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iwillbeinmynest · 4 years

Text

Safer Behind It - Newt x Reader(f)

Authors Notes: Well here it is my first Maze Runner fic! Hopefully y'all like it, or at least don’t hate it. This is based on moments from The Scorch Trials (book). Bold words are direct quotes from the book. I do not take any credit for Dashner’s work.

Word Count: 1.7k

Notes/Warnings: mentions of injuries, mentions of violence, mentions of trauma (from the maze), some fluff and angst if you look hard enough.

Masterlist

Jorge found them after the lightning storm. Eleven new faces in the building on the outskirts of town. You listened as Jorge gave them the rundown of how things were going to go. When he called for the rest of you, you followed Brenda close.

You and Brenda hadn’t known each other too long but she was good and you trusted Jorge more than anything.

One of the new kids- a boy with dark hair- asked for a few minutes with Jorge.

“Me and you,” The kid begged. He stood over another boy who looked like he had been fried by lightning. Maybe he had, that storm was brutal.

“Ten minutes. Alone. That’s all I ask.” He went on.

You were surprised when Jorge agreed. He must have seen something in the kid you didn’t.

He told you and the others to watch this new group and to kill them if they made any moves. You knew he was being dramatic, adding the threat of death to remind the other Cranks behind you that he was in charge.

One of the boys you were supposed to be watching caught your eye. He was blonde and thin. He had a limp - you’d noticed it as he walked over and checked on the others in his group.

Brenda caught you staring at him. “Careful, Y/N.” She said quietly so the Cranks couldn’t hear her.

You rolled your eyes. “I can handle myself.”

“He’s not gonna like it if you don’t keep up the facade.”

“What’s he gonna do, have you run me through?” You tested.

You saw the twitch of a smirk at the corner of her mouth. “Just don’t be stupid.”

You tugged up on the thin, tan, scarf that covered your nose and mouth. You didn’t like it to be down.

You walked over to the limping boy. You say boy, but really he was near your age if not a bit older. “You need to sit down,” you told him.

He looked at you carefully. “I’m just making sure these guys are alright.”

His voice sounded funny but you kinda liked it.

“I’m not going to ask again.” you drew the makeshift dagger you had from where it usually was sheathed at your lower back.

He sighed but sat on the hard concrete next to the fried boy. He pulled a knee to his chest and mumbled, “Bloody shank girl.”

You smirked at that.

“What’s your name?” You asked him.

He looked up at you and there was no hiding the annoyance in his eyes. “Newt.”

“Newt?” You almost laughed. “Like the lizard?”

The boy next to him chuckled.

“No.” Newt huffed. “Like Issac Newton.”

“I think I like my reason better, lizard boy.”

“Hey!” One of the Cranks behind you caught your attention. It was an older man, you didn’t know his name but you knew you didn’t like him. “What are you talkin’ so much about?”

“None of your business, old man.” You turned to him and left no room for him to think you might be afraid of him, which you weren’t.

“Back off, Murph.” Brenda said calmly as she whacked the flat side of her machete on his chest. “Let her have some fun before we rip them to shreds.”

It seemed to tide him over and he walked away but not before he stared you down again.

You rolled your eyes when his back was turned and exhaled a silent groan. You looked to Brenda.

She had her eyebrows raised and was clearly waiting for you to say,

“Thank you.” You muttered.

“Mhm.” She grinned. You knew she’d never say it out loud but she was starting you like having you around.

You turned back to Newt and crouched down, your sharpened letter opener gripped tightly in your hand. “So, tell me, Newt, What brings you out into the Scorch?”

“Don’t tell her klunk, dude.” The burnt boy said with spunk.

“I bet you’re the fun one.” You teased him, “You look like garbage. What happened to you?”

“He got struck by lightning,” Newt answered, “Or close to it anyways.”

“Yikes.” You responded. You’d been right.

“Didn’t even hurt.” He lied.

“Shuck off, Minho. You’re not fooling anyone.” Newt rolled his eyes.

“Screw you, man.” Minho all but pouted.

“Why do you cover your face?” Newt asked, ignoring his friend. “No sun in here.”

You paused but tried to cover it and said, “So you don’t get distracted by how pretty I am.”

He smirked at that.

He had a nice smile. It lit up his eyes.

You stood up quickly and walked back to Brenda. Why did you care what his smile was like?

“You good?” She asked low again.

“Fine.” You lied. Actually you were scared by how much you were starting to like Newt. No sense in hurting yourself by getting attached.

Jorge and the dark haired boy reappeared from down the back hall.

Jorge told everyone that he, Brenda and yourself were going to take these few to get some food and that you’d all meet back up at the tower.

You didn’t know what he was planning but it had to be something, because he was putting on quite a show. He mentioned cutting off Minho’s fingers for punching him earlier and you honestly thought he might be serious about that part.

The other Cranks left and you walked behind Brenda as she led the way to the tunnels where you had hid the stash of food.

You helped pass out cans of food and watched as Brenda sat by Thomas - you’d recently learned his name.

You looked around, wondering where to settle amongst these new boys and found Newt looking at you.

“Here goes nothin’” you muttered to yourself beneath your mask.

You made your way over and sat against the wall beside him.

“Enjoying the meal?” You asked. He sure looked like he was.

He nodded, mouth full of cold beans.

“When was the last time you ate?” You realized that he, and everyone else that he’d come with, were eating like they’d been starved.

“Not but a few days ago,” He said when he’d finally swallowed. “But we were out in that bloody heat for so long.” His eyes stared into nothing for a moment and you could tell he was reliving something awful.

“How long were you actually out there?”

“Three, four, five days,” he asked himself. “I’m not sure.”

“Where did you come from?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” He returned to the present and out of the bad memories he’d been replaying. You watched him plaster on a smirk.

There was that smile again. You were glad your cheeks were covered because you were pretty sure you were blushing.

“Do I get to ask you any?”

You nodded, “Sure.”

“Why do you wear that over your face?” He repeated.

“Why do you care?”

His head ticked to the side. You’d asked another question.

You relented. “I already told you.”

“But we both know that wasn’t the truth.” He said before taking another bite.

You sombered and sighed. You were trying to find the words.

“I only partly lied.” You finally said.

Newt stopped eating and shocked you with what he said next. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business if you don’t want to talk about it.”

It was so...considerate of him to say that. It had been a long time since anyone other that Jorge was considerate to you. Even Brenda was harsh when you’d met her and she still makes comments about it.

The look in your eyes must have revealed something to him.

“You really don’t have to tell me.”

For some reason you did, though. Maybe it was his soft voice, maybe it was the random kindness he’d displayed, but suddenly, you wanted to show him. Almost like a test to see if he was genuinely kind at heart.

You slipped your index finger under the cloth near your nose but before you pulled it down you said, “Just...brace yourself.”

You pulled the mask down below your chin, revealing the angry red scar that ran from your upper lip, just below your nose, all the way to your ear, which had a notch missing from it.

Newt barely flinched. He just looked at you.

Your scar had healed thick which made it distort your lip slightly.

“When I was first sent here, after finding out I had the Flare, a crank attacked me with a shard of glass. He got me pretty good but Jorge was there and he saved me. He couldn’t do much to make me look better, though.” You pulled your mask back up. “Most people just stare at it, instead of me. So, I cover it up.”

“You shouldn’t.” He offered a hint of a smile as he switched to his second can of food. “Nothing wrong with the way you look.”

You sat stunned.

“I broke my leg in three places. That’s why I have a limp. Do you only see the limp when you look at me?” He asked.

You shook your head, unable to think of anything to say.

He shrugged his shoulders. “See?”

You bit down a smile that threatened to spread across your mouth. Good thing your mask was on.

“I’m sorry I called you lizard boy.” You felt bad for teasing him, now.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been called worse.”

The two of you sat in silence for a short while. Then, you wondered something.

“What’s a shank?”

He chuckled, “Just something we say. Why?”

“Back in the building you called me a ‘bloody shank girl’.”

His cheeks flushed and he stared down at the can he was eating from. “Sorry.”

“So, shank isn’t nice then?”

“Depends…” He smirked, almost embarrassed he’d said that about you.

“And here I thought you were soft.”

He looked at you. “Nope, just wrong on occasion.”

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You suddenly realized you’d never told him your name and now you wanted him to know it. To say it.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He paused a moment before adding, “ I have a feeling I won’t regret it.” He glanced over at you again.

“You won’t.” You promised.

* * * * * * * *

TMR Tags:

@mo320

#tmr #the maze runner #the scorch trials #newt x reader #reader x newt #new muse #tmr newt imagine #tmr newt x reader #tmr thomas #tmr minho #brenda #jorge

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utilitycaster · 4 years

Note

caldwell's dm energy is like the opposite of murph. i've never seen a more "yes and" dm

Honestly? while Caldwell is very “yes and”, even though one of the several reasons I started listening to NADDPod was all of Murph’s “there must be consequences for your actions” statements from D20 Adventuring Party/Adventuring Academy, the main NADDPod campaign included a whole lot of yes-and comedic improv. I mean, he said no to a lot of things but he also went with some of the weirder riffs even when they were disadvantageous and made no sense (like just to name a handful, PawPaw being a lawyer, Alanis doing huge bong rips, Moonshine and Hardwon not being able to read, the line ‘fuck you I love you eat a rat’, like 90% of Pendergreens’ personality and over half his name, I think Balnor’s tuna obsession was a player riff he ran with?)

Which, I should note, is really good DM-ing and something I’m finding helpful, as a person with similar There Are Rules tendencies - you will have far more control over the game as a DM if you turn into the skid and say “yes indeed, The Crick really does have water that’s caffeinated and alcoholic that you inhale” and then build the world your players joked about in all seriousness. Your players will love the world more because it will feel more like theirs, and that in turn will heighten the stakes. And also kind of like the post I made about Veth switching to serious mode on Critical Role, if you embrace the wackiness of someplace like The Crick and then threaten it in the game, it’s in many ways so much more jarring. It’s like...not that Helm’s Deep isn’t a fantastic and emotional battle, but it’s also what we expect from high fantasy (yes at the time it was in some ways codifying high fantasy but you get my point). The Scouring of the Shire though? Brutal.

With that total digression which is mostly me psyching myself up to embrace slightly more chaos than I’m used to said: you are 100% right about Caldwell being the most Yes-And DM. The whole Trinyvale campaign seems extremely in that vibe, (even though there is an overarching plot) and it’s so much fun.

#naddpod #Anonymous

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whirlybirbs · 5 years

Note

“ so , how does it feel to know me? a blessing , isn’t it? “ with hopper? please!

—- SO MUCH FOR THAT ;

summary: hopper interrupts a home invasion. cue the bullets, russians, injuries, freak-out’s... everything you didn’t want. date night, ruined.word count: 2.2kpairing: hopper x teacher!reader, from my fic moonrise radio.a/n: we love some good ol’ action to further the drabble plot machine.

Hopper knows something’s not right -- he can feel it in his gut, sitting there like hot, molten piece of lead that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright.

It’s a feeling he’s never really gotten used to. Even after Vietnam, even after all those years working homicide in New York, even after The Upside Down, the feeling still makes his skin crawl. It’s one that can only really be described as dread -- a deeply-rooted recognition of something being wrong.

He knocks on your front door again, only to be met with silence.

His watch reads 6:43pm.

If Jim knows anything, it’s that you’re not standing him up -- especially when you’d excitedly accept his offer for the ride to the drive-in’s. You’d been nothing but honest and kind and sweet and pretty and an absolute dream, and even though doubt bites at his mind, Jim Hopper pushes it far away.

He decides to snoop.

Snooping is what he does best.

He leans, peaking around through the front window and spies nothing out of place, really. The lights are off, as if no one’s home, but your faithful jet-black Camaro sits a few feet behind him in the drive-way to contradict that possibility... unless someone came along and picked you up?

Hm.

Then, something catches his attention.

Light flickers, blue and inky black, across the window in nothing more than a passing reflection.

Over the couch, your television sits.

It’s on.

Jim chews his lip.

He has two options in that moment -- walk away, decide this was maybe never meant to be, go home, and order take-out from King Chef. Or, he can reach for that doorknob and hope you don’t bear spray him again.

He exhales, planting his hands on his hips.

Then he sees the boot mark right below the deadbolt.

His eyes widen in realization.

There’s no question in his mind when he doubles back to his Blazer and pulls out a handgun from the center console -- he’s fast to check off the safety and pull the hammer back; he bites his tongue, wishing he’d just trusted his fuckin’ gut from the get-go.

The door is unlocked.

It swings open without a sound.

The T.V. is loud -- blaring some MTV music video that echoes off the walls of the house. It’s late now, nearly 7pm, and the sun has crept below the hills of Hawkins and drenched your home in all types of shadows. Jim’s footfalls are quiet as they can be as he raises his gun and begins to move through the home.

He stops short at the couch, noting the remote on the floor feet away and the mess of blankets dragged from the pastel pink sofa.

In front of the television, that old radio you’d first heard those faux-Russian communique's on lays.

It’s smashed to smithereens.

Hopper turns, then, and sees you in the kitchen.

Your eyes are pulled wider than a mile in fear as you rock in the high-back chair, trying desperately to scream something, but it comes out as nothing more than a muffled cry. There’s a tight strip of black duct tape along your mouth, a matching strip across your torso and hips.

If there’s anything Jim’s learned from moments like these, it’s that your brain never really understands what’s going on until it’s too late.

In his circumstance, he doesn’t realize what’s going on until he’s being charged by a man a little smaller than himself, decked in all black, screaming in a language that sets off thirty thousand red flags in his head. He sees the knife first -- Jim doesn’t even have time to react when he’s tackled into the sofa.

His gun clatters across the foyer, sliding onto the patterned linoleum of your kitchen floor.

Your eyes widen, trained on the handgun sitting feet from you.

This has not been a good hour.

When the doorbell had rung at 5:30, you’d excitedly chirped that Hop was early for your date -- not that you minded -- before you were suddenly being forced backwards at knife-point by two men screaming in Slavic tongues.

They’d then, unceremoniously, searched the house for that damn radio after binding you to the kitchen chair and interrogating you about some Energy Department in the most broken English you’ve heard in a while.

On MTV, Bonnie Tyler’s Holding Out For a Hero begins to play.

And now, here you are, hopping up and down in this fuckin’ chair, trying to get closer to the gun as the two grown men in your living room recreate Street Fighter and make quick work on destroying all of your furniture.

Almost there.

Sqreeak, sqreaak, sqreaak.

Jim takes a nasty upper cut to the jaw and hits the floor so hard the whole house shakes.

You freeze, panic lighting up in your chest as the assailant leaps onto him -- in a well-timed moment of mis-calculation, you forget about the lip in the kitchen and suddenly, you and the chair are toppling to the ground. The sound is loud, followed by your muffle groan of pain, and it sends the Russian’s head snapping to the sound.

Jim plants a hard kick to the guy’s groin, sending him into a feeble curl as Jim rolls away, hair wild and nose bleeding profusely. He’s fast to punch the guy while he’s down, absolutely wailing on him.

You’re kicking now, trying to get Jim’s fuckin’ attention -- and only once the man before his feet has stilled completely that Hop rises from the ground and moves into the kitchen, knife in his hand.

“MOO!” is the sound coming from your mouth as Hop plucks you and the chair up, squinting at you, “MERE’S MOO!”

His lips part and his brows knot.

“Moo...?”

You serve him a look and he’s fast to rip the duct tape from your nose and mouth, wincing slightly as you curse and hiss, eyes ringed with make-up from the tears that had gathered there -- you speak so quick, Jim has to gawk.

“There’s two,” you gasp for air, “Jim, Jim, get my hands free --”

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding --”

He saws at the tape.

Then the footsteps start from the stairwell.

You both freeze, gazes connecting.

Back door, you mouth.

Jim nods.

You claw at the tape on your ankles, jaw clenching as you stand -- Jim’s hands are on you in an instant, worry lighting up his face; he’s quick to note the black bruise forming around your left eye and up your cheek.

You’re fast to snatch up the gun by his feet and hand it to him, though, moving past the fear in your chest and gesturing for him to follow you towards the back sliding door.

“дерьмо!” you hear from the living room, rolling from the larger Russian’s tongue in a carnal bellow, “вернитесь сюда!”

You, then, unceremoniously shove Jim Hopper off your back deck.

You follow, hitting the soft grass with a groan as gunfire suddenly lights up the back of the house and the windows shatter, raining down through the slats in the wood -- for a moment, you both roll in pain; but it doesn’t last.

“Time t’ go!”

“No shit, Jim!”

He snatches your hand, dragging you from the grass and around the house -- you both break into a sprint towards Hop’s cruiser, ignoring the man who’s now in chase.

Jim muscles the gun from his waistband and chucks you the keys. “Drive!”

You catch them, by some grace, and fumble to find the ignition key on the ring as Jim lays down fire that seems to not phase the huge Russsian coming right at him in a ski-mask.

“Shit, shit, shit shit shit shit, shit shit --”

“Ты мертв!”

“FUCK OFF!”

Your hands are shaking, keys jingling as you try each and every fucking one. Anger flares in your face, eyes darting to Jim on the front lawn popping off rounds.

“Jim, what key!?”

“GOLD!”

You finally get the key, the Blazer roars alive.

The second Jim’s ass is in the seat, you floor it.

You skirt around the cul-de-sac as gunfire ricochets off the side of the car, your own scream fading into the peel-out as Jim curses and flies into the side of the door. An apology flies from your lips as you put the pedal to the metal and fly out of your street, onto the main road.

Jim’s twisted around the back of the seat, eyes set on the fading house and figure standing on your front lawn. He doesn’t even try to follow.

“Where should I go?” you ask, panic hitched in your tone.

“Starcourt,” Jim barks without hesitation.

“What?!” you cry, flinging your head around to look at him with an exasperated look, “What the hell do you mean, Starcourt?!”

“Just,” Jim seethes, jaw set tight, “Trust me --”

“You said --” you screech, finger raising as you head down the main straight in town at 80mph, “You said that... that those communications are fake!”

“Yeah,” Jim snaps, “They are!”

“Oh, okay, great, Jim, then why don’t you explain to me why the fuck I was just bound and gagged in my own kitchen! By two men! WHO DON’T EVEN SPEAK ENGLISH --”

“Murph’, calm down --”

“No! No, nope, no,” you shove his arm, “Do not tell me to calm down, Jim Hopper --”

His mouth snaps shut and he turns, sitting forward and exhaling tightly through his nose. His eyes flutter shut as he speaks, trying to imitate the same calmness he wish he had.

“I’m sorry.”

“I am freaking out --” your voice cracks and you regret it immediate, facade of fearlessness cracking under the sudden dive in your adrenaline.

Jim’s face softens, finally getting a good look at you. You look like hell. He’s sure he does, too, after the royal beat down he was served by Svedka in your living room. His hands move, carding through the blood matted tendrils by your temple. There’s a mean gash along your hairline that’s slowed up. The blood flakes away and Jim can’t help but wish he’d fuckin’ got to your house sooner.

“Hey, hey,” he calls, voice soft, “Look at me.”

You blink his way. You shrink.

The tears making your eyes swim break his whole heart on sight. Your lip quivers. Jim feels like he’s been punched in the gut. When you speak, your voice is as meek as a mouse.

“... That was really scary.”

“It’s over,” Hop says confidently, “Over. We’re going to go see the people who can make sure it’s over.”

“The Scoops Ahoy people?” you ask weakly through an attempt at a laugh.

Jim exhales softly in a chuckle, leaning to press a firm kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, sweetie, you could say that.”

The rest of the ride is relatively quiet, filled by your sniffles and Jim turning to peek over his shoulder ever few minutes. When you finally pull up to the bustling Starcourt, you’re surprised when Jim gestures to the back and points.

“Head to the loading area.”

You squint, but follow the direction.

Rounding the parking lot, you see hordes of folks coming in for some Sunday evening shopping -- lone teens and families alike. The neon of the store fronts bounce off the windshield in slivers of purple and green.

Suddenly, as if out of no where, a gate appears around the back of the building and you’re pulled to a stop by four guards in Starcourt Mall gear. Jim’s face pulls into a heavy frown as he rolls down his window, flashing some sort of identification in his fold-out wallet.

“I’m here to see Owens, it’s an emergency --”

“And who the hell is she?”

Jim’s eyes narrow. You wring your hands on the steering wheel.

“... Officer Collins, is it?” Hop says slowly, “Do you see the bullet holes in the side of my cruiser?”

Silence flies between the four of them.

“And do you see the injuries on both myself and the lady driving?”

More silence.

“And did you not hear me say,” his voice raises an octave, vein in his neck popping as he begins to scream, “That this is an emergency?!”

The gate lifts with a BRRZZZZT.

And that’s how you find yourself in a very sterile interrogation room, pacing back and forth and back and forth for what feels like hours. It’s horrible -- the lights buzz and flicker fast enough to give you an even worse headache than the head injury does and it’s cold and you just wanted to go see a damn movie with Jim. Maybe kiss a little, fool around, have fun.

But, no. Here you are.

Finally, after an hour and a half, the door opens mid-conversation.

Jim is looming behind an older man.

They both look apologetic.

“And this must be our new Bond Girl, huh?”

“In the flesh,” Jim rumbles, “Murph’, this is Dr. Sam Owens. He’s a friend.”

You narrow your eyes. The man offers his hand and you shake it, speaking slowly. “I guess Jim and I are gonna miss our double feature, huh?”

“I’m afraid so, Miss Murphy,” he says, gesturing to the table and chair in the center of the room, “Now, why don’t you tell me about those men that broke into your home?”

He pulls the chair out for you.

You sigh.

This is going to be a long night.

So much for that date.

#moonrise radio #jim hopper x reader #chief hopper imagine #jim hopper imagine #chief hopper x reader #chief hopper x you #jim hopper x you #stranger things imagine #Anonymous

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rynhaswritersblock · 4 years

Text

midtown morning announcements | p.p.

a/n: in this story YOU are a reporter in the announcements and betty is NOT!!!!! sorry betty love you bae <3

summary: as a reporter for midtown tech's daily announcements, it's easy to get carried away with ideas. especially ones involving the newest superhero from queens.

warnings: cussing, some chaotic energy, 5.6k words because i POPPED OFF, messy epilogue but just roll w me

+ + +

"Oh my god, she's crushing on Spider-Man."

You tried. You really tried. Sure, you were friends with Betty and Liz, but god, if some of their conversations didn't make you want to scream.

Nevertheless, you whirl around. The statement was too absurd for you not to. Liz, the pretty, popular girl, had a crush on a hero whom she'd never seen the face of.

Now that was a story.

You spin back around, snatching the book out of MJ's hands and ignoring the look she gives you.

"How soon do you think I can convince Mr. Harrington to give me an extra segment in the announcements?"

+ + +

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but I just don't think there's enough time to-"

"Mr. Harrington, please," you plead. "We can cut the segment about.. what's it called? What's New in the Teacher's Lounge? Trust me when I say this: talking about the new coffee filters and low stock in the vending machines only loses everyone's attention."

A sigh falls from the mans mouth. He scratches his beard thoughtfully and you bite back a grin at his dramatically thoughtful expression.

"Okay, fine, Madam Reporter. You can have your segment on Spandex Man," he says.

A smile pulls the corners of your lips. "Thank you, Mr. Harrington, you won't regret it."

He just nods his head, an awkward silence filling between the two of you. He eventually catches the hint and turns around, beginning to walk away, muttering.

"I swear, teenage girls and their obsession with men in tight clothing."

Your eyes widen and your face explodes into an expression of defense before you turn around, face-to-face with MJ.

"So?"

"I got it."

A smirk breaks on the girls face. "Ready to shoot?"

Your eyes widen and move over to the wall of the reporting room, the clock reading 7:29 am. One minute before filming time. You look back at MJ and shrug hopelessly, jogging over to the setup in front of the cameras and sliding in next to Jason.

"Hey, Y/N-"

"We're cutting the teacher's lounge segment and I'm replacing it with a different one," you blurt, then turn to the camera as the red light turns on and begins blinking.

"Wha- Good morning, students of Midtown Tech!"

You suppress a laugh.

"Today is Wednesday, September 21st. Happy Fall," you smile. While you were never anxious in front of the camera, you were completely unprepared. The change in segments was made literally two minutes ago, and the only ones with that knowledge were you, MJ, and (kind of) Jason. Thankfully, MJ was a quick scriptwriter, but this was something you wanted to make perfect. Your perfectionism wasn't easily controlled, and with a new segment like this, you wanted to make it just right.

You and Jason swapped reporting different details about events, the weather- the sort of stuff a lot of students didn't really care about. But, as soon as you saw the words "Y/N: INTO SPIDER-MAN SEGMENT" on the screen, you knew this would grab everyone's attention. You also knew that you would kick MJ later for not even giving you a script when you knew she was capable of at least writing a few things.

"Ohhhh-" Jason gasps, understanding what you'd meant earlier. You hit him in the arm before mentally preparing yourself as quickly as possible.

"Word about the new hero, known as Spider-Man, has taken over Midtown Tech, and everyone seems to have the same question: who is the man under the mask? Well, Tigers, I've decided to take it upon myself to discover this upcoming Avenger's identity. In this segment, you'll see interviews and videos of the hero, as well as a link in which you can scan a QR code on the screen and submit guesses, and later vote on who you think it is!"

"Yo, that's dope," Jason nods, looking at you, impressed and surprised.

"It is," you smile at the camera. "Now onto Cindy, who is with the Mr. Harrington to talk about the importance of, um, kissing your pets at least 10 times daily..?"

The filming session wraps with you and Jason doing your signature sign-off (putting on sunglasses and playing Midtown's anthem on kazoo's). You slide out of the chair, setting your glasses on the table behind you and walking over to MJ with a sigh.

"Dude, what the hell?"

"Hey man, you did fine without a script," she retorts, raising her hands in defense.

"I'm aware," you raise a brow.

From across the room, you can hear the editors grouping around the computer, laughing at all the memes and sound effects they're gonna put in.

+ + +

Not good. Not good not good not good not good.

Peter Parker stood frozen, feet away from one of the multiple TVs in the hallway, jaw slack as he stares at the screen.

Not even the chaotic memes and crappy video effects could make him laugh (the boy had a weak spot for Comic Sans).

He knew who you were. Peter'd occasionally see you in the hallways, and you'd always smile or even just give him a small look of acknowledgment. Still, never talked. Which, now that he thought about it, was probably a good thing. The second you figure out Spider-Man's voice, it'll be engraved into your brain, and there'll be no hiding if you approach him.

"Hey, Peter!"

The boy jumps, spinning around to see Ned, about 20 feet away, bright smile painted on his face as he waves a bit aggressively. Peter mentally prepares himself before walking over, plastering a (hopefully convincing) grin on his face. Ned, of course, is oblivious and falls for it.

"Dude, did you watch the announcements today?! That shit is crazy! I mean, Y/N's so smart and stuff, she's probably gonna figure out who it is in, like, two weeks," Ned babbles.

Peter looks around cautiously, feeling as though all eyes are on him, despite the fact that he was most definitely on the bottom half of the popularity list.

"Yeah, weird."

Just then, he sees you turn around the corner with MJ, waving to someone he didn't know, and catches a smile on your face.

His prior neutral opinion about you began to shift.

+ + +

By the end of the day, you were practically floating. The entire school was buzzing about the new segment- hell, it almost creeped you out how excited everyone was. At lunch, people couldn't stop glancing over at you, whispering about who they thought Spider-Man might be. At first, the looks were different, interesting, but now they just made you plain uncomfortable. Nonetheless, when you stepped outside after the final bell and everyone's mind shifted from the segment to the idea of getting home, you felt proud.

And, although the two of you were apart, both in terms of distance and relationship, you and Peter felt the same feeling as you flopped onto your respective beds in your respective apartments:

You now had the weight of the world on your shoulders.

+ + +

The FBI agent in your phone was probably terrified. You went from being an average, phone-using teen, to being a complete stalker, notes and news apps taking over your storage- all to make sure you'd never miss a story. Moreover, you'd done all this within the last two hours.

With the exponentially rising expectations from your classmates, you made a promise to yourself that you wouldn't let anyone down. That started today: the day of the Spider-Man's Secrets debut.

Just as you lay back on your bed, back sore, you come to the realization that all of these precautionary apps would only give you the scoop after the incident. AKA: not soon enough. You groan, rolling off your bed and slipping on your shoes, grabbing your keys and making your way out of the apartment.

While hadn't necessarily wished to be walking through the streets of Queens as the sky darkened, part of it was kind of peaceful. If you ignored your paranoid thoughts.

Nonetheless, you thought, if you were to get attacked, the man of the day would show up, right?

A sigh falls from your lips as you round the corner, figuring you'd go to Delmar's and get a sandwich. And pet Murph.

Your plans are foiled when you stop in your tracks at the sight of Spider-Man battling some robbers in the bank. Even though your eyes widened, you let out a small laugh- the robbers were wearing Avengers masks. How nice for Tony Stark's image.

The whole situation looked like one of those weird money-tornado things you'd seen at arcades. You rip your phone out of your pocket and begin recording just as a purple beam shoots out of the bank, streaming in a haphazard circular shape and nearly hitting you. A yelp elicits from your mouth as you duck. When you rise, the robbers are gone, and Delmar's is on fire.

"Holy shit," you gasp, checking to make sure your phone is still recording.

You felt a little stupid as you ran over to the building, phone in the air like a goddamn touristic maniac.

"Ma'am, I'm gonna need you to get out of the way, it's-"

You feel a pair of hands wrap around your waist, pulling you back. You begin to wriggle out of the grasp before you turn your head and meet eyes with Spider-Man. The large white eyes of the mask widen, as do yours.

"It's, um," he clears his throat, lowering his voice and using a Jersey accent, "too dangerous."

In a flash, he's gone, leaping through the broken window and yelling for Mr. Delmar, voice back to its high state. You're stunned, not having expected to have gotten that lucky on your first night, as well as from the state of the building you had loved so much. You stay there, standing at the edge of the sidewalk, chewing nervously on your nails as you wait for Spider-Man to run back out, hopefully with Mr. Delmar and Murph.

You had a job to do.

A relieved sigh leaves your lungs at the sight of the hero helping Mr. Delmar out, handing him Murph with such a careful and cautious demeanor that gives the hero so much humanistic personality that it practically knocks you out.

You knew you were one to notice body language, but watching someone without being able to see their face only amplified them. You watch silently as Spider-Man hangs his head as he walks away from the scene, looking tired, ashamed almost. People begin gathering around the building, videoing and a few going over to Mr. Delmar and lending him support. A ping of guilt rings through your veins before you remind yourself of your job.

"Excuse me?"

He stops, turning around. Reporters begin pulling up in large news vans.

"I have a few questions."

+ + +

The only time you'd ever flown was at the airport. Or in your dreams. But never this way.

Your heart was still racing, despite having landed on the roof of some building almost a full sixty seconds ago.

"Sorry, but could we hurry this up? I kinda, uh, need to get home," he says, hints of paranoia lacing his words.

"Yeah, sorry, just, you know, have never swung on a fucking web multiple stories up before," you nod, pursing your lips and instantly regretting your harshness. "Sorry."

He nods. You pull up the voice recorder app on your phone and hit the button. A rush of awkwardness hits you.

"So, uh, Spider-Man: tell me about yourself."

"Well," he scratches the back of his neck nervously. His voice is deep, with that same rich Jerseyan accent. You don't buy it at all. "I'm, well, I'm Spider-Man. I like.. helping... people?"

"Uh, yes-" you blurt, nodding your head. You didn't want to completely bombard him, you wanted to just intro him and get some exclusive information. "How did you get your powers?"

He goes on to explain that he was bitten by a radioactive spider. Luckily for you, he goes off on a tangent, ranting about how weird it was and what exactly his powers were. You smile every time you notice his accent and deep voice slip into something that sounded more natural- higher, but natural.

Based off of the hints of his voice alone, you'd guess he was anywhere from 12-18 years old.

"And then I would wear like super big shirts to school to try and hide it because I didn't want to look suspiciously stronger--"

"School?" you interrupt.

"Oh, uh.. yeahhhumIgottago!" he blurts before awkwardly backing up, jumping off the building and swinging away.

A smile creeps onto your face. Enough to satisfy your classmates.

+ + +

"Luckily, I was able to catch the hero right after the incident, and he swung me with him to the top of a building for privacy from other news stations and police officers," you smile, ignoring how Jason was bouncing excitedly next to you, eager for information. He was a prime example of the excitement going on around the school.

"Spider-Man received his powers from a bite from a radioactive spider, and gained his new skills over night. Reportedly, he woke up with defined and large muscles, giving him the physique you can catch while he swings by. He has super senses that can detect any form of danger, 'sticky' hands and feet, and crafts his own webs that have been incorporated into his suit, given to him by Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Here's a vocal clip from our interview!"

Normally, the sound of the announcements would be substantially muffled by the sounds of kids moving everywhere and chattering, but not anymore. Now, students grouped around the TVs, whispering. Peter had tried so hard to ignore your voice while not seeming suspicious.

But, as soon as he heard his own voice through the speakers, the announcements had his full attention.

He was relieved that you'd used a clip in which he'd been lowering his voice and using an accent, but there was a second in there where your masked voice slipped. Not good.

The boy suffered through the school day, ignoring the gossip of students, including Ned. Not to mention MJ suspiciously eyeing him during lunch. Either she had a crush, or she knew something. Peter suspected the latter.

As soon as the bell rang, he darted out of the doors, going to his usual hiding spot and changing, swinging as quickly as he could to the Stark Tower. The boy landed at the front steps, bending over and panting for a second before mustering up more energy and running up to the door, ringing the buzzer as many times as he could.

"Welcome to Stark Tower," F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, monotone. "Identification, please."

"Peter Parker," he pants, pulling up his mask and looking into the camera.

"Unknown identity. Access denied."

A buzzer rang off and the boy frowned.

"Let him in, F.R.I.," Tony yells from inside, walking over and opening the doors. "Hey, Pete."

"Hi, Mr. Stark. Why wouldn't it let me in?"

The two walk into the main entrance.

"No reason."

"What?"

"I just have a different name for you in the program, that's all. If the name doesn't match the face, the doors don't open."

"What name do you have for me, then?"

Tony sighs, hints of mischievousness in his eyes. "Underoos. Can't believe you wouldn't think of that."

"Got it, sorry," Peter nods, clutching the mask in his hand. "I need you to put a voice changer in my suit."

+ + +

You were starting to get a bit worried. Spider-Man had started using a voice changer in his suit, and when you asked about it, he said he'd heard about you using his voice in a school announcement, and he needed to maintain anonymity.

Of course, this had taken a toll on you.

Not only did it lessen your chances of figuring out who this kid was, but it made you feel bad. After all, you were disrespecting a hero's privacy, trying to expose them to a mass of teenagers. And all he was doing was trying to protect the very place you lived in.

You'd managed to catch him at just about every incident he'd been in, but each time, he got less and less open about everything. You were running out of questions that you deemed fairly respectful, and he became very closed off, and for good reason.

If you exposed him, he'd be much more susceptible to attackers, who'd then be able to hurt the people he loved. You sigh as you begin your walk home from school, wracking your brain for more questions. You'd dug yourself into some deep shit.

A flash of red and blue pulls you out of your thoughts.

"Spider-Man!" you yell, eyes widening when you notice a few people look at you and then divert their attention to him, gasping. You mutter a profanity before jogging over to where he'd landed on top of a traffic light. "I have a few questions."

"Yeah, of course you do."

As if the deep and robotic voice wasn't cold enough already. You hear a loud sigh at your perplexed expression, and before you know it, you were flying again, landing a bit harshly on the roof of another building.

"Ouch, okay."

"Sorry," you hear him mutter. "Off the record?"

You nod and watch as he presses a button on his wrist.

"Look-"

A smile begins creeping on your face at the sound of his normal voice, but you bite it back.

"- I don't know why you're doing this. What I do know, though, is that you're trying to expose my identity to a large group of highschoolers. Do you realize how much trouble that could cause me, Y/N? I mean-"

"Shut up-" you interrupt harshly. "You know my name?"

"What? No, I, uh-"

"You just said my name."

"It was a wild guess!"

"The fuck do you mean a wild guess?! Do you go to Midtown?"

Even the mask can't hide his panic. Holy shit.

"Look: exposing me would literally ruin my life. I need you to shut this down. All of it."

"I would if I could," you say, exasperatedly. "I don't know whether you go to my school or you somehow stalked me and found my name, but: I'm a reporter for the Midtown Tech daily morning announcements. I made a promise to my classmates that, given the craze about you, I'd try and discover your identity. It blew up, way more than I expected. I have the weight of the world on my shoulders now; I can't give this up! Everyday, at least one person comes up to me and asks about you."

"You do realize that, by exposing me, you'd cause more trouble than by just letting it go?"

You're silent for a moment. He's right.

"I'll figure something out."

+ + +

"Yesterday, when I approached him yesterday, Spider-Man swung us onto another rooftop for another private discussion, in which he answered more questions."

Lying stung you like a bitch. Off the record, you remember.

"The hero claims that he's working on becoming an Avenger, training with the current members so that he can be on the team. Unfortunately, that's all he was able to tell me last evening, as he claimed he had something to do and swung away."

You sigh when the red light turns off, slipping out of your chair and over to where MJ sat. You grabbed your bag and began walking away.

"Was all of that true?" she asks as she follows you out. You nod. "You sure? Because something was off about it."

"It's all true, MJ, I'm just tired."

Peter's face was scrunched up, confused as he watched you on the screen, explaining about Spider-Man's supposed plans to join the Avengers. And then it clicked.

You were actually helping him.

After everything that'd happened, he'd half expected you to just full out expose him. To take your assumptions and spill them all over the school, telling everyone that Spider-Man was a student at Midtown Tech who knew your name. Peter hated how good at correctly assuming you were.

Thankfully, though, everyone bought it.

"Yo, did you hear that?"

"Hmm?" the boy hums, raising his eyebrows and looking over at Ned.

"Spider-Man's going to be an Avenger!"

"Yeah, that's, uh, that's really cool," Peter smiles, trying to match Ned's optimism. The smile drops slightly when he sees you walk past.

+ + +

You found a loophole. Upon reading all the comments on your Spider-Man link from announcements, you decided to start interviewing random students to get the content you needed.

All throughout lunch, you'd been pulling kids aside- Cindy, Liz, Betty, Flash. A sigh falls from your mouth as Flash walks away (with a bit too much pride for having just gushed about the hero), and you look around the cafeteria for more people.

You meet eyes with Peter Parker.

"Peter," you call, waving him over.

He mutters a word May wouldn't approve of, patting Ned on the back before trying to mentally crush his anxiety. He begins to sweat.

"Can I interview you for my segment on the morning announcements?"

All he does is give you a slight smile and nods. You knew Peter was quiet, but you'd think he'd be a bit less cold.

"So, Peter, have any guesses as to who Spider-Man may be?"

He was trapped. The boy stood in front of you, silent, mouth slightly ajar.

"Peter?"

"I don't know," he blurts. You freeze.

"What was that?"

He trips over his words. "Oh, uh, nothing, I didn't-"

"Holy shit," you whisper. You could've been making a complete fool of yourself acting so dumbstruck, but you'd be damned if you didn't just crack the code.

"Y/N, I-"

"So, Peter," you clear your throat, giving him a look. "Who do you think it is?"

"Flash."

An ungodly-sounding laugh bubbles out of your chest, causing him to laugh too. The two of you share a knowing look.

"Thank you for your response."

+ + +

You hated the dark. It always made you paranoid. And, while the lights from all the stores and streetlamps helped, it wasn't the same as daylight. Anything could happen in New York.

You also hated how right you were about that.

You were on your way back from doing some brainstorming about how you'd continue the segment at Delmar's when you heard a rustle in the bushes. While it was your stereotypical horror movie sound, it still creeped you out. You couldn't out-walk it, though. A pair of hands wrapped around your body and began pulling you backwards.

Shit.

A loud yelp elicits from your mouth before a hand wraps around it too, and you try to wriggle out of the strong grasp. You manage to get a hand free, wrapping it around their wrist and twisting it off of your face before spinning around, meeting a dark pair of eyes underneath a generic "robber" mask.

"HELP," you yell, kneeing the guy in his crotch, finally freeing yourself as he falls to the ground. You'd never run so fast. The sound of footsteps behind you gets closer, but stops with the sound of hard impact and a groan. You stop and turn around.

Spider-Man is there, giving the guy a final punch in the jaw before webbing him to the wall and backing up, pressing a few buttons on his suit before looking up at you.

"How predictable and cliche," you sigh, rubbing your arm.

The sound of sirens begins wailing in the distance.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so-"

"Here," he says, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you to a rooftop, coincidentally, the one belonging to your apartment building.

"You sure have a knack for swinging me onto rooftops, don't you?"

"There's never anyone on them, so," he shrugs. You smile slightly- his voice masker is off. You were right.

You walk over to the edge, sitting down and dangling your legs over the edge. He joins you.

"Hey, um, if you could maybe not-"

"Don't worry, Peter. I won't," you say, looking over at him reassuringly. He sighs.

"Guess I can take this off now."

You watch as he pulls off the mask, taking a deep breath and shaking out his curls. You don't let yourself stare and instead just smile, looking down beneath the two of you.

"That's my apartment," you point down, slightly to the right at the fire escape.

He looks up at you in surprise and the wind gets knocked out of you. You'd never seen Peter Parker the way you did right now. He'd always been this mellow kid, yeah, cute, but sort of... in the background. A nerd (but that wasn't a bad thing). Now, though, he was in his element. The moon hitting him just right, his curls messy from his mask. He wasn't afraid of being judged because nobody was around, and he was wearing a suit that made him who he always wanted to be: a hero.

"No way! My apartment is literally right across from yours!" he says, excitement and facial expressions reminding you of a puppy. He pointed his window out, and sure enough, it was just about right across from yours as far as you could tell.

You don't know what to say, so you just smile instead, letting a little laugh out.

"So, uh," you breathe, "I'm not sure exactly what I'm gonna do about the whole Spider-Man's Secrets thing, but I won't expose you."

"Thank you," Peter sighs, voice accompanied with relief and a crooked smile.

"Maybe I can tell everyone that you're just too good. Like, you've got titanium walls all around you."

"Heh, yeah."

He looks over at you and smiles.

+ + +

EPILOGUE - NOTE:: some of the details of this may not make complete sense, nor line up with the plot of the movie in which this takes place. the point still gets across, so please don't make any rude comments lol- i did the best i could!

"I managed to send the Elemental back into the dimensional rift, but I don't think I'm gonna make it off this bridge alive. Spider-Man attacked me for some reason. He has an army of weaponized drones, Stark technology. He's saying he's the only one who's gonna be the new Iron Man, no one else."

"What the fuck?" you mutter. Peter would never say that.

You gasp at the video. Sure enough, Peter's standing there, confirming a fatal drone attack. Screams ring off in the distance and you practically choke.

"There you have it, folks. Conclusive proof that Spider-Man was responsible for the brutal murder of Mysterio!"

You sneer at the screen, the sight of J.J. Jameson making you angry. That man always got angry over the smallest things. You get on your phone to text Peter but stop. More footage from Mysterio begins playing.

"Spider-Man's real... Spider-Man's real name is... Spider-Man's name is Peter Parker," he chokes out.

You jump as Peter's school picture fills your TV screen.

"Holy fucking shit," you mutter, heart racing.

This is not right.

+ + +

He didn't answer you at all. None of your texts, none of your calls. Hell, you almost went over to his apartment, but you didn't remember his new address, since he and May moved after the Blip.

The two of you had become extremely close ever since you'd found out his identity, hanging out whenever you could. It was beyond unlike him to not answer you.

You sprinted into the news room. It was less than 24 hours after Peter had been exposed, and he was everywhere. Social media, news stations; hell, his picture was all over Times Square. And everything they were saying was all wrong.

"Mr. Harrington!"

The man spins around, startled.

"Oh! Good morning, Y/N-"

"I need you to start taping right now. Abe! You know how to hack, right? Broadcast this all over Times Square and every news station you can," you pant. The kid sits up in his seat, brushing Pop Tart crumbs off of his jeans and nodding with a smile.

"What is this all about?" Mr. Harrington asks as he moves over to the camera, cautious.

"You'll see."

You sigh as you sit in your seat, looking over at Abe. It takes a minute, but as soon as he gives a thumbs up, Mr. Harrington hits record.

"Hi. My name is Y/N L/N, and I am a student of Midtown School of Science and Technology, as well as a reporter for our daily announcements and an affiliate of Peter Parker. As I'm sure you all know, it was reported yesterday by the Daily Bugle that Spider-Man's secret identity is a boy named Peter Parker, and that Spider-Man is a so-called 'selfish murderer.' Well, I'm here to tell you that none of this is true. I know, I'm just a highschooler, but having to write several research papers for this school has taught me how to provide a statement with legitimate backup. That's what I'm here to do today.

"Mysterio, who's real name is Quentin Beck, was introduced to the world as a hero, fighting off creatures called Elementals that wrecked havoc throughout Europe. When one of these Elementals reached London, the footage shown yesterday was of Spider-Man and Mysterio on the London Bridge amidst chaos. Not only was that video altered to turn the blame on Spider-Man, but a creature called a Skrull is actually Spider-Man. Upon speaking with the head of SHIELD, I was given information on these creatures- they can shapeshift into whatever they want to be, as long as they've seen the organism before.

"Now, how do I know all this? One: after doing some light research on Quentin Beck, I discovered that he'd been fired from Stark industries in the past for his controlling and manipulative behavior. That'd explain his reasoning and desire for power. Two: upon asking a classmate of mine- who's an absolute prodigy in the field of computer technology and video- to review the given footage, they were able to find two small glitches in the footage that revealed the real video underneath, and further, unmask it completely. Abe, the video should be in your inbox. Pull it up and broadcast it, please."

You let out a deep sigh as you hear typing, then the sound of the real video.

"EDITH, turn off the drones."

The video clip finishes and the camera focus returns to you. "Now, I don't have complete proof on me about the identity claim I've made. But, as soon as the head of SHIELD gets back to me, I can prove it. What you do have confirmed, though, is that Mysterio was the problem. Spider-Man did nothing, other than do what was best for the safety of others. I have all the evidence lined up for you, and it's up to you to believe it. A message for you, Mysterio- if you're still alive- and your affiliates: don't mess with kids from Midtown Tech. We know what Spider-Man stands for, and so does the rest of the world. Trying to mess up his reputation from the grave doesn't help anyone. Sincerely, Y/N L/N and the students of Midtown Tech. As well as Peter Parker, who feels pretty attacked right now for no good reason. Have a great day!"

You smile into the camera before Mr. Harrington turns it off. You hadn't noticed them come in, but everyone on the news team had come into the room, all of them silent, dumbstruck. And then they started clapping.

You give them a tired nod and grin before grabbing your bag, saying hi to MJ and walking out. Thankfully, school hadn't started yet, but students were starting to arrive. You enter the bathroom and stare into the mirror, hoping you didn't just fuck everything up even more.

Your phone buzzes and Peter's contact picture (one of him in Hello Kitty pajamas, sticking his tongue out at the camera) fills your screen. You hurriedly answer.

"Peter! Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Janitors closet, 300 hall. Knock when you're here."

Butterflies flutter through your body as you run through the hallway, ignoring the weird looks from the couple that always shows up early to makeout against the lockers. You find the closet and knock, looking around to make sure nobody could see. The door opens and a hand wraps around your wrist, dragging you inside.

You gasp, balancing yourself, and Peter shuts the door behind you.

His appearance surprises you. He's the face of depression and hopelessness. Dark bags fill the space beneath his eyes, which are red from tears. The look makes you hate the world.

"Are you okay?"

"I am now," he breathes. "the news is buzzing about what you did. They got confirmation from Nick about what you said and, sure enough, every news station is broadcasting your claims with full evidence. Everyone's believing it and apologizing. Thank you."

You smile weakly and wrap your arms around him. "I did what I had to do."

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he mutters into the crook of your neck. The scent of your perfume makes him feel all tingly inside, the softness of your skin making him never want to stop holding you. You felt the same way.

"Ditto."

+ + +

akdjxfbavdgkjnwrjk i hope you guys enjoyed !!!!! tbh i'm not sure how to feel about this imagine lol

#peter parker #tom holland #peter parker imagines #marvel #mcu #spiderman #peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #fanfic #fluff #writing #peter #parker #thomas holland

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d20and · 4 years

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d20 and anthroponymy

Names are cool. “Jawbone” is an excellent name for someone who can rip out a throat with his bite and heal a shattered heart with his words. “Misty Moore” is poetic, fanciful, and melodious—much like the grande dame herself. One of our newer heroes, “Sir Theobald Gumbar,” has an extremely good name, and I suspect Brian Murphy chose it precisely. I have found three things that make it satisfying, and since I notice and value names, I enjoy learning where they are from, why they were chosen, and what they mean. It turns out there is an entire branch of social science that I did not know existed until this week: anthroponymy.

Anthroponymy is the study of human names. Linguists, anthropologists, historians, genealogists, and other experts all lend their talents to uncovering the origins and implications of what we choose to call ourselves, from casual nicknames to broad reaching national identities. Anthroponymy can tell us more about who has lived in an area, how a human group organizes themselves, or what a certain people value most.

For example, in ancient Greece, patrilineage was especially important and it was traditional for a grandson to be named after his grandfather. The philosopher Aristotle was the son of Nicomachus and, keeping custom, named his son Nicomachus. This custom was handy for Aristotle because he was able to his most famous work, the Nicomachean Ethics, after both of them. Since he learned moral wisdom from his father and taught it to his son, his choice of name is especially satisfying.

Anthroponymists focused in the origin of names trace the linguistic roots of our monikers. The original language of the name often lingers long after its meanings are forgotten. But many parents still choose baby names for the meaning as much as the musicality, perhaps hoping that the name shapes the child’s life. Trans folx have the wonderful but stressful experience of naming themselves which most of us will never undertake. Many gamers put so much thought into their character’s name that they struggle more with it than their school of magic or fighter class. Even when we don’t care, we still care a little—random name generator buttons are rarely clicked only once, I have found.

Although it may be simple superstition, the psychological impact of knowing your name’s meaning could factor into your expectations for yourself. Does Emily Axford know that her name means “industrious” and “hardworking,” a fitting name for a focused person who takes copious notes and creates detailed plans? Surely she would be just as productive if her name were Amity (“friendship” & “harmony”), right? There is a theory called nominative determinism that tries to explain why people with the last name Banks might be more likely to pursue a career in finance and why there might be a higher rate of Denises in the field of dentistry. On the other hand, I’m sure it is easy to find a clumsy Grace, a melancholy Ashok, and a Fabian who has never grown or sold a bean. (Yep, Fabian means “bean grower” — even for his own my darling man boy!)

So, what about Sir Theobald Gumbar, who stands ready to protect the royal House Rocks? Why did Murph choose those names in particular? The surname is easy: half of gummy and part of bear (or an anglicized take on the German version, bär). It also has a good tone, a solid ring to it. It sounds substantial when said aloud, which is appropriate for a protector.

Looking at the first name, I already knew that theo means “god” in Greek and that “Theodore” means “gift of God.” The suffix -bald sounds like the Greek root bal- which means “throw”, so I guessed perhaps “God’s throw” or “God strikes.” But I discovered that “Theobald” has no connection to “Theodore” whatsoever and doesn’t originate in Greek.

“Theobald” is a Germanic name, and it means “courageous people,” from theod (“people”) and bald (“brave,” “bold,” “courageous”). When it made its way into French, it became Thibault, and by the time Shakespeare wrote Romeo and Juliet, one variation was Tybalt.

So what’s in a name? One extremely silly reason that “Theobald” fits so well is simple. There are lots of bears in the world with various types of fluff and fur, but only one type of bear is best when it is “bald”: the gummy bear. And it’s not only best when it is bald—it’s awful when it isn’t!

With that unappetizing idea behind us, let’s look again. While I think it would chafe him, Sir Theo could go by a different nickname, which gives us the first real reason it is so fitting. Teddy is usually a nickname for Theodore, but it works for Theobald, too. And there is a great comfort to be found in a protective, armored and highly skilled teddy bear.

The second reason it is a great name: its meaning. Sir Theobald doesn’t think he’s God gift or sent by Bulb. (But I bet Sir Theodore would.) He knows he’s a common man, but he has uncommon courage. He doesn’t hesitate but also isn’t reckless. Theo is dauntless, not rash or cowardly. He is from a brave people. Sir Theo the Bold is very cool. (He’s always been cool! Always!)

Finally, what’s the best reason that Murph chose wisely? “Theobald” is German, and so is the sweet Gummibär! Gummy bears were invented in Bonn, Germany in 1922 by Hans Riegel Sr. After training and working as a confectioner, in 1920 he founded a company you may have heard of: HARIBO! (HA for Hans, RI for Reigel, and BO for Bonn, and all caps always!)

Herr Riegel figured out how to mold sweet and chewy gelatin treats using molds stamped into cornstarch. He decided to call them “little rubber bears”—that is, Gummibärchen! Sold as “Dancing Bears,” these treats were larger but not quite as chubby as the little ones we have today, but in 1960, the iconic Gold-Bären were introduced and became an international success. Today, HARIBO manufactures 160 million Gold-bären every day across the world, using both traditional and vegan recipes.

So there you have it. Sir Theobald Gumbar, the gummibär with the golden armor, was given a wonderful name by Brian Murphy. His name is Irish, by the way. Brian has hazy origins but is likely from the Old Celtic for “noble” and Murphy is derived from the original Gaelic word murchadh meaning “sea warrior.” So Murph, you’re destined to become a noble sea warrior!

Sir Theo will be one first, though, as the Munch Bunch fight off a naval attack on next week’s Dimension 20: A Crown of Candy. Catch up on dropout.tv and watch Wednesday, May 27 at 7PM EDT/4PM PDT on youtube.com/dimension20show!

#sir theobald gumbar #a crown of candy #dimension 20 #brian murphy #anthroponymy #haribo

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merpmac · 4 years

Text

Let’s go campin’ pt. 1

They had slept through their alarm, hearing Ma screaming up the stairs at them telling them to get their asses to school. Murphy lifts his head and looks at the clock, "Shit!" he swears, he scrambles out of bed and runs over to Connor's bed and shook him. "Conn! We slept through the alarm! Get te' fuck up!" he shook him a little more before running off to grab his uniform trying to hurry and put it on. He scrambles downstairs with his backpack and shoes and sits on the couch, hurrying to put them on and he was out the door before Connor. He got to school first and hurried into their English class, came in late and sneak behind the rest of the students to take a seat next to Connor's seat, putting his backpack in Connor's seat to save it from others.

He didn't see much of Connor after English cause English was their only class together. But at lunch he found him and sat down next to him giving him a nudge. "What te' fuck took ye so long gettin' to English class?" he whispered, "Woke ye up and everythin'.." he mumbled, rolling his eyes a bit.

Early mornings were always a pain. Connor questioned their existence and his during the wee hours of the weekdays. Former buzzing of the alarm didn't even reach his ears, he was sound asleep. Yet, his blissful land of rest was disturbed when he felt the motion of somebody prodding him to get up, knowing exactly who it was. A brief thought crossed his mind to take the pillow beneath him and sock Murphy as hard as he possibly could with it. Instead, a mere groan of aggravation came from him. "Fuck off..." he muttered as he pulled the blanket further up over him. Just a few more minutes, that couldn't hurt... could it?

Finally rising, Connor dragged himself to get ready. Minimal effort was put into making his bed mimicked by the effort shown with his uniform, shirt half tucked in his pants, coat collar untucked... all things fixed and perfect by their Ma, making him grimace with teenage annoyance. Connor's mind was young, free and naive. He had an array of ideas on what he wanted life to be, ready to charge out and direct his fate as he intended. No Ma fussing, no brother badgering him... little did he know how things would change so drastically.

Breakfast was forgotten as he rushed to school, being late of course. He got a verbal scolding from the teacher as he took his place in the seat, sitting Murphy's bag aside. He slumped back as class resumed though his gaze traveled between the teacher and Murphy now and then, ocassionally becoming by other minor things within the room just so he could keep himself awake.

Lunch was a blessing. It provided his mind time to relax and something to appease his growling stomach. No sooner than he had begun to dig in, was he accompanied by his brother - little one by his standards. The roll of Murphy's eyes made him grin. "I got 'ere, didn' I?" He answered in response with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Ye' know ma is gonna bitch at ye when she get's off work tonight if the teacher calls her 'gain.." Murphy reminds him, "Lucky she won't be home to catch te' call aye? Ain't answerin' it either tis time." He chowed on his food for a moment before catching the eye of a girl walking by and he ducked his head and frowned. Lately he had been really ignoring the girls in school, no matter how much they tried to be sweet with him. He tried to tell himself it was because he knew they were just trying to get to Connor through him, but he sometimes had a feeling that it wasn't like that all together and he was just being weird and picky. He'd been hanging around some of the older guys that smoke outside during lunch but to his surprise he didn't feel like being around them today. He'd rather be in his brothers company rather then trying to be someone he wasn't, those guys were just something to do when his brother was up some girls skirt rather then paying attention to Murphy.

"After school." he states between bites, "What ye' want te' do anyway?" he asks Connor who usually had some plan to do something but sometimes it didn't involve bringing Murphy along like he was older or some shit. Hated that, treating Murph like he was five years younger when they were the same age. Constantly belittling him or talking to him like a child, really did him in sometimes which caused fights before but he was trying to ignore it more lately when it happened.

Connor listened in silence for the moment as he took a drink of what had been offered with school's lunch. He caught Murphy's gaze which seemed to be briefly locked one of the girls that passed by. Connor's followed as she went to take her seat, his tongue poking out just the slightest to lick over dry lips. Accompanying the teenage glory years, Connor had begun to divulge in his adolescent hormones, noticing not only the changes among himself but those within his peers as well. Murphy seemed to be opposite of him, shying away from such socialisms. Connor made a mental note to push him a little more and get him out of his shell. Perhaps he should find a party for them to attend one weekend. Oh, their Ma would surely kill them. With the girl disappearing into the crowd, Connor turned back to Murphy and gave him a nudge. "Relax… Ma can't stay mad at me fahrever, right?" He retorted back with a sly grin.

Connor didn't answer for a bit, thinking about just what exactly he did want to do when he left school. A few bites of food later, he shrugged his shoulders. "Haven't thought much of it… Might go sneak into one of the local pubs but not sure if that's such a good idea…" His words were accompanied with a slight laugh. If he did, he may just end up late again in the morning or not show up at all. "What 'bout you, Murph? Any bright ideas?"

"Nothin' to excitin'.." he finished his food and pushed the tray forward a little. "Probably just go home take a nap.." he was always sleepy, always taking nap more then Connor but maybe it was just a way to avoid actually doing anything else or--getting out of his shell. He often did avoid actually going places with Connor knowing he would always be looked at as the younger no matter what. He hated that but nothing he could do to avoid it, although that was the case he still felt like doing something rather then staying home today. "Maybe we could.. goin' campin' like ye promised last time ye' would?" he muttered a little like he didn't quite want Connor to hear what he said cause usually when he mentioned something Connor said before he always had an excuse why he couldn't do it /now/.

He then grabbed his tray and mumbled something about being back and discarded his tray and left to go to the toilets. While he was in there he was approached by one of the guys he sometimes hung out with. They were bein' kind of too nice almost like the guy liked Murphy, but it must be in his head right? Next thing he knows the taller male hovers closer to him and steals a kiss before leaving Murphy stunned in the bathroom. He quickly left, looking flustered and angry and he just started walking home by himself without so much as looking for Connor the entire time. He was upset, his first kiss had been a boy and it wasn't even a boy he liked. As he was sitting on the couch eating Connor's ice cream out of the carton without care, he came to the conclusion that the guys he'd been hanging with were a bunch of fairies! Shit, now he had to explain everything knowing Connor would be asking him all kinds of stuff when he got home, if he ever did come home tonight.

Finishing the not too appetizing meal, Connor pushed the trey back. It wouldn't be a surprise if he hurried back to his next class and left it there… Attention and efforts not his priority for this place. Murphy's suggestion surprised him, acting as a bitter reminder that he had promised. How long ago had that been though? Must've been some time if Connor couldn't pinpoint the date. Running a hand through his hair, he let out a audible breath. Connor had been so preoccupied with himself and the starting process of figuring out where he fit in this big 'ol world and who he was that he had started to pull away from his brother a little more as the days rolled on when they were once each other's best of friends. "I'll tink about it." He answered honestly. It confused him that such things felt more like tasks anymore than downtime to enjoy and bond as they once did.

Murphy never did return like he said he would, not a big concern at first but as the day lingered on Connor began to wonder where the little shit went, casually asking the few mutual people between them who unfortunately hadn't seen hide or hair of him either. The breaks between classes, Connor found himself outside smoking. Being self absorbed in his own world, he wasn't all that aware of the people Murphy hung around when he wasn't directly in his presence so when noticed the group of guys talking and laughing among themselves about something, he turned a blind eye to it… for the time being.

Late, Connor always seemed to be late to everything these days, including coming home. As soon as the door shut, he was faced with the questions of where was he by their Ma. Reassuring her, he made his way through the kitchen and into the living room, throwing his stuff down. Catching Murphy's presence from a side glance, he full on glared at him. "Where de fuck did ye go?" He asked, gaze traveling down to the ice cream carton in Murphy's hold. "And eatin' all me shit too!" He barked, reaching down to rip the carton from Murphy's grasp.

The outburst took him by complete surprise, leaving him standing there stunned for a moment, eyes wide. He flinched when the carton of ice cream was slammed onto the coffee table and Murphy pushed past him to jolt upstairs. What the fuck had just happened?! A deep breath escaped him and he turned, to face his Ma suddenly who looked at him with concern written along her weary face. Connor's gaze traveled to the floor and he felt bad suddenly though he didn't understand what he felt bad for. He loved what was of their little family; the three of them… He just… Well, things were complicated. Connor just wanted to branch out on his own. All of his life, this house, his Ma, Murphy… They were all he knew. Connor slumped back on the couch in silence, Ma taking what was left of the carton back to the freezer.

The house wasn't the worst, but it wasn't the best either. Upstairs, he could hear the kick to the bathroom door, followed by the flow of the shower afterwards. Connor sat there, idly fiddling with his thumbs as he tried to sort out the problem among himself in his head. He wasn't one for sentiments now, he was starting to harden around the edges and emotions were beginning to become more reclusive within him. After all, wasn't that the standard to being a "man"? He had always tried to be the stronger brother, the one to fall back on. Hearing the water cut off and footsteps above, Connor assumed Murphy had made his way back into the room they shared. Connor willed himself from the couch and made his way upstairs. Quietly, he went into their room, looking over to Murphy's resting form. Connor took a seat at the edge of Murphy's bed, as carefully as he could as if he were afraid to disturb him. "Murph, you awake?" He nearly whispered, though he doubted the other man was asleep so soon.

Quickly dodging the others grasp, Murphy was in a right bitter mood from the day he'd had and he barked back if not louder. "TE FUCK DO YE CARE WHERE I WAS, NOT LIKE YE FUCKIN' CARE!" he probably shouldn't have done that, but he was feeling attacked immediately and fought back. He slammed the carton on the coffee table and shoved hard passed his brother and ran upstairs. An audible slam to their door resounded through the house. Murphy ripped off his clothes and slammed the bathroom door behind him. He was pacing a little, all red in the face from being angry and he turned around and kicked the locked bathroom door for no good reason he could think of other then he was angry. He turned on the bath water and soaked in the tub for about an hour just to calm down. When he got out he was still kind of angry at everyone, but he dried off a bit and wrapped the towel around his waist before coming into the bedroom.

He avoided acknowledging whether or not his brother was in the room, picking up his dirty clothes and shoving them in the clothes basket by the dressers. Then he crawled into bed and pulled the sheet over himself and his head, hiding away from this stupid fucked up world where people thought it was funny to mess with his feelings. Mess with his head and whatever else they could do to Murphy. The fuck had that kid thought it'd be a good idea to be kissing him for like it was some kind of big joke, like they thought he was fucking gay or something. He wasn't.. he didn't fuckin' know actually what he was, his feelings were all kinds of mixed up since he'd gotten older and had less time with Connor now. He just wanted to be around him, join in on the fun but every time he did he just seemed to be the outcast of the group no matter what. It wasn't like he was trying to be weird and quiet but it was just that he didn't feel very welcomed around Connor's friends.

"Aye.." he muttered from underneath the sheet. He'd laid there for a minute long enough to start getting tired from the warm bath he'd just had. All the anger deflated and now he was just kind of feeling needy. He uncovered his head slowly and rolled over to look at the other, blinking tiredly. "Em sorry Conn.." he starts before Connor could say anything else. "Didn' mean te' yell at ye jus.. had a bad day.." he sighed, rubbing at his face a little. He just wanted to forget for a moment what happened today, just sleep it off. He rolled on to his side facing Connor and reached to him a little.

"Somethin' happened today.." he mutters, looking away from Connor with a frown. "Was in the toilets.. bout' to come back to see where ye' were and this.. this guy I hang out wit' sometimes cornered me and kissed me.. didn' know what to do.. felt angry.. been botherin' me all day.. Don' go tellin' Ma I'll never here ta' end of it eit'er.."

Connor frowned upon the apology. Really, Murphy didn't have to apologize or explain anything. He hadn't done anything, had he? Connor rolled his eyes at that. "Shut de fuck up with dat… Don't wanna 'ear it…" He grumbled. "Nothin' to be sorry for…" He slumped in his posture. Pride was strong for Connor, mouth opening slightly several times in attempts to admit where he felt he was in the wrong and yet, no words came from him but he knew he had been lacking as a brother. If they didn't have nothing else, they had one another and he was letting Murphy down.

Suddenly he perked up, form stiffening as his eyes narrowed. Hands curled into fists, gripping the sheets beneath him. "He did what?" Connor's voice seemed to change, taking on a more serious and deeper tone. He felt the heat of anger start to rise within him. "I'll knock 'is fuckin' teeth out, I will…" He muttered under his breath, mind going back to earlier that day. It wouldn't be that much of a challenge for him to find the culprit if he truly wanted to. Connor flinched, feeling Murphy's slight touch. His expression softened some but still, he felt that protectiveness for his brother. "I won't tell her." He assured.

Murphy looked on at his brothers expression, the anger in it worried him like he might actually kill the guy who did it, slightly regretting telling him but at the same time he couldn't hold it in either, he needed to get it out. "Conn.." he frowned, sitting up. "It wasn'--" he stopped himself, "Was just a kiss.. just-- took me by surprise I guess.. It's alrigh' I'll get over et'.. just won't hang wit t'em no more.." he assured his brother though he knew it was too late to stop it now, Connor was going to do something whether he liked it or not. He scooted closer and wrapped arms around his brother in a hug, laying his head on his shoulder.

"GET YER BUTTS DOWN 'ERE AND EAT!" Their Ma shouts up the stairs making Murphy flinch and sigh. He wasn't in the mood to eat anything but knew better then to refuse their mothers food. He climbed out of bed and pulled on underwear before looking to Connor, not really knowing what to say before he just goes downstairs to eat. He was silent while he ate while Ma and their aunt sat there eating and talking.

He finished his food and went to the laundry room in the basement, turned on the light and pulled on a fresh shirt that'd been just dried. He looked around and listened and then he went to a closet/room near the back of the basement where he'd made a hide out, not even Connor had bothered to come back here cause he didn't know about it. He grabbed the joint he rolled earlier and lit it. He came back up an hour later still kind of stoned and went right up to their room in order to spray on some of Connor's cologne to mask the scent of skunk. That's why he'd been hanging around the older kids, to get weed off them with his allowance money.

Connor sighed. There wasn't one thing about this and he did consider himself the protector of the two. Connor pulled him in closer, resting his face in Murphy's hair, taking in the clean smell. "Aight… If they cause anymore problems though, they'll 'av ter deal with me." Connor chalked it all up to that he was just looking out for his brother and nothing more but the way he felt towards the matter was something deeper than that. If he had actually saw the scene unfold before him, he couldn't promise the guy wouldn't be sent to the infirmary. He swallowed hard, attempting to ignore whatever confusing thoughts lingered in the back of his mind. Life was hard enough without him questioning things within his own personal circle. He merely closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the little moment they had, as they once did. Though the innocence of childhood had nearly faded. What would people think of their closeness and what if something were to happen? Connor was beginning to find himself tore between the bond they shared and the stigma society put on others.

The yell of their mother jerked him to attention and he pulled away quickly, heart beginning to race. Something told him that Murphy wasn't all that thrilled to go down and in truth, neither was he. It was an odd thing that when his brother seemed to be in a off mood, it effected him the same. "C'mon… Better get down dare before she chews our 'eads off." Connor offered a chuckle to try and lighten the atmosphere. Connor tried not to let his gaze linger to Murphy when he got up to pull a pair of underwear on. These days Connor felt awkward in certain instances with Murphy where before Murphy would be the only person he felt his most comfortable around.

Dinner was silent for the most part, stiff and just tedious and draining. Their Ma talked with their aunt for the most part and Connor ate his fill, leaving the rest to just be picked at and pushed around on his plate until he could be excused. In a means to give them both some space, given the day had been tense, Connor decided to hang back in the kitchen and help their Ma with the dishes. Only after he was done, did he make his way back up to the room to settle in for the night. Coming into the room though, the faint smell of his cologne lingered, leaving him to raise a brow, attention landing on Murphy. The fuck was he doing now? Taking more of his shit again? Connor decided not to push another matter and upset him further. Rather, he took his place on his own bed. "So… I was thinkin'… 'Bout what ye said earlier today… We can go camping, dis weekend, if ye want."

Giving a slight cough, he felt guilty and rather nervous, worried that his brother would know--fuck sake he would know the second a giggle comes out of him, Conn will know. He straightened up a little, keeping a straight face and he went over to Connor and climbed on his bed to lay beside him. "Aye?" he asks, kind of surprised Connor would finally take him camping although, he wasn't crossing any fingers at this point. Conn talked up a storm but most of the time he'd forget or just not do it all together. "Ye' really gon' te or ye' just sayin' tha' cause ye feel bad fer not takin' me in te first place?" he asked with a little smirk as he turned on his side facing his twin.

Maybe it would be fun, they could make a fire and go deep off from the town and really be alone for once. They were never truly alone with their mother and these thin walls separating the boys from her. It really felt like he was trapped sometimes but really, he just wanted to finally be alone with him and just relax and talk and do stupid things like they use too. "Maybe we could.. make fuckin' s'mores or somethin' aye?"

Filling the bed dip down under Murphy's weight, Connor knew he had to be cautious with him in such a close range. He released a soft breath, looking down at what was essentially the other part of him. They were one another's strength and weakness. Connor rolled his eyes as he gave a shove to Murphy for asking such a thing even though, he wasn't entirely wrong. Connor did feel bad for skipping out before and other times Murphy wanted to be in his company and he found some excuse to bail. But, he also thought it would be good for Murphy, to get away from the stresses of life and maybe it would even be good for him too. He had been so occupied trying to just roll through the motions, he'd truly forgotten how to live. "I don't feel bad for ye, asshole… Doin' it 'cause I want ter do it, dat's all…" He grumbled, an attempt to keep up that tough barrier around himself.

The suggestion made Connor scoff. He flopped back, laying across Murphy as he gazed up at the ceiling. "S'mores?" He repeated. "Will ye ever grow up?" He asked in amusement, a chuckle following his words. In a way though, he hoped Murphy never did lose that softer and even sweeter side to him. It helped to balance them out. "Sure… We'll do whatever ye want."

"Aye I fuckin' said s'mores! And.. and drinkin'.. whatever we can get our hands on anyway.. know where ma keeps the keys to the liquor cabinet.. think she's all smart an' shit keepin it in her jewelry box.." not that he should know where it was, let alone be in his ma's jewelry but he ignored that bit. He squirmed a little and sighed, "Where we gon' te get a tent? think we got one in the shed Da' might've left us?" he asks. The thought of spending time with Connor, all night in a tent just the two of them sounded fun. He smiles a little, "Hey.. ye wan te see somethin?" he asks, sitting up a little. "'long as ye don' tell ma.. not dat I tink ye would but.." he sat up and moved Connor before getting up. He looked to Connor and gestured for him to follow. They snuck past their mother and aunt in the kitchen to the basement, and Murphy opens his hide-away closet door and plops into the blankets and pillows he stuffed inside. Then he holds up a joint to Connor, "Fuckin' don't say shit.. Ma would kill us bot'.." he gives a nod. "Fuckin' sit and close te door."

"Course ye did… You'll get all shit faced an' pass out on me in dat case." But the thought of bringing liquor into the mix sound fun. Connor was always up for a drink or two. Brows furrowed at the mention of the jewelry box but he just chalked it up to their Irish blood and the love they had for a good drink that led Murphy to scout out the key to the cabinet. Their Ma was clever but, they were always a step ahead of her. "I'll look 'morrow, see if there's one out dare." Connor sat up when Murphy got up, looking up at his brother with a curious gaze. "Ye know our secrets are ours." He assured. Connor rarely spoke about the things they shared to their Ma because most of them were things that either strengthened their bond or was minor occurrences Connor himself could handle. Getting up, he followed quietly behind Murphy, sneaking past the kitchen and into the basement. Connor's eyes widened a bit at the little hide-away. "Ye sneaky wee bastard… So dis is where ye go, aye?" He scoffed as he took a seat beside Murphy, closing the door behind him. He snatched the joint from his brother's grasp, pressing it past his lips and inhaling a deep breath of the contents. Smoke bellowed out seconds after and a content sigh seemed to slip from him. He was quiet for a moment but then, he looked back over to Murphy, handing the joint back to him. "Da fuck did ye get dis from?"

"That guy who kissed me.. he sells it to me from time te time.. now I don' think I'll be askin' him no more after the shit he pulled today.. find someone else.." he took a hit and got comfortable in his little hide-away. He grinned a little, "Aye this where I been goin' when ye' and Ma can't find me.. know none of ye would come lookin' ere so I just made it me own. But now ye know about it, suppose it's ours now.." he shrugged a bit. He didn't mind having it to their own. Could be a good thing, but sometimes Murphy wanted to be alone but he knows if Connor knows he wants to be alone he wouldn't be bothered.

After a long hour of smoking, the closet was foggy with smoke and Murphy was high as a kite, giggling about something they were talking about. He moved to lay against Connor's chest and stretch out, yawning a little. "Wish it was Friday.. don' want te go to school tomorra'.." he frowned, "Don' want te be made fun of, lord knows what tha' prick probably told his friends.. What te fuck anyway! I'm no' gay!" he crossed his arms and grumbled.

A faint smile peaked at the corners of Connor's lips at the statement. They had always shared everything together and yet he was trying to change that between them. Maybe he was being a real jerk about things. "Tis a good place ter go… Quiet, cozy… Tis very, Murphy like." His smile grew wider when he looked over to his brother.

Time seemed to pass quickly as they fell back into old habits of conversing among themselves, laughing with one another and just getting back to what made them, well them. Whether it was the relaxing effects of the weed in his system or the nostalgia of what they've always been; Connor found himself pulling Murphy closer to him without hesitation or any second guessing. He could fall asleep here and now with his twin using him as a pillow and be perfectly content. A hand found it's way to Murphy's hair, fingers scheming through the strands. "We got two more days… Don't worry about dem, if they say anythin' I'll take care of it." Connor may have started to become more relaxed through the years but when it came to Murphy, his fists could still do the talk for him if need be. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. "Course you're not! Fuck dem! Bunch of assholes…"

Murphy huffed a bit, but relaxed finding the fingers running through his hair relaxing. He ended up going quiet, little did Connor know he was beginning to fall asleep. He jumped awake, realizing he was falling asleep and groaned, rubbing his eyes. Faintly he heard their ma' calling for them and he frowned. He crawled out and got up, stretching his arms above his head. It was late, better get sleep for tomorrow. With a silent look to Connor they went up stairs and Murphy instead of crawling into his own bed, crawled into Connor's which he hadn't done for months. He curled up on his stomach and fell fast asleep.

In the morning he de-tangled himself from Connor and lazily got ready for school after shutting off the alarm. The walk to school was quiet, he had a bad feeling in his stomach and he stuck close to Connor when he could. When he was alone, putting his stuff in his locker the same guy came up to him, picking on him about the kiss and Murphy got so pissed off at him for picking on him he nailed the guy in the face with his fist and yelled at him in Gaelic before storming off to the playground where he bummed a smoke off a kid and sat under the slides, knuckles bruised and his hand shaking while he attempted to smoke.

Connor knew they shouldn't share one bed together, they were getting too old to be doing these kinds of things together. But, the company felt nice. Murphy was warm and his presence was comforting to Connor. Against better judgement, Connor wrapped his arms around Murphy and snuggled into him, drifting off to sleep.

The following morning was even more aggravating than the previous, simply because Connor didn't want to lose the moment of closeness between him and his brother. But he reminded himself they only had tomorrow left until the weekend. Connor accompanied Murphy to school on time today and for the most part they hung around one another. Knowing the events of yesterday, Connor felt a need to keep a close watch over Murphy but unfortunately there had to be times between classes where they were separated.

Slamming his locker door shut, Connor overheard a group of guys speaking among themselves about something, noticing one rubbing the side of his cheek. Eyes narrowed, Connor stormed up to them, an argument ensueing. "Run ye mouth some more and I'll knock ye teeth down ye throat..." he threatened and left them in a huff. Connor searched for Murphy, eventually finding him outside. He kneeled down under the slide in front of him, sigh leaving him. "Ye alright, Murph?"

"Fuck 'em Conn.. They told the whole fuckin' school practically that em a fuckin' faggot.." his hands shaking, anger in his eyes. "Fuckin' hate tis place, should'a seen te girls lookin at me Conn, fuckin' disgusted wit me now. I'll never find anyone in tis fuckin' school don' think I want te anyway. Don' want anybody.." he frowned, he could do this; be alone never be with anyone. Fuck it why did he need anybody when he had Connor right? He looked to Connor and tossed his smoke. "Let's get outta here aye?" he said and climbed out from under the slide and brushed off his pants. He saw those guys in the distance, talking to one of the teachers and they all started looking his way. He felt so angry, those fuckers rattin' on him for some shit they started. "FUCK YOU!" he screamed at them from across the playground and flipped them off. He hit his chest with both hands. "COME GET ME YE FUCKERS!"

He knew he was in for it if they came over, two against five wasn't a good out come so he knew they should just go but he was so pissed off he wanted to start swinging left and right as much as he could fight. Eventually though the guys were told by the teacher to leave it and the teacher came over. "Murphy Macmanus!" she said angrily, "What is your problem with those boys?" he asked. "They were-- They called me fuckin' gay! Ain' a faggot." he huffed. "Watch your language Macmanus. I suggest you and your brother go home. Detention. Tomorrow Murphy." and after that, Murph having nothing more to say to that he hung his head a little as she walked away.

Walking home was quiet, they stopped for smokes and snacks and then went out to the back yard and sat at the picnic table, smoking. Ma would be at the bar late so they had a good chunk of the night to spend by themselves. He was hovered over a small plate in his lap rolling a doobie and then lit it up. Passing it to Connor he hops up to sit on the table part instead of the bench and then grabbed a chip from the bag and popped it into his mouth. "Fuck detention tomorra'.. ain' goin.."

Connor bit into his bottom lip, wanting to reach out to his brother and just bring him into a tight hug and yet at the same time bash someone's heads in. Typically the more calmer and relaxed in terms of having his emotions reigned in, that didn't mean Connor didn't plot things within his mind for those that crossed him or Murphy wrong. Perhaps that made him more dangerous than the other twin. "Don't say that, Murph… The girls in this school aren't the only ones in the world." Connor spoke with a frown. Following his brothers lead, he nodded and got up, about to start walking until his gaze followed Murphy's, eyes narrowing at the guys. His fists flexed at his sides, Connor believing that he had the strength alone to take them all on if he had to. The anger exerted from his brother was well deserved but with the teacher there, Connor knew they were fucked.

"Murph… C'mon…" He muttered, as he reached out to tug on his twin's arm. Yet, their teacher came storming over causing Connor to let out a deep breath, rolling his eyes. "But they-!" He attempted to put in but was shot down quickly with threats of being in equal trouble as Murphy if he continued. Once more, Connor bit at his bottom lip as she began to walk away. "I'll break their fuckin' jaws if I catch 'em out… See if they wanna go 'round kissin' people den." He huffed.

Connor didn't like the silence between them on the way home but he knew a lot was weighing on Murphy's mind so he didn't push. He just merely glanced at him here and there, observing his facial expressions. Sitting at the picnic table, Connor was quiet himself, thinking about everything that day and scenarios of how to get the group to themselves out of a teacher's watchful eye or even the one guy specifically. Justice. He wanted his own justice for his brother. Connor was beginning to learn that life wasn't fair and people were easily persuaded but he, he saw the wrongs overlooked. He shook his head when the doobie was handed over to him, taking it from Murphy and inhaling a deep breath of it. He let the smoke linger for a bit before releasing a breath of it. At least they had some time tonight before Ma came back.

"Ye know… We could just skip tomorrow… Go campin' early. We can stow away in your wee hide out til Ma's gone den split." Connor suggested.

#Conphy #RP #merpmac #Murphy Macmanus #Connor Macmanus #Norman Reedus #Sean Patrick Flanery #TBS #The Boondock Saints #Fanfic #Ship #Siblings

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bamby0304 · 6 years

Text

Her Saviours- Ch.12

Series Masterlist

Summary: During an odd case, the Winchesters came across Y/N, a scared young Omega girl who had been used as a lure for a nest of vampires. After rescuing her from the monsters, John and his sons took her in knowing she was in no state to live among ordinary people. But three Alphas and one Omega is a mixture bound for disaster.

A/N: @sculptorofbeginnings… I am so sorry you had to fix all my mistakes xD

Warnings: Explicit language. ABO dynamics. Angst. Death.

Bamby

You leaned against the wall by the payphone, chewing on your nail while hugging Sam’s hoodie closer to you. He was on the phone, glancing over at you every few moments as he talked to whoever was on the line.

“Alright, thank you for your time.” Sighing, he hung the phone back up. “Come on.” He reached out and took your free hand before leading you back over to the table where Dean was waiting.

Just over a week had passed since the shifter case.

The bruises from the night hadn’t faded yet, reminding you of what you’d done every time you looked in the mirror. The dread and guilt you still felt from what you did… not a night went by where you didn’t dream of Dean’s dead face staring up at you. Not a night went by where you didn’t dream of the way Dean had looked while the shifter had fucked you and then hurt you.

No amount of logic had been able to erase the image, or the feelings that came with it, from your mind. Even though you knew it hadn’t actually been Dean that night, it still felt like it had been.

So you were sticking with Sam. It had been like a switch that night. After months of him practically ignoring you, seeing you kneeling on the floor, over a shifter that wore his brother’s face, had Sam rushing to your aid. Seeing you bleeding and crying… he hadn’t wasted a second before hurrying over to help you.

That night and every night since, he’d been there for you. It was like it was before, although there was no romance, nothing more than friendship and understanding. You’d gone through something terrible, and he knew you needed someone, and he knew only he would do. So, ever since then, you’d been almost practically glued to each other’s side.

Almost.

Despite having spent years desperately trying to convince the WInchesters to get you to hunt with them, you hadn’t said a word about it all week. Every time the brothers caught wind of something, you pulled back. The only thing safer than being with Sam, was staying out of danger and in whatever motel room you were holed up in.

“Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis.” Dean grinned, teasing his brother- trying not to look at you as your gaze fell to the floor to avoid him.

“Bite me.” Sam led you over to the two seats across from Dean and waited until you sat before he took the other seat beside you.

Turning back to the laptop in front of him, Dean asked, “So, anything?”

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

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

Your head fell as your gaze dropped to your lap. Sam looked down at you, disappointed in his father and concerned for you. You were beginning to wonder if you were missing John more and more with every passing day… or less...

Dean watched you both before changing the subject, “Check this out.” He turned the computer around to show Sam. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

Looking at the screen Sam read, “‘The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road’.”

“Keep reading,” Dean prompted.

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

“Could be something interesting.” Dean shrugged.

“Or it could be nothing at all,” Sam argued. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.” He glanced at you before turning back to his brother. “I don’t think it’s our thing.”

Looking from Sam, to you, and then back, Dean hesitated a moment. In the corner of your eye you spotted the way his jaw clenched and unclenched. Something was agitating him, but he wasn’t going to say anything.

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out,” he noted, and just like that, you knew Sam wouldn’t be able to argue.

Sam looked out at the fraternity house Dean had parked outside of. The frat brothers that were gathered outside watched Baby, clearly confused and suspicious. You sunk down in your seat, already scenting at least three Alphas.

“One more time, why are we here?” Sam asked, turning to his brother with an are-you-serious glare.

“Victim lived here,” Dean answered as if it were that simple.

“You really think this is a good idea?” Sam gestured to you in the back. “Will they even let her in?”

Dean turned to you. “She’s college age, smells like us, Omega, hot… girlfriends sleep over boyfriends’ places all the time.” He turned back to Sam. “Besides, the only motel in town is fully booked, so if you have a different idea…”

Clenching his jaw- much like his brother often did- Sam stayed quiet. Truth was, you really didn’t have many options.

“I’ll be okay,” you spoke up, voice soft.

Sam looked at you with concern and doubt. “Yeah?”

Giving a short nod, you offered him a small smile. “Yeah.”

With that, the three of you climbed out of the car and headed over to a couple of guys who were fixing a car in the driveway. As you approached them, they all stopped working and looked up, eyeing all of you suspiciously.

“Nice wheels,” Dean started, trying to ease the tension. “We’re your fraternity brothers.” He gestured to himself and Sam. “From Ohio. We’re new in town. Transfers. Looking for a place to stay.”

Dragging his eyes away from Dean, the guy standing by the car’s hood looked to you. “Who’s the chick?” He gave the air a sniff. “She’s Omega…”

You sniffed the air back, noting a distinct Alpha scent. Instantly, you stepped closer to Sam. “I’m his girlfriend. Mate-to-be, if you will.”

Sam’s arm draped over your shoulder as he pulled you closer to him, proving your point. “That gonna be a problem?”

The Alpha tried to hide his disappointment as he shrugged. “Chick can stay one night without problems, but the dean doesn’t like Omegas shacking up with pledged Alphas.”

Before you or Sam could comment, Dean shrugged. “We’ll figure it out later. But we’re cool now?”

Giving a short moment’s pause, the Alpha then nodded. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

The Sam had a firm grip on your hand as you followed Dean through the frat house to the room you were directed to. You could feel the tension in his body as his eyes darted around. The place stuck of Alphas, Beta, booze, and sex. It reeked like nothing had been cleaned in over a week. You were struggling not to barf or hide.

Dean didn’t seem to notice or care. You knew he normally would… but things weren’t normal right now. He was pissed, you were avoiding him, and Sam was taking up the Alpha role currently. Things were out of synch.

Walking into the room the boys would call home during the case, you came to a stop at the sight of a scrawny, shirtless guy standing in front of a mirror, painting himself purple.

Knocking on the door, Dean grabbed the guy’s attention. “Who are you?” he asked as soon as he spotted the three of you.

“We’re your new roommates,” Dean answered with a quick smile as he walked further into the room.

The guy stopped what he was doing and frowned at you. “She’s a chick.”

“You’re observant,” you mumbled, sniffing at the air discreetly. He was a harmless Beta.

“She’s Sammy’s girlfriend,” Dean explained with a slight bite to his tone. “And she’s staying for the night. You got a problem with that?”

Looking you and Sam up and down quickly, the Beta then shook his head. “Nah, just as long as you do whatever you do quietly. I don’t mind if you get your freak on, but some of us don’t wanna listen to it.”

It took a lot for Sam to hold back and not rip into the guy.

Not realising how lucky he was to still be standing, the guy turned to Dean and offered him his paint brush. “Do me a favor? Get my back. Big game today.”

Without missing a beat, Dean gestured to Sam. “He’s the artist. Things he can do with a brush.”

Having no other choice, Sam took the brush as Dean dropped into a chair and grabbed a magazine. You stood there, awkwardly, as Sam started painting the Beta and Dean started asking questions.

“So…” Dean checked the name on the magazine before going on, “Murph. Is it true?”

“What?”

“We heard one of the guys around here got killed last week.”

Murph’s face fell as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“What happened?” Sam asked as he continued to paint the Beta.

“They’re saying some psycho with a knife. Maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy.”

“Rich he was with somebody?”

Murph turned to look at Sam as he answered, clearly thinking whatever he had to say was juicy news. “Not just somebody. Lori Sorensen.”

“Who’s Lori Sorensen?” Dean pressed before gesturing to Murph’s back. “You missed a spot. Just down there, in the back,” Dean told Sam, earning a glare as he grinned.

“Lori’s a freshman,” Murph explained. “She’s a local. Super hot. Omega. And get this... she’s a reverend’s daughter.”

Interest piqued, Dean closed the magazine and tossed it back onto the table he grabbed it from, before leaning forward in the chair. “You wouldn’t happen to know which church, would ya?”

Dean opened the door and took a step to the side, waiting for you and Sam to walk into the church before he followed, letting the door close behind him. It slammed shut, disturbing the congression, causing them all to turn to the three off you. The silent church but you on edge as all eyes looked at you with suspicion.

Moving on, the reverend continued, “The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings.”

Sam pressed a hand to your back as he guided you into the back pew. He then slid in to sit beside you, before Dean took a seat on Sam’s other side. You didn’t miss the way a girl in the front row turned to look at the three of you. You didn’t miss the way Sam gave her a weak smile.

“So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children.”

Both you and Sam bowed your head along with everyone else. As you closed your eyes and pretended to pray, however, you found yourself wishing and hoping that things would get better.

Walking behind Sam and Dean, you followed them as they headed towards the girl who had looked back at Sam in the church.

“Are you Lori?”

Hearing her name, the girl turned to answer Sam, “Yeah.”

“My name is Sam,” he started. “This is my brother, Dean, and our friend, Y/N.” Dean gave a little wave, while you offered a small smile. “We just transferred here to the university.”

“I saw you inside,” she noted.

“We don’t wanna bother you,” Sam assured her. “We just heard about what happened and-”

Dean cut him off, “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

Sam smiled sympathetically. “I kind of know what you’re going through. I-I saw someone… get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

Lori’s head dropped as she nodded lightly. Before she could respond, however, the reverend- her father- appeared beside her. “Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and Y/N. They’re new students.”

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

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

Chuckling lightly, Dean looked to Sam, knowing he needed to come up with something so his brother could ask Lori more questions without her father around. “Listen, uh, we’re new in town and we’re staying at the fraternity Rich was part of. But the thing is, Y/N can’t stay there.”

“Of course not.” The reverend nodded. “That is no place for a young Omega.”

“Well, we were wondering if you knew anywhere she might be able to stay?”

Your head snapped up to look at him. You glared, hard, trying your best to mentally kick him in the shins. How dare he throw you under the bus like that!

Ignoring you, Dean went on, “You know, somewhere safe, quiet. We’d join her, but having just transferred, we really need to make connections, you know?”

“She could stay with me,” Lori offered. “There’s a spare bed in my room, back at my sorority. She doesn’t have to pledge, at least not right away. The girls will understand.”

“That’s a lovely idea.” The reverend smiled at his daughter before turning to you. “For now, dear, why don’t I get you some numbers of people you can call if you ever find yourself in trouble? In times like this, you can never be too careful.” He stretched his arm out and gestured for you to walk along with him.

Glancing at Sam and Lori over your shoulder, you begrudgingly followed Dean and the reverend as he led you back into the church.

After Lori showed you her room at the sorority house and explained that she would be out for the night but would be back later, you both went your separate ways. She headed off home for dinner with her dad, while you started for the public library.

Sam had sent you a message to fill you in on their Hook Man theory, and told you where to find them. It was still weird to see his name on your phone every time he called or messaged. Before that awful night the other week, you’d gotten practically nothing from him.

Meandering through the aisle of books, you eventually found Sam and Dean sitting at one of the back desks, going through piles of paperwork.

“Hey.”

Both brothers’ heads shot up to look at you, relief filling their gazes. They worried when you weren’t with them.

“How’d the tour go?” Sam asked as you settled into the seat beside him- you didn’t miss the look of disappointment that crossed Dean’s face.

“Lori seems nice. Scared, but nice.”

Dean spoke then, drawing your attention to him, “You gonna be okay there tonight?”

“Not like I have much of a choice now.” You glared at him.

He shrugged. “Well, it got you talking to me.”

Your mouth snapped shut as your eyes fell to the table. Both brothers watched you for a moment, waiting to see what you might say or do. When you remained silent and unmoving, they got back to work.

Eventually, you mumbled, “I’m not, not talking to you, Dean.”

“You sure about that? You’ve barely looked at me since-” He stopped himself before he made the mistake of saying the wrong words. Sighing, he moved on, “You barely look at me.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, when you’re ready to talk about it, fill me in, okay?”

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

Dean reached over and slid one of the other pages from the file out to read it. “Get this, the murder weapon? Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.”

Sam pointed to another page. “Look where all this happened.”

“9 Mile Road.”

“Isn’t that where Rick was killed?” you asked.

Both brothers nodded before Dean slapped Sam on the back. “Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let’s check it out.” He pushed his chair out and started to stand.

Sam was gathering the papers when he glanced at you. “You coming with us?”

“Am I going to the place where a murderous ghost takes his victims?” You promptly shook your head. “No thanks.”

The bedroom door creaked open.

You looked up from your book right in time to see Lori slip into the room and close the door. She looked over at you as you sat up in bed, lit up by the dim lamp beside you. Then she looked to the other bed, where her friend and other roommate, Taylor, was fast asleep.

“They didn’t make you drink tequila shots and watch Reality Bites, did they?” she asked you, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.

Shaking your head, you closed your book and placed it on the nightstand. “They tried, but I don’t cave easily.”

Her lips tugged up into a smile. “No one else has managed to say no to those girls,” she admitted. “Makes me stand out from the crowd.”

“Well, you’ve got me to stand out with you now.”

Smiling a little wider, she gestured over her shoulder to the walk in wardrobe. “I’m just going to quickly change, okay?”

You simple gave her a quick nod.

As she ducked into the room, you reached over and turned the lamp off. Settling into bed, you tried not to think about what Sam and Dean might be doing. You knew they could be in danger out there, and it scared you, but there was nothing you could do about it now.

Lori emerged from the wardrobe, dressed in an oversized shirt. She slipped into her bed and turned over to look at you. “So… I hope you don’t mind me asking…”

“The bruises?” you asked, having noticed her checking them out earlier. When she nodded, you did your best to explain without actually explaining, “I was attacked, by an Alpha. Sam saved me.”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m sorry about what you went through.”

Her face fell. “Rich… I thought he was a nice guy, but that night he was different.”

“Different how?”

“He was acting like the Alphas my father warns me about. He was… he was determined.”

“Do you think he would have hurt you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “But I know he would have pressured me, and that’s still wrong.”

She had a point.

“Is Sam… is Sam your boyfriend?” she asked hesitantly.

You paused and contemplated the question and the answer. Was he your boyfriend? Simply put, no. He wasn’t. But nothing was ever simple. Sam might not be your boyfriend, but he was something. He’d been something more before. Hell, even though things were weird right now, Dean was something more, too. But neither of them were your boyfriend. It was all very complicated.

“No,” you finally answered, shaking your head. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

Lori’s scream woke you.

Shooting up in bed, your eyes instantly landed on the other bed… on Taylor’s body and the blood that had seeped into her sheets and spilled onto the floor. Written on the walls, as if it had been carved into the drywall with a bloody knife- or bloody hook- was a message.

Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light.

Jumping out of bed, you hurried over to Lori as she continued to scream. “Come on.” You grabbed her arm and started towards the door.

It flew open before you could reach it as some of the other girls came in to check what was going on.

“Move!” you yelled shoving them all out of there. “Someone call 911!”

As more girls began to scream and freak out, others jumped to action. You didn’t wait to give anymore orders or to help, though. Instead you hurried down the stairs, your arm wrapped around Lori as you led her out the front.

The instant fresh air swept over her face, she started to hyperventilate.

“Hey.” You grabbed her shoulders and turned her to look at you. “The cops are coming. Just look at me and breathe, okay? Look at me and breathe.”

Lori was clinging to you as you both sat on the edge of the ambulance. She’s only just managed to calm down and stop crying, and was now staring off, in shock. Your hand rubbed at her back, trying to soothe her a little more. You hadn’t left her side since the cops and ambulance had arrived.

The sound of a rumbling and familiar engine caught your attention. Looking up, you spotted Sam and Dean parking across the road.

“Hey…” you turned to Lori, “I’m gonna go talk to them, okay?”

Her grip on you tightened. “Stay with me at my home tonight?”

“Of course.” You nodded and offered a gentle smile. With that, she let you go and watched as you headed over to Sam and Dean, who were now standing by the Impala.

As soon as you reached them, Dean stepped forward and pulled you to his chest. With the shock from this morning, you didn’t even flinch as he held you closer.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, cheek pressed to the top of your head as his arms remained wrapped around you.

“Lori’s roommate was killed last night.”

Instantly, you were pulled back as both brothers looked down at you with wide eyes.

“Her roommate?” Dean asked.

“Were you in the room, too?” Sam added.

You nodded. “She was barely five feet from my bed.”

Sam and Dean glanced at each other before looking up at the house.

“The cops aren’t letting anyone but the sorority girls inside,” you noted, knowing where their train of thought was going. “But I can get you in.”

Leading the brothers down a path, you quickly checked to make sure no one was watching before you jumped through some bushes. It took a moment, but the brothers followed. You were in the backyard of the sorority house, by the garage.

“Why would the Hook Man come here? This is a long way from 9 Mile Road.” Sam had a good point.

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

You were almost at the balcony that led into Lori’s room when two girls walked out.

All three of you ducked behind some bushes and a wall, watching as the girls walked off towards the cops down the driveway.

“Dude, sorority girls.” Dean grinned, making you turn to him. “Did you have a naked pillow fight last night?”

“I read a book while the girls did tequila shots. And then I slept while a girl was murdered in the bed beside mine,” you told him tightly.

He swallowed thickly as his grin dropped, being replaced by a guilty and apologetic look.

Once the coast was clear, you turned and looked up at the balcony above. “Give me a boost.”

Both brothers stepped forward, but Dean was closest. You swear you heard Sam huff as Dean helped you.

Dean bent his knee so you could step onto it, and as you went to hoist yourself up had grabbed the backs of your thighs and pushed. The flare of heat that flashed through you almost made you stumble.

Reaching for the balcony railing, with Dean still pushing you up, you managed to hoist yourself over the edge. Sam was next, taking advantage of his brother’s position and using Dean’s bent leg much like you had. Then the two of you helped Dean, grabbing his hands to pull him up.

As soon as you were all on your feet, you led the brothers to a window that led into the wardrobe of Lori’s room. Sliding in, you waited for them to then join you.

Dean went last, stumbling and grunting a little.

“Be quiet,” Sam scolded as softly as possible.

“You be quiet!” Dean snapped back in a harsh whisper.

“You be quiet!”

You turned on them. “Quit your bickering and shut up,” you hissed. “Follow me.”

Edging towards the door, you peeked out and spotted the sheriff pacing the room. Holding a hand up, you gestured for the brothers to stay back while you watched and waited. Soon enough, the sheriff walked out, leaving the room empty.

Ducking out the wardrobe, you took a step to the side and gestured to the still bloody, and now taped off, bed.

The brothers spotted the writing on the wall in an instant.

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

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

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

“I didn’t notice it,” you admitted.

“You were too busy getting the hell out of here, that’s why,” Dean noted, stepping towards you. “You okay?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I was in here last night, Dean. I was sitting on that bed. “You gestured to the bed you’d occupied last night. “I was awake when Lori came home. I was reading, the lamp was on, Taylor was fine. I swear.”

Without a word, he pulled you to his chest and wrapped his arms around you.

Despite what had happened the other week, even though you weren’t completely over it, you were glad to have Dean. The feel of him, being surrounded by his scent, it helped calm you down. If it wasn’t for him and Sam, you were sure you’d be a mess. No one should be able to just walk away, unscathed, from the scene you’d woken up to.

“Hey, come here.”

Pulling away from you, Dean dropped his hand into yours and led you back over to his brother.

Sam gestured to the symbol carved into the all below the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

Between Dean’s legs as he sat on Baby’s hood, the two of you looked to Sam as he sat beside his brother, checking out one of the pages from the dead priest’s file.

“It’s the same symbol.” Sam turned to paper so you and Dean could see what he was talking about. He pointed to the medallion hanging from the hook. “Seems like it is the spirit of Jacob Karns.”

“All right, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down.” Dean shrugged.

“‘After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave’,” Sam read.

Well… there goes that plan. Can’t burn bones you can’t find.

“Super,” Dean grumbled, giving your hip a tap.

You stepped away from him and moved aside, watching as the brothers pushed off the car and started toward their door. You were right behind Sam, heading for your own door.

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

“I’ll take a wild guess about why.” Dean gave you and Sam a pointed look. “I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this,” he said before getting in the car.

“Speaking of which,” you ducked into your seat, “can you drop me off at the church?”

“How come?” Sam asked as he got in the car as well.

“Promised Lori I would stay with her, and their home is right next to the church,” you explained.

Dean grinned as he turned the ignition. “You makin’ a friend over there, Y/N?”

“I get her, she gets me, it’s pretty simple Dean.”

When you thought about this place and the people, you realised how welcoming and understanding they were. You knew you could trust Lori, that there was nothing truly complicated about her. The sorority girls had been nice, as well as everyone at the church. People were very kind to young and unmated Omegas.

It was pretty easy to see yourself settling down in a place like this, but picturing it and living it were two very different things. You knew there was no way you were ever going to have that apple pie life. Not when you knew so much about things most people didn’t even realise were real.

Bamby

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