn, inc 1, dec 1, inc 1 Row 4: Ch 1 and turn, sc 1, sc3tog, sc 1 Without chaining, slp to the farthest stitch from the hook. Finish off, leaving a long tail for sewing.

Small spike:

With black yarn (K hook) Ch 6 Row 1: Ch 1 and turn, sc 1, dec 2, sc 1 Row 2: Ch 1 and turn, inc 1, dec 1, inc 1 Row 3: Ch 1 and turn, sc 1, sc3tog, sc 1 Without chaining, slp to the farthest stitch from the hook. Finish off, leaving a long tail for sewing.

Red, lower spike:

With red yarn (K hook) Row 1: Ch 2, 2 sc in second ch from hook Row 2: Ch 1 and turn, sc 1, inc 1 Row 3: Ch 1 and turn, sc 3 Row 4: Ch 1 and turn, sc 3. Finish off, leaving a long tail for sewing. Sew to one of the large spikes, attaching the first row of the red portion to the final row of the black portion.

Red, middle spike:

With red yarn (K hook) Row 1: Ch 2, 2 sc in second ch from hook Row 2: Ch 1 and turn, sc 1, inc 1 Row 3: Ch 1 and turn, sc 2, inc 1 Row 4: Ch 1 and turn, sc 4 Row 5: Ch 1 and turn, dec 2. Finish off, leaving a long tail for sewing. Sew to one of the large spikes, attaching the first row of the red portion to the final row of the black portion.

Red, forehead/upper spike:

With red yarn (K hook) Ch 10 Row 1: Ch 1 and turn, sc 10 Row 2: Ch 1 and turn, sc 10 Row 3: Ch 1 and turn, sc 6 Row 4: Ch 1 and turn, dec 1, sc 2, dec 1 Row 5: Ch 1 and turn, dec 2 Row 6: Ch 1 and turn, dec. Finish off, leaving a long tail for sewing.

Face:

With tan yarn (G hook) Ch 26 Row 1: Ch 1 and turn, [sc 2, dec 1] * 6, sc 2. Ch 1 and turn Row 2: sc 20, finish off Row 3: Slp to join in 6th stitch, sc 8, slp 1 Row 4: Ch 1 and turn, sk 1, slp 1, sc 7, slp 1 Row 5: Ch 1 and turn, sk 1, slp 1, sc 1, dec 1, sc 1, dec 1, sc 1, slp 1 Row 6: Ch 1 and turn, sk 1, slp 1, sc 3, slp 1 Row 7: Ch 1 and turn, sk 1, slp 1, dec 1, slp 1. Finish off, leaving a long tail for sewing.

Ears (Create 2 in black and 2 in tan):

With black yarn (K hook) With tan yarn (G hook) Ch 3 Row 1: Ch 1 and turn, sc 3 Row 2: Ch 1 and turn, sc3tog. Finish off, leaving a long tail for sewing.

Assembly:

Start by sewing the forehead onto the main head. Next, sew the spikes to the right side of the head, starting from the bottom and attaching each right above the previous one; stuff the lower two spikes before finishing attachment. Add the upper red stripe with the large triangular portion in the center of the forehead and the side portion attached to the upper spike, stuffing the upper spike before closing it. Sew on the face (you may want to create the mouth before attaching the face if you dislike sewing through multiple layers).

Using red yarn, embroider on the red “eyeliner” using a backstitch. Use one line of backstitching along the top of the eyes and two lines of backstitching along the sides of the eyes, trying to cover the join between the white and black. Use black yarn and a satin stitch to create the nose and the pupils; you can also cut ovals out of felt and sew them on if you prefer. Backstitch with the black yarn to make the mouth.

Sew the tan parts of the ears to the black parts, then attach the ears to the head. Finally, attach the head to the black end of the scarf, stuffing the head before closing the gap completely.

[kel-lance]

TAAOTJJK FIC MASTERLIST

Most are nsfw so in general NO MINORS but I’ve got a lot planned out and seemed I work best when ovulating 😭 so updates may be hectic but I would encourage donations as I got fired for protesting and boycotting bc my job was invisibly helping 🇮🇱 so I’m glad I’m out of there but finding a job where I’m at is hella hard. I’m just tryna keep my 4 cats comfy. Anything helps thank you for reading!

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Written and Posted:

Mafia AU (up to 19 ch planned out) TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Gaslighting, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more toxic sh.

Premise: You’re a floater, just loving life as free as you want, until you decided to rob the wrong person. Now there’s confusion after Sukuna takes u back to his place after taking u in that alleyway. After that you just start moving through the gangs due to internal disputes. Shit just gets wild. (Almost everyone has a turn)

Ch1

Ch2

Ch3 (NEW)

Ch4 (NEW)

Ch5 (NEWEST)

Team bonding (up to 5 ch planned out) - TW: Dead dove dont read (DDDR) Minors do not interact (MDNI): SA, Physical Assault, DubCon, NonCon, Mindbreak, Public Humiliation, Multiple manipulation, RWORD, PTSD, a lot more———-

Premise: Sukuna takes over Yuuji’s body, takes u in front of everyone, and threatens them that if they don’t do their homework with you, he’s gonna show u how he wants it. (He instructs everyone to play w u and keep it away from yuuji as his little game.)

Ch 1

Ch2

Ch3

Movie night (up to 9 ch planned out) Warnings: MDNI, Group sex, camera use, teasing, humiliation, mmfmm, everyone’s bi/pan, overstimulation, worship,

Premise: u host a movie night with Megumi Toge Yuuji and yuta. You’ve already been seeing them all but never had them altogether like this before. No one’s gonna be watching the movie.

Ch 1

Ch 2

Yandere Gojo (3/3 parts) TW ——-MDNI—-DDDR——- kidnapping, dc/nc, abuse, cream pie, ownership, etc. ————

Premise: I forgot but he’s mean

Ch 1

Ch 2

Ch 3

Eyeless Gojo: TW ———Warnings: mention of death, blood, killing, morally grey, slight mind control, Gojo just reacting to his cptsd in this universe, slight grooming (adults ideals on Gojo and their children), mindbreak, yandere(?)———————-

Premise: Going back to the start of their first year, meeting, processing, feeling, learning, loving, it’s all new and too much for Gojo. He’s more pathetic and lost and needs Geto, and Geto is even more frayed from the ideals surrounding his best friend. Geto gets into gojos head, so he takes out what people think make him Gojo and not himself.

Prequel:

Part 1

One shots: (TW)

Stepdad Nanami: ——MDNI——GROOMING, not really incest, Age gap, manipulation, broken home, slut shaming (at ur mom lol), drug mention

Premise: Your mom starts dating this guy and he’s nicer than anyone she’s ever kept around, really nice. The best even, sucks how they’re getting married. (Until they split for part 2.)

Divorce Lawyer Hiromi: Warnings: MDNI, Age Gap, StepDad mention, Public, exhibitionism, idk have fun. (Pt 2^^)

Premise: Your stepdads too busy for u but he brought his lawyer home. For work right? Or for you?

Quickie w Yuta: -- Warnings: MDNI!! DC/NC, exhibitionism, cream pie, humiliation, manipulation, ownership, etc...

Premise: Yuta’s some boyfriend.

Tutor Gojo: ——MDNI——WARNINGS: DUBCON/NONCON, implied prof/student relationship, bullying, degradation, blackmail, a few more ——MDNI——

Premise: Gojo overhears that you need a tutor

Sub!Choso: MDNI——collars leashes whip’s edging stomping humiliation blindfolds restraints gags overstimulation pegging taunting slapping blood play period sex {all mentioned}

Premise: He walks in on your date (sub!Nanami) and begs for his own collar.

Yandere?!Yuta: Wrote this months ago and don’t want to reread or fix it up but I feel there should be some warnings though I wouldn’t really know what they’d be other than lying? (NEW)

You decide: (finished)

Poll 1

Poll 2

Poll 3

Poll 4

Writing currently:

- Toge x reader: Toxic!Dom!Toge bein a classic ♏️

- How the JJK Men React to you Waking Up From a REALLY BAD injury

- 1 request

Requests are: OPEN. Updated 06.11.24

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hiiiiii

Do you have any fics where john or sherlock are mutants/ have powers?

Hi Lovely!

OOOOOOOHHHH I love this; I have a few fics that could be qualified as "CLOSE" to mutations and superpowers, but not 100%. I have a lot more "changelings" than anything else. I've compiled together some of the ones on my MFL list as well, but I can't guarantee that they're mutants in them since I haven't read them.

If anyone has any fics that they can suggest, please do! I'm kind of into MCU fics right now so if I can have Sherlock-style in there too, that would be awesome! PLEASE let us know if you have mutant or Superhero Johnlock fics!!!

MUTATIONS or SUPERPOWERS

See also:

Magical Realism Where John is the Powerful One

Telepath / Empath AU

Hybrids and Shapeshifters

Soaring Above by Corporate_cards (G, 394 w., 1 Ch.  || TRF, Light Angst, Superpowers) – "Have you ever though about having a super power...?" Part 2 of the Random Things I've Written In Class -- Johnlock series

The Frost Child by twistedthicket1 (M, 9,994 w., 2 Ch. || Frozen-ish AU || Magical Realism, Christmas, Angst, Fluff, Powerful John) – In a world where people are born with a Gift of varying levels, simple John Watson is the last person one might look at when thinking of any strong Magick capabilities. Hiding comfortably in the shadow of Sherlock's brilliant deducing abilities, John is content to keep it that way...

Conductivity by Coquillage Atlas (K,11,051 w., 8 Ch., FFNet || Fantasy and Friendship) – John Watson, alone in London with a healing power he can hardly bear. A description of his life with magic, before and after Sherlock. SEQUELS: Resistance || Reciprocity

Invisible by chappysmom (K+, 25,947 w., 11 Ch., FFNet || No Slash, semi-canon compliant) – John had had the knack for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t that he could become invisible, exactly. The laws of physics worked quite well in his vicinity, thank you very much. It was just that people tended … not to see him. SEQUELS: Still Invisible (ASiB) || Too Visible (THoB) || Invisible Once More (TRF)

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w., 9 Ch. || Magical Realism, BAMF!John, Slow Burn) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

Out There by DiscordantWords (T, 131,695 w., 10 Ch. || X-Files Fusion || Past Soldier John, Panic Attacks, POV Alternating Present Tense, Anxious John, Canon Adjacent, Deductions, Obsessive Sherlock,, Travelling, Sherlock’s Family, Jealous Sherlock, Mind Palace John, Awkward Flirting, Kidnapped/Abducted John, Semi-Reverse Reichenbach, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Hospital, Slow Burn, UST, Case Fic, Government Conspiracy, Aliens, UFOs, Mutants, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Coma John, Forehead Touching, Hand Holding, Drinking/Bars, Past Jolto) – FBI Special Agent John Watson, medical doctor and army veteran, is assigned to assist eccentric genius Sherlock Holmes with paranormal investigations on the X-Files project.

How to Build a Heart out of Ashes by Teumessian (E, 144,931 w., 31 Ch. || Changeling AU || Slow Burn, Drug Use, Mentions of Child Abuse / Bullying, Mentions of Student/Teacher Relations, Uni-Age) – In an AU where a small number of the population become Changelings at a young age, at 17 John Watson believes he's destined for Normal life but then the Change takes him and he is sent to the Baker Institute. There he meets Sherlock Holmes.

MARKED FOR LATER

(I Love You) Infinitely by helloliriels (T, 20,072+ w., 14/16 Ch. || WiP || Marvel Cinematic Universe AU || Post-TRF, Post Infinity War, Not Endgame-Compliant, Super Humans, Happy Ending) – With a snap of his fingers, Thanos had caused the heartache and loss of half a planet's population. And Watson, of all people could have kissed the glove that did so. Part 2 of the Liriels Chaptered Fics series

Trenchcoats and Capes by jomochi (T, 35,275 w., 3 Ch. || Superhero AU || UST/URT, Mutually Unrequited, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Love Confessions, Secret Identity, Hero John) – He’s twirling a strand of hair around the finger of his other hand. His coat, which honestly looks more like a cape than anything, is spread out beneath him. His chest rises and falls slowly with calm breaths, the tight black material of his suit stretching to accommodate the movement. John has seen many pictures of him but not one did him any justice. The sight before John is breath-taking. It isn’t right. Evil shouldn’t look this good.

The Alchemystics by elwinglyre (E, 69,014 w., 16 Ch. || Full Metal Alchemist Omegaverse AU || Non-Traditional ABO Dynamics, Major Character Injury, Angst, Human Transmutation) – Since youth, Sherlock was forced to hide who he was from the world. That time has ended. With the world torn apart, he must embrace who and what he is: an alchemystic and an omega. Fortunately, he finds another, John Watson, who is a true compliment to himself. With Watson’s help, Sherlock strives to obtain what’s needed to right the world. But the past, present and future aren’t aligning, and what is needed to succeed comes at a high cost: for to gain, something of equal value must be lost--that is Alchemy's First Law of Equivalent Exchange. No one knows this lesson better than Sherlock. He’s lost his father, his brother and his arm attempting to bring his mother back from the dead. What will he need to sacrifice to save the world?

The Destruction of Ice by All_I_need (E, 91,682 w., 28 Ch. || Psy - Changeling Crossover/Fusion || Changeling John, Psy Sherlock, Murder Investigation / Case Fic, Slow Burn, Touching, Forced Lack of Emotion, Silence Protocol, Sci-Fi Elements) – The year is 2081 and Sherlock Holmes never expected to encounter a threat to his Silence, the conditioning that keeps him sane and unfeeling. John Watson, on the other hand, never thought he'd find a flat in London. He certainly didn't expect to find one that comes with a Psy flatmate: brilliant, emotionless and more intriguing than John would like. When a series of brutal, random murders shakes London to its core, it is up to them to stop a vicious psychopath - preferably before Sherlock's latest experiment gets them both killed.

A Vintage Exceptionally to Your Liking by EmmyAngua (E, 95,334 w., 19 Ch. || Alternate Dimensions AU || S3 Fix It, Lies, Angst, Pining Sherlock, Superpowers, Domestics, BAMF Mary, Hiatus, First Time, Magical Realism, Slow Burn, Colliding Universes, Moral Dilemmas, Betrayal, Mary’s Past) – Sherlock and John met seven years earlier than canon and fell in love. When John dies, Sherlock is introduced to the concept of alternate dimensions and given the opportunity to visit a different universe where he can have a second chance with a new John Watson. A love story across alternate dimensions.

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 6

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: M for Mature. But as always this blog is 18+! Word Count: 9k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* This is just one big ol’ chapter full of various kinds of angst. Wholesome points for Bobby Rogers being a very good kid. Summary: As the gap widens between you and Jack, Diana’s loyalty shifts toward your budding friendship. Notes: Tensions are rising as spring gets closer and Diana is stirring the pot 😂 I just adore her. This chapter is a great little glimpse into the Rogers family and how they weave their way around the relationship between you and Jack.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Jack can’t explain it, but he’s listless after the conversation with you. Wandering slightly as he leaves your porch and shoving his hands in his pockets as his boots slap along the gravel pathway towards the small pond on the property. Wondering why he feels like he’s done something wrong. The way that you had looked at him with your heart in your eyes and then watching it seemingly break rubbed him the wrong way. Tex had slept with you. He doesn’t understand why it sticks in his craw but it does. He wants you, physically, but he won’t touch you because of the damn ink on his skin, the invisible threads that seem to tie you together. But he shouldn’t care that Tex had spent the night in your bed. However, he can’t get the image out of his head and he doesn’t like it. Not at all. Sighing to himself, he shakes his head. Scoffing quietly at his ridiculousness. “Damn fool.” He huffs, looking out over the water.

The small pond reflects nothing but serene moonlight back at him, the young folks out walking through the green of the neighborhood or sitting in the gazebo too far from its surface to interrupt his ruminations. A few blocks away, Tex is drinking off his frustration while he packs, loud music enough to have his bookshelves vibrating but not a hint of it leaking out into the street. On the street, everything is peaceful and perfect. It’s the picture of serenity and always is - Statesman arguments happen behind closed doors because your neighbors might not have high enough clearance to be able to overhear whatever a fight is about.

Jack sighs, pulling a hand out of his pocket to drag it down the front of his face. This had been a place he loved coming, reminding him of the pond back home. The one that Abigail had loved to sit next to and watch the sun set. Now he just feels like there’s a weight on his chest, on his heart.

“Okay, Uncle Jack?” The cheery voice of Bobby Rogers is unexpected, but Champ’s son - Agent Rum - is all smiles when he waves at his father’s best friend. The junior agent’s evening walk is easily interrupted, and he strides over to the bench that Jack has sunken down on.

“Hey kid.” Despite the fact the boy is an agent and old enough to drink, he’s always called Bobby ‘kid’. A running joke because it had made the youngster laugh when he had met him. Old enough that he didn’t think about his son every time he looked at him. “I’m okay. How are you?” He asks, raising a brow in concern. He’d read the after action report from Prague.

“Just had dinner with Ginger and Gabi and the kids.” Bobby sits himself down next to Jack and leans back, surveying the older man with the same appraising expression as his mother uses, except Bobby shrugs amiably. “Itchin’ to get back out there but there’s no assignment for me right now. You know how it is.”

“Yeah.” Jack huffs under his breath, very aware of being on desk duty. He tries to avoid turning towards the boy, aware that he’s as perceptive as his mother.

“Maybe there will be something for both of us?” He suggests optimistically, having wanted to run a mission with Jack ever since his promotion to active agent status.

Jack can grin at that, a smug little smirk that is fully aware of his own strengths as an agent. “That would be fun.” He acknowledges with a nod. “Maybe Champ’ll send us out together.”

“Maybe if you said something?” It’s no secret that Bobby looks up to Jack. He always has, ever since he was small, and even now there’s a remnant of something childlike in his excited expression. “I know you usually work missions with Tequila if you do doubles but I know we could be a hell of a team.”

“Yeah.” Jack nods, although he knows he will be shot down. “I’ll say somethin’ for sure, kid.” He turns towards him now. “It’ll be good to run a mission together.”

“You comin’ over for dinner this week?” With Jack’s agreement to the idea, Bobby is beaming. “I swear I don’t mind still living so close as long as Mom keeps making meatloaf every Wednesday night like clockwork.”

Jack chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Have I ever missed a meatloaf Wednesday unless I was out of town?” He asks, leaning over and shoving at the boy’s shoulder with his own. He can’t help but wonder how you make meatloaf.

“Never.” The young man acknowledges with a snort. “Can’t exactly find meatloaf in Prague. Gotta admit that I missed it.”

“Nothin’s ever better than homemade by momma.” Jack acknowledges honestly.

“It’s true.” The smile that plays on Bobby’s lips is wistful. “God I hope I get a soulmate that can cook,” he laughs. “If she’s as hopeless as I am we’ll be eatin’ at my parents’ table or in the Statesman cafeteria our whole lives.”

The blood in Jack’s veins freezes from the kid’s innocent statement. “H-here’s hopin’.” He manages and quickly glances back at the water.

Bobby might be young, but he’s a trained Statesman agent the same as Jack and he knows his uncle is acting jumpy. Instead of needing an answer like his father might do, though, he nods and decides to give Jack some peace. “I’m gonna walk on,” he decides, Stretching his long limbs before pushing up to standing again. “Got a good book calling my name. I’ll see ya ‘round, Uncle Jack.”

“See ya, kid.” Jack nods and watches the boy as he ambles away like he hasn’t a care in the world. It makes Jack sigh heavily and he closes his eyes, thinking about Abigail. “Darlin’” he murmurs softly. “I’m doin’ what I think right, so why does it hurt?” He asks his long dead wife, wishing she could answer him.

******

It feels like you cried all night after Jack left, and for the better part of your private time for the next few days. At work you’re numb, going through the recipes that you chose with tender loving care, feeling like more machine than person. The aching in your heart just hasn’t abated, and every day you step out your front door halfway between Tex and Jack’s houses, you almost wonder who you miss more. Except that, as guilty as you feel about it, you know the answer. Today feels like a day that you just can’t get anything right, as every batch of cornbread you make seems to lack flavor, or texture, or not rise enough. You swear you might scream if another pan comes out looking deflated and overly dry - but that might also be the fact that it’s nearly two in the afternoon and you haven’t eaten yet. Matter of fact, when was the last time you ate?

Diana pushes into the main dining room, frowning slightly as she does. Something is off and after pulling the truth out of Champ over breakfast, she decided that visiting you was what she needed to do. “Darling? Are you in the kitchen?” She calls out.

Oh god… The sound of Diana’s voice is usually welcome, but you’re just not up to having company. It’s not exactly a question you can dodge, though, is it? She’ll find you here whether you like it or not. “I’m back here!” You call finally, figuring she’s already heard your music playing. The speakers are always attached to whatever is playing on your phone, which you now turn the volume way down on.

“Am I interrupting you?” Concern laces her features as she pushes one of the double doors open and peers into your kitchen. It’s surprisingly empty, although with what’s been going on, she can’t blame you. “If you aren’t up for company, you let me know.”

"No, it's okay." After having barely spoken to anyone for a few days, you clear your throat and try to smile. "Come on in. I could use a break from all this cornbread." The pans sitting all around you are practically mocking you and you would be very glad to ignore them for a while.

You look devastated. Diana sighs to herself and reaches out to pull you into a brief but fierce hug. Wishing that she could wipe away the hurt and sadness. Damn Jack.

"What was that for?" You ask when she leans back to look at you. Just because you haven't said a word to her doesn't mean that she doesn't know what happened, although you would hope that Jack had enough discretion to not just go blabbing it to everyone. Who knows?

“Mother’s instinct.” She hums. “You look like you need a hug. So I gave you one.” She won’t tell you that Champ told her the situation, but she’ll listen if you need to talk.

"I was about to make myself some lunch." Wiping your hands on your apron gives you a moment to compose yourself so you don't just break down on the spot. You did need that hug. "Is it too late in the day for you to join me?"

“I’ve been running around with a tour group of two hundred.” Her eyes widen dramatically and she huffs. “Some corporate retreat and ‘team building’ thing so I’ve not had a chance to hear myself think.”

"So that's a yes?" Since cooking for people is the one thing that seems to relieve stress, it actually makes your shoulders drop a little and sloughs some tension away. "I have more cornbread than we can shake a stick at to go with it."

“Ohhh are you making cornbread fritters?” Diana asks ask she looks at the fallen pans of cornbread.

"I can if you like." It would certainly use up some of this failed baking. "How about I make us a big chop salad and we can have a basket of cornbread fritters to go along with it?"

“Do you want some help or do you want me to be your sounding board while you cook?” Diana asks, tilting her head at you, curious to see what you will decide.

“Why don’t you join me?” It’s not just anyone that you would invite into your kitchen, but you’ve become fairly attached to the older woman in just the few weeks you’ve been here. She is usually an endless source of positivity and support - two things you could really use right now even if you hate the reason why.

“Absolutely, chef.” She tosses you a grin and immediately marches over to your industrial sized sinks to wash her hands. “Put me to work.”

Everything you’ll need to road test the upscale Cobb salad for your menu is already in the fridge, so you set Diana up with a cutting board, knife, and a bowl to deposit everything into and set to work turning one skillet’s worth of cornbread into fritter mix - with some cheddar cheese added for good measure. There are a few slices of bourbon maple glazed bacon that you’ve been experimenting with that you’ll chop up as well - the perfect topping for the salad after it’s been dressed. “So a corporate tour?” You ask, trying to remind yourself to be social as the two of you start working side by side. “That sounds…sort of excruciating, honestly. Two hundred is a huge group.”

“They were more interested in tasting than the actual tour.” Diana tells you as she starts to chop the ingredients. Looking down at the cutting board and smirking to herself at how sharp your knife is. A good, proper blade.

“If I worked for a corporation doing mandatory retreats, I would be too.” It’s the closest you’ve been to laughing in days, the little huff you give as you shake your head.

“There’s some truth to that.” Diana laughs as she acknowledges it. “Although I guess it’s a good thing that the restaurant isn’t open yet or all of them would have been in here.”

“That’s fine. Customers I can handle.” Working the cornbread mixture with your hands is actually kind of cathartic. Imagining it’s the knots in your heart instead of food. “They’re particular, but in a way I can handle. I wouldn’t even know how to keep them all engaged on a tour.”

“Practice.” Diana muses, sneaking a glance over at you. “Much like wrangling cowboy soulmates.”

You sigh, a little too deeply, and turn to look at her with anxiety written all over your face. “How long have you known?”

“The tattoo?” She doesn’t suppose that you are talking about the situation you find yourself in now, but she just wants to clarify. “From the beginning.” She admits quietly. “Champ doesn’t keep much but classified information from me. And this…well, Jack is family.”

“So…” If your hands weren’t covered in edible sludge, you would be leaning on the counter while you try to collect yourself. As it is, all you can do is stare at Diana. “When was anybody going to tell me?”

“If I had my way, I would have slapped Jack upside his damned fool head.” Diana huffs, holding your gaze steadily. “But…Champ said that it was Jack’s place to figure out that he’s been given a second chance.”

That twists the knife in your heart, and you look down at your hands to avoid tearing up if you keep looking at the woman beside you. Diana is so full of empathy that it seems to just deep out of her. “Jack doesn’t want a second chance.” You murmur, head bowed like somehow it’s your fault.

“Damn jackass doesn’t know what he wants.” Diana hisses, her chopping becoming slightly less perfect through her anger. “And he likes you, so you terrify him.”

“He doesn’t like me as much as you think he does.” If he did, he wouldn’t have shattered any hope you had of something happening between the two of you somewhere down the line. “He made it abundantly clear last night that he doesn’t want another soulmate.”

“Stubborn fucking mule.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head in disappointment. She knows that Jack likes you more than he’s willing to admit, but the damn fool can’t get past his grief.

“He seems to know his mind well enough.” If you mix this damn batter anymore it is just going to be goo, so you stop - pulling your hands away and wiping them reasonably clean so you can wash up and start portioning out the mix. “Second time I’ve lost a chance at having a soul mate in just a couple of weeks and I didn’t get a say in it either time.”

“So he told you….” Diana is shocked at that, the knife turning to the side and she looks at you in shock.

“Not in a great amount of detail.” You shrug, feeling her eyes on you as you scrub your hands clean. “But yeah. He told me. A-about Statesman being…spies. About…” Sighing makes your whole body shake. “About how he…killed my soulmate. And then inherited me.”

Diana’s face screws up in anger, promising herself she’s gonna kick Jack’s ass from here to New York and back. “Jack has killed men before and never inherited their soulmates.” She spits. “So he’s full of shit. The universe doesn’t just randomly assign soulmates, especially not second ones.”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” The worst part right now is how defeated you feel. How hopeless and helpless everything feels knowing that Jack’s mind was made up before he even met you. “He doesn’t want anything to do with it, but apparently the fact of him was enough to scare off the guy who did like me.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Diana doesn’t know the details, just the highlights that had been given to her and she knows it might be better for you to talk and get it off your chest. “If you want.”

Not being able to talk to anyone these last few days has been the hardest part of everything, in some ways. With no one to help lighten the burden it seems to have tripled its weight on your chest. The normal phone calls to your sister whenever something bad or complicated happened hadn’t occurred this time - because how could you explain even half of what happened while avoiding the tidbits that apparently required security clearance? It was a minefield you didn’t know how to navigate. But Diana? Diana already understands this world. She lives in it and thrives. “It goes back to when I first got here,” you explain, as if that were longer ago than a mere three weeks. “That first night…Jack came to tell me that I had gotten the job here, and we ended up going out together.” Working while you talk is the best way to keep your mind from overwhelming you, and by the time lunch is finished being prepared you’ve told Diana everything. Every last detail is laid out for her to examine, leaving you feeling both exhausted and somehow unburdened as you sit down together at the long prep counter to eat.

Diana is madder than a bucket full of hornets. Fuming as you had described the back and forth treatment from Jack, dangling you like a marionette until he’s realized he’s too close and tossing you aside. Instead of raging, she reaches over and pulls you in for another hug. “This isn’t your fault.”

“What’s worse is that I can’t even bring myself to be mad anymore.” Upset, obviously, and hurt. But anger has come and gone like a flash in a pan. “I get that he’s hurt, and that this is as much a shock to him as it is to me. But I just…” You squeeze her back, needing the hug much more than you want to admit. “I haven’t gotten a say in any of it. Even Tex wouldn’t say a damn word to me once he realized. Like in his mind Jack already owned me, or something. But all Jack wants is to be friends.” At least, that’s what he had said. And all you could do is take it at face value.

"Tex is...loyal." Diana sighs. "He's always been secretly disappointed that soulmate marks haven't shown up on his body so he could find his soulmate." She explains. "Of course, he isn't going to poach Jack's mate. Even if he wanted to, his sense of propriety wouldn't let him because he feels like Jack will want you."

“Which means that, once again, I don’t get a say in my own relationships.” It’s becoming a recurring theme and you aren’t exactly thrilled with that. “I’m sorry,” you shake your head and pick up your fork, reminding yourself that eating is necessary even when you’re annoyed. “I don’t mean to complain about people who act with what they believe are the best of intentions. But I’d give my right foot for anybody to have asked me what I wanted.” Tilting your head, though, you look around you and half-chuckle. “Except Champ. He’s given me anything I want here, and I’m grateful for that.”

“I don’t blame you.” Diana shakes her head. “Men always try to do what they think best without asking.” You are so sweet and you deserve the world. “Take back your control where you can.” She urges you.

“How am I supposed to do that?” It’s an honest question, considering you barely know what you want beyond to be loved. The fact that Jack's face is what always comes to mind now is just a complication. “Tex is in another country and Jack has made up his mind already.”

“That, I can’t decide for you.” Diana has a few ideas on what she would do if Champ had rejected her, but she wasn’t you. “But I can tell you what I would do if I were you.”

Something about the way she says it sparks your curiosity, and you tilt your head at her as you pluck up one of the fritters from the basket between you. “What would you do?” Anything is better than moping - which is all you’ve done for days.

“I would start dating.” Diana snorts and sends you a small grin. “As many dates as you want, whoever you want.” She shrugs. “If he wants to be ‘friends’, he doesn’t get a say in how you move on with your life.” She takes a sip of her sweet tea. “Operate like you don’t even acknowledge Jack Daniels wears your marks.”

“Seriously?” You’re not sure why the suggestion is so shocking to you, but you feel like your jaw drops all the way down to the counter when she looks at you with fire in her eyes. She’s angry for you, and it’s simultaneously daring and empowering. Like she has just done the emotional equivalent of offering the Revenge Dress to Princess Di. “That’s…I guess that makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“Yes it does.” She nods. “You don’t have to do it, but I would. Just to show him that he’s not going to dictate your life, just because he’s hung up on a past that is no longer reality.”

“Are you…suggesting that it might make him jealous?” You can’t imagine how, all things considered, but it would be kind of satisfying.

“If it does, it serves the fool right.” She hums, a slightly evil grin on her face. “Even if it doesn’t, it will be you taking control of your life again. You decide how you spend your time.”

“I…” Slumping slightly in your seat, you nudge your fork through your salad - it’s delicious, but you’re thinking things through. “I don’t know if I’m ready to possibly get rejected again so soon,” you admit. “I’m…I don’t think I could take it. Not this soon.”

“Let me set you up.” Her eyes light up and she grins. “Astrid’s brother is coming into town.” She gasps. “Oh that’s perfect.”

“Oh, I…” It’s guilt, this twisting feeling in your gut, and all of a sudden you sit up and shake your head. “The idea of it makes me feel guilty,” you tell Diana honestly. “Which is totally illogical, and I need to get over this fucking crush I have on Jack or it’s just going to fester and that won’t help. So…” Exhaling deeply, you nod as decisively as possible. “Tell me about Astrid’s brother.”

Diana grins and sends you a wink. “If I was twenty years younger…” she starts with a laugh, proceeding to tell you all about the handsome man that will be perfect for a good time and getting your mind off Jack.

It’s not such a bad idea, when you think about it. The trajectory of your life has taken such an obtuse turn that thinking about something like life after being rejected by your second soulmate is just a chat you have over lunch with your boss’s wife. Although, with this conversation today, Diana has become much more than just your boss’s wife. She’s your closest friend at Statesman. “Okay.” You nod, sitting up straight after she tells you all about the man she has in mind. “As long as Astrid is okay with it, I’m in.”

“Good!” Diana smirks as she picks up another fritter out of the basket. “I bet you these would be amazing as a side dish to meatloaf.” She muses before giggling slightly.

“I would make that for my staff in a heartbeat. I just need to find a good meatloaf recipe.” You ruminate on the idea for a second before smiling. “Actually, I’ve been trying to figure out one more thing for the main menu. Meatloaf and cornbread fritters might be just the thing.”

“I have a recipe.” The smile that creeps over Diana’s face is nothing short of fortuitous. “Every Wednesday it’s served at my dinner table.” She admits. “You are welcome to come, but….Jack will be there.”

For a split second you almost jump on the invitation, but even the mention of his name makes you hesitate. Especially when you realize that today is Wednesday. “Maybe next week.” Seeing him again so soon - mere hours after you’ve talked everything out - just doesn’t feel like something you can handle.

“I can understand that.” Diana nods sagely, reaching out and touching the back of your hand. “Why don’t I bring you some tomorrow and let you try it, see if you like the recipe.”

“That would be really nice of you.” You turn your hand over to squeeze hers quickly. “Thank you for this, Diana. For all of this today.”

“What are friends for?” She knows that she’s older, and she’s the boss’s wife, but she thinks of you as a friend. “Plus I’ll make sure I give you the portion that would have gone home with Jack.” She cackles and winks at you.

The two of you share a good laugh over the idea of Jack pouting over missing his leftovers, and you bite back the feeling of regret at not being able to sit at that table with him like any normal pair of soulmates. “I really…” It sticks in you, clinging to your heart unbidden. “I want him to be happy,” you tell her honestly. “If that’s not with me, then the universe screwed up.”

“Jack’s never going to be happy until he lets his wife’s ghost rest.” Diana explains exasperatedly. “The man can claim he’s happy, but he’s not. You can tell, at least those that have known him for a long time can.”

“Well…whatever it ends up meaning for him. He just…” Sitting back in your seat, you reach for what’s left of your tea and sigh softly. “Everybody deserves to be happy.”

“And that includes you.” Diana reminds you, giving you a firm look.

“I hope so.” After the last few weeks, though, you have your doubts.

******

“I shouldn’t let you in the damn house.” Diana scowls at Jack as he stands in the doorway of her house. If she had a rolling pin in her hand, she’d be hitting him with it.

In the hours since she left your kitchen, Diana has been fuming. Thank god Champ hasn’t been home until just a few minutes ago or he would have gotten quite the earful about how purely Jack had treated you.

Jack's easy smile is instantly replaced with a frown. "What did I do?" He demands, looking around. "I wasn't supposed to bring nothin'."

“What you did has nothing to do with dinner.” She tells him flatly. This isn’t a conversation for the whole neighborhood to hear, though, so she lets him inside despite wanting to wallop him. “Would you like to guess how I spent the afternoon, Jack?”

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Jack scoffs, shaking his head. "Your husband has me trainin' the young bucks on the whip and lasso." It still is a sore subject but at least he isn't stuck behind the desk for the entire day.

"I heard a little story today." Shutting the door behind him, Diana frowns and puts her hands on her hips. "From your soulmate."

"How many fuckin' times do I have to explain this." Jack's frown deepens and he rolls his eyes. "She ain't my soulmate. Second soulmates is a fucking lie you tell someone to make yourself feel better about the poor bastard losing his while yours is still happily breathin'." He scoffs. "It ain't real and I didn't fuckin' ask for her marks. I don't want 'em."

"A fact which you made abundantly clear to her." The steam pouring from Diana's ears is proverbial, thankfully, otherwise she would look like a cartoon character. "Without ever paying her the courtesy of kindness due to somebody who had their original soulmate torn from them. Instead you flirted with her, basically took her out on a date, kissed her; all the while telling her she basically means nothing to you. And then you had the goddamn audacity to make it seem like she did something wrong for finding herself likin' you at the end of the day." As it all comes tumbling out, Diana can feel herself just getting madder and madder, her blood nearly boiling all too quickly. "Second soulmates may be rare, Jack, but you're living goddamn proof that it's real. Whether you like it or not."

Shame fills Jack, but he'll be damned if he admits it. "She wouldn't have known if Tequila could keep his fuckin' mouth shut." He hisses. "She shouldn't have known, she'd have been happy livin' her life here and whatever attraction between us would have fizzled out and she could've moved on with her life." Guilt and something else twists in his gut, making it churn at the thought of that very thing happening. Shaking his head like he could shake off the feeling, he props his hands on his hips and stares at his oldest friend's wife. "Anything else you wanna lecture me on?"

"Yes, and it's ironic that you asked." The fact that he's trying to pass the buck off on poor Tequila is a whole other topic but she's too fired up in your defense right now. "Since you never once asked her how she felt about the whole damn thing."

"What does it matter?" Jack's volume creeps up in exasperation and he throws his hands up. "It's not gonna change things. It's not like I can change the fact that I'm gonna love my Abigail until the day I'm in the ground beside her. So what fuckin' good is it to ask how she feels about things that don't matter?"

"Because she's human, Jack!" Having to explain that to a grown ass man might be the most exasperating part, since Diana had always counted him as a concerned and caring friend. Apparently his blind spots when it comes to his own emotional state are even bigger than she had thought. "You don't have to love her but you do have to acknowledge that she's a grown woman with feelings and opinions all her own. And that those matter. How can you look her in the face and tell her you want to be her friend without ever once asking how she feels?"

“I can’t love her, Diana.” Jack’s frown turns into something desperate, almost beseeching as he implores her to believe him. “I can’t. I killed her soulmate.”

"Agents have killed lots of men, Jack Daniels." It's his job, and no one here is debating the morality of it. It's just a fact. "But she is the only soulmate that has ever transferred to a Statesman agent in the history of the organization." Diana shakes her head, her expression turning distinctly disappointed. "I'm not asking you what you think you're capable of. I'm saying she is alone, and she's sad, and she feels less than human because you didn't do the courtesy of just asking. You just assumed. And if nothing else, that isn't what friends do."

Jack stares at her for a long moment and sighs, his shoulders slumping and he closes his eyes. “I- I don’t know what to do.” He admits quietly. “I don’t know how to do this.”

"Nobody expects you to." Like a patient older sister with her petulant little brother, Diana shakes her head before reaching out to rub his shoulder softly. "But this knee-jerk anger about having her mark isn't helping anybody at all. Least of all you and her. Or poor Tequila."

"Why do I get to wear hers and not Abigail’s?" Jack demands, choking the question out. "They disappeared, gone, like she never existed."

'I don't know, Jack." When he starts to crumble, Diana moves in, offering him a place to lean against her if he wants it. "But she didn't put them on you herself. She doesn't deserve to be treated like an undesirable for something completely beyond her control."

Jack squeezes his eyes shut and takes the comfort that is being offered. "I- I'll try to - to be her friend." He swallows, hating the way his heart leaps and starts to pound at the mere thought of being around you. "Like- like it was when she showed up."

"Platonic soulmates do exist." In her heart she doesn't think that's how the two of you are meant to be, but it's not up to her to decide. No one but you and Jack can determine how you feel about each other. For now she puts one arm around Jack and gently rubs it up and down his back in a slow, soothing rhythm. "And...for the record? Tequila didn't out you. He only told her that he had seen her mark on somebody else. She figured it out herself."

"Who else would that dumb hick know that would show him a fucking tattoo?" He huffs, still sore about his damn jaw. "I really did think that he had seen her mark on the arm."

"Statesman has hundreds of employees," she reminds him gently. "It could have been anyone. And...apparently she covered it for the wedding. With makeup. Her cousin isn't a big fan of tattoos so she wanted to be courteous."

“Shit.” Jack closes his eyes, the guilt compounding when he remembers the hurt in Tex’s voice.

"It's been a rough few days." She can acknowledge that. That it's been hard for everyone, him included. Unfortunately, there isn't much more she can do but say her piece and be a good friend - both to you and to Jack. "Let's go have some dinner."

“I’m allowed to stay?” Jack asks, slightly surprised that she’s not booting him out on his ass.

“I’m upset, not heartless.” Diana tells him, though if he hadn’t showed remorse or had dug his heels in, she might have sent him on his way. “But next week she’ll be here right alongside you, so I’ll ask you to find a way to be civil by then.”

“I got no problem being civil.” Jack promises, even though he would prefer to limit his time with you until he feels like he is on steady ground. But what could a dinner hurt?

“Good.” Even if she doesn’t quite believe him, she’s already picked her fight for today.

Jack follows Diana into the house, wondering why the older woman felt so strongly about you - a newcomer. He shakes his head and shuffles towards the living room as he greets Champ.

“I won’t ask.” Champ already has a beer out for Jack, having heard the ruckus from upstairs. His wife had given him an overview of her conversation with you but mostly kept your confidence, as she always does with a friend. “The youngins do alright today, Jack?”

Jack can only be grateful that someone doesn't want to crawl up his ass and into his business. He takes the beer and nods. "Comin' along, though some of them ain't exactly cowboys."

"I'm sure we can fix that," the older man chuckles as they follow Diana into the dining room. Bobby had been getting the table set while his mother took the screws to Jack, apparently. "Most don't hang around here too long without getting the spirit."

"True." Jack can agree with that, knowing his own training had weeded out plenty of unsuitable candidates. "But you've got a family legacy here." He tells the older man as he winks at Bobby. "Like the boy here."

"He's doing fine work." Champ commends, puffed up proudly as they all take their seats at the table. "Finer than I was at his age, that's for damn sure."

Jack snorts. "Of course he is." He jokes, winking at the kid. "But that's not sayin' much."

"Alright, you three." Diana looks around the table as she starts to serve - a habit she's kept for years just to keep the men in her life from making a mess at the table. "No shop talk at dinner, you know the rules."

"Yes ma'am." Jack grins as both he and Bobby answer Diana at the same time and Champ just grins at his wife and winks at her playfully.

The meal starts with a little benign chit chat, but soon turns around to Statesman again - though the men are all careful to avoid mentioning case work to adhere to Diana's 'no shop talk at family dinner' rule. "Did I see a groundbreaking on the new apartment building this morning?" Bobby asks when he reaches for seconds. There used to be three small parks in the housing neighborhood. Soon there will only be two. "I didn't know we were expanding that much more. Is the new restaurant gonna be that big?"

Champ leans back and nods. "Figure it will be." He admits, smirking slightly at how well the projected sales are forecasting with just the traffic from the people who work at Statesman enjoying your food right now. "We got ourselves a real winner." He glances over at Jack who is looking down at his plate.

“And it’s just the start.” Diana’s pride is more for you than for the business. “When we start hosting more events than just corporate getaways and bachelor parties, things are really going to get busy around here.”

Jack shouldn't feel pride, he had nothing to do with the restaurant. It was your baby, your hard work and vision that was making it a reality. Still, he nods as he forks up another bite of meatloaf and agrees. "She will be full every day."

Across from him, Diana bites back a smirk at the pride in his voice. “Once she starts doing weddings, she’ll be lucky to have a day off.”

"She doesn't need to be overworked." Jack immediately frowns. "She needs to trust the people around her."

"She'll need a team." For the first time in a little while, Diana is in total agreement with Jack. "It's going to be time to start hiring staff soon, won't it? Including a good second-in-command."

Jack nods, keeping his eyes on his plate. “Yeah she will need that.”

"You sure you don't want the job, Mom?" Bobby grins at his mother, knowing little about the woman who will be running the new restaurant on premises except that his mother is incredibly fond of her. "You always said you wanted to be a party planner."

“Oh no,” Diana quickly shakes her head. “There’s no way that I could keep up with her.” She laughs. “She’s too energetic.”

"What about the opening night party, Di?" Champ suggests, glancing sideways to get an eyeful of Jack staring into his plate. "You're still our gal for events until we hire a full on planner. Why don't you talk to her about what she'd like for opening night?"

“Oh she should have a party, shouldn’t she?” Diana muses. “Something to celebrate the opening. We need to get her family here for it.” She turns to Jack. “You take care of that.”

"Jack's a little overqualified to be a travel agent, ain't he?" Bobby snorts, obviously not having understood the argument between his mentor and his mother, if he overheard it at all.

Jack swallows and pushes around the green beans. “Nah, kid, I’ll be happy to arrange for the family to come down.” He raises a brow. “Gonna need the jet of course. She’s got a big group.” It highlights how alone Jack is now, his own family reduced down to just him. No siblings, parents gone, wife and child gone. Alone.

"Whatever you need." Champ waves his hand like it's the easiest thing in the world, then smiles at his wife. "You, too. Whatever y'all need. Carte blanche to throw a hell of a hoedown."

“Well, that’s a mistake.” Jack snorts, shaking his head even though he’s grinning. “Your wife will invite half the state and plan on feedin’ em too.”

"I'll be damn sure to book the whole place full with reservations." And Diana won't pretend otherwise, either. She has a few strings she can pull, some friends she can call, and some favors she can call in. People enough to make the night the talk of Louisville, that's for sure.

Champ chuckles and reaches over to take his wife’s hand. “I know you will, honey. You always do a good job for us.” He praises, kissing the back of her hand and Jack looks back down at his meal, unable to rationalize the jealousy swimming through him at the causally intimate gesture.

"I'll hash everything out with her this week," Diana hums, as casually as if they were all chatting about the weather. She's interested to know just how rankled Jack will get if she takes things one step further in this conversation about you. "Before the weekend. I don't want her worrying about anything when Lewis gets into town."

“Lewis is coming?” Bobby grins, well acquainted with Astrid’s brother. “That means we need to make sure that our tab is in good standing at the bar. For damages.” He chuckles and leans back. There was always a scuffle at the bar when Ginger’s little brother came to town.

"Y'all can get into plenty of trouble on a boys' night." She laughs, shaking her head at her son even while she watches Jack out of the corner of her eye. "He's taking our favorite chef out while he's here."

Jack’s head snaps up and he almost immediately starts to protest and then he presses his lips together. Knowing that he doesn’t have any reason to argue against it. Instead he ducks his head down and stares at the meatloaf that suddenly tastes like ash in his mouth.

"Oh?" Champ nearly chokes at Jack's reaction but manages to keep his poker face. "Yes." Diana has sat back in her chair, raising her glass of wine to her lips in victory. The jealousy on Jack's face is as obvious as the shade of red he has turned. "Something about a concert he has tickets to? He was very excited."

Jack’s jaw nearly breaks; he's mashing it together so harshly, grinding his back teeth. Eyes burning a hole in his plate as he stares at it.

"Sounds like fun." The sound of chomping from Jack sitting beside him is unexpected, but Bobby doesn't call attention to it because he's not sure what the hell he just heard. "What's he up for? Just the concert?" Diana shakes her head, absorbing every single reaction she can get out of Jack. "Astrid and Gabi's oldest is turning seven next week. They're not doing a big party or anything, but you know Lewis wouldn't miss the kids' birthdays."

It hurts to sit here. Listening to Diana happily chatter about Lewis. Even if he does like Ginger’s brother, he’s suddenly a hell of a lot less happier he’s coming. Wanting to bolt from the table and the conversation but he reaches for his glass to gulp down the rest of his sweet tea, mouth dry.

“Now that we got a pastry chef on premises, birthdays for the kids are going to be a lot sweeter.” Champ nudges his empty plate back on the table after taking his last bite and pats his belly in satisfaction. He’d have to have lost his marbles to be oblivious to what his wife is doing as she harps on the topic, but he also can’t say that Jack hasn’t been damn fool enough to have it coming.

Jack nearly chokes, coughing to cover up the way that the tea manages to slide down the wrong pipe. Slapping himself on the chest and taking deep breaths when he finally finished sputtering the liquid up from his lungs.

“Alright, Jack?” Diana asks, expression washed with nothing but mild concern. She knows he’s fine, but he’s been awfully quiet while he stews - right until this.

"Fine." Jack clears his throat and shakes his head quickly. "Fine. Just swallowed wrong." He gives a bland smile and takes another sip of his drink.

“Good.” Her smile tightens just barely. “I’d hate to think anything here,” she waves her hand at the remnants of the meal in front of them. “Was hard to swallow.”

Jack's jaw rocks but he nods, understanding what is being said. "Not a damn thing." He drawls. "Everything was just as good as it's always been."

“Good.” If that’s all that Jack wants - what’s always been - he’s going to be hurtin’ watching you live your life. And if that’s the bed he’s made for himself, Diana thinks as she gives him a smile, it will be a very lonely one to lie in.

"Good." Jack nods, fully aware there is nothing good about it at all.

******

The clock on the wall reads six o’clock by the time you’re winding down for the day, exhausted from interviews and looking forward to grabbing dinner with Diana after this next one was over with. The intensive process of hiring an entire restaurant’s worth of staff hasn’t been fun, and this is the end of day three. The only thing you’re happy about is that you really do have most of your team together by now. One more line cook and maybe two more waiters and you’ll have a full house. You look down at the application in front of you - the bottom of the stack - and hope you can retain any of the information it contains while you’re talking to this guy. Tripp Tanner. You chuckle Unconsciously at the alliteration. Well…at least you’ll remember his name.

Jack decides to stop by your kitchen. Trying to make a more conscious effort to make you feel wanted, it’s been hard, but he also won’t admit that he likes checking on you. Making sure that you are enjoying your new creation. “Sugar?” He calls out. “You in the back?”

“Jack?” In the weeks since everything exploded between the two of you, you’ve been trying to be nice. To be friendly. Even though it twists your aching heart that he doesn’t see you as anything more, you’re trying to move on. Something that’s hard to do when he pops in to surprise you like this. “I’m in the kitchen!”

“Are you busy?” The last thing he wants to do is impose, but he wants to ask about the planning for the party. Talking to your brother about scheduling everyone in your family to come down is a pain. Too many people to juggle.

He strolls through the door like a cowboy rolling up to his favorite saloon and you can’t help but smile. “I have a couple of minutes before my last interview. What’s up?”

“What time are you planning on kickin’ off the festivities on your big day?” He asks, looking around the kitchen and nodding at the controlled chaos that it seems to emit.

“It’s still almost two months away.” There’s a lot of work to do before then, but you’re excited. Champ has given you everything you’ve asked for and then some. “But the party is…it’s going to be a lot of fun.” Diana’s idea to turn the one-night soft opening you had planned into a party is shaping up to be wonderful. “The whole thing will start at six that night.”

“But the opening is when?” Jack nods, filing away that information. “So I can make sure that the website is updated.”

“Six weeks from Saturday.” Which is so far away and so close all at once. “April 14.”

“Okay, so they are different days?” Jack shakes his head in confusion. “Take me through everything please?”

“The soft opening is like our trial run.” You pop up from your seat to refresh your tea and come back from the fridge with a glass for him as well. “People come by invitation and they have reservations. We’re going to offer our whole menu and have some live music that Diana is arranging. There will be thank you gifts for everyone who comes and they’re all going to get little nips of Statesman with the date on the bottle as well. Champ’s idea, of course.” With how wonderful everyone’s been, you’ve really just been basking in the support. Professionally, at least, things are wonderful. “What this does is give us a night to work out any kinks in the system and make sure all the food is perfect for the grand opening, which is the next day. That’s when we open to the public.”

“Okay, soft opening is Saturday, Grand opening is Sunday.” Jack nods, knowing he will invite the family for the entire weekend. Give you a chance to spend time with them outside of the hustle of your restaurant opening. He leans against a counter, unaware that there is a tool with a sharp edge to snag on his button down shirt. It’s too hot to wear his sports coat and he had run by after leaving the office.

“It will be a very big weekend.” You already know you won’t sleep Friday night, too excited and worried and proud and scared to rest at all. “For tonight, though? Just one more interview.”

“Who you hirin’?” Jack asks before he takes a sip of his tea. Trying to ignore the way your eyes light up and seem to sparkle talking about the opening. Too damn pretty for his peace of mind.

“My sous chef is coming from Savannah. She was the first person I hired.” The enthusiastic woman is about your age and has been doing French influenced Southern fair in Georgia hotels for her whole career. She was excitable but focused in your video interview and you hadn’t hesitated to pull the trigger. “And my front of house manager is actually my roommate from college. She was a hospitality major when I was in culinary and we always said one day if we had our own place we’d hire each other.” The stack of applications and resumes had been intimidatingly thick when they started to arrive, but with Diana’s help you’re getting through it all. “This last interview is for a line cook. I’ve had twice as many applicants as I have positions so I’ll decide this week and call everyone before the end of the day on Friday.”

Jack knows next to nothing about hiring cooks but he nods. Diana’s voice in his head about being polite. “That’s good, sugar. I’m sure you’ll find the right fit for everyone soon.” He agrees. “That sandwich you had everyone tastin’ was mighty good. I never did hear what it was called?”

“That was my version of a croque monsieur.” Having agents and office workers and everybody from the Statesman offices come down to taste test recipes has been an absolute blessing, and so far you’ve made good use of all the constructive criticisms that have come your way. Although you may have weighed opinions like Jack’s more heavily than others…

“It was damn good.” He admits, taking another sip of the sweet tea that you have down to an art form despite growing up in the North. “Hopefully that will make it to your menu at some point.”

“It was a pretty rousing success, so I think it will.” It’s such an easy moment between the two of you. Sitting there together and chatting away, you could almost be mistaken for a couple with the smiles on your faces. But you’ll never tell him just how often you harbor thoughts like that. He would despise it.

Jack hums, knowing that most days will be spent having lunch here, or at least ordering it into the office. “Good,” he leans forward and the material catches, the sounds of ripping fabric filling the air. “Shit.”

“Oh shit!” You jump up, reaching around him to snatch the corkscrew up that somehow got wedged under a stack of cast iron pans and became a weapon against men’s fashion. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Did it scratch you or just your shirt?”

Jack frowns, twisting his head and pulling on his arm. “Looks like it just tore my shirt.” Of course it would tear so that the tattoo he wears is exposed and he hisses. “No- it scratched me.”

“Shit,” you murmur again, turning him a little so you can see the damage. “Th-that shouldn’t have happened. I’ll replace the shirt for you. I—I’m sorry, Jack.” What a stupid thing to have ruined a perfectly nice moment, too. “It just looks like a scratch, though. Not like it will…” Even the thought of it has you cringing. “Not like it will scar.” God knows the last thing he wants is another reminder of you.

“Don’t worry about it.” The black looping scrawl on his skin is visible and it makes Jack’s mouth run dry. Your own is already visible today since you have your sleeves rolled up and Jack pulls back to hastily stand straight. “I’ll change my shirt and toss this one.” He tells you quickly. No need to buy another or triage.” He’s panicking and he knows he is, but he sends you a sickly smile.

“You’d better go.” There is no mistaking the way he jumps. The jittery way he jerks is so diametrically opposed to his normally smooth and confident movements. It’s obvious, once you see how his shirt has ripped. He doesn’t want your tattoo showing. Being nice to you is one thing, but having anyone know what you are to him is another. You cross your arms and lean against the counter, suddenly sullen rather than apologetic. “Get a new shirt on before anybody sees.”

“I– that’s not–” Jack protests and shakes his head, falling silent when your stony expression doesn’t change. “I’ll get out of your hair.” He murmurs silently. “Thanks for the tea, sugar.”

The best way to keep yourself from running after him like some godforsaken schoolgirl is to stay stone faced, and you turn back to the counter that you had been using as a desk to take a few very deep breaths before whoever the hell Tripp Tanner is gets here.

Jack curses himself as he rushes through the door, not even paying attention to the man who had come in without him hearing. Watching him through narrowed eyes.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73    

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My Masterlist!

[slitheringghost]

Hermione As Teacher And Connections To Lily

An interesting narrative thread is how often Hermione's magic and teaching influences other characters' and how often it goes unrecognized, and particularly how it parallels a lot of Lily's own magic saving Harry from Voldemort. (Read on Ao3)

1. Triwizard Tournament

Summoning Charm

he did so badly at Summoning Charms in Professor Flitwick’s class that he was given extra homework — the only person to get any, apart from Neville. “It’s really not that difficult, Harry,” Hermione tried to reassure him [...] — she had been making objects zoom across the room to her all lesson, as though she were some sort of weird magnet [...] “You just weren’t concentrating properly —” (Ch 18, GoF)

Harry still hadn’t mastered Summoning Charms, he seemed to have developed something of a block about them, and Hermione insisted that learning the theory would help. They consequently spent a lot of time poring over books during their lunchtimes (Ch 19, GoF)

“Hermione, I need to learn how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon.” And so they practiced. They didn’t have lunch, but headed for a free classroom [...] At two o’clock in the morning, Harry stood near the fireplace, surrounded by heaps of objects [...] Only in the last hour had Harry really got the hang of the Summoning Charm. “That’s better, Harry, that’s loads better,” Hermione said, looking exhausted but very pleased. (Ch 20, GoF)

Flitwick then spends most of a lesson "talking to Harry about the perfect Summoning Charm Harry had used during the First Task".

1.2 Shield Charm

(Full analysis of the Shield Charm and how it's textually linked to Lily is in my meta When Lily Cast Her Life As A Shield)

He was still having trouble with the Shield Charm, though. This was supposed to cast a temporary, invisible wall around himself that deflected minor curses [...] “You’re still doing really well, though,” Hermione said encouragingly, looking down her list and crossing off those spells they had already learned. “Some of these are bound to come in handy.” [...] Come on, Harry,” she added briskly [...] “let’s try that Shield Charm again.” (Ch 31, GoF)

Which Harry then teaches the DA:

He was improving so fast it was quite unnerving and when Harry taught them the Shield Charm, [...] only Hermione mastered the charm faster than Neville. (Ch 25, OoTP)

Then, what Fred and George say makes the real money in the joke shop:

“We’ve just developed this more serious line,” said Fred. “Funny how it happened...” “You wouldn’t believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can’t do a decent Shield Charm,” said George. “’Course, they didn’t have you teaching them, Harry.” “That’s right... Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we’re still getting massive orders!” “So we’ve expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves...” “...I mean, they wouldn’t help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes...” (Ch 6, HBP) Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued [...] Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Neville’s muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word (Ch 9, HBP)

I love that Harry is then the one to teach Hermione the Patronus Charm - which Remus tells Harry is "a kind of anti-dementor - a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor".

1.3 Four-Point Spell

and the Four-Point Spell, a useful discovery of Hermione’s that would make his wand point due north, therefore enabling him to check whether he was going in the right direction within the maze. (Ch 31, GoF)

“Point Me,” he whispered to his wand, holding it flat in his palm. The wand spun around once and pointed toward his right, into solid hedge. (Ch 31, GoF)

It's reasonable to extrapolate that the spell is Hermione's invention, given that it's the only spell with an English incantation, and inventions are referred to as "discoveries" several times - Remus wrt the Wolfsbane Potion in PoA, Dumbledore's work ("the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood", "does Skeeter deny the brilliance that led to Dumbledore’s many magical discoveries?"), Harry has to "memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions" and mentions books titled "Important Modern Magical Discoveries and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry", Fred says they "spent six months developing" the Ton-Tongue Toffees, etc.

Hermione inventing this is particularly compelling given that it's similar to what Harry's wand does in DH (related to Lily's spellwork deflecting the Killing Curse), and Harry's conflict with her after she breaks his wand.

[...] his wand acted of its own accord. He felt it drag his hand around like some great magnet, saw a spurt of golden fire through his half-closed eyelids, heard a crack and a scream of fury. (Ch 4, DH) He knew exactly what Hermione would say if he expressed any of this: The wand is only as good as the wizard. But she was wrong, his case was different. She had not felt the wand spin like the needle of a compass and shoot golden flames at his enemy. (Ch 18, DH)

Also notable is Hermione solving Snape's Potions riddle, and Harry echoing this with solving the Sphinx riddle during the Third Task (Harry thinking “it was Hermione who was good at this sort of thing, not him” and then “amazed at his own brilliance” when he solves it).

2. Other examples

2.1 Impervius Charm

“I’ve got no chance with these on,” Harry said exasperatedly, waving his glasses. At that very moment, Hermione appeared at his shoulder; she was holding her cloak over her head and was, inexplicably, beaming. “I’ve had an idea, Harry! Give me your glasses, quick!” He handed them to her, and as the team watched in amazement, Hermione tapped them with her wand and said, “Impervius!” “There!” she said [...] “They’ll repel water!” Wood looked as though he could have kissed her. “Brilliant!” he called hoarsely after her [...] Hermione’s spell had done the trick. (Ch 9, PoA) "Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?” “Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!” “I think we all ought to try that,” said Angelina. “[...] all together, come on — Impervius!" (Ch 18, OoTP)

Additionally, when Padfoot comes to watch during that PoA match and dementors swarm the field, making Harry hear Lily's murder for the first time, Harry falls from his broom, his Nimbus crashes into the Whomping Willow, others say they thought he was dead and "Lucky the ground was so soft" - of course, it wasn't luck, it was Dumbledore; Hermione then repeats these actions in DH - during the waterfall in the Thief's Downfall (evokes the drowning feeling from dementors; and Hermione additionally uses the Shield Charm there) and immediately after they escape LV in Godric’s Hollow and Harry finally gets the full memory of Lily's death (Hermione’s eyes being emphasized):

“Dumbledore was really angry,” Hermione said in a quaking voice. “I’ve never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away [...]" “Then he magicked you onto a stretcher,” said Ron. “And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were...” (Ch 9, PoA) “Yes,” said Hermione. “I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunk, I couldn't lift you [...]" There were purple shadows under her brown eyes and he noticed a small sponge in her hand: She had been wiping his face. (Ch 17, DH) Water filled Harry’s eyes and mouth: He could not see or breathe: [...] Harry heard the cart smash into pieces against the passage wall, heard Hermione shriek something, and felt himself glide back toward the ground as though weightless, landing painlessly on the rocky passage floor. “C-Cushioning Charm,” Hermione spluttered (Ch 26, DH)

2.2 Murtlap Essence

During that PoA practice, Fred and George were debating using Fever Fudge to get out of flying:

“— but you get these massive pus-filled boils too,” said George, “and we haven’t worked out how to get rid of them yet.” “I can’t see any boils,” said Ron, staring at the twins. “No, well, you wouldn’t,” said Fred darkly, “they’re not in a place we generally display to the public —” “— but they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the —” (Ch 18, OoTP)

The knowledge Hermione uses to heal the I must not tell lies scar on Harry's hand helps the twins finish the Snackboxes:

“Here,” she said anxiously, pushing a small bowl of yellow liquid toward him, “soak your hand in that, it’s a solution of strained and pickled murtlap tentacles, it should help.” Harry placed his bleeding, aching hand into the bowl and experienced a wonderful feeling of relief. (Ch 15, OoTP) When Harry next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly. Harry recommended essence of murtlap. (Ch 25, OoTP) Hermione cast him a stern look. “You’ve got exams coming!�� “Told you already, we’re not fussed about N.E.W.T.s,” said Fred. “The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us onto it...” (Ch 26, OoTP)

2.3 Magical Eavesdropping Methods

Harry frankly marveled at the fact that Hermione could research magical methods of eavesdropping as well as everything else they had to do. (Ch 28, GoF)

People have theorized that Hermione’s research while she was taking revenge against Rita Skeeter may have aided Fred and George develop the Extendable Ears, esp. since she was staying at 12GP that summer.

2.4 DA Galleons

Hermione's inspired by Voldemort's magic to invent the DA's communication method; Draco then gets the idea from that to carry out his Death Eater mission, enchanting his own coins to secretly communicate with Rosmerta, and also gets the idea to poison the mead from Hermione, having "heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognizing potions".

“You know what these remind me of?” “No, what’s that?” “The Death Eaters’ scars. Voldemort touches one of them, and all their scars burn, and they know they’ve got to join him.” “Well... yes,” said Hermione quietly. “That is where I got the idea... but you’ll notice I decided to engrave the date on bits of metal rather than on our members’ skin...” “Yeah... I prefer your way,” said Harry, grinning, as he slipped his Galleon into his pocket. (Ch 19, OoTP)

Notably, Lily's blood magic - unlike Hermione's and very like Voldemort's - does burn Voldemort's skin.

Similarly significant is Hermione's invention of the SNEAK curse - where the DA members all sign the binding contract in the Hog's Head, the same establishment where Trelawney gave the prophecy, and the binding contract incorporated in Lily's magic. Hermione enchants ~28 coins for the whole DA and creates the curse within the span of ~a month.

2.5 O.W.L. exam

Three rows to his right and four seats ahead, Hermione was already scribbling… He lowered his eyes to the first question: a) Give the incantation, and b) describe the wand movement required to make objects fly... Harry had a fleeting memory of a club soaring high into the air and landing loudly on the thick skull of a troll... Smiling slightly, he bent over the paper and began to write

On the whole Harry thought it went rather well; his Levitation Charm was certainly much better than Malfoy’s had been, though he wished he had not mixed up the incantations for Color-Change and Growth Charms (Ch 31, OoTP) the exam to which Harry was looking forward least and which he was sure would be the one that would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written exam difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion: He could describe its effects extremely accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year. (Ch 31, OoTP)

Hermione is linked to Harry's Charms and Potions exams, the subjects most directly tied to Lily. Important to note that Professor Marchbanks praises Dumbledore for having “done things with a wand I’d never seen before” during his Charms and Transfiguration N.E.W.T.s - which Hermione didn't get to take 'cause of the war; and Harry and Neville are acknowledged as doing better in Potions without Snape's presence - clearly true of Hermione's potential too as her best accomplishment was brewing a N.E.W.T. level potion second year, outside Snape's supervision (which took a month, and then she spent 2 months in the hospital due to petrification/Polyjuice turning her into a cat).

2.6 Body Bind Curse

Harry turned to Hermione. “Do something,” he said desperately. [...] “Neville,” she said, “I’m really, really sorry about this.” “Petrificus Totalus!” she cried [...] Neville’s arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. [...] “What’ve you done to him?” Harry whispered. “It’s the full Body-Bind,” said Hermione miserably. (PS)

Interestingly, Harry instinctively copies what he saw of Sirius in SWM during the DoM sequence, using the full Body Bind for the first time (at least, that we see on screen). Hermione compliments Harry on it, calling back to her being the first one to show him first year - and her being cursed right after echoes the description of Sirius falling through the veil: "the second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest", his eyes widening in shock and the "look of mingled fear and surprise".

Sirius said, “Petrificus Totalus!” and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board. “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily. (Ch 28, OoTP) “Petrificus Totalus!” shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand [...] “Well done, Ha —” But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand from which flew a streak of what looked like purple flame. It passed right across Hermione’s chest; she gave a tiny “oh!” as though of surprise and then crumpled onto the floor (Ch 35, OoTP) Harry seized his chance: “PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” The spell hit Dolohov before he could block it, and he toppled forward across his comrade, both of them rigid as boards and unable to move an inch. (Ch 35, OoTP) Springing up, Harry yelled, “Petrificus Totalus!” Once again, Dolohov’s arms and legs snapped together and he keeled over backward, landing with a crash on his back. “Nice one!” shouted Sirius, forcing Harry’s head down [...] (Ch 35, OoTP)

2.7 Unbreakable Charm

Not something Hermione specifically taught, but also interesting is Hermione mirroring Barty Crouch Jr. during his Unforgivables lesson (and saying Harry gave her the idea when he mentioned "bugging").

Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. (Ch 14, GoF)

“Oh not electronic bugs [...] Rita Skeeter [...] is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn —” Hermione pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. “— into a beetle.” [...] Inside were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle [...] Hermione took the glass jar back from Ron and smiled at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass. [...] “I’ve put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can’t transform. And I’ve told her she’s to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can’t break the habit of writing horrible lies about people.” (Ch 37, GoF)

Hermione imprisoning Rita Skeeter in a jar vaguely references Lily and Harry's actions in 1981 leading to an "imprisoned" LV in Albania; this also happens a few chapters after Priori Incantatem, and Harry and LV under the web of light evokes insects trapped underneath glass:

The golden thread connecting Harry and Voldemort splintered; though the wands remained connected, a thousand more beams arced high over Harry and Voldemort, crisscrossing all around them, until they were enclosed in a golden, dome-shaped web, a cage of light, beyond which the Death Eaters circled like jackals, their cries strangely muffled now... “Do nothing!” Voldemort shrieked to the Death Eaters, and Harry saw his red eyes wide with astonishment at what was happening, saw him fighting to break the thread of light [...] and the golden thread remained unbroken. “Do nothing unless I command you!” (Ch 34, GoF)

Then the phoenix song comes from "every thread of the light-spun web vibrating around Harry and Voldemort", and a voice saying Don't break the connection (elaborated here).

3.0 Blasting Curse

All this comes full circle in the Godric's Hollow graveyard in DH (a deeper analysis also for another post), where Hermione mirrors what Harry did because of Lily as a baby (and also Harry's actions at the start of DH while flying during the Battle of the Seven Potters): blows up the house (“Confringo") and enrages Voldemort as she and Harry fly out the window - fly from death - together.

[bookishgalaxies]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐮𝐳 𝐍𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐚

ch. 2

summary: When Luz Noceda gets her Hogwarts acceptance letter in the mail, she was over the moon. Little did she know that a Hogwarts acceptance letter meant more than just the chance to learn magic.

pairings: luz noceda x amity blight, hunter x willow park, and eda clawthorne x raine whispers

type: ongoing story, not proofread

warnings: slight bullying on Amity’s part, bad writing??

a/n: I didn’t die, calc just consumed me.

Luz’s mom coming to terms that her daughter was going off to a magical school and wouldn’t return home until Christmas was…..difficult. Ever since the letter had arrived in the mail and Luz had come home with all sorts of magical items, her mom had debated her attending Hogwarts. Eventually deciding if it was what her daughter wanted, then it would be worth giving it a shot. Also secretly hoping Luz would make some friends while at this wizarding school.

“Mija, you wanted to go to the train station today, didn’t you?” Her mother called from the living room downstairs.

Luz hurriedly wiped invisible dust off of her hoodie as she picked up her suitcases and backpack. One holding clothes, shoes, and her favourite cartoon plushie. The other holding everything she had gotten on Diagon Alley. Her backpack had a few books of her own and random things her mother insisted she pack.

“Headed down right now!” Luz replied to her mother as she rolled her suitcases out of her room and put her backpack on her shoulders.

Hopping into the car with her mom, Luz felt raindrops slide down her short brown hair. It was always raining in London, something Luz had observed for the last two years since her and her mom had moved to West London.

The sound of the rain pattering on the car windows was calming. Rainy days always birthed a sense of pondering in Luz’s mind. She let her mind wander to the possibilities of the new wizarding school. The possibility of having friends for once in her life made Luz’s stomach flip with excitement. She had been reading through her spell books throughout the months leading up to September 1st. Neville had told her that she wasn’t allowed to cast spells and use her wand outside of Hogwarts. That didn’t stop her raging curiosity from reading everything she bought at Diagon Alley though. She had concluded mid August after reading through everything that Defense Against the Dark Arts seemed to be the coolest class. Well, at least the class with the best textbook.

Arriving at the train station, Luz ensured she had all her things before strolling in with her mother. Looking at the different platform numbers, she didn’t immediately spot platform 9 ¾. She scanned again intently, walking around and asking her mom to keep an eye out just in case she was overlooking it due to excitement. Finally, after about 20 minutes her mom concluded she should ask a train station employee. So, Luz proudly strolled up to an employee standing by platform 9 and asked the question with excitement in her voice.

“Excuse me, could you show me the way to platform 9 ¾?”

The employee gave her an odd look then chuckled.

“This some TikTok prank I haven’t heard of yet?” He asked in a way that indicated it wasn’t actually a question.

“No sir, I’m looking for platform 9 ¾ so I can travel to Hogwarts, Term starts today and I really don't want to miss it.” She explained to the officer with a genuine expression.

“Sorry kid, this platform 9 ¾ of your’s doesn’t exist. At least not at this train station. Maybe you need to try somewhere else.” The employee said before giving a swift goodbye and walking away.

Luz walked over to her mom and explained to her what was going on. Her mom of course asked Luz to double check she had the right place, and she did. The writing on the piece of parchment Neville had given her was quite clear she was supposed to be at King’s Cross station. She was getting quickly discouraged, and 11 a.m. was nearing. If she didn't catch the train in time she would have to go back to Diagon Alley and hope to find someone that could help her. Thinking of Diagon Alley, Luz pulled her wand from the side pouch of her backpack. Maybe she needed to use magic to access the platform?

“Wait! Don’t use that until you get on the train!” A girl Luz’s age called out, rushing up to Luz with three large trunks in her arms.

The girl was shorter than normal with pale skin and navy hair pulled into pigtails. She had circular glasses and a kind looking face, Wearing a shirt that had diagrams of plants Luz did not recognize with caramel-coloured corduroy pants. She was out of breath by the time she had ran up to Luz, seeming to have sped across the train station.

“Are you trying to get arrested by The Ministry?” The girl asked in an accusatory tone.

“No, no, I’m just looking for platform 9 ¾! I promise I do not want to upset whoever The Ministry is.” Luz put her hands up in surrender as she pleaded her case.

“Are you going to Hogwarts?” The navy-haired girl asked, her demeanor becoming less tense.

“Yeah! Or at least If I can figure out how to get there.” Luz answered

“Oh! You’re a muggle-born! Makes total sense, they really need to get better at communicating this stuff to newcomers like you.” Willow deduced from the cluelessness Luz exhibited

“A muggle what? I’m just trying to find my way to this magical school so I can learn how to kick butt wizard style!” Luz responded

“I’m Willow, my older sister is in her second year, so I can show you the ropes.” Willow offered with a smile, holding her hand out for Luz to shake it.

“I’m Luz, and it’s nice to meet you!” Luz greeted, shaking Willow’s hand.

Much to Luz’s surprise she had been standing in front of the place she needed to go the whole time. In her and her mom’s defence though, it just looked like a brick wall. There wasn’t exactly a flashing sign that said “Hogwarts Train Boards Here.”. Luz might have to make a few suggestions to the headmaster when she got to school.

She was trying to wrap her head around how Willow was able to simply run straight at the brick wall and go right through it like she was a ghost. Luz was terrified of running straight at it then ending up in the ER with a gaping scar on her head. She borrowed one of the luggage carts for her two suitcases and gave her mom a re-assuring talk about how she wasn’t running into her demise.

Finally facing the brick wall, luggage on cart and backpack secured, Luz closed her eyes tight and ran forward. She was expecting her face to hit the hard slab and scrunched her face on instinct. However, the pain of slapping into a brick wall never came. Instead, when she opened her eyes, she saw a room of bustling students and a shiny maroon and gold train.

“The Hogwarts Express, really is magical,” Willow said, standing next to Luz “c’mon, let’s go grab a seat before all the good ones are taken!”

As they boarded the train, Luz was in awe at how large it was. Toes of cabins seeming to go on forever and ever. She was even more amazed at how Willow seemed to know exactly where she was going, not hesitating even a bit.

“Willow! Over here! I saved us the best seat in the house.” Said a voice that sounded like it came from a young boy.

“Gus, just because it is right beside the candy trolley, doesn’t mean it’s the best seat in the house.” Willow mused, stepping into the cabin and putting her luggage in the top storage containers.

“That’s exactly what that means!” Gus exclaimed.

Luz shoved her suitcases above an empty seat and plopped down, being careful not to mess up her plain robes she had gotten in Diagon Alley.

“Gus, this is Luz!” Willow exclaimed, gesturing to Luz who sat across from the two supposed friends.

“Pleasure to meet you! Have any takes on what house you think you’ll be sorted into?” Gus asked excitedly, leaning forward with anticipation.

“House…..? Like, where I’m going to live at Hogwarts?” Luz inquired in a confused tone.

“Gus, she’s completely new to all this! Maybe tell her what the houses are first, then let her decide.” Willow explains, looking over at Gus.

“Well, there’s Gryffindor, which is typically where really brave and chivalrous people go, Hufflepuff is for the loyal and hard-working. Then there’s Ravenclaw where intelligence and creativity is valued most. And last, but certainly not least, is Slytherin, which is for the ambitious and cunning. Despite what everyone says, not all people who are sorted into Slytherin are evil.” Gus explained, seeming to not take a breath in between any of his sentences.

Luz didn’t have much time to take in all the information before the door to their compartment opened. Whipping her head around at the sudden noise, Luz saw the pretty girl with purple hair and golden eyes standing in the doorway, looking down on the three of them.

“Seems they really let anyone in this train nowadays.” She sneered, looking at Willow and Gus.

“What do you want, Amity?” Willow asked in a dejected tone

“I want to know why you losers are in the best cart on this whole train.” Amity asked in an accusatory manner.

“See, I told you this was the best spot!” Gus insisted, looking at Willow.

“Hey! Stop calling them losers, Besides, we were here first, that’s why we have this spot.” Luz spoke up, ignoring the butterflies whizzing around in her stomach at the girl’s gorgeous appearance.

“Someone’s set to be sorted into Gryffindor.” Amity mumbled under her breath.

“There’s still some room if you want to sit with us….” Willow offered weakly.

“I don’t sit with ignorant witches and wizards like yourselves.” Amity scoffed, turning on her heel.

“Well, maybe we didn’t want you to sit with us anyway!” Luz exclaimed, before the cabin door shut. Them, she blew a raspberry at door.

“She couldn’t have at least waited until we got to Hogwarts to call us losers?” Gus sighed, sitting back in his seat.

Luz was half-listening to the two friends talk of the girl named Amity. Why did someone so pretty have to have such a foul attitude? The words she spoke reminded Luz of the bullies at her past schools and it frightened Luz a little. She has hoped that Hogwarts would be different. Which, she guessed it already was considering Gus and Willow were nice and seemed likke they would become great friends. Still, the idea of bullies with magic unsettled her.

It wasn’t long before the candy trolley came and Luz watched Gus buy an absurd amount of something they called Chocolate Frogs.

“That’s my third Dumbledore this month!” Gus exclaimed, looking at the card. To Luz’s surprise, completely disregarding the brown frog about o hop out of the train window. Diving to catch it, she ended face planting into the window, with no frog in her hands.

“Luz! Are you okay?” Willow asked, whipping her head around to look at the window

“I’m alright! Your living chocolate frog isn’t though.” Luz mused, referring to the frog who had climbed out of he window and had immediately been blown away.

“You really only get chocolate frogs for the cards.” Willow explained, nodding her head to Gus who had a small booklet that held all of his cards.

“Oh! So, you collect them? Like action figures!” Luz said with realisation, becoming excited at the thought of another cool thing to collect.

Hogwarts was close, that's what the lady that came back around with the trolley said. Luz felt a few butterflies spawn in her stomach. She was really nervous to see this magical and fantastical place. She knew though, that in the back of her mind this is where she was meant to be.

thank you so much for reading !!

Remember to stay hydrated and rest well !!

[w33nies]

Qué Maravilla CH.9 - 'Warts and All'

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Miguel O'hara x SpiderReader rating: E for Everyone bby warnings: none? lots of angst tbh and bad words summary: you and miguel talk out your differences because you love eachother art is from the movie !!

----------------- Ch.9 - Warts and All ---------------------

Not a word was spoken between you and Miguel as you leaped through the streets of Brooklyn - 42. You were currently giving him the silent treatment for the condescending spiel he gave you at Uncle Aaron's hideout. Ever since you found yourself on opposite sides of this ‘canon events’ issue, your patience for him was wearing thin (though you were certain the feeling was mutual). 

You pause to anchor yourself on the side of some office building to gauge your position. Fisk tower began to distinguish itself over the horizon. It would only take a few minutes to reach, and if you were lucky you would find Miles there. How you would get him home without Miguel interfering well… that was yet to be determined. 

“Hey.” 

His deep voice from above cuts through the air like a knife. You hadn’t heard him land. You turned to see him standing on the ledge of the building looking down at you.

“Can we talk? Just for a second?” 

You furrow your brows at his request. Really you wanted to say no. The gall on this man to pull a ‘can we talk’ on you at a time like this, as a young boy was essentially stranded in an alternate dimension while his family was at stake. The anger rising in you compels you to tell him off, ‘but this will probably give Gwen and the others a chance to catch up to Miles,’ you eventually reason. An irritated ‘tsk’ escapes from your mouth. 

“Sure,” you replied curtly.

You begrudgingly climb to meet him on the roof. Miguel sits down with a pained groan, his hand propped on the ground for support. A wave of worry washes over you watching him like this, however you quickly discard the feeling. 

“What is it?” Your attitude is terse; you rip your mask off to face him before placing your hands on your hips. 

Miguel gently pats the ground beside him. His dangling feet are swinging hastily under his growing nerves. You sigh as you sit down next to him with crossed arms and legs.

The hi-tech fabric that made up his suit receded enough just to reveal his face. He sat picking invisible dirt from his talons, feigning interest in them under your scrutinizing gaze. “What I said back there…,” he began nervously, “I…I didn’t mean it.” 

You look him up and down unconvinced. “You didn’t mean it?” 

“Well, I mean, I did but-“ 

“-You didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

“No-I…” he pauses under your raised brow before relenting “...Yeah… I’m sorry.” He shrinks into himself (though impossible given his large stature). With a groan he pinches his aching temples. 

“I was just really upset and,you know, the withdrawals on top of everything isn't helping. Not that it’s an excuse or anything-”

“-It’s whatever.” You dismiss him with a shake of your head. 

 “Cariño. Please…” 

“...What?” 

“I really am sorry.” 

“I said whatever. It’s fine.” 

“If we talk it out then maybe-”

“-It’s fine Miguel.” 

Miguel sighed as his hand pulled down on the front of his face. ‘Things were definitely not fine.’ 

“I just…”  Miguel picks up a small rock and fiddles with it in his fingers  “...didn’t expect things to snowball into a fucking civil war.” He then throws a pebble into the abyss below, sending his right mind with it it seems.

“And whose fault is that?” you rebuke instantly. Flushed with anger you unintentionally began to raise your voice,“Were you ever gonna tell me?” 

Miguel’s chest rises as he takes in a breath to speak, but when he opens his mouth he finds that no words come out. “I only found out because you embarrassed that poor boy in front of everyone. You put him in serious danger-”

 “He was not in danger-”

“-Yeah, you only ripped off his day pass while he was in a foreign dimension then body slammed him into the side of the train headed straight for the fucking moon.”

“You think I do all this because I want to?” Miguel flails his arms exasperatedly, “Someone has to be the one to keep everyone in line and I am the only one holding everything together.” 

“Wow. Okay.” You scoff,  “So me and the thousands of other spider men and women you work with are what? Dead weight?” 

“No, I- You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah…I do…” 

The quiet that ensued was agonizing, especially for Miguel. And to think things between you guys were going so well until day. He didn’t mean to lie to you, but was the only way he knew how to ‘save’ you. But then again, ‘save’ was a funny word. What could he possibly save you from? The two of you simply being together is what got you and millions of innocent people killed the last time. Sometimes he feels that things would’ve been better if he had never got involved with you. That the first time was an omen of the trouble that came with when he tried so desperately to entangle his life with yours. An indicator that some things work in theory but not in practice. That maybe you two were just never meant to be…

Miguel believed the multiverse had a path set out for him just like everyone else. His job was just to make sure everyone focused on connecting the dots. Those who freehand or doodle in the margins risked ruining the bigger picture until it was all just unintelligible scribbles or worse, until the canvas was so vandalized it became completely blank, meaningless, nothing. Maybe your picture was never meant to include him in it…

Though where everyone else had merely dots, you had stars. And even if his and your stars would never share a constellation he would still run to see you each night with a telescope in hand, creating stories and myths about the most wondrous heavenly body to grace the sky. Tales that would outlast time and transcend space, much like his love for you…

Any sane person would deduce that it is debilitating work to continue chasing something that could be destined to fail so miserably. However this is what set Miguel O’Hara apart. Such work was not work to him, not if it was for you. 

He remembered a story he read about religious fables from alternate universes. What was the one they told about the man, the woman, and a bite of a forbidden fruit? Maybe it wasn’t the fruit that they bit…

“Mira.” Miguel spoke softly as he unceremoniously tried to shift himself to be closer to you. “I feel for you. I do. If I could give my life to keep Miles' father and your niece alive, you could bet I would. In a heartbeat. But that's not how things work around here. As awful as it sounds… If everyone got the justice they deserved it would upset the delicate balance of things. The whole idea just sounds like a pipe dream. It’s unrealistic…”

You refuse to give Miguel your eyes, instead bringing your focus on the tower in the distance. The others were likely well inside by now. You wanted to believe you were still sitting here talking to Miguel simply to buy them time,but deep down you knew that wasn’t the case.

 “How can you say that and still call yourself a good guy?” 

Miguel rubs his hands down the front of his face. “What did you expect me to do?” He wailed a tone of vulnerability that almost threw you off your righteous demeanor. “How did you expect me to tell you that your niece was gonna die and that there is nothing you can do about it?” 

Frustrated, you smack your tongue against your teeth, “Well you sure found a way to explain it to everyone else-”

“-I didn’t tell Pavitir-”

“-Doesn’t make it any better,” you snapped back.  “I deserve to know the truth even if it hurts my feelings. That’s for me to decide.” 

The man scrunches his face with confusion, “If it hurts your feelings?” 

“No. If there’s nothing I can do about it.”  

Miguel sighs, “But you can’t.”  Your chest rises and your mouth drops, ready for immediate retort. Miguel raises his palms pleadingly, silently asking you to pause so he can continue. 

“We can’t control everything. No matter how hard we try. But you know what? That’s okay. Canon events like these, it’s the one thing that keeps us connected. The good and the bad.” He places his hands dangerously close to yours, fingertips brushing against one another. “It’s beautiful in a way. Isn’t it? Our stories, similar yet so unique. Different yet the same…”

“Then why are you?”

“Why am I what?”

“Trying to control everything.” You look up to meet his gaze, expecting to find irritability but instead find his head cocked to the side in confusion. “Let him live his life the way he wants. Let him decide how his story goes.”

He sighed, turning to face you fully.  “Ay dios mío, it's not up to me. I’ll be the first to say that everything happening right now, it sucks. Truly. But my hands are tied.” he hesitantly moves to hold your hand despite himself.

 “I’m sorry cariño. It’s just the lesser of two evils.” 

You rub your thumb along his knuckles. “I think our universes are all connected, but not in the way you believe. I think it’s deeper than the trauma we do or don’t share with each other. ”

“You’re right. But I’ve learned from experience that we can’t cherry pick the parts we like. It’s either all or nothing. We have to take it in stride, warts and all.”  He grips your hand tighter while he takes a few slow, steadying breaths with closed eyes. Almost as if he was asthmatic and your touch alone was his inhaler. 

 “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he murmured, “I thought I was… protecting you.” He avoids your stare, instead messaging the palm of your hand, tracing his fingers along the creases as if he were about to read you your fortune. 

You looked for clues of deceit in his eyes but all you found was remorse. You felt his hurt just as you knew he felt yours. You didn’t want to hurt each other but you were essentially on opposite sides of a serious cultural war. And was there any room for compromise when there were lives on the line? 

You decided no. You needed Miles to succeed. Because if he could do it maybe you could too. Because what kind of cruel joke would it be to live a story you couldn’t even write yourself?

There was just one more thing you had to ask…

“What if it was Gabi? Your Gabi? You can’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if it was her.”

Miguel's eyes momentarily widened with shock before then instantly looked downward with shame. “To be honest I…” he gives you one final squeeze before shamefully letting it go.

“...I don’t know. I would do anything for her, but… It hurts to think about. To think about the things I should’ve done. The things I could’ve done. Even if I could go back in time with everything I know now I’m worried I would’ve just made different mistakes.”  

He heaves a deep sigh, running his fingers through his wavy locks “I don’t think it's quite the same but… I can see myself doing the same for Gabi.” And he would most definitely do the same for you. 

. “I’m sorry.” he mumbled “That’s the best I can do-”

“-Thank you.”

He lets out a bewildered chuckle. “Uhhh. For what?”

“...For trying to understand I guess.” 

Despite your nerves, you move to rest your head on his shoulder. He hesitantly hover his cheek above your head before giving into temptation and allowing it to rest on top of it. “I know it's hard. I just wanna say… I get it too. Whatever happens, let’s try to forgive each other. You finally look up to meet his crimson eyes.  

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He said in a low whisper. You hold each other's gaze for just a moment, any longer and you fear you’d melt.

“Welp.” You straighten your back and slap your comically thighs with your hands. “I guess this is the part where we pinky promise.” You playfully extend out your hand for him to take, “Or maybe we can shake on it-”

Before you can finish yourself, his body is pressed up against you and you find yourself engulfed in the scent of his sweat and shampoo (musky, woody, sweet).  A soft warmth crashing against your lips and a strong, calloused hand moved to cup your jaw. It takes you a second to process what is going on…

You were being kissed. Miguel O’hara was kissing you. 

Once you overcome the shock you lean into it. The hand you previously extended for him to shake is now pressed firmly against his chest. The feel of his quickening heartbeat emboldens you to embrace him with your free arm around his back. Miguel’s moves to pull you closer by your waist. You finally break the kiss after having to come up for some much needed air. You rest your foreheads against one another as you both regain your breath.

“How does that work?” he asks in a low husky whisper.

“It works,” you laugh through huffs and puffs. 

You both stay like that for what felt like a minute, though no amount of time would’ve been enough. Miguel is the first to break the embrace, clearing his throat as stands at his feet.

“...We should go.”

“Yeah.” You rise to your feet as well. 

He watches you as you pull on your mask, taking in your features before they’re covered completely. Only then does he cover his face. You both nod and then jump off the building to resume your travels.

The euphoric feeling didn’t last long. The closer and closer you swung to the more dread boiled in your gut.  There was no delaying the inevitable any longer. Though you both had agreed to disagree, you knew that sentiment would be tested once you both reached the tower. How would he react when face to face with the rest of the crew? Would he be able to keep his cool once seeing Peter or Gwen? Nothing you do could quell the nervous fire brewing in your psyche.

At least there was one thing you and Miguel could for sure agree on…

…Shit was was about to hit the fan.

[gaslightgallows]

September 2023 Writing Round-Up

I just checked my tags, and I haven't done one of these since… three years ago. Exactly three years ago yesterday (9/29/20), to be precise. Which was pretty much when my mental health and my personal life started to crumble in earnest, and it took my desire to write for public consumption along with it.

Most of what I did for the rest of 2020/2021 were either struggling to finish works in progress (and largely failing) or archiving stuff from my LJ days. I didn't post anything in 2022. I was still writing (a lot) but it was either for Patreon (…fuck, right, I have a Patreon) or it was personal, not meant to be shared.

And then Good Omens came back and ended up being really fucking relevant to my life, and @meldanya44 was there urging me to get back into writing for other people besides her. I think it was a good idea, over all. ♥

So… yeah. Thanks, Good Omens fandom, for reminding me that writing is meant to be shared, and that I am a prompt-based lifeform. (I'll be putting up a new prompt list tomorrow, if anyone wants an artisanally crafted bespoke ficlet of their very own.)

Anyway, here's what I did in September:

Authorial Intent (G, one-shot): Michael’s plan to erase Aziraphale from the Book of Life has certain… flaws. A revision of the final season of S2 Ep6, where the Metatron does not make an appearance. (Actually posted at the end of August but this is my list and it counts. Written very shortly after I finished S2 for the first time. Effervescing with joy.)

Put Out the Stars (T, currently a one-shot, planning to continue): Crowley stole the photo of himself and Aziraphale from the shop a long time ago. (Inspired by one of @fellshish's asks. Angst angst angst… with more to come!)

An Invisible Wound (T, one-shot): “I almost killed you tonight.” “I almost got you killed tonight.” Their first kiss, soft and futile, is in 1941. (Bittersweet canon-compliant 1941 truthers unite.)

After the Rain (T, one-shot; for @meldanya44): The Second Coming has come and gone, and Crowley was calling him ‘angel’ again. (Wonderful quiet post-series fluff.)

Like Petals in a Storm (M, currently a standalone but working on a sequel; for @meldanya44): Between the discorporation and the almost-execution, Aziraphale’s having a bit of trouble keeping body and soul together. (My reputation-mandated 'one partner helps another bathe' fic.)

The Taste of Salt (G, one-shot; for @iamhisgloriouspurpose): The lingering taste of ox ribs are bitter and rich in Aziraphale's mouth, and he isn't sure what he believes anymore. (Continues the 'I'm not taking you to Hell, angel' scene in the Ep2 minisode. Nice and angsty. No one seems to like this one and I'm not sure why.)

Pipe Dream (G, one-shot; for @unwholesome-gay): All Aziraphale has ever wanted is to give heaven back to Crowley. (Domestic fluff about Aziraphale buying the South Downs cottage for Crowley. Fun fact: I struggled to write this and finally posted it in dismay and tried to forget about it. And then my inbox exploded with HEARTS, so I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought.)

The Patience of Angels, Chs 1-4 (M, multi-chapter WIP): An old enemy is on the hunt for the demon known as Crowley, and it will take all the powers of one very protective angel to save him. But in keeping Crowley safe, Aziraphale will uncover more of the terrible truths of Heaven than he ever wanted to know. (The longfic I first conceived of in 2019 and then never got around to finishing enough to post, and am now trying to revise the HELL out of in real-time because the original version doesn't work anymore. I love this fic with a burning passion and hope it finds an audience someday… which it probably will if I can update it, y'know, more often than once a month…)

Fics Posted: 8 Word Count: 28,182

I'm never going to be as prolific as I was when I was in the MCU fandom and had a much less-hectic job, but I'd call that a decent comeback. Thanks, everyone. ♥

[disastermages]

Draped in Black and Dripping With Love Ch. 9

[read it on ao3]

A thick, rolling fog settles around the edges of Cloud Recesses, making the whole place go fuzzy and shapeless the longer Lan Zhan focuses on it, it’s how he knows he’s not quite hallucinating and not quite dreaming. He’s somewhere between the two, and knowing that makes it easier for him to pick his way through the forest of bamboo. Stalks of bamboo shoot up into a white, blindingly bright sky, but when Lan Zhan rests his hand against one, it feels real. It doesn’t have the set-piece feeling it usually has when he walks through his dream.

Even when he dreams of his mother, the Cloud Recesses don’t feel or look real. They feel like parts of a play, like moving backdrops. The pieces are painstakingly constructed, but they’re always fake. If Lan Zhan were to focus too intently on a single part of any of it, he would wake up, the whole dream ripped away from him.

This, all of this, is too real, too solid underneath him.

Sharp, snow white gravel crunches beneath his feet as Lan Zhan forces himself onwards. He doesn’t want to touch anything, but he can’t help himself. His fingers brush over dark wooden railings. Some of them had been replaced with metal in his waking world, but not all of them. Preservation of the old has always been important to his family. 

Lan Zhan bypasses the most public parts of the Cloud Recesses, the receiving hall and the classrooms without peering into a single room. They don’t feel important right now, he can’t even make himself try to understand the droning buzz coming from within one of the classrooms as he passes underneath a window. 

He’s following something, an invisible thread, an unheard voice urging him onwards through the fog and the haze. The path behind him disappears the further Lan Zhan goes, but Lan Zhan doesn’t turn more than once to watch it fade into nothingness. His back is already beginning to ache and burn as Lan Zhan climbs a hill, but the pain isn’t consistent. It fades and resurfaces, the throbbing of it leaving him breathless.

The ache reaches a fever pitch as Lan Zhan stumbles into the backhill of the Cloud Recesses. In his waking world, this is where his mother lived in her cottage, this is where Lan Zhan would still see her in the windows of it, her fingers tapping out hidden messages just for him, but the windows of the Jingshi are different now. They’re all in the old style, open air without a pane of glass and the door is thrown open.

Lan Zhan’s throat clicks, aching to call out for his mother, but the sound of a guqin stops him. He knows it isn’t being played for pleasure, he’s known the chords of Inquiry since he was a child, before he even started properly cultivating. 

The thread, the unseen path, urges Lan Zhan onwards, until he’s climbing the steps of the porch. The wood doesn’t creak underneath him, but a bone-deep hurt takes root in Lan Zhan’s fingers, as if all his calluses from years and years of playing the guqin meant nothing. Lan Zhan curls his fingers against his palms as he comes to stand at the threshold of the house. His breath burns his chest, until Lan Zhan has no choice but to let it go. 

His eyes adjust to the darkness of the cottage and Lan Zhan forces himself to step inside. The guqin player, whoever they are, sits on the back porch, their fingers working over strings again and again, but they don’t turn to face Lan Zhan as he comes upon the bed.

He’d noticed the lump beneath the blankets, but when he comes closer, Lan Zhan knows it to be a child before he ever sets eyes upon them. And it is a child. A whole, living, and unrotten child curled into a ball, rather than the ghost-child Lan Zhan feared it would be, but he can’t make himself feel relieved. The only thing Lan Zhan can feel is a hardly soothed kind of grief, as if the child were a thin balm to a greater wound. 

Pain rips through Lan Zhan’s back and fingertips as the guqin player begins their song again. A shuddering sigh rings through the room, but it sounds far too similar to Lan Zhan’s own voice. Lan Zhan turns away from the child on the bed and watches the way the guqin player’s shoulders sag. Brilliant red turns dark against white fabric as it seeps out of their back.

Despite his own pain, Lan Zhan drags himself closer to the other man. Lan Zhan can see blood on the guqin strings as it drips down onto the instrument itself from the player’s fingers. The player means to strike the chords again, to ask another question, and Lan Zhan has no choice but to watch as his fingers, bloody and raw, fumble against the strings and refuse to work. The pain is twinned into Lan Zhan’s own body, but he refuses to let himself flinch.

“Why doesn’t he answer?” The guqin player whispers to himself and Lan Zhan has no choice but to watch as his head falls forward into his hands, his loose hair forming a weak shield around him, a shield without a single hope of keeping the world away from him.

Emotion rises like flood water and threatens to drown Lan Zhan in grief and anger and despair. It leaves him gasping for air, his own bloody fingers pressing against his throat. He never bleeds within his own dreams, it never feels as real as it does now. Lan Zhan wants it to stop. He wants this dream to fall apart like it should have so long ago, but he’s pinned in place as the guqin player turns to face him. 

His own face, stained with tears and steeped in desperation, stares hard at Lan Zhan. The wounds on his back burn with triple the pain from before, as if the simple movement of turning had ripped scabs open. Lan Zhan feels his own shirt sticking to the sensitive skin of his back as the blood soaks in and he crumples onto hands and knees. 

Tears gather in Lan Zhan’s eyes and an animal, choked noise falls from his open mouth as the guqin player, as Hanguang-jun stands. It isn’t without effort or pain, Lan Zhan can feel all of it ripping through his body, it keeps him down on the porch while Hanguang-jun hangs over him. His bloody fingertips twist into the light fabric of his sleeves. Tears roll down his face and onto Lan Zhan’s hair. Hanguang-jun wants him to sit up so he doesn’t have to try to bend or kneel, Lan Zhan knows it without the words having to be said, but he can’t make himself move, not until the latest wave of pain leaves him and Lan Zhan can force himself to sit back on his knees. Tears cling to Lan Zhan’s cheeks and drip down his chin, onto his balled, bloody fists.

“You have him.” Hanguang-jun’s voice shakes as he speaks, though it isn’t with rage. It might be envy, it might be with a desperate kind of need that Lan Zhan has never felt before. Lan Zhan can see all of it as Hanguang-jun collapses onto his knees in front of him, “You have Wei Ying and you must keep him.” Another wave of pain washes over the both of them, but only Lan Zhan lurches forward, his hands out to catch himself as Hanguang-jun disappears from view. 

Looking up isn’t an option as that same foggy, thick whiteness begins to circle Lan Zhan’s vision. “I could not stand at his side.” Hanguang-jun confesses, his voice growing distant and Lan Zhan knows that he’s moving back to the guqin where it sits on its stand. Lan Zhan can feel the ache in his fingers as Hanguang-jun settles himself into playing the same set of chords again and again, praying for an answer he knows will never come.

The dream finally breaks, leaving Lan Zhan gasping and snatching at Wei Ying’s wrist as he tries to lay a washcloth over Lan Zhan’s brow. 

Lan Zhan doesn’t mean to dig his nails in as hard as he does, he knows he’s drawn blood without having to look, but Wei Ying doesn’t shake him off, nor does he scold him. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, sweetheart, it’s just me.” Wei Ying’s free hand comes up to press against Lan Zhan’s cheek. Compared to the heat wrapping around Lan Zhan, Wei Ying’s touch feels cool for the very first time and just as soothing as it usually is. 

Lan Zhan can’t help but shiver as he leans into that hand and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels Wei Ying dragging the washcloth down one side of his face and then down his neck, but the cold water doesn’t feel the same as Wei Ying’s touch. It isn’t as nice, and Lan Zhan isn’t nearly as frantic for it. He feels every bit like a frenzied, touch starved animal.

It takes Lan Zhan too long to realize that they aren’t sitting in the kitchen anymore, and a moment longer still to realize that Wei Ying must have gathered him up in his arms and carried him up the stairs. He could have taken Lan Zhan to the couch, he could have just as easily draped a blanket over him and slid a pillow under his head in the living room, but Wei Ying had laid him down in bed, their bed, probably as gently as he could.

“What were you dreaming about?” Wei Ying keeps his voice careful and measured, finally prying both his hands away from where Lan Zhan had trapped them. Childishly, Lan Zhan hangs onto Wei Ying by either side of his shirt while Wei Ying washes his face for him. “You were crying and everything. I tried to wake you up, but you wouldn’t budge.” A drop of water trails down Wei Ying’s forearm as he rings out the cloth and brings it back to Lan Zhan’s throat, washing him clean again and again.

Lan Zhan wants nothing more than to hide himself against Wei Ying’s chest. He wants to be small. He wants to be small enough to hide away from everything. 

He stops Wei Ying from dipping the cloth back into the water by taking it and the bowl of water and setting them on the floor next to the bed. “I want Wei Ying to touch me first.” Lan Zhan says plainly. Bracing his hands on Wei Ying’s shoulders, Lan Zhan invites himself into Wei Ying’s lap, straddling him and enjoying the electricity that shoots up and down his back as Wei Ying sets his hands on his hips. His thumbs slide underneath Lan Zhan’s untucked shirt, and Lan Zhan would do anything for more, but he forces himself to settle.

“I’m touching you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says once they’re both settled. Lan Zhan lets himself frame Wei Ying’s face with his hands. His heart stutters in his chest. This is what love feels like. Lan Zhan knows that much to be true. He’s known it since he was fifteen. He’s known it since Wei Ying challenged everything he knew about the world.

Lan Zhan doesn’t stop himself from kissing Wei Ying. He doesn’t stop himself from letting his hands drift down to his chest, until they both sit on top of his heart. He knows he needs to answer Wei Ying’s question, but when Wei Ying kisses him back, Lan Zhan can only whimper into his mouth.

Does Wei Ying know?

Does Wei Ying understand that he came into Lan Zhan’s life and flipped the world upside down from the moment they met? Does Wei Ying know that he’s had Lan Zhan’s heart since the lantern ceremony?

Wei Ying’s arms wrap heavily around his middle, trapping Lan Zhan against him. They kiss until they leave each other gasping, until Lan Zhan’s mind has started to go hazy with a lack of oxygen. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pants against Lan Zhan’s lips, “tell me before I lose it.” Wei Ying’s hair falls into his eyes and Lan Zhan brushes it away, his heart slamming against his chest. 

Against weariness that haunts him like another ghost, Lan Zhan finds he wants to tell Wei Ying.

He wants to tell him everything.

He wants to breathe life to secrets that he’d kept since he was younger, since his mother held him against her and told him that it was her fault. She’d murmured the truth into his ears that it was all her fault that he was so sensitive to the spirits that reached for him. But Lan Zhan couldn’t hate her for it.

He couldn’t ever hate her for it. 

Carefully, Lan Zhan brings two fingers to Wei Ying’s lips to trace the outer shape of them while he grasps for the words. The truth seems to weigh hundreds of pounds, but Lan Zhan forces them forward like shy children. “Wei Ying is Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan starts simply, “And Wei Ying is Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch.” Wei Ying blinks at Lan Zhan patiently, waiting for new information, for something he hadn’t already told Lan Zhan himself.

Lan Zhan doesn’t shy away when Wei Ying tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, something serious settling into his eyes. “But I am Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, and Huanguang-jun.” Lan Zhan thinks about catching Wei Ying’s hand and kissing his knuckles, but he stops himself, clasping his own hands between the two of them, as if in prayer, as if he were a prisoner. 

“Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch were married.” Lan Zhan breathes the confession softly, but he still feels Wei Ying tense with disbelief beneath him. 

“The Yiling Patriarch died in Nightless City, Lan Zhan, his fierce corpses ripped him to shreds.” Wei Ying repeats the facts they were taught by their elders, from textbooks, from dusty, crumbling first hand accounts. “None of the major sects practice ghost marriages, how could they have gotten married?” Wei Ying’s tone is gentle and his questions are genuine, but Lan Zhan still feels himself flinch and move away from him, though it isn’t far, and he’s still perched on Wei Ying’s lap. 

He feels Wei Ying’s hand on his arm, to keep him from going any further, but Lan Zhan can’t make himself look into Wei Ying’s eyes again. His stomach twists and he swallows thickly as he slips off of Wei Ying’s lap and onto the bed next to him. Lan Zhan doesn’t shake Wei Ying off, but he doesn’t allow their knees to touch either. His shoulders are nearing his ears as he forces himself to keep talking, even though every word makes his throat burn.

“I arranged for my cousin to send me everything he could find in our database about the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun.” Lan Zhan explains and Wei Ying turns towards him with his whole body, his free hand reaching for Lan Zhan but stopping midair when Lan Zhan doesn’t turn to meet him halfway. Out of the corner of his eye Lan Zhan watches that same hand drop away weakly in time with the other one that had been holding onto his arm. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying starts, but Lan Zhan gathers himself up on the bed, his arms locking his legs against his chest.

“There was a record of marriage between Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch, but it was dated long after the Yiling Patriarch’s death.”

Suddenly, Lan Zhan feels as though he’s used three year’s worth of words all at once to try and explain himself, but he isn’t sure if it was worth it. He isn’t sure, even as Wei Ying reaches for him again, both of his hands pulling at Lan Zhan’s arms.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, don’t hide from me,” Wei Ying begs, driving an arrow through Lan Zhan’s heart as he screws his eyes shut, “I can’t take it when you hide from me.”

Things had been going well. Very well. And where were those things going now? Lan Zhan doesn’t know, but he knows he feels doubt clawing at him. He knows he hears Wei Ying calling his name, but he can’t make himself answer. He wants to curl into a tighter ball. He wants to disappear. Wei Ying is still pulling at him, though, trying to coax Lan Zhan out of himself and then trying something more than whining when it doesn’t work. 

This isn’t how adults deal with disagreements and conflict, Lan Zhan knows this, but he’s still shocked when Wei Ying finally manages to pry one of his arms away from his face. He can’t hope to stop the way he blinks at him like an owl before frustration takes root. The look of boyish triumph on Wei Ying’s face is short lived as Lan Zhan starts to struggle, fighting to bring part of his shield back to himself.

Wei Ying calls out to him again, and this time, Lan Zhan grunts his name at him in return, finally loosening his other arm to fight back against Wei Ying’s onslaught. 

“Lan Zhan, listen,” Wei Ying starts, pulling against Lan Zhan’s hands to try and get close to him again, but he puts too much of his weight into it, and they both lose their balance and fall off the bed and onto the floor. One of them, Lan Zhan isn’t sure who, knocks the bowl of water over. They both end up soaked and panting on the floor, but even that is used to Wei Ying’s advantage. 

His hands lock tight around Lan Zhan’s wrists and his hips sit heavily down Lan Zhan’s thighs, keeping him right where Wei Ying wants him, his hair fanned out underneath him.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you, Lan Zhan.” Playfulness still lurks in the depths of Wei Ying’s eyes, but there’s hurt and frustration there too and Lan Zhan feels himself trying to look away, only for Wei Ying’s grip to shift both of his wrists into one hand so the other can take him by the jaw. Under any other circumstances, it would make Lan Zhan blush, but he can’t muster it now. “You saw the files, I didn’t, and then you fainted, sweetheart.” The gentleness in Wei Ying’s voice makes Lan Zhan squirm underneath him, even as Wei Ying leans down and kisses both of his cheeks.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan chokes, his feet kick, but Wei Ying is unrelenting. Wei Ying’s thumb presses against his bottom lip and if he were better behaved, Lan Zhan might’ve kissed it in a simpering kind of apology. But he isn’t better behaved, and when he bites down on Wei Ying’s thumb, Wei Ying only smiles down at him, his eyes softening just a little. 

The hand on Lan Zhan’s jaw turns gentler still, the press of it doing less to hold him in place and doing more to comfort him as Wei Ying turns his knuckles against Lan Zhan’s cheek, stroking in a way that makes Lan Zhan feel far more settled than such a simple action should. “You’re so stubborn, Lan Zhan, you still haven’t told me what you were dreaming about that made you cry.” Finally, finally, Wei Ying lets go of his wrists, but he doesn’t give Lan Zhan the satisfaction of pushing him off. Wei Ying’s kisses land against his cheeks like tears of his own as he keeps talking. “Don’t you know how much I’d do just to keep you from crying like that again, Lan Zhan?”

“I…” Lan Zhan has to work to breathe, his arms aching to cling to Wei Ying’s shoulders, but Lan Zhan doesn’t allow himself the comfort. “I met him, I met Hanguang-jun and he was injured.” Lan Zhan explains, he doesn’t want to recall the pain, but it’s unavoidable, just like the way he digs his fingers into Wei Ying’s shoulders, “His back and fingers were bleeding, and I felt it.”

“Bleeding like how I found you in the basement?” Wei Ying asks and Lan Zhan nods against his shoulder, hiding his face from view. Wei Ying doesn’t need to see him like that. In truth, Hanguang-jun’s injuries were far worse, but Wei Ying doesn’t need to know that they’d undoubtedly been caused by the clan’s discipline whip. Something deep seated and instinctual within Lan Zhan knows that it would only serve to make Wei Ying angry for him. “Oh, sweetheart, Lan Zhan, I’m-”

“No apologies.” Lan Zhan cuts Wei Ying off, shaking his head hard enough that Wei Ying cradles it as gently as he can, his lips landing against the top of Lan Zhan’s head. 

Lan Zhan isn’t sure how long they lay there like that, with Wei Ying on top of him, carding his fingers through his hair, but he knows that Wei Ying’s weight on top of him is soothing, that it smooths more rough, uneven edges than Lan Zhan can name. Wei Ying makes it easier to breathe and Lan Zhan wants to tell him, but can’t bring himself to break the silence. Instead, he makes himself show it. He kisses Wei Ying’s throat, his shoulder, underneath his chin, anywhere Lan Zhan can drag his mouth without having to pull himself from his hiding place is kissed and every now and again, Wei Ying answers him with his own kiss.

They need to get up. They need to clean up whatever water didn’t soak into their clothes, but even when Wei Ying sits up, dragging Lan Zhan out of his hiding place, neither of them make a further move away from each other. “You started something earlier, you know that, Lan Zhan?” Lan Zhan knows that Wei Ying doesn’t mean the disagreement, nor does he mean the struggle. He knows exactly what Wei Ying means, but that doesn’t mean he’ll give in and answer the way he knows Wei Ying wants him to. “I just wanna know whether you’re gonna finish what you started this time.”

It’s bait.

Lan Zhan knows that Wei Ying is baiting him, but he still sits up, crowding closer and closer to Wei Ying until their noses and foreheads meet. In truth, he isn’t sure if he can finish what he started earlier. He wants to. He wants to so badly it makes his neck and ears feel warm, but when it comes to trying, Lan Zhan pulls his bottom lip between his teeth just thinking about it. 

“I am…” Lan Zhan starts and then stops, his lips parting, “I have tried with two others, but it was not enjoyable.” Lan Zhan confesses softly, allowing Wei Ying to take hold of his hand when he reaches for him. It gives him a reason to wind Wei Ying’s fingers between his own. “I want… it… to be enjoyable when I am with Wei Ying, but I am not sure how.” His face is inescapably, undeniably red and Lan Zhan knows it. His first two attempts had been utter embarrassments. 

It doesn’t help that Lan Zhan has always been a romantic about this sort of thing, a hopeless one at that. He wanted it to be special, for the act of it to feel heady and significant, but the first time had fallen flat on its face, with the boy rutting against Lan Zhan’s thigh and demanding that Lan Zhan call him gege. 

The second time… The memory of it alone makes Lan Zhan cringe. He isn’t sure if it even counts if he fled the scene through the backdoor after having excused himself to the bathroom. 

Neither of those boys had been Wei Ying. They weren’t the ones Lan Zhan pictured on top of him, with his sure, warm hands. He’s spent far, far too much time building it up in his head, what if the reality can’t live up to the dream? Or worse, what if Lan Zhan himself is the problem? What if he’s the one who’s been doing it so wrong for so long?

Lan Zhan doesn’t expect Wei Ying to laugh, nor does he expect the way Wei Ying’s hands circle his face while he’s still laughing. Lan Zhan wants to be indignant, he wants to huff and shove Wei Ying away, but Wei Ying holds him fast. There’s the old feeling, the feeling that Lan Zhan has told someone too much about himself, but Wei Ying doesn’t look annoyed, he almost looks charmed as he crashes his lips roughly against Lan Zhan’s jawline. 

“You’ve been putting me off for this long because some other guys didn’t know how to take care of you?” The amusement still hasn’t faded from Wei Ying’s face, but he still drags Lan Zhan back into his lap, his arms possessively tight around him. “My poor Lan Zhan has been depriving himself.” Lan Zhan longs to bite Wei Ying again, but holds himself back, crossing his arms over his chest instead.

“Don’t be mad, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying kisses his arm now, because Lan Zhan turns his face away from him. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise.” Wei Ying doesn’t stop himself from pressing a line of kisses to Lan Zhan’s arm, starting at his shoulder, all the way down to the back of his hand and then back up again. It threatens to melt Lan Zhan where he sits, but Lan Zhan hangs onto it like a cat with a fish. 

“I’m kind of glad neither of them could get the job done.” Wei Ying mumbles, wedging himself underneath Lan Zhan’s arm to kiss the hollow of Lan Zhan’s throat and nose at his pulse, one right after the other. 

“Wei Ying is glad I’ve only had bad sex up until now?” Lan Zhan asks incredulously, feeling himself beginning to thaw despite his best efforts. Looking at Wei Ying is where he makes his mistake, there’s a starved, burning kind of look staring back at him. It makes Lan Zhan shiver where he sits, even as Wei Ying raises their hands to kiss the back of Lan Zhan’s again. 

“Of course I am, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say, “I can make it perfect for you this time, just like you wanted.” The devil is in Wei Ying’s grin. It should scare Lan Zhan. It should make his legs snap shut.

It shouldn’t make him want to push Wei Ying down onto the floor and put him to the test. 

“Give me a few days, Lan Zhan, I wanna take you on a date, I wanna make it count.” That look hasn’t faded from Wei Ying’s eyes, and Lan Zhan still shivers in the face of his grin, but he can’t help but nod, his hand curling underneath Wei Ying’s chin to make Wei Ying look up at him.

“I hope Wei Ying is willing to put in the work. I will not give it to him for free.”

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Kicho's Main Story Ch. 9 Gacha (His POV)

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories. JP SPOILERS under the cut.

A hand, slightly scarred and clearly alive, took Kicho's helpless little hand without hesitation.

???: "I think we're safe now that we've made it this far."

After passing through the castle and town, the woman finally pulled the reins in the middle of nowhere.

Kicho: "Yeah. They already caught that guy."

???: "Huh!? How can you tell?"

Kicho: "He got caught by the vassal, who noticed the commotion when we passed the hallway."

Kicho: "I think that vassal thought I was Nohime."

(She's so dumb for not noticing the "me" that everyone hates.)

(Everyone is scared by this nonsense.)

???: "That's..."

Kicho: "It was worth it to dress like this."

(Even this outfit, which I hate, is useful sometimes.)

I smiled as I traced my rouged lips. However, the person who had applied the rouge scratched her head in confusion.

???: "Geez, if you already knew, you should've told me earlier."

Kicho: "If I told you, they would've found out who I was."

Kicho: "Also, I've always been curious."

???: "Curious about what?"

Kicho: "Everything that's not in that room."

I took my eyes off the woman, carefully dismounted the horse, and looked up at the endless sky.

(It feels good.)

A fresh morning breeze crossed over the plains, shaking my hair playfully.

The sound of grass and flowers rustling reached my ears and eventually faded away, absorbed by the blue sky

(That guy who tried to kill me wouldn't think twice about being here.)

(Not only that man, but also the vassals who don't even know what I look like, and the maid who brings me my meals.)

(They live in a world filled with things you wouldn't find in my dark room, taking it for granted because they don't have a twin.)

I heard something snap, and at that moment, a flood of emotions swept over me and engulfed me.

Kicho: "What did I do to my body?"

???: "Kicho?"

Kicho: "I was only born into this world. I didn't do anything to be shunned like that."

???: "............"

(My eyes and cheeks are hot. My nose hurts, and I can't breathe well.)

(It won't stop. It hurts.)

I looked at the woman in tears.

Kicho: "I don't want to die. I just want to live."

Kicho: "I'm not Nohime. I'm not a person who doesn't exist. I'm...!"

???: "Kicho."

Kicho: "..........."

???: "You are you."

???: "There's a lot I don't know, but that's the one thing I know very well."

A gentle and honest warmth enveloped my whole body, and the woman, not caring that her kimono was soaked with my tears, continued speaking.

???: "This is just my take on it, but in this world, other people's evaluations and values make you who you are."

???: "But no matter where you are and what you do, you are you."

???: "As long as you continue to live and have your will, this fact will never change."

Kicho: "..........."

(As long as I live, and as long as I'm myself, I won't become someone else because of who I am.)

(Then I can always be "Kicho.")

???: "Please continue to live as you."

???: "I want you to live.”

Kicho: "Really?"

???: "I'm not lying. I told you earlier that I wouldn't lie to you."

???: “I want to be honest, not for your sake, but for mine.”

???: “That’s why these words are not lies.”

Kicho: “This is weird.”

???: “Is it?”

Kicho: “It wasn’t just your words. You took me with you and ran all the way here.”

Kicho: “You’ve been on my side ever since you showed up out of nowhere.”

(She gave me everything I wanted.)

Not wanting to lose that invisible, ungraspable thing, I looked at my hand in the woman's arm and squeezed it.

Kicho: “I don’t know why you care so much about me, but I believe you. No matter what happens, I will live.”

???: “That’s a promise, okay?”

???: “If anything happens to you, I’ll be very sad.”

(Sad?)

(She really means these words.)

I stared straight into the woman's face as she unwrapped her arms.

Kicho: “What’s your name?”

???: "Huh?"

Kicho: "Your name. I still don't know it."

???: "Oh, right. I'm...."

Girl's voice: "Please, answer me! Where are you!?"

Kicho: "-----!"

(This voice...)

???: "Um, Kicho. Did you hear that?"

Kicho: "It's Nohime."

???: "So it's your sister's voice."

The woman gasped when a sudden thunder roared, and the rain poured heavily, interrupting our chat.

???: "-----!"

Kicho: "Why suddenly?"

(Weird. There should've been no rain clouds in the sky.)

???: "This is bad. You'll get wet if you don't hurry up. You need to join your sister quickly."

???: "Kicho, I think this is where I have to say goodbye."

Kicho: "What?"

(What's going on?)

???: "I can't involve you in this. I'm sorry!"

The woman said this in a panic and ran away as fast as she could.

The sudden thunderstorm and our goodbye almost stopped me from thinking, but I shouted desperately.

Kicho: “Big sis! I still don’t know your name!”

???: “Don’t worry. We’ll see each other again soon!”

(Soon?)

My feet refused to move as she waved her hand toward me.

The moment the next sound of lightning struck, she disappeared from sight.

And then...

Kicho: "----!"

The rain clouds from earlier disappeared, returning the sky to its beautiful blue color.

(It's like all these crazy things are a lie.)

(But it's not a dream, either.)

Dragging my rain-soaked, heavy kimono, I turned my feet toward the sound of hooves.

I knew I would have to return to that dark room again, but my feet found a firm path ahead of me.

(I will live. For myself and for that person.)

(That's why someday...)

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[jeeyuns]

(t)eenie. she/her, 30s, queer af | every post is queued

yes, ALL of them. screaming to: 9-1-1, music, trivia, the bear, old vintage art, skam, nostalgic movies, comic book characters, haunting imagery, himbo men in action movies, astrology, inanity, puns, poetry, surrealism, and including, but not limited to the majesty of space and the sea.

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