#Or she possesses the mimic or just her dead body like your dad and they get to be together for a while longer

[connectionterminated13]

Sometimes Michael thinks about the fact that his daughter will die before he does.

He knows that he will outlive Cassie and outlive Jeremy and everyone else he cares about. He hates to think about The fact that 1 day he will probably have to Bury his sweet little girl in the ground.

He doesn't try to think about it much because it gets him down.. Especially with Jeremy, because Jeremy is getting on in years there's and still has poor health after the bite

[just-my-type-x]

An unusual context - Stiles Stilinski Imagine

I look at Stiles across the circle made by our group. He gives me a questioning look and i shrug my shoulders, i purse my lips and scratch the back of my head nervously. He mimics me. The silence between us is replaced by joy and laughter coming from Scott and Allison. They hugged each other tightly, finding it hard to break apart.

I watched Stiles turn his gaze towards Malia, who was drawing invisible patterns with her shoe on the pavement from outside Eichen House. You could hear her heart turning into a small puzzle.

"So... you just came back to life?", i ask, drawing all the attention to me. Mason took his hand to his forehead, unable to believe my bluntness. "Too much?", i ask biting my lip when i see the shocked expressions of my friends. Malia was the only one who laughed. Maybe a little bit too much, but who can blame her. She barely got a new boyfriend and his ex rises from the dead 30 minutes before going to do some killing.

"Next time, we do the talking.", Stiles says and i give him two thumb ups and cross my arms at my chest, leaning on a tree with embarrassment. Lydia comforts me by putting her hand on my shoulder.

Allison pulled away from Scott and faced us, so she could give us some explanations.

"So, for the ones who weren't there, Stiles, that wasn't actually Stiles, got me killed by ruling some Nogitsune."

"Oh so you weren't lying when you said that you were possessed.", Liam interrupted and a few laughs broke out.

"Don't make me use you as bait tonight.", Stiles warned and i laughed a bit too much, just like Malia earlier.

"You cannot use him as a shield, what makes you think your human ass can use Liam as bait? He's stronger than you as he is, imagine his strength transformed", i laugh again, tapping my legs with my hands, earning laughs from the whole group this time

"And, besides, only Theo uses me as bait", he holds his arm up so Theo would high five him.

"Thank you my friends. Next time i want an asshole-ish answer, I'm coming to you guys.", Stiles defends himself and comes and joins me, leaning his back on the tree. "You were saying?", he motions to Allison to continue and we listen carefully.

"Thank you, backstabber.", she starts and i grab Stiles' hand. He accepts it and even tho it was a friendly gesture, it tingled my skin and my heart skipped a beat. His thumb caresses the back of my hand and i look at his face. His eyes are darted at Allison, nervousness building up in his body. The air is pressured, curiosity, anger, disbelief and more emotions roaming around us, building up the tention. I take my hand away and i feel a sudden coldness without Stiles' warmth. As of he knew,he grabbed my hand in his again, intertwining our fingers this time. I look at him again, a smirk on his face and whiskey and honey eyes staring at me with a certain spark that wasn't there last time i checked.

"You're very comforting in this situation right here.", Stiles whispers and i nod my head, fully understanding him. Only a few months prior, i witnessed Theo coming back alive after i clearly remember sucking his blood out.

"I am glad i can give you something i lacked of for such a long time". For thousands of years, nobody cared enough to comfort me in those tough moments of my life.

"Wow, you really are old", he says with his sarcastic tone that i love so much. I let out a quiet laugh and draw my attention back to Allison.

Scott holds her tightly, hand around her waist and one holding her hand. They lean back on his motorcycle, Scott looking at the ground and Allison looking at each of us. She tries to memorise the new faces of the group, tries to remember the old ones. She let's out a heavy sigh and starts speaking.

"Apparently, when that thing stabbed me with its sword, i didn't actually die. I mean, my body did, but my soul was trapped in that sword. When Scott and my dad took me away from that place, after the whole investigation and sheriff Stilinski's help to cover any tracks, someone found the sword. It's weird because i didn't feel like i was alive, nor dead. It felt like a heavy dream. I dreamt that i was in class with you, that i took tests, i even graduated.",she pauses to laugh, but a tear falls from her right eye. She erases it immediately and gives us another smile. At this point, Scott is comforting her by brushing his hand on her back, like a quick reminder that everything is fine and the nightmare is over. I look over at Malia, who cannot really look towards them. She gives Lydia small looks, but all Lydia can do is smile at her, because she also knows Malia is sad. Malia might not understand love and relationships, but she cares deeply. She feels betrayed and i don't think anyone blames her. Scott hasn't looked at her once since Allison's appearance, but we cannot blame him either. I turn my head to the right as i want to check on Stiles. His eyes already on my face. I give him half a smile and squeeze his hand. He returns my half smile and intensifies the grip on my hand, which leads me to think that the idea of that squeeze was to be longer. It's my turn to caress his hand with my thumb, as the story gets sadder and Stiles looks more guilty and more of an asshole. A heavy sigh leaves his chest and Allison's attention lands on him.

"It felt like i lived in a parallel universe. Where, guess what, my boyfriend wasn't actually my boyfriend and my friends hated me. Sharing classes with you was the hardest thing ever.", she wasn't referring to the group. She was definitely eyeing Stiles. "Seeing you every single day, for years, having you meters away and me, remembering your void face, your face that was smirking when that sword went through my stomach, was my nightmare. For years.", another tear fell of her cheek. Well, Theo might have a blast since he's not the hated one anymore.

Stiles let's go of my hand and i watch him move closer to Allison. She steps back, but stops as she realises what she's doing.

"You know that wasn't me. I was dying on the corridors of this fucking cursed house, i was there with Lydia. She could barely keep me alive."

"It was enough to steal your appearance.", she said those words like she spewed venom. I go behind Stiles and grab his waist as a comfort. Mad at what she heard, Malia snapped.

"Scott wasn't even your boyfriend at that time.", we all shot our eyes at her and Mason mimicked the same action as he did when i talked. "Nor he is now"

We all stay in shock as the love triangle forms more pressure than it already is.

"I'm sorry, i didn't know. And yeah, you're right..", Allison apologies and gives Scott another look, who was either surprised or ready to make Theo his favorite person in the world at this point.

"Who found the sword?", Lydia asks, getting l back to the subject

"Kira's mom. She's also the one who freed me. Apparently, she tried getting me back for such a long time and tried in key nights when the supernatural was at his peak, but something from the outside influenced my coming back to life. We don't know what yet. "

"Ok but your body?", i ask

"Oh, i wasn't actually buried.", i open my mouth in shock. "His dad actually made it look like i was buried so Kira's mom would take me and preserve my body for when she would get me bacm from that parallel universe."

"I think I've had enough voodoo for tonight.", Mason breaks the circle and sats on the grass. Meanwhile, Scott tells us a plan for tonight's attack. When we were set to act on it, Allison stopped in her tracks.

"i can't fight with Stiles. I would be distracted. I would always watch my back"

Stiles rolls his eyes and forms a fist, rising it up slowly and slowly putting it back next tk his body.

"Maybe you should go home.", Scott suggests, barely looking like he's talking to his best friend.

"If he goes, i go.", i step forward so I'm closer to Scott. I'm not part of the pack so i owe him nothing. The rest of the group can manage.

"But you're powerful and we need your help.", he fights back and i scoff

"You're strong enough without me either. I can't let Stiles alone, it's too dangerous and you know that. If somebody saw us come in or they see one of us go out, it's not gonna end well for the single sheep."

"I'm mesmerised by the compliments i get tonight, tell me, love, do you have any more ideal nicknames for me?", Stiles exaggerates and i laugh, Scott too, and a small smirk creeped on Allison's face too. I feel my cheeks flush as i realise he called me "love", but i brush off the feeling quickly.

"You're right, yeah, but Mason can come."

"I'm not leaving you guys, you saw i could helo. I helped Liam and Theo on different occasions.", Mason protests

"You helped Liam, i didn't need help.", cockily, Theo replies and adjusts his jacket.

"Just go, you can't let two pathetic humans try and fight either a demon or a hunter. You can handle it", i say as i turn Allison around and then Scott with their backs facing me and push them to get going. We wish each other good luck and while they hurry to get inside Eichen, Stiles and i hurry to get to his jeep, while he reminds me that i called him pathetic and he didn't like it.

~~~~~~

The ride home is silent, comforting, after such an evening. Stiles is still tensed after hearing all that stuff from Allison, but he couldn't understand it wasn't his fault.

~~~~~~

Moments later, i sit on the couch, trying to relief the pressure i feel from not fighting with my friends. I am constantly thinking about how they're managing to fight every atrocity that comes their way.

"Relax a bit.", Stiles's hand lands on my shoulder from behind the couch and i smile at him. "You can teleport yourself there, why don't you do it, vamp?"

I roll my eyes, as i hate the way he called me. He sits next to me and i immediately put my head on his shoulder.

"I'm not leaving you alone. I don't want anything to happen to you."He takes my hand in his and places a small peck on the back of my hand." What was that? ", i ask, amused by his action

"I don't know, to be honest. It felt right.", i look up and Stiles smirks at me. "You feel right, this feels right.", as I am watching him, he kisses my hand again, waiting a few more seconds before taking his lips off.

"Did anyone tell you you have a weird taste in girls?", we laugh and i lean closer to him

"You're the first one.", he grabs my chin and holds it with his thumb. "Would you like to keep the spot?"

As a response, i crash my lips hard on his, earning a groan from him. The kiss is immediately filled with passion and need, as his tongue asks for the permission i immediately grant. I moan when he motions to sit on top of him, the feeling of his hands on my ass adjusting me so i can sit directly on his length making me melt.

I take off my top and he attacks my neck with messy, chaotic kisses and love bites, sucking now and then on my sweet spots.

"Please don't heal fast", i laugh as the idea of healing fast is so weird heard out loud.

"If you're gonna keep doing this all night, they'll stay, i promise.", i grab his face and kiss him back

"I'm gonna do much more to you tonight, babe", another moan escapes from my lips as his Stiles' mouth attacks my breasts, cupping them softly. I shift my position on him, feeling him hard under my crotch. "Oh, fuck y/n..", he moans when i sit back on him. "Do it again", i do as he pleases and this time i rock my hips front and back, earning the desired friction between us. His fingers dug in my ass through my jeans and i bet he can still leave visible marks.

Stiles picks me up gently and lays me down on the couch, hovering over me in a quick second.

"I'm gonna fuck you senseless, y/n. You have no idea for how long i want this.", his voice is full of lust and my head goes crazy when he gets shirtless. His boner is much more visible now and i stare at the pleasuring length.

"Do whatever you please to me, Stilinski", i breath out as his lips smash onto mine, teeth biting on my bottom lip.

"Please not in the living room"

We both jump up and look at our friends in the doorframe.

"Did you win?", i ask with a dumb smile

"Well, you're already celebrating, so... Yeah, we did.", Liam said but we all started laughing

"Now can you please get dressed? Y/N gets me in the mood", Malia says and i smirk at her, doing the call me thing, where i mimic a phone to my ear. She laughs but agrees with my joke, Stiles asking if we're down for a threesome.

Gif not mine

[five-rivers]

Corruption

A continuation of Flowers and Moon.

.

.

.

"You- You planted them in the portal?" Danny squeaked. The only one of the flowers his parents were experimenting with that could bloom in the portal were...

Graveflowers. Oh no.

He cast a wild look down at his hands. Sure enough, they glowed with a soft, white radiance. A sort of whine made its way out of the back of his throat. "I- I can explain," he said, backing away.

Maddie looked stricken. Jack looked- Danny twitched his head to track his father as he moved across the room to stand by Maddie. Every part of him vibrated under tension, ready to react to any threat. Were they going to attack him? Reject him? He should have been more cautious, he should have gotten rid of the graveflower seeds when he first saw them, he should have made Jazz come down instead, he-

The lab shook again. Jack and Maddie whirled to face the portal, and, for a split second, Danny contemplated running.

"It's destabilizing the portal," said Maddie.

That sounded bad.

"It shouldn't have grown this fast!" said Jack.

Oh, that sounded worse.

They both turned to look at Danny. He cringed, holding his hands protectively in front of his chest.

"D-Danny," said Maddie, her voice breaking on his name. "I think- I think this is happening because of your accident." Her voice grew steadier as she continued. "Between that, the ectoplasm, and the portal, it must-" she broke off. "According to my research, you should be able to control it."

After living with his parents for his entire life, Danny knew how to spot when they were being less than truthful. Maddie's voice was higher pitched than it normally was. He couldn't tell what she was trying to hide, though.

Maybe he was just paranoid.

"If they aren't stopped soon, they'll destabilize the portal," said Jack. "They portal will explode."

"It'll what?"

Forgive him for being on edge, but his parents had (possibly) just found out that he was a ghost, and they were talking about explosions.

"Explode," repeated Jack.

"But you should be able to control them, Dan-ny," she stumbled over his name again. "Just- tell them to go back. To shrink."

Ghost plants were weird, and ghostly abilities numerous, but Danny didn't think it would be that easy. Frostbite had mentioned something about 'communing' with the plant, but he had sort of tuned out after deciding it wasn't a threat because no way would his parents try to plant something inside the portal. Except they had.

His thoughts swirled, chasing each other pointlessly. Finally, it latched onto the danger. The danger to himself and his family.

"Go back," said Danny at the plant, trying to sound authoritative. The vines kept creeping outward, digging into the seams between the wall panels. Danny bit his lip and then grabbed the cutting on the lab table. He held it out, feeling it, the ectoenergy in it tickling his palms. "Go back," he said, more firmly. "Let go. Get back." He took a step forward, and the ground rumbled again. "This is my place. Go back."

The vines and their hanging flowers trembled and, miraculously, began to recede, pulling back through the portal's rippling surface. Danny stepped forward, following, and watched as the huge plant wrapped around itself until it was just a shrub, lying on the torn and warped surface of the portal floor.

Danny walked to it carefully, avoiding tripping hazards. He had no desire to die here again. He picked up the plant and carried it out of the portal.

His mother had sunk to the ground. Jack was half bent over next to her. She struggled to her feet as soon as she saw Danny. She hugged him, stiffly.

"Thank goodness," she said. One of her hands found its way to Danny's wrist. "I'm so glad. This was just... a bad stroke of luck, sweetie. Just a bad stroke of luck that your accident simulated the conditions for that to bloom, that's all." She patted him on the shoulders and took the graveflower. "Well, disaster averted, so why don't you, um, order some takeout for us, okay?"

"Sure," said Danny. He glanced at Jack who looked deep in thought. "I can do that." He brushed bits of bark off of himself. If his parents were going to be in denial about the whole 'dead' thing, who was he to stop them?

He escaped as quickly as possible.

.

"Maddie," said Jack, "are you sure that's a smart thing to do? If he's- Maddie, it's a ghost, just a corrupted copy, and we have- we have no idea how far that corruption goes."

"It- He hasn't done anything yet," said Maddie, barely holding back tears.

"That we know of," said Jack, his voice was broken, too, "and now... if it didn't know before... I just don't think letting it keep playing this game is a good idea."

"I don't think he knows."

"Maddie..."

"I felt a pulse," said Maddie. "When I held his wrist, I felt a pulse. A ghost shouldn't be able to do that. A ghost should be colder. Jack, I don't think he's dead. I think- I was lying, so he wouldn't know, but what if it was the truth? What if that's what's really happening?"

"That would be really unlikely," said Jack. "But we've seen more unlikely?" His voice tilted up at the end, as if asking a question. "We'll... we'll have to monitor carefully. Keep track, see if we can confirm biological functions. Make sure- Make sure Danny doesn't hurt anyone." He frowned deeply. "It might not be what you think, though."

"I know, I know," said Maddie. "I know. But- Even if he is a ghost. Maybe- Maybe what Jazz has been saying holds water. Maybe we've been looking at things wrong. Maybe he isn't corrupt, even if he is a ghost. He might not be able to learn new things, but he could be- he could still be Danny." Maddie was aware that she was rambling.

Usually Jack was the emotional one. He was shaking, too.

"That would- God, I hope you're right, Mads."

.

They watched him.

They watched him eat. They watched him sleep. They took samples whenever they could. They caught him trying to sneak out at night several times, and each time they did, he spent the day moody and anxious.

The samples didn't seem to indicate that anything was amiss... Except, of course, that Danny was hideously ectocontaminated, to the point where it shouldn't be compatible with good health. Otherwise, they looked human. His hair and fingernails grew. His body dealt with food in a normal way. He slept as a human would, deeply and with dreams.

Maddie would have liked to take that to mean that everything was normal, that the only problem was a little ectocontamination, contamination that he had adapted to, but they caught glimpses of things beyond mere ectocontamination, now that they were paying attention. His eyes flashed green when he was angry. Small cuts and scrapes faded from his skin rapidly, sometimes in a matter of minutes. Some days he would have freckles, other days his skin would be perfectly porcelain white.

It only got worse when he thought he was alone, when he didn't know they were watching through hidden cameras. Sometimes he would do things. Ghostly things. They saw him stick his arm through a wall at one point. Another time, they saw his whole body flick invisible. Once, they caught him drift down through the ceiling, asleep, on camera.

Worse, it appeared that he was aware of what he was doing.

If he was aware that he was a ghost, that meant that he was purposefully keeping it from them. He wasn't just going through his day on autopilot.

But a ghost couldn't mimic life so perfectly, and they were certain that he wasn't possessed. They had tested him in every way they knew how, and he wasn't possessed.

Just as surely, he wasn't human. He couldn't be. So what was he?

Maddie didn't know, and it was killing her.

"We need some way of watching him while he's at school," said Maddie, drumming her fingernails on the table. "While he's not in the house. Maybe then we'll be able to- to classify his behavior." They hadn't even decided if his... ghostly characteristics had pushed his personality into malicious territory.

"A modified boo-merang, maybe?" said Jack. "Tell it to maintain a certain distance from the target, instead of hitting it, and add a camera? The mark one already keys onto Danny."

Maddie nodded and looked out across the lab, not really seeing it. They had pushed aside everything else to work on this. The only part of the plants project they were keeping up was the graveflower bush, which they had planted in a five-gallon bucket in the corner. For some reason, neither she nor Jack wanted to get rid of it.

As if detecting Maddie's thoughts, the plant trembled. The flowers began to unfurl.

"Mom? Dad? Are you down here?" her son's voice echoed down from the top of the stairs. "Is it okay if I come down?"

Jack tipped his notes over the side of the table and Maddie hastened to hide her own half of the research. "Sure, Danno!" called Jack. "Come right on down!"

Danny drifted silently down the stairs. He looked more nervous than he had since he had seen the graveflower that first time.

"Mom, Dad," he said, his fingers tying themselves into knots. "I have something to tell you. I-" He glanced at the graveflower and winced. "It's about my accident. The one with the portal. I've noticed you watching me, and I think- I need to tell you how it changed me."

.

.

.

Do you guys think this is a good place to end this one, or should I do one more?

[drspookulicious]

FNaF: Elizabeth Afton’s “Character” “Arc”

I was pretty sure for the longest time that she straight-up didn’t have one. In the voice lines in Sister Location that play through Michael’s head between nights, we really only see a bratty, disobedient, whiny, and entitled side of her, and by the end of the series, she wants to kill people with her dad.

Not the most flattering look, I’ll admit.

Some argued “but she’s corrupted by Baby’s programming! That’s what makes her want to kill!” Unfortunately, this would mean Elizabeth’s only appearance in the games that we can definitively say is 100% her and not corrupted in any way is the bratty annoying girl bugging Purple Guy in Sister Location. If this theory’s true, not only does Elizabeth not really grow throughout the series, (contrast with both victim!Mike and bro!Mike having interesting development in their respective theories,) but there’s no change. There’s no time for change if there’s only a solid thirty seconds of pure, raw, uncorrupted Elizabeth action.

     (And, no, I’m not including FNaF 4′s Pigtail girl. I’m not sure how much of a difference that would make if I did, though.)

These two seem to coexist, but not in a contradicting way.

When Circus Baby tells the story of how she “was on stage once,” she speaks from the animatronic’s perspective and refers to the little girl, Elizabeth, in the third person, leading many to assume the girl Baby “still hears sometimes” is a separate intelligence.

However, I believe this is a manipulation tactic - first, because that totally lines up with Baby’s motivation and other actions, making Eggs think she’s totally not haunted and definitely trustworthy - but second, because Scrap Baby seems very much like she’s speaking from Elizabeth’s perspective after dropping the facade of Sister Location, saying things like “it feels like home” and “it feels like my birthday.”

Animatronics can indeed speak from the perspective of the robot and the child. Withered Chica, in Ultimate Custom Night, says “I was the first” as Susie, and “Let me show you how to break your face and look like me” as Chica.

Henry addresses Scrap Baby as “Elizabeth” - I’m not claiming he knows exactly how possession of this lot works, but being a character in this universe that was friends with William for a good while, he knows Elizabeth better than we do, and I trust his judgement that this is really her.

SL’s Fake Ending also seamlessly flows from Circus Baby’s lines to Elizabeth Afton’s voice saying a lot of those same lines, but more innocently. And, yes, this could very well be Funtime Freddy’s voice mimic at work, but that’s the exact kind of manipulation I was talking about earlier with Baby referring to Elizabeth in the third person. Y’know, to trick you.

So in other words, it’s not that Baby’s AI talks to us and we only get a small glimpse of Elizabeth; it’s likely all Elizabeth, including Circus Baby.

Elizabeth is aware of Baby’s AI. We definitely see Baby’s programming overtake her in the mini-game when she devours Elizabeth, and it seems Elizabeth acknowledges this programming.

It’s also seems as though Elizabeth hates it.

Something bad happened yesterday. Something bad always happens. I don’t want it to happen again. There is something bad inside of me. I’m broken. I can’t be fixed. I’m going to be taken to the Scooping Room soon, but it’s not going to fix what’s wrong with me. What is bad is always left behind. Will you help me?

There are a few ways to interpret the “bad thing” that happened, and “bad thing” that’s inside of her that can’t be fixed.

This is spoken on Night 5, and only two things really happened on Night 4: she kidnapped Eggs Benedict, and killed the technicians. And if so, this would definitely seem like Baby’s programming forced Elizabeth to do it, meaning Elizabeth is speaking from the heart here. I doubt this is an AI talking about how she has a little girl telling her to do evil shit.

However, I think the bad thing inside her... might be Elizabeth. Hear me out.

Either it’s Baby’s killer-robot programming, or Elizabeth’s spirit. Thing is, it seems like Elizabeth is aware that the Ennard plot won’t get rid of the problem. Her going to the Scooping Room won’t fix what’s wrong with her.

But, I’d argue Baby’s programming is most likely gone by Scrap Baby. I definitely don’t think Baby, the robot, would by physically functional if it weren’t haunted by a child. So narratively, it seems most appropriate that the thing wrong with Baby, the thing that can’t be fixed, is that Elizabeth’s bound to the animatronic.

And if that’s all the case... that’s incredibly tragic, isn’t it? That what Elizabeth wants more than anything else is to finally be at rest?

Hell, she has to scoop out the insides of a loved one and use their body as a hiding place in order to escape an endless cycle of torture and anger. It makes sense she’s hesitant to do this, and feels remorse that there wasn’t a better solution. That she couldn’t just make the souls disappear.

So if Elizabeth’s consciousness isn’t being overwritten, or destroyed, or corrupted, by evil robo-programming, then what’s her story?

Well, I think Elizabeth considers Baby a separate entity. Baby was made just for her, as a friend, a playmate. Someone who was designed for her to play with. And I think Elizabeth’s arc comes down to a conflict between wanting her friend to be happy, and wanting the approval of her father.

It makes perfect sense that Elizabeth would have the interests of Circus Baby in mind, and the acknowledgement of her programming would only reinforce this. Hence the conflict here.

According to Michael, Baby thought Eggs was William. In Elizabeth’s mind, she isn’t scooping out her brother’s organs, but her father’s. The father she loves, and seeks the attention and approval of. That’s why she insists he won’t die; she’s reconciling with herself. It’s not that painful, right?

She’s torn between her father’s love, and the friend she died for.

Which is why the ultimate conclusion to her character is...

You played right into our hands, did you really think that this job just fell out of the sky for you? No. This was a gift, for us. You gathered them all together in one place, just like he asked you to. All of those little souls, in one place, just for us, a gift. Now we can do what we were created to do, and be complete! I will make you proud, Daddy! Watch, listen, and be full.

Elizabeth thinks that Freddy Fauxbear’s was an excuse to get all the souls in one place, (which was dead-on,) but more specifically gathering the souls so she and William could... be complete?

If Elizabeth’s inner conflict is between the interests of her father and the Baby animatronic, this is the perfect end goal for her. She wants to be reunited to William - to earn his forgiveness. In order to be complete, Elizabeth feels she and Dear ol’ Dad need each other.

This conflict began when William took back his promise that Baby would be a gift just for Elizabeth. She loved him, and wanted to be the best daughter she could be, but a single act of disobedience tore William’s heart, and most of Elizabeth’s organs, in two. By the end, she went from a sweet girl putting her desire for William’s attention aside and being bad for one crucial tragic moment, to embracing being bad and pretty much downright evil through her love of her father. From complaining about not having something she wanted and neglecting what she did have, to finally getting... or thinking she got...

Everything.

[sierraraeck]

Why Men Suck

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: Reid has to talk to Aundreya about what’s happened and try to explain himself. Aundreya has an unexpected visitor in a high stress situation. Story eleven.

Category: Angst.

Warnings: Cussing. Shots fired. Very quick mention of suicide. Implied abusive relationship.

Word Count: 3.4k

I walked into the office with a whole new demeanor. A whole new attitude. A whole new level of confidence.

I was a whole new person.

I wasn’t exactly the old street and prison me, but that was a lot closer than the pathetic, emotional version who’d possessed my body for the last year and a half.

I walked in with a new fire in my eyes, a new growl in my voice, a new ice block in my chest. I walked in like I owned the place. And everyone could feel it.

“Hey, Aundreya,” Prentiss said, a little hesitation coating her voice.

“Hey,” I said, “Do we have a case?”

“I believe so. Hotch said he wants us in the briefing room in five,” she replied.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” I was in the hallway approaching a small table with snacks on it when he caught my attention. I was wondering when this would happen.

“Aundreya, wait,” Reid called after me.

I turned on him. “Why? What could you possibly say to me right now?”

He let out a huge breath. “Is this about what Morgan and I talked about on the jet?”

I put my hands out and cocked my head to the side, letting him know that was exactly what this was about.

“She’s just someone that I’m talking to for my headaches, and I knew she could help with the case.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not.”

“We both know you are. Why would you need to call her on a payphone, then? Why would you need Tara to drive you there instead of me or Derek? Why have you been so secretive about who she is?”

“It’s because I just wanted to keep one thing-”

“Personal?” I finished, raising my eyebrows.

“That’s not what I mean,” he huffed.

“I think that’s exactly what you mean. And she must be pretty special if even the possibility of her getting hurt is worth risking both of our lives.” I started to turn away, heading back down the hallway.

“I didn’t-”

“Yes. You did. Last time I checked, you didn’t know for sure if that was even where she lived, yet you were willing to get shot and put me in the line of fire for her.”

“Aundreya, please,” he pleaded for me to let him explain, but there was nothing to explain.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve made what you want pretty clear,” I stood there staring into his sad eyes. I wanted to walk away so badly, but I just had to ask, “I just have one question for you. Did you call her that night?”

“What?”

I already knew he called her throughout those two weeks, and I realized that he even called her the night before we returned to work when I was freaking out about where he was. But I wanted to know if he called her right after we…

I swallowed. “That night. Did. You. Call her?”

He looked me dead in the eyes and responded, “No.”

It didn’t make it hurt any less, but at least he didn’t add insult to injury. I’d gotten my answer, so I pushed by him, heading back to the round table room, suddenly having lost my appetite. I didn’t even reach the steps before a loud bang echoed off the ceiling.

I whipped my head around and saw Reid in a choke hold, a man holding a gun to his head. But that wasn’t just any man.

That was my father.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

All of the desk workers who weren’t armed were clumped together near the coffee maker or were ducking under their desks. Anyone who was armed had their weapon drawn and aimed at my father. Our team members were all standing behind the railing to my right in a line, each one panicked and furious, guns trained on the man who held Reid.

He scanned the room until his eyes landed on me. A smile spread across his face and he said, “Hello, Aundreya,” he sneered, letting me know he knew about my name change.

“Hello, Joe,” I returned.

“What? Come on, no ‘hi dad?’” he fake-whimpered.

I scoffed. “We may be biologically related, but you are not my dad.”

“Ouch,” he smiled.

“Yeah, well the truth hurts,” I said, raising my eyebrows. That was what he always loved to tell my sister and I whenever he was trying to manipulate us into believing his lies.

He laughed. “Well it looks like I did teach you something after all.”

My emotions were on a whole new high. Everything seemed to be crashing around me, and one of the only honest connections I thought I’d made had just shattered. I was sick and tired of letting other people affect my emotions and the constant lies that people told and truths they deliberately withheld. “Yeah, you taught me that loving someone meant manipulating them and lying to them and degrading them and the ones they love. You taught me how to mimic those behaviors for my own personal gain. And you did a great job teaching me that I can’t trust men and that they can’t treat me right, especially in relationships,” I offered, my voice strong.

“Honey, that is not at all what I taught you.”

I wanted to vomit at his term of endearment. “Great, then I guess it’s your borderline personality and narcissistic genes that got passed down that made me this way. My bad.”

He shook his head in disbelief, that same smug look absorbing his features, but changed the subject. “So you’re in the FBI now, huh?”

“Sure am. I enjoy putting evil men away, envisioning that they’re you I finally get to put handcuffs on. Who knows? Maybe you coming here will finally satisfy that desire,” I said with a smirk, holding my gun up a little higher.

“Oh really? How are you going to do that? I mean, I guess you could, depending on how much you care about him,” he said, gesturing toward Reid with the gun still trained at his temple.

“Oh, him? Yeah, I don’t really know him,” I said. At the moment, that statement felt true.

“Are you sure? I thought I saw you two spending quite a lot of time together recently,” he said.

My eyes got wide. “You’ve been stalking me?”

“I have to say, you are quite a hard person to track down these days. I just wanted to make sure it was actually you. I’ve wanted to see you, talk to you, but I knew you’d never respond to me directly.”

“I can’t imagine why that would be,” I snapped.

“I just want to know that you’re doing well.”

“How considerate. Well I’m great, so you can leave now.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you all are just going to let me walk out of here,” he said. He turned his attention to the rest of the team. “So this must be the BAU?”

“Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p’, “Your point?”

“Are they really as great as I’ve heard?”

“We do close a lot of cases.”

“But are they good people?”

“Yes, they’re in the FBI. What are you getting at?” I’d had nearly every possible argument with this man, so I always had a good idea where things were going. But this? This confused me.

“Do you all really consider each other family?”

Then I got it. If he was trying to inflict the maximum amount of pain on me, he would want to know who I cared most about so he could hurt them.

“Not really. We just work together,” I stated. I didn’t want to add any more than I had to, especially if I was reading the situation wrong and he wanted to hurt people he thought were hurting me. By taking Reid as his hostage, I couldn’t tell which one was true.

“But what about this one?” he said, peering down at Reid.

“What about him?”

“You don’t consider this one family?”

“I just told you, even if I’ve been talking to him more recently, I still barely know him.”

“Uh-huh. So you wouldn’t mind if I just killed him, then?” he asked.

My heart was pounding. I knew that he was most likely trying to inflict maximum pain on me, so showing that I did care about him could be lethal, but I didn’t want to say yes and have him obey my wishes. The one time he would.

I took a deep breath, knowing if I hesitated any longer, he’d know my answer. “No. Not really. I mean, I don’t think you should kill anyone, newsflash it’s my job to make sure people stay alive, but if your question is if I have a personal sway one way or the other, the answer is no. He’s not as important to me as some of the others.”

Reid made eye contact with me, and the look of hurt in his eyes was devastating. He actually believed me. He genuinely thought that because I was mad, I would just flip that criminal switch and want him dead. I didn’t really know how to take that and I couldn’t think about it now. I had to stay focused. At least I had confirmation I was doing a good job being convincing.

But of all the things I thought I knew about shooters, about hostage situations, about my father, I did not anticipate his next move.

Joe approached me, shifting his aim from Reid, who was still in a chokehold, onto me. I stood my ground, refusing to cower under his advance. He tossed Reid like a rag doll in front of me, and without blinking, stepped around behind me. I felt the barrel of the gun swipe some hair out of the way, then come to rest on the back of my head as he commanded Reid to his knees.

This was going to be an execution.

“So you don’t think I, or anyone else, should be killing people? But what about you, daughter?”

I swallowed, vaguely aware of how he was using me as a human shield, not a single person behind him who could get a shot off. This one was on me.

“Those days are over,” I casually noted.

“Which days are you referring to? The killing days or the more recent scheming days?” he asked.

How much does he know? He couldn’t know about … That’s impossible. No one knows about that.

“Both.”

He laughed. “I guess we’ll see about that, ‘cause I don’t think you are getting out of this without having to tap back into those skills.”

“What do you want?” I asked, enunciating each word carefully.

“I want you to kill him.”

I refused to look down at Reid up until that point, but after that, I had to. I looked down at him looking up at me, his expression clearly wondering what I was going to do.

I may be angry and upset, but I would never do something like this to you, Reid. I willed him to read my mind.

“What?” I was still processing his request.

“You heard me. You kill him, and the rest of us walk out of here.”

I shook my head and right as I did, he pushed the barrel farther into my skull.

I knew I couldn’t turn around and shoot Joe: he would be able to shoot me much faster and would probably shoot Reid as well before the team could kill him. I knew I couldn’t kill Reid. That was just a given.

But there were three people in this equation, leaving me with one last variable to manipulate.

I turned the gun on myself.

I contemplated just dropping it all together, but I figured that would result in the first outcome I’d envisioned. But threatening to take away the person he wanted to hurt or force back into old habits, taking the common denominator away, I knew that would foil all of his plans. And I’m known for self preservation not being suicidal, so it would be a scenario he would have never considered.

“No.”

“What are you doing?” I could hear the slight panic in Joe’s voice, the same feeling reflected in Reid’s eyes.

“I said no. I told you, those days are over for me. If you want to hurt me, then you should know that the person I care the most about, above all else, is myself. What would you do if I decided to ultimately protect myself from you once and for all?” I asked. When I got no response, I concluded with, “So take me. I’m who you’re here for, right? So just take what you came for.”

“You seriously mean that?” he asked with a glimmer of hope.

“I’m not one to play games.”

He grabbed me by the arm and demanded I drop my gun, pressing his own to my temple. I did as he said, all but placing the gun in Reid’s hands, giving him one last look that tried to convey as much hope as I could without just winking at him.

I continued to walk slowly, Joe still using me as a human shield, on our path to the exit. He reached the glass doors and turned around, about to push through with his back. But I knew something he didn’t. Those doors were deceivingly heavy.

I used the back of my head to jam his nose into his skull, simultaneously ramming his head into the glass doors. They budged, but not enough to knock us both completely off balance. I cranked my body out of his grap, and turned around to face him, hitting him hard enough to disarm him. The shock of my blows gave me the upper hand as I reached for his weapon, claiming it as my own. I now stood in front of him, the tables having drastically turned.

“FBI. Put your hands up,” I said smugly. He wore an expression of pure rage which only increased the pleasure I got from this moment. “Joe Spade, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of multiple FBI agents.”

He put his hands up and I tossed his gun aside, quick to replace it with handcuffs. “It looks like I was able to not only get out of this situation without having to kill anybody, but also fulfill my fantasies of handcuffing you after all.”

I brought his hands down behind his back and tightened the cuffs as much as possible. I walked him forward a few paces so he could really get a good look at my team members.

“You see those people up there behind that railing? Those people are my family. They actually look out for me, and I will always look out for them. Those ladies over there? They are like my sisters, compassionate people I aspire to be like. And those men? They’ve taught me that good men and healthy relationships do exist. All of them have helped me overcome my trust issues and anxiety when it comes to opening up and letting people in. They’ve shown me what love truly looks and sounds like, and I’ve started to learn how to reciprocate. And you know what? They are the reason that I didn’t kill you,” I snarled, letting him, and the rest of the team, digest that. “Take a good, long, look. Because they are the only reason you are alive right now.”

I made him stand there for a few seconds, marinating in that information, before yanking him towards the door, handing him off to the officers that were to escort him down to a squad car.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

“Ohmygod! Are you okay?” Penelope squawked as she rushed toward me.

I couldn’t even get a response out before her lung-squishing hug surrounded me. I hugged her back but quickly answered, “Yes. I’m all good.”

“Are you sure? That was … I mean that was-”

“I know. And I’m okay,” I said with a reassuring smile.

“Did you mean all of that?” she asked me with hopeful, gleaming eyes.

“Yeah,” I replied, but I could tell that Rossi heard my uncertain undertone. For the most part.

“What was that?” Rossi interjected, stern but concerned. “You put yourself in harm's way and made a reckless, stupid, decision.”

Yeah because focusing on myself up to this point has worked out so well for me. I decided I’d try something new, and look at that, not giving a damn about my safety worked out for all of us.

I kept those thoughts to myself and opted for, “It worked out. I’m fine.”

“What's happened to you? You went from yelling at a guy who reminded you of your father to not even being phased by your own. Not to mention he was holding a gun on you,” Morgan acknowledged. I knew what he was getting at, all of them noticing my change in attitude this morning before all of the madness that followed.

“Well, shit happens. Things change,” I stated coldly. I saw Reid cringe from behind the rest of the group.

“And I guess so do people,” Rossi said pointedly.

“Yeah,” I finally looked at Reid, skimming my eyes up and down him, “They do.”

A moment of awkward silence passed over the group before Hotch said, “Let’s all take the rest of the day off. We’ll start on our new case tomorrow.”

The group agreed and each gave me their varied versions of condolences and then turned to check on Reid. Most of the rest of the bullpen had already left, receiving the same deal Aaron gave us, and our team started slowly breaking apart so they could grab their stuff. Soon, that just left Reid and I standing there. I went to walk by him on my way to get my stuff when he stopped me.

“Aundreya, wait,” he squeaked.

I turned to face him, waiting to see what followed.

“I know it doesn’t make this any better but I am sorry. I never intended for this to happen.”

“I believe you, but the damage has been done.”

“I know. I just … I don’t know-”

“Look Reid. Everything I said was true. I let my guard down, I let you in. I trusted you, which went against every instinct in my body telling me to run. For the first time in my entire life, I felt like I could breathe. Like I could actually breathe. Do you know what that feels like? For my whole life, I have been suffocating under the weight of my father, the Slaughterer, the streets, just waiting for the next bad thing to happen. I never knew what it felt like to just be okay and to feel safe. Until I met you. I had just started to break down my barriers, my entire belief system, because I started to understand that I was wrong, that not everyone is out for themselves, just manipulating me for their own personal gain then tossing me aside like garbage. I mean, you just met the one and only male role model in my life! That’s what I thought everyone, specifically men, were like! And just when you started to prove me wrong… I’ve tumbled all the way back down to square one. So was what you did world-ending? No. Is that the worst thing that could have happened, that you could have done? Definitely not. Our job proves that every day. But it felt pretty massive to me,” I ranted.

I didn’t mean to raise my voice or draw attention to the situation, but those thoughts had been playing an intense game of Pong inside my head for a while, and I just had to get them off my chest. It was Hotch and Prentiss that were straggling, and while they were out of earshot, they weren’t blind.

I let out a nervous laugh, absorbing the irony of the whole thing. “And you told me you would never hurt me,” I shook my head in disbelief, “Look at us now.”

I reached around him to grab my stuff and barreled toward the door without another breath.

It wasn’t fair of me and I knew that. We fucked and maybe that was it. It’s not like we were together and he was cheating on me or something. We actually had never even talked about what we were, and now, maybe we never would. I guess I would just have to accept that the whole thing, all the lead up and shit, was just a fling. A harmless, nothing-to-get-your-panties-in-a-wad-over, fling. So maybe I did dish out too much, and he didn’t really deserve all that, but I couldn’t worry about it now. I’d said it, and it made me feel better to say it, and I wanted him to know how much it hurt. Sure, he’d just had a gun to his head thanks to my father but so had I, and there really is no better time to get emotional than after a shared trauma.

I got home and laid on my couch, recounting the events of the day.

He mentioned my scheming. He couldn’t know, could he? But he seemed like he might’ve…

That would be yet another fun excuse to recount to the team, if they even remembered or felt courageous enough to ask.

But for the time being, I curled up on my couch, queueing up the series finale of ‘Sherlock.’

Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl

@kris-stuff

@wooya1224

[d-l-dare]

“Jack in the Box”

Is there a loved one you wish was still with you? Perhaps their presence was the one thing that could turn any bad day around. Maybe they were someone you weren't the best to, but you'd give anything to speak to them one more time and beg for forgiveness. No matter what the case, losing a loved one is one of the hardest things any one person can face. But what if you were so bent on speaking to them again that you unintentionally invite a demon into your life?

I struggled to fight back tears as my parents and I had to work a yard sale to sell my late little brother's belongings. My mom and I weren't for it, but my dad saw the way we would obsess over his things and beg for him to come back to us. He saw it was torturing us to see his room that would never again be slept in by him. Of course, we weren't getting rid of the really important stuff like his drawings or baby pictures. Instead, just the smaller things like his bed spread and some of his clothes.

Of course, thrown into the pile were his toys. My parents kept some of the ones they thought were his favorites. Emphasis on the word 'thought', as one of the toys I saw my little brother, Benji, play with was the jack in the box that a mother was bringing to me a the register, her little girl following close behind her.

I wiped my eye as she handed me the toy. I checked the price, $2. She gave me the money and took the toy. She tilted her head as if to comfort me. "I'm sorry for your loss. He'd be happy to know that his jack in the box is going to a good home." She grabbed her daughter's hand and left.

Why'd she have to say it like that? I know she was right, but it just hurt so bad to know that I'd never hear the music coming from his jack in the box from my room and rolling my eyes to it. Sure, I was never really the best sister in the world, but I cared for him too much to be ripped away the way he was.

As the day faded into night, we sold nearly all of his things we'd put up for sale. It still felt incredibly wrong for us to sell his belongings. But the woman earlier was right, it's all going to a better home. It's better than them rotting away in an untouched room full of memories far too painful to even bring back.

*** The next day at school, I was sitting in the back of the class with my hood up. I had my phone on in my hands, making sure it was hidden from the teacher's view. I was lucky she was reading the book aloud, rather than calling on random students to read. I had no idea what page we were even on.

I was scrolling through social media, trying to distract myself with funny pictures and interesting videos. I paused when I saw a post that said something was haunted. I scrolled back to it and skimmed through. Apparently it was on my feed because my mom had commented on it, but it was from that lady at the yard sale that had bought the jack in the box. She said it was haunted, that it would often play it's music when nobody was near it. My mom commented saying it never did anything like that when we had it, which was true.

I was a believer in the supernatural, so my mind instantly went into believing that it was haunted. Was that why Benji used to play with it so much? Was there a ghost attached to it? I thought back but didn't recall him mention anything about an imaginary friend or some invisible person telling him to do things, so that marks that idea off the list. Then something hit me, something that made me incredibly eager to get out of class and tell someone. What if the jack in the box was haunted by my brother?

*** I'd realized that telling my parents wouldn't exactly be the smartest move, as they would think I was crazy and probably ground me for making something like that up about my dead brother. I mean, it was a twisted way of thinking.

However, the following time we went to the grocery store, I was lucky enough to come across the mother that had bought the jack in the box. I had a dumb idea, but I figured I'd try it.

"Hey Mrs. Foreman," I greeted her. She stopped her cart and looked at me with a smile and a polite wave. "Do you happen to need a babysitter?"

She had to think about it for a second but ultimately said no.

"But you and your husband could have a date night away," I said. "I just miss my brother and your daughter was friends with him." I was unsure if that last part was true, but I needed something to guilt her into saying yes.

She looked down at me for a second before nodding. "I suppose I can talk my husband into going somewhere for the night. We don't have a lot of money right now though, so it's not going to be much."

"Oh, it's okay ma'am," I said gleefully. "You don't need to pay me, I'll happily do it for free."

*** It was a little before the sun went down that I arrived at their house to babysit. They were all dressed up and ready to take on the night. They laid down all the ground rules for me, like when her bedtime is and what to feed her for dinner, etc. I had no plan of deviating from their rules, I just wanted to play with the jack in the box a little, so that I might find a way to communicate with my little brother again.

I lead little Sara into the living room and turned on some cartoons. I scrolled through until I found a show she enjoyed watching. I then made my way to her room. I scoured through the mess of toys and clothes scattered about her floor until I found it, the little yellow jack in the box.

I was about to wind the handle when I heard a knock at the door. I sat up and hurried over to see who it was.

I opened the door to find a bulky man dressed in a black suit and a pair of sunglasses.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm from the FBI," the man said, reaching for his badge and presenting it to me. "I'm here to collect the haunted toy from the premises."

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about," I said. There was no way I was going to let him take it.

"I'm sorry as well, ma'am, but the jack in the box must be destroyed. The demon attached to it can only do harm to the people closest to it."

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "The box is possessed by my little brother."

"That's what the Goji wants you to think," the man said. "It latches into it's host and can mimic their actions in order to survive."

"Well, how do you know it's possessed by a Goji?" I asked.

"Because spirits only have the power to lift and move objects. They can't turn a crank and force an object to make noise."

It was unfortunate, but I believed him. I went and grabbed the jack in the box and handed it to him. But not without a deal. He had to bring me with him to show me what he was doing with it, incase he was lying. He agreed and we made our way out into a wide clearing a quarter mile from the house.

"What are we doing here?" I asked. He sat down the box and stepped back.

He opened up his bulky briefcase I'd just realized he was holding against the darkness of the night. The briefcase opened up to be a bulky laptop.

"We are going to try and lure it out with a host that looks even more tempting," he replied. "The thing I have in mind is a werewolf. But I have a remote in my pocket to trap it and bring it back to the office with me for further research."

I rolled my eyes. "A werewolf? Seriously? How are you going to get one?"

He smiled at me and sat his laptop on the ground. He pulled a remote out of his pocket and I stared in awe as the computer transformed into a werewolf.

I glanced over in time to see the jack in the box shaking violently. The werewolf crept closer to it and a stream of green goop floated from the box and into the wolf. The wolf began to shake violently as well before calming down.

There was this green mist radiating from the wolf as it turned to us. "You think you can trap me in this body?" it growled in a menacing, inhuman voice. 

The man pressed a button on his remote and the wolf began to howl in pain as it folded back into the shape of a briefcase. The man went to go pick it up carefully.

*** After we made our way back to the house I was supposed to be babysitting at, he and I sat on the couch, watching some television with little Sara. Or at least that's what we thought. We looked all over the couch and couldn't find her. He and I called for her. We heard a giggle in response. We followed it to her room. Sitting before her was the man's briefcase, open before her and radiating a green mist.

[raywritesthings]

Fade In, Fade Out 1/2

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Earth 2 Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Quentin Lance, Barry Allen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: Pretending to be her deceased doppelganger has as many drawbacks as it does benefits, so Black Siren decides it’s time to really switch things up on her enemies and allies alike. Oliver is confronted with his true feelings once again and must finally make a choice. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN, links are in bio*

Laurel Lance, formerly of Earth 2, had a problem. Well, several problems. Actually, they were all the same problems she’d had before, only now they were even more compounded by the precarious position she’d placed herself in. Namely, impersonating a dead woman.

It had been the best way to ensure she could no longer be held by this or that group in this or that cell. She’d been tired and hurting and so, so fed up with it all. So she’d let herself finally do the one thing she’d been avoiding for almost two years now: be seen.

Now she was Laurel Lance, miraculously rescued darling of Star City. A former ADA with a sterling reputation and a loving family and friends. How nice.

While it had bought her a temporary reprieve, it was clear this had not solved all her problems the way she’d hoped it might. Diaz was still sending his men sniffing around to threaten her and her doppelganger’s father. The bitch in the Black Canary suit was still breathing down her neck, probably barely holding back thanks to her team. And this Earth’s Oliver was continuing his sanctimonious bull about caring one minute then pulling back the next and pretending as if they were perfect strangers.

He was worried she was going to ruin his Laurel’s reputation. Maybe she should, since he’d pretty thoroughly wrecked her own image of Ollie, try as she might to maintain him in her mind. But doing anything too out of character for this Earth’s Laurel would just put her right back into danger.

Her old way of doing things had lacked security, but now it was hard for her to make any kind of move thanks to public scrutiny. She needed to be able to get away; a new fresh start on this godforsaken Earth. But she needed to keep Diaz and all her other enemies looking one way while she snuck off in the other direction. But how to do it?

And then, it turned out, the opportunity presented itself.

Quentin, her doppelganger’s father, took a call late one night. It was from this Earth’s Thea Queen, who was apparently saying goodbye.

“And Nyssa thinks there’s more of these Pits? Well that’s, that’s something… I’ve never even heard of these places you’re saying. Ojos del — well, whatever you said. And where’s that Kamchatka, that sounds — oh, Russia. Yeah, I wouldn’t have guessed that. Well, you’ll be seeing a lot more of the world than most people do.”

Laurel sat there, not really reading the law book he had pressed on her for the umpteenth time. If they were talking about a Pit, was this that magic Pit thing that wasn’t supposed to exist anymore? The one that brought people back from the dead or whatever? The dead were dead, no matter if you came to a whole separate Earth and met them again.

That’s something, he’d said, with such a wistful tone to his voice. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and it burned in her gut, angry and jealous despite it all. If he wanted his Laurel back, why didn’t he go do it instead of trying to force her to be her? Ugh, it sounded confusing even in her own head.

But as she glowered across the room at him while he talked to the other Thea on that phone, she took him in. Old, thin, frail as he was, he could never make that kind of journey. Great, now she was feeling pity, too.

The more she thought about it, though, the more she realized that these Pits still being active was something. Something that could help her, too. If she wanted everyone’s eyes off her, why not give them something else to look at? Watch the birdie.

Laurel took out her phone and made liberal use of autocorrect and suggested search to find the information she needed about Kamchatka. Then she started searching for plane tickets.

Later, after Quentin was sleeping, Laurel went out that night to the cemetery with a shovel, hoping to God this wasn’t part of some officer’s beat. There was nothing much she could do once she’d dug up the casket besides shovel the dirt back on top and pack it down. Maybe people would assume the casket had been removed since she wasn’t supposed to be underground anymore. And now her doppelganger wasn’t either.

Getting her on a plane wasn’t too difficult, but God was she glad she’d borrowed some money from Quentin so she could hire some help to carry the thing up the mountain.

“I want to see the springs,” she told her guides. “The ones off the beaten path. You know what I mean, right?” If there were rumors about these Pits, they had to come from somewhere.

The two exchanged glances. “No one goes to those springs now.”

“And why not?” Damnit, had the idiots already destroyed this one?

“There are men. They guard the springs jealously.”

Oh. The other guys. Right. Tommy’s weird evil dad’s minions or whatever.

Laurel shrugged. “I think I can handle myself. You two wait here with my birdcage.” Leaving them to exchange perplexed glances, Laurel turned and continued her march through the mountain range.

It was funny. She could have wandered around here for days without finding it, except that, two hours into that, out of the shadows leapt a man in ninja gear. That kind of blew the whole thing, didn’t it?

Laurel knocked him right off the cliff with her scream, then twisted the arm of his buddy who tried to attack her from behind, getting possession of his sword and stabbing him in the gut with it. He dropped to his knees, cursing in some foreign tongue while Laurel examines her new sword.

“Not my style, usually, but I think I’m gonna keep this. Thanks.”

He didn’t reply. Probably because he was dead. Well, she’d at least made this easier for Speedy and Friends whenever they showed up.

She found the casket abandoned on the path by the time she got back. Huh. Maybe she should have paid those guys extra. Quentin wasn’t made of money, though. No matter how much he was going to owe her once this whole thing was done.

Few things sucked more than carrying a dead body up a mountain by yourself. One of the things that did suck more was carrying a dead body that looked exactly like you up a mountain by yourself. Laurel did her best to keep her eyes on the path as she put one step forward after the other. When she finally found the crevice in the rocks that led into the springs, she sighed in relief.

This was definitely the place. The ninjas had set up a small encampment to the side of the cave, and in the center bubbled a mysterious-looking water.

“This better work,” Laurel muttered to herself, then unceremoniously dumped the body into the waters with a splash that had her quickly backing away to avoid the droplets.

What would it be like, meeting the fabled Perfect Laurel? Was it rose-tinted glasses that had everyone on this Earth making her out to be a saint?

She paced the edge, waiting for some kind of sign she hadn’t been duped. The waters had gone totally still. What the hell was she going to have to do, fish her doppelganger out? She hadn’t even brought a net.

Then the waters started bubbling again like someone had flipped the switch for the hydro-jets. She slowed, laying a hand on the hilt of her new sword.

With no warning, the previously dead body made an impossible leap from the waters, landing in a crouch with her hair hanging in her face like a wet curtain.

“Shit,” Laurel breathed to herself.

Her doppelganger’s head snapped up, eyes wild and mouth snarling. Certainly nothing like a saint. She had a split second to recognize the pulling back of her lips for what it was before she was ducking to avoid a sonic scream. She retaliated, catching her disoriented doppelganger in the side and sending her rolling across the cave floor. She didn’t get up.

Laurel listened to make sure they hadn’t caused some kind of cave-in, but it sounded like the rock was holding. Then she crept over to see if she’d accidentally killed the other woman again. The rise and fall of her chest said she was still breathing. Good.

What the hell had the whole wild woman act been, though? Was it permanent? What was she going to do with her if it was?

It was weird watching herself. Laurel paced to the other side of the Pit and stood against the wall, waiting.

She’d give her doppelganger half an hour before she just placed the return plane ticket at her feet and took off.

---

Laurel, always of Earth 1 and formerly dead, shivered as she came to, rolling onto her side and curling in on herself with cold. She was soaked to the skin and exposed to the open air of whatever this place was. Her ears were also ringing. She shook her head, feeling her damp hair sticking to the side of her face.

“Ugh.”

“You said it.”

Laurel blinked and looked around. How had she heard her own voice come from another direction?

Leaning against a rocky wall was her. Or, it looked exactly like her. “What is this?” Was it some kind of illusion? A person that could mimic appearances. Though while this other her was dressed in sensible gear for what looked like hiking a mountain, she discovered she was in one of her nicer but rather thin dresses. God, it was freezing.

“What do you remember?” The other her asked.

“Talking to Oliver?” She’d been trying to encourage him, because she’d known he was probably beating himself up about her getting hurt, and then everything went kind of fuzzy after that. She thought she could remember him shouting for someone…

“Ugh, of course you do,” the other her said, rolling her eyes. “Okay, basically you’ve been dead for about two years—”

“Wait, what?”

“And I just brought you back. You’re welcome! Only took your own doppelganger from another Earth to get the job done.”

Her doppelganger. That’s what this was. So she was from Earth 2, she was pretty sure Team Flash had called it. Where they there now? It would explain why there was what had to be a Lazarus Pit to the right of her even though Nyssa had destroyed the one at Nanda Parbat.

“Why did you bring me back?” There was something about this other her’s attitude that suggested it wasn’t strictly out of the kindness of her heart. She reminded Laurel uncomfortably of some of her worst behaviors in the midst of her spiral.

Her doppelganger smiled, and it definitely wasn’t nice. “Smart question. See, I’ve been trying to live my life on this Earth for the last almost two years, but things keep getting in the way. Mostly the people from your life. So I figure if I give them you back, they won’t keep bothering me. We’re even, see?”

There was so much she wasn’t being told, and she wished that wasn’t an old feeling. “You’ve been pretending to be me?”

“Only for a little bit. Hey, at least you don’t have to come up with a story for the press as to how you’re still alive. Someone can fill you in on the cover. I’m heading out of here and do not follow me.” Her doppelganger hefted a duffle bag higher on her shoulder.

“How am I supposed to get home from wherever this is?” She gestured down again her bare feet and lack of possessions.

The other her grumbled impatiently. “Here, take some of this stuff.” She grabbed a pair of black boots and a League-standard tunic from a small pile near the other end of the cave they were in. Laurel hurried to put both on, not really caring to ask who they typically belonged to when it meant she could finally warm up a little.

A passport hit her in the face. Then a printed out boarding pass came flying, which she caught before it could smack her as well.

“Tag, you’re it,” her double said. “And I guess you can have your dad’s credit card back.”

Laurel straightened back up. “You stole his—”

“Of course I did. I’m getting his precious daughter back for him, so what’s he going to miss a few hundred bucks for? I only bought plane tickets and a guided tour, calm down.”

Laurel did not calm down, and instead marched over to her double and snatched the card from her lose grasp. “You might think the snarky act helps protect you from other people hurting you, but let me tell you from experience that it just hurts worse watching everyone walk away.”

Her double glared, leaning into her space. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I am you. Or I was.” Laurel shook her head. “Why have you even been staying on this Earth? Haven’t you got your own?”

“And nothing there to return to.” She could see in the mirror image of her own eyes a deep-set pain and sadness. Laurel wanted desperately to ask, but she had a feeling she wasn’t supposed to be seeing it at all.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Look, there’s no point to this. We can’t both be you, unless we want to pretend you’ve been lying about being an identical twin your whole life,” her doppelganger finally said. “I’m leaving. Wait five minutes, then head down the mountain path. There’s a little touristy station set up at the bottom, and they can direct you to the airport.”

“You’re really just going to lay low the rest of your life on some totally strange Earth?”

“About the only option I have left. Believe me, I’m looking forward to semi-retirement.” With that, her double turned and walked out of the cave, with not even a snarky goodbye to show for it. Laurel winced; she’d been pretending to be her? Did the others know, or did they all think she’d come back from the dead with that attitude?

She had no watch, so Laurel guessed at five minutes and headed down the path. Sure enough, the tourist trap at the bottom of the mountain did have information on transportation to the nearest airport. She also discovered she was in Eastern Russia.

Laurel prioritized getting to the airport over getting access to a phone. Her flight was pre-scheduled, after all. She bought some new clothes for herself before boarding so she didn’t have to come into the Star City airport looking like a terrorist. Thankfully, her father hadn’t cancelled his credit card. She’d pay him back, assuming she still had a job.

She couldn’t believe she was really back from the dead. Around nothing but strangers, it didn’t feel real. She also couldn’t sense anything like the bloodlust Thea had had, but she wasn’t really experiencing anything that might trigger her anger. But she’d need to figure out if there was a way to get more of that Lotus sooner rather than later.

Thea, her father, the team and Ollie, how were all of them? What had she missed in her years of being dead? Did they miss her or think about her at all? It would be selfish of her to wonder if Oliver ever thought about what she’d confessed to him, right? Even she’d known that was nothing but a memory now. Hopefully he and everyone else were just happy and safe, at least as much as they could be in their line of work.

She followed her fellow passengers out into the Star City airport, breathing a little easier now that she knew she was back in her home. No matter how much she or it changed, she’d always feel that way.

Laurel started looking for a help desk, but a hand landed on her upper arm before she could take more than two steps.

“Let’s go.”

Laurel froze. “Ollie?”

He looked about the same as she remembered. It had only been two years, after all. But his expression was guarded, even hostile as he looked down at her. She almost wanted to draw back from him.

“Quentin called. Whatever you’ve been setting up in Russia, you’re going to tell me and him.”

“I wasn’t setting anything up. I just came back to life.” It was occurring to her that he thought she was her own doppelganger, that this dislike and distrust wasn’t really for her. “I’m the real me, Oliver. I’m not the other Earth one.”

His eyes widened for a second, before he shut down again. “Come on.” He yanked on her arm to get her moving.

He thought she was lying. Well, they were going to see her father, apparently, so she could just convince them both at the same time. It figured her own doppelganger would leave her a mess to clean up.

---

Oliver didn’t trust himself to speak as he guided her out to the car. The fact that she wanted to try this game again, fooling him, was proof that he’d been right to doubt her attempt to turn over a new leaf. God, what was she planning to do to Laurel’s reputation? Her legacy?

“Ollie, please,” she said as he turned the key in the ignition. “I’m telling the truth. One minute, I was in the hospital with you and the next, I was waking up in some cave in Russia with an identical copy of myself telling me I’d been dead for two years.”

“A Lazarus Pit.”

“From what I could tell.”

He smirked to himself, but nothing was funny. “The only Lazarus Pit my Laurel knew about was destroyed, so why would she assume she’d been resurrected with one?”

“Because I made an educated guess when I woke up soaked to the bone next to a bubbling hot spring. Why can’t you ever just believe me?” She demanded, and it sounded so much like her — the real her — that it tore at his heart. Oliver kept his eyes on the road.

“Because you’ve done this before.”

“My doppelganger.” Her head dropped back against the seat rest. “Oliver, I don’t know what she must have done or said the past two years, but I promise that’s not me. I don’t want to think I could be that cruel to try and trick you like that twice.”

“Then where’s your other self?” He avoided describing it in a way that made it sound like he believed her. Even if everything — her tone, her inflections, the chunky knit sweater she was bundled in, just the way that she moved — was perfect in a way Black Siren had never managed.

This Laurel didn’t seem like she was mocking herself.

She sighed wearily. “I wish I had a better answer, but she took off. Said she wanted to get away from all of this, so she was tapping me back in.”

Oliver frowned. She’d only been impersonating Laurel in the public eye for a short while. Would she really give up the visibility and protection against Diaz that Quentin kept claiming she wanted so soon? Unless — and something cold seized his heart — this was the visible protection. A Laurel out there in the public eye and Diaz’s sights while she ran off for who-knew-where.

Could she really be? He looked in her eyes for the first time and couldn’t detect any hint of a lie. Yet somehow it still felt like he was falling into some sort of trap.

“Ollie, you’re going to miss the turn,” she said. “If that’s still where my dad lives.”

“Uh, right.” He made it sharp, then pulled up outside the apartment building. He started up to his unit and she fell right into step with him without a word.

Quentin answered the door after two knocks. He’d been expecting them since he’d been able to get the number of the return flight off his credit card purchase. Oliver had volunteered to collect her in case something more was going on than a simple joyride on Quentin’s money. Now he wasn’t sure what to say to the man.

“So, five-hundred bucks later, how do you feel?” Quentin asked her.

“Daddy, I’m so sorry,” she answered, stepping forward and wrapping him into a hug. Quentin’s eyes went wide and his arms hovered in the air. He looked to Oliver.

“She’s—” Oliver cleared his throat and tried again. “She’s claiming to be our Laurel.”

Quentin gaped. “How?”

“I can explain, I promise,” She said, then looked up. “But how are you?” One of her hands rested over Quentin’s chest.

“I- I’m not sure,” he answered.

Oliver started ushering them all inside on the off chance one of the neighbors stepped outside and heard this. They gathered in Quentin’s sitting room, Quentin on the couch, Oliver standing against the side wall and her pacing the space between couch and coffee table.

“Okay, so I guess there’s a Lazarus Pit or something like it in Eastern Russia. There’s this mountain range called Kamchatka.”

“I was talking to your sister on the phone about that,” Quentin said to him. “She — Earth 2, I mean — was in the room with me.”

“I didn’t see Thea or anyone else, but I think the League might have been set up there at some point,” she continued. “Someone’s things were left behind.”

“Malcolm’s people,” Oliver said, and watched her nod. “He’s dead, by the way.”

Siren already knew that, but this Laurel’s shock looked genuine. “How did it happen?”

“He took Thea’s place on a landmine.”

Her eyebrows raised even higher. “Contradictory to the end, then. Where’s Thea now?”

“On a mission with Nyssa and Roy.” He wondered if she thought she’d have better luck convincing his sister. Oliver wasn’t so sure, because at the moment he badly wanted to be convinced even despite the warning voices in his head urging him to hold back.

“So your doppelganger brought you back with this Pit?” Quentin asked. “I mean, why? And why the hell didn’t we think of that first?”

“The bloodlust, for one thing.” Assuming she was telling the truth, this Laurel would need the Lotus cure the same as Thea had two years ago. Oliver crossed his arms. “Have you felt any symptoms?”

“Not so far. But it’s only been a couple days since I came back.” She looked from one of them to the other. “Do I have a grave we could check so you both feel more sure about this? I can tell you I woke up in my navy blue evening dress. It was a little cold for Russia.”

“I want to believe you, honey, of course I do,” Quentin said. “You have no idea what I’d give to have you back with us.”

“Then just give me some trust,” she said, reaching for his hands. “I’m your daughter. I almost went to work at a corporate law firm in San Francisco until you called me out because you knew that wasn’t who I was. I used to race Sara up the tree in our yard, and I always let her win after the first time when I made her cry and you told me it was my job to take care of her. We went out to dinner before everything at the prison happened, and you told me you were proud of what I was doing as the Black Canary, and I finally felt like I had made it somehow! Like I’d done right by you,” She said, her voice wavering.

Quentin stood, one of his hands cupping her cheek. “It’s really you. It has to be. Oh, my baby girl.” He crushed her to him, drawing in a ragged breath as she held on just as tight. “I don’t know why she did it, but I’m just so glad it’s really you.”

Oliver had to look away. It was too hard to watch. If this was some trick, it would only hurt all the worse once it was revealed. If this was real, then he’d been nothing but cold to her since she’d returned. Why did he always have to screw up when it came to her? He knew what he felt deep in his heart, but every time it came for him to act, he just—

“Ollie.” She had come up to him at some point, and he hadn’t realized he was that far into his own head. “I know I can’t ask you to trust me. But you know me better than anyone.”

He stared at her, willing himself to find some small thing out of place. If he didn’t see it now and he let himself believe, he would be lost. He knew that much about himself. And if it was all a lie, he didn’t think he could find his way back out again this time.

“What did you tell me in the hospital?” He finally asked, his voice sounding gruff to his ears.

“That you shouldn’t try to take on everything alone,” she said. “Even if you feel you have to to protect everyone.”

She was right that those had been some of her last words, and yet he couldn’t be certain that they were the only two who knew that; he himself had told Felicity, and as much as he wanted to believe she wouldn’t have spread it, he didn’t have that guarantee.

“And the other thing?”

She hesitated, glancing back at Quentin and licking her lips. “I told you that you were the love of my life and always would be.”

He heard Quentin make some startled sound, but he was too blurry in Oliver’s vision to make out any expression. He blinked a couple times, trying to clear it so that he could see her — Laurel — and he stepped forward, cupping her face with both hands, and kissed her forehead.

Oliver wrapped her in a hug after, as it sunk in that he didn’t have to leave this time. She was here in the real world with them. Laurel was alive, so much more than a dream.

She rested her hands at his back, seeming unsure, and he felt a fresh wave of guilt over how he had practically shunned her since finding her at the airport. He held her just a little bit tighter for a moment before finally letting her go, stepping back and running both hands over his face in an excuse to wipe at his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand why you needed to check.” Her eyes stayed more on the floor than on her father as she turned to him and asked, “Could I use your guest room for a little? The time difference is kind of catching up to me.”

“Of course, honey. I, uh, had it set up for your doppelganger, but she took her things with her so it’s open.” The father and daughter headed back down the hall while Oliver walked over and sank onto the couch with unsteady legs.

Laurel was back. Truly. It was nearly overwhelming in its relief and yet the enormity of that fact was also hitting him. How did he explain this to Thea and the others hunting to find and destroy the Pits? How did he explain this to his team, whose experiences with the Laurel they’d known ranged from bad to worse? To his son, who was aware of the hero Laurel had been — and still was, now — but who had been warned to keep away from the woman who looked like her?

Quentin returned, taking his own seat in the armchair across. “I’m dreaming, right?”

“Feels like one,” Oliver agreed, knowing he had the experience to support that feeling. But there had been no strange glitches, and he was aware of all his memories, good and bad. This was all real.

“You’d think I’d get used to this. My daughters coming back, the whole world changing around us.”

Oliver nodded.

“Laurel and you.”

He froze and looked up, meeting Quentin’s gaze. “I… needed to know it was her.”

“Course you did. But I need to know things, too. Like just what your intentions are. I mean, you’re practically engaged, Oliver.”

He winced. “In a manner of speaking.” The thought caused his heart to sink deep down into his stomach or somewhere near it. A feeling he’d been having lately when his thoughts turned to Felicity and their tentative agreement.

Tentative because, and perhaps predictably, he’d started reconsidering at perhaps the worst possible moment: after their impromptu wedding alongside Barry and Iris. He had called the speedster up after the West-Allens had taken their honeymoon, just to catch up.

“We’re mostly just working on thank you cards now. Apparently super-fast writing also leads to super-fast hand cramps,” Barry had told him.

“Well, feel free to skip ours. Actually, what did we get you? Felicity never said.”

“Oh. It was, uh, an espresso machine.”

There was something off in the way Barry had said it, the pause and then the flat tone at the end. “Is it not working?”

“No, it does. I mean, I think so. I don’t actually drink much coffee since the caffeine doesn’t affect me,” Barry had admitted with an awkward laugh.

“Oh.” Oliver had felt his cheeks redden. He’d known that, thinking back on it. Shouldn’t Felicity have known that? He should have checked with her before they bought something, but she tended to take those things upon herself since she said teaching him Amazon was beyond her pay grade. “I guess Iris is making use of it?”

“A little. It wasn’t, uh, it wasn’t on the registry.” He’d been able to visualize the uncomfortable shuffling Barry must have been doing on the other end as he spoke. “She kind of had her fill of making coffee at Jitters, you know?”

“Right.” Oliver had closed his eyes, very tempted to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Could you send me the registry list? I can—”

“No, don’t buy something else. It’s fine. I mean, we’re not upset or anything.”

“About the gift,” Oliver had finished for him. “But you’re upset about something else.” Barry wouldn’t have even gone into any detail on the gift like this if something hadn’t been bothering him.

“Upset’s a strong word, Ollie. It’s just, you know, after the wedding was crashed and we lost Professor Stein and everything else, it kind of didn’t feel like our day anymore. And then we figured out a way to get some of that back and- and—”

“And we made it about us,” Oliver had realized with a wave of shame. What had ever possessed him to think that would have been a good idea? Yes, Felicity had asked, but he had been the one to start using the wedding backdrop as a way to hint he thought they should move things forward, and in doing so had upstaged Barry and Iris at their own celebration.

It had been the Lance family dinner all over again, where he’d subordinated Laurel’s feelings or those of Sara’s parents to a relationship he and she had wanted to try and force into working. Why was he always so selfish?

“Barry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what can make that up to you—”

“Look, we can just drop it, okay? What’s done is done.” Barry had sounded desperate to move on. “I just hope things work out for both of us, you know? We both got our dream come true.”

Oliver had hesitated.

“Right?”

“Yeah. Right,” he’d managed uncomfortably. Then he’d made some excuse or other and hung up the phone. He’d only felt it would have been an even lower blow to Barry to admit that his wedding hadn’t been interrupted by Oliver’s dream — far from it.

His dream was now sleeping just twenty feet down the hall.

Oliver dropped his head into his hands, feeling it starting to throb in his temples. He knew he loved Laurel and always would, had stopped denying that to himself over a year ago. But he was in a relationship — even a relatively chaste one since his misgivings about their not-quite wedding — with Felicity.

He’d been using William as an excuse, which wasn’t fair, but what he now couldn’t determine was, was it fair to William to have introduced Felicity into his life as a sort of surrogate only to end things with her? Or was his growing unhappiness in that relationship only going to teach his son a warped version of love and family?

They’d had no marriage certificate when they’d jumped in on Barry and Iris’ ceremony. They still didn’t. They weren’t really married. And he didn’t really want to ever be now. But was it right for him to start something with Felicity because he had been lonely and heartbroken, only to end it because the reason for his loneliness and heartbreak no longer existed?

“I know how I feel, I just don’t know what to do,” he admitted finally. Oliver jumped a little when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Well, the first thing you gotta do is be honest with yourself and with the people in your life about how you’re feeling.”

“How do I do that without hurting someone?”

“Sometimes you can’t,” Quentin told him. “Sometimes you just can’t control how people are gonna feel, Oliver. But you have to let them feel it in their own way.”

He was right. He was right, and Oliver knew it. He also knew that avoiding the truth to avoid pain was one of his greatest failings. But by God, he had to get past this. Not for his sake, but for the people in his life.

“I should inform the team so they can start getting used to the idea,” Oliver decided. “And I need to talk to Felicity.”

She deserved an explanation, uncomfortable as it might make him to give it. He should have been honest with her about his remaining feelings for Laurel whether she was dead or alive, that it would always be a part of him. He would be honest with her now.

Oliver left the apartment, turning and heading down the block. But as he looked back over his shoulder at the building, he frowned.

The window of the guest bedroom was open.

He turned back around, walking and then breaking out into a jog. By the time he reached the hallway to Quentin’s floor, he was flat-out running.

Oliver rapped on the doorframe, waiting with impatience for it to open. Quentin blinked in surprise when he did so. “What—”

“I need to check something.” He walked straight back down the hall and knocked on the guest bedroom door. “Laurel?”

“You said you already checked it was her, and she’s sleeping,” Quentin argued.

“I’m not checking that it’s her, I’m checking—” The door was unlocked and almost bounced off the wall when he threw it open.

Oliver’s heart froze.

“She- she’s gone!” Quentin exclaimed behind him. He brushed past Oliver, going to the window and sticking his head out. “Laurel!”

It did no good, as she hadn’t been anywhere outside when he’d noticed the open window. Why had she gone? Where had she gone? Whatever the reason or location, he had to find out, and fast.

He couldn’t lose her again. Not this time.

[microwave-imagines]

brochure v2

hello again!! i was pleasantly informed that an anon (multiple anons idk) wanted to know more about the triplets!! anyways, i'm your infomercial pitchman @td-lexcom and let's dive right into these mess of kiddos!!

the refresher

cryptic is the oldest

zombie is the middle child

mimic is the youngest

all three in general

the triplets are: tired and very cryptic oldest sister, morally ambiguous and tired middle sister, and then absolute little shit here to confuse

VERY good at climbing. they're small compared to 6ft dadzawa, 6ft1 yamadad, and 5ft9 hitobro

they're like 5ft1,,, small but chaotic

cryptic and zombie are left handed (they don't follow rules!!). mimic is ambidextrous (it's fun to have two different handwriting styles bc left hand style and right hand style)

tentative canon names for stories??

cryptic - chihiro

zombie - shiori

mimic - masami

zombie and cryptic drank so much respect women juice that they're bi now

the triplets collectively have 2 and 1/2 mean bones. zombie has 1, cryptic as 1, and bakugou is currently in possession of mimic's half a mean bone

they bite into their ice creams

they all have the logical ruse/totoro aizawa smile!! zombie does it most then cryptic does it sometimes and no one's quite sure about mimic.

cryptic

identifies as female/clearly feminine

knife energy: cryptic is the hallway demon with a butcher knife that disappears when you turn the lights on

the first one to get her quirk out of the triplets.

the family only knew she got it when tv static and whispers became part of her voice

zombie

identifies as female/clearly feminine

knife energy: zombie is the delinquent with a switchblade in the alley next to the convenience store casually mugging you

overusing her quirk can lead to just being a pile of dismembered limbs and usually requires sero to tape her back together

aizawa at some point during training "you will not stop training unless you either drop dead or i say you're done." and then zombie immediately flops to the ground and aizawa just "fuck i forgot about that one"

shinsou tried using his quirk on zombie and she just fell apart into pieces and shinsou is just "oh no?? dad??? what did i do??"

got her quirk a week after cryptic got hers.

it was a complete accident where zombie got a hold of a kitchen knife when aizawa wasn't looking and cut off her forearm.

aizawa had zombie's arm yeeted at him before zombie reattached it.

mimic

"so mimic. are you a boy or a girl?" "my dads says i'm a hero" "so what's in your pants?" cue mimic reaching into their pants only to reveal the middle finger

they actually pull out increasingly weird things and not just their middle finger when asked

identifies a gender neutral/a threat to everyone's sexuality

they actually have no gender. it's part of their quirk (in a way. i have a whole explanation but that's for later)

the last triplet to get their quirk.

they got theirs nearly a year later so there was definitely concern that mimic was quirkless.

mimic got theirs in the middle of the night when aizawa was grading papers and listening to mic's radio show

twink and wants to be bench pressed

if you think is a soft innocent bean, then you're WRONG

they grew up with zombie, cryptic, and hitoshi for older siblings.

they're an ABSOLUTE little shit

they constantly ask uncomfortable questions about things they already know

ex: "iida? since you're the class rep, you can answer my question right?" "of course! i'm here to assist!" "what did bakugou mean when he called me a bottom???" "he WHAT NOW??" "he called me a bottom."

all insults regarding mimic as a person are automatically reflected back to the person who used the insult bc mimic is their own trap card

"is it hetero or homo if someone dates me??" "if someone dates you, then it's a blessing to that person." "thanks i guess todoroki but that doesn't answer my question??"

asexual

by their third year of ua, they've given up their soft aesthetic and have embraced their BDE

they know everyone's dick size/cup size. it's mostly so they have the right size clothing for disguises but also for shits and giggles.

they respect the bodies they mimic!!

i'm just thinking that like mimic has no shame. "oh too busy driving to send thirsty a dick pic? gimme the phone and don't mind me in the backseat"

i've got a lot of mimic baggage whoops

that's all for now folks!! i've got aus and all sorts also ;))

(especially mimic bc their quirk allows for a lot of things to be possible!! and maybe later we'll talk about the version of mimic's quirk that requires a specific phrase to cause certain mimicries)

edit as of 06/18/19: ya yeet?? v2 is back. didn't really change anything

[lord-woolsley]

Neverlove

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale) Chapters: 1/1 (1795 words) Rating: Teen And Up Summary:  When the Nogitsune possesses Stiles, there's only one person who can save him: Derek Hale. However, Derek has to fight his own feelings first. Rant: If you like it, please leave some love on ao3. ♡ Ao3: Link

Neverlove

"When the Nogitsune gets the better of me, you have to kill me, Derek“, Stiles said. He was feeling the exhaustion as he managed to free himself out of possession for a very second. His eyes filled with a familiar sparkle, showing a hint of the sly humour that reminded Derek of Stiles’ usual sarcastic self.

His eyes were reflecting small rays of light shining from the light bulb above their heads. Eyes brown like dark chocolate and now without the pain Derek could see in them just a few moments ago. Stiles’ eyes were way too warm and soft for such a terrible situation, way too present for a body that wasn't his anymore. Derek could see the warmth in them that had always helped Stiles and his friends to manage even the worst of situations. But this time Stiles smiled for himself and only for himself, desperately trying to find pieces of self-awareness to hold onto. But after all it was just a mechanism to protect himself from losing everything that ever meant something to him, to shield himself from the corruption of possession that would certainly destroy him.

Derek looked at Stiles’ eyes again and again, eyes he loved so dearly, eyes he wanted to protect at all costs, never letting them go again. Ignoring his feelings however, he nodded slightly, giving his one and only a silent promise to fulfil his wishes, to hopefully save the real him. Even if death seemed to be the only possible solution, the inevitable outcome.

Derek would have loved to give his own life instead of sacrificing the soul beside him. He was a bad person after all, he might even have deserved a fate like this. But Stiles: pure, soft, always happy Stiles, should have been save, save at home watching TV with his dad, out on the field with Scott or (he didn’t even dare to think about it) making out with Malia on the backseat of his jeep. Everything was better than having Stiles here with him, possessed and broken.

"You’re the only one who can do it. Scott and Malia will not be able to end this", Stiles said. "Oh, Stiles", Derek thought. "Why do you think I'm the right person for this?" He didn’t speak the words out loud. Stopping himself from sobbing, he couldn’t show Stiles what he was going through. Stiles needed someone here with him who was ready for whatever outcome this situation might bring. Someone he could trust and Derek wanted to be this person for him when he needed him the most.

It was evening already and the white artificial light threw a silver shadow on everything it could find. Derek and Stiles were sitting next to each other on the ground waiting for the Nogitsune to take over. The high school was empty at this hour and they were completely alone. Every few minutes or so Stiles said something to show Derek he was still in control of his mind, still fighting against it. Not knowing that Derek was fighting a battle of his own. Thankfully the light was faint enough for Stiles to not see the desperation on Derek’s face.

"If you only knew…", Derek muttered softly to himself. His lips were moving, his mouth closed. He didn't have the strength to say the words out loud. He was aware of his feelings for Stiles for a long time now. Every time Derek started to like a person; his life turned into a nightmare. “Maybe…”, an evil voice in his mind said, “you’re not meant to fall in love.” Whenever Derek had felt an intense feeling of attraction, his life fell apart. He didn’t seem to deserve it and now Stiles had to suffer the consequences.

Derek remembered Kate, her long blonde curls, her confident smile. That was the trait he had fallen in love with first. Derek had loved her unconditionally; he had loved her till the moment she killed his family in flames and betrayed him. He was still blaming himself for it, searching for a specific mistake he had made that had led her to destruction. Derek had let the enemy in, opening himself and his family to her who then had to pay the darkest price for his emotions, how ironic. That's what he wanted to spare himself from. Letting Stiles in would only make it worse. That's why he kept silent, why he didn't tell Stiles about his feelings for him because he wouldn’t be able to endure the consequences again. He wouldn't survive losing another person he loved. If Stiles wasn't his, he might even be able to save him.

Derek hadn’t the chance to start crying because Stiles transformed again. His face was turning dark with eyes looking so empty that every last bit of Stiles' mimic seemed to vanish instantly, transforming his expression into something colder than ice, something that wasn’t Stiles at all anymore. Malignity destroying the last hint of ease Stiles had been able to keep on his face for so long. Stiles was gone.

Derek recognized it as soon as it began, and he was trying to get up as quickly as he could when the Nogitsune tried to attack him with a small pocket knife which Stiles had probably hidden in his pocket for self-defence purposes earlier that day. In a fleeting moment Derek would have loved to die, he imagined the creature throwing him to the floor, tearing into him, ripping his heart out into multiple pieces, shredding it. “No heart, no heartbreak. No heartbreak, no pain”, he thought to himself. It was not granted to him.

Instead of lingering on his thoughts much longer, he took Stiles' hands in this, freeing them from the weapon with sheer strength. From one monster to another. Stiles was trying to hold onto the weapon with inhuman strength, there was nothing left of the fragile teenage boy Derek got to know over the last few months. “I’m 145 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, sarcasm is my only defence”, Derek remembered him once saying. Without his voice and his wits Stiles was defenceless in this, no one could outsmart a Nogitsune with willpower and sarcasm only, especially not while being possessed and trapped in his own body by said creature. Stiles would be unable to free himself.

Stiles’ hands were stiff but still remained warm, they felt exactly like the first time he had the chance to touch them. Derek’s treacherous heart would always remember that moment like it had been yesterday, burnt into his mind forever, setting off a nostalgic spark from the past, a faint glimmer so much needed in the dark hour he was suffering through right now. For a better lack of words he could only describe it as a fast-beating mess.

Back when the Kanima had paralyzed him and he had been so close to drowning in that goddamn school swimming pool, before bodily-weak, fragile Stiles Stilinski had turned himself into a hero just to rescue him. Derek couldn’t trust his eyes back then when someone was actually coming for him, and even less so, when this special someone turned out be Stiles. Very unexpectedly, he might add. Derek smiled gently, mentally bathing in memories from times long gone. He wouldn’t let go off Stiles’ fingers back then and he had blamed the Kanima’s paralyzing poison for it. None of the others ever found out about it, but he was still clinging onto Stiles’ hand long after the poison had already left his body. Stiles’ fingers had always seemed so fragile, this new strength didn't fit them. Derek didn’t like the change because he was aware of what would follow, and he was not ready for it.

Stiles' bones made a horrifying breaking sound when Derek forced his hand open to take the weapon inside it. Not a real weapon though, not even a sword, just a small pocket knife, and oh the irony, still worse than anything Derek could imagine. He pushed it into Stiles' chest, over and over again until his own sobs stopped him. Derek slid down the wall behind him, leaving blood marks on the wallpaper, now holding onto the body he attacked or “saved” from himself seconds ago. He held him too close, desperate, broken. A puppet, still warm, ready to rise again at any given moment.

The lights made the floor look red, making the wet spots look like puddles, puddles shining in dark ruby red.

"I'm so sorry...“, Derek whispered. It was the first time he apologized to someone.

But in this very moment Derek never wanted to be a powerless and weak minded coward again. “You didn’t break your promise”, the voice in his head said. “You owed him that.” Derek wanted the voice to shut up.

Stiles’ shirt was covered in blood but his eyes looked human-like again, hurt, lost in pain. The Nogitsune stopped its possession, ready to move on, ready to find a new host, a host able to live, to act, and to fulfil its commands. The little left of Stiles wasn’t worthy of its control anymore. Stiles was more dead than alive, more corpse than person. Derek let go of Stiles body slowly and kneeled down beside him, one hand softly resting on Stile's cheek. His eyes were open but his breath so very shallow. He was barely conscious when Derek kissed him.

"I'm so so sorry...", Derek repeated. He said it again and again, repeating it like a mantra that, so he hoped, could undo all of his actions. Derek wished he could turn back time, stopping himself from getting too close to Stiles in the first place, preventing Stiles' fate by staying as far away from him as possible. Keeping him save by cutting him out of his cursed life that was destroying everyone near him.

Derek turned around looking for help, someone had to call an emergency. Maybe Stiles could still be saved after what the Nogitsune did to him? After what he did to him. Maybe there was still enough life left in him? Stiles was a fighter. Derek saw Malia instead.

She gazed towards the body in horror, clasping her hands over her mouth, a shrieking sound escaping her lips. Derek got up instantly, risking one last look at Stiles. He would leave Stiles with her. He was not his Stiles anymore, he had never been his Stiles in the first place. He was Malia’s Stiles and that’s what he would be.

"Wait!“, she shouted while calling an ambulance on her mobile phone. Ignoring her, Derek ran faster, still feeling Stiles' lips on his own. Lips sealing their goodbyes. Derek wasn’t sure if he could ever forget them.

[shirtlesssammy]

1x05: Bloody Mary

Then:

A Season One Aesthetic

Now:

Toledo, Ohio

Sleepover Friends are playing a game of Truth or Dare. One girl tasks another to say “Bloody Mary” in the bathroom mirror three times. (The girl is Sam’s double in Mint Condition!) The girl, Lily, is impervious to the legends surrounding Bloody Mary so she heads to the bathroom to check off her Dare. Nothing happens and her friends and her laugh at their silly antics.

Their noise alerts her father, who tells them to keep it down. As he’s walking back to bed, he passes 5,000 mirrors, and each one is reenacting The Ring. He heads to the bathroom to pop some happy pills --and there’s another mirror.

Downstairs, Lily’s older sister busts in, with some mild ribbing for her kid sister and a whole lotta IDGAF attitude about missing curfew. She heads upstairs and finds her dead father in a pool of his own blood.

Sam’s dreaming of his dead girlfriend. Dean wakes him and says, “Sooner or later we’re going to have to talk about this.” Sam deflects in true Winchester fashion. They’re in Toledo at the morgue, investigating the death of Lily’s father.

The morgue attendant is less than impressed with the unannounced med students. I’m less than impressed with their cosplay. It is almost refreshing to watch these early episodes just to reflect on later seasons and know how much Dean embraces the things he loves about the job. He’s just cool bravado here, but no one’s buying the schtick. Sam cuts to the chase and throws money at the man. Dean balks at Sam’s careless use of Dean’s hard earned money. This appropriately timed post from @pinkandsatiny-blog showed up on my dash this AM.

Once inside and looking at the victim, they see his eyes have liquefied.

Sam posits that maybe this is just “some freak medical thing.” Dean scoffs and assures him that this is supernatural.

They talk to the daughter. At the wake. In their hunter garb. At least Dean has presence of mind to note that they’re underdressed.  

On principle I refuse to stoop this low but, SAME, LADY, SAME:

The boys talk to Donna, the older daughter, about her father’s stroke. Lily pops in to say it wasn’t a stroke. She caused his death because she said Bloody Mary in the mirror.

The brothers head inside to take a peek at the bathroom. Sam info dumps lore about Bloody Mary. The legend indicates that the person who says the words will die, but that’s not what happened here. One of Donna’s friends, Charlie, appears and demands that the Winchesters tell her the truth. They do --to a point, and ask her to contact them if her or her friends see anything weird.

They head to the library! Time to dig a little into public records and such to find a Mary who died in front of a mirror. Dean’s already pre-annoyed with research, and once Sam sees the computers are out of order, he too is annoyed.

Donna’s two friends, Charlie and Jill, are talking on the phone about Sam and Dean, and then Jill jokes about Bloody Mary. (So does this pass the Bechdel test or not? Hmm.) Charlie tells Jill to knock it off. Jill utters the words in the mirror anyway --and screams and laughs and so funny amirite? Jill and Charlie get off the phone. Jill strips down to her underwear in her mirror filled room, as one does. And Bloody Mary is waiting (she’s even waiting in the reflection on the television --which sends me down a rabbit hole of thought: What makes a mirror?) Jill heads back to the bathroom, and while at the mirror her reflection doesn’t mimic her. Instead, it stares her down and the eyes start to bleed. But so do Jill’s eyes.

Then the reflection tells Jill, “You did it. You killed that boy.” Jill falls over dead.

Sam continues to dream of Jess burning on their ceiling. My heart aches for him. #GiveSamaDogandaTherapist2K05 He wakes and Dean asks what he dreamed about, but Sam deflects again. Dean’s been doing research but getting nowhere fast. Dean’s starting to doubt that it’s really the Bloody Mary legend at play. Sam gets a call from Charlie, who fills them in on Jill’s death. They enlist Charlie to help them with their plan. The boys do a sweep of Jill’s bedroom. Sam finds something on infrared and takes the bathroom mirror down. On the back, under blacklight, there’s a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman”. Research shows that Gary Bryman was an 8 year old boy killed in a hit and run that was never solved (like, Charlie knew instantly that it was Jill’s car, uh, what the hell DMV?) They head to Donna’s house to find the name “Linda Shoemaker” --Donna’s mother who overdosed on sleeping pills. Donna storms off after their inquiry. Charlie puts it together that their dad killed their mom.

Dean starts a nationwide search for their source.

He finds an unsolved murder of a Mary Worthington in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Cut to Fort Wayne, Indiana. A retired detective tells Sam and Dean about the Mary Worthington murder. Mary wanted to leave town and make a name for herself, but she was killed before she could make good on any of her plans. She was found with her eyes cut out. YEESH. The detective pulls out her old files. One of the shots of her body shows letters written out across a mirror; he thinks she was trying to spell the name of her murderer.

The detective’s bet? A local surgeon, Trevor Sampson. (He’s dead now.) So, a vengeful ghost! Sam asks where she’s buried but they learn that she was cremated. However, there was an ornate mirror in the photo of her body, which connects her to the mirror hauntings. The mirror is back in the family’s possession. The Winchesters are on the job! Huzzah!

Back with our tempestuous Toledo teens, they continue to argue over the existence of Bloody Mary. In a school bathroom.

Side note: I asked Boris to recap this episode because the Bloody Mary myth tapped into a deep phobia of mine. When I was in Kindergarten, we used to be ushered to the bathroom by our teacher and left there for ten minutes or so to use it as a class. Sometimes there were big kids using the bathroom at the same time, and a favorite way to scare the little kids was to turn off the lights and intone, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, I killed your seven sons!” In our version of the myth, you turned around three times, repeating that phrase. Friends, I still get a little scared in front of a dark mirror, and refuse to do more than glance at one in passing. (Though after years of desensitizing myself, I can finally walk around dark mirrors without imagining that I’m seeing Bloody Mary’s dark visage.)

Anyway, back to the episode. Donna says “Bloody Mary” three times and then stalks out of the bathroom dismissively. Who’s gonna die? Who has a DARK SECRET? In chemistry class, we learn about ions and also that Charlie’s the one with the dark secret! She pulls out a compact mirror to look for monsters and spots Bloody Mary lurking behind her. She screams and flees the classroom.

Meanwhile, Sam’s trying to use his charm to get ahold of the mirror, only to learn that it’s been sold to an estate business. A week ago. What a coincidink. The mirror’s now in Toledo, which explains our traveling Bloody Mary. Sam explains a piece of lore that we never see again - that people used to cover mirrors so the spirits of the recently departed don’t get trapped. Dean’s ready to SMASH that mirror and kill the ghost. Go for it, Dean Bean.

Charlie calls Sam and the next scene has the Winchesters covering every reflective surface in her room. Sam coaxes her to open her eyes. Hey, Sam. What about those limpid doe eyes you sport in every episode? THOSE things are killers, man.

Eyes are the windows to vengeful ghosts

Dean grills Charlie about her deadly secret. She had a scary boyfriend who threatened to kill himself when she broke up with him. When he died, she blamed herself.

Later in the car, Sam spins out a theory that smashing the original mirror won’t do anything. They need to summon Mary to the mirror first and then they can smash it. Otherwise, her spirit will just flit from mirror to mirror like a sprite and never get caught. Sam thinks that Mary will go after him and Dean pulls over in disgust. Time for a parenting moment, friends.

Sam thinks that Jessica’s death was his fault. Dean gives Sam a rousing speech about not blaming himself which is R I C H coming from Dean. But…early days, right? Sam confesses that there are Further Sekrets of Sam Effing Winchester. Dean throws Sam some A grade bitch face.

For YOU THROW THAT SHADE Science

They break into the antique shop and stalk around, finding a giant storeroom full of mirrors. “Fuck my life,” Dean basically says. They explore the antique warehouse full of mannequins and insidious lamps. Sam calls for Bloody Mary and they get their smashin’ hands ready.

When Mary doesn’t show, Dean double-checks the entrance and spots bright headlights. He heads outside to head off security. Meanwhile, Bloody Mary shows up in the surrounding mirrors. AS we watch, Mirror!Sam starts to bleed. “It’s your fault,” Mirror!Sam says. “You killed her.”

Outside, Dean is…incredibly awkward talking with security. He claimed he was the owner’s son but the owner is implied not to be white. Dean explains that he’s adopted and…oh lord, Dean. They’re not buying his story AT ALL, so Dean knocks them both out quickly.

Mirror!Sam tells us Sam’s dark secret. Sam had been having nightmares about Jessica’s horrific death months before she died.

Dean races back inside, only to find Sam crumpled to the ground. Dean smashes the mirror like the goddamn HULK. Dean hauls Sammy “It’s Sam” Winchester out of the room. Unfortunately, by smashing the mirror they’ve only freed Mary.

She crawls out of the mirror Ring-style and starts to bleed out both brothers. Dean grabs a mirror and shines it on Mary. 

Mirror!Mary actually seems more lucid that creepy-crawly Mary and tells her that she killed everyone. Mary dissolves in a puddle of blood.

Dean and Sam run Charlie back home. Be free, little butterfly! (I’m still super weirded out by your name.)

Sam tells her that she needs to forgive herself for her boyfriend’s death. Sometimes bad things just happen. Dean whacks Sam on the arm and tells him that it’s good advice. Pot. Kettle. Black.

As they’re played off the screen, Dean asks what Sam’s secret was, but Sam holds his cards close for a little while longer. As Sam stares moodily out the window, he sees Jessica standing on the street corner, white dress fluttering dramatically.

Yep. Everything’s fine.

(And because Boris loves those parallels, she’s just going to drop this gifset down and run away.)

Bloody Quotes, Bloody Quotes, Bloody Quotes:

Sooner or later we’re gonna have to talk.

How many times in Dad’s long career has it ever been a freak medical thing and not some sign of some awful supernatural death?

Spirits don’t exactly see shades of gray.

It’s Sam.

Hey Sam. It’s gonna be like six hundred years back luck?

You’re my brother, and I’d die for you. But there are some things I need to keep to myself.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[chartreuseblood]

Lucy

“Wait, wait, wait. Who was that little girl who was in there for most of that?”

The Vulcan finally lifted his eyes from the cave floor to look at this young, blue-eyed Kirk. His dark eyebrows were furrowed and his expression was riddled with questions about everything from the mind meld, even if he only verbally expressed one.

Spock began to recall with a light of fondness what specific memories he was referring to and could not conceal his soft smile.

“My granddaughter.”

They were in the middle of a game of chess. 

Both men had been simultaneously sipping their mugs of tea as Jim strategically planned his upcoming move. Spock had made to point out that Jim’s reading glasses were still on, in which he got the reply that he knew Spock enjoyed him in the glasses, of which there was always a tinge of warmth that could not be relinquished. 

The chess piece was just barely touching the board when the PADD sat on the kitchen island buzzed a message notification. Jim laid the piece down and rose, careful not to shake the table, making his way to see what was said, only after pressing a hasty kiss to his husband’s temple. 

L.H.MCCOY: Jim, I think you ought to see to this... The girls have some big news and they want you two to hear it, too. 

 The girls. ‘The girls’ always referred to Saavik and Joanna. After the initial mentorship, Jim and Spock felt as though Saavik was a daughter to them and took her in as so, which she gladly accepted. There was a mutual feeling of love at first sight when the women first met, no matter how much they continuously seem to get under each other’s skin. Bones had always been somewhat of a brother and became even more so when the daughters married. 

Spock had already read the emotion and thoughts through the bond as Jim mentally read the message so he knew what was being beckoned as they made eye contact. He huffed getting up from the comfort of his favorite dining chair, only to get comfortable again moments later, sat between Jim’s hip and the sofa’s armrest with his legs across Jim’s lap. His arm curled across Jim’s shoulders and began running his fingers repeatedly through tight ringlets as Jim turned on the large screen viewer above their mantle. 

It took a minute and a few uncounted rings for the girls to pick up. As usual, there was some bickering already heard on their line and hardly ceased by time the connection stabilized. 

“Sa-mekh, you are being as grossly affectionate as always.” was the first remark, coming from Saavik and being directed at Spock. Had he been fully human, he would have retorted in a comment but instead lifting an eyebrow before getting an idea. He turned Jim’s head towards his own and initiated a deeply passionate kiss, to be even more ‘gross’.

“Disgusting...” Joanna scoffed, watching the tender happening before her. She and her wife were mentally in mutual agreement that they were dirty old men. 

“You sound more and more like your father each day, Jo.” Kirk chuckled after the make-out session cut short. Spock’s head then laid between his jawline and shoulder, intertwining their fingers in the shared lap. 

As Joanna shook her head, he continued, “Bones said you two had something important to tell us.” At this, Joanna returned her composure and shared a sympathetic look with Saavik. 

“Yes,” The half-Vulcan woman started, looking down at their desk and picking something up, “We are, as humans put it, ‘expecting’.” Her delivery was blunt as her attention was turned to gauge reactions. 

“Oh.” was all Jim could softly manage to say. Previously, Spock’s head had been resting and his eyes closed but the earth-shattering news caused him to pick it up and stare with knitted eyebrows. 

“Who is carrying?” He inquired blatantly, receiving a nervous smile from Joanna in response. 

“Du s’frei the tehvars, a’ri?” His voice was unwavering, nearly cold, as he spoke in native tongue, concealing a portion of the conversation. [You understand the dangers, correct?]

“Ah, ah, veling, sa-mekh. Olozhikaik? Ri, hi a aitlun.” At least Saavik understood what risk they were running and that their wish was not inherently logical. With that, Spock nodded his approval. [Yes, yes, of course, father. Logical? No, but a desire.] 

Joanna and Jim were still deserted among what was just exchanged but the Vulcans seemed pleased with themselves, which one could only hope for. 

When he found it appropriate, Jim set congratulations in order on both his and his husband’s behalfs. Surprisingly, Saavik actually let a small smile slip and she grasped Joanna’s hand graciously. All four agreed on keeping the older two up-to-date on how everything was blowing over. 

After the call was ended, Jim looked to Spock lovingly.

“This should shape up to be interesting.”

“It shall indeed be fascinating.”

Six months later, they transported cross-country for the small baby shower. When Jim had mentioned they were invited, Spock began extensive research into the human ritual and was calculating both efficiency and cost for their intended gift. Practicality and logical were key. 

Jim had to talk him out of a Sehlat cub and they compromised on a futuristic mobile. It projected onto the ceiling and presented stars and solar systems. Being as it were, Spock, of course, reprogrammed one of its settings to include Vulcan and its twin suns as an accoutrement. He revised the accuracy of the Terra diagram and its accompanying sister planets and stars, as well.

Jim was quite proud and assured him it would be well appreciated. It was no doubt thought of outside of the box. Mobiles were still typical, even well into the 23rd century, but not as this one was fitted. 

The couple were dozed off together the entire ride over to the apartment, Jim’s head on Spock’s shoulder and Spock’s own head resting on Jim’s forehead. You know how old men do. When they arrived, they spent a few minutes stretching before making their way to the front door. 

Saavik was the one to answered the door and directed them to the living area, flour dusted on her forehead. Spock wiped it off for her, not unlike a mother hen, before she turned on her heel to return to her current task. In the living room, Joanna was comfortably reclined in her leather recliner and the elder McCoy sat across from her on the sofa. 

The pair were greeted with a warm welcome. To Joanna’s convenience, she wasn’t expected to get up as Jim simply patted her hands rested on her stomach and Spock offered a ta’al. Bones, unexpectedly, got up to hug them and Spock actually allowed it for once. Saavik joined them a few minutes later, sitting on Joanna’s armrest and connecting a possessive hand to the swollen stomach that was almost awkward on that thin frame. 

“So just a little get-together?” Jim asked as his husband got comfortable beside him. 

“Yes, since someone insists it would keep my stress level down.” Joanna answered, narrowing her eyes at her father. 

“You know I’m right, missy.” He hissed in return.

“Christine says everything is fine.” 

“By human standards, yes. But you have to be more careful with half-breeds.” The other two half-breeds in the room shot him equally-matched glares. 

“Alright, alright, no need for a cat-fight. I was only wondering.” The tension only died slightly at Jim’s resolution. Spock only relaxed more at his husband’s touch. All could agree that there was truth in McCoy’s statement but his wording was what had everyone at his throat. 

The silence was awkward and unbroken until Saavik’s audible flinch and the uproar of Joanna laughing. The older men of the room weren’t quite sure what just happened before their eyes but it was enough to send Joanna into a wave of laughter tears and Saavik a dazed confusion. 

“Apparently the baby is also mad at you too, Dad.” Jo choked out, struggling to breath after laughing so hard. She had to remove her glasses to wipe her eyes and a wave of blonde fell in her face as she did. 

“She kicked really hard and that’s why Saav got so startled.” She explained finally, replacing her glasses on her nose.

“She?” Bones inquired, eyebrow slightly raised. It was almost an ancient mimic of Spock, which was scary in itself. 

“I neglected to mention that, didn’t I?” Joanna murmured, looking to Saavik who was nodding, “We found out the sex at the last ultrasound a few days ago.” 

“A little girl... I’ll be damned.” Leonard chuckled, leaning back in his spot. 

“Pay up, Bones.” Kirk directed at him, motioning at him as if he had the physical credits. They had drunkenly taken a gamble about a month earlier and somehow remembered it.

“Over my dead body.”

“You’re a dirty bastard, you cheat.” 

***

After a little while, they were preparing to sit and try the fruit tart concoction Saavik had slaved over when Joanna caught Kirk’s eyes level with her stomach.

“You can feel it if you’d like.” She said quietly, earning his eyes adverting upwards and blush threatening to reach his cheeks. 

“May I?” She was already offering but he wanted to solidify it by being polite. She nodded and his aged hand gingerly reached out to search for a kicking foot. It was a luxury he had missed out on with David before he was born and something bypassed by a lack of biological children among himself and Spock. In spite of these thoughts, he still warmly smiled at the feeling of a kick. 

Spock was observing the feat quietly at Kirk’s side. It was far beyond anything he’d had seen and though it appeared odd, he could lightly feel the significance, especially if he stretched across the bond to see Jim’s thoughts. It was when Joanna’s eyes met his in an offering manner that he unintentionally shuddered.

However, he still accepted the invitation as Kirk retreated to take his seat at the table once more. He barely had two fingers lightly touching the area before he flinched, even more so than Saavik had earlier. Everyone was slightly baffled but he was the most bewildered. Not even he knew why that happened. 

“I... apologize... for my reaction.” He mumbled, trying to compose himself. His finger tips almost felt singed and apparently there was a warm feeling on the other end as well. 

“Well, I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not, but she seems to have settled down.” Joanna seemed pleasantly surprised, if not somewhat joyed. It did mean a break on the inside on her abdomen. Spock was still stiff and tensed, not sure what exactly he had caused. 

“Dare I say you’re a magic man?” His husband laughed.

A little over three months passed until their next visit which would be more important. They were staying a few days before and after Joanna was due to help create a comfortable environment along with Bones.  

Barely a day and a half in, the little bun decided it was done cooking and wanted out. Thankfully, nobody panicked as they were all prepared. The nearest hospital had already been on call about all of this and were not alarmed at the sudden urgency.

They even flew in Dr. M’Benga, who they somehow still let practice medicine despite being as old of a bastard as Kirk and McCoy. The delivery was scheduled to be via cesarean section to ensure the safety of mother and child, and though M’Benga wouldn’t be performing it himself, he was still there to advise in the procedure. 

It was surprising they let Saavik stay in the room despite all of her pacing. The soon-to-be grandfathers were all sat quietly, watching whatever motion they could see from the glass window separating them from the surgery room. 

Soon, Saavik’s ears flicked and she ceased pacing at a first cry. Bones and Jim stood when they could faintly her it and all watched the child being fully lifted up. The human males were over come with joy and Saavik expressed the same feeling in her own way. 

While Spock arguably felt the same, it was hard to discern it out of the wave of emotion that crashed into him, turning his stomach nauseous and sending him searching for a restroom in case it followed through. Jim noticed his absence in seconds without the aid of the bond and went to find him. 

He had stumbled into the nearest restroom and there they sat, on the floor, waiting to see if anything would actually come up, Jim’s hand rubbing circles on Spock’s lower back. When no bile came burning up, they both sighed and looked to each other. 

“I’m sorry, Jim. I did not expect my... erratic behavior. Simply too many emotions flourished at once and I could not suppress them.” His tone was laden with guilt but Jim just took his face in hand, kissing all over it. He only stopped when Spock relaxed beneath him and even then, it was hard to stop. 

Finally, they got to their feet and began to make their way to the room where Joanna was taken after the operation was complete. Kirk walked in first and Spock was beginning to apologize behind him when he realized why his husband was in a dead-stop before him and everyone silent. 

There was a sort of majesty and awe in the first moments of a mother holding a child against her chest. Most did it with a bare chest for maximum skin contact and this was the case here. Saavik’s gaze was deeply in love and as proud as Kirk and the elder McCoy. As for Spock... He would not know for a while what he felt in that moment.

Nonetheless, it was a pleasant emotion, surely.

***

The few more days spent in the hospital than necessary was forwarded by McCoy’s warranted concern. It was top priority that the three quarters emotion of a baby was healthy and her mother was as well. 

Jim and Spock were only a call away until Bones told them everything was set and everyone met at the apartment. Saavik was the one wielding the baby, who was fully awake and staring at everyone with eyes whose color was not too dissimilar to Kirk’s. Despite having parents on the thinner side, the little one already had a small bit of weight to her. Or maybe it was just the density carried over by her genes. 

The baby -- Lucille (in which Jim made the joke “Little Richard or The Beatles?” which definitely showed his age) -- was interested in everyone and their fingers, despite being days old, though that may have once again been due to the green blooded heritage. However, the person who fascinated her the most was Spock; when she wasn’t distracted, Lucy’s attention was always on him and was constantly trying to grasp for him. 

He caught onto the pleas but willfully ignored them, not running the risk of, well, just about anything. From the previous outbursts to the possibility he could drop her or she’d hit one of his sensitive areas, he was not ready to take a chance. To his relief, everyone allowed it for a while. 

She was passed around by the other four and cooed at or swaddled in their arms. She only fussed a bit when she began to hunger, in which she was swept up by Joanna to be fed and peppered in kisses. She scowled with her little face for a moment as her soft cheeks were kissed but it didn’t matter as she was sleepy seconds after. 

Small eyes began to close gently until Jo started to sit back down, causing her to stir. Lucy sprung up a fit and turned to Spock, who was sat across the table, staring with teary eyes. It was not unusual that an eyebrow raised but it was a shock when he finally held out his hand to her, which she placed her tiny one into. At her continued squirming, Joanna gently passed her over for Spock to hold.

The only one not catching flies while gaping in awe was Jim, heart swollen with love as always. Spock began to rise to get comfortable on the sofa, but not without tenderly kissing his husband’s forehead. Everyone was still taking the moment in when he plopped down on the cushion, folding his legs as if he were going to meditate, perfectly cradling a smiling baby at his chest.

Knowing that it would take silence for Lucy to fall asleep, Saavik was the one who beckoned everyone to the porch for tea. Meanwhile, Spock only had to sit there before Lucy was dead asleep in the crook of his arm. He wasn’t sure when exactly he fell asleep himself. 

After a while, Joanna had come in to pry her daughter from his grasp to set her in a proper crib. She had thought her approach was gentle enough but Lucy was starting to fuss, in turn leading Spock to begin to stir. Everyone had a clear view from the porch and watched as she backed up to leave them at rest. The baby stilled and the lack of motion and noise caused Spock to relax once more.

It was in that moment everyone knew they’d be inseparable.

And, it held true that her Sa’mekh’al was always her favorite. It was true that Grandpa [Jim] was the most kind-hearted and Papa [McCoy] the funniest, but Sa’mekh’al was -- well, himself.

Just like Ko-mekh, he was a hybrid, but in his case, even more cast out based on his blood. Being Vulcan and Romulan was one thing, but they were more interrelated than being Vulcan and Human. Not to mention, he greatly understood the difficulty in keeping a human side under wrap. 

He taught her how to raise an eyebrow and the basics of the Vulcan language from a young age, both of which Saavik huffed at, having her daughter be articulate in native tongue while battling with their eyebrows. He also talked at length about science and his adventures. Occasionally, Lucy asked what it was like to be married and bonded to a t’hy’la. Whenever she asked, she could see the love swelling behind his eyes as he began to ramble on and on about Jim. 

Another stark similarity between them was the lack of childhood friends. It was understandably difficult to find other pointed-ear children in Boston. Spock would tell her that San Francisco was a melting pot and whenever she would be able to visit, she could likely find at least someone. It was a nice thought but she was content just confiding in him, even if they were always nearly five thousand kilometers between them. 

Upon Jim’s untimely death, he was able to, in return, seek comfort in her and her mothers. Anyone with half a brain could see the pain and grief he felt, but after all of the stories she heard growing up, Lucy knew it ran much deeper than what could been seen. 

She was the one who gifted him the holo of one of Jim’s last recordings and hung it on a chain. It would be the one he’d wear for years to come. That was the first time she ever saw him cry... no, not just cry... sob. 

To say the least, he was basically a reliable father figure in the place of a lack of a father. He taught her how to be a functional young woman, beyond what her parents taught her daily. They were almost as joined at the hip as Spock was to Jim.

“Spock?” 

The elder finally opened his eyes, taking notice of the wet tears frosting over on his cheeks. The young Kirk was looking at him with concern, biting his already busted lip. 

He had hoped the blue eyes would read the pain, grief, and lone feeling hidden behind his own but reminded himself that this was not his Jim. No, his younger self was who was to belong to him and have his pain read. 

“I apologize, I was entranced by recalling fond memories.” It was much too often he found himself apologizing to one Jim or another. 

“It’s alright...” The way this came out of this Jim’s mouth was too close to his t’hy’la’s for comfort. However, it had seemed the bank in his tear-ducts had already run dry and it was no use to double over and ponder, risking relapse. Considering his options, he sighed.

“If I were to explain what I was re-examining, will you make a promise not to inform my younger self from this timeline? If my calculations are correct, they will occur in good time on this plane as well.” 

Kirk nodded with a weary smile, making himself comfortable. 

[cescalr]

Hi can i request an au about stiles and malia being soulmates? Like both of them having the same mark or something idk i just love soulmates aus and i feel like they need one

I’m actually writing one, but since it’s a slow build thing and Malia’s not even in it yet, here’s another for ya! :D

In this world, magic is well known. How could it not be? A person has something descriptive regarding their soulmate magically tattoed onto their body once they meet them; it would be hard to ignore the fantastical nature of such an occurance.

In this world, because of this, werewolves are not hidden. Hunters are regulated and part of the police force, and therefore require the same background checks – though they are admittedly more like an army than anything else.

After all, if something like the Anuk-Ite got free, you couldn’t exactly arrest it now, could you?

So, in this world, various things didn’t happen. In this world, various things happened.

Some of them are unimportant. Many are, of course, in a background sense.

But some things stay the same.

Malia was still adopted.

Claudia still died.

They are similar people, if not the same. The dread doctors died years ago, for example, so there is no way for Donovan to be given enough power to be a danger.

(Creating betas is a regulated process, too. It requires you to be of age and sound of mind, because it is a life changing decision. It transforms you, forever, into something else. Something super-human in nature.)

For another, Malia’s mother was caught and killed a few months prior to Malia’s return to humanity. Perhaps this is why, in this world, she finds it easier to control her shift.

Or, perhaps it is that in this world, her father doesn’t think her crazy for ‘thinking’ she was a coyote for the past nine years.

(That, however, doesn’t stop him from not knowing what to do with her.)

Despite the world knowing about the supernatural, knowing about druids and shifters and beasts and banshees and the science of magic, that doesn’t stop the Nogitsune from being a danger.

It just stops Stiles from having to worry about people thinking he’s the one murdering people.

(But it does mean he’s more aware. There are mandatory classes about possession in every school, since the incident in ’02, ’19, ’21, ’34, ’40, and the incident at Oak Creek…)

Stiles puts himself away the second he puts two and two together.

Malia shows up two days into his stay. The nogitsune has been quiet, for now. He’s not sure why, but he’s not about to question it.

“Malia,” Stiles says, when he sees her at lunch. Scott’s been visiting, and due to the nature of Stiles’ detainment here, he was allowed to help with the investigation and rescue of the lost coyote girl.

(Eichen house is one of the relevant changes. As a facility for the supernatural to go if they are a danger to others, or for the possessed, or for the simply mentally ill, it has higher regulations than a lot of the other places in the world. In this universe, it’s actually quite nice.

Nobody has tried to commit suicide in the asylum and succeded – there is always that caveat you gloss over in the fine text, after all - since it opened. A record, considering it’s canon counterpart.)

Malia stares at him, and Stiles winces, scratches at his side.

“I’m Stiles. A friend of Scott’s…” He offers, hesitant. He’s never met Malia before; he didn’t promise to help and then abandon that promise.

Malia doesn’t punch him. She stares, quietly, then slides into the seat across from him.

“You know each other?”

“Not now, Oliver,” Stiles says, and Oliver quietens. He’s a nice enough guy, Stiles supposes, but he’s more dangerous than he seems.

“You know Scott?” Malia asks, simple.

Stiles nods. “He’s my best friend,” Stiles tells her, response automatic.

“He gave me a shirt.” Malia says. “I’ve still got it. I’ll give it to you once we’re out.”

Stiles blinks at her.

“It’s yours.” Malia says. “It smells like you.”

“Oh.” Stiles nods. “Okay, then. Sure.” He says.

Malia offers a smile. A small one; closed lipped and more of a quirk upwards, but it’s pretty all the same. Stiles smiles back, sort of.

His side is still bothering him, but Stiles ignores it.

(It’s probably nothing.)

(Obviously, it’s not nothing.)

Stiles has a session with Morrell that evening. Not for her French teacher side, or her psychiatrist side (though she can’t help but have that side show up in all aspects of her life, of course) but for her druidic one.

The one that was trained in how to deal with nogitsunes.

“Have you ever meditated before?” Morrell asks.

Stiles almost laughs. “ADHD, remember?” Stiles asks, rhetorically.

“You can still try,” Morrell says. “Because you need to. It’s either that or another ice bath.” She adds, pointedly.

“I think I’d prefer the ice bath,” Stiles grumbles, but he sighs and nods, acquiesces.  

“Copy me.” Morrell instructs, and sits across from him, cross-legged.

Stiles mimics her position.

“Take deep breaths,” Morrell says. “In for four, out for seven.”

Stiles does as she says.

“Close your eyes,” Morrell advises, and Stiles does so, because he wants to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.

This is nothing he hasn’t done before, with various other psychiatrists. Clinically diagnosed anxiety usually means they’ll try and find calming techniques – Stiles never really did well with the ones that required he just sit there, because those let him think.

“Visualise an empty room. It stretches on for miles, and it’s a blank, white canvas…” Morrell says, voice smooth, and Stiles lets it wash over him as he does so – and if there’s one thing Stiles is good at, it’s imagining things that aren’t real.

Stiles can’t exactly visualise nothingness, though. He uses the ice bath induced shared headspace as a template, and works from there.

“Now visualise it building up,” Morrell says, “Let it build itself. What kind of room do you see?”

Stiles still sees the blank shared headspace, but he simply lets his mind wander, for a moment. The room shrinks; the walls close in and the ceiling lowers.

“My bedroom,” Stiles says. “There are cork boards everywhere. String connecting blurred pictures, a couch where my bed should be.”

“Good.” Morrell says. “Now… sleep.”

She doesn’t say sleep, of course. But that’s what Stiles hears, and that’s what he does.

Morrell lowers the teen onto the floor and tidies up her supplies, then returns to her desk.

“Enter,” She calls, and Malia comes in, shuts the door behind herself.

“Good,” Morrell nods. “You remember basic manners.”

Malia scoffs and sits down, frowns petulantly across at Morrell.

“Have you had any troubles with shifting recently? Morrell asks, straight to the point.

Malia seems distracted, head tilted as she quite obviously sniffs the air.

“Stiles is here,” She says. “Or was here.” Malia glances around the room, and narrows her eyes, sniffs the air once more.

“Why is he behind your desk?” Malia asks, unconcerned for the most part, but there is a line between her brows one might call worry if they were feeling generous.

“Meditating,” Morrell says. “Now, back to you. Have you had trouble shifting?” Morrell repeats, and Malia seems mollified as she relaxes back into her seat, and shrugs. “I can’t,” Malia says, and Morrell leans forwards; concerned, intrigued. “I see,” Morrell murmurs.

“Well,” Morrell nods. “Hold out your hand,” She instructs, and Malia does so, if reluctantly.

“As a werecoyote, your fingernails should transform into claws at your command.” Morrell says. “Those who are more in control can even do individual nails. Or, of course, those who are more desperate.”

Malia nods. “So what do I do?” She asks, eager to learn. This Malia is no less eager to return to her coyote form than the one from before – This Malia knows her birth mother was an assassin and is dead and that her birth father had no idea she existed because her biological aunt removed all memories of her from him, and that doesn’t exactly warm her to humanity.

But her bio dad promised to visit, and to introduce her to her cousins, and Talia has been instructed to stay the hell away from my family because even in this world, Peter and Talia do not get along. So Malia has something to hold onto, at least, and it’s healthier than a hook-up in the basement of a mental institution.

(Not that that isn’t going to happen. But that that will be much healthier than it was in canon.)

“Concentrate,” Morrell instructs. “Focus on turning your fingernails into claws.”

Malia tries, and she tries really hard, but nothing happens.

“We’ll try again tomorrow.” Morrell nods, and Malia takes that as her cue to leave, but she hesitates.

“Is he okay?” Malia asks, and it’s slightly awkward but Morrell mentally smiles because it means the girl didn’t loose her ability to feel concern for other people during her time with the brain of a coyote.

“He will be,” Morrell tells her, because that is true.

Malia takes this answer and nods, then is gone through the door before anything else can be said.

Morrell turns back to Stiles, and waits.

Stiles is in this facsimile of his bedroom, with it’s odd couch and blurry photographs, and he’s siting there, staring at the door.

The door that’s ajar. Open.

He needs to close it, but he can’t close it with the Nogitsune in here. He needs to kick the nogitsune out the door, and then lock it. Lock it tight, so nothing else can ever get in here ever again.

He doesn’t want to hurt his friends.

Stiles stands and looks around the room, drags his fingers along the red string as he walks towards the cork board on the left.

He’s got to start somewhere, after all.

It doesn’t take too long to find a discrepancy.

Stiles finds a yearbook; in it, there are photos of people he knows, with their names and a quote that sounds like Stiles’ thoughts about them written underneath.

‘punchable-y pretty’ Is under a few people, and Stiles rolls his eyes at himself.

Stiles finds the discrepancy on the fourth-to-last page. He would have missed it if he’d have flicked over a page further than he had.

Stiles resolves to not flick through books after this. You might miss something important.

Stiles picks at the corner of a photo of a person he doesn’t recognise.

Corporal Rhys.

A dead man tells no tales.

Literally what the shit? Stiles frowns, and peels off the photo, then nearly drops the book.

Stiles does drop the book when he realises the fly isn’t a picture, but he grabs the creature before it can move, squeezes it hard in his palm.

The nogitsune is a fly. Small, unassuming. Something ignorable.

Stiles has decided he despises flies. Fuck ‘em.

Stiles pointedly ignores the struggles of the fly in his palm – he simply crushes it harder and stomps over to the door, then shoves it through and slams it shut, pulls the deadbolt across and locks it, then steps back.

Stiles nods, returns to the couch, and lies down.

Job done.

It took a long time for that technique for nogitsune removal to be discovered. It’s not the be all and end all; there are some side effects. After all, the nogitsune was just ripped out, but the stuff it altered still remains, there’s just no evil fly there to hold the reigns.

Still. Stiles wouldn’t find that out for a long time – perhaps never, if he were so lucky as to never kill anyone.

(In this world, that happens more often than people like to admit.)

Stiles sits up, groggy and tired, and heavy-feeling.

“I take it the nogitsune is gone?” Morrell asks, and Stiles nods, hesitant but hopeful, in a way he hasn’t been for a while.

It took a long time for the hunters to realise Gerard was rogue, and that he’d converted a lot of their better agents, like Kate and Victoria. Even Allison, for a short time, but she was young, and forgivable. After all, he’d manipulated her via the use of her mother’s death, and she wasn’t technically a hunter yet. You couldn’t exactly put all the blame on her shoulders for that.

Kate and Victoria are dead. That’s usually what happens when you work with the kind of person Gerard is.

Funny, that the bite he wanted ultimately killed him, but not before he could kill his accomplices.

(Still. Stiles isn’t exactly complaining, as bad as it sounds. He knows what it’s like to loose your mother, after all, so maybe he should be more sympathetic, but it’s a little difficult when she looked the other way while her husband’s father was beating you up and torturing your friends with electricity. Even helped, to an extent.)

“Then we’re done here.” Morrell says. “You are still booked in here for at least another week, however.”

“Why?” Stiles asks. “Because that’s when the amount of time you’ve paid for runs out.” Morrell says.

“Oh.” Stiles nods. “… I guess we don’t get a refund for the days we don’t use, huh?”

“No.” Morrell says, flatly. “Also,” She adds, and takes some bottles from her drawer. “Your prescripton.”

Stiles nods in thanks, grateful, and takes the bottles. “Make sure you take the correct amount,” Morrell warns. “No more, no less.”

Stiles nods, knowing full well that once he’s out of here he’s not going to have the luxury of doing that so he’s gonna simply take what he can get, and goes to leave the room.

“Be careful,” Morrell says. “And make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Stiles doesn’t bother replying, he simply leaves the room.

“Why are you still here, then?” Malia asks, the next morning.

“What?” Stiles blinks, says through a mouthful of food, then hastily swallows. “What?” He repeats, clearer.

“Why are you still here, since Morrell said you’re clear,” Malia repeats, states.

“Oh,” Stiles shrugs. “Well, for one the money we payed for this isn’t going to magically reappear, so I might as well stay for the rest of the time, you know, just in case,” Stiles tells her.

Malia nods and resumes eating her food, a slight wrinkle to her nose showing her distaste for it.

“Don’t like the food?” Stiles asks.

“I miss deer,” Malia says, glumly, through her mush. Stiles isn’t exactly sure what the food is, but it’s about as good as the food in the canteen, which is to say it’s fucking shit.

“Venison,” Stiles says, absently.

“What now?” Malia asks, and stiles shrugs. “The meat you get from deer. Venison.”

“Oh.” Malia blinks. “Well, I miss that, then.”

Stiles nods, and the two continue eating in what is a surprisingly comfortable slience, considering their lack of familiarity with one another and the place they’re in.

Well. To be fair, Stiles has been here for at least a week or so. Malia’s only been here for a couple days.

That night, Stiles finds Malia in the boys’ shower room.

“Uhm.” Stiles says, then turns around. Oh, but there’s mirrors. He turns, and faces the door, and definitely doesn’t look at her in his peripheral vision.

There are some words on her shoulder blade, but there’s too much steam. Really, Stiles can’t see anything.

“Stiles I – don’t care,” Malia says, as if she can’t see why he would think she would, or why he might think she should.

“Oh?” Stiles asks, unsure of what to say.

“There aren’t boys and girls’ rooms in the woods,” Malia says, and Stiles knows that, obviously.

“Well, why are you in here, anyway?” Stiles asks. “Why not the girls’ room?”

“Because it’s cold in there.” Malia says. “And it’s hot in here.”

“I think the steam makes that obvious,” Stiles says, and he can’t see it, but Malia smiles.

“Yeah,” She says. Stiles winces.

“So, uh –” Stiles starts, but he doesn’t finish, as Malia chooses then to finish showering and simply walk out into the main area, blasé as you please, completely and utterly naked.

“Uh.” Stiles says, scratches the side of his head.

“Now you’re staring,” Malia points out – almost teasingly, but it’s a little too matter-of-fact for that.

“No,” Stiles denies, looks away.

“Look,” Malia says. “We’re both in a place we don’t actually need to be right now, and I’m bored.” She shrugs.

“… The basement’s off limits?” Stiles offers, and Malia smiles.

second part gonna be over on my AO3 once I’ve done it! 

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

nordes, axIs, allIes + prussaI, canananda, sapIn, roma- as craetures??s?

This will require a lot of research~ Let’s crack open some old tomes, light a candle, and conspire, shall we?

Allies:

America- Mimic. 

A creature able to change its shape to disguise its body as an inanimate object or another being. The concept was first introduced in Dungeons and Dragons in the 1970s, and it appealed to me for Al as America has a habit- the country as well as the character, of borrowing bits and pieces of other nations, and almost presenting as them on many an occasion. Similar to the doppelganger, but I don’t foresee Al trying to actually consume his targets, merely... Mimic them.

Canada- Ol’ Yellow Top.

Old Yellow Top is an alleged cryptid from Ontario, Canada. Allegedly, there have been sightings of this guy since 1906. Some have claimed that it could be a Sasquatch, apart from the distinctly golden mane on its head and the lightness of fur. I immediately thought of Mattie in this case- Just trying to live in the woods, mind his own business, get mistaken as a local cryptid. All in a day’s work, really.

China- Bai Zé.

An alleged mystical beast of Chinese legend. According to lore, the Bai Zé was encountered by the Yellow Emperor during a patrol. The Bai Ze gifted the Emperor with information on all 11,520 types of supernatural creatures in the world, and how to overcome their hauntings and attacks. The emperor had this information written down in a book called the Bái Zé Tú. Just thinking back to how many stories Yao's passed down to his younger siblings and the advice he has for the other nations- I felt this fit him very well.

England- Feyling.

A child born of both Fey and Human blood. Much like a Half-Fey, they have excellent charisma, and with practice and patience, eventually can successfully cast spells and incantations to overwhelm others, become seemingly invisible, and slip away from the law. These creatures are born with the ethereal beauty of the Fair Folk, but unfortunately, it also makes them a little aloof. And of course, I thought of England. It would make sense as to why he can see the Fey, and his strong connections to earth-based magicke.

France- Enfant de Melusine.

The legend of Melusine is reminiscent of a fairy bride. Melusine, vaguely similar to mermaids, had the lower half of a serpent, and the upper half of a human woman, though by some accounts, this metamorphisis only occurred once per week, some accounts by once per month. She was taken as a bride by a king, and gave birth to two sons. The legend gets further distorted- some claim that she was unable to stand the holy words of a Sunday sermon, others claim that her husband discovered her true nature- But the endgame was the same. She completed her transformation into a dragon, and fled. It is rumored that all French royals were descendents of her two sons, and that one can hear her crying for her children outside the castles to date. I feel France is definitely one of those lost, wandering children. It's in his tenancity, his resilience, and beneath his majestic beauty is a ferocity that nothing has been able to break.

Russia- Domovik.

Similar to the Brownie in Scottish folklore, the domovik is believed to protect the home from tragedy and disaster, including theives, disease, natural disasters, and evil spirits. Although he never attacks people, it has also earned the spite that falls to the common poltergeist. Rumour has it that he lives near the hearth, or perhaps behind the stove, so long as he is warm. I felt this fit Ivan; he is so desperate to help others, and he has a kind of quiet protectiveness.

Axis:

Germany- Kobold.

Kobolds are industrious small humanoid creatures, noted for their skill at building traps and preparing ambushes. As for what Ludvig may be trying to trap is anyone's guess, but combining his ingenuity with his skills in engineering and strategy, it fits him. They are also resilient as a concept, as throughout even modern history, German mythologists like Jakob Grimm (yes, from the Brothers Grimm) made many arguments that the story of the kobold dates all the way back to Rome, perhaps even before. The Church continued to tolerate the creature, and it was one of the small pieces of Germanic culture that hasn't been diluted throughout the ages. And that, to me, seems very much like something Ludvig would appreciate.

Japan- Kitsune.

Stories depict them as intelligent beings and as possessing magical abilities that increase with their age and wisdom. Some folktales speak of kitsune shape-shifting to trick others — as foxes in folklore often do — other stories portray them as guardians, friends, and lovers. Kiku downplays it frequently, but he is a devious little bastard, and it makes him all that better for keeping an eye out for his friends. And with all that age and wisdom he's obtained, I feel he's met all of the qualifications of the Kitsune.

Prussia- Vampyre.

Rather than provide a whole description of the lore on vampyres and all that wonderful blood-sucking stuff, I'm going to cut it short and give a few ideas why Gil would make a good vampyre. An isolationist longing for the simplicty of his earlier lives, relying on the energies of others to keep him young. Prussia needs to have exposure to that youthful energy, to new ideas, and soak it all up. Otherwise, he'll fade away into nothing but dust.

Romano- Werewolf.

I kind of dabbled on this before in one of my asks on Lovino headcanons, and it's a running theory I've been exploring for a while. In the supposed story of the founding of Rome, brothers Romulus and Remus were raised by wolves. Now, I had the thought of if they hadn't just been raised by wolves, but were, in fact, wolves traversing as human. And from there a long internal journey began of if Rome and eventually Romano were also part of that lineage. So anyway- Lovino is very territorial, devoted to his family, and has a deeper connection to the ancient roots than most people would think of him.

Spain- Ventolin.

NOT to be mistaken for albuterol! Ventolins are actually small wind sprites with majestic green wings. Legends depict that they will fly inland from the sea, bringing with them gentle rains and mists. They also help babies fall asleep with quiet, soft whispers, and bring with them the last goodbyes of those who died far from their homes. Spain in particular comes to mind, with his more peaceful nature, especially when it comes to children. Also, the thought of that man gently knocking on the front door with the last whispers of a loved one- It's a very soothing image to me. But mostly the sweet whisperings to quell the nightmares of a baby really stood out to me. It's Tonio; of course he's going to help out the little ones.

Veneziano- Merman.

If there's one thing I picked up while I was lost in the maze of a city that is Venice, it's that the city itself half belongs to the creatures below the waters, not just those of us above it. With deep canals filled with algaes and seaweed and centuries of mystery, it's all too easy to imagine that beautiful bastard's caramel eyes as he slowly swims nearer to the surface, charming young lads and lassies away from the dusty walkways, down the crumbling steps, and into the depths. He's got the charm, the mystery, the alluring smile and bright eyes that could make you want to sign your life away. Plus I mean- At this point, the poor boy probably actually is at least part fish.

Nordics:

Denmark- Draugr.

The Draugr are undead beings, but the rest of the lore gets very debateable. Some say that they guard their treasures in burial mounds. Others claim they haunt the oceans, and if seen are a harbringer of doom for any soul upon the waves. And yet another legend I encountered told of undead Viking armies, raised by necromancy, consuming all flesh in their wake, devouring every- Basically zombies, people. I feel like Mati would be a prime example of a ghost (or zombie) who is still around to fufill their purpose. His devotion to protect his family of Northern rapscallions has kind of become his only real dream now, and I believe it is so strong an emotion that it could essentially keep his spirit tied to the earth, with essentially the same skills he had before. Just- A lot more dead jokes. You thought the dad jokes were bad? Oh buddy-

Finland- Nisse.

Small creatures from Scandinavian folklore, Nisse live in houses and barns, secretly guarding the farmstead. If treated well, they protect the family and animals from evil, and sometimes even help with chores and farm work. In ancient times, it was believed the nisse were the first farmers. It wasn't until later in my research that I discovered that the Nisse are most commonly associated with the winter solstice, and can be seen in a lot of holiday decor; they look like little elves with white beards and either green or red clothing resembling the 17th century. Tino with his nurturing spirit, I feel, is perfect as a representative of these little guys.

Iceland- Fossegrimen.

The fossegrimen is a fiddle-playing water spirit who never wants to leave his waterfall. In lore, many travellers would stop and ask him for help in learning how to better their skill at the fiddle, and he would often gladly be of help. The cost was often just a nice meal with a good portion of meat. If travellers didn't meet the expectations, the fossegrimen would only teach their student how to tune the fiddle, but not how to play it. I thought of Emil immediately for the determined isolationism, the love of good music, and the easy going attitude of still offering help, even if the exchange wasn't quite what he expected.

Norway- Mage.

As much as I would love to explore a potential troll!Norway route, the reality that he is probably a well-rehearsed and extremely gifted magicke-user just refuses to leave me alone. Mages, unlike wizards, are not as timid about their abilities. He is absolutely out there wandering ruins and exploring foreign cities. He may be traveling alone, but he is learning plenty. I feel like at some point, Lukas probably also looked into necromancy, but that's a theory to explore when I'm a little less sleepy.

Sweden- Landvættir.

The Landvættir are land guardians, most specifically centered around farms or wild grounds. When approaching Vikings neared land, they allegedly removed the carved dragon heads from the bows of their ships, to avoid the risk of provoking the Landvættir and bringing bad luck. There wasn't very much lore on them that I could find, but from the little I did, I feel Berwald is exactly the kind of stoic guardian one must pass by quietly to safely explore a new world.

These were a lot of fun, Anon! I may do more research later into some of these concepts (may even try to find some pictures~), but for now it is late, and I thank you for the Halloween ask!

Merry Samhain!

Blessed be.

[jtavington]

Theology, Phantom Thief style

altar, staring at an ornately-carved goldplated container. Akira. He looked smaller than normal, his shoulders slumped and his messy hair making him look young instead of roguish. He held a set of beads in his hand. "Eternal Father," he murmured. "I offer you the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, of Your dearly beloved Son, Our Lord Jesus Christ in atonement for our sins and those of the world. Click. "For the sake of His sorrowful passion, have mercy on us and on the whole world." Click. "For the sake of His sorrowful passion...”

Sae listened to him repeat the prayer a few more times. His voice was strained, the same way it was when he had first told her he wanted Akechi's lie to have been the truth. He crossed himself, rose, and saw her. "Sae?” he whispered, as if she were a ghost.

Sae bit her lip. Even half-dead in the interrogation room, Akira had possessed an animating fire, the arrogant defiance of someone rebelling against an unjust world. The very devil himself, the priest here might have said. Not now. His eyes were dull, his skin pale and drawn. There was nothing here to enthrall anyone. No cocky smirk and his lean muscle hidden beneath clothing that seemed suddenly too large for him.

And yet, Sae went to him. Her arms came around him with the same jerky movements she had managed so many times before, but this time she didn't stop there. She drew him close and brought his head to bury his face in her neck and held him as he shuddered. "Akechi's dead,” he said over and over. "I killed him." His voice wasn't quite a sob.

"Hush," she whispered. "I'm here. It will be all right." Her hands ran stiffly up and down his back. Sae felt like she was playing another role, a mimic of what she had seen grieving families do at the station and courthouse, and she had no idea if she had learned the correct blocking. Her muscles seized, but she stayed where she was.

She had no idea how long it was before he stilled and looked at her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't impose on you like--” He made a feeble attempt to break the embrace.

Sae didn't let him. "To hell with imposing. You don't have to be Joker right now."

"Joker." He made a noise in the back of his throat. "Being Joker is the problem. The Phantom Thieves were supposed to be all about bringing the hammer down on people who had escaped justice. And me? I was a regular angel of vengeance. Except one of the guys I wanted to rot in hell actually really did like me. And he was starting to maybe do some good before that other thing showed up to give me exactly what I said I wanted."

"You couldn't know. Even I didn't know about Shido until today."

He pulled her down with him into the pew. "That doesn't help. I didn't have all the facts but I pronounced judgment anyway. Because he hurt me, and because I've gotten so used to being judge and executioner. And now Akechi's dead and I don't know whether to beat him bloody or hug him. Except I can't do either." Another shuddering gasp as he gestured towards the altar. "I tried praying for him just now, but I don't know if it helped. I kinda stopped going after the arrest. And I...haven't been good."

Of course you're good. Any god who doesn't see that or won't answer a plea for mercy isn't worth worshiping. "Do you know why the justice system considers confessions so important? Besides everybody involved wanting to keep their jobs?"

He shook his head.

"Because in theory, justice is supposed to be about reintegrating the offender into the community. Retribution is supposed to be about restoring the balance, not hurt feelings." It didn't work like that, but that was why she had wanted to be a prosecutor even before her dad had died.

"You think I should confess? Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Oh, and by the way, I'm the Phantom and I never murdered anybody. Well, unless you count that part in Matthew where wanting someone dead is the same thing."

She wondered if that dark, bitter humor had always been his, or if it was another scar from the arrest. "I think you, me, and the justice system all need to remember that mercy is a good thing." She swallowed. "That it's the only reason I'm sitting here."

"One of the few good things I ever did." He was silent for a long time, and when he spoke again, he sounded older. "I know you don't approve of the vigilante thing. And maybe you're right. Shido needs to be stopped, but after that...I want to do more things like what I did for you and Futaba. Only change people who want to be changed."