#amelia is talking without purpose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darlingkaveh · 23 days ago

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synopsis: a short story, based on my take on Caleb’s childhood & the mysteries involving it

tw: death, major violence.

other: in third person, and mc has a name and is described as “pale” once or twice (ain’t my name or looks tho, this is not self-indulgent of me haha 🙅 i still consider it x reader bc it’s lads’s mc but i kind of had to give her a name for story purposes, sorry 😞)

( caleb x f!reader , both children. 21 pages )

————————

CALEB loved his family. Each and every one of them, from his mom to his dad, to the little black lab that he had found in a park as a boy. His family was small. Condensed, like four atoms bonded together. He had always wanted a sibling, but his parents were always oh so busy — they were researchers, see; scientists, to be exact. So they left him home with the pup, or, sometimes, if he got lucky, Grandma Josephine, until the sun sank below the horizon, and they trudged home in their rumpled white coats.

Today was no different. He had been playing with his newest science kit, sticking red and blue bulbs onto the ends of black sticks to construct a double helix, when his parents stumbled inside. He could hear their frantic footsteps all the way from the kitchen, and could imagine them scurrying about, like a pair of bespectacled mice, squeaking to do this and that, put this here and tidy that there. Oh, and not to forget to push Caleb (a smaller mouse, kept in a different cage) a little bit of cheese now and then, so he’d shut his squeaking while they chatter away. He was no brilliant mind, no quantum physicist or astronautics expert, not like his parents.

“Sometimes I’m glad I’m no genius.” Caleb popped a grape into his mouth. “Mom and dad are always so busy. Seems like a lot of work, huh, Snoopy?” He looked at the black lab sitting on his bed, who was quite a bit bigger now — the mattress sunk more under his weight than Caleb’s — and he barked in response. Caleb grinned.

“Well, at least I do more than you.” He plucked a cucumber from his fruit salad and tossed it Snoopy’s way. It was gone in an instant. “Hah,” he muttered. “All you do is eat, sleep and play. Though, I guess that’s all I do, too.”

The lab set his head down on his paws, and looked up at him with sad, wet eyes. Caleb scrunched up his nose. “Okay, you’re cute, I’ll give you that.” He sacrificed another cucumber.

“Caleb!” His mother hollered his name. “Come on out! We want you to meet someone!”

Caleb frowned. “Oh, man, don’t tell me…” he set his bowl aside, cramming the last few grapes into his mouth before stepping out, Snoopy hot on his heels. “Yes, mom?”

“Oh, there you are, sweetie, we were starting to think you had fallen asleep.” His mother raced past him even as she spoke, checking her purse, clipboard, coat, and maybe a hundred other places.

“Mom, your glasses are on your head,” said Caleb.

”Oh! Yes, yes.” Her hands instantly started to pat down her face, and she fixed her glasses. “Thank you, dear. Thank goodness. What might I do without you?“

“Certainly nothing at all!”

His father burst through the front door, glasses askew, though with how much he was beaming, Caleb doubted he could see much, anyway. “He’s our little genius, isn’t he, Amelia? Quite the bright boy, he is.” His father laughed and went about his usual ramblings; the effect of the humidity on his hair, the neighbor’s cat digging through the trash cans again. Caleb noticed a little girl standing in the doorway. He didn’t mean to stare, but she was most odd. She had skinny, knobby knees, and the thinnest hair he’s ever seen.

A feeling of dread crept over him like a cloud. He knew what was coming.

“Are you listening, boy?” His father ruffled up his hair. “Guess not, hm?”

“Is anyone surprised?” His mother gave her husband a pointed look. “You talk too much for your own good.”

“Dreadfully true, dear, though I’m afraid you knew that when you married me, didn’t you?”

Caleb crossed his arms and didn’t say anything, hoping that’d somehow catch their attention. It didn’t.

“Mom?” He said irritably. “Dad?”

They both looked at him.

“Who’s that?” He pointed at the little girl. She raised her head at that, and took a couple steps closer. She walked like she did not quite know how to walk, knees knocking together and toes pointed in.

“Toes out, Leslie,” his father scolded. “No walking pigeon-toed, that’s bad for you.” Leslie fixed her toes, but Caleb wasn’t sure if it really helped. “There you go.”

“Brilliant, darling.” Amelia took Leslie’s hand and smiled as she kneeled to her level. “Well done. Now, Leslie, I’d like you to meet someone.” She gestured at Caleb. “Leslie, this is your new brother, Caleb. Caleb, this is your new sister.”

Caleb’s mouth dropped open.

“Sister?” He spluttered. “Sister? She’s the third one this year, mom! You can’t be serious!”

“It’s just for the time being, dear, we’re fostering her.” His mother hushed him as she stood. “You’ve always wanted a sibling, so here we are. Be polite, won’t you? We raised you better than that.”

“Where is she going to sleep?!”

“In your room, dear, your father will set it all up, it’ll be quite nice, really.”

“Mom! You can’t—“

“Caleb, I advise you to be careful with your next words.”

He fell silent, feeling the tips of his ears heat up.

“Don’t fret, chap, it isn’t so bad.” His father tried to pat his shoulder, but he dodged. “Oh, don’t be like that, now.

“I don’t want to talk to any of you!” Caleb ran back into his room, slamming the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, before looking at Snoopy, who had stuck his head into the bowl of fruit.

“…Oh, Snoopy.” Caleb sighed, half-heartedly petting the lab. “Get your nose out of there.“

Snoopy licked his hand a few times and whined as Caleb sat down next to him. A slice of cucumber sat on his snout.

“Gross.” Caleb plucked it off, and Snoopy ate it in one fell swoop. “You’re like a trash compactor.”

He flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling — his ceiling — decorated with paper planes and planets, twirling around on strings. His mother had bought the craft, and his father had helped him hang them up. He had spent a good few hours playing with the hole puncher alone. Now, he had to share it, with an odd, pigeon-toed girl with skin too pale and funny brown eyes. She was like an opossum.

He had plenty of brothers and sisters before her, sure — it had started a few years back, when his mother and father suddenly seemed to take interest in fostering — but he was different now than then. He knew how this went, how it was going to go. His new sibling would stay for a little while, but they still left in the end. It had happened to the one before, the one after, and it’d happen to this one, too. His siblings had all been odd, yes, but odd on its own was fine; one might argue he was odd, his parents were odd, his family was odd, and he’d hardly care. But family who left was hardly family at all.

Caleb shut his eyes. There was whispering outside his door. He couldn’t stand it. Eventually, it stopped. Ten minutes later, his door crept open. Leslie stood there. Her hair was wet and stuck to her face, and she was in new clothes and shoes. She blinked owlishly at him.

“Hi.” Her voice was raspy. “My name’s…Leslie.”

Caleb rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow.

“You’re…Caleb, right?” He could hear her shuffle closer, with her odd legs and steps and walk. Snoopy barked. “You have a dog?” She brightened. “She’s cute.”

“…He’s a guy.” He sat up and heaved Snoopy into his arms. “His name’s Snoopy.”

“Snoopy?”

Caleb grumbled. “That’s what I said.”

The dog wriggled in his arms, and he eventually released him. Snoopy made his way over to Leslie and sniffed her hand.

“Snoopy’s a cute name. A cute name for a cute dog.” Leslie rubbed Snoopy’s neck. His tail thumped against the floor.

“…It’s ‘cause I found him in a bush.” He looked away. “A blackberry bush,” he continued, slowly, “in a park nearby. He got all pricked by the thorns, so me and my parents took him home and helped him.”

“Your parents…like to pick up strays?”

“No,” he said. She stared at him. “Well…” Caleb thought about it. “I guess. They’re kind of strays themselves. But the good kind. They’re scientists.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah.”

Curiosity pricked at him. Eventually, he caved. “How?”

Leslie nearly poked Snoopy’s eye out trying to pet him. Caleb stood up.

“Don’t pet him like that. Use your palm, not your fingers.”

“Like this?” She tried again.

“Yeah.” He smiled a little. “Good job.“

She looked surprised, but soon smiled back. “Thanks.” She looked around. “I like your room.” His walls were decorated in a variety of posters. His favorite one was of the solar system. Sometimes he’d go up on the roof with his father and watch the sky.

“Thanks. My parents helped me decorate it. What stuff do you like?”

“Hm?”

“Stuff. What stuff do you like?” He repeated.

“Like…my clothes?” She picked up the edges of her yellow skirt and did an awkward spin that wasn’t really a spin, but Caleb clapped for her anyway. “I do like these clothes, they’re certainly nicer than my older ones. I wore those nearly every day.”

“Um…not really, but that works, I guess. My clothes are ok, I guess.” He tried to think of something better to ask. “Hey, wait, you didn’t tell me how you know.”

“Know what?”

“What you said before. That my parents are strays. Or, scientists, or whatever.”

“Oh.”

“You can sit down, by the way.” He patted the space next to him. Leslie’s smile grew, and she obliged.

“Well,” she said, “I just thought they look like scientists.” She flicked one of the paper planes hanging from the ceiling. “You know. White coat, glasses, always carrying a clipboard and pen.”

“That does sound like them.” He pushed one of the planes, too, laughing when it swung through the air and bumped into the one Leslie had nudged.

“Time for bed!” The door opened, and his mother stuck her head inside. She smiled when she saw them sitting together. “I’m glad you two are getting along. You can play more tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night, mom,” he said.

“Good night, miss,” said Leslie.

“Good night, kids.” She set up a mattress for Leslie on the floor before she shut the lights, guided Snoopy out, and closed the door.

Moonlight filtered in through the blinds, illuminating strips of the room.

“Isn’t that mattress uncomfortable?” He said.

“Not really. The bed’s too soft. I feel like I’m sinking.” He could just barely make out the outline of her body, curled up by the foot of his bed.

“Are…you sure?”

“Yep. This is the type of thing I’d sleep on back home.”

He shifted. “Home?”

“Where I met your mom and dad.”

“Oh.” He figured she must be talking about the orphanage. “How is it, there?”

“Cold, mostly. But fine. The people are nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah. Most of the time they do things I don’t like. But that’s just how it is in the world.” She pulled her blanket snug around her. “They’re my family. They…they have my best interests at heart, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“…Do you think we could be family?”

Caleb looked at her smiling face. “Maybe.” He propped himself up with his elbows. “If you can promise me something.”

“What is it?”

Don’t leave. The words were heavy on his tongue. He swallowed them.

“Actually, nevermind.”

Promises meant nothing.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s silly, anyway. We can be friends.“

“Huh.” Her breathing slowed. “Friends. That’s good, too. I don’t have any friends. Didn’t, I mean.”

“Well, I’m happy to be your first friend.”

“Thanks. Do you have a lot of friends?”

“I guess. I don’t know them very well, but yeah.”

“That must be nice.”

He rolled around, facing the window. “Something like that.”

He could hear the last of the lights in the house being shut, and the last of the doors being closed.

“…I’m sorry. For earlier.”

He laid there, listening to the sound of his own breathing. Waiting. A response never came.

She had fallen asleep.

——

There was a room in the house that Caleb had never seen. It was an ugly thing, grey and withered, tucked away in a little nook that never saw the sun. Its wooden door hung on rusty hinges; Caleb could hear it squeal from his bedroom every time his father went in. Though he had never seen what laid inside, he could guess: failed prototypes, spare parts, and dusty textbooks from his parents’ school days.

“I bet there’s a monster in there,” said Leslie. She sat cross-legged on his bed, flipping through an old science magazine as Caleb peered into the hallway, staring at the grey room.

“Maybe,” he mumbled. “I wish they’d just tell me. I tried to open the door once, too, but it was locked, and my dad got mad.” He shut the door when his mom rounded the corner.

“So, either a monster, or some top secret work things.” She grinned. “What do your parents do, anyway?”

“They work for some bigshot company called Ever. They’ve been a big deal since the Deepspace Tunnel appeared.” He leaned over, closing her magazine. On the cover page was a swirling, blue-purple mass, inhaling the sky and stars.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, I’ve seen that somewhere! What’s it called? A w…”

“Wormhole?”

“Yes!” She beamed. “That.”

“Yeah, Ever does research on it and stuff. Most of my classmates think it’s scary,” he said. “Since a lot of people think it made Wanderers — do you know what Wanderers are? — appear.”

“Nope, never heard of that.”

“Well, they’re these really weird looking monsters. Some of them look kind of cool, but most just look…I don’t know, mutated? Abnormal. They don’t look like animals or anything.“

“Do your parents study them?”

He thought about this. “Not Wanderers. Just wormholes, I think. I’ll ask. Anyway, a lot of my classmates think the wormhole is scary, but I don’t think so. I think it’s really pretty, actually.”

“Like space?”

He smiled a little. “Yeah. Maybe space is just pretty to me.”

Leslie looked at the wormhole again. “It’s nice,” she agreed. “I think I’d still be a little scared of it, though. I mean, there’s nothing we could do if it suddenly decided to suck us all up.“

“I don’t think wormholes do that…”

“Still!”

“Okay, okay, yeah, that’s true.” He leaned back, staring up at his ceiling. “So what could we even do?”

“Build a secret shelter?” She suggested. “An underground bunker?”

Caleb hummed in response, thinking. Leslie set the magazine aside and reached out and pushed a dangling paper plane, knocking it into the moon.

“Well, I’m going to be a pilot, anyway,” he huffed. “So I’ll just fly us far away!”

“That’s silly.” She giggled. “You’re not gonna have your own plane!”

“I will if I’m important! I’m not gonna fly an airplane. Something cool, like a jet.“

Leslie made a face. “What if you crash-land and die?”

“What? I’m not gonna die!”

“I’m just saying!”

“Well, it’s not gonna happen.” He crossed his arms and huffed. “You’ll see.”

“I guess I will…”

“Don’t look at me like that!”

She dodged his attempt to hit her, laughing.

“Okay, I’m sorry!”

He pouted. “Look!” He reached under his bed and pulled out a large white box. Inside was a colorful assortment of origami cranes. “If I fold a thousand of these, I get one wish. If I wish to be a pilot, it’ll be sure to come true.”

“Whoa, really? How do you fold them?”

“I can teach you!”

By now, Caleb had forgotten all about the grey room, and whatever mysterious things that laid within.

——

“Look, Leslie! Watch what I can do!”

Caleb took out a piece of orange paper, and made it into an airplane with a few clean folds. Then, he set it in his palm, and it began to hover. He guided it through the air, swishing up, down, left, right, until it perched atop her head, making her laugh. She was stretched out, sunbathing under an oak tree. She looked better under the sun, more full and happy and sated. It made her face less gaunt and her smile more clear.

“Wow, Caleb! That’s amazing.” She cradled the plane in her hands. “Is that your Evol?”

“Yeah! I awakened just yesterday.” His smile faded slightly. “While you were at the doctor’s.”

She made a face and prodded his foot with one of her crutches. “Caleb, don’t get all soppy on me now. I’m okay.“

“Right.” She had never been as fast or strong as him, sure, but he hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with her. His shoulders squared. “Okay.”

“It’s not your fault.” She sighed. “Maybe they’ll get these things off me some day.”

“Maybe,” he agreed sadly. He didn’t like seeing her like this.

She patted his shoulder. “So, what is your Evol? Telekinesis?”

“Gravity, actually,” he said. “That’s what mom said, anyway. Apparently there’s a difference.”

“Gravity sounds a lot cooler.”

“I don’t know, telekinesis makes me sound like a superhero. Gravity is whatever.”

She laughed. “If you say so.” She leaned back, looking up at the cloudless sky, and Caleb followed her gaze.

“…Think you’ll get an Evol, too?” He glanced at her.

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “It’d be nice, but I don’t need it. Like you.” She grinned. “Your Evol is nice, but you don’t need it to be Caleb.”

“Huh.” He smiled. “Guess that’s true. But, it is part of me now.” He kicked a pebble. “Caleb prefers the version of him with cool powers.”

“Yeah, of course he does,” she snorted.

A collective groan from the other side of the school yard drew their attention. A group of boys and girls were huddled around a tree, pointing up at a kite stuck in its foliage.

Leslie nudged him with her crutches again. “Looks like it’s your turn to shine.”

He pouted. “But I don’t wanna! Gym’s almost over. I wanna talk to you.”

“Oh, it won’t take long. Go and help them.”

He whined, but her expression didn’t change.

“Fine…”

He ran over to join his classmates, who were making a half-hearted attempt at climbing the tree. Others had left to get the teacher.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, Caleb!” One of the boys, Timothy, waved. “My kite got stuck in the tree.”

Caleb craned his head back, up at the kite, which had twisted itself into the tree’s foliage. “I’ve got this.” He raised his hands up and started to untangle the kite, willing gravity to tug and pull it around until it broke out of the tree. He made it soar above the school courtyard, swishing through the air with a few loop-de-loops, before it fluttered to the ground, landing in Timothy’s hands.

“Whoa!” Timothy held his kite up, beaming. “Wow, Caleb! Your parents work for Ever, and you’ve got an awesome Evol. How cool is that?”

“It was nothing.” Caleb smiled. “I can do it anytime, if you want.”

“Really? Thanks!” Timothy rushed off, kite back in the air. A few kids lingered, asking Caleb if he wanted to play basketball or could help them with their science homework.

“I can’t play right now, but maybe later,” he said. “And if you need help, I tutor after school. Two to three.” He patted their shoulders as they groaned in unison.

“But Caleb! You’re our best player!”

“Ah, you’ll be alright without me,” he waved his hand. “I’ll be at practice tomorrow, anyway. Get some sleep in before then, don’t overwork yourself.”

They reluctantly accepted that answer and dispersed, returning to the court. Caleb looked back at where Leslie was, and waved at her as the teacher blew a whistle, calling the end of the period. She waved back.

“Did you see it?” Caleb grinned as he rushed over to her. “I got it out really quickly!”

“I know, I saw,” she laughed as she stood, leaning onto her crutches. “Good job.”

His smile widened. “Thanks.”

——

It was spring when Leslie’s birthday came around. His father had gone out to buy the cake, while his mother showed him how to stick two beady black eyes into the opossum plush they had crocheted. Caleb hadn’t ended up being very good at crocheting — the yarn got everywhere, and he’d much rather assemble one of his science kits — but the stuffed animal had turned out quite nicely.

Leslie herself, meanwhile, was at the doctor’s.

“Will Leslie be back soon, mom?” Caleb pressed the black eyes into the grey yarn. Push too hard and they’d sink into its face, but don’t push enough and they’d bulge. “What’s wrong with her legs?”

“Your father’s picking her up now, honey,” she said. “The doctor said the muscles in her legs have been deteriorating at a faster rate than before. Your father knows more about it than I do, but she should be alright.” She took the opossum once he was done. “Nicely done.”

“I still think we should’ve made the tail thicker. It looks like a rat.”

“I don’t think Leslie will mind, dear. And, opossums aren’t so different from rats.”

“Dad says opossums are marsupials.”

She laughed. “He’s probably right.” She set the plushie in a gift box, wrapped it, and set a neat yellow bow on top. “There we are.”

Caleb picked up the box and admired it. “Thanks, mom.”

The jangle of keys made him jump up. “Dad’s home!” He raced to the front door. The man behind it, however, looked scarcely like his father.

“…Dad?”

His father, who had worn many expressions but never one quite so grim, looked rather pale this evening. He held a crumpled white box. He stood there, staring blankly, as if in a daze, before he at last blinked and sight returned to his foggy eyes.

“Caleb.” He set a hand down on Caleb’s head, but it was hardly a touch at all; he might as well have been a ghost and passed through him. “Is your mother home?“

“Yeah?” Caleb stepped back. “She’s in the living room. I’ll go get her.” He turned. “But…where’s Leslie?”

He was met with a resounding silence.

He looked up at his father.

“She…needs to stay at the hospital for a while.” His father looked over the top of his head, peering inside. “So, we won’t get to celebrate her birthday.”

“Oh.” Caleb deflated. “But — but she’ll be back soon, right?”

“Well, it depends. But, hopefully.“

“Samael? Where’s Leslie?”

Caleb went back inside as his mother came up behind him. He took the yellow box and passed the grey room. It was shut, as always, and probably locked, too.

He gave the knob a jiggle.

Yep, definitely locked.

He walked straight to his room after that.

His bedroom walls had had some additions since Leslie’s arrival. A few robot posters were hung to the left side, where Leslie’s bed sat. It hadn’t taken her long to prefer a bed over a ratty mattress on the floor. He had less space, now, but he didn’t mind it as much anymore.

Caleb took out his origami paper folder, and chose the darkest color he had — a deep purple. He folded it into a little paper man, and set him on the paper moon.

He laid back and stared up at his ceiling, at the tiny universe that existed in his room. The darkening sky lulled him to sleep, and in his dreams, he saw Leslie, holding his hand in a garden of apple trees.

——

Leslie had visited Caleb, once or twice, since she started to get physical therapy for her legs. She couldn’t get very far without help, so his father always accompanied her to and from the hospital. But she was alive, and she was recovering.

And for a long while, he was alone again. His parents were more obsessed with work than ever before. Forget having dinner together, he hardly ever saw them at all. Most days, he was with Grandma Josephine. He slept in her guest bedroom. It had no stars on the walls, no planets hung from the ceiling, and no planes anywhere in sight.

When he was back home, it hardly felt like home at all. The grey room had grown teeth, and seemed to snap at his heels if he walked too close. He could make out two slit eyes on the door, gnarled knobs coming out of the wood. On their off days, his father would hurry in there, his mother close behind, and they’d stay in there and mutter to themselves until the sun sank below the horizon and painted his room gold. The little man on the paper moon had started to wrinkle from constant poking.

It wasn’t until one late autumn night did things begin to stir; his father burst through the front door as per usual, though this time with a small red wheelbarrow, muttering something about this and that, this and that, nearly knocking Caleb down as he bulldozed through the house. Snoopy was barking incessantly, pawing at his coat.

“Down, boy!” His father snapped. “Down!”

Snoopy whimpered, his tail stilling as he slinked into a corner.

“Dad—“

“Ah, hell.” His father cursed under his breath as he started to wipe some dog drool off his coat, but stopped when the wheelbarrow nearly tipped over. “Son!” He held his arm out expectantly.

Caleb quickly took his father’s coat and hung it on a rack. The ends were torn, like they had caught on something and ripped. He would’ve pointed this out, had the wheelbarrow his father was pushing around not have a bigger mystery: sitting in it was an odd lump, covered with a large sheet. It was driven through the kitchen, around a corner, and, to his horror, into the grey rooml

Just what was in there?

He brewed some tea for his mother; she was sure to arrive shortly. The buzz of the pot was comforting.

When his mother at last stumbled inside, she was panting, and her hair stuck up in curious directions. She kicked off her flats, breathlessly gesturing for him to step aside, so he did.

“Mom, what’s dad moving?”

His mother glanced at him and smiled. It was an odd thing, that smile, not unlike the lump sitting in that wheelbarrow. “Nothing of importance, dear!” She hurried to pat her hair down. “Simply something work-related. It’s rather boring, quite frankly, you’d find no interest in it.”

Now that was interesting.

“No interest?” said Caleb, as he handed her some tea. “But you always think work is interesting.”

“Interesting to me and your father, yes. And thank you, darling.” She sipped at the drink. “But to you? Not so much, sweetie. It’s a lot of…” she waved her hand around, like that was somehow helping her explain, “well, a lot of nonsense, really. Also,” she let out a pleased hum, “lemon, is it? The tea.”

He glanced at her cup. “Yes. Grandma Josephine gave it to me.”

“Ah.” Her eyes grew misty. Snoopy curled around her legs. “Josephine. Nice lady, isn’t she? I’d let her babysit you more, if she didn’t live so far away. Shame, really. Wonderful woman. She was a family friend, on — on your dad’s side. Was always like a mother to me, though.”

Caleb pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down wordlessly.

“My own mother passed away,” she added softly. “Years ago. Decades, even.”

The steam was starting to fog up her glasses, so he took them off and wiped them clean with a handkerchief. Her smile was starting to fray.

“…I know.” He glanced up at her as he handed back her glasses, her fingers barely registering his touch. “You’ve told me this before. Never how she died, though.”

“Huh.” She laughed a bit. “Is that so? Perhaps it’s silly of me to not.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “You can tell me when you’re ready.”

Her eyes moved to him, and some of that mist cleared. “My darling boy…” she reached out and kissed the top of his head. “You’ll do amazing things. Brilliant. I just know it.” She put her glasses back on, and blinked some. Her eyes were blue again. She reached out and gave him a hug. She smelled like apples and cinnamon. He blinked away tears of his own.

”Thanks, mom.”

Amelia laughed some more. “I should be the thankful one, dear. Or, better yet, both of us. How about it?” She took his hand, small in hers, and squeezed. “Thank you, Lord, for letting me be with my son.”

”And husband!” Samael piped in. He had returned from the grey room. Caleb assessed him. “Your very charming, lovely husband, who—“ he pinched their cheeks, making them both grumble, “positively adores his family. Maybe even more than his exhilarating job, eh?“

“Honey!” She swatted at her husband. “I was just telling Caleb here about how dull our work as been as of late. Miserable, honestly.”

“Ah, codswallop. Listen here, son,” he ruffled up Caleb’s hair, “life is all about adventure. And, since you and I are both clever individuals, with enough brain in our heads to not go sideways,” he rapped his knuckles against his temple, grinning, “find the little adventures in your everyday life, and make them the greatest, most exhilarating things you’ve ever gone through. Even if it means you’re tricking yourself into enjoying filing data reports. Everything can be something enjoyable, as long as you don’t spoil it with your attitude, first.”

“Your father’s a hopeless romantic,” Amelia whispered. “Always going on about his idealistic ramblings. Don’t listen to a word he—“

Samael covered her mouth with his hand, hushing her. Caleb snorted.

“Oh, please, darling, I’m giving a speech, and you know how excited I get about those.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, now…”

There was a sort of swell in his chest as he listened to his parents bicker. How long had it been, since they last sat together? Saw each other?

He wrapped his arms around them, and squeezed. His parents stopped.

“Oh, Caleb…” they put their arms around him like they had when he was young, when their arms were loose and big and he barely reached their torso.

He hoped they’d never let go.

Eventually, they drew back, his father patting his head.

“We have to go out again, but we’ll be back soon, son.”

Caleb recoiled as if he had been slapped. “What? When? Now? Why?”

“It’s okay, honey. We’ll be back.” His mother kissed the top of his head. “We just need to grab some things.“

No! He wanted to scream the word, but only watched as his parents gathered their things, and stepped out the door. It all felt too fast. Too much like a show, a sequence he’d see on tv, where all the actors were clay dolls moved around with strings. He felt like he was being tugged in opposite directions, and eventually, a tug would be too strong, too much, and he’d split at the seams and burst, a mess of clay and wire, and he’d sit there, dead, until he was swept away and replaced.

The grey room growled.

It was a low, rumbling sound, like bits of glass and steel were ground in its throat. Caleb’s eyes snapped to where it hid, turned away from the sun, curtained by shadow. It seemed to smile at him, all teeth; rid itself of its lock with a snap, and creaked open.

He stood frozen for only a moment, before his legs moved all on their own, lunging forward, grabbing the cold steel of the doorknob before it could slam shut again.

He stumbled inside.

It looked just how he imagined. It was a cavern, dark and damp and desolate, and horribly, terribly grey. He had stepped in to the jaws of the beast, and now, he stood on its tongue, in its mouth, only a moment away from being swallowed down.

The red wheelbarrow caught his eye.

It was a splash of color in the room’s monotony, a delightful pop and fizz he could practically taste and see, sparking with red and orange embers. The sheet remained drawn over it, the tongue of a clam swaddling its pearl.

Caleb touched the sheet. His fingers were numb, but his heart sang. What wonderful surprise might lie behind? What genius innovation? He was thrilled, yes, but more than anything, simply glad to be rid of the suspense, the curiosity that haunted him at every turn, so it was with a magician’s flourish that he drew back the veil from his eyes, ripped open the mouth of the beast, and saw! Saw! Oh, how his flesh burned, how his mind raced! And yes, it was then, then, with a magnificent smile, that he saw Leslie’s corpse, limp and pale and dead!

The buzz slowly faded. His smile died. The walls twisted around him, laughing, mocking.

He screamed.

It was then his parents rushed in, in their slick white coats and blotchy, waxy faces, and their murderous hands flailing in the air. It was all a lie. It had always been. That meant — his past siblings — were they dead, too? Dead, like Leslie? Dead, because his parents had decided it would be delightful to murder them?

He thrashed in their arms as they tried to restrain him. “Let me go! LET ME GO!”

“Caleb, Caleb!” His parents cried. His hands flailed, legs kicking, shoving, pushing away their traitorous hands and evil red faces. “Please, just—“

There was a bang. She fell to the ground, dead. Another shot. His father, dead. Blood pooled from their heads; they really were red, now, and it was getting all over his shoes and legs and hands and face, and suddenly he didn’t feel so clean, either, was he a murderer too, now? He wondered if it could’ve been him, who killed his parents, perhaps with an ill-timed blow to the head, or had he been holding a gun and not known it? Had he pulled the trigger, hoping to get rid of their red faces and hands and stop their wild flailing? Well, they were dead now, dead and limp, like dolls, with the smoothest waxen faces, white, like the moon.

Two hands grabbed him. He screamed. A man shoved his arm around Caleb’s neck, making him gasp and choke and scream as tears ran down his cheeks as he kicked at the air; the man forced a pungent rag against his face, pressing it against his mouth and nose, until his eyes rolled back in his head and he wondered, briefly, if he were dead now, too.

“Caleb, dear, please stop thrashing…”

He awoke to a woman’s voice. He thought, perhaps, it was his mother! His mother, joining him, in his fate in the afterlife — but no. When he opened his eyes, and his vision returned to him, it was not his mother’s eyes who stared back.

“…Grandma Josephine?” He rubbed his face. “What…what are you doing here? What’s going…” the words died on his tongue as he looked around. He was in a white room, laying on a cotton mattress. In the hallway, he could see people in long white coats shuffling about, holding clipboards and mumbling nonsense like his parents once did.

“You’re in Ever’s research facility, dear. They were kind enough to lend us a spare room.” Grandma Josephine looked as she had before, but also not. It was as if someone had cast a veil over her, the same veil he had torn off when he looked in the wheelbarrow. He squinted at her, wondering if she, too, had murderous hands and a red face.

He laid back down. His head hurt.

“Where’s mom?” He blurted. “Dad? Leslie?”

Grandma Josephine didn’t quite look at him, like how his mother hadn’t quite smiled. He was starting to hate these little “not quite’s.”

“They’re not here,” she said at last. “Your parents…were doing a very bad, dangerous thing. And they died because of it.”

“What thing? And what about Leslie? You didn’t let her body sit there, did you? How are you here, anyway?”

“Maybe it’ll be best for me to show you.” She took Caleb’s hand, though he shook her off; as far as he knew, her hands were sticky and red, too. “Ah, older now, are you?” She chuckled. He didn’t find it so funny. “Follow close behind, then.”

She led him through the winding halls of Ever’s facility, past floating organs bobbing around in jars, past large machines that clicked and chittered, past zero gravity rooms where all the people were bobbing around like the organs in the jars. Past all the people in white coats, and past even the man that had forced a rag on his face!

Caleb pointed and nearly screamed, but Josephine put a hand over his mouth and hushed him. “That’s Pablo,” she said. “Very nice man, you’ll see, don’t worry too much, dear, it’ll all be alright.”

He quieted, but did not stop shaking. They seemed to have been walking for hours before she stopped in front of a room, produced a keycard from her pocket, and swiped. The door clicked open.

Inside was Leslie.

Caleb thought it was a trick of the light at first, just his mind playing tricks on him, like his ears had when he imagined his mother instead of Josephine. But no! Leslie was there, in the flesh, and though her body was gaunt, her face was flushed and touched by life. She was alive! Alive!

Now it was that Caleb began to take in the more minute details of his surroundings. Leslie was, certainly, alive, but she wasn’t moving — she laid on a little white bed, not unlike his, eyes shut. Silver clasps bound her to the bed. Next to her, a number of weapons sat on a cart. He eyed a gun warily.

Two people were in the room, and they both wore those long white coats.

“How’s her vitals, James?” One of them asked.

“Stable.” The one they called James was looking at a clipboard. His hair was tousled, but not frazzled, and he had very calm, serene eyes. They were blue, like his mother. “The Wanderer core works as usual.”

Caleb tugged on Josephine’s sleeve. “What are they talking about?”

“Ah, you must be Caleb!” James knelt down to his level. “You seem like a nice lad. Well, here at Ever, we do top notch work, by the best people, for the best people.” He patted Caleb’s head with his clipboard. “Your friend Leslie is helping us out with some of our work.“

“What are you doing to her?” He frowned.

“Doing to her? Many things. Many amazing things.” James smiled brilliantly. “Leslie here has a Wanderer Core in her heart. It was placed in her at a young age, ever since she was taken out of the orphanage and adopted by,” he gestured around, “us! Her family, at Ever. Now, the core brings her back anytime she dies. It’s a wonder of science, really, a marvel. You might even call me Leslie’s father, in some ways.”

“So she’s not dead?” Caleb moved his suspicious gaze from James to Leslie, who appeared to be in a very peaceful sleep. “But I saw her. Before. And she definitely was dead.”

“Again, that’s the core at work,” James laughed. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Sure. But why was she dead to begin with?”

James’s smile faded.

“…Josephine, you have a very curious child.” James stood, and patted Josephine’s shoulder, this time. “He’s got a sharp mind for such a young lad.”

“Thank you, James. I hope what Amelia and Samael did can be forgiven…”

“For you? Anything!” He laughed heartily. Caleb was getting antsy.

“What did my parents do?” Caleb demanded. “And why was Leslie dead? Why won’t you answer my questions?”

James was silent for a long moment, tapping his clipboard against Leslie’s bed. He slowly turned. “Your parents,” he began, softly, “were smart people. But smart people, can do bad things.” He touched Caleb’s shoulder. “They turned their backs on their family. They turned their backs on Ever. They put you in danger.“

He started to shake. “But why?

James pulled his hand away, and suddenly, he was smiling again. “For Leslie,” he said. “They took her from our facility, and, apparently,” he checked some papers, “were planning to go out of state!” He shook his head. “Hilarious. I should’ve known, really. Brilliant minds, your parents, but always so fussy. I suppose Leslie was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And now, those camels,” he chuckled at his own joke, “are dead.”

Caleb felt something well up in him, red hot. “You think that’s funny?”

“Well — not their deaths, that was unfortunate, but that had to happen.”

Caleb stared at this man, long and hard — looked into his eyes, which had been the nicest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen — and had a revelation.

“You killed her. You’ve been killing her.” His face contorted. “You’re a murderer. My parents weren’t the ones who were evil. You are. ALL OF YOU!”

James’s expression didn’t change. “We’re scientists.” He looked at Josephine. “I think you should guide him out.”

Caleb didn’t budge, even as Josephine took his hand and tried to tug him away. “You’re horrible!” He screamed. He could see it: the grey room, Leslie’s limp body, his parents’s lolling heads and crossed-eye expressions. He could see the way the shadows twisted to mock him, how these people, these maniacs, delighted in his suffering, and the thing he did next he did not regret.

He looked at that gun on the table, and in the next second, the cold steel was pressing into his burning skin, and he had pulled the trigger.

It was amazing, to delight in a moment so much that you take in every moment, every detail. Caleb could practically see James’s expression change, frame by frame, into something akin to horror, just before the bullet tore through his face and left him dead. Blood splattered onto the floor, the walls, and Caleb. James’s red face slowly turned white as blood pooled onto the floor. One of his eyes had been ripped out, and rolled to him. Caleb crushed it under his heel.

He never knew killing could be this much fun.

He was numb for the minutes after, body still abuzz. He hardly noticed when soldiers stormed into the room, and he hardly noticed when they strapped him to a device and aimed something at his head.

Had the delight faded a moment sooner, he might’ve panicked. Might’ve kicked, or screamed. But he only laid there, smiling, as they fired, and light swallowed his vision.

——

Caleb loved his family. Each and every one of them, from his Grandma Josephine, to a little girl named Leslie. He had lived with them all his life, and his life was good.

He’s never known his parents. They left him when he was young, but Grandma Josephine had taken him and Leslie from the orphanage and adopted them, because they were the best of friends, and Josephine had always wanted kids around.

They lived in a nice house, just big enough for the three of them. His room was filled with model planes, stars and planets. He would run around in the yard with Leslie and play frisbee.

Sometimes, odd people in long, white coats would visit to “check up” on him and Leslie. He didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but they were nice, and Grandma Josephine seemed to like them, so he liked them, too.

He had no responsibilities. No worries.

His life was good.

———————————

I know this probably won’t be that popular but oh well haha, hopefully those who read enjoyed 😞

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mrs-kmikaelson · 2 years ago

Text

06| The Tribrid

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x daughter!reader Summary: While you busy yourself with making sure the deal with the witches runs smoothly, Klaus occupies himself by trying to figure you out. Warnings: none Words: 4.4K

Masterlist | Part 7

I walked into my house, throwing my keys on the side-table next to the door and shrugging off my jacket. I checked my watch: 2:01 PM, so Davina was still at school and wouldn't be back 'til she was done practicing with the witches.

I just got back from lunch with Elijah where we went over the Mikaelson's terms in more detail. Genevieve had sent a witch to the Abattoir earlier like a carrier pigeon with an outline of their requests.

Pretty dramatic, if you ask me, but she was like just resurrected. She probably doesn't know how to text yet, so whatever.

After Elijah and I talked over everything, I left, telling him I'd type up the contract myself. As an immortal with plenty of time on my hands, I've gone to law school and pursued numerous careers, as I'm sure Elijah probably had, too, so there was no need to hire (compel) someone else to write this contract for us.

I made my way to my room, passing Davina's on the way which was filled with boxes and a few things placed haphazardly on the ground. My room looked a little different: pretty plain, bed parallel to the door. Normal, basically.

I walked into my adjoining walk-in closet which was probably the most interesting thing about this room. At first glance, it looked mundane; there were some eye-catching statement pieces, but this closet otherwise just looked like a closet.

Unless you knew what to look for.

I closed the closet door for good measure and turned to the back wall, waving my hand and muttering, "Invisique saeclum." Instantly, the illusion of the wall disappear and another, smaller, more compact room was revealed.

It was lined with shelves, books stacked on top of each them. I walked closer, going to pick up the book closest to me. My grimoire. Like the rest of the books in this closet, it was dusty. I haven't needed to look for a spell in a long while.

I placed it down on the island in the middle of the room before turning to find the other book I needed. Under a few other books, I found what I was looking for: Amelia's grimoire.

I put it down next to mine, staring at both of them. Strong nostalgia came over me. I hadn't looked at her grimoire in long time, or even my own, for that matter. Both of them should have been worn down now after all these years, but a simple preservation spell kept them in pristine condition, looking just as they had when I was younger.

My lips quirked up as I ran my hand along their covers, memories flashing before my eyes of my childhood. But as quick as the happiness came, it disappeared with the thought of how that very childhood was stolen from me.

Enough with memory lane.

I switched my focus onto the purpose of even grabbing these books, opening my grimoire and flipping through it until I found the page I was looking for.

Illusion spells.

While I was very familiar with this type of spell, the one I wanted to perform was a little different. It was similar to the average cloaking spell, but I wanted a physical manifestation of an object: a decoy.

I wasn't stupid. I was never going to give Genevieve my aunt's grimoire. The only reason the witches wanted something so powerful was for leverage, and they weren't gonna get it. I knew all this last night, so instead of actually giving them Amelia's grimoire, I'd give them a copy.

But this copy had to feel real, tangible. Its energy needed to be able to be sensed in the same way it was with the real thing. They needed to feel like they could trust us, even if the Mikaelsons—or myself, for that matter—didn't trust them.

The thing with magic was that it worked through energy. Witches have their own special type of energy that enables them to perform spells. That's why you could practice magic without incantations; so long as the intent was there and it was strong enough, then your spell would work.

The reason why we often do use incantations is because words hold power. The history behind them holds enough energy to basically back the spell up. So, if you were using spells that weren't your own, then you would also want to use the chant because, without one, your own intent wouldn't be strong enough for the magic to pull through.

That's why I was going to change the incantations written down altogether.

At first, I was gonna exclude certain pages from Genevieve's copy completely, but then I realized that, without the powerful spells, she'd be less likely to trust us. So then I just change them so that they still made sense, but wouldn't work.

Without the written incantations that Bennetts had chanted in the past, these spells would be useless. If the words didn't hold any significance, then they were pointless.

Which was exactly my goal.

I hovered my left hand over Amelia's grimoire, hovering the other over blank space on the island. I closed my eyes and began, "Phantamogriphia decorum, appearatas veridical. Phantamogriphia decorum, appearatas veridical." After repeating this a few times, I felt the emergence of energy into the room and opened my eyes to see a book identical to Amelia's under my right hand.

I picked it up, flipping through it and stopping every once in a while to alter a spell, muttering incantations under my breath so the words on the page would appear as if they were Amelia's handwriting.

When I was done, I set it down on the island to compare it to Amelia's real grimoire. It was almost impossible to tell the difference unless you actually knew her. There was only a slight difference in the energy emitting from each book, but I knew this was fool-proof.

With a grin, I returned mine and Amelia's grimoires to their spots, bringing the cloak of the wall back. I grabbed the fake and stuffed it into my bag, tossing it onto a chair in my room. For now, I'd go type up the contract, then I'd walk over to the compound to give it to Elijah.

With that, I walked over to my office.

THIRD PERSON, THE NIGHT BEFORE

Klaus stood off to the side while his brother and his latest fixation spoke to the witches. He was silent; Elijah already warned him earlier not to cause a fuss, and the last thing he wanted was a fight with a Elijah. He had enough to deal with, this agreement included.

This evening, however, was not something he wanted.

Klaus couldn't care less if the factions tore each other apart in the streets. All of this was Elijah's doing, and so Klaus was only there to oversee it. Truth be told, he wasn't even going to show until Elijah told him Y/N was going to be there.

That caught his interest.

He couldn't figure it out, but there was something about this girl that pulled him to her. She looked familiar; he just couldn't pinpoint where he knew her from.

It seemed that others found her just as fascinating. For some reason, she had the trust of the Quarter's residents, but she wasn't going to get Klaus' trust so easily.

There was something off about her, something far greater than familiarity. And he was going to figure it out.

No matter what.

His attention was drawn away from Y/N when Genevieve cut her off. The words that came out of her mouth had stunned him.

"Esther Mikaelson's grimoire. We want Esther Mikaelson's grimoire."

Elijah's request for peace this evening suddenly went over his head. He scowled, "Are you out of your mind?"

"Niklaus-"

"I am not giving you my mother's grimoire. After what you tried to do to my family, you expect me to hand over-"

"Niklaus." Klaus stopped, turning to look at Elijah. His jaw clenched when he saw the look on his brother's face. He calmed down slightly, glancing at Y/N, wondering how she was going to talk her way out of this one.

Even as he glowered at Genevieve, he couldn't help but feel smug. There was no way out of this, and the oh so special Y/N would fail.

Or so he thought.

Y/N declined her request, as he predicted. Genevieve went to pull out of the deal, as he predicted. What he didn't predict was what Y/N said next.

"I currently have a Bennett grimoire in my possession." His head snapped in her direction. His eyes met Elijah's who looked just as surprised as him. He glanced over at the witches who luckily didn't notice their reactions, too engulfed in shock of their own. "It's yours, so long as you accept."

The rest of the conversation became muffled to Klaus, as if he were underwater. He could tell she wasn't bluffing—that, or she was a really good liar. He suspected that both were true. So many thoughts ran through his head at once.

While he thought she must have won Elijah over with that save, this only deepened his own distrust in her. A Bennett's grimoire was extremely hard to come by. They were guarded as if they were the holy grail. If he, the Original Hybrid, wasn't able to get his hands on one, then how did a mere vampire acquire one?

And why was she giving it up like it was pocket change?

He tuned back into the conversation when all parties stood up, Y/N and Genevieve shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries that he didn't care for. As Elijah walked the witches out, Klaus didn't glance at Genevieve once, even though he felt like glaring at her whenever he saw her. Instead, his glare was directed to Y/N.

Their eyes locked, and Y/N only continued to surprise him by staring right back. She was confident, and assertive, and unfazed with every comment he threw her way. He kept trying to shake her, but she appeared to be rooted to her spot every time. This only annoyed him.

He was so focused that he didn't even notice when his brother walked back into the room. Elijah thanked her, making Y/N look away to respond. Klaus had an inkling that Elijah wouldn't bring up what just happened, so he had no choice but to be the one to do it.

"How do you have a Bennett grimoire in your possession?" He interrogated, suspicion audible in his voice. Elijah gave him a look that was ignored.

He watched Y/N's body language as she responded, looking for any signs of a lie. "I met one a few hundred years ago. She died after she was in the wrong place, wrong time, but she left that book to me."

She must take me for a fool, he thought. The nerve of her to think he'd believe that. "A Bennett witch left her grimoire with you, a vampire? Not with her family?" He enunciated each word slowly as if to emphasize his point.

A Bennett witch leaving something as valuable as her grimoire to a member of the species they hated was unheard of.

Y/N gave an excuse, saying the witch wasn't close with her family at the time, as if that made it any more believable. "And I was human at the time so, yes, she left it to me because she knew it could come of use one day."

She showed no indication that she was lying, and if her story was real, then her excuses were reasonable. Perhaps if the story were coming from someone else, he would've rolled over and believed it. But this was coming from Marcel's supposed 'best friend,' the woman who so happened to be there the night Hayley was almost attacked, who had his brother so interested in her that he forced him to allow Marcel back into the Quarter all for the sake of a deal. This was coming from the woman who reminded him so much of a ghost from his past.

So, no, Klaus did not believe her.

Elijah, on the other hand, didn't look as vexed. He cleared his throat and changed the subject, thanking her again. Y/N turned around, making plans for another meeting. She didn't look back at Klaus once, but he was staring at her until even after she walked out the gate.

Elijah sighing broke him out of his trance. "Must you be so difficult, Niklaus?"

Klaus rolled his eyes. "If you want to turn a blind eye to all of this, then by all means. But this woman is so obviously hiding something." He reached for his scotch, downing the rest of it in one go.

"Niklaus, please-"

He cut him off, "No, Elijah—you can't honestly be telling me that you don't see what I'm seeing. She acts as if she's guilty of something-"

"Innocent until proven guilty."

Klaus scoffed. Elijah's immediate impulse to see the best in everyone could very well one day be his downfall. For some reason, he was defending Y/N, even though they both knew the only reason they really brought her in was because he saw the same things Klaus did.

Klaus shook his head. "She's not who she says she is." This time, Elijah's response didn't come as quick. He only silently maintained his stare. Little did Klaus know, his brother had doubts of his own.

Elijah's response never came. He closed the book on the conversation completely. "Good night, Niklaus." Elijah walked way, patting Klaus' shoulder as he passed him before going up the stairs. The hybrid cursed him in his head. How could he be so stupid, he thought.

He knew you were hiding something.

And he would make it his personal job to figure out what it was.

FIRST PERSON, PRESENT

I closed my laptop, having just printed out the contract. With Marcel, contracts were never necessary; you would just trust the other person's word. But, in this new society, trust could not be guaranteed.

I sighed, checking the time. Davina should be home any minute now.

Right on cue, I heard a knock at the door. I furrowed my brows. Didn't I give her a key?

She must have left it her by accident. Not thinking anything of it, I got up, walking to the door absentmindedly. "Hey, Dav-" my words died down in my throat once I opened the door. Standing in front of me wasn't Davina.

It was Klaus.

He coyly smiled. "Hello, Y/N. May I come in?" For a quick second, I was stunned. I wasn't expecting this at all. How did he even know I lived here? I wondered before dismissing the thought. He's Klaus Mikaelson; of course, he knows where I live.

I quickly composed myself, reciprocating his smile, only hoping that mine didn't look as fake as his. I held the door open wider. "Of course." The act of Klaus stepping over the threshold into my home almost made me sick, but I didn't dare show it on my face.

"Lovely home you have here," he said, looking around, but I doubted he was just looking out curiosity, and that compliment felt nothing like a compliment to me. What the fuck is he doing here?

I thanked him, resisting the urge to cross my arms. I learned in the few psych classes I attended that it was a sign of discomfort. I instead tried to make myself less stiff, asking myself how a normal person would act in this situation and then trying to behave that way.

"Would you like something to drink? Water, tea, Brandy....?"

Klaus shook his head, declining. He still wasn't looking at me, continuing to stare at my house. He seemed to be searching for something, and I had an idea what it was.

Well, he wouldn't find it.

I skipped over the like five other questions I had, asking, "What brings you here?" I kept my voice light, even though he probably knew that I knew what he was doing. I was already gonna be heading over to the compound later where he would've seen me. He had no reason to be here other than to look for some sort of flaw.

Finally, Klaus looked over at me. "Elijah's currently preoccupied, so I told him I'd just come here and get what you were supposed to give to him." Bullshit. But I'd play this game. I've won far harder ones.

I reminded myself of the pact I made to myself when I left the compound yesterday, of everything I've endured over the course of my life. If I went through what I went through, then I could go through speaking to my father.

I faked nonchalance. "Right, the contract. I'll go get that right now." I went to my room, grabbing the stapled pages and Amelia's grimoire out of my bag, ignoring the fact that the hybrid could've done anything in the less than thirty seconds I left him alone. However, when I got back, he seemed to be in exact same spot, waiting patiently for my return.

"Here," I said, handing them to both to him. He hummed, flipping through the pages—though, I doubt he was reading anything, even though the contents of the folder I just gave him were only drafted in attempts to save his city.

But I didn't have to have known Klaus long to know that this wasn't about saving anything for him. Men like him didn't save; they destroyed, and my mother raised me well enough to make sure I never forgot that.

When he closed the folder, he looked at the grimoire with a serious stare. I would've been worried that he was trying to see past my glamour had I not been as strong as I was. Nobody could see past my illusions other than myself; it's always been that way, and it'll always be that way.

Instead, I could bet he was questioning its authenticity or even my authenticity. The white lie I gave the other night was convincing enough to get me out of the compound, but since Klaus was looking for any reason to support his distrust in me, he obviously still had reservations.

Before I could continue with my train of thought, Klaus looked up at me and abruptly questioned, "Where are you from?" My brows went up. Out of all the things he could've said, that was on my list of least expected.

But I wasn't expecting any of the other things that'd happened in my life since I returned to New Orleans, either.

My first instinct was to respond, why do you ask? but that felt defensive and that was the last thing I wanted to come off as to my father. I told him what I told most people who asked. "A little bit of everywhere, I suppose." I shrugged for effect. "I was travelling at a young age due to conflicts around my family, so I was all over Europe as a child."

The suspicion Klaus so eagerly showed me the other night was tucked away. Instead, he only hummed again, but clearly he didn't believe me; otherwise, he would've left it alone, but I could never be so lucky.

"And how old are you? If you don't mind my asking," he added, as if he cared about whether not I minded.

I didn't hesitate. "About five hundred years old, give or take."

He hummed in response, adding to my irritation, but I was much better at hiding what I was thinking than he was. Not that he was trying. "Well, I suppose I should've assumed so since the Bennett witches had fled to America around that time period." He stared me dead in the eye, a smug smile on his face but a much more serious look in his eyes.

He was pretty close to me, close enough that I could see his eyes—and I mean really see them. They were blue with twinges of green and brown that I hadn't seen from far away before. And even though almost nothing scared the crap out of me more than the fact that his eyes looked like mine, I stared right back like I had no fears at all.

"Yeah, that's true," I agreed, but I didn't offer anything further. The only other things I could've added to this conversation to convince him I wasn't lying were facts from my personal life and that was information I wouldn't soon give up.

I didn't know how well Klaus knew my mother before they conceived me, if he knew her best friend's name or even her own, for that matter. So there were some details I just had to keep to myself; revealing certain things may have had the ability to help me, but they could also hurt me just as easily.

That was a risk I wasn't going to take.

Klaus just kept staring at me, and I almost thought he'd never look away until the door opened. We both turned to see Davina in the doorway, keys in her hand.

Her mouth fell open slightly, eyes darting between me and the Original in our living room. Said Original broke the silence. "Ah, if it isn't the little witch."

I watched Davina swallow but still manage to glare at him. "Klaus."

Klaus held his hands up in surrender, that same "friendly" smile on his face that was anything but. "Relax, love. I come in peace." He then looked back over at me. "I was just leaving." With that, he walked toward the door. Back still turned to me, he uttered a thank you for what I gave him and wished us a wonderful night, patting Davina on the shoulder on his way out.

The teenager barely waited until Klaus was out the door to close it, looking over at me with incredulous eyes. Just as her mouth was about to open, I brought my finger to my lips, silently shushing her and pointing to my ear.

She got the message, exasperatedly sighing and running a hand through her hair while I used my hearing to listen to Klaus walk away. Once I could no longer hear his footsteps, I let my finger fall. Davina instantly let her questions loose.

"What the hell was he doing here? Why'd you let him in- no, how did he get in? What was that stuff he walked out with and why did that book look like a grimoire? Oh my God, does he know that you're a-"

I cut her off, "Davina. Slow down and I'll explain." At my interruption she paused, taking a breath. I couldn't help but be amused at her worry, even though the Devil himself had just been standing in my living room.

Once she was calm, I elaborated, summarizing the deal I'd made with Elijah and then the deal we'd just made with the witches. Although I trusted Davina, I gave her the same story I gave Klaus when it came to the grimoire. There were some things just better kept secret and, for now, Amelia Bennett and my family fell under that category.

After I'd explained everything, Davina nodded to herself, soaking it all in, muttering under her breath, "That must've been what everyone was talking about today, a deal with the Mikaelsons." She pursed her lips. "Yeah, I heard Genevieve and some others whispering something about a Bennett witch, so it must've been that."

I nodded. "Yeah, and as for Klaus being here, I let him in myself. Don't worry; the protections are fine." She finally seemed to calm down after that.

"Okay, I guess I'll just go do my homework now or something. See you, Y/N/N." I ruffled her hair as she walked past me, getting a faux angry pout that didn't last long before a smile started to form on her lips. Like her happiness was contagious, the corners of my lips upturned, too.

It was good to see her happy, busying herself with things like homework. That's what teens should be doing, not hiding away in attics, isolated from humanity. Death shouldn't have even crossed her mind but I knew that, living in the world we lived in, that wasn't an option.

In spite of that, I would do my best to preserve her childhood for as long as I could. There was no one there to do that for me, and I'd be damned if I would just stand by and watch as hers was stolen from her.

Davina meant too much to me to allow that to happen, but even so, there were still things about me that she didn't know. There were things about me that no one knew, no matter how close to me they'd gotten.

No one knew I was Klaus' daughter, no one but Amelia, my mother, and the person who killed her.

At that thought, my mood became sour, but instead of drowning in my own self-pity, I blocked the thoughts completely. I couldn't afford to be in New Orleans with Klaus Mikaelson watching my every move and to also think about that part of my past.

So I pulled out my phone and dialled until Cellie's voice filled my ear, "Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, let's go out. We can hit up that new club downtown. And call Cami up, too; we can all go and just have fun."

"Not that I oppose this in anyway, but what brought up this spontaneousness?"

"Nothing," I lied. "I just want to have a night-out on the town. C'mon, Marcel; don't be boring."

He gave in, "Alright, alright, fine. I'll call Cami."

I grinned. "Great; meet at my place." Before he could say anything else, I hung up on him. This was just the sort of thing I needed, to go out like everything was normal.

I rushed to go get ready, pushing all thoughts of Klaus and my past to the back of my mind. For one night, just one, I wanted to feel like myself again.

Ever since I got back to New Orleans, I've felt like this shell of myself. Around the Originals, I felt like little-kid-me. All of these memories and thoughts that I've worked to repress have just been resurfacing, and so, for one night, I just want to feel like myself again. That'll help me get it all together.

I was gonna go out tonight, not as a Mikaelson, but as a Y/L/N.

And after that, I was gonna bury Y/N Mikaelson for good.

Taglist: @scrynexxtins @thisnameistaken1234 @honestlycasualarcade @xlittlestarling @thatgirljas13

#klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus x daughter!reader #klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the mikaelsons #tvd #tvd fandom #tvdu #angst #davina claire #marcel gerard #imagines #tvd fanfic #tvd fanfiction #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson fanfic

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watchoutforthefanfics · 1 year ago

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Ticking Love Bomb (Part Three) || Eleventh Doctor × gn! Reader

Part 1, 2, 3...

Taglist: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @solitairemvp @idontevenknowwth

Summary: Your adventure with the Doctor and the Ponds takes a harsh turn when it seems you're targeted with a potion. A love potion, specifically the type where you fall in love with whoever's eyes you met first after "drinking" it. But what if you're already in love with him?

TWS: aliens, space, references of guns, smoke, unrequited love (but not really), self sacrificial attitudes, and purely oblivious people. Also, just a touch of angst (typical of a love confession).

A/N: This is a lil angsty so be ready!!! Enjoy :)]]

The silence was loud after those words had been spoken.

"What?" Amy scoffed, her voice a little teary.

"Seconded," Rory responded, eyebrows drawn and looking to the Doctor for any sort of answer.

"There's a cure," he interrupted, leveling a look at you, and you knew that look, "-and we're going to get it."

"Doctor-" you began, a tone of knowing, "-we can't trust on something we're not even sure of."

"Y/N," he tsked, eyes concentrated on you.

You exhaled, shaking your head, "Let's just… work on getting off the ship."

"Wait, you can't just-" Rory began, turning flippantly towards the Doctor and yourself, "-what's going on here?"

Amy pursed her lips, "There's something you're not telling us."

"Amelia," he began following your steps through the halls, "-now's really not the time."

"When is, then?"

"Amelia."

"Doctor, you can't just… What if-"

You looked at her, eyes conveying a note you knew she would understand, "Amy, please."

She looked at you, in the way your hands slightly shook, and the way your eyes flickered to the Doctor. She knew, she always had -despite the fact of you never confessing.

Not out loud.

Her hair swished, as she looked at him (preoccupied with a door code) and nudged towards him. There was a shade in your eyes, just one, you wanted her to know.

"It's about love, isn't it?"

Rory raised a brow, eyeing the space between you and the Doctor with a look you'd find offensive if you weren't in the situation you were in. Almost dead, that is.

The Doctor froze, the fidgeting freezing for a moment -like he was taken aback, before moving again and with a curt tone, "Yes."

"Look," he made his way to you, talking to the group, "-this ship is war-grade, intergalactic war-grade, my sonic can only do so much. The first order is to find the TARDIS, her presence is spotty on the sonic- I think they're suppressing her."

"What does that mean?" Rory asked, as he always did.

He stood right in front of you, eyes scanning your face, and without a second thought, placed his hand on your forehead. Rough fingertips and the smell of old bookshelves overwhelmed your senses, and the pink fuzz started up again.

"You're warm," he spoke, flickering between your eyes in concern, before pulling back his hand.

Not too far though, he gently wrapped his fingers around your wrist -checking your pulse, "They want me stuck here. That's my running theory, at least."

"Not all of us?" You asked, your voice a little wobbly, and resisting the urge to wipe your eyes - the pink was getting blurry.

He looked up, "No, they want me."

"So," Amy questioned, eyeing the two of you with a look, "-why target Y/N if you're the one they want here?"

"Y/N's situation," he turned, making his way down halls with precision, "-They could die. Why try and run a risk with a target you want alive?"

Your eyebrows drew together, "So-"

Rory interrupted, face filled with things you couldn't quite understand, "They're using you to get to him."

"But, you're already here," you responded, "Why am I a lure if you're already here?"

"Because they're not using you," the Doctor explained, tone exhausted, "-they're using your death."

"What?" Amy muttered, before rising, "They planned on killing you, to get the Doctor on their side? That's-"

"No," he exhaled, "-They want my… my power, my anger from it. They want to use me as a-"

You answered, "As a weapon."

"The Oncoming Storm," the Doctor answered, his tone solid and uninterested, a tinge of distaste, "-living as long as I have, you get quite a reputation. That's not one I'm particularly fond of."

"But," you began, unable to stop yourself, "-why go after me specifically? Weren't Amy and Rory trapped too, why not go for us all?"

Then, he looked at you. In a way of gentle eyes, curiously analyzing, almost like he was trying to say something to you without actually saying it.

"They must know something we don't," He finished, clearing his throat and abruptly turning back around.

Amy looked at you like you had just missed something, and you heavily assumed you had.

The search down the endless hallways persisted, metal walls blending into other metal walls until you couldn't see straight anymore. Your head was hurting.

Normally, a migraine was typical with stress -you'd always learned to deal with it throughout your trips with the Doctor- but this one… it felt odd.

The pink fuzz had started up again, but less of a, well, fuzz and more of a pink film over your eyes. A tinge of pink over everywhere you looked, and suddenly the whole place seemed a whole lot safer -more relaxing.

It really just… smelt like roses.

"Y/N?" Rory spoke, you recognized him somehow in your daze, he seemed to follow your eye movement, "Guys, hold on. They're almost… lethargic."

Amy was in your sights now, concern shining bright in her features, "Why? What's-"

"Their heartbeat," the Doctor (god, when did his voice get so deep) spoke, a bit frantic but at a contrasting commanding tone, "-Rory, check their pulse."

"It's slow, far, far too slow," he answered, a cold sensation on your neck where he'd gotten it from on slightly gave you back your senses.

"You all are quite pretty, you know," you spoke, at least you tried to -it might've just come out as a jumble of words.

'Too slow,' you heard, '-organs… not getting enough-'

'Their brain?'

Your hearing was fading in and out -which only made you more disoriented, and the only thing keeping you standing was a pair of firm hands on your shoulders.

"-so what? Just try it Doctor, I'm not saying it means anything, it's just… a hunch."

"Amelia-"

"What else have we got right now? Man up, before they quite literally cannot breathe anymore!"

"Rory, can you-"

"Doctor, they're dying. If the curse has conditions, I don't see why n-"

"Fine."

Your nose was filled with the smell of worn books, and a hint of metallic -kind of like finding a stack of books in your garage. And on your hands were rough fingertips, calloused from working so hard, squeezing tightly around your own. On your forehead, there was a dusting of breath, warm, until a soft connection was made there, smooth and you could somehow feel so much out of it. An appreciation and admiration that sent goosebumps up your arms, it felt so… freeing.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the headache subsided, "Ugh. What was that about?"

You looked up, and there he was. He was incredibly close and slightly taller than you. Or at least in this angle, anyway.

His face was just so… human, and yet, you honestly couldn't read a single emotion. The only thing you knew was the pull of his eyebrows, and that was… concern, curious, something- maybe both?

With a few fluttering blinks, he pulled back, hands retreating like they had been burnt.

Your heart tinged and felt like a few strings snapped inside your chest. Your breath hitched, at the muted pain and you wondered what exactly that meant.

If... your heart broke, you'd die, right? Was that... Were you...

You took a deep breath.

#eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x reader #doctor who #gender neutral y/n #a bit angsty but #it fixes itself #is really sad kinda so #unrequited love but not really #use of y/n #enjoy part one #watchoutwriting #ticking love bomb

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edgessunflower · 1 year ago

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Jumped in

Pairing: Buddy Matthews x Fem reader x Rhea Ripley

Description: You and your partners are on a date when you do an action to save someone that leaves them terrified

A squeal could be heard as you squirm in Buddy's grip after he picked up and slung you over his shoulder while Rhea jogged ahead of you with a bag of snacks and drinks. The three of you decided to have a date together after the long hours of traveling and wrestling and barely having time to spend with each other, bright pink and calm orange paints the sky as you all listen to music and share kisses in between sips of soda along with water and bites of fruits for the next hour and a half until you get a wave of dread and anxiety about the cliff just a few feet in front of the three of you that wouldn't go away which lead to you standing a few feet away while carefully looking over the cliff only to see hands waving from the water and distanced yells that made your heart jump to your throat and stop all at once. "What's wrong possum?" you turn to them before quickly setting your phone down beside them and stripping down to your bra and underwear, "Baby what the hell are you doing?!" you ran and jumped down into the water below which made the two scream as they looked over the cliff only to see the water below with no sign of you anywhere in sight before their hearts dropped and ran down not knowing about what you saw that made you jump and what you were doing as you swam in the water for the next five minutes before you were on shore twenty minutes later, the two ran down only to see you on the beach with a pale topless girl who was very scared and hurt while she choked and coughed up water as you softly talked to her, "Hey it's okay, you're alright" the two immediately ran back to the car where they had blankets since it would be late when you all left. You immediately wrapped her in them and sat with her as the heat blasted in the car which warmed you up along with buddy's body heat since he wouldn't let you go after you put your clothes back on, you all took her to the hospital where you and her were treated for hypothermia learning that she had been swimming only to get swept further and unable to swim back to shore for ten minutes until you had jumped in and took her to shore before she was a few seconds away from passing out due to the exhaustion and onset of hypothermia, you learned as the two of you became friends that her name was Amelia and she had been on the beach with a few friends which ended up leaving her while she was swimming which pissed you off that they had just left without checking to see if she was on shore with them or even okay at all. You're released from the hospital the next morning while amelia stayed to be treated for a case of pneumonia after she gives you the ring she was wearing that would remind you of that day as you noticed that buddy and rhea had been very quiet since your stay in hospital which confused and worried you until every thought that they had poured out later that night in the comfort of your shared bedroom while tangled and intertwined together, "You scared us to death" buddy's voice made you tear up knowing that you worried them in the moment of your choice but you didn't know just what it did to them by seeing you jump off the cliff and not seeing you in the water at all as rhea's words only made your heart shatter to the floor "We...we thought you wouldn't come back or that your...body was on the beach" the tears flowed and cries are let out as you kissed both of them and held onto them tightly, "I love you both so much and I promise you that I would never do anything to purposely lose you" the hours felt like years as you held each other in the domestic silence until soft words are spoken that leave you tearing up again after telling them that you wouldn't forgive yourself if you had just left her in the water without trying to save her, "We're so proud of you for what you did".

#buddy matthews x reader #wwe #wwe x reader #rhea ripley #aew #rhea ripley x reader #buddy matthews #aew x reader #rhea ripley x reader x buddy matthews #buddy matthews x reader x rhea ripley

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wincestwhispers · 25 days ago

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happy wincest wednesday!! if the omegaverse is real what is one (or two or ten up to you) canon moment in spn that you think that would be far far superior for it? and of course, what is one (or two etc.) that would be far angstier for it? <3

You have opened a can of worms my friend, I can discuss the omegaverse in Spn all day long. Tysm for the ask!! Let me establish my opinions on their dynamics first: Dean is an omega but tries his best to present as beta/alpha. Suppresses his instincts and all. Sam is an alpha, as was John. Okay here we go

My absolute favorite time to think about in canon if it were omegaverse is the Purgatory/Benny season. I have so many thoughts going into this so I’ll try to break it down 1) I think Dean was put on suppressants as soon as he presented which is not only bad for his physiology but mental state as well. It’s stressful on any person in the omegaverse to suppress their instincts and needs so severely. Not that Dean thinks so. Personally I love the idea that the first time Dean went off suppressants was when he was raised from Hell and given a factory reset. This lead to an almost immediate and intense cycle he shared with Sam that they never discussed because everything with the demon blood and Ruby happened right after. After that cycle he went on suppressants just like before (Sam hates it). So when Dean gets thrown in Purgatory he suddenly has zero access to his suppressants AND is constantly fighting for his life. See where i’m going with this?

2) Benny can be an alpha or beta I can see both, but for the purpose of drama I’ll make him an alpha. So when he teams up with Dean, who is practically a beacon in Purgatory as the only Human and a strongly scented Omega, things get a little messy. I think their first priority was practically drenching Dean in dirt and monster guts to mask his natural scent. They didn’t talk about Dean be an omega outside of that initial issue, but Benny would do things to try and make Dean more comfortable. Partly intentional and partly instinctual because Dean would remind him of his late Andrea. It’d be hard for them not to bond or for Benny not to develop a protectiveness over Dean. And Dean felt comfortable with Benny because he reminded him of Sam sometimes and he wouldn’t bring up any of the shit Dean didn’t wanna talk about. One thing led to another and they fucked (but not mated) before they found Castiel and focused on getting out of there.

3) They were both clear that they weren’t gonna be a thing before they left, kind of a “what happens in Purgatory stays in Purgatory” situation, but when Dean returns Sam can immediately smell Benny all over him and *hates* this strange vampire stinking up *his* brother. Then there’s all the drama and angst because without Dean, Sam felt truly lost and shacked up with Amelia to try and at least distract himself from the gaping hole in his soul. As soon as he gets Dean back that’s all that matters to him anymore, but he’s defensive because when he learns Dean was in Purgatory, he feels like he failed and betrayed him. Meanwhile Dean is extra harsh with Sam because he’s projecting his own feelings of guilt over Benny. It takes them a while to work all that out.

Other moments: I think Jess scented very similar to Dean (not that Sam really knew that) so when Dean met Jess in the first episode he was.. shocked, to say the least. But then Jess died Dean felt guilty for all his jealously and other feelings. Years later he still believes Sam wouldn’t have gotten with him if Jess were still alive (he’s wrong).

The bunker!! In canon Dean started nesting as soon as he felt it was safe but in this verse he would actually nest. Every morning Sam would wake up to find his clothes from the previous day missing from his bag because Dean stole them for his secret nest. Dean’s nest is in the biggest room he could find and he spends weeks perfecting it for him and Sam. He’s internally very proud of it when he’s done.

We already know teen Sam was a piece of work but teen newly presented alpha Sam?? Lord help Dean. He would be at John’s throat even more, his protectiveness over Dean would go haywire, and he definitely got way too possessive. As in, Dean would come home from a one night stand and Sam would be pissed, Dean would usually get an interrogation or degradation but over the next day or two Sam would oh so casually try and scent Dean to restake his totally innocent claim on him. Overall, teen Sam was angsty, I think teen alpha Sam would be aggressive.

(Don’t think about John being Dean’s alpha no matter how badly he treated him because when John died he would have had the most intense and conflicted emotions about it)

#very long answer lol #i’m a bit passionate about this topic #omegaverse #wincest #samdean #confessional box

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hotchsdoormat · 2 years ago

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HES SO TALL AND BROAD 😭😭😭 WOOF

#puffer jacket #vest #legs #shoulders #everything #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #amelia is talking without purpose

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years ago

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the one with the bathing suit (b.r.b.)

a/n: yeah.... i don't got an explanation. takes place in the flight risk universe

summary: The time Bradley saw Sunshine in a bathing suit and was allowed to do something about it.

warnings: suggestive themes/comments, bathing suits (because that's a warning in and of itself), swearing, brief mentions of insecurities, brief mention of body sizes, future Bradley and Sunshine, this is my nod to all my fellow vanderpump rules watchers, unedited

Bradley's hand slides into your own as the two of you enter the Target, the cool air hitting you as you enter the store. You slide the sunglasses up to sit atop of your head as you pause, figuring out where the Customer Service desk is.

"Thanks for coming with me." You say as you spot it, tugging Bradley along.

He hummed. "No problem, my love. Shame the pants didn't fit."

You rolled your eyes at the memory of trying them on for him after an impromptu shopping trip with Amelia the other day. The two of you'd bickered about whether or not you should keep them, the pants a hair too small to be comfortable.

Bradley, however, had appreciated how they had made your ass look.

("You say that about everything I wear." You'd said with a scoff. He'd only been able to offer you that cheshire grin of his.)

You let your eyes wander as the two of you wait in line. Target had just put out their selection bathing suits for the summer and you were somehow always surprised by the fact that they continuously got cuter every year.

Bradley squeezed your hand when he caught on to where you were looking. "I think you need a new suit, my love."

You roll your eyes as you step forward in line. "And where in the world would I wear it?"

"I think you forget you live in a beach town now, Sunshine. You'd get good use out of it."

You roll your eyes again as you step up to the desk. "You just want to see me in a bikini."

Bradley doesn't deny the point as the girl working the counter begins to process the return. You thank her as she returns the money to the card and exit the area, headed for the door. Bradley's hand in your own stops you, tugging you over to the bathing suit area.

"B..." You mutter, eyeing the bikinis anxiously. "I don't need to make myself insecure on purpose today."

"I'm looking for me, I don't know what you're talking about." He says, bypassing the bikinis into the much smaller one-piece section.

You snort as your eyes fall on a rosey-pink colored one-piece. "That's cute." You comment, rifling through the sizes. "Too bad they don't have one in my size."

"This one might fit." He says, pulling it from the rack.

You eye it nervously. It was adorable, with an open back and straps that were to die for. "There is no way in hell that'll hold up my boobs." You blurt out.

He grins. "Sure it could."

You shake your head, taking it from his hands and putting it back on the rack. "I hate bathing suits. Make me so insecure about my thighs."

He clears his throat. "Respectfully, my love, no one is looking at your thighs when you are wearing a bathing suit." His eyes roam over your body. "Much more distracting parts of you to look at." You shoot him a look, even as you feel your cheeks warm.

"We need toilet paper."

"I have a present." Bradley announces as he enters the house. "You're watching the new part of the reunion without me?! You said you'd wait!"

Your eyes flicker to the paused screen, Andy Cohen in the middle of proclaiming "My cards!"

"'M rewatching last week's episode."

Bradley's shoulders visibly deflate at the explanation, relieved you hadn't gone ahead and watched the reunion episodes about the Scandoval that had rocked the nation without him.

You smile, pushing yourself up on the couch. "Whatcha got?"

"I bought that bathing suit you were looking at this weekend."

Your face falls. "What?"

He holds his hands out, quick to soothe you. "You don't have to keep it if you don't like it." He rushes out. "But you didn't try it on, and it was cute, and you've been saying you needed a new suit anyways."

You sigh, pushing yourself off the couch and grabbing the Target bag from his hands. "I'll try it on." You say as you approach the stairs to go up to the bathroom. "But I really doubt it'll fit."

He follows you closely, sitting on the edge of the bed as you disappear into the bathroom to try it on. You take a deep breath, shedding your clothing to pull the material over your body.

You take another deep breath, nervously opening your eyes as you turn back to the mirror.

You... You don't hate it.

You tug at the straps, adjusting the top.

You actually really don't hate it.

The material is comfortable and does surprisingly fit. Your eyes flit nervously over your chest, fighting the urge to cover it up.

"You wanna see?" You call out.

"Obviously."

You take a calming breath, unlocking the bathroom door, slipping into the bedroom.

Bradley's eyes go wide as his jaw falls open. You roll your eyes, huffing out a nervous laugh. "Okay, B, don't gotta gawk."

He shakes his head. "Nuh-uh, 'm gonna."

You feel your cheeks warm as you struggle to look at him. "'S just a bathing suit. You've seen me in those before."

"Yeah, and this is the first time I actually get to do something about it. Sunshine, you look so fucking good." He says, his eyes still roaming your body. "Holy fuck, and I spent years not getting to appreciate you in one of these things. What the fuck was I thinking?"

You let out another nervous laugh, looking back down at your feet. You hadn't even remembered to take your socks off before trying the suit on, not even thinking Bradley would see the piece on you.

"How do you feel about it?" He asks after a minute, his voice much softer.

You shrug, finally raising your head to meet his gaze. "I don't... hate it."

He grins. "Yeah?"

You shrug, taking another step closer towards him. He reaches out for you, hands falling to your waist.

"I've always loved the way you look in a bathing suit Sunshine, but fuck." He says, gaze planting right on your chest.

You duck your head, cheeks growing even warmer. "Not always."

He tilts his head in disagreement, clearly remembering the lake day from your camping trip in college.

("Careful now, Bradshaw." Eli had said to him. "You spend too much longer appreciating her tits in that suit and you're gonna get punched in the mouth.")

"You gonna keep it?" He says, pulling you onto his lap.

You nod, letting out a breathe. "Yeah, I think so."

He grins, shuffling the two of you back further on the bed. "Perfect." He says, his hand gliding down your body. One plants itself firmly on your ass while the other makes it's way back up towards the straps. "Because now I get to do this," He says, tugging at the straps, letting it unravel. "Without worrying about having to return it."

He captures you in a searing kiss, hands coming up to push the material off of your body.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic #flight risk

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watching-sam-and-dean-again · 1 year ago

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Supernatural, Season 8 Sam Musings (Ranting):

There are many things I love about Season 8, like The church scene in Sacrifice, or the four (four!) brother-hugs we get throughout the season, or the moments of Dean trying to take care of Sam (even though Sam fights it), or having side characters that I actually like (for the most part … not Amelia), or the good moments of bad-brother-communication (there are some), but what I absolutely hate is the sacrificing of character for "story" that we see in this season.

So, shocking as this will be to the few who follow me or have read my thoughts (rants) before, but I’m a Sam-leaning brothers fan. And as someone who is Sam-girl adjacent, the beginning of Season 8 makes me ragey. Ironically, it was partially the "abuse" of Sam's character by the writers (among other things) that actually confirmed my tilt towards Sam because it forced me to think more deeply about Sam and his motivations. The writers also pulled some shady crap with Dean's character.

So, you can find my ramblings under the cut, if interested …

So, let’s tackle Sam's oft considered worst offense first: Sam not "looking for" Dean. What the actual fuck was this? I mean, I get it in theory; they brought Sam low in the start of the season, making him "betray" and "fail" Dean again, in order to high ten his rise to Savior Sam 2.0, but it was lazy writing, and almost unforgivable in two ways, out of character actions and failure to meaningfully explain said actions.

First, I’m sorry, but it’s just out of character to have Sam—Psychotic Without Dean—Winchester not look for his brother. We have so much canon proof of this that him not looking for Dean in season 8 is almost offensive. In "Faith" when Dean is going to die, Sam finds him to a "faith healer," and when it turns out another life was exchanged for Dean's, Sam obviously isn’t happy about it … but, I don’t exactly see him wishing to undo it either. In "In My Time of Dying," Sam is totally distraught throughout the entire episode because Dean is dying, even willing to embarrass himself in front of Dean by pulling out a "talking board" (or whatever it was called) just to try and communicate with him, and he wanted to save him so badly but didn’t know how. These two episode alone show us that Sam would not be okay with just "loosing" Dean, and that if Sam thinks there is even a hope of saving Dean, he isn’t just going to shrug and walk away. So, at the end of Season 7, if he thought Dean was still alive, the Sam we know should have been exhaustive,y hunting for Dean.

Second, if Sam thought Dean was dead, which I think was what the show was suggesting but could have made it more explicit, Sam should have been going insane, as he’s done in the past. In Mystery Spot, Sam basically becomes a revenge-driven automaton, even stabbing Fake Bobby in hope of getting Dean back. And when Dean is killed by the hellhound in "No Rest for the Wicked," Sam is destroyed. Season 4 shows us that Sam tried to trade his soul for Dean's, just an instant trade, but the demon wouldn’t deal. We see that Sam was full-on suicidal after losing Dean, basically attempting suicide by demon, drinking and taking pills. If Ruby hadn’t intervened (for her own evil purposes, but still…), he would have gotten himself killed, not might have. When none of the immediately self-distractive options worked, Sam once again went into full-on revenge mode. Sam without Dean, or at least Sam without a Dean alive somewhere in the world, is not okay. He is desperate and frightening.

Arguably, he’s not actually okay in Season 8 either, but his distress after losing Dean was too subtle, to the point that it almost makes him look a bit cold. So, to me at least, not seeing Sam very obviously fucked up, in some way beyond dating Amelia, over Dean's disappearance/death is a disservice to the character.

On the other hand, if the writers just needed Sam to not look for Dean because the drama was just too delicious for them … more important than, you know, staying true to character … then they should have bloody well shown us why. And showing us Sam shacking up with a bitchy pain in the ass Veterinarian was not giving him anything like fair treatment or good characterization, or understandable motivation.

Now, the subtext is that there was more going on in Sam's head than, "Oops, I hit a dog and met a rude vet. I guess I’ll just give up wondering if my brother is alive and move in with this woman who isn’t even particularly nice to me." He even said that hunting had gotten everyone he loved killed, and he that just "ran," in the first episode of the season. So, to me, this means Sam definitely thought Dean was dead, but the show doesn’t actually make it explicitly clear, at least I don’t think so. And this matters because there is a big difference between thinking Dean was lost and not looking for him VS thinking Dean is dead and not trying to sell his soul (or something else mystical and dangerous) to bring him back to life. It’s actually breaking the cycle and healthier for Sam to believe Dean is in heaven, and try to move on, but the show frames his actions, through Dean and Bobby as this huge failure of character. Also, Sam choosing running away from hunting (which has gotten everyone he loves killed) VS giving into revenge and basic insanity again, while not healthy in its escapism, is actually better than becoming an obsessive psycho. So, not just the fact that Sam didn’t look for Dean that is the problem, it’s the execution of how and why he didn’t look for Dean, or lack of exploration around these issues, that I’m especially annoyed by.

So, because we got what we got in the start of Season 8, my explanation to make it work, or headcanon, is that when Sam thought Dean was killed (not just missing) in the explosion of dick 😏, he utterly fell apart. As in, he collapsed in a heap and lost himself in his own head for a while. Maybe he even went a little insane again, sure that he was having a terrible hell-ucination again, even though Cas had supposedly taken his insanity onto himself at this point. Maybe he even feared he was still in the cage after all, and living through yet another nightmare scenario. So, Sam shattered. When he finally pulls himself together, he realizes he has two options, lose himself again in revenge and obsession over trying to bring Dean back to life, or give up the life that has brought him nothing but pain (and Dean, but Dean's gone now). So, he goes with the latter, thinking surly Dean would prefer that he try to live a normal, non-hunting life rather than utterly losing himself in suicidal behavior and revenge again … right?

What the show doesn’t bother to address either, and what many fans seem not to consider or care about, is that pre-Season 8 Sam has only had the devil out of his head for a matter of weeks/months at this point, and he’s still chalk full of fairly newly recalled hell trauma from being stuck in the cage with said devil for over a hundred years. Dean still wasn’t okay in Season 5, a season after getting out of his 40 year stint in hell, and the show addressed this pretty clearly, which is good. With Sam, the show doesn’t bother to remind the audience of his trauma or link it in any meaningful way to Sam's decision to give up hunting and not try to get Dean beck.

I think that’s the most unforgivable part of the first half of the season for me, not showing us in a way that, while some fans might still not consider it a good enough reason, the audience can at least understand why Sam made the choice he did. If the writers wanted Sam to make a decision that was not consistent with what we have seen of him this far, then they needed to show us why he acted differently this time. The show gave us a buttload of flashbacks (often not smoothly), so they could have very easily given us a few flashbacks of Sam falling apart, choosing to try to live without going insane over Dean, grieving his brother. We could have seen these things and still had time for him to meet and stay with a woman (not Amelia) for even, say, six months before Dean gets out of purgatory. Dean could even not be satisfied with Sam's explanation, or Sam could get defensive and not tell Dean how bad he was doing at first, so the brother drama could still be in tact, but at least the audience would understand Sam's motivations more. In a show where Dean usually gets the benefit of the doubt due to being our more regular POV protagonist, the narrative, and his protectiveness, it was a poor choice not to flesh out Sam's decisions more.

Season 8 was one of the rare times we actually see things from Sam's POV fairly often, and they wasted it on an unlikable love interest and half-explained motivations. The way the season is structured, it looks like it’s actually trying to argue that Amelia was the reason Sam gave up hunting (and Dean), but then it depicts her as incredibly harsh, annoying, and, frankly, not worth giving up Dean for. Giving Sam this particular love interest, one he has no chemistry with, makes it even harder to empathize with him because we (or most of the audience) don’t like her.

The real reason Sam gives up is essentially that hunting cost him too much, and he was too broken to carry on after losing Dean. But, the emphasis on the relationship, even though it’s explained that Sam and Amelia were basically just two broken people pulled together by their pain, doesn’t do enough to actually make it appealing, or to make me buy that Sam even loves her. I get that the show isn’t on the side of Sam living a normal life, and that’s actually fine, but making the relationship so … lame just helps stack the deck against Sam.

Meanwhile, Dean's friend-who-isn’t-Sam is incredibly likable, so we sympathize with Dean giving up Benny for Sam mid season, but most of us have been waiting for the moment when we no longer have to see Amelia being grating all over our screens since pretty much the first time we saw her. Thus, Dean's jealousy, dismissive remarks regarding Amelia, and his casual cruelty in letting Sam think she’s in danger just to get him out of the way, have less weight with the audience because so many of us don’t like her anyway. Whereas, Sam's sudden hate for vampires when he’s always been the more sympathetic brother when it comes to monsters, feels like it comes out of nowhere. And he ends up looking like a dick because the audience knows that Benny is a good guy (vampire), even though Sam doesn’t. Dean is no less jealous of Amelia than Sam is of Benny, but it comes across as more unreasonable in Sam's case. And he seems to be the only one who is often considered to be acting petty.

Here too, I feel the show does a bad job showing Sam's motivations. Sam has an instant hate-on for Benny, and his stated reasons are pretty much … he’s a vampire. And when arguing with Dean, the show has Sam bring up Amy. I mean, sure, Amy was a more recent monster and issue in their lives, but she isn’t a fitting Benny parallel, in my opinion. To me, Benny was to Sam, what Ruby was to Dean. They are both monsters: vampire VS demon. They both saved a brother’s life: Ruby saved a suicidal Sam VS Benny saving Dean in a land of Monsters. Both fought alongside a brother for a shared goal: Sam killing Lilith vs Dean getting out of Purgatory. Both monsters caused jealousy for sort of replacing the other brother: Sam chose to trust Ruby over Dean regarding Lilith VS Dean literally telling Sam that Benny (unlike Sam) has never let him down, and he lies to Sam to protect Benny. Sam should have brought up the mistake of trusting Ruby in their argument, if he thinks Dean is wrong to trust Benny. Of course, if Sam so much as said "Ruby," Dean would probably just fixate on Sam not listening to him back then. The thing is, looking at the Benny issue in relation to Ruby, it’s actually fair that Sam distrusts Benny. Of course, i do I think he’s also jealous and feels guilty.

Anyway, the season then sort of tries to make up for Sam being hard to sympathize with, by making Dean be straight up cruel to him a few times, which I don’t love either.

#supernatural #sam and dean #spn meta #sam winchester #dean winchester #Season 8 #ranting ahead #Season 8’s treatment of Sam #my thoughts #thanks to the gif makers

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