#and that it’ll have to do with his initial vanishing and how he survived in the ud

[redshoes-blues]

OKAY WAIT

So there’s weird time stuff going on and the Upside Down is stuck on the day Will went missing…

And @will80sbyers made a great post breaking down some of the weird inconsistencies about the Byers’ house and UD that makes it seem like the time things are even more strange than I thought.

Remember Flickergate? We know that lights flickering in Hawkins = lights being interfered with in the UD. And this sparked a discussion about the lights that flicker over the Wheeler’s garage, and the idea that maybe a future Will and Mike cause the electricity to go haywire when they visit that same spot in the UD.

Another thing: I’ve always wondered how Will knew to use music to save himself.

Because maybe it’s just a coincidence since Jonathan played him music when Lonnie was being a sick so it’s a coping mechanism. But!! We also know music has the power to prevent people’s minds from being attacked by Vecna. This is knowledge the Party gains in S4, which in hindsight, makes the coincidence with Will look a lot more purposeful…

So if we’re dealing with time travel into the day Will went missing, and the Party now has the knowledge of how to avoid being attacked by Vecna:

What if Will from the future is the one who saved his younger self? Armed with new knowledge about how the UD and Vecna work, and knowing the UD is stuck on the day he vanished, maybe the key to solving all of this has to do with that day? And the way Will is somehow recovered from the UD?

Remember how Will is found by someone/something in Castle Byers and it fades to black before we see who it is, and he’s there singing Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

Just saying…maybe it’s some kind of time loop phenomenon that only Will can tap into.

[charnelhouse]

Show Me What It’s Like

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Words: 3.1K Rating: Explicit. 18+ Request: Din asks you to peg him Warnings: Pegging. Oral Sex (fem receiving). Dirty ass smut obviously. A/N: Struggled with this one so I’m yeeting it into the universe to find a new home.

Din kisses you messily, his hand bunched in your hair as he presses you rough against him. His tongue is greedy - his usual unbendable control has gradually vanished with every passing hour spent in this bedroom. It’s decorated elegantly - stone floors and engraved columns and space-blue curtains that block out the pale crawl of the sun or the lingering stares of the city. The subtle burn of incense - the woodsy sweep of smoke and scented oil. The large bed that is miles and miles away from their narrow sleeping arrangements on the Crest.

They’re on vacation - a brief respite from all the hunting. Din had suggested it, even paid for it in full with his own credits.

“It’ll be nice, pretty,” he murmured, as he kneaded your shoulders, rubbing at the bruise you’d gotten from a desperate bounty. “It’ll be - I don’t know - a break?”

“A vacation?”

“Yeah - that.”

“When have you ever taken a vacation?”

“Never,” he shrugged as he pressed his mouth to the nape of your neck. “But - I’d like to take one with you.”

That had completely bowled you over - snagged your heart and made you feel all warm and soft. Din Djarin - one of the best warriors in the damn galaxy - wanted to spend a weekend eating you out and fucking you and hand-feeding you fat, dripping fruit with names you couldn’t even pronounce.

He had looked so pleased when you had agreed, the tiniest curl at the corner of his lips as his brown eyes sparked in heat - as spots of color skated across his cheeks.  He had responded the only way he knew how - plunging those trigger-fingers between your legs so he could crowd you with his affection.

Din had yet to master the art of an embrace - a mere cuddle - a chaste kiss nudged along your cheek. He honed his feelings through sex - through the intimate action of his cock spreading you open.

“Fuck,” he’d grunted as he tugged your pants down your ankles. “That’s - that’s great. It’ll be nice.”

There was a strange boyish excitement snaking between each exclamation as if he’d just realized that he’d finally gotten the concept of normal behavior. People take vacations. Lovers go on holidays.

I guess I’m doing this right. I must be.

And then there was the thing he had whispered into your ear when he was balls deep in you - when he was slamming his hips against your pelvis as he rocked you up the bed.

“Baby,” he had muttered, nipping your jaw. “I want - I want you to fuck me.”

**

Initially, you had been confused. You had fucked him - riding him until his eyes rolled back with those near-girlish thick lashes fluttering as he bit through his bottom lip and steeled his jaw. You need more. You pushed and prodded until he finally explained that no he wanted you to literally fuck his ass.

That had stunned you. You weren’t sure what to make of it. You undressed it in your head - peeling back the layers of his request until you hit the fleshy center.

He wanted you to control him - he wanted to be weak and vulnerable and give you something he had never ever had the actual courage to ask for.

“You don’t have to,” he had added. “Really - if you don’t want to - if you’re not into it -”

You shut him up quick - pouncing on his lap and kissing him hard enough that your teeth clicked in your mouth.

“I’ll do it. Of course.”

You were strong - years of hunting bounties and running across the galaxy and fighting tooth and nail to survive. You had the muscle and the stamina to really give it to him and Din trusted you so there was that at the end of it.

In truth, you’d give him anything he asked for.

**

Here they are now - in their gorgeous, dark room at a stupidly expensive resort in the inner rim.

It’s a lot - non-stop fucking and experimenting and shoving fingers and tongues into all sorts of places. You never thought Din to be so adventurous. He had his kinks certainly, but you always assumed that he wanted to spend his time pounding you and making you a clumsy little mess.

It takes trust. Real, genuine trust - for him to ask for this.

You’re strangely honored. You feel that something has undoubtedly shifted between them. Something shiny and new. Still - you’ll tread lightly - skip around the very prominent path that is leading the both of them towards that unspoken truth.

He had given you his face. He was giving you this. They were falling fast and loose towards -

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb across your cheek.

You’d think of the rest some other time.

You lean forward to suck the weeping head of his cock - tasting the salt of his pre-come. You shift lower, biting the inside of his thigh and Din groans - the muscles in his stomach flexing as he tugs your hair.

He smells so good - sweat and leafy soap and that sagebrush flavor that is distinct to his natural make-up. The harness had nearly taken you a half-hour to get on. You’d struggled in the bathroom until you’d finally called out to him and Din - already so appreciative that you were willing to do this - softly chuckled before helping you out. He’d brushed his thick fingers over the straps, sweeping his knuckles behind the actual toy so he could touch your cunt. He’d gotten you off again - shoving you up against the counter with his fingers scissoring deep you until your legs gave out. You had to finally kick him off of you.

“Din,” you gasped. “This is about you.”

You forget sometimes that he doesn’t know how to ever relinquish control or allow himself to just give in and let you treat him to pleasure. The beginning of their relationship had been mostly him ripping orgasms from you - protesting whenever you tried to blow him because pretty girl - i just want to make you cum.

“I need you to relax for this,” you croon, letting your teeth slide across the sensitive skin above his cock, nails catching in the dark, curly hair.

Din’s eyes are shockingly round as he carefully watches your ministrations, but he nods all the same. He leans back as you shift between his legs, as you slick your fingertips with lube and start to press where he needs you. You watch the sweat beginning to spring up across his brow as you pet at his hole. You wrap your other hand around his cock, stroking him with syrup-slow tugs while you stretch him open. When you nudge a third finger inside him, something low and pitchy climbs up from his throat.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “That-shit - that feels good.”

He is gorgeous - the muscles in his straining shoulders shifting and sliding smooth beneath golden skin. His dark hair curling boyishly across his brow as he keeps those eyes on you. The flush of arousal - fruit-pink cheeks like too much sun.

There had been a time when Din didn’t look at you during sex. It had been during the first few intimate encounters they had without his helmet. It was like he didn’t know how to act without it - without the protective barrier of his Beskar. The fortress that kept his vulnerable expressions hidden from you.

And then he had given in - eyes flying open - sudden and altering as the switch-on of a vibro-blade - his nails digging into your hips as he stared at you while  you shoved yourself down on his cock.

“It’s hard to look at you,” he whispered later - when the both of you were sated and tangled in thin, scratchy blankets. An explanation you hadn’t asked him for to begin with.

“Why?” You weren’t even offended. You smoothed the furrow of his brow as he licked his lips.

“Because it’s one more thing to give up.”

You understood him.  Even though their differences were so stark - their backgrounds misshapen and opposing - you still understood him.

He could barely control his face as it was - he was nervous about what it might give away when he was inside you or when he peered up at you with his cock between your legs.

“You’re safe with me,” you assured him, brushing your lips over his knuckles. “I’d never ask for more unless you wanted to give it.”

The Din currently shuddering at your touch - could not keep his eyes off you as you opened him up on your hand. He grinds into it - nearly humping the curl of your fingers as he growls in both measured frustration and dizziness.

“More?” you urge. You’re not sure if you’re doing this right. You’re not sure if you need to keep making room or if he’ll be able to handle it.

He nods, his bottom lip wet and red as he bites through it. “You can - you can fuck me.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing. Your lower muscles are pulsing as they’re violently dragged over a plain with short divots and hills built for small shocks of pleasure. There is just so much: the brush of the silicon base against your swollen clit - the way Din’s voice growls and trembles like something wounded and desperate - his skin feverish on yours. Still - it’s not close to reaching the actual climb of the mountain - the jump-off where you’d certainly crash headlong into your climax. You doubt there will be enough friction to get off, but -

That’s okay because this is for Din.

“Yeah?” You lean forward so you can kiss him - tongue scooping into his mouth as he returns it clumsily. His eyes are half-mast - blinking through a haze of overwhelming sensation. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He snorts. “Pretty girl - like you could ever hurt me.”

“Okay,” you exhale  before gripping his thigh. “Turn over.”

He does immediately - lazily rolling onto his hands and knees while you slick up the cock they’d bought. You wipe your hands on the sheets before grabbing his hips to angle yourself. You use your own knees to spread him apart - widen his thighs and he ducks his head at the movement  - shivers when you bend down to lick the sweat off his lower back.

“C’mon, baby,” he says. “You can fuck me. I want you to.”

His voice is far from domineering - it’s laced with question - never demanding or insistent. He begs for you, but he doesn’t order you. If you were the one beneath him - with his fingers knuckle deep in your asshole - it’d be different. Din would slap one of your cheeks and tell you to spit on his fingers because he was going to wreck you.

You think back to what he had said earlier in the night - when he tried to find reasons for why he wanted you to fuck him like this.

It’s - it’s about the control. The lack of it. I don’t know - I just really want you to take care of me.

There it was - right there - he wanted to put himself in your hands - quite literally. He wanted to relinquish the power he held - the strength and common sense - and give it to you. No strings. No crossed-fingers. Just - his faith in you.

You were his wild card - the one he was always reeling in - the emotional sharp-shooter who he constantly had to restrain - and hold steady until you calmed down enough to hear reason. He fucked you like that - fucked you until you went pliant and dreamy. He just wanted a taste of that same flavor.

You line the strap-on up before sliding the head through the slick, wet mess between Din’s cheeks. You prod at his hole - observing the way it begins to stretch around it before you slide all the way inside. Din makes a choked noise - loud and wrecked as he slams the flat of his palm across the headboard.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

“Oh Maker,” you squeak. “Did that hurt? Fuck - I’m sorry - I didn’t mean -”

“More,” he grinds out - the words tangled between clenched teeth. “More, sweetheart. I can take it.”

You rest your hand across his spine before you use the other to hold onto his waist and leverage yourself. It’s very fucking weird - the feeling of it - the fact that this toy is not part of you so you’re stuck trying to hack your way through this blind. The only goal is to find the pieces of Din that need fucking. You pull him back onto you - your hips hitched up against the curve of his ass.

Your hair is in your eyes and there’s sweat pooling down the planes of your back - most from nervousness and the rest from exertion. You shift your hips - angling yourself downward to find the right spot and then you thrust slow. Din shudders - his knuckles stretched white as he clings to the headboard. The cock slides easy - the obscene squelch of it driving through the lube you used on Din’s ass. You press your mouth to the parts of Din you can reach - tugging him back so you can lick a stripe up his shoulder or run your nails through his dark curls.

It’s a clumsy dance. You know practically nothing about what you’re doing and you’re already tired. You pull the cock to the head, letting it catch on the rim of Din’s hole before rocking it forward - hard and brutal. His head tips backward and he growls - low and rugged.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts. “You’re doing so well. So fucking good - gonna make you cum after this - gonna eat that tight pussy until you squirt all over me.”

Maker.

Din’s praise is delicious - each statement like a gentle caress across your skin - the echo of his plushy lips sliding down your throat. “Are you wet, little one?” he husks - his hand traveling behind  him so he can clasp the back of your thigh - thumb curving over the hump of your ass. “Is this getting you off? You fucking me open like this?”

Of course, Din can’t shut up even when you’re this deep inside him. You snake your hand up his spine before you curl your fingers into his thick hair and yank it back. The sweet curve of his stretched throat, the tense wrinkle in his jaw. He moans.

“Yeah, Din,” you smile. “I love it - love being buried inside you.”

“Shit, really?” he gasps. “You filthy little thing.”

You’re terrible at dirty talk. Awful. It makes you all flustered, but you’re trying your best - trying to wrap Din up with your sharp tongue as you spear him on your cock. You need to loosen him - saw through his walls to find the spot that will slam him over the edge.

“Fuck,” Din curses as his broad, heaving body moves back against yours - meeting you thrust for thrust - his muscles undulating beneath your steady hands. You shift minutely, angling just so that the cock starts kissing something new. “Fuck - I - I think -”

You’ve hit the target - his prostate - and you drag the head of the cock over and over it again and again. Din all but shakes, practically howling again the curve of his tongue. You have never seen Din this out of control - this loose and broken down and shattered to a thousand pieces and it delights you.

You’ll enjoy putting him back together - caressing him through his after-care. Embracing him beneath the plush blankets of this bed.

You pull him back against you and he goes easily. You notch your chin over his shoulder so you can see him - his lashes like soot strokes across his rose-flushed cheeks and his generous swollen lip caught between his stark smile. He has never looked more beautiful. You dig your teeth into his throat - feel the leap of his pulse and he reaches around himself to grab a handful of your ass cheek and squeezes until it will no doubt bruise.

You know you can’t keep this pace up. You’re almost certain you’ve pulled a muscle in your lower back because something is screaming, but it’s fine. You’re having too much fun to stop now and you want to see how far you can push your Mandalorian - how deep you can curl and press until he loses it.

“Jerk yourself off,” you whisper against his ear. “Please, gorgeous boy. Just - just do it for me.”

That seems to please him - slick him up and get him excited - because his hand is already traveling down - fingers trembling around the thick length of his weeping cock. He tugs it with a continuous liquid-smacking sound as he begs: 

“Call me that again.”

“Gorgeous boy.”

“Fuck. Yes.”

He’s got his other hand fisted in your hair - his tongue dragging over the constant beat of sweet girl, pretty fucking baby, you fuck me so good - so perfect - so fucking sexy.

You keep thrusting into him - long, deep strokes- inexorable - and everything between your legs has gone chafed and raw but you hold tight to his waist as you roll your hips up against his, stabbing through that desperate spot inside him.

His muscles bunch beneath your hand, his cheek rubbing furious against your own.

Your name explodes out of his mouth - spilling like froth from his lips as he repeats it on a loop - each letter aching. It bursts between the squelch of his cock in his fist, the harsh snap of your hips and your strap wetly bruising through the channel of his ass. Din says a lot of things - a lot of praise that loses its meaning as it devolves into something feverish and lyrical and then he cums - hot lashes of spend splattering across his stomach as his body stills flush against you. 

There’s a beat - seconds of silence as you both try to breathe.

And then the rest of him begins to twitch so you wrap your arms around him, your forearm firm around his chest, your palm across his forehead as you quiet him with soft, mouth sounds: Oh Din. You did so well. Beautiful boy. You’re mine.

He crumples into the bed - panting and shaking and red as a newborn babe.

You unlatch the harness - gently removing it from him. You’re trembling with him - your oxygen caught up in your throat as it struggles to escape. You collapse beside him and you’re cut open - stripped to flame-pink tissue as if your skin has been torn inside out. Din can barely speak, but somehow is able to shift on top of you, his fingers rolling across the nub of your clit before he moves down your body and swallows your cunt - the thick of his tongue flat against your slit and it takes nothing - absolutely no time at all - for him to make you shudder with release - your thighs splayed around his head as you pull his hair and cry.

It’s kind of pathetic, but you’re overstimulated - shoved through to exhaustion and Din places his cheek across the curve of your belly and holds tight. He breathes your name - lets it roll against the subtle, grind of your hips as you lock your knees to the sides of his upper back - the broadness of his shoulders keeping you spread.

“Pretty,” he hums, dancing fingertips across your thigh, swiping through the gleam of slick and lube. It bleeds thank you - it tastes like he is just a skeleton of nerves as he relishes in the after-glow of getting thoroughly fucked. “Pretty girl.”

You did that for me - it seems to say - to mean.

There has been no one before you. There will be no one after.

[allthingskakashi]

You said you don't write NSFW but what about a fluff "morning after" scenario for kakashi and a female S/O. Like, they had their first time the night before and they're waking up in the next morning and it's just fluff and cuteness all over. If you don't write this type of stuff either you can just ignore the ask. Take all the time you need if you're going to write it 💜

Hey anon! I’m good with writing a morning after! god it’ll be so fluffy and cute ugh and he’s gonna be the best!! Hope you like it! :)))

• The Morning After •

[Kakashi x Reader]

Languor takes over all your senses, making you barely aware of your surroundings. You want to get up, but it feels like you’re not even in control of your own body.

You squeeze your eyes tight as you feel the harsh bright rays of the Sun hitting your sleep ridden, heavy eyelids.  It must be well past when you usually wake up. You’re so sleepy, but you need to get up. This is your off day in a long time and you’ve got a lot to do. A list of all the things you need to get done once you’re up runs through your subconscious mind, perturbing you.

This fucking sunlight though, Jesus.

You force your eyes open just a slit. A blurry image of a room that’s not your own comes into view. Ugh I can’t even process anything.

You turn your gaze to your immediate vicinity and see an extended arm sticking out from under your head.

Oh.

Kakashi…

Images flood into your mind at the speed of light.

You and Kakashi watching TV…Kakashi carrying you from the couch to his bed… the two of you entangled in each other’s arms, kissing like it was for survival…him lifting your t-shirt slowly over your head…His mouth exploring your every curve and crevice…your sweaty bodies in rhythmic synchronization…both of your moans reverberating through the room…holding each other tight…falling asleep in his arms…

You feel the loud thud of your heart hammering in your chest as a montage of last night’s events plays through your mind. You’re fully awake and in your senses now. Your heart is racing as you recollect everything that happened just a few hours ago. Did that really happen?

Just the recollection sends a warm rush to your cheeks, followed closely by a feeling of overwhelming happiness in your heart. Yes, it did.

And with none other than Kakashi, the man you’re deeply in love with. The man you know loves you so much he’d die for you in a heartbeat. The man you know is the one.

You smile in contentment.

You take Kakashi’s hand sticking out from under your head and place a soft kiss on his palm, before intertwining your fingers with his. Judging by how motionless his hand feels, he must still be sound asleep. The thought of his beautiful face in tranquility, with his mussed hair sprawled all over it makes you smile to yourself. You slowly turn to your other side to face Kakashi, careful not to disturb him; anticipating a replicated sight of the image inside your head.

Facing him now, you rest your gaze upon him, only to catch him wide awake, staring at you with eyes so full of love and warmth, a subtle smile on his lips. His smile broadens as soon as your eyes meet.

He looks angelic lying there beside you, his ashen hair shining silver in the sunlight. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“Good morning”, you whisper, snuggling closer to Kakashi’s chest. “How long have you been up?”

He pulls you in further and kisses the top of your head. “A while. Did you sleep okay?”

“The best I’ve slept in ages” you answer truthfully.

“Me too” Kakashi says, firming up his grip around you, his tone husky from the sleep.

The Sun outside is starting to shine brighter now, making you just a tad clammy under all the covers. You bury your face in Kakashi’s chest, trying to block out the light.

He notices, indubitably. Nothing that causes you discomfort ever escapes the copy ninja’s observant eyes. He moves nearer, providing more of his chest as a shield to you. 

“I’m sorry about that. I was going to get up and pull the curtains but...” his voice drops low “but you were sleeping on my arm...and I didn’t want to move away” he finishes in a murmur, as if he’s almost embarrassed to admit it.

You raise your head to look at him and start chuckling.

  What did I ever to do deserve this guy?

You get an irresistible urge to just reach over and smother him with kisses.

“You’re so fucking cute, you know that?” you say, laughing. He flusters up, just as he always does whenever you compliment him.

“You might have mentioned it a few times” Kakashi says, trying to sound cocky but being deceived by the giddiness in his eyes.

“But still not enough” you say, pulling his face in towards you.

Holding his face in both your hands, you plant a kiss on his forehead, and then bridge of his nose, tracing your lips all over his face. His cheeks, his eyelids, the scar on his eye, his mole, and all across, before pressing your lips on his mouth. He immediately parts his lip, greeting your tongue into his mouth with his own. He requites, taking your face in his hands and pulling you to him as your tongues meet in fervent swirls.

You keep going till you’re completely breathless. You pull your lips apart slowly, panting and unwilling to stop, your lips like opposite ends of a magnet; but needing to catch your breath.

“Well that certainly makes up for missing out on our morning work out today” you remark with smile, your voice teasing.

Kakashi laughs. “More than makes up.”

You fall back down on the bed again, lying side by side on your backs in shared silence, taking in the warmth of each other’s presence.

“Y/n”, Kakashi’s voice breaks the silence after a while. You turn your face to see him looking at you, a solemnness in his eyes, almost as if he’s scared.

“You’re okay, right? I didn’t…hurt you or anything? Please don’t be afraid to tell me whatever you feel. I love you...I hope you know that, even though I may not say it that often. And I really hope that last night was just as great for you as it was for me.” He finishes, his tone genuine but tense.

The sincerity in his voice tugs at your heartstrings. No one has ever cared for you so much before. But then, no one before was Kakashi. You’ve been with guys before, but none of them ever made you feel the way Kakashi did. And you didn’t care much for how they made you feel either, they’d meant nothing to you. But Kakashi… he was perfect in every way. He was so considerate and patient with you, making sure you were okay and having a good time every step of the way. He had never even rushed you to do anything despite the two of you being together for almost 6 months now. He had never so much as hinted at anything.

You reach out and put your hand across his cheek, stroking it lightly.

“Kakashi… last night was the most beautiful night of my life. You were great. And I’m FINE. Better than fine. I’m really happy, and I’m glad last night happened. And i do know how much you love me. I love you too.” you say smiling as you stroke out the frown lines on his face. 

Kakashi’s eyes soften, relief flowing over his face, smoothing out his features. A strange stiffness that you had noticed in him all this while vanishes and Kakashi looks like himself again. Even better, he looks happy. He beams at you, leaning over and placing a kiss on your lips.

“Well, how about some breakfast? I’ll make you your favorite.” Kakashi asks, sitting up on the bed now.

“Oh no, that’s fine, you don’t have to. I actually better get going. I have a lot to do today” you say, sighing, sitting up yourself.

“No, you don’t” Kakashi says, flatly.

You look at him, befuddled. “What do you mean? Yes, I do. I have to get my laundry, do some grocery shopping, organise my kitchen cabinets, clean my—”

“It’s all taken care of.” Kakashi answers, in the same flat voice.

“Huh?” you look at him, your face scrunched up, completely confused.

Kakashi laughs at the look on your face and takes your hands in his.

“Well, Y/n…I really wanted to spend the day with you. We hardly ever get off days or get to spend much time together. I wanted to spend time with you today so I got some clones and my ninken to care of all that for you”

You look at him, open mouthed, completely speechless.

“what did you- how did you even know what all I needed to do?”

“just saw the to-do list on your refrigerator last time I was at your place” he shrugs.

You gape at him, trying to process.

“Wait a minute, you really got Pakkun to agree to do my CHORES?”

 “Well...” he pauses for a while… “eventually.” “you know I can sweet talk anyone into anything” Kakashi finishes, with a sly grin and a wink.

You laugh, staring at Kakashi in awe, completely caught off guard by all of this.

As the initial shock and confusion of the situation subsides , a sense of relief floods through you. You feel a little guilty for feeling this way but the realization that you now have no chores to do for the entire day and are free to spend a whole day with your boyfriend makes you way too happy to mull over that right now. Both your heart and your mind feel free of any worries. It’s just you and him now.

You crawl closer to Kakashi, climbing over his extended legs and positioning yourself on his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, as his back rests against the headboard.

A mischief filled smile plays across your lips as you look deep into the eyes of the copy ninja.

“Well then...how about I sweet talk you into joining me for a shower right now, to properly express my gratitude... and then we can make breakfast and spend the rest of the day together?”

Kakashi pulls you in with a jerk, gripping your hips in his hands and returning your smile.

“no sweet talking necessary for that.”

[fallingoverharrypotter]

If We Make It Through January 7th

Draco and Harry on the wrong side of the holiday season, making the gloom a little bit brighter. Also on AO3 here.

I’m barely through the front door of the place before I catch a glimpse of the man behind the counter and freeze up. Right there in the doorway.

A frustrated cough comes from behind me, and I hear a rude “excuse me.”

I swear. “Sorry,” I move out of their way, back onto the icy cobblestones: the patron flicks me an insincere smile as they hurry into the warmth of the bakery, and the door shuts in my face with a clang. The noise of the store, regular café sounds and music with it. That’s unfortunate, as Diagon still has Christmas jingles incessantly twinkling across the cold brick back and forth down the alley on this side of the new year, and that’s… only one part of the reason I want to enter.

Surely there are other places on Diagon that sell hot drinks and buns this late on a Wednesday. But… I know there aren’t. Even in muggle London.

Going home empty handed on Monday was one thing, but going home empty handed on Wednesday seems out of the question.

The cheerful drawings of smiling faces and steaming pastries on the glass are mocking me - there’s raucous noise of laughter just from the other side of the windows. I’m drawn up close and shivering in my winter robe, and it’s so cold that the warming charms keep wearing off. There are the sludgy remnants of snow on the cobbles, and I had to save myself from a couple of falls on the way down here. The blush on my cheeks is definitely from the embarrassment of the wobbles, but thankfully it’ll be passed off as the bite of the air. He probably won’t realise a difference anyway.

I take a deep breath, and go to reach for the door again, but then my hand stops, barely within my control. I close my eyes and try once more. Breathe deep, hand out to grasp the handle. I pretend not to think about whether any patrons of the bakery are staring at me through the glass. I hypothesise that if this takes me longer than five minutes, I’ll get an Auror called on me for drunk and disorderly, and wouldn’t that truly make my day.

Suddenly, it’s too much. I don’t even want to see his face. Wednesday pastries will just have to go without. It’s a silly tradition anyway. Surely if I’m ever allowed to forgo a habit, it would be as a new year’s resolution. It was his neurotic practice anyway. Probably one of those things I should toss out like I did all the rest of his stuff.

I take another deep breath and point my chin up, stare challengingly at one stupid smiling figure on the glass, and turn to make my way down to the other apparition point at the end of Diagon.

Stupid ex-boyfriends and stupid bleeding-heart holiday seasons. I manage to keep my feet reasonably stable as I walk down the almost icy path on this darker end of the street.

Unfortunately for me, however, a loud noise startles me and I completely wipe out.

A loud grunt expels itself from my chest as my back hits the ground. Thankfully my neck and head seem to be pretty well protected by the thick green scarf I’ve got wrapping me up, but my ass doesn’t fair all that well. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, and groan as I roll over onto my side. I wince when a sharp twinge in my back is set off with my movement.

Thankfully I’m not alone in my predicament, because the noise that startled me was an initial slick sharp sound of a slip against the icy cobbles. I tilt my head up and see heavy black boots, worn just slightly at the sole, and the figure of their owner, a man in amongst a mountain of sludgy snow that someone had just moved to the side instead of vanishing. I mutter to myself about the absolute travesty which is Diagon without proper foot traffic. People here get bloody careless this time of year.

I push myself up by my gloved hands, now soaked, along with the backside of my cloak. “Are you alright?” I half-heartedly direct to the man who I can hear angrily muttering to himself in his current position. I have to pay direct attention to getting my feet under me so that I don’t make another trip, but I do finally stabilise myself. I sigh crossly. My penance for getting so startled is that I don’t immediately get to grab my wand and dry myself off.

The man sighs too. His reply is muffled, but I think I can make out a “yep”. Charming.

He’s not moving though, so I huff out a breath impatiently and wander over to where he lies carelessly under an awning, face shadowed from Diagon’s twinkling lights. Good King Wenceslas chimes out of the charms on the street, and seems to mock me, and I have to force myself to think of how best to rectify this. I hope this guy isn’t drunk. Or maybe I hope he is, so that I can just call the aurors to deal with this.

“Are you pissed?” I ask, just to know.

“I wish.” Is his muffled reply. “Would be a bit less embarrassing if I were, I think.”

I roll my eyes. “Can you get up?”

“Yep.” He repeats, and then groans again as he pulls himself out of the soaking wet, dirty grey cushion, that is the snow bank.

My mouth drops open. “Potter?”

And, yep indeed. It’s Potter. He’s leaning back on gloved hands when he looks up at me quickly and then he groans. Throws his wet haired head back, and those green eyes look up at the awning like he’s berating whatever trickster god pulls his strings of fate. Or, so I assume.

He leans his weight on a single hand and stretches out the other in my direction.

For a second, I think he’s extended it so we can shake hands, before I realise that he just wants a hand up. I flush and hasten – carefully – over. A quick pull from my hand and he does the rest of the work, but he has to grab at my shoulders when he’s upright, a little wobbly.

He looks at me and grimaces. “I’m a danger to myself and others.” His hands release my shoulders, but only, it seems, to brush off bits of snow and dirt off of my coat.

I huff, my breath making a cloud of vapour in the space between us. “Well, I won’t disagree with you on that. Do you need me to go and get someone for you, or can you make your merry way to your reserved bed at Mungos?”

He laughs just a little. “It’s always a pleasure, Draco, honestly.” He’s joking, so I reserve the right to kick him until later. Maybe when he’s a bit less pathetic from the slip. “Are you okay?”

I scowl, and don’t answer his question. “It’s bloody 6pm on a Wednesday. In the middle of winter. After a snow storm. Who’s honestly buying wands this time of year?”

He smiles, winks slightly. “Gotta be made, don’t they?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, I get it. You’re chained to your desk. A snowstorm fit for the arctic circle could blaze through here and you couldn’t be moved.”

He laughs. Harry laughs the same way he’s always laughed, and I blush just a little bit, as I’ve always done. I feel a shiver start to come upon me, but I keep it away by share force of will as he continues. “The new year is good for the thestral tail hair.” A dirty glove subconsciously comes up to rub at his wet hair, and he grimaces when he feels it. “Decay, new life, you know. The Death-horses and Winter going hand in hand.”

I smirk as he tentatively tries to rub his dirty glove off against a cleaner part of his cloak. “Cruel of them. Not taking the time to consider your plight.”

“Well,” he challenges, “I doubt it’s a major concern. It’s actually not every day that I slip and fall on the pavement. I survive my walks, mostly.”

“Well,” I answer, “I never slip or fall.” I raise a haughty eyebrow at him, and I can see the humour dust his eyes a little bit more. “Don’t go blaming me for this.”

He rolls his eyes and grimaces. “Why are we still so wet.” He flicks his hand and a wave of annoyingly familiar magic crests itself over my figure until the dirt and the moisture are driven right away. I flick a warming charm over him in thanks.

He seems to pay a bit more attention to his surroundings now that he’s dry and warm. “You just come from Finch-Fletchley’s? You mind reminding him that if the other shops are closed down for the holidays that it’s his job to vanish the snow after a blanketing?”

I avert my eyes, drawn to the bright lights of the bakery. I scowl. “You can tell him yourself, thank you very much.” I take a deep breath, and straighten my back. Keeping some decorum, hopefully. “We’ve broken up.”

Potter’s eyebrows are up when I glance quickly back to his face. He looks at me, and his face is very controlled. He looks at the bakery. “When?”

I swallow. “Week before Christmas, if you can believe.”

He can’t seem to stop himself from whistling sympathetically. Then he winces. “Sorry.”

I shrug, casually. “No matter.”

He snorts.

“I’m serious” I say, pointlessly.

He crosses his arms and looks hard at me. “Oh yeah? What are you doing here, then? Surely not too many muggleborns turning 11 around this time of year.”

Not to back down, and turn to face him properly and cross my own arms. “You know full well that’s not all I do, Potter.”

He rolls his eyes. “Like my point doesn’t still stand. What? You doing a lot of muggleborn house calls the week after new year’s?”

“Not every muggleborn celebrates Christmas and New Year’s.”

“Sure, technically. In reality, though?”

I turn away, and don’t answer his questions. He snorts, but then steps a little closer. We’re facing the bakery, because of course we are. O’ Holy Night plays above us. I wonder who chooses these songs.

I hear him take a deep breath in and out. “I really am sorry.”

I sigh, too. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s only been two weeks, Draco.”

Two weeks and 5 days. If we’re counting. I don’t say this though.

He bumps my shoulder. “Not to pick at the wound, but what areyou really doing here.”

I consider lying to him again, but we’re not really in the business of doing that. It’d just be a bore. And he’s always been… good about things like this. “Christmas.” I swallow. “It gets lonely, you know.”

He hums.

I kick out at the ground with my foot and it slides a little bit too far, and I end up having to take a step forward to balance myself again – Potter grabs at my arm.

He laughs, a little anxiously. “Never slip and fall, huh?”

I ignore that, my face flushed and hot. “We had a tradition. Wednesday pastries at the bakery. I would assume it’s common decency to let someone know in advance if you’re going to break up with them. So that one can plan for these moments, right?” I close my eyes against the lights of Justin’s bakery, feeling unwelcome. “I apologise. I’m morose. It’s not exactly the post-holiday cheer I’m sure you want on a nice evening.”

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t call this a nice evening.” My warming charm wears off, and he flicks his wrist for another one to settle over us. He lets go of my upper arm, and puts a hand on my shoulder – drags me around a bit to face him. “Fuck him, right?”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not a bad guy, Potter.”

He rolls his eyes right back, and then looks quite serious. “Be a little indulgent with yourself sometimes, Draco.”

I look back at him. He’s only just shorter than me, and I’ve always cherished that fact, but now he almost seems to be towering over me, even with a bit of a slouch to his stand. His messy hair and his shadowed cheeks and under-eyes the likes of which I only really see during the summer break when I’m chaperoning muggle families and their muggleborn children to get their first wands before September. Working too hard. Chained to his desk.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” I blurt out.

His eyes widen. So do mine. The heat in my face expands to a blaze, and I groan as I drop it into my cold gloves. “Merlin, I’m sorry. You just said the indulgent thing, and I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Hey, it’s fine.” He grabs at my wrists lightly and tugs a bit, but I don’t budge. “Draco.”

A clang mutely sounds from just up the street, the usual echo of the door in the cobbled street trapped by the snow. “Draco?” I hear, and look up. Startle, because that’s definitely Justin at the door, surrounded in the glow of the lighting. I take a step back almost without thought, and Harry’s grip on my wrist unfortunately makes me lose my balance. I go right down, and he follows. Right on top of me.

I groan loudly, my head and back and arse all once again wet and cold. Harry groans too, and his warm weight gets off me very quickly, tugging me up by my hands, and then a hand tight on my waist to right me. I don’t step out of his grip immediately, too overcome with the situation. Ready to take another crack at the cobbles and see if this time I brain myself.

“Hell, Draco,” Harry mutters, and then grabs his wand to get the wet and the dirt off the both of us again. Another of his beautiful warming charms settles over my body. “We’re even now, okay? No more falls, for god’s sake.”

Justin has wandered a bit closer by the time I look away from Harry’s face, a little consternated. “Draco? Are you okay? Merlin, what are you doing standing out here?”

I don’t respond. Harry coughs. “That’ll be me. I basically tripped him earlier, and we got talking.”

Justin’s eyes widen just a little, and he looks at Draco in concern. “In this weather? It’s freezing! I’ll grab you mug of spice cider, alright?”

“No,” I say, finally finding my bloody voice again. “No, I’m fine. And anyway.” I shoot a glance at Harry. “We’re tied one-for-one.” Harry smirks.

Justin continues when I look back to him. “Dray, come on. A cup of cider, a bite to eat.”

I shake my head, wanting this day to be done with already. “I’ve got plans.”

Justin eyes get just a little softer. “Come on, please?”

“He does. Have plans.” Potter says, and my neck twinges with how fast I turn to look at him. “We’re going to dinner.”

Justin goggles, just a little, looks between Harry and me. There’s a certain part of me – a different part to the one that’s processing whether or not Harry means what he said about dinner – that’s a little vindictively pleased about Justin’s reaction. “Oh!” Justin says. “Okay, no… No worries!” He meets my eyes, and I flush. “It was good to see you. Please, do come around. The staff miss you, you know.”

I smile politely. “Thanks, Justin.” I stand a little taller, and nod to him. “Take care.”

“You too.” And he grins kindly, lifting a hand to Harry and me, before hastening back into the warm sanctuary of his bakery. The door does its little muted clang again as it closes. My mouth – still sitting in a polite smile – relaxes, leaving a little pain in my cheeks.

Harry hums. “Do you ever think that we’re all a bit toomature now?”

Surprisingly, I laugh loudly at that. I’m nodding even before I get the words out. “Yes. I’d almost wish to be fifteen again and have a real proper tantrum about this.” I sigh, laugh a little again. “But, you know. Fifteen-year-old me? Good riddance.”

“I don’t know…” Harry trails off, “there were some redeeming qualities. He was certainly a creative sort.”

I goggle at him, and immediately stop when I realise that I’m imitating Justin to some extent. “Stop having me on.”

Harry… laughs. “Yeah, I’m having you on. You were a right bastard.”

I shake my head, and turn away from the lights of the bakery, and start walking. He’ll surely catch up.

“I was serious.” Harry says, and I turn my head a little to let him know I’m listening as I walk. “About dinner.”

“I assumed so,” even though that’s a bit of a lie.

“And,” Harry catches up. “I mean ‘dinner’ as in. A date.”

I’m not proud of this, but I slip. Just a little. “Fuck,” I say as I try to catch myself. Thank goodness that Potter’s a bit more onto it, though. He just grabs my arm, and an arm around my back. Straightens me up.

“Bloody hell, I should have talked to him about the snow vanishing,” Harry’s saying as I brush off my cloak to hide my flush. “It’s all the Diagon Business Association talks about during winter, I don’t know what he’s on-”

“Harry.”

He stops and looks at me. Christmas music is still playing, and its still grating, but goodness the lights work well on his complexion. And his eyes.

I smile, just a little. “We’ve got dinner plans, I thought? We could talk about this there, surely?”

He laughs.

[bondsmagii]

Here’s something I really can’t explain.

To sum up: I shouldn’t be alive right now. I shouldn’t be writing this. I have no idea how any of this could have happened, but the fact you’re reading this now is kind of living proof that it did happen, so I suppose I’ll try and explain it as best as I can.

A little backstory for you. Way back in the late forties, my great-grandfather was a young man working with the local fire department. He came back after the war and just couldn’t settle into any kind of desk job, so despite my great-grandmother worrying about his mental state he ended up running into burning buildings for a living. Naturally he saw some messed up shit, but nothing haunted him more than a hotel fire that he attended.

At the time there had been an annual prize night for a local grammar school. Hundreds of kids and their families were crammed into the hotel’s large ballroom when a stray match lit up the curtains on the stage. Back in the day they weren’t exactly great about fire safety, and the walls and furniture were panelled or made with highly flammable materials. The whole room went up in minutes. Over one hundred people died, over half of which were children below the age of fifteen. It was an indescribable tragedy, and my great-grandfather – along with every first responder there – was scarred for life over the things he saw that evening.

My great-grandfather did his best to live with what happened, and for the most part he did well, all things considered. All of his grief seemed to be directed towards one little girl, who was never identified or claimed. She was badly burned but not unrecognisable; the theory was that her whole family had died with her, leaving nobody left to notice she was gone. She wasn’t the only person to suffer this fate, unfortunately – all told, five people were never claimed by families – but because my great-grandfather was the one to pull her body from the wreckage, he sort of became obsessed with her. He was preoccupied until his death with finding out her identity, and every year on the anniversary of the fire he visited her grave to lay a wreath. Unfortunately, he died without ever finding out who she was.

Fast forward a few decades, and I’m in my early twenties. My great-grandfather died when I was quite young, so I only had a small idea of this part of his history. It was, however, enough to make me wary of large fires – especially hotel fires. One summer, I’m visiting another city for my younger brother’s university graduation, and I stay the night in a hotel near the city centre. I remember fires were on my mind already, because initially they had tried to give me a room on the twenty-third floor, and I had politely refused and requested a lower floor. (An old maxim of my great-grandfather’s: never stay on a floor where you wouldn’t survive the fall.) Because of the graduation, the hotel was packed, and I ended up on the fifth floor in the end, but I figured it was better than nothing.

The first night was fine. The second night a fire broke out. The hotel had had some electrical rewiring done within the last month, and something went wrong. The fire smouldered for hours, undetected, before spreading into multiple parts of the ventilation system. Smoke and flame was pushed to all corners of the hotel before the fire cut out the power. Later, investigators would discover that the fire burned through the power for the smoke and fire detection alarms almost immediately – yet somehow the fire alarms went off. This is only the beginning of the inexplicable that night.

By the time the alarms woke me, my room was already filled with smoke. I had been drilled on this so many times as a child that it was instinctive for me to roll off the bed and onto the floor; only then did I start to panic. Luckily I had fallen asleep with the curtains open – the only time I had ever done that in a hotel – and the city lights illuminated the room enough to let me know the smoke was only in the top two thirds of the room, and not as thick as it could have been. I had time to crawl into the bathroom, wet a towel, and tie it around my nose and mouth. Then I crawled to the door and lay a hand flat on it. The door was cool, so I cautiously pulled it open.

In the hallway, it was pitch dark. This is the worst case scenario for any fire. Smoke disorientates people, and they feel ill from inhaling it. Panic compounds the confusion. People can get lost in their own homes – hotels are the worst place for something like this. People stand little chance of getting out if they haven’t memorised an exit, and even then it’s not foolproof. I should know. I always memorise exits, but when I went out of my room I turned the wrong way. I don’t know why. I was panicking, I was confused, and I just made the wrong choice. It should have cost me my life.

I realised my mistake as soon as I reached the end of the hall. The door there was propped open (fire safety hazard, I remember thinking, like it mattered at that point) but I could see no flames. The door led to the stairwell, and I had just crawled out onto it when the entire world went black. The smoke and flame had intensified, the fire sucking in oxygen and the smoke being forced up the stairwell like a huge chimney. It spilled over the edges of the landing and enveloped me even hunched on my hands and knees. My eyes began to sting and water; I couldn’t see anything. I crawled back and bumped into the wall, and for several long seconds that felt like minutes, I couldn’t find my way out of the stairwell. The heat was evaporating the water in the towel, and the sheer amount of smoke meant it wasn’t doing much good anyway. By the time I finally made it back out into the hall, I was coughing and choking. Panic made me pull the towel down. I only took the smallest breath before the floor tilted under me and I experienced a horrible rush of lightheadedness – with smoke so toxic, sometimes a breath is all it takes.

I kept crawling, heading back towards my room, now realising my mistake. At that point I was forcing myself to stay calm, but it wasn’t working. I had realised I had probably just gotten myself killed, and it was almost impossible to breathe. The temperature was climbing, and I knew the fire was close. I could hear screaming from somewhere nearby, doors slamming. Every single rational thought had left. I scrambled down the hallway in pure panic, and then I saw the child.

She was hunched down, looking right at me. She wasn’t in any kind of night clothing – she looked like she was still in the clothing she would have worn at the graduation ceremony, a neat little dress and polished shoes, a ribbon tied in her hair. She was perhaps eight years old at my best guess, and seeing her shocked some sense into me. Before I could speak or gesture to the direction she should go, she waved and then pointed.

“Come on, mister,” she said. “This way.”

Together we crawled to the other end of the hallway. Smoke was billowing from that stairwell, too, thick and dark though still not as bad as the other one. Either way it didn’t look good, but the little girl didn’t seem concerned – not even when we crawled out onto the landing, and the orange flicker of flames was visible several floors below.

“No,” I said. “It’ll be too hot.”

“Come on, mister,” she said again.

She began scrambling down the stairs, staying as low as possible. I could hardly leave her, so I followed.

The heat was unbearable, and by the time we were on the floor below, visibility was zero. The smoke was so thick and black that even the flicker of the flames had vanished; the only way I knew how close they were was from the heat and the deafening roar of it. Have you ever been near to a large bonfire? Have you heard how loudly it crackles? That’s nothing. Big fires, they roar. They sound closer to a freight train, a tornado. It’s a sound so loud that it sets off a primal kind of terror, even without the heat and the smoke to add to the danger. What I’m saying is that it’s something that’s very difficult to crawl towards, yet there we were.

I couldn’t see the little girl, but every time I began to panic she would reach back and touch me. The heat grew and I could smell my hair burning, my clothing threatening to catch. The floor was excruciating, and while I didn’t realise it at the time, I was in the process of receiving third degree burns on my hands and knees from the floor alone. I felt faint, the heat making my head pound. It seemed to drain my of my energy, and during those last seconds – as we passed directly past the floor where the inferno was at its worst – I was sure I was running only on pure animal instinct to get away.

Then we descended into the hallway below the fire, and it was all gone. The heat lingered, but it was nothing compared to what it was before. The smoke was hazy grey, high up by the ceiling. The little girl was tugging at me, and I realised I’d collapsed to the ground.

“Quickly, mister!” she said now. “Not far!”

In my pain and confusion, it didn’t occur to me that she wasn’t burned; that she had no difficulty breathing. She tugged hard at my clothing, and while I didn’t know that my clothing was alight at the time, later I remembered and wondered how she had done it. With her prompting and encouragement I made it down the last of the stairs and out into the hotel’s lobby, which was shockingly untouched. Alarms were blaring, but the room was free of smoke and many of the hotel’s employees remained there, grabbing people as they emerged, coughing, from stairwells and hurrying them outside. When I stumbled into the lobby I was immediately tackled by several employees who were, I was later told, beating the flames from me. I had stumbled into the lobby on fire.

I don’t remember anything else. I didn’t have time to mention the girl. I passed out, and was kept in a medically induced coma while my body recovered from serious burns. I very nearly didn’t make it, and when I awoke I had several months of painful operations and skin grafts to go. My hands were badly burned, though the doctors managed to save nearly all my fingers – I’m only missing the little fingers to the first knuckle, and while the scarring is bad I can use the hands well. My knees are badly scarred but functional. My back isn’t pretty to look at, but it doesn’t bother me now, not outside of itching in the heat. I forgot about the girl until just before I was released from hospital, five months later, but to my relief I was told that no children had died in the fire. Whoever she was, she had gotten out safe.

Almost a year later, my grandfather died. He was the son of my firefighter great-grandfather, and when my own father and I were around his house, sorting through his things, we came across some of my great-grandfather’s stuff. Medals, a few old photographs of the family, some letters. My father and I went through the pictures, my father pointing out relatives and telling a few stories here and there. What you would expect from such an occasion, really – but then I found an old picture of a little girl.

I recognised her immediately as the little girl I had seen in the hotel – there was no denying it. The picture was an unpleasant one, taken post-mortem, and while half of her body was badly charred the other half looked as though she could be sleeping. Her hair was the same, the bow singed but present. The dress was the same. I could even still hear how she sounded. Come on, mister! I was so shocked I didn’t say anything. My father looked at it for a long moment, and then he gave a sad sigh.

“I wish he had found out who she was,” he said. “That haunted him. He felt like he failed her.” He took the photo from me and looked a little more closely at it. “Nonsense, of course. He did everything for that little girl. I’m sure she would thank him if she could.”

She did, I thought. She did.

[wixelt]

Season β AU #002 - Welcome to β

So when we last left off on the Season β AU, the Hermits had been kidnapped by shadow doubles of themselves & dropped into an unknowable reality made up of an infinite blue jungle under an empty, Void-like sky. So, what’s next from there in the weird dream I had?

Well, from here, things get a little less ordered, but i’ll set it up as best I can.

- All the Hermits wake alone, with no-one else nearby, something i’m certain my unawake mind drew from @hermitcraftheadcanons’ Scattered AU (check it out if you haven’t, it’s great). I can tell from this that my dream originally intended this to be an alt version of Season 7 - though it isn’t now - as one of the “arriving alone” bits was Scar turning up in the jungle, as he does at the start of S7 (was in full wizard gear in my dream, to boot :P ). I want to play with the most recent info on S7, though, so post-S7 it is instead.

- There’s a few things various Hermits find odd or outright alarming beyond just what they can see after doing the normal “player” thing of crafting some basic tools to survive to take their mind off the panic. X discovers his admin powers are completely gone. They’re not even inaccessible, they’re just... not there. Anyone else who has command access notices this quite quickly too, & nobody misses the complete lack of access to communications.

- And all of the Hermits, beyond this, find that mining & crafting is broken somehow. Mumbo swings his fist to punch a tree, & cries out in pain, the wood far harder than even his practiced hands were ready for. It’s nothing more than a sting, & he’s fine once he’s gotten used to it, but it came as a shock, & rather than getting a log block for his troubles, he watches the section of tree, on his final punch, explode into a million useless splinters of wood, only a few large enough to put in his inventory. After a while, the Hermits begin to find that, with enough of these fragments, they can build a rudimentary sword (False manages this faster than most others), or a pick, or some planks, but it makes everything far more of a slog, as if the world is fundamentally dragging them down.

- In the months to follow - in the part of this that reminds me of Sky Factory - they will find that stone has the same problem, but worse. Stone drops... nothing. Absolutely nothing. Same with anything else underground, which would be bad for ore mining... if there were any ores to mine. Instead, through much trial & error, the Hermits find that crafting enough layers, combinations & types of wood & dirt together (in my dream I saw someone crafting thousands of Rubies together to get something - so I guess Rubies also exist here) - like those mods that have compressed blocks - gets you stone, & magnitudes more effort beyond that to get iron, gold, redstone, etc. Magnitudes further still to get even a single, tiny fragment of diamond, & then there’s netherite, & the other top tier, heavy duty materials & tools Minecraft has.

- By a year into this hell, the Hermits collectively have maybe enough diamond for less than half a set of armor between them, & no netherite to speak of. It hasn’t exactly been their main focus, though.

- With that initial panic out of the way, maybe it’s time to introduce you to where the Hermits are. This is Season β. That isn’t it’s actual name, if it even has one, but as far as the Hermits’ season system works, it’ll suit it well enough. It’s a sort of underlying junk/echo reality (in the part of the dream that was probably drawn from the Backrooms creepy-pasta) that runs beneath the entire Minecraft multiverse. All the echoes of worlds, all the little bits of lost history or forgotten places that never should have been or that simply slipped through the cracks... this is what β is. The place where all these various never weres have coalesced into an infinite, broken place where the usual rules of the Minecraft realms don’t consistently apply... and the Hermits are stuck here.

- β isn’t entirely this infinite, headache inducing blue jungle. This is just one layer of the dark infinity. There’s at least 11 layers, though I imagine there’s actually infinite or functionally infinite amounts. In my dream, I remember there was mentioned a 6th Layer, a 10th Layer, and I think an 11th Layer. I recall that one layer, I think the 10th Layer, was gradually “eating” away at another layer despite them being supposedly infinite, probably the 11th, in my dream, so in order to have the Hermits not immediately have to deal with that metaphysical clusterfrick, i’m stating now that the “Jungle” is the 6th Layer. How the Hermits are meant to get from layer to layer, or if they’d even want to, is undetermined.

- This endless hell is, well, just that: hell. And nothing shows that more than when a Hermit dies for the first time. It’s False who’s the unfortunate one. Being one of the most resourceful of the group, she manages to craft a stone sword within the first few weeks, sets up some basic shelter, & even manages to reunite with a couple of the other Hermits after days of trekking for miles & miles at a time, herself Ren & Stress managing to build a perimeter to keep out the mobs, which have thankfully been both keeping to their normal behaviors despite a few anomalies & been spawning in lesser numbers due to the jungle biome & copious amounts of leaves.

- So when a creeper unfortunately gets the drop of her in the midst of an unexpected mob horde - glowing with red lightning, of all things - and all the Hermits see her death message, it comes as a shock. Thankfully, she had a bed, so she dashes back to where Ren & Stress are waiting... & blinks in surprise as their eyes widen in shock & horror. Unnerved, False catches her reflection in a nearby pool of water... & flinches in fear as she sees the empty socket where her right eye used to be, as if it simply vanished. She can still mostly see fine, somehow, but her right eye’s “vision” is strange and hazy, with occasional flickering, & she swears she keeps seeing something moving in the corner of her eye, despite Ren & Stress assuring her there’s nothing there. And that’s not even getting into the strange, single black tally line that she later finds has appeared on her left shoulder like some sort of tattoo...

- This, unfortunately, isn’t the extent or even the specific outcome that awaits someone each time they die. It has the potential to get quite... odd. False got off quite lightly the first time losing an “eye”, all things considered.

- It is over a year before Grian - who was left behind from the party due to illness - sees any of his friends again. Through a means I haven’t yet decided on, he finds some manner of reaching β, albeit one-way & by accident, while searching for everyone with assistance from others. What he finds, though still his friends & relieved to see him, isn’t as pristine as he remembers. Time in β has not been kind.

- And I've decided it is Grian who gets left behind, rather than Jevin. I had this thought that maybe my dream “labelled” it as Grian but meant Jevin because in one part of the dream Grian appears “slimy” & face paint seems to melt right off him due to that (was an odd moment even with context). But given what β can do to people, apparently, i’m willing to lock the one left behind in as Grian.

Cutting it off again. Still a few things I haven’t gotten into, I think, but this is already a long post. :P

[kosmosguk]

Hi!!! Are there any bts yandere profiles we shoud know about?? Like what sort of yandere is each member. Can i request that you do a yandere profile for each member?? Thanks!

I did a brief version of this for my post BTS as yanderes based on their MOTS 7 song, but this gives me an opportunity to elaborate more and be more detailed! Sorry for the slow posting; luckily school’s ending soon which means I get a break to catch up on my inbox :) Thanks to everyone who’s been supporting me and a BIG shoutout to the anon who sent me the long incredibly sweet message because y’all are the reason I’m posting this week<3 (also this gives me a reason to look at pics of heartthrob bts)

warnings: yandere themes (toxic relationships), mentions of violence, mentions of kidnapping, blackmail, implied deaths, gaslighting 

Kim Seokjin

Yandere Type: Controlling

Danger Level: 7

It’s often rare that Seokjin finds someone to take interest in; after all, he’s spent all of his life being the one who people took interest in. Thus, when he sees you, someone he finds as beautiful as himself, he falls too hard too fast. He sees you as a pretty doll, one that he can arrogantly toy with and play with as much as he wants, and, as the son of a wealthy family, he’s spent his life always getting what he wanted when he wanted it; you’re no exception. He’s not above using the power that comes with his family to force you into the role he has applied to you in his mind, whether it be subtle threats against your family or punishments. As his obsession with having control over you continues to grow, you better not refuse to play your role well; after all, if he snaps, you’ll find yourself waking up in a special room that he has designed for his precious little princess. 

Min Yoongi

Yandere Type: Overprotective 

Danger Level: 8

Yoongi’s a little rough around the edges; he’s cold and distant, or at least that’s what you think about him. You don’t even suspect that he’s harboring such dark, twisted intentions for you, even when those who have hurt you seem to be disappearing in such mysterious ways, and Yoongi always shows up looking scuffled. Those who are fortunate to survive can barely meet your eye, only showing up to apologize before abruptly vanishing; you find it weird, but you can’t help but think that your life has gotten so much easier. It takes a while for you to realize how overprotective Yoongi is; he’s always with you, refusing to part from your side unless you’re using the bathroom. With him by your side, it helps you to evade all of the rumors that’s floating about him, but the one person who brings up the rumor about Yoongi always ends up disappearing. But you barely realize that; not when Yoongi’s so adamant about protecting you from everything outside. 

Kim Namjoon

Yandere Type: Manipulative 

Danger Level: 8

Namjoon’s always been good with words; he can twist a situation that’s horrible into one that sounds like it’s meant to be. At least, that’s what you’ve deluded yourself into believing. He starts out small at first, passing remarks that shed doubt on the choices you’ve made like whether or not the dress you’re wearing is right, and the remarks grow until you can barely look outside the window without practically trembling. After all, Namjoon’s always right; everything he’s said that’s wrong with the outside world has happened, and if you were rational like you were a few months ago, perhaps you would’ve realized that everything that’s happened to you is much too planned out to be just coincidences. But you’re not the you from a few months ago; Namjoon has manipulated you well into placing your heart and mind into his grip. Even if there’s doubt in your heart, it’ll be quickly stomped out by your belief that Namjoon is always right. 

Jung Hoseok

Yandere Type: Two-Faced

Danger Level: 8

Hoseok, as a yandere, is good at fooling you; to you, he’s so nice and energetic, always smiling brightly and taking good care of you. But with others who dare to even look at you, he’s terrifying. If you ever looked at Hoseok in these moments, a callous look in his eyes, the same eyes that practically sparkle whenever he sees you, and his lips set firm in a line, the lips he uses to smile and kiss you tenderly with, and his hands, the ones that softly cradle your face, stained in a horrific red, you wouldn’t be able to recognize him. However, Hoseok is careful about revealing who he really is with you to the point where you would refuse to believe it if someone told you the truth. As long as you don’t suspect your loving and supportive boyfriend and don’t get too curious, you’ll be safe, but if you find out something that you shouldn’t find out about Hoseok, you can’t blame the drastic measures he’ll need to take to ensure you can never leave him.

Park Jimin

Yandere Type: Delusional 

Danger Level: 6-8

Jimin’s yandere type is quite volatile. He’s stuck in his own fantasies and delusions, in which you’re his pretty lover and he’s your doting boyfriend, and his fantasies will continue to escalate if you, out of fear, keep feeding them. One day you’ll be his lover, but then suddenly, he’s proposing to you in public, a bold smile on his face, and you’re terrified to say no as everyone around you claps and cheers. If you dare to try to push him out of them because hell, you don’t even know this guy besides a brief introduction at the start of college and he’s insisting that you’re dating, he’ll snap, and trust me, it will not be pretty. Either way, you’ll end up in what Jimin fondly calls ‘’our happily ever after,’’ the kind where you’ll have children running around, either from the both of you or lovingly adopted, and you’ll have the wonderful duty of prettily smiling by Jimin’s side until your last breath.

Kim Taehyung

Yandere Type: Obsessive 

Danger Level: 8

Taehyung, normally, loves art; he loves the beauty and the blend of emotion-provoking colors and lines that lies within the canvas of a masterpiece. As a yandere, his obsession with art continues to grow and decrease in stability after meeting you; he craves being able to put the image of you down onto paper, and he dreams, fingers twitching unconsciously, of sketching your face perfectly down. His studio is filled with half-finished portraits and crumpled sketches and walls filled with carefully creased photographs of you because no matter how much time and effort he pours into replicating your artistry, he can never achieve it. Taehyung comes to the conclusion that to really replicate your beauty, he needs to have you. You find yourself knocked out one night walking back home and waking up with a throbbing head to a man who’s as beautiful as the marble statues he’s surrounded himself with. You should pray and hope that his obsession with you will only remain at putting your image into art.  

Jeon Jungkook

Yandere Type: Clingy/Aggressive 

Danger Level: 5-9

Jungkook’s initially one of the softer yandere types, refusing to leave your side for even a second. As long as you don’t try to leave him, he’ll remain sweet, like the syrupy taste of honey. But, just like honey, you quickly find yourself getting sick. He’s too clingy, and he’s easily jealous, the kind of jealous that shows his more aggressive side and leaves a numb unsettling sense of terror gnawing deep in your bones. You try severing your relationship with him, and suddenly Jungkook, the Jungkook who’s always been gentle and soft with you if you ignore his bouts of horrible jealousy, changes. He becomes the Jungkook that terrifies you, the Jungkook that only comes out when he’s wracked with jealousy. If you resist him when he traps and confines you, he’ll only get worse, but if you give in and return to being his loving significant other, Jungkook will take it easier on you and become your sweet Jungkook again. 

[petrichoravellichor]

The Dead Man Lives, Carry On

For Day 2 of the Supernatural Deserved Better Creative Challenge (prompt: Dean is bisexual)

Rating: T

Characters: Dean Winchester x 2, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Jenny

Relationships: Dean Winchester & Dean Winchester (yes, you read that right), background implied Destiel

Summary: It’s one thing to tell yourself you’re bi. It’s a whole other thing to involve time travel. Then again, when has Dean Winchester ever done things the easy way? OR, the one in which a certain side character from season 1 gets dead a whole heck of a lot sooner. You’re welcome.

A/N: This is set near the end of 01x20, “Dead Man’s Blood,” immediately following the scene on the highway in which Dean, Sam, and John kill most of the vampires and a certain, apparently important one, manages to escape. (Well, initially, at least...)

(Read on Ao3)

********************

With the Colt recovered, most of the vamps dispatched, and the remaining two—Jenny and Kate, Dean remembered vaguely—having fled the scene, it was time to head back to the motel and catch some much-needed rest.

Sam left with John, the latter managing only a half-hearted protest as the former installed himself firmly in the driver’s seat of John’s truck and said they could fight about it later, because right now, John most likely had a concussion and was not fit to drive. John scowled, but, apparently realizing his only option was to drag Sam bodily from the vehicle, eventually sighed and stomped around to the passenger side. Dean watched with a bitten-back smirk as the truck’s tail lights faded into the distance, then slid into Baby’s driver seat and started the ignition.

It was rough between those two. It always had been, but they were talking, at least, and hey, that was a start. Food would probably help. Dean remembered a burger joint he’d seen a few miles up the road, and his stomach growled. Yeah, burgers sounded good. He’d swing by and grab them all some food, then double back to the motel. Easy-peasy.

Two minutes later, he was driving down the dark highway, bopping his hands on the steering wheel and singing along to a classic rock song, when all of a sudden, there was a man in the middle of the freaking road.

“SHIT!” Dean slammed on the breaks, heart leaping to his throat as Baby skidded to a halt not ten feet away from the man who, although he’d thrown his arms up in an apparent, instinctual attempt at self-defense, was still standing and thus unharmed.

Dean sank back against the seat, hands still white-knuckled around the steering wheel. Fuck, that had been close: he’d nearly killed the guy. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then undid his seatbelt and jumped out of the car. “Hey man, I’m sorry, I didn’t even...even see…” Dean trailed off, eyes widening as the other man lowered his arms and Dean realized what, or rather, who, he was looking at. “What the fuck?”

It...it was him. Dean. Well, him, Dean plus a decade or so, judging by the crow’s feet around the eyes, but still, him, Dean. Or at least, some kind of other Dean. Standing not ten feet in front of him. Armed with a machete that was dripping blood.

Instinctively, Dean leapt back and drew his gun, pointing it directly at the other Dean’s heart. “Don’t move!”

He half expected the other Dean to attack despite the order, charging forward like some kind of rabid drone, but...no. In fact, the other Dean didn’t look rabid at all; if anything, he looked...mildly annoyed?

Dean cocked his gun. “What are you?”

The other Dean sighed. “Ah, shit.” He closed his eyes and, with the hand not holding the machete, reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Okay, um...this is awkward. Not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping to avoid all this, but hey, so it goes, am I right?” He lowered his hand and flashed a sheepish grin. “So...yeah. Hi. Now then, why don’t you do us both a huge favor and just,” he waved the machete at Baby, “get back in the car, and we can forget you ever saw me.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, not happening.” He gestured with his gun. “Drop the machete.”

“Dude, come on, I’m not gonna hurt you. Trust me, I have a vested interest in keeping you alive, so—”

BLAM! Dean’s warning shot hit the pavement a few feet away, causing the other him to jump back with a startled expletive. “I said drop it!”

“Fuck, fine, don’t get your freaking panties in a bunch, jeez!” He tossed the machete to the ground. “There. Happy?”

“Gettin’ there.” Keeping his aim steady, Dean crept over and kicked the machete to the side of the road, then turned his full attention back to the other him. “Okay, I’m gonna ask you again. What the hell are you? Some kinda shifter or something?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m you, dumbass.”

Dean scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“No, seriously, I’m actually you. Well, I mean, I was you, and now I’m me, but...yeah, I’m also you. You know.” He gestured irritably. “From the future.”

“From the…? The hell do you mean, from the future? What, like...like time travel or some shit?”

“Yep, pretty much.”

Dean scowled. “There’s no such thing!” he said, at which point the other him burst out laughing. “Hey, hey! Cut the crap, man, this ain’t a joke!”

“Ha, ah, sorry, you’re right, you’re right. Not a joke.” The other Dean held up his hands in a sign of surrender, smirking. “Just...do me-slash-us a favor and remember you said that, okay? Promise it’ll get funnier with time.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure it’ll be freaking hilarious,” Dean snapped. This whole situation was batshit insane, and if he actually let himself believe what the other him was saying, that’d make him certifiable. It...it was a trick, it had to be. Crap like this didn’t just...it wasn’t real, damn it, it couldn’t be! And yet…

And yet he and his brother had literally grown up hunting things that weren’t supposed to be real, damn it, so if there was even the slightest chance this wasn’t all completely crazy, then…

Dean swore loudly and lowered his gun, but only slightly. “Okay,” he said after a minute. He took a breath to steady himself and leveled the other him with a glare. “Let’s say I believe you...me...whatever. If you’re me from the future, what the hell are you doing here?”

The other Dean raised his brows. “Just tyin’ up a loose end.” He gestured at the side of the road, and for the first time, Dean noticed the skid marks disappearing into ruined underbrush. “Go ahead, see for yourself.”

Dean hesitated; then, carefully, he sidestepped over to the edge of the road and peered down into the brush.

Almost immediately, he recognized the getaway car the two surviving vampires, Jenny and Kate, had sped off in. It was about ten feet from the road, the front hood smashed against a giant pine, and through the broken-out back window, Dean could just make out the two now-headless torsos still strapped in the front seat. He turned back to the other him, stunned. “What the...”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Dean chewed his tongue, adjusting his grip on the gun and trying to figure out what the hell was going on. This was...it didn’t make any sense. “What are you?” he asked again, although this time it wasn’t fear but something akin to wonder in his tone. “How did...are you...am I like, my own sort of guardian angel or something?”

The other him let out a low chuckle. “Believe me, man, we ain’t no angel, not by a long shot.” He smiled softly. “But I do have one to get back to. He’s probably gonna wake up soon, and if you think we’re impossible without coffee in the morning, hoo-boy, just you wait.” He shook his head fondly. “Damn boyfriend’d probably sleep till noon if I let him.”

Dean gaped. “You—I—We have a boyfriend?”

“Well, yeah man, we’re bi as fuck.” The other Dean shot him a look. “Oh come on, don’t act like you don’t know. I know for a fact you do, because I knew back when I was you. Just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet is all.”

“Not ready to…?” Dean’s mind was positively reeling. He lowered the gun and took a step forward, desperate for answers. “Dude, what in the hell—”

“And with that, I think it’s time I bid you-slash-me a very fond farewell.” The other Dean gave him a grin and a salute, then looked skyward. “Okay, kid, all set. Take me home.”

And before Dean could ask who the other him was talking to, the other Dean vanished without a trace and left Dean gaping at the empty road, trying and failing to make sense of what had just happened. “He—I—son of a bitch...”

Fuck burgers, he thought as he climbed back into Baby; this called for fucking booze.

[redhoodedwolf]

hey so maybe someday I’ll stop bring up dcoms but has anyone done a sterek Z.O.M.B.I.E.S. au yet??? like ignoring the whole second movie of course

W.E.R.E.W.O.L.V.E.S.

Beacon Hills was a normal town, with normal people, and everyone got along.

And then, werewolves.

Now, Beacon Hills is divided with Wolvenland. But times are changing, and werewolves are finally allowed to join back into society, but very very slowly. First, high school.

But relegated to the basement, completely separated from humans, with the only teacher being the janitor is not how Derek thought the year would start, alongside his best friends Erica and Boyd.

Stiles Stilinski, on the other hand, is the samest person as everyone else. Well, except for his moles that kind of, like, glow? For no reason? But he just cakes foundation on his face and it covers it all up, and that’s the way he has done it since he was a baby. No one has ever thought anything weird of him and he wants to keep it that way. Especially since it’s junior year and he’s finally old enough to be a junior member of the protection squad: the group that, when a part of, makes you a shoe-in for any security job he could ever want after graduation. Which as always been his goal; to follow in his fathers footsteps.

On the first day, Stiles meets Isaac, a timid kid who brightens only when talking about the protection squad. He gets it out of the tall teen that he used to be abused and wants to do what he can to stop that for anyone else. They quickly become friends, and Stiles introduces him to Scott, his step-brother, a senior, and the captain of the junior protection squad.

Scott is really against the integration of werewolves, secretly terrified of the power they have but refuses to show his fear and hides it behind a wall of hatred. See, werewolves used to be all feral and destroyed a third of the town before the government stepped in and solved the problem with W-Bands. Every werewolf wears one, and it emits electronic pulses that “contain” the wolf and calm them, supposedly. Though they still retain the fang and glowing eyes look most days. And Scott is very vocal about his dislike, but Stiles isn’t so sure.

He’d seen, that first day the way the senior protection squad had members posted up at the werewolf entrance and sneered at them, trying to antagonize them into lashing out. He watched as the one with glowing blue eyes held back the buff wolf next to the frizzy-haired blonde wolf when something had been said about her appearance. Blue Eyes had deescalated the situation quickly and ushered them into the building, but not before their eyes caught each other. Stiles had felt a shiver course up and down his spine, and it wasn’t out of fear. He was intrigued.

He became even further intrigued when Derek tried to show up for the first meeting of the junior protection squad, wanting to sign up. Derek knew that keeping the last of his family safe was the most important thing possible, and, joining the protection squad would make that possible. He would do whatever he could to stop hunters form coming after them again.

Tried is the opprative word, though, because the school principal expressly forbid werewolves from joining school clubs. Scott stood by, arms crossed and head shaking back and forth as Derek backed out of the gym, feeling dejected.

Stiles didn’t see him again until that evening, during their unofficial junior protection squad initiation which, unknowingly to Stiles and Isaac, took place in the middle of Wolvenland.

Scott hands them a jar of some ash and jerks his head towards the run-down homes on the block. “Line the front doors with this mountain ash and you’re in. It’ll keep them locked in their houses, which is the best way to keep humans safe. That’s your first task.”

Stiles and Isaac are left alone with this jar, staring at the house in front of them, both unsure if this was the right move. A door bangs and lights blink on, and they both duck out of view, just in case.

They hear footsteps, and Stiles glances up from the ground to see Blue Eyes stumbling down the front steps they were hiding against, head swinging side to side.

The wolf spots the two of them, and Stiles clenches his fingers around the jar. The werewolf glances down at it, eyes widening, and then—

“Derek!” A woman’s voice shouts form inside of the house. “Anyone there?”

Derek, apparently, what a normal name, takes a deep breath. Stiles winces, waiting for the retribution. Isaac is next to him, shaking.

“Nothing Laura.”

Stiles’ head shoots up at that, staring in shock at Derek as he stares back, frowning slightly.

“All clear,” Derek adds, for good measure, and then leaves, back into the house

Stiles and Isaac duck back to Beacon Hills as quickly as possible, the jar of mountain ash tossed into a trash bin. When Stiles got home, he just gave Scott a nod, letting him think what he wanted, and went to bed.

The next day, Stiles snuck down to the basement to apologize or maybe thank Derek for not ratting them out. They find a minute to sneak away, and after Stiles apologizes, he admits he doesn’t know a lot about werewolves but he doesn’t see the big deal. Derek, afraid to trust a human, as doing so has never been historically helpful for a ‘wolf Hale, tentatively accepts Stiles’ friendship and can admit to himself he may have a bit of a crush. Stiles is cute, okay? He has golden eyes that almost seem to glow like a werewolf’s, and he smells soft. Just, soft.

Stiles was trying to figure out how he could sneak around and spend time with Derek, maybe get Isaac involved if he be willing (he seemed sympathetic to the werewolves and supported Stiles’ confused rambling as to why they couldn’t join clubs), when a minor disaster struck.

It was the first official mission of the year for the squad and Stiles was excited to show his skills. It was just a routine patrol, something Scott told them would happen usually once a month. They were patrolling the school campus during the evening lacrosse game, Stiles leading his group, Isaac at his back, around the locker room entrance.

Sudden screams came from the field, and because Stiles’ team was they closest, they were told to investigate.

The field was chaos, the game abandoned as a crowd of hooded figures with guns and crossbows pointed their weapons at the scattering crowd. Hunters, Stiles realizes, and then his second thought is that there must have been werewolves in the stands, to encourage the illegal “vigilante” group out of hiding.

Stiles’ dad had dealt with them a few times he knew, but he never thought he’d have to on his first mission.

He’s prepared, though, but no one can prepare for trigger-happy hunters who, at the first sign of movement of Stiles’ team, aimed a crossbow at them and shot. Well, not them. At Stiles.

Stiles hears his name shouted and suddenly he is on his back and someone is flattening him into the ground and breathing heavily.

“Derek?” Stiles chokes when he recognizes the figure. “What..?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

Stiles looks over Derek’s shoulder and sees an arrow sticking out of his arm. He screams.

“I’m fine,” Derek assured him. “No wolfsbane.”

Stiles doesn’t really understand wolfsbane, but he knows that means Derek won’t die from the wound.

Once Stiles was on his feet, he saw the hunters had vanished, naturally.

Stiles watches Derek heal right in front of his eyes and stares at him in awe.

The very next day, due to Derek’s rescue in front of many witnesses, he is probationarilly allowed to join the squad.

“You do good on these missions, protect the humans, and maybe we’ll think about letting the werewolves participate more.” This was the principal’s stance.

Suddenly, Derek was the poster boy for werewolves, which he never wanted but knew he now had to keep up, in order to maintain a friendship with Stiles.

Meanwhile Stiles was feeling a lot of pressure from Scott at school and at home for his obvious connection to werewolves. Scott warns him not to trust easily. You never know who could out you as a freak.

Stiles coats his makeup extra heavily for days afterwards, which is how Derek notices his excess palor. Stiles finds himself spilling his whole story, how he was born with these illumiscent markings on his face and he and his parents never knew why, though he suspects it has something to do with the werewolf attack his grandfather Stilinski barely survived right before meeting his grandmother. Residual magic is his best guess.

Stiles doesn’t let Derek see it, but Derek tells him he shouldn’t be ashamed of the things that make him different.

As each mission Derek is sent on with a wary and uncooperative team comes back successful, the students and the school begin to relax. Soon, werewolves have lockers in the same hallway as humans and are sharing classes and the cafeteria. Derek gets pats on the back from strangers in the halls.

But no matter the betterment of the reputation of werewolves, Scott is still scared and wary of being usurped from his position by a “monster”. So he keeps Stiles away as often as he can and never lets them go on missions together.

So Derek gets sneaky, using Erica and Boyd to pass messages to Stiles for him. Erica is against it, having been burned many times in her life for being a werewolf as well as an epileptic who never gets proper treatment for her condition. Boyd doesn’t care through, silent and stoic, and passes notes surreptitiously.

Derek’s most recent note had them meeting at the gate into Wolvenland, and Stiles tried to shake off his nerves because he quickly realized it was a full moon night. But Derek reassured him he wasn’t about to be eaten, he just wanted to invite him to their monthly festivities where everyone in the community gathered to be together, though it had originally started as a necessary meeting to protect the young from vigilante hunters who wanted to eradicate werewolves from Beacon Hills for good.

Stiles was having a blast, getting along with Erica for the first time, meeting Laura and Cora and them not clawing his intestines out for kindasorta dating their brother, and he was this close to finally kissing Derek when— BAM. The senior protection squad arrived, as apparently they did every time, to chase everyone back into their homes. Which means Stiles causes a diversion so that Derek can get away and not be spotted with him by Stiles’ father.

Back home after being thoroughly chastised by not only his dad but also Melissa and a silent glaring Scott, Stiles thinks about everything and realizes how deeply screwed he is and that he’s be willing to give it all up for Derek, which, that is what’s scary, not werewolves.

Derek stops Stiles in the stairwell the next day to apologize for leaving him alone, but Stiles waves it off, a determined glint to his eyes. If Derek looks close, he can see a faint glow under the power on his cheeks.

“If my family can’t accept werewolves, maybe I don’t want to be on the protection squad anymore.”

“But that’s all you’ve ever wanted to do. That ambition is what makes you you. It’s what I like about you.”

Stiles scoffs, a tad bit wetly. “I just wish I could flip a switch and solve everything.”

Derek stares down at the W-Band, which Erica had tampered with to alleviate the pain that came with it (hoping that by changing the level of the pulses, she could up her wolf powers and heal herself of her illness) and thinks, huh.

Maybe if the band made him less wolf, it could make him more human. If he could be human, they wouldn’t have these problems. He and Stiles might...

But it all goes wrong, because the hunters knew about the W-bands and their lax security and were just waiting for the right moment to strike. And Derek was the perfect folly.

The hunters set up a trap, calling an emergency meeting of the squad, junior and senior, to go after a false alarm. Stiles sneaks his way into Derek’s group, finally, but their joy doesn’t last for long.

Derek glances down at his wrist, sees the screen flash a bright purple, and then feels a sharp pain lace up his arm from his wrist, through his shoulder, across his back, and down his spine.

Stiles shouted for him when he saw something was wrong and watched as the band was disconnected, and Derek went full feral wolf. A slave to his basest instincts, Derek set off a howl that shook the ground and set blazing blue eyes on the squad, claws out, readying to attack.

“Derek, stop! This isn’t you!” Stiles screams.

Scott stumbles back, fear overcoming anything else in his body at the sight of the feral werewolf who has apparently set his sights straight on him.

But Derek stumbles as he approaches, and Scott watches in amazement as he reaches out towards him with one clawed hand, the other wrapped around the extended forearm, trying to...pull it back?

A flash bang went off, Derek screamed, and the next anyone could see, Derek was tackled to the pavement, shackles around his wrists, and features back to nearly human.

Scott, still baffled by the internal battle of Derek that he’d just seen, stood as the rest of the squad started yelling, shouting curses at Derek, damming werewolves, declaring they knew it was a bad idea all along it was only a matter of time before the monsters turned on them.

And Stiles snaps.

“He was your monster!” Stiles shouts as Derek, looking utterly defeated, is dragged away. “You did this to him! You made him into a weapon— no, a shield.”

“They’re freaks!”

Stiles wipes an arm across his face, revealing his glowing moles, striking the crowd silent. He did not meet his father’s eyes.

“If he’s a freak, than so am I.”

Stiles ran after Derek, spewing apologies, promising that he’d get him out, he would, don’t worry.”

When Stiles, having run the whole way to Wolvenland, panted out to a stunned Erica and Boyd what happened, he accepted the slap across the face.

“This is why we don’t trust humans. We can’t have human friends. They only betray us.”

School is scarily the same the next day, except for the gaping hole the lack of werewolves left behind. The tale of the previous evening had spread, and werewolves were back to being ostracized in the basement.

Stiles quit the squad. He hadn’t even gone home, spending the night at Isaac’s apartment where he lived with his older brother when he wasn’t stationed overseas in the army. He didn’t want to see his dad or Melissa. He really don’t want to see Scott.

The hunters got what they wanted, the town was back to distrust. It was time to finish this once and for all.

Words were whispered in the ears of important people, people of power, words like “stop them now, eradicate them, and erase them”

These words were whispered to Scott by a leggy blonde who wore the biggest smirk on her face that he felt like prey. But the words didn’t resonate with Scott.

Because Scott had spent the night awake replaying the event over and over in his head. Derek had tried to stop himself. He hadn’t wanted to attack. He was conscious enough to try and stop himself. Derek was human inside, he just had a bit extra. He wasn’t a monster unless they made him that way.

And he quickly formed a plan with his step dad, knowing some of the squad would not be on board so they had to keep it in a small group. He was approached that evening differently than earlier with the hunter, by a skittish girl who looked sort of familiar, maybe one with an itchy trigger finger, who admitted her family was involved with the hunters but she didn’t want to be part of it anymore and she wanted to convince Scott to help her stop them.

The three of them cornered Stiles, and once Scott apologized, his dad praised him for being brave, and Allison admitted to almost shooting him, Stiles joined in on their plan.

He promised to get Derek out and save him and he would fulfil that promise.

So there’s a big fight in here now where there’s another emotional speech, hunters disband or did, and then Derek is released. But I’m too tired at this point to write all that angst out.

Finally, Derek is back next to Stiles, and they smile at each other. Derek reaches up and stroked his thumb over Stiles’ cheek, over the glowing, and Stiles is less chicken and leaned into the touch and kisses Derek.

Happy ending, collective dance sequence, reprise of the opening song, beautiful moments, and happy wolves.

So, anyone write that yet?

[too-attached-to-fiction]

I Know I Can’t Stay Too Long | f.w.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Masterlist here

Word count: 1640

Requested by @kellysimagines​

Request: Hey! Can you make a Fred Weasley imagine where the reader is Hermione's sister and she is coming with them to hunt the Horcruxes and Fred insists her to stay but she doesn't want to because she wants to be with them, and they fight over it and they didn't make up before she left and they are both sad and regret not making up and when they are at Hogwarts, they reunite and they make up? (And Fred doesn't die :) and a cute ending? :)

A/N: I said that it would take me a few days, turns out it only took me a few hours! I actually was referring to my copy of DH while writing this so some of the dialogue is copied from it. I kind of lost track of time and the word count but I’m actually pretty satisfied with the results!

~~~

It felt like you and Fred were going in circles as you argued back and forth. You’d known for a while about Harry’s plans to hunt for the Horcruxes, but it wasn’t until you and Hermione reached the Burrow that things became serious.

You and Hermione had grown up around each other, almost always attached to the hip. You were a half blood, although when you met you were already in control of your magical outbursts. You were one year older than her, after all.

The years came and went, and as soon as Hermione started running with Harry and Ron, you did too. You had promised the Grangers that she’d be safe under her watch, and that was a promise you intended not to break. Even now, you knew it would be safer to hide with the Weasleys. You’d graduated from Hogwarts already, although you planned to help Fred and George with the joke shop before everything. You and Fred had started dating in your fourth year, and by now, Molly had basically groomed you into being a part of the Weasley family. The three of you were the youngest, official Order members, although you stayed behind during the last mission to retrieve Harry. Hermione had asked you to go with them, and she came first, no matter how much Fred tried to convince you otherwise.

Now, you were busy packing your things the night before the wedding, arguing with Fred in between shoving various things into your knapsack.

“She’s my family, Fred.”

“A family friend!” He objected for the umpteenth time in the last half hour. “You don’t need to protect her, she can take care of herself. They don’t call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing!”

“I made a promise-”

“A promise that’s gotten you nearly killed six times already!”

“I’m not leaving her alone with them. They’re barely of age and all three of them wouldn’t know common sense if it hit them like a stack of bricks.”

Upstairs, the Golden Trio listened to you argue with Fred. The two of you had never fought this badly before, and Harry felt the guilt start to rise in his stomach. They were fighting because of him.

Hermione caught the look in Harry’s eyes. “We’re coming. There’s nothing you or Fred can do about it.” She said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s not safe. You’d be safer with me and George.” Fred argued, and you brushed past him to grab your clothes from your trunk.

“What does it matter, Fred? My family got hurt, killed, because I’m a target too. I’m not letting you get hurt if they find me with you.” You sat down on his bed, tears in your eyes. “If I have a choice to increase their chances of saving the Wizarding World, I’ll take it any day if it means keeping you safe.”

“This is complete rubbish.” Fred muttered as he walked out of the room.

You took one glance at the door he’d walked through then back to his wardrobe. You flicked your wand, pulling a few of his shirts from his dresser then quietly closing it.

Tomorrow, you’d leave.

And there was no stopping you.

~~~

When Fred had initially told you about the wedding, you’d daydreamed about dancing with him, peaceful amidst the chaos of the rest of the wizarding world. Instead, you sent him sad glances all night.

Kingsley’s patronus arrived, interrupting the festivities. A ball of blue light swirled around the room before floating to the middle, his voice ringing out.

“The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead.” You looked at Harry and Hermione with wide eyes, rushing to their side of the room.

“They are coming.” Kingsley’s voice whispered, before the patronus faded and the light returned to the room.

“We have to go.” Harry said, grabbing onto your hand.

“(Y/N)!” You heard Fred shout. You locked eyes with him as Hermione prepared to apparate the four of you.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered before you felt a familiar pull in your stomach, the Burrow and Fred fading away within a blink of an eye.

~~~

The Weasleys had only reached out once since the four of you disappeared that night. Arthur sent a talking patronus when you arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Family safe, do not reply, we’re being watched.”

“They’re okay.” You said in disbelief, choking back a sob. Ron seemed to be in the same state you were in, collapsing onto the couch. Hermione followed him, squeezing him tightly.

As time went on and the four of you jumped from place to place, you kept a journal, writing down the places you’d been and what had happened so far. You were sure you were close to dead when the Death Eaters found you, stuck in the Malfoy’s dungeon as prisoners. When Dobby took you out of the Manor, you nearly cried with relief when you spotted Bill and Fleur and their cottage.

“Bill.” You cried, rushing over to the eldest Weasley in tears, collapsing in his arms.

“Fleur, would you mind helping our guests to their rooms? (Y/N), Harry and I will be there shortly.” Bill said, running his hands absentmindedly through your hair.

Bill showed Harry a place to bury Dobby before returning his attention to you.

“You’re safe now,” He promised as you sniffled. “I have good news. It’s going to be okay.”

He led you to the living room, where Fleur was tending to the others.

“What’s the good news?” You asked, wiping your tears away as you sat down next to Bill. If Hermione and Ron noticed, neither said anything.

“They’re all safe, and out of the Burrow. We’re lucky Ginny’s on holiday. If she’d been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her, but now we know they’re all safe and accounted for.” Harry stood in the doorway, but you were too tired to care, hanging onto Bill’s words.

“I’ve been getting them all out of the Burrow. Moved them to Muriel’s. The Death Eater’s know Ron’s with you now, and they’re bound to target us-” Bill glanced at Harry, who was opening his mouth, “Don’t apologize. We all knew it was a matter of time, Dad’s been saying so for months. We’re the biggest blood traitor family there is. We had a target on our backs long before you came around. We’ve been protecting them with the Fidelius Charm - Dad and I are the Secret Keepers, and we’ve done it on this cottage too.”

As the others left to talk to Griphook and Ollivander, you looked at Bill. “Has he said anything?”

“He misses you. We’ve all been wondering about your safety.” Bill sighed. “You really did a number on us, (Y/L/N). He’s been regretting everything he said to you, that night. He told me.”

“Bill, can… Can you give this to him, the next time you see him?” You pulled out the journal from your locket, handing it over. “All of the things I want to say to him are here and I don’t want it lost in case…”

Bill squeezed your hand, taking the journal cautiously. “I’ll do it.”

~~~

The hole in the wall in the Room of Requirement opened again behind you, and you nearly screamed when Ginny, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan all climbed out. You’d heard the twins on Potterwatch, but seeing their faces for the first time in nearly a year was relieving as ever.

“Fred.” You gasped out, the two of you meeting in the middle for a long overdue kiss.

“I’ve been so worried about you.” He breathed out, and you smiled.

“Ditto, Weasley.”

As Harry ran off to find the diadem with Luna, and the others waited for the rest of the order, you couldn’t help but cling to Fred.

“I thought you were dead.” He sighed, and you gave him another smile.

“It’ll take more than that to kill me, Freddie.”

When the two returned, all of the remaining Order of the Phoenix members were gathered inside the Room of Requirement with Dumbledore’s Army. You looked around in amazement.

You held Fred’s hand as Harry announced you were fighting, and he squeezed back when Percy reappeared.

“Come on.” You nearly raced out of the room until Fred pulled you back.

“I’m not letting you get away from me this time. We’re sticking together, understand?” You nodded, running off with him and George after giving Harry a curt nod.

Minutes later, you were dueling back to back with Percy, before the back of your neck pricked. Just before the air exploded, you screamed out, “Protego!” The shield glowed around you and Fred, and you refused to let up until the dust settled.

“I’m not losing you that fast.” You breathed out. “Harry, take care of those spiders, will you?” You shouted, pulling Fred and George in another direction, firing hexes and jinxes everywhere as you ran.

The rest of the battle seemed to be a blur to you, even when Voldemort announced Harry was dead. Quickly after, you jumped into battle with Bellatrix. Molly, Ginny, and Hermione all stood by your side.

An hour later, the sun rose. Voldemort had vanished into ash, and you and the other survivors sat at the tables in the Great Hall. You, Fred, and George were all covered in soot and dust, but you couldn’t care less as you squeezed your boyfriend tightly.

“We’re safe.” You mumbled in between kisses, sighing as the adrenaline started to wear off.

“Oi, you’d think with one ear I’d be able to hear less of that sappy rubbish.” George interrupted, and the three of you laughed.

The war was over, and you were together. You survived the end of the world in one piece.

And you couldn’t be happier.

[kariachi]

Okay y’all, it’s the big day. The latest of the Ben 10 movies, after which I will be fully caught up on the franchise and can unblacklist it finally because two days is too damn much already.

I’m going in with, pretty much no info? I’ve watched one trailer, don’t even know if there’s more, and gotten hints of spoilers. Enough to worry for my son but not enough to actually know anything. Which, given Kevin is about all I care about, tells you some of how I feel going into this. Am crossing my fingers and hoping this ends with him in a really good space and having nothing to do with Phil because I have been worrying about that since I learned he would be in this.

Don’t trust that man as far as my piddly arms could throw him and anyway I don’t want Kevin anywhere near any part of the Forever Dipshit unless he’s actively dismantling the fucker. Asshole deserves to get turned into a toaster. Haven’t heard any ‘oh your reaction is going to be fun’ sort’ve stuff from anybody, so fingers crossed.

But, we can’t know anything until we get into it, so, Ben 10 Versus The Universe.

An hour 12 minutes, yeah it looks like my initial estimate might be accurate. I will be here the entire damn day.

Ooo, it’s own intro, very nice.

Okay, 1) like that intro, very much in the style of the other series and I like that about it. 2) Spent it wondering if they were going to include Kevin in the rogue’s gallery runthrough and instead it literally ends with the Tennysons and Kevin in the Rustbucket, Kevin being his normal little shit self.

Maybe watching this when I was on the rag was a bad idea because y’all I am already in tears he’s enjoying himself so much. My precious son. Gods I love him.

Can I just sit on this frame for an hour, would that count? Can fill the time with telling you how much I love my son.

Ben 10 Versus The Universe: The Movie (The Game: The Gameshow: The TV Series)

They brought in fucking everybody for this. Kelly is at the bottom of the list but I am putting my trust in her. Seriously y’all I am so happy with her work on this show, I knew the reboot was going to be good as soon as I learned she was going to be working on it, she is a delight.

Okay, actual show, apparently we’re starting at what looks like a small base. I don’t know for what. it looks like they want me to think it’s military but also yeah no. The pool is throwing me off the most, I think. I mean wtf?

Oh look, Smythe shit. A steam-powered airship-zeppelin. And Ben as Heatblast handling the situation, as one does.

Ben is so tired. He needs a vacation from this vacation so damn bad. Somebody else handle the villains so he can get like, two weeks to actually relax.

Ah, it’s an industrial server farm. I don’t know enough about those or if it’s even a thing to give an opinion. Smythe wants it gone though, to the shock of nobody.

He wasn’t to wipe out telecommunications so we’re left with telephones as our most advanced mode of conversation.

Ben, meanwhile, is asleep. Can’t blame him.

Ben is bored. This shit is like clockwork, he could probably save the day in his sleep at this point. Especially from Smythe.

“I’m not even breaking a sweat, and I’m on fire!”

Ben saves the day, hardly even has to try (pretty much doesn’t) and in the end even Smythe has to agree this is getting repetitive.

Huh, Max and Gwen were in the doom-ball.

Max and Gwen are not impressed with Ben having been bored while they were under the threat of danger. Ben has the very valid point that they really weren’t at any risk, even if they were in a mine.

Max, while talking about staying ready for the unexpected, gets a phonecall.

Ben: “Bet you anything it’s Phil. He’s got some big emergency and we’ve gotta go somewhere and look at something.” Gwen: “You don’t have to be so smug. Not everything is a dire situation.” Max: “It’s Phil, we gotta go to his lab and look at something. He says it’s pretty dire.” Ben: “Like clockwork.”

Honestly I’d be bored too. This is why they needed to add Argit, something to mix things up, change up the style.

Unfortunately I didn’t get any ‘your reaction is gonna be so fun’ messages so I don’t think we’re getting Argit. But hopefully, given space and Kevin are involved, we will receive an opening for later Argitness.

Hello Phil. I still don’t trust you. You have been nothing but vaguely suspicious shit on top of vaguely suspicious shit every since the season 1 finale and with your history in the other series? Where you were a dipshit from the word go? I wouldn’t leave you alone with a beanbag chair.

Ben, not taking shit seriously, Gwen unimpressed, Phil stating that actually it may be the end of the world. Honestly fuck it save the children let it die. The reboot sequels can be Ben, Gwen, and Kevin traveling the galaxy trying to, ya know, survive and shit. They gather an Argit on the way who honestly is amazed these three didn’t die within a day and half. Tell me you wouldn’t watch that!

Do you even have a bedroom or anything, Phil, or is that building just all lab? Do you pull a Kevin and sleep on your tech?

I don’t trust this giant-computer room. It’s giving me FD vibes.

Anyway yadda yadda object heading straight for Earth, we continue

Ben is so excited to have something new going on

Phil thinks this is a massive meteorite. I’m going to guess warship because I’m fairly certain I remember Incurseans being involved somewhere and honestly.

Oh Ben

I’m like 3.5 minutes in

Ben: If I turn into Cannonbolt you guys can launch be at the meteor and the impact would make it go kablooey Gwen: You and the meteor would ricochet off each other sending you into deep space with no way back Ben: I’d never have homework again Gwen: Ben please

“After months of analyzing your Omnitrix-” I swear this show’s relationship with time will drive me to drink

Phil, do you really think you have time to try to properly prep the child for space? I mean you’ve got over an hour of movie but in-universe

...Phil, why do you have a g-force simulator? And where the fuck are you fitting it?

Okay, seriously, I am concerned at this point by the shit he has on hand. Also why are they focusing on FourArms, mix it up, there’s nine other aliens available

You guys realize you don’t have much choice but to send him anyway? I mean unless you intend to hunt down Kevin and sacrifice him instead which, honestly would be in line with his adult interactions so far and honestly space was good for him in the sequels so maybe it’ll be good for him here.

Ben is so excited and Gwen is so done.

Upgrades to the armor shit have been unlocked.

Problem being, the new armor makes Jetray look, very humanoid. I am not impressed.

Gotta hand it though, Boy can get some speed now. Holy crap. Hate to see XLR8 upgraded.

“We’ve only got one shot at this” Ben’s moving fast enough I think you’ve got a solid three or four

Gwen, Gwen are you having an existential crisis? He’s passed the moon, he’s not coming back down anytime soon.

Ben please

And Ben lost that game of chicken with the meteor, having swerved away at the last moment, presumably because the Omnitrix has the whole ‘you are not dying you fucker’ thing going on

And Ben has been flown right into a fucking vortex of some variety or another. Welp.

Thirty seconds until the meteor hits, nobody knows where Ben vanished too, Phil is resigned, Max is blank, and Gwen looks fucking haunted. Poor kid does not deserve this. She needs a vacation from this vacation too

Oh Gwen, baby

Welp, everyone is fairly certain Ben is dead. Good news is, you won’t outlast him by long the meteor should take out earth in about four seconds

Motherfuck- If you are going to just vanish can you not wait until one second before you’re supposed to hit a planet?!?! Fucking rude!!

Motherfucking Vilgax! I should’ve known! Only you would be so rude! Also how much shit was your little ramshackle pod encased in that it was mistaken for the largest meteor seen?

So, Vilgax is here on Earth and our only defense is Max, Gwen, and presumably Kevin. Either Kevin is going to tap into some pre-reboot murder instincts or shit is about to get bad.

Ben has been carried through the wormhole to, Kinet? I think that’s Kinet, give me a second- No! No it’s Petropia! Listen it’s been a while let me live. Why drop Ben here? wtf is going on?

Swimming through space because your ultra jetboots stopped working

Somebody is watching this child. Who? We know not.

Ben: *times out* Omnitrix: Fuck no *builds spacesuit*

Ben, worried he failed and doomed Earth. It’s okay, it was just Vilgax. Once you find your way back home it’ll all be good.

Sudden spaceship. Also is space just, purple? Is that what’s going on here?

Oh look, Incurseans. Hi.

Omnitrix takes a while to register an alien language and start translating, which makes sense that it would take a little bit for a translator like that to kick in, the tech trying to figure out what language is being spoken. Don’t think I’ve seen that before in a work, very nice. Also the language is literally Incursean so, that’s nice to know. Handy for someone like me.

...Ben is being arrested by the Incurseans for multiple violent crimes perpetrated across the universe. Did not expect that from them.

Also Azmuth, please explain to me what precisely you did with this watch before you threw it at Earth?

...How you could mistake Ben for Vilgax I do not know, but it’s nice to know it wasn’t Azmuth causing wanton destruction and chaos? I guess? This certainly explains how the bastard knew how the Omnitrix worked.

Takes Ben ten seconds of being amazed at and in love with the Omnitrix to register that they think he’s Vilgax.

The Incurseans know about Earth. I’m not sure if that’s a good, bad, or neutral thin in the reboot. The whole ‘arresting a fucker for crimes against the universe’ thing has thrown me off.

Ben plays along for a chance to escape, meanwhile you know Kevin would’ve snapped and argued and fought until they had to admit he couldn’t be Vilgax because Vilgax wouldn’t lower himself to biting.

(I mean it, look at that child and tell me he doesn’t bite)

Well, Ben almost escaped. Too bad Incurseans have those long-ass tongues

Humongasaur fighting an endless swarm of frogs

Ben just is having a day. Honestly it’s lucky Earth’s not going to get wrecked by a meteorite because otherwise he’d be fucked.

Team Tennysons is trying to track Ben down on Earth. Apparently Phil has found the Omnitrix’s signal and they’re tracking that. Three guesses who they’re about to find and the first two don’t count.

Phil: He crashed from space so he might be- Tennysons: Finish that sentence and die

Yeah, the red flashing doesn’t clue them in or anything

And the energy signature looks different. Gwen, darling, you are experienced enough to know exactly who you’re about to find in a cave in the middle of nowhere in the desert (because of-fucking-course, my goddamn disaster)

How is the red flashing not cluing you in? Ben is green, Kevin is red, and together they make one whole Christmas.

Kevin hauling ass, presumably either because something is wrong with his watch (my poor son) or because the Tennysons calling him Ben is freaking him out (my poor son) or both (my poor song)

Okay, Gwen, the tone wasn’t awful but still, was not nessecary to put that emphasis on ‘Kevin’ after the ‘it was just’. Alongside the almost aggravated look when you finally put the pieces together and realized it was him? I know you’re worried for Ben but come on. You hunted him down, he is innocent in everything.

Also can we talk about, something is clearly wrong? I guessed something was wrong with the watch, I think I was right- Kevin was groaning after timing out, holding his head, it’s not normal.

The first thing my son says is telling the Tennysons to get lost (quote “You heard him, hit the road” after Phil tells them to call him when they go back to their search), which isn’t surprising given the look on his face after Gwen’s ‘it was just Kevin’. Something is wrong and now he’s upset on top of that because, well, we know him and how he feels about not being appreciated.

Also holy shit the framing, with Kevin on top of a tall rock in an empty cave, with his back to the Tennysons, making up just a small part of the shot. Really emphasizing just how alone he is.

(Dear reboot give him his rat and prison-dad for fuck’s sake)

(Nobody sent me any ‘your response is gonna be fun’ messages, so I’m assuming I don’t get Kwarrel either, damnit. I can only hope for openings for later Kwarrel in the franchise)

Oh. Oh my son. Oh something has gone very wrong and he is shifting uncontrollably. He has isolated himself so nobody sees him like this. My baby. My precious little perfect child

Notice that he is shifting uncontrollably and he has still not taken off the watch, which would be the obvious answer to the dilemma. So why? Was he too busy freaking out to think of it? Or does on or off not matter anymore?

Tennysons: Why don’t you come along and let us help you? Kevin: Fuck you and your talking car too

“I built this. I should be able to control it.” Oh Kevin...

“And that’s amazing!” And Kevin has no fucking response (except to be a crushing wreck but, I’m deducting the half point and moving on). Praise? For his work? Is that legal?

My son. My heart.

“I didn’t do it all on my own. There was kinda this weird dream.” Said while he’s making his way down to the Tennysons because in the end all he needs is for someone to call him amazing, give him praise, notice him, appreciate him, acknowledge his worth.

The Tennysons recommend letting Phil help because he helped Ben and Kevin’s response is, quote “I’m. Not. Ben! And this isn’t the Omnitrix, it’s the Antitrix*.”

*First time Kevin’s watch has been referred to by that name in the show. Prior to this it was always called a watch or an Omnitrix.

There is so much fucking going on in Kevin tell me we’re learning some of it here I’m begging, give me the inner workings of my son

...pause a second, I don’t wanna look it up because I’m worried about spoilers, but does Kevin’s watch look different? The strap system is different, I’d swear it. Or maybe I’m wrong, it’s been a few days since a Kev episode...

Kevin pointing out that he’s not a Tennyson, denying ever doing anything to help them, wondering what their deal is, claiming they should hate him (my fucking son! someone get this child a dad and a rat, a blanket, some cocoa, and some fucking love and affection!)

By the way, I’m almost 20 minutes in and it’s been over two hours. Kevin is here now, things are probably gonna start going slower.

The Tennysons letting Kevin know they don’t hate him. Max straight up saying he doesn’t seem like a bad kid, just a lost one. Which honestly is very true, he is a good child he just doesn’t really... he’s a mess and there is so much in him and so much of it sour and just- He needs love. Proper, healthy love and guidance by someone who’ll look out for him, put his needs first. It’s why I want Kwarrel back- he, Gar, and reboot!Max have treated Kevin the best, been the most healthy adult interactions he’s had, through the franchise. Kwarrel could be the adult figure he needs in his life, but he got the one episode and nothing and just- I just want the best for Kevin.

“If you trust us, we’ll trust you.” And then Kevin agreeing to come along as long as his watch gets fixed.

Oh gods the smile as he follows them! Like, a moment of happiness for the child!

Vilgax set a city on fire. I take it he’s in a mood.

Yep. Definitely in a mood. Also how the fuck did you get out of the Null Void?

Oh look, we’re back with Ben. Honestly the least interesting part of this movie right now, though I love him.

Although I gotta admit, I never would’ve guessed the Omnitrix being used for a mistaken identity plot like this.

...okay unless he was thrown in the Null Void before you can’t charge him with that he was thrown in unlawfully. Or at least one would hope so. This is space so, the laws have been pretty fucked up in earlier series.

Y’all so not know the joy when you see “How do you plead” and go ‘he pleads not fucking Vilgax’ and then you hit play and Ben’s plea is “not Vilgax”.

Ben is fucking tired of people treating him like he’s Vilgax and you can’t rightly blame him.

Oh, look, Walkatrout. Hi guys! Nice to see you!

Oooo, hello spider-like babies! One second guys I gotta get you a screenshot!

I love them.

Also check out these fuckers!

Seems everybody and their mother is here to see this shit go down

Hi Tetrax. Care to tell us why you are here as a witness for the prosecution?

Welp, can’t see this going well

Tetrax, you lying shit, what is your angle? You have got to have something to gain from this.

Tetrax, describing Ben: “It’s like- It’s like a squishy little sack of organs held together with hair. And it’s head is enormous.”

Ben’s making another break for it

“-these are not the actions of the hero you claim to be-” Hmmmmmmmmmmm

Don’t sentence him to the Null Void you already know Vilgax can get out!

I’m impressed by how much these people believe in Vilgax’s acting skills. Like the fact that he’s acting nothing like himself and in fact 100% like the small child he appears to be only proves that he’s a good actor and not that, ya know, maybe they should check and see if they actually did grab somebody’s kid by accident. I mean it’s not like shapechanging watches are a one-and-done deal, a fucking 11-yo made one

And Ben gets dropped through a portal to, somewhere. It certainly doesn’t look like the Null Void.

Poor crying baby

“You don’t deserve to wield the Omnitrix, it belongs with it’s creator- me.” Oh fuck off, Azmuth. You let a squid have it for fuck’s sake.

Phil studying the Antitrix. Apparently the energy signature is very sporadic, but seems familiar.

Solar, Polar, please, we’ve got shit going on. Important Antitrix information. Could you not take a vacation? Take your mother to Disney World or something?

They’re at the fucking house because Phil has the most powerful radio tower in the country. Of course.

The Tennysons sent Kevin outside to handle them and he’s just standing in the yard watching them and eating chips. Telling them to shove off so his shit can get fixed. How is he not the most popular character in this franchise? Has he not earned a fucking spin-off?

Fucking Dark Matter running through the twins like tissue paper

Gwen, a firm believer in the art of ‘Kevin needs to fucking chill’.

My son sees cops and bolts. Nobody is surprised, given his everything. Honestly it’s probably the safest bet he’s got in anything in life- avoid cops.

“Whoever you saw on those security cameras it wasn’t me!” Kevin what did you do?

Is shocked to find the cops aren’t there for him, my poor son.

Kevin: *is just barely compared to Ben* This cannot be allowed to stand

“Proud? Of me?” Y’all the look on his face! My son! 

Like he’s not entirely sure if this is legal but he’s not about to look it in the face! My baby!

Vilgax! Hello! I knew you and my son were both going to be here so I saved you a spot in the pit! Reserved seating, as it were

Fuck off, squid-boy, the kid built the watch fair and square!

Oh gods, tell me the ‘Vilgax was involved in the dream situation’ theory isn’t being proven here

Also the look on Kevin’s face when he’s noting having seen Vilgax before, somewhere between ‘wait a minute’ and ‘you, you are the one I must kill’

He was in the dream and my boy is freaked.

“Used you as a vessel to finally complete my own design” Vilgax you gave the child a dream with a blueprint in it. There is only so much credit you can give yourself. How did you even do that? Is this some new Chimera Sui Generis  thing? Superstrength, tentacles, laser eyes, and fucking dreamwalking?

Is the Freddy Kruger of squid

As I said designing the piece means nothing if you go handing out the design to whoever. You can still patent the shit, maybe, but you can’t claim that whatever people made with said pretty-much-opensource design is your property.

Vilgax: It’s my design, give it to me Kevin: Fight me bitch

Kevin ‘Fight Me’ Levin

Ya know, I always though FD would be Kevin’s first kill but honestly it might be Vilgax.

I love him so much you guys. He is the most precious thing ever.

Kicks Vilgax’s arm as he’s going tor the watch, backflips away, perfect landing and out to kick ass

Vilgax if you wanted a kid who would just hand the watch over when you showed up maybe you shouldn’t have handed the design off to the most obstinate, anti-authoritarian, ‘you don’t tell me what to do’ child on the face of the planet Earth. You’d have probably had an easier time getting shit from Looma.

Poor gay couple who just got a car through the roof of their new house

Vilgax can talk shit all he likes, but Kevin is putting up a good fight. That’s another thing he maybe should’ve kept in mind, maybe don’t choose the kid who was doing perfect backflips presumably before he even got the stupid dream.

Okay, Ben is in the Null Void. They’ve tidied the place up since the OG series

Hello, species whose name I can’t remember off the top of my head. Good advice for the child thank you

Oh look, a Loboan, hello

There’s a whole mess of peeps. Including an Ectonurite, Vulpimancer, and Pisciss Volann

Dudes you already know Vilgax wants the watch why do you want to get his attention by getting it your own damn selves? It’s more trouble than it’s worth honestly.

These guys need to chill.

Yeeeep, deeefinitely need to chill

Ya know, Azmuth, if you wanted to show up and take your watch back? Now would be a good time? There’s a whole load of people here vying for it, earn the damn thing.

Hmmmm

Azmuth. Darling. Why are you in the Null Void? Why are you so firmly in the Null Void that fuckers know you and bend to your commands? The fuck did you do?

Everybody is talking shit about Ben today. He’s ten, let the child live!

Ben, out to kick Azmuth’s ass because he thinks he works for Vilgax because let’s be real, he’s had a fucking day and is also literally ten

Azmuth, just a rampaging dick wherever you find him

Also he has the Omnitrix back now

Jesus fuck, I just really want somebody to come step on Azmuth. Like, Vilgax is a dick but that’s his job, Azmuth is just, a fucking dick.

Azmuth you cannot talk about Ben being an infant and then turn around and say he should’ve known to kill Vilgax. He is a child.

Le gasp. Vilgax was Azmuth’s student. I’m going to assume you got thrown in here for not killing him your own damn self?

Benjamin Kirby Tennyson, annoying Azmuth into telling him the story of wtf happened with him and Vilgax

Young-Azmuth here is just, an image I never needed in my life. Give me Blukic and Driba back

Young Vilgax with goggles

And, shocker, Vilgax went ‘science is great but I can do you one better- universal domination’

Wow, Azmuth. Ya know if you’d had any braincells sufficiently developed you’d have known to kill him.

Azmuth. If you could have maybe one manner. A single etiquette.

Also, really? Sending the Omnitrix to Earth was the only option? You couldn’t destroy it now that it’s true destructive potential was known? Recode the damn thing to stricter parameters in a new coding language? Nothing else? Greatest mind in the universe and you couldn’t think of something, anything, besides sending it to a planet that would’ve been completely helpless if Vilgax had managed to get his hands back on it?

Ben: Okay, fuck you and your watch then, I’ll just go beat Vilgax myself Azmuth: Wait what?

Azmuth has set Ben a trial. You know the one, the ‘reach me within this time frame’ shit. If he passes he gets to keep the Omnitrix.

Attempt 1: No shapeshifting Attempt 2: Rath into Humongasaur

Attempt 3 starts with him having managed to end up outside of the trail area entirely

Azmuth is just a fucking dick. Ben points out that his entire goal is to save his planet from Vilgax, Azmuth blows it off because the fact Ben has his life’s work is more important. Gods just, being reminded how big a dick Azmuth is...

Azmuth, please keep in mind that the child is in fact a child

Ben and Kevin need to make friends so Kev can teach him some moves, he’d have kicked this Ectonurite in the head by now

Ben Tennyson, professional Good Child, saves the fucker that’s been giving him shit.

Ben figuring out new ways to use the Omnitrix and unlocking Goop!

Gods, Azmuth, now you gotta shittalk Goop too? Now you’re just being a speciest dick.

Ben saves a fucker, a fucker who’s been nothign but a shit to him, just barely fails the trial, and breaks down over not managing to beat it and save Earth. He’s so good you guys.

“Color me surprised that altruism still exists in this reality” you don’t get to make comments like that when you’ve been nothing but a dick the entire time you’ve been on screen

Azmuth has given Ben more time and a way out of the Null Void. Because it’s Azmuth, of course he’d rather stay there and wallow in his own bullshit that actually go out into the universe and do something about the problems he started.

Don’t waste your breath on him, Ben, he doesn’t deserve it

Dude he saved is now a Ben fan.

And Ben takes a sidetrip to save the Incurseans from a giant Null Void portal

And back on Earth Kevin is still putting a fight. He’s not winning, but he’s still fighting because he is a precious disaster.

The Tennysons trying to get it through his obstinate, broken little brain that he can accept help (and also that just because Ben does it doesn’t mean he has to refuse just to keep himself distinct from him (I am wording this badly but, I can’t word it right just now...))

It doesn’t work. 

My son. Vilgax ain’t even tired and Kevin is but he’s still holding his own.

Holy shit Phil has a living room

And Gwen has become a hostage. Good job drawing attention to yourself kiddo.

Yes Gwen, bite the squid! It’s not doing anything but I appreciate the enthusiasm and the fighting back!

She hardly even counts as a hostage, Kevin went to straight punch Vilgax and the dude just threw her away. At least use her as a fucking shield!

“You must be under the impression that you are special, when in reality you were only good for one thing.” 1) Yeah, building what you couldn’t. 2) Kevin is a brilliant artist and engineer, good at athletics, with a natural talent for magic, all on top of a good sense of humor and a smile like the fucking sun, HE IS WORTH TEN OF YOU

Also, so far the movie has given me no reason to believe that he was given any parts or tools with which to build this watch so, on top of all that, all my earlier points still stand so far as far as Kevin being better than fucking Tony Stark with machinery. Is that why you threw the design at this foul-tempered, stubborn little thing, Vilgax? Not because you’re an idiot and he could build it, but because he’s the only one who could? I’ve seen no proof against it yet.

Okay giving us that, that fucking view of him after being tossed, fucking skipping over the asphalt, was not nessecary!!!

My son...

My son....

You did great sweetie! You were amazing!

My son.... My poor, battered, exhausted, son....

Also the fact that he straight up says he’ll try again later, which is just- I don’t doubt it. I don’t doubt he will wake up and immediately upon realizing his watch is gone head out to fight Vilgax again.

The fucking K on the antitrix turning into a V is aggravating for pit-related reason but also very thematically appropriate

Vilgax fucking chimerized himself. Fuck off, that’s Kevin’s thing. Just all about stealing from children

Vilgax steals his chimerism shtick and Kevin immediately starts regaining consciousness. My child

Extra toothy mouths too?! Fucking chill, squid-boy!

Kevin is up and moving and everyone is fleeing a pissed Vilgax in the Rustbucket. He is now on the hunt for Ben

Vilgax is, really putting them through the wringer and Kevin is not happy.

And Kevin, once they’re at Vilgax’s mercy, runs off to start shit once again with the fucker. Because my child is perfect.

He has hijacked fucking Glitch! Of course he has! My child! Harness the fucking Glitch!

He and Glitch, luring Vilgax away with ease because this man handles disrespect worse than Kev does.

The Rustbucket is scrap, but Phil might have an option.

And we’re back to Ben. When last we left him he’d worn himself out saving the Incurseans, straight passing out, and now, now we’re back to him.

The Incurseans saved him, and are apologizing for starting shit. Which is better than they were in past iterations so honestly I’m happy with them.

Incursean leader: You have legal permission to apprehend Vilgax Ben: I don’t know how to get home IL: We’ll take you Incursean Otherdude: We can’t enter warpdrive Ben: What about that wormhole I took before? IO: ...that would work IL: Great, let’s go!

They are going to scour the ship for Tetrax so they can bring him in for falsely accusing a 10-yo hero of being Vilgax

Back to the Best Boy and Glitch fucking psychoanalysing my child as someone who uses an abrasive attitude to ward of people who may hurt him but at heart is a good person

“Listen, if there’s anything I know, it’s how to adapt and survive. If anyone can deal with being alone with Captain Calamari out here, it’s me.” My son!!

And they’re caught. Somebody give Kevin a crowbar or something.

Holy shit Glitch sacrificed himself to give Kevin a shot! Fucking hell! That, I think that may earn back the half point lost for the Gwevin. Sacrificing yourself to save my son earns a lot.

Oh you did not just call my son sniveling and pathetic. You didn’t. You get the special pit with FD.

My boy is crying. My boy is crying. A squid is going to die. Thou shalt not suffer a Vilgax to live.

The first person to get me a picture of Vilgax being torn apart by Kevin 11k gets a drabble.

Glitch! Giving my boy the aid and encouragement he needs in this moment! You definitely get the half point!

Kevin, like Ben, is having A Day.

Did, did Glitch and Kevin just fucking biomerge? Taking my son up a notch? Oh yesss

Glitch has been working on becoming armor for Ben but, well, Kevin needs it right now and it did need a testrun. Kevin is so happy to get to use it first. Seriously I don’t know what happened in their backstory but, damn

My boy

Welp

Back to Ben and Tetrax really should’ve been ready to bail, taking so long is just unprofessional.

Azmuth paid Tetrax to lie in court. Raise your hand if you’re surprised. Nobody. I’m shocked.

Ben is letting Tetrax go because he’s like 60% certain he helped in the long run

*snort* Okay, like that fourth wall break.

Kevin and Glitch, still fighting Vilgax, to the surprise of nobody given Kevin does not cannot will not stop fighting

They work well together, they really do. Glitch is more entertaining when he’s actually working off somebody rather than trying to just, be his own thing.

Ben cannot catch a break today

The Tennysons in an actual car plus Kevin and Glitch, all fighting Vilgax together because fuck it, better than going it alone right now

There’s still another twelve minutes.

My son. My Son. “A pity you didn’t stand down while you still had the chance.” “I’d rather go all-in and end up squashed than stand around and let some slab of squid jerky like you stand around and take over the planet.”

Ben is back on Earth and ready to join the fray. Sorry Squiddly but there is no chance in hell you can handle Kevin and Ben at the same time. Actually I’m fairly certain Kevin’s not gonna end up a Tennyson half because of this fucking obsession with Gwevin and half because Kevin and Ben as family would end the universe all on it’s own.

The fact Kevin then proceeded to call him Squidly just makes this day better.

A lot has happened since you left, Ben. Everyone has been having A Time.

And Vilgax smacks Kevin away, doing that final bit of damage to take Glitch out of the fight. Which means Kevin is out of the fight, or at least will be in a minute because honestly I’ll be surprised if nobody sits on him after that last stunt he pulled.

We’ve got nine minutes, let’s see if Vilgax can stand up against Ben, especially after all the fighting he’s already been doing. Neither of them is fresh, but Ben is fresher.

Vilgax is kicking ass so far. C’mon Ben, use Goop!

My son! Acting like he’s not worth saving because he can’t be useful. I am going to hunt down his father and the FD and destroy them both.

Glitch can drain the car and start repairs. The Tennysons are being helpful and Good.

My baby! He is just, confidence has plummeted. Kevin, baby, you are the best thing on this show! You are amazing!

Max, pointing out that Kevin managed to hold off Vilgax on his own, and that he and Ben together can kick his ass. Phil backing it up with a ‘the world needs you right now’.

Yesss, support for my son, this is all I want in this world

“Stand back, I’m going after my watch.” What did I tell you. He’s getting that fucking watch back if he has to eat Vilgax to do it. He worked hard on that thing!

Glitch is falling the fuck apart, Ben is down, Vilgax is about to win, and Kevin is not looking like he’s about to stop anytime soon.

MY BOY!!!!! MY FUCKING SON!!!! THE PERFECT BEING!!!!!!

He dove at Vilgax as he was about to use the Omnitrix’s key to unlock more power for the Antitrix and managed to snatch it back from the bastard! Because! He! Is! Perfect!

Vilgax has still gotten what so far seems to be a net positive effect, but at least he doesn’t have the watch

He thinks he’s Jafar

Vilgax standing there monologuing about his own greatness and Kevin just calls him a doofus and launches at him as Bashmouth

Then straight to CrystalFist when caught to make vilgax let him go, he’s amazing.

Ben catches him as he plummets, fully armored up, it’s time for these boys to wreck some squid shit.

Vilgax just keeps fucking growing. We’ve only got like five minutes left in the movie, just stop.

Kevin just, no hesitation. He is going to fight a giant squid so help him god

Welp. They managed to land some blows.

The boys have been taken out, Team Tennyson is at Ben’s side. “Glitch is- is gone.” “What about Kevin?” “I don’t know, Vilgax hit him pretty hard.“

Phil. Phil what the fuck are you hiding? You are hiding something and so help me if it could’ve helped my boy earlier I will-

Kevin and Azmuth need to meet because Kevin needs to punt him.

Oh look, the frog-bitch is out of the Null Void and bothering the Incurseans. They don’t deserve this, they’re good people.

Oh look, Ben has unlocked Waybig. Fitting, I suppose.

It’s gonna be a curbstomp fight, there’s only a few minutes left and we still need to wrap this movie up. Hopefully confirm my son is alive.

I was right. Good fight, still very quick. And now we gotta deal with fucking Azmuth again.

And, shocker, Ben gets to keep the watch.

Okay, we have confirmation Kevin at least limped away. He was alive as of the end of this film.

11/11 thanks to quality Kevin content and Glitch finally earning my respect. I’m still serious about the Vilgax thing though- first person, a reboot drabble of their choosing.

[comradelionheart]

This is where I feel safest.

In the blueness of this site, held in comfort as if under my blanket of soft fur.

No one here will ever know who I am or the people I speak of. No one can find me here. I have a questionable habit of running off to avoid being witnessed when I fail or am in pain, and this is where I run to. It is luckily not a boy this time. Well, it’s sort of that too, but not predominantly.

I haven’t shut G out this time. When I thought I’d lost my shot at the job I deleted my WhatsApp and all other social media, and refused to surface until I was willing to face people again. This isn’t unlike when I graduated college uncertain of what to do with life next and just... vanished. I’d a pretty promising presence on Facebook that could potentially have introduced him and I sooner, but I guess life unravels at its own pace and nothing can force it to go sooner or slower. I’ve grown rather accepting of failures because I have unfortunately grown accustomed to them. It’s almost like I expect to meet with resistance or failure each time something nearly works out and in this case I can’t say I willed it upon myself. I literally tested positive for TB. Which is amusing since those are my ex’s initials, and is yet another TB which seems to be hampering my progress. 

Dry humour is what I’m best at if I’m being my authentic self. I must unfortunately smile and wave because I’m a woman and need to be likeable to get anywhere in my line of work. That isn’t to say I’m a sociopath or hate people. I just wish I didn’t have to pretend to be interested in their lives and feign amusement at their not so novel ideas. Pretty sure I’ve not so novel ideas too, but I don’t need to be indulged for the sake of my (not) fragile ego. Anyhow.

I applied for this job early in the year and didn't expect to hear from them (because the first few years of my work life had me flailing and coping with depression instead of steering my career, and I know I shouldn’t grudge her for this but I do). But I did hear from them. And everything went through. Including 3 rounds of aptitude tests and a personal interview (which I thought I bombed but didn't somehow). Until I tested positive on a skin patch test for TB. Why do these stupid standard sets of tests get prescribed world over? Honestly, if I’m ever supreme leader of anywhere I will ban standardised tests. Not in the way that I say medicine is a sham, not at all, but in the way that WE LIVE IN THE THIRD WORLD AND WILL OF COURSE HAVE TAKEN THE BCG OR HAVE BEEN EXPOSED TO THE BACTERIA AT SOME POINT BUT IT’S NOT NECESSARILY EVER GOING TO BE ACTIVE SO USE A BETTER AND MORE CONTEXT SPECIFIC TEST INSTEAD OF GIVING ME ANXIETY AND EXISTENTIAL CRISES LIKE THESE, JFC. 😭😭😭

But I’ve taken the other test and that’s also got the drawback of being unable to differentiate between inert and active TB. So I took an HRCT scan. I’m so sick of running around hospitals, there’s a literal virus in the air. But Monday is when I’ll know the medical verdict. And then there’s the whole security check process. I hate when this happens but I’ve lost so much time to grief, I simply cannot sit around moping any longer. 

Earlier this year I interviewed with the **. I was given a verbal confirmation and had a text message implying an offer was made to me, because I received an acknowledgement to my acceptance of an offer. If I was the person I was in 2014, I’d have kicked up a fuss and made sure that offer was honoured, but 2021 me knows that working with bosses who go back on their word slyly and cave to nepotism usually need their cocks sucked. And I’m not only incapable of that, but have also dealt with enough workplace harassment elsewhere to be adamant about a brand at the risk of my mental health. But really, he can go suck it because I have confirmation from staff that he is EVERYTHING I read him to be. I’m not intuitive or anything, I just read people very well because I was hurt so bad by them (repeatedly since childhood) that reading people became a thing I did for survival. My sharp instincts serve me well, but are a trauma response. I am very self aware too, yes.

I then interviewed and got through an NGO that was willing to pay me 24L. I turned it down because the founders were running around like headless chicken with their inability to distinguish PR from Marketing Comms (me) from Marketing for business development. I know I was being paid a lot of money, but I will not kill myself performing all three functions while being acknowledged for just the one on my offer letter. I’ve learned to value my labour capacity and assert myself in the economic and political spheres. 

Personally though? I sometimes still think I’m a romantic pushover.

But this is about work because I need to weep a little before being calm about how this year has treated me. Especially since I’m maintaining a cool demeanour in public and literally hate sharing things I’m burdened with. Idk man, it makes me feel vulnerable and I don’t like feeling like I’ll get a knife twisted in the spot that's most sore. I AM SCREAMING BECAUSE I HAVE LET G WITNESS ME IN PAIN THIS TIME INSTEAD OF RUNNING AWAY and will someday file copyright over An Enduring Romantic because that’s very honestly me. But ofc it isn’t going to be the legal Copyright, just the sham notice like the one I’d sent him to up his Instagram game. Or he could just operate my Twitter and I’ll run his gram. It’ll even feel natural.

Sometime around May an environmental journal asked me to come on board. Work from the office at the height of the pandemic with no travel compensation and very little money. I turned them down. Then came II**. Which I again turned down because they wouldn’t pay market rate for skills I’ve perfected in 4 years just because they wanted 8 years experience on paper for my quotation. I will do a lot for causes I love, but I also really enjoy being paid fairly and acknowledged for the value I bring to the table.

Then came the start up in Del. Which I turned down because the uncle running it in his wife’s name expected 24*7 labour availability for 12L with no health insurance.

The latest in my list of things I’ve turned down is the ** Gov. Which I can obviously go back to since my reason for turning it down was another job, but 14 days of leave all year? 7 day work week if needed? Hell no. I enjoy having labour rights. But also when I told the dude I’d be reporting to if I accepted that I cant accept due to covid concerns his reaction was “sure, send me an email so we can start looking for someone else immediately.” Like.... we just had a second wave, what if something was wrong? I wouldn’t risk losing my job because they expect work even if I were hypothetically coughing up blood. So best not to touch with a bargepole. Now I’m less sad, but also really hope the TB results are negative. This job I want and have said yes to ticks off all of the boxes in my head and I will truly be disappointed if I lose it to disease paranoia despite being completely suited and picked for the role 😞

Just to be on the safer side, I have taken one last shot at achieving my goal of ‘learn how political systems work so you know what you’re talking about first hand in that PhD.’ I hope my Plan A works out instead, though.

Since I’ve brought him up in this, it will be interesting to note that a year ago I did the erstwhile unthinkable act of cutting a friend of for attempting to steal a man I love. A year ago to the date, literally. Funny how this year is more calm, but I was maxed out on endorphins from him last year. Until this March even, if I’m being truthful. I don’t regret cutting her off.She crossed a vvvv red line. ALL my other friends are celebrating. They detested her. 

Another thing that happened last year was me letting him know that I only get hotter with time, but along with this work drama I have also had a run in with intense grief which I thought was a mood disorder (because it was intense, I mentioned?), cholesterol, thyroid, sugar addiction and now, le TB (PLEASE BE A FALSE POSITIVE YESU KRISTU HALP). So needless to say, I haven’t been most fabulous and undergone my physical transformation and these mental health struggles (are getting better now) strapped me to my couch along with the pandemic and its many lockdowns. I have also not studied for the GRE because I’m stimulus seeking via social media and fear of sucking at math has kept me locked in place. I still have a lot to work through on this front and would really like to make his cover right too, but my creativity isn't working and I keep fucking it up. I am not as spectacular as I was last year. The separation has also weathered my dazzle out a little and while I’m living with it, I still have small waves of sadness that show up once in a while.

I might have also accidentally flirted with someone into falling for me. It was all fun and games and for my pride, but now I’ve to gently let them down since I’ve cold feet and am chicken. Because I’m as emotionally unavailable as a streetlamp. Is this why they call me a Gurgaoni fuckboi?

[comfy-whumpee]

Melanie

Thank you to @that-one-thespian for indulging my sick fic mood today.

TW: illness, medical setting and implied treatment.

They’re not sure how long they’ve been lying in the rain. The downpour hasn’t ceased or even wavered, and hardly any footsteps pass by. All the daylight was swallowed up in clouds, and now there are no indicators for whether it is gone noon, or gone three, or gone six. It’s a shitty summer. Northlight would have rolled into another time by now, but for their decidedly slippery control. They could end up somewhere worse.

 The water feels like it has become them. It sits against their skin through the layers of their clothes, and runs rivers down the back of their neck and into their shoes. Their hair, normally a straggly, fluffy mess of black waves, is slick and flat against their skull and shoulders, heavy with liquid. It drips off their eyelashes with every blink like overrunning tears, but they’re not crying. They’re too cold to cry.

 Under the ever-present white noise of the rain, Northlight can hear their own breathing. It sounds like a little set of bellows trying to ignite a fire. It is puffed and wheezy, and if they inhale slowly, they feel the faint shiver of a rattle in their chest. It’s not good.

 In this era, at least they can hope someone will call an ambulance for them. They can hope there might be a concerned passer-by who will seek help. They won’t be expected to pay, either, when it’s over. It’s a good time to nearly die in.

 They can’t die, of course. That’s something they can feel, through the everlasting breadth of time stretched around them. They permeate eternity. Death won’t come, no matter how long they lie, shivering, in the rain.

 ...and they open their eyes to softness. Soft sheets around their body, soft yellow light glowing off the walls, and a soft hand pressing lightly to their forehead.

“Sorry.” A soft voice, coinciding with the hand lifting from their skin. “Didn’t mean to wake you, darlin’.”

 Northlight blinks heavily, trying to focus their eyes on the warm smile of the woman sitting on the edge of the mattress they’re lying on. “When...?”

 “I found you a couple of hours ago, passed out in a heap in the rain. I hope you don’t mind me bringing you here. I’ve no patients right now, and you didn’t sound well.”

 They blinked again, squinting at their saviour. She has a stethoscope around her neck over a strawberry patterned blouse. “Oh...doctor?”

 “I am a doctor, yes,” she agrees. “But you can call me Melanie. I just run a walk-in clinic for this area. Do you have any allergies I need to know about?”

 “No...” They squinted up at her again. More details emerged with each pass. She had cats-eye red glasses and a long, graceful neck.

 “Okeydokey. Let’s get some water in you, if you can manage it. Careful now, as you sit up.”

 Northlight found their arms and legs and half-pushed, half-pulled their aching body upright. They felt like they’d been awake for hours already, and yet at the same time, like they had still to fully wake up. As they leaned back again, a tightness in their chest alerted them to a coming cough, which wracked their bones in a shudder of convulsions.

 “Mm, that’s why I brought you in,” Melanie said. “Not to worry, you’re in good hands now. As long as we can head off infection, you’ll be out of here in no time. Is there anyone I can call for you?”

 They can’t remember if there is anyone, so they shake their head. Even if there is, it’s unlikely that anyone would come.

 “And is there anything I can get for you that you like to eat? What do you like to do for fun? I want you to be comfortable here.”

 Eat? “Anything hot,” they say, knowing full well how they sound. “Not - n-not fish, though. And um, I don’t...reading? History books.” That’ll be useful, at least.

 “No fish, history books, gotcha.” She stood, patting her knees and smiling. “You’re okay to stay here until you feel better?”

 “Yeah,” they say, because this really is exactly what they wanted. It might not be that easy, of course, given that their power is always fucking with them... But they want to try. “Yeah, I think so.”

 “Good!” She seemed genuinely thrilled. “So just get comfy, and if you need anything, you pull that string there, it’ll ring the bell I’ve got. Now just rest up, alright?”

 They don’t mean to fall asleep as quickly as they do, but it’s much more comfortable here than they’ve felt in a long time, and it’s warm to boot. The air feels easier to breathe, maybe because she’s already treated them, but...it’s easier to sleep when they’re not fighting for every breath.

 When he wakes, it’s initially with a sense of panic. Sleeping in a bed is dangerous thing, after all. If they fall asleep somewhere they’re not meant to be, they can wake up in trouble.

 But today, slowly, they remember where they are. It’s a clinic, and there’s a doctor who looks up from a book at their bedside and smiles. “Evenin’,” she says. I hope your nap helped. Ready to get some food in you?”

 They nod slowly, as the ache in their chest wakes up. They take the medication and drink the soup she hands them in turn. They try not to pull a face at the taste of her cooking, remembering worse. She chats a little, in a comforting way, like she’s just stopping the silence from getting too long. They try to reply, but their throat has hardened to something impossible to flex.

 “Oh, lost your voice?” she asks. At their nod, she passes them a pad of paper and a pencil. “Not unusual for your kind of cough. If you could open your mouth for me...” She takes a quick peek inside, shining a little torch into their throat. “Mhmm. You’re okay. If you want to know more or have questions, fire away.”

 They shake their head quickly. They’d rather not know, as long as they’re not at risk. It’s not like they can die - they just have to survive it, ride it out. And doctors can never tell you how long you’ll be sick for.

 “Okeydoke. Anything else hurting or feeling off, aside from your chest and throat? Muscle pains, any open wounds or untreated injuries?”

 Flu aches, they write on their paper.

 “Ah, yes. I’ll get you a hot water bottle.” She gets up. “I’ll just be a minute.”

 They lean their head back again on the pillows. The minute passes in a blink of their weighted eyelids, and they blink open again at the sensation of a warm sensation spreading over their chest. For a moment they think it must be blood, but when they open their eyes, Melanie is gently placing the hot water bottle over their blankets.

 “Hey, thought you were asleep,” she whispers, smiling as warmly as the precious gift of heat she’s given them. “Where do you want this?”

 They pick it up with weak hands and slide it behind their head, sighing in relief as it soothes the low pounding pain of their neck and shoulders.

 “Better?” she asks softly.

 They nod a little, and close their eyes again. They can’t have ever been this warm, or this comfortable.

 -

 Slowly, he takes off the shirt. She just wants to check them over. There’s no knife or scalpel or any kind of blade. Her hands rest, gloved, in the air. No sudden moves.

 “It’s alright. I won’t touch you until you’re ready.”

 He nods. He folds the shirt slowly, and then hesitates.

 “Take your time.”

 He pushes the covers down, exposing his bare chest. His ribs are lined with bruising from the coughs, but he doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t care about how his comfortable weight vanished, leaving only ugly bones behind. He doesn’t even mind that he’s filthy.

 She can see the sigils. The one on his chest, the new one, and the old one on his shoulder. She can touch them, hurt him, burn him deep, copy them, bleed him, carve one into him again and trap him to this time...

 “Look at me, Northlight. You’re safe. You’re in my clinic. Look at me, please.”

 He finds her in the haze of flashbacks. Her gaze is steady and she smiles. “That’s it. When you’re ready, I’m going to put a hand on your ribs, and then on the other side. I just need you to keep breathing for me, okay? That’s all you need to do.”

 He nods.

 “Are you ready?”

 She can see them. She can touch them. She can hurt him - but she won’t. He knows she won’t.

 Nobody has seen this since Angel.

 He nods.

 “Alright. Any time you need me to stop, just say so. I’m dedicated to making this as comfortable as possible.

 He watched her hands approach, but they stayed on target all the way to the edge of his skin, hovering just slightly above his ribs. He breathes slowly, and gives her another little nod before she lays her hands on him.

 “That’s good,” she murmurs. “Keep breathing, nice and deep. I’m just feeling for damage. You seem okay, so I’m going to press a little. It might hurt or feel uncomfortable. Just keep breathing for me.”

 She presses, feeling her way along the ribs. It burns coldly with the pressure of another person’s hands. The physical ache barely registers. She’s touching him. Gently.

 “That’s really good. Okay, stethoscope time. Keep breathing nice and deep.” She places the ends in her ears and leans over him. “Here it comes. Shouldn’t be cold.”

 It’s not, but he flinches anyway. It’s a different experience, and those are bad. New touches, unfamiliar kinds of touch, and he feels so vulnerable with the metal ring inches from the blood-beaded mark.

 “Thank you, Northlight.” She takes the pressure away. “I can see the two wounds you told me about. Would you consider letting me dress them? I would be able to do it without touching them, although it would be better to clean them first. There’s a spray I can put on them that wouldn’t involve contact even from a swab.”

 He shakes his head. He listens all the way through, because he respects her, but he shakes his head. If they get infected again, he’ll just wait it out. If they get bloodstains on his clothes, he’ll wash them off. It can’t be touched. They can never be touched. Every time mortal fingers press against them they burn like something carves them anew, and the contact from other sources is only barely an improvement. It hurts as though it is freshly cut, every second. It is only because he has multiple marks now that he can tell the pain does fade, eventually.

 “I won’t give you any treatment you don’t want,” she tells him. She offers him his shirt. “Would you like a breather? I can give you space if you’d like. Or if you’re up for it, I can listen.” She gives him a serious, compassionate look. “I know you have nightmares.”

 He doesn’t know why, but he nods. He thinks, if he talks about it, just a little...maybe they won’t hurt so much.

 -

 Northlight stays with Doctor Melanie for a week, recovering from whatever she said they had that they deliberately didn’t listen to. The cough gradually fades, and with it, the heaviness in their chest. The aches subside and they eat better than they have in years. Three times a day, always hot, with as much water as they want. Soup, stew, porridge and pasta, she was all about soft comfort foods that didn’t scrape their healing throat.

 Besides that, the company. She watched television with them, laughing along with light-hearted shows. She played the guitar, and taught them a few basics, just for fun. She was full of stories about travelling to other countries, the kind of travelling Northlight had never been able to do, and could tell tales of growing up in America, of being a relief doctor, of her work in the community, and of her huge family. She enjoyed their comments and questions, and their evident interest in all that she knew.

 They didn’t have to tell a single tale to earn their keep. She wanted to help them, and entertain them, and just - everything for them, for once, and it was stunning.

 But they’ve healed now, and it’s time to leave. They’re better. They’re up and fed and washed. They’re ready to be sent away.

 “Here,” she says, pressing a coin into their hand. “From when I was in Kenya. A souvenir of your journeys with me. Come back if you’re ever hurt or lonely, okay?”

 They’d never told her that they were lonely. They hadn’t needed to. They nodded.

 “Take care,” she said, seeming reluctant to see them off. Perhaps she hoped against hope that they could pay her. “I mean it, come back even if you’re hungry, okay?”

 They nodded again. They slipped the coin into the pocket of their worn trousers. They’d refused new ones when she’d offered. She’d carefully emptied their pockets, washed their clothes, and returned them with the trinkets and scraps in a neat little pile.

 She’d saved them. Barely a week after escaping from the cult, and they’d found someone so kind.

 She closes the door. They aren’t sure if she’s still watching or not when they step to the side, coin still clutched tightly in their hand, and vanish.

[ziracona]

Anytime I see the legion im picturing urs so now in a trial im like "fukn idiot loser babies" *pallet smacks*. Reading ur meta(is that the term??) on Julie just now I'm like. So mad for her!! Get them kids some therapy!! How could the adults in their lives let them get to such a shitty point.. >:( Also, another thought I had with Adiris. The buzzfeed video is more her holding a bunch of cats. Because the survivors are like herding cats. Chaos children they are (im looking at you meg.)

Hahdjsdk god what a mood. Every time I see an Anna I’m just like “!!! MOM?” And get a hatchet between the eyes rip. And yeah! Meta is right.

For real, for real. Julie and all the Legion kids had some real shit going on. Joey by far had the best home life and family, but even he had a bunch of struggles in school because his family didn’t have time or in many cases experience to help him study, and it was crowded and poor, and because he had no help most kids got, he got treated like he was stupider, and even when he had skills in other areas, everyone at school expected him to perform well at sports and not much else like that was fine & he was meant to be valuable exclusively as an athlete, when he much preferred and actually really liked things like shop and ceramics and building/making stuff. But most people treat trade classes like easy As dumb kids pick (back when shop was still a thing), and like it was a worthless skill, and like. That doesn’t sound as bad as like, being bounced through foster homes as Frank, but pain is relative, you know? Bad is just bad. And things grind on you. It was hard to be taught constantly he was only worth something as a skill he didn’t even really care about, and get treated like he was dumb just because he had less help built in to school than most kids there did. People don’t talk about this much but like, having parents or sibs who help with homework? It’s a huge factor. So is just having family who are college graduates (if you go to college), because first gen student means walking in blind & alone & accountable to no one but bills, and like, college is initially overwhelming with two parents with Masters who are helpful. Any time what you value about you and what you love doesn’t match up with what people who have more power than you tell you is valuable about you/should be your goal, it’s hard. Especially as a teen still trying to like hack out an identity. Overly enthusiastic and impulsive, and has been mocked and hurt and turned on for it, but can’t shut it off. Big heart, but the luck to stand up usually just in time to get laid flat again.

And then Susie, with the parents who don’t care for her or pay her much mind other than disappointed looks and an occasional snap or suggestion or urging to try something different that what she’s doing. Bullied for her sexuality, nervous, and in a small town in the late 90s, probably the only lesbian (at least that she’s aware of existing) in that entire like couple hundred people mountain town, and sort of unbearably alone and misunderstood and isolated feeling. God, feeling like there’s just no one like you are out there is one of the worst feelings, isn’t it? Buried in the things she knows people whisper about her and a thousand tiny microinteractions a day that drain her armor. Loves Julie, but is so isolated Julie is her entire world to an unhealthy, co-dependant, and worryingly usable/manipulatable and non-independent nature for Susie. Because she’s so desperate to keep her she’d do anything not to be alone. But the struggle to never be alone by chasing Julie’s shadow means there’s no time for Susie and her own hopes and dreams and choices and developing personhood. But the worst part is that she’s genuinely happy this way, trailing after the girl she loves, which makes it so hard for either of them to confront and stop even enough to just make it healthy again. But she’s built her whole identity on one person like a precarious janga tower that could fall any second if the wrong piece goes, and that can’t be sustained forever, and who is she when it does crumble?

Then you got Julie, hot, popular, ignored personality disorder, proud parents who want her to keep being ideal and their little princess, than can’t handle her as a teen when she’s not in the box they expected anymore and they can’t just live and be proud vicariously through her all the time. Hit puberty early & dated way too physically way too young with way too much older men. Hit on by teachers, by men three times her age in parking lots. Quickly taught it’s safer to say yes than no and sex and love are a battlefield where you use the other as a stepping stone & the trick is to manurver so you’re okay once it’s over and got something while it went on. Had fun being hot and physically developed young because she suddenly had admirers and people were nice, then realized way too late that it came with constantly being in danger and under pressure to keep performing sexiness, and there wasn’t a livable choice to back out and fail those expectations anymore & be okay in her social circles. Knows she’s not emotional or loving in the way her loved ones are distressed about it, but can’t tell why, and gives up trying to ‘fix it’ and just pretends she doesn’t care and leans into being the sexy bitch and the power that comes with it. Doesn’t even know who she is herself beneath any of the ways she lives anymore, maybe she just is the act, maybe that’s fine. Trusts no one and that’s fine it’s just smart. Caught between liking the power of sex and intelligence and coldness, and the emptiness of not really being somebody. Needs to be loved and idolised and eternally aware how much people would hate her for that if they knew it was the truth, so she just keeps it to herself and makes herself someone they have no choice but to love and adore, so it’ll all be okay. Caught between worried she is cold and unfeeling and selfish and proud, and liking the power that goes with that, and the lack of desire to change, and the fear she doesn’t know how to do it. So she mostly just doesn’t think about any of the turmoil anymore and lives Julie instead of being her.

Then you got Frank, tossed around a myriad of foster homes, stolen by the government from the only one he ever was loved in over race, abused in every way foster parents have learned to abuse the kids they were supposed to love, and convinced since he was a kid that he’s a bad seed and a monster at heart, until he leaned into the violence of that to protect himself when no one else did. Harsh and strong and a fighter, a survivor, lonely and a loner, too much past, no future, not much present. Angry, god, so angry, and nothing to do with it. No skills, or money, or future, or any of it. No love, no family. Just the things he taught himself to survive. Just a good liar, a good fighter, adaptable, fast, tactical, enduring. Knows how to pick locks and lift wallets and hoard food that is least likely to be noticed. How to vanish, how to look real scary and real big, how to get stabbed and get back up, and take a fall, and bide his time. How to find north. Which makes for a good what? A thug, a conman, a drug runner, a loan shark or a hitter or a bouncer maybe? A guard, a killer, a thief? No love, no ties, no one. And only a borrowed, angry, violent sense of self, and all the other versions that didn’t live to adulthood but aren’t quiet dead yet buried beneath it.

God, the opening line to the original lore for Darkness Among Us really was beautiful and memorable. The kind of first line you hope for. “Frank Morrison was ninteen, and had little to show for it.” Like, fuck. It’s so understated, and common, and painfully mundane, but that’s it, that’s his whole life. And how fucking painful that is. To be the end of teenagehood, stepping into adult life alone, and be able to be summed up in just eleven words, as a marker of your lived timespan up to now, and the annotation that you from all of it have gained almost nothing that could be worth any note. I fucking love that line. God. It’s so empty, and cruelly mundane and undramatic and unimportantly scored and marked, like it doesn’t even matter that he’s down nearly two decades of life with nothing worth taking into the next two.

Lord, all the Legion kids really do need help, and therapy, and like, one decent parental figure. Thank god for Jeff. He really is out here doing the real work. Love that man. TuT

And you’re right w Adiris lol. 🤣 It’s a mix of cats and dogs, magbe even. Some of them aren’t trouble, but oh, oh some most definitely are. Side note: I fkn just reallly love cats. Poor Adiris out here tryin her best, and I’m sure she does too.

[luckyfirerabbit]

Angsty Strigana AU

Written under the cut because it’s a bit lengthy. And this AU is built around the fanon I have established with Shatranj, so Welsh plays a little part of it, and is also set in a semi-modern/modern setting. Enjoy!

The council of sisters, though defunct, survives into more modern times. No longer rulers of a fledgling empire, they have consolidated their wealth and retreated to a much more discreet lifestyle as population and religious uprisings in the region take hold and being a vampire isn't as advantageous as it once was.

Late 1930's: Rumors abound of the Order of the Midnight Sun and it's growing interest in the occult -witchcraft, supernatural beings, etc. The entire supernatural community is on edge and is migrating in droves to neutral/remote countries to hide from them and the war they know is coming. The council, thus far has gone undisturbed, but they sense it won't last and are making preparations to relocate when they hear about Austria's possible annexation by Germany.

Most of the council makes it out safely; the German's ambush Striga and Welsh in waning hours before they flee, as they remained to finish tying up loose ends and covering their tracks. Striga convinces Welsh to get out while she can "You protect my sisters, whatever it takes! I will find you when I can!" But the Midnight Sun knew what they were going after, they had what they needed to subdue a vampire, and collect Striga for their growing cache of supernatural creatures.

When Striga refuses to help the Order willingly, they essentially seal her in a box, hooked up to a machine that would harvest her blood to turn others, and the Order has begun a dozen broods in this method with other vampires. All of them locked away secret labs and bunkers across the continent.

Naturally this form of incarceration is maddening, and it does not bear well on Striga's mental state. Eventually the strain is so great that she slips into hibernation, while the Order continues to squeeze the afterlife out of her. All the while she dreams endlessly, of home, of her sisters, of Morana.

All the while the remaining Sisters have consolidated with other vampires and supernaturals to aid the Allies to stop the Order and the Axis Powers altogether, with a great many resources being allocated to locating those that had been taken by the Order, and endeavor that continues long after the war.

With the German surrender in '45, the Order dispersed, most labs were outright abandoned and left for the Allies to find and dismantle themselves. The lab where the "brooding" vampires were kept is exceptionally remote, and is simply abandoned, left undiscovered for decades -it's prisoners undisturbed.

82 yrs later: Welsh and the sisters remain active parts of the organized effort to keep Supernaturals off the radar and peacefully coexisting with humans, all the while continuing its work to discover all the Order's secrets and recover what -and who- they can. They have adapted as best they can, but it's obvious to nearly anyone that they have never really acclimated to Striga's absence. Morana least of all. Her melancholy is famous to those who know about it in depth, and pitiable by those who don't.

Morana refuses to believe that Striga is dead, something tells her that she would know. She sees her lover in dreams, feels her somehow, and senses she is still out there somewhere. But the fact that after more than eighty years they haven't found a trace of her is infuriating and soul crushing. She has done her best to cope, but some nights... At one point her depression pulled her into hibernation, and she was inactive for more than nine months.

Welsh is more active in the organization, always being the military -hands dirty sort, she has been a spearhead for the Org. efforts on the ground for the last near century. She has been deployed across the globe in search of her best friend, and is word down by coming back empty handed every time. Finally they get a break when a vampire comes forward with a barcode on his body (all "midnight sons" were coded so sires could be traced etc.) that the Org doesn't have on record, never traced before, and he's willing to show them where he was "made". Welsh chooses to keep the discovery secret from the sisters at first -primarily to spare them any more disappointment if this turns out to be a bust.

The lab is particularly remote and exceptionally well hidden. Only accessible by helicopter, which is likely the primary reason it was never found. No road, no indication of its existence. They had never found evidence of it when the Allies went through everything, and no one divulged its location even at the threat of a noose. Inside it's like a time capsule -the scientists and soldiers had lived here, and abruptly left, leaving everything behind. It's a wealth of information, evidence, and there are roughly a dozen sires incarcerated there. All in hibernation, all possibly still able to be revived. All of them are collected and shipped out -it's best not to try and wake any of them just yet, they just didn't have the resources to do it safely or to give them the care they will certainly need.

Welsh remains at headquarters for the following week, trying to placate the sisters when they ask what she's up to -little white lies and such- and doing her part for rehabing the vampires they found. One by one the "cells" are opened up and hibernating vampires are carefully resuscitated over the course of several days -that's how long they need a steady supply of blood pumped through them to wake them from stasis. All of them have a form of "sleeping sickness" many cases resulting in altered mental states and irreversible signs of aging. Seeing Striga as a shriveled, corpse-like imposter of herself is heart wrenching. Welsh barely recognizes her.

When Striga comes to, awake for the first time in nearly a century, all she can say is "Morana, where is Morana?" Though she shakes and can barely comprehend anything and her once solid raven hair is streaked with gray, all she can think of is her wife. Welsh promises that once she's well enough, she'll see Morana again. "Cross my heart." Because a reunion like that should be at home, where they won't have to be separated again unless they choose to be.

The culture shock is tangible. A lot has changed and Striga knows she has a struggle ahead of her in that regard. Never mind how eighty years of hibernation has impacted her general mental health. After all those years in dreams, some days it's hard to distinguish between being asleep and awake. Something else she knows she will struggle with in the days to come.

Finally comes the day that Striga can go home, and she is both relieved and terrified. What's changed? Will her sisters even recognize her? Does Morana still love her -though Welsh was keen to assure her of it all this time. Will their love ever be the same? Will Morana even allow her to touch her again?

Fast forward through a car ride that felt like forever, to the place the council now calls home, and Striga is almost afraid to get out. Welsh encourages her, assures her it'll all be fine, but takes the lead in the beginning to help her along.

Lenore sees her first; initially she's happy to see Welsh, but then that happiness amplifies to uncontrollable levels when she realizes that Striga is home. She drops whatever it was that she was doing and immediately throws her arms around Striga. When Striga greets her "Hello, little sister" and hugs her back, Lenore can't stop herself from crying. Carmilla isn't far behind, and is obviously too shocked to do much more than stammer and stare. She's the one that calls for Morana to come downstairs.

Getting out of bed has been difficult for Morana for a while now, so it's a bit of task to make herself decent and to join the others. When she reaches the foot of the stairs and fully comprehends what's going on, she swears the entire world stops turning and that she felt it come to a grinding halt. For what feels like a short eternity she cannot move, and simply stares.

Eighty years. Eighty years of having to live being haunted by the idea of never seeing the only one you've loved ever again. You don't just brush that off, even when they are standing right in front of you. Morana is afraid to do anything, because a part of her is convinced she's dreaming, and any action at all would scatter the illusion and she would wake up.

In some way, Striga feels it too, but it doesn't compare to the gut wrenching need she has to be near Morana, to take her in her arms and never let go. But she approaches slowly and holds out her hand once she's close enough. She needs Morana to accept her. And, at first, Morana is afraid to touch her for the same reason she is afraid to move. What if Striga just vanishes the moment their hands touch?

But she doesn't, Striga is just as real as can be and now Morana can't stop crying. She takes a moment just to feel Striga's big hands, taking them in her own to remember their weight and the smoothness of calluses. Then all the feelings just cascade and she throws herself into Striga's embrace, sobbing and carrying on in seemingly every language as she tries to disappear into Striga's arms. Striga is holding on as tightly as she can, needed to know this is really happening just as much as Morana. They both cry and kiss and are a hot mess for the rest of the night. An inseparable, beautiful mess.

And then the rest of the story is just them adapting to each other, falling in love again and coming to grips with their problems and changes. Because I love stories of love that struggles -not in "a marriage story" way, but more so external ways- but comes out the other side intact and -ideally- stronger and more beautiful than ever before. I love stories where lovers know it will never be the same again, but are content because what they have now is richer and fulfilling in ways they never imagined.

[babywarg]

Drpepperony Prompt: What if Pepper went with Tony through the portal and followed them to the donut ship. Carefully soothing Stephen after his torture.

Aaaa I’m sorry, I couldn’t follow the prompt exactly! But it sparked an idea and I had to run with it. I will do my best to be more faithful to your other prompt 💗

This is actually pepperony, potentially pre-drpepperony. And Pepper didn’t join Tony and Peter on the donut ship on the get-go, but instead found a way to track them down.

This AU is set after Tony and Stephen agree to head to Titan; imagines Stephen didn’t recover as quickly from Ebony Maw’s interrogation as he did in IW.

Also, imagines the Rescue armor’s initial AI to be TADASHI. Because of Big Hero 6 and Tadashi’s affinity for healing tech 😆

***

Rescue

She didn’t have much time left.

“Power down to 20%,” the gentle voice that called itself TADASHI said with muted urgency into her ear.

Dread flooded into her.

But the only words that occurred to her were:

Keep going.

Tony was out there. Tony needed her.

Tony had built her a goddamn suit so she could use it to fly across space in order to save people in distress.

And if she was going to die trying to save one person - it would be the person who made the suit. The person she could not live without.

Despite her condition, no way she was leaving her fiancé to die out in space alone.

She couldn’t have lived with the knowledge of not even having tried.

 ***

She was only down to 10% when the Q-ship finally came into her field of vision.

The Q-ship. Where Tony’s homing signal was located.

She was laughing in relief, when she got the first clear audio transmission from Tony. And it yelled into her ear:

“What the hell do you think you’re doing??”

She grimaced, replied, “Saving you, you inconsiderate jerk! What, you thought I was going to sit around waiting for you when I have this awesome suit?”

“That awesome suit is truly awesome, honey, but it’s not built for long-distance space travel. We’re billions of miles away, Pep, how did you even - “

Pepper smirked. “I guess you forgot. Stark Industries was developing warp technology for our space exploration arm. It was highly experimental, but our head of research, Dr. Chua, helped me out with a portable version. She said it would either work or I would disintegrate into space dust.” Pepper chuckled mirthlessly. “Guess it worked.”

There was a tense silence, then a chuckle on the other end of the line.

“You’re a marvel,” she heard. “But even if it worked, it can only work once. It’ll need an enormous amount of energy. More energy than I’ve packed into your suit.”

And barely a second after that, she heard TADASHI’s voice again:

“Power down to 5%. Some features will be disabled. Please recharge immediately.”

One of the features that was disabled appeared to be the thrusters.

“Tony,” she breathed into the comms, “my power’s out. I can’t - I can’t move.”

“Wait there, honey. Wait.” These were the last clear words that Pepper heard, before the lack of power disrupted the line.

The words were becoming garbled, but Pepper thought she could hear two other voices along with Tony’s - a young boy’s, and another man’s.

Not for the first time, Pepper thought about what she might find, as she followed Tony’s homing signal. Who was he with? Aliens, maybe? Human-sounding aliens, who meant her and Tony harm?

But she pushed such bleak thoughts out of her head. She focused on the best-case scenario. Tony was around. Tony was alive, and safe, and coming for her.

That was why she was completely blindsided when a round golden portal opened up and swallowed her whole.

  ***

She opened her eyes as soon as she felt the back of her armor strike metal.

The golden portal had vanished. She was no longer in space.

She was on her back on the floor of what appeared the be the Q-ship.

Her suit had decided the air inside he ship was safe to breathe, so the nanobots that made up her faceplate dissolved.

In a heartbeat, Tony was kneeling beside her, in the camo outfit he had worn to their jogging session at the park, that morning.

She reached up to touch his face, and Tony grasped her armored hand.

Tony was here. He was safe. Unhurt.

There was also a young boy here. Also unhurt. He knelt beside her, on the other side.

“H-hi…Ms. Potts,” he greeted shyly, raising one hand. “I’m Peter. And uh…” He pointed to something at the other end of the room. “…that’s Doctor Strange.”

There was a person sitting up against a wall of the spaceship. A human. A man.

The man who had appeared to her and Tony at the park earlier that day.

His cloudy blue eyes conveyed pain to her. From where Pepper lay, it looked like he was laboring to breathe.

Pepper sat up immediately.

“Is he all right?” she asked.

“He is in shock,” TADASHI answered. “His physiology reflects signs of torture. His adrenaline is up and his blood pressure is dangerously low.”

No one else could have heard that. Pepper decided not to waste any more time.

She rushed to his side, grasped his wrists.

His hands were badly scarred and shaking. Was this from the torture?

“Look at me,” she commanded.

He obeyed.

She wasn’t completely aware of how her armor worked yet, but she had a firm grip on the basics.

“Initiating First Aid protocol,” TADASHI announced.

Tiny needles emerged from the palms of her armor, sank into Doctor Strange’s skin.

Strange grunted in pain.

It’s going to be okay, Pepper’s eyes said to him.

He held her gaze, and seemed to nod, as if he understood.

In a matter of seconds, TADASHI’s First Aid protocol had flooded him with the necessary stabilizing drugs. Strange leaned back and breathed a long, shuddering sigh, as the medicine swiftly took effect.

 ***

As Strange recovered, Tony took Pepper aside and explained as much as he could:

There was an entity called Thanos. He was after six things called the Infinity Stones. Strange was the holder of one of those Stones - it was magically sealed inside the necklace around his neck.

Because Thanos’ lieutenant, the pilot of the Q-ship, couldn’t get the stone, he got Strange instead. Tony and Peter Parker (“the Kid,” as he had been affectionately dubbed) had followed Strange and his abductor into the Q-ship (the “donut ship,” as Tony so lovingly called it).

They had just defeated the lieutenant and were thinking of what to do next. Having Pepper suddenly drop in on them was certainly not something they’d expected to factor in.

“I couldn’t come get you because my suit wasn’t made for space travel, either,” Tony sheepishly admitted. “Neither was his.” He pointed to Peter, who was worriedly hovering over Doctor Strange, whose eyes were closed as he sat slumped against the wall.

“You’re saying…he was the one who picked me up?” she asked. “In his condition?”

Tony nodded. Strange could open portals to apparently anywhere, he disclosed. It was easy for him.

“Tony,” Pepper said slowly, sternly, “if he could open a portal to anywhere, why didn’t you have him portal you back to me as soon as you were out of danger?”

Tony floundered for an answer. In the end he decided on making light of it: “Is this still about the restaurant reservation we had to postpone? Are you still mad about that?”

Pepper shut her eyes tight. No, no, she wasn’t going to lose her cool in this faraway place. Even if her fiancé had the uncanny ability to push all her buttons at the worst possible times.

“Please don’t tell me you actually want to be here,” she said dejectedly. “Please don’t tell me you have a plan.”

“I do, as a matter of fact, have a plan,” he answered, downcast. “But…I don’t think I should tell you. I don’t want to make you any more mad at me than you already are.”

She had a myriad of reactions to this. The first was getting downright angry. At feeling like she was facing a child, instead of a life partner from whom she needed and deserved only the truth.

The second was to feel alone. Even if she knew she shouldn’t.

There was so much Tony didn’t know. So much that she hadn’t said.

So much she was keeping to herself.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said quietly, holding back tears, in spite of herself. “Okay? I’m here now. I’m coming with you. Wherever you’re going. If it’s back to Earth or anywhere else, I won’t leave you.”

“No.”

The word didn’t come from Tony. Or from the Kid.

It came from Strange.

He was awake. Fully conscious. Still a little weak, but it seemed the nanobots had finished dealing with the worst of it.

“No?” Pepper frowned. “I’m sorry, has anyone asked for your opinion?”

“You can’t come with us,” Strange stressed between hard breaths. “Your armor is already severely compromised. You won’t survive a confrontation, if one will arise.”

“I can,” Pepper quietly countered, stepping up closer to Strange. “My armor may not be built for more than this, but I am.” She turned to Tony. “And you can fix my suit…right?”

“Honey,” Tony bleakly answered, “I have nothing to fix it with. All this is alien tech. Even if the Kid and I put our heads together, we may not have enough time to figure out which of this is compatible with Earth tech.”

“She must be back on Earth before this ship reaches its destination,” Strange said.

“Finally, Doc, something we agree on,” Tony snorted. “If you got her here from space via magic…you can magic her back to Earth, right?”

Strange nodded.

Pepper approached Strange, crouched down to face him.

She could sense his sincerity in wanting her safe. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

“You have to be,” he said to her gently. “Not just for yourself. Or him.”

This gave her pause.

She suddenly understood.

“You know,” she whispered, “don’t you?”

“Know what?” Tony demanded, stepping up closer to them.

It’s not my place to tell, the look in Strange’s eyes said.

Both Tony and Pepper understood it right away. And it fascinated Pepper.

Strange didn’t even need to speak. Before now, she thought only she and Tony had such a connection…

And theirs had been cultivated through years of fights, misunderstandings and awkward apologies.

This guy…this guy just appeared in a park in New York.

Took one look at them, and dragged them all into something that went way over their heads.

And told her, without saying a word, that it was time to let go of a secret.

“Tony,” she said after taking a long, deep breath, “I’m pregnant.”

 ***

This set off a full-blown anxiety attack in Tony. It took several minutes of him rambling and trying to even out the rhythm of his breathing again, before they could resume a proper conversation.

Pepper had said just earlier that day that she wasn’t pregnant. She had said.

“I wanted to keep it secret until after the wedding,” she confessed. “I knew you’d short circuit. Like you’re doing now. And nothing’s going to get done.”

“But it’s me,” Tony argued miserably. “It’s us.”

I’m sorry, her entire body said to him. And he accepted it. He would forgive her anything.

And, in the end, it was good news. The best. He wrapped the woman he loved in his arms and tried to tell himself this.

No way in hell was he letting the universe end now.

“I’ll send her back,” Strange assured him. “And the Kid, too.”

Strange speaking up seemed to calm him down a bit more, for which Pepper was grateful.

“No, the Kid stays!” the Kid objected. “Please, Mr. Stark. We’ve come this far.”

There was a touch of worry in Strange’s face as he heard Peter talk. He knew something else about Peter Parker, Pepper could see it - she just couldn’t tell what it was.

Pepper immediately recognized that It was weird, how well she could read him, and vice versa. They had only known each other for a few minutes.

And she knew that it mattered that Strange didn’t override Peter’s objection. Tony might have put up a fight, but Strange was the one opening the portal back to Earth - and he said the Kid could stay.

“If you can send me back, you can do the same to all three of you,” Pepper said to Strange. “Come back safe. I want to owe you for his life.”

He nodded, looking straight into her eyes with a promise:

I’ll send him home to you and your child. You have my word.