#but I'd say it suits any version of 'em

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

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I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

[factual-fantasy]

25 asks :00000

@ocinstituterep (Posts in question)

The cooling suits they wear at the beach are the same ones they wear under their uniforms :00 And it doesn't necessarily reflect the sun,, its just a battery powered suit that keeps them cool :}

I wasn't pressured into drawing the art exactly,, but all the questions about it did push me a little into looking into the series more.. That's not really a bad thing though, I did enjoy drawing those pictures soooo-

I get this question a lot <XD When I was first designing my sona I wanted to add something to their hands. At the time my hands were covered in Band-Aids from dry skin and cat scratches. So I thought "Hey! Bandaged/bloody hands would be cool and edgy :DD" So I added them <XDD

Oh yeah, that episode was a bit odd huh? XD I think in my version of Octonauts they didn't go all the way down to its stomach- maybe just into the mouth and got the Puffer fish out.

Now the REAL episode that I basically 100% cut is the cone snail episode. You know why? Cone snails are estimated to have poison strong enough to kill 700 people! And there's NO antidote!! NO ONE would have survived being stung. Not even the Captain. They all would have died and left Peso abandoned on a ship full of the bodies of his friends in the middle of the ocean... :x pretty dark huh-

@britneyt

Thank you! :DD

@gregorythechild

XD I was getting tired of Gregory being a little snot. In game and in the fandom. So once again I made a character good out of spite! XDD

SKJAOSKJOSX I DO ACTUALLY XDDD

The basis for my Kirby Anime AU is I just found a way to add all the Metaknights to the story. You know, Axe knight, Mace night, Javelin Knight,,, etc.

This is obviously a SUPER angsty AU. For example, Axe Knight was Metaknight's first follower and best friend. But then he sacrificed himself to save Metaknight. Thinking he failed his soul was restless and he now wanders the galaxy fighting Monsters and honoring Metaknights name.. Not knowing that Metaknight survived. Its a REALLY long story that I should ramble about sometime XDD

I would advise against it,, there are plenty of good reaction images out there to find! I should know, I have 996 of them saved! I'm almost at 1000! XDD

@pinkbomb08

Thank you! And not at the moment no- but I might draw him again someday :}}

@cudlycorncornsworthcoberson

Noooooothingggg... :}}}

@annathefenecfox

I think its because the poor guy probably doesn't have enough free time to practice consistently. Being the Captain he likely has so much to do all the time.. and when he can finally sit down and indulge in hobbies,, he likely would just rather relax and read a book instead. :( Poor fella

Ah, sorry. I don't know of any. <:/

I have actually! :DD I did not sleep good that night :}}}

@invaderdrey

Thank you so much!!!! :DD

Thank you so much! And as for the memes.. ehh, I'd say just to be safe, don't make em. Comments are more than enough. The first thing I do when I wake up is check Tumblr and see if anyone left a comment on my posts. Literally! Comments are the best thing you can give me!

Thank you so much!! :DD

Heck yeah, that's the best part! <XDDD

It definitely depends on my mood, I'm split 50/50 on which one I enjoy more :000

@chickenmilk120

@its-paperd

:DDD Thank you so much!! That means a lot!

@milk-powrit (Post in question)

<XD Thankfully no, Jangles is not an iPad kid. He was just playing on my phone because Bibi and I were conked out and he was bored XDD

@simon-says-lots-of-things

:DD Thank you so much!! And yeah, I don't care what's canon or not. I wont be drawing any lovey-dovey/shippy content unless its with my own original characters. Its just not my thing man, 🤷‍♂️

@twohourstoolong

Thank you! And yeah if I were you I'd ditch pinterest. Any time I have been browsing artwork on google and clicked the link, It always took me to some stolen artwork on pinterest. I'd just rather people never found me then have found me through stolen art on pinterest..

I have not :0 sounds thrilling though! :D

[fortunatetragedy]

alright kids out of the pool it's 18+ nsfw shit time.

i'm procrastinating editing what i wrote earlier, so i went back into the previous draft of book 1 to find this vintage third draft version of a love scene that had to get completely rewritten bc sullivan fucked up the 1872 timeline with his autonomy.

for all the awkward love scene enjoyers in the house, here are 3,585 words of a sexually inexperienced 38-year-old having his first time with his older psychopath boyfriend. with mild transdimensional fuckery. that are going to end up in a junk drawer bc this is not how it plays out in the working draft at all lol.

stay hydrated.

The stairs behind The German House felt longer than he remembered, and darker. But for the steam-choked kitchen window, every portal Sullivan passed on his way to Royston's was cold and lightless. Felt as though he were sneaking past Melanie and everyone else inside, and found it did not matter.

He hit the balcony and took three steps before Royston opened his door with purposeful composure. It framed him as the picture of patience within its glow, though the flush to his cheeks suggested he had run up the stairs upon having the hour pointed out to him, or spying him out the kitchen window.

"Darling," Royston purred.

"Mister."

Rather than taking Sullivan into his arms the moment the door closed, Royston strode across the room, kicking off his loafers as he went. Sullivan realized he had been hoping Royston would embrace him, and yet he was not disappointed. It would have been nice, if everyone was wrong and that was the sort of man Arthur Royston was. But he hadn't been pinning the rest of the evening on Royston behaving any differently.

If that was the sort of man he was, they wouldn't be standing where they were. Sullivan understood. He had to understand. He held the doorknob, and considered what they were about to do.

Surviving this first night didn't mean he would survive the last, if Royston was as reactive and unemotional as Buck claimed. All he could do was treat the man with respect and see if he netted different results than the ones who had made him this way. He was this way. It would be easy for Royston to terminate this arrangement once it no longer suited him, and it would be easy for Royston to slip a knife into Sullivan's chest if he got it into his head that he had betrayed him. Wouldn't matter how long this lasted, or how much Royston claimed to enjoy his company. If Sullivan expected anything else out of him, he figured, that was his own damned fault.

Sullivan locked the door behind him, removed his saber belt, and slung it over the back of the chair.

Across the room, Royston flung his suit jacket onto the coat rack and loosed his suspenders. The only neat space in the room was the bed, which he passed by with purpose. His eyes were sharp and his posture wound as he waited for Sullivan to remove his field jacket and hang it in the unorganized bureau. To pick up one discarded loafer, then the other, and set them beneath his jacket. He pulled off one boot, then the other, and rested them beside Royston's loafers.

Hoping that sent a clear message as to his intentions, Sullivan shut the bureau door.

"I don't suppose you can leave the sword on?" Royston asked.

Sullivan tested the lock on the hall door.

"I'd have to leave the rest of it on as well."

"Say, there's an idea."

"Save 'em for next time, would you? I want everything off you next."

Royston clawed at the bow tie he'd donned for the evening and tossed it towards the nearest flat surface. It fluttered to the floor. Sullivan left it where it lay and went to him. His lover reached out and caught Sullivan by the ass and reeled him, trilling his tongue, pleased by what he had in his hands.

That the man he'd chosen smelled good, smelled like soap and pomade and an oil he could not identify, did not surprise Sullivan. That he was clean, that he was warm and healthy and relaxed, should not have. Yet the blood rushed from Sullivan's head as their bodies settled together. Royston knew exactly where it had gone, and pressed closer in recognition.

"Wait, Arthur, I--"

"I have been waiting for two months, Sullivan, don't you 'Wait, Arthur' me! A man has needs, and mine are you, inside of me, right now."

"Are you... certain that's how you--"

Royston silenced him with his lips at his ears.

"Angel," he said, "I rise certain, and I retire certain. This morning I arose certain. I've made the necessary arrangements. We have all night to talk, if that is your preference. We can even go downstairs and mingle with the others later if you so desire but right now, quit talking and ravage me."

No one had ever spoken to him the way Arthur Royston spoke to him.

Sullivan dove into Royston's lips and anchored himself in his arms. Their hands worked in uncoordinated tandem to finish unwrapping each other. By the time they reached the closest layer Royston was annoyed to have to stop so Sullivan could remove his undervest. So Sullivan could admire him.

"Arthur," he said, "in case I've not made this known to you yet, I would like to now: I find you absolutely breathtaking."

Royston laughed and said, "Oh, you. Here. Allow me to return some."

Taking firm hold of Sullivan's shirt scruff, Royston closed his eyes before he kissed him, and damn them both if Sullivan didn't know, then, that he had been breathed alive after lying dead for years. A numb body, a frozen heart, poured into a uniform every morning, nothing to do but keep marching time with entropy. Tobacco and mint and whiskey, heady and antiseptic, reawakened the nerves beneath his skin, the heat in his blood. Damn them both if kissing Royston wasn't better than breathing.

His lover growled when Sullivan broke the kiss, and scraped his shirt over his head, and his own hips flexed in response, reminding them to remove the final layer between them before seeking further friction.

When Royston found the gold chain around his neck, and the locket against his breastbone, his jaw dropped.

"You really are wearing it…"

"Of course I am," Sullivan laughed. "You gave it to me."

Sullivan rested his fingers over the X-shaped scar he found beneath the man's left nipple. Found the unmistakable shape of a low-caliber exit wound not much further down. That wound alone would have killed him, were he not possessed of such fair luck. He would ask about it later. He would ask him everything, later. He wanted to know everything, and to tell him everything.

Trembling, Royston caressed the ghost of a bayonet scar on Sullivan's right shoulder. Kissed it with lips Sullivan had not thought could be so gentle.

Royston's body told him what to do. He was not thinking. He was starving. As much as he wanted to bury himself in this man, all Sullivan did was think, too much, about everything. He pinned his hips to the wall, separating them, and Royston's head tipped to the side in question.

"Have you got oil?" Sullivan asked. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't be silly, everyone hurts—"

"I'm not everyone."

"Oh, darling, I know you're not. That's why you're here. Don't fret so much." Royston smiled and pet his beard, tugged his sideburn. "You won't."

"You're right. I won't. If you don't, I'm going to dress and go out and procure some. Trust me, mister, spit is not suited to the task you've asked me to perform, regardless of how badly I... want you."

Royston considered the matter a second longer, his thoughts his own, his eyes distant. Then he snatched a glass vial from inside the nightstand drawer, rolled it between his palms to warm it.

"The task, you say?"

"I..." Heat flushed Sullivan's cheeks, and he broke eye contact. Watched the steady, slow pulse in Royston's neck. "I apologize, Arthur. I'm afraid I've not been... intimate… like this with another person in a very long time. I've forgotten how to conduct myself."

"Why, that's hardly anything worth apologizing for. I never know how to conduct myself. Your concern for my well-being is admirable." Royston tucked his finger beneath Sullivan's chin and reeled in his gaze. An aurora in his own. "You are admirable. Save your breath and give me your hand, lover."

The smell of the extract graced his nose and reminded him of cinnamon.

"What on earth is this?"

"Oil of clove. The woman who sells it to me says it comes from a place called Madagascar."

"More, please. This is barely enough to cover a hangnail."

Royston's chest swelled, and he poured oil onto Sullivan's middle fingers with increased generosity. Capped the vial and tossed it onto the bed for later. Sullivan used his dry hand to tuck the curls behind his lover's ears. Wanting watched him. Royston spread his legs and arched his back, waiting, and Sullivan did not keep him there. He reached behind his lover to anoint him.

A soft and involuntary gasp left Royston's throat and drove a shiver through Sullivan. He wanted to hear it again. Tried to reproduce it, gentle as Royston would let him be. Royston's body opened for him, and he moaned, a hot sharp line carved from where they joined to his throat, as he slid his strapped right calf up the back of Sullivan's leg. Invited him deeper, past a tight band of muscle whose acceptance made them both gasp.

Sullivan caught the traipsing knee and encouraged it up his side.

"Aren't you going to disarm me?" Royston asked Sullivan's jaw.

"Do you wish to be disarmed?"

"Not afraid I'll stab you?"

"Accidentally, or on purpose?"

Though neither of them had touched the muscle at the base of Royston's belly, it had wedged itself between them to nudge Sullivan's navel, adamantine and slick from his ministrations. Royston's arms around his shoulders were taut. His breaths pulsed.

Of course he didn't want to take his knives off. Someone had tried to kill him not three months earlier, and then Sullivan had disappeared. He had left him alone in a town where he was not safe, with only the promise that he might return at the end of a long military campaign to sustain him. Royston had had nothing to hold onto but letters from a man he barely knew, and could not respond other than through an intermediary. He had been vulnerable long before they undressed each other.

"I don't think you've any desire to harm me, Arthur. I think you've been harmed, and I imagine that would make it difficult for you to trust that I won't harm you. I should tell you I am fond of you, and I have no intention of harming you, though I am afraid I would be rather cross, were you to purposefully poke me with a knife whilst I'm... making love to you."

Teetering, Royston sighed, "Oh, you."

Gentle, Royston reached down to retrieve Sullivan's hand and bring the glistening knuckles to his lips to kiss. Whiskers scratched the back of Sullivan's hand, and Sullivan was the one who shivered as Royston reached between them to take him in hand. Royston grinned when Sullivan groaned, and pressed another, sweeter, kiss against his cheek. Rested his forehead against Sullivan's temple as he covered him in the fragrant oil, in his precise hand. As he guided Sullivan where they needed him to be.

And he breathed, and he breathed, and he accepted him.

Never in Sullivan's life had he exercised such reverence when entering a sacred place. Forehead to forehead, centimeter by centimeter, he disappeared into the man he had chosen, in awe of him and what his body could do, of how vulnerable and human he was, if only for a few seconds. If only for a few seconds, Sullivan thought his lover would give himself over to pleasure, stay in this moment with him.

The man Sullivan had chosen was reckless. Each tick of the second hand insulted him. He lost patience with Sullivan's patience and braced himself on Sullivan's shoulders. Locked his calf around his lower back and sheathed him, far too fast.

It hurt, or at least caused him discomfort, and he would not say so, beyond a soft grunt he tried to swallow, that Sullivan heard because he was listening for every tiny sound he made. Sullivan would not enjoy the constrictive warmth Royston had drawn him into because he felt him flinch, felt his eyes close, felt his breath seize.

This was the manner of men Royston had passed time with. They did not care if they hurt each other. They did not even notice, he would have been willing to bet. It would have been over with soon enough. Royston was waiting for it to be over, now that Sullivan was inside him. That's what he was expecting to happen, regardless of how sweet they were on each other, because that was what had always happened. Because neither of them were young, and they did not have the rest of their lives ahead of them to recover from heartbreak and betrayal. They were both of them knitted with scars by the time they found each other.

Sullivan refused to add another scar to the litany on his man's heart. He would have rather walked away from him than ever be the reason he was unhappy.

Until he breathed again, Sullivan touched Royston's face, watched the tension ease where his fingers smoothed, and they did not move. Until he opened his eyes again, Sullivan kissed his forehead, his brow, his temple, all the muscles that were frowning, watched him turn towards the attention, and they did not move.

Until his lover returned to his body, Sullivan waited. They did not move.

"Sullivan?" he asked, dazed, as if waking from reality into a dream.

"Cole," Sullivan answered, unthinking.

"What's that, angel?"

"My first name's Cole. I just realized I never told you."

"... Cole Sullivan." The way Royston looked at him at he caressed his face, Sullivan was fool enough to believe he was as spellbound as he sounded. "Oh, you did make me work for that, didn't you..."

"This is work for you?"

Royston laughed, breathless, uncomfortable.

"That's not what I meant and you damn well know it. Don't stop, Cole, please..."

Before continuing on, Sullivan assessed the situation. Read the shaking in Royston's leg, he was bracing his weight so he would not have to rely on his partner. Royston didn't trust anyone. He was trying to trust Sullivan. He'd had hopes for how tonight was going to go, himself. He'd thought things would be different because he thought Sullivan was different.

Sullivan's dumb heart melted.

"Arthur," he said, "I recognize I have given you no reason to trust me—"

Royston's calf tightened around his waist, trapping him.

"That is not true," he said.

"—and that you may have trusted other men before, and that they may have violated that trust—"

Royston was panting, and gripping Sullivan with that deep muscle, threatening to cut off Sullivan's ability to form coherent sentences, but he did not interrupt again.

"—but all I want to do is love you. That's all. I don't want anything from you. If you decide you would prefer to… to be inside of me, later… even if you change your mind before we've finished, I… I do not have much experience in that area, but I am… willing to learn, if you will teach me, and I expect you to tell me to stop, if—"

"You have stopped," Royston laughed.

"Slowing ain't stopping," he said, and took gentle hold behind his man's trembling knee. Guided the leg to join the other around his waist. Royston scrabbled for purchase, tightened his arms around his shoulders, fingers hooked into the edges of the blades. Uncertain. "I don't like how you're shaking. You're the one in charge right now, Arthur. Not me. All I'm doin' is holdin' you, and I ain't gonna drop you."

They were on a precipice together. Sullivan gave him a moment to acclimate, let him set his teeth into his skin and run his hands over his back, inspect the muscles, accept that Sullivan was telling the truth. That he could bear his insignificant weight. That he would not hurt him, not tonight, not unless he asked him to. That he did not intend to let go of him, now that he had him in his arms.

Royston laughed. Relief flowed through their bones.

"Oh," he said, and laughed again, and buried his face in Sullivan's hair. "Oh, I can't believe I forgot how strong you are…"

"Tell me what you need."

Sullivan breathed him in. Breathed their heartbeats into synchrony. Held his lover's sit-bones in his hands, marveling at how they fit, how perfect they felt in his palms. Like this was meant to happen.

"Tell me what you need, and I'll do it, Arthur. Anything."

Resuscitated, Royston tightened his legs around Sullivan's waist and settled into his arms. Able to trust that he was safe, for the first time in his life. The moan that came up out of him sounded like a herald as he relaxed where he needed to relax.

"Oh, Cole," Royston breathed in Sullivan's ear, a proclamation just for him, not for anyone else, "you belong in armor."

Something had changed. Royston had changed, before they ever met.. This had never happened in any other world, and it would never happen again. Everything had changed, already.

Royston rolled his hips, and moaned deep in his throat, and Sullivan moved to keep time with him. They were meant to happen. They were perfect.

"Oh, that's good. Oh, Cole, that's so good. Faster. You can go faster. Yesyesyes just like that. Harder. Hard—yes! Oh you're good you're so good Cole thank you..."

Sullivan claimed Royston's beautiful mouth, savored the laugh that bubbled up in his beautiful throat, the faint taste of cloves on those beautiful lips. As they worked themselves together their bodies learned each other's language and their lungs fed each other air and Royston kept his eyes open, watching. Saw the question and grinned and ran his tongue up the side of Sullivan's face. This wild man's roots were growing into his soil. He welcomed them. He welcomed him.

Then Sullivan saw the nothing folks claimed to see. None of them had ever been this close and the ones who had had not been worth a damn. He was in the man's arms, in him, and he saw the night sky when he looked in his eyes. He saw creation and destruction. He could not see how it could be possible to be this close and want to hurt him instead of protect him, how anyone could ever be this close and not love him.

I can love him, he decided. I can love a man who looks at me the way he does even if he can't love me back.

Something in Sullivan's eyes whispered to Royston. He watched the revelation dilate his pupils. Fingernails raked and heels dug and Royston spurred him to flex muscles he had not flexed in so long they burned. Gentle pressure kept Royston's back against the wall, their lower halves aligned, so Sullivan would not crack his man's skull against the wall every time he buried himself in him.

Inarticulate, Royston grabbed a handful of his lover's hair and set his teeth into his flesh and trembled with the effort of not. His breathing a plea. He was holding himself back.

"I'm gonna if you do," Sullivan told him.

No more he and him, then. They took each other with them when they came.

Whether he wanted it to or not, Royston's throat sang out in praise of what they had done. He curled around Sullivan and locked him in place and cried out as they absorbed each other. Buried the sound in Sullivan's shoulder, loud enough that everyone in the building would have heard if he had thrown his head back rather than letting it be just for them.

And in the after, as they were clung to each other damp and spent and pulling for air, he returned his feet to the floor. His turn to take his lover's weight. He was ready. Sullivan collapsed against him and let his breath go. He'd catch it later.

"Good Lord, Arthur…"

"You," Royston sighed. Cupped Sullivan's face in his hands, eyes gleaming. Humor glistening on both their sternums. "Oh, there has never been anyone like you and I dare say there never shall be again." He kissed him. "You're mine." He kissed him. "I'm keeping you." He kissed him. "I'm keeping you forever."

Royston could have stabbed him then and Sullivan would not have seen it coming.

A realization came to him, late. Royston's hands had stayed clutched to his shoulders the entire time. One was in his hair now. He had not reached for a knife as he fucked, or as he came. He had only reached for Sullivan.

"You're mine," Sullivan mumbled, and burrowed deeper into his arms.

"That's right. I'm out of circulation. I'm done for. I've been yours since day one."

This must be why they called it falling in love. Now that he had hit the ground, Sullivan wanted to stay where he was, broken and dumb and warm. He couldn't move. He didn't want to.

Royston sought Sullivan's gaze, and earned it.

"Welcome home, angel."

Sweat cooled their skin as the dry Kansas air took it, and though they shivered, they kept each other warm. Neither moved except to hold the other tighter. His heart beat against his man's chest, and it beat, and it beat, and it beat.

[ello-sims]

Hi ello-sims! I just wanted to say I love your defaults - my game is filled with them and I really appreciate you making them! Can I ask as well - in post/676804579960160256 you mentioned that teen/elder versions of the guy outfit might be coming soon. Is there any chance you're still working on that because my South Asian guys have nothing to wear haha! Anyway thank you so much for all your hard work! :)

Hi anon, apologies! They were ready when I'd posted, I never got round to pics.

MadrasShirtForesterCargo (TM) and MascotDiver and SewingMachine (EM) replaced with @platinumaspiration EA SP24 Suit Flared and EA SP24 SuitFlared for TM and EM

Everyday and formal. Thank you for reminding me!

MadrasShirtForesterCargo | MadrasShirtForesterCargo (Stand Alone)

MascotDiver and SewingMachine | MascotDiver and SewingMachine (Stand Alone)

[super-ion]

Ion & Emily

The Honeymoon - part 2

(part 1, masterpost)

Cannonball sails across the room. It's almost beautiful until she slams through the drywall.

I wince. I know she's indestructible, but still… that doesn't look fun.

She steps out of the hole in the wall and rolls her shoulders. She looks pissed.

Holy shit. I love my wife. She is amazing.

That said, I thank my lucky stars that she retired from superhero stuff before she met me because she is abso-fucking-lutely terrifying right now.

Well, I guess that's mostly because she swore never to put the mask on again and somebody went and kidnapped me and forced her hand.

That particular somebody launches a stream of lightning at her. She manages to throw her arms up in time to absorb the bolt. I guess it grounds through her suit because she doesn't bat an eye.

I should probably pause and explain what's going on. So, a couple years ago, Emily's brother shows up on my doorstep asking for help. Newsflash, he's a superhero. He tells me Emily's in danger, and she and I were sort of dating at that point, so of course I'm helping him out. We get to the Tower and second newsflash, Emily's actually a retired superhero (which, in retrospect, I probably could have figured out on my own if I hadn't been panicking about her being in danger). Anyway, this hero Thundercloud has gone full villain, like A-list villain, like civilian casualties villain. The three of us take him down, hurray! At some point I guess he broke out and he's got an axe to grind. He tracked us down. In Paris. On. Our. Honeymoon.

Seriously, who the fuck does that?

I guess he decided to kidnap me because he thinks I'm a bigger threat? Because I'm technically a villain and she's a civilian? I don't know, whatever his logic, he just made a gigantic mistake. If there's one thing I know about Emily, it's if the people she loves are in danger, the gloves come off. She's got like two settings, mild mannered retired superhero and absolutely ready to fuck your shit up.

She bares her teeth and lets out a primal howl as she sprints towards Thundercloud.

It's the hottest thing I've ever seen.

Also!! Her costume! God damn!

It's like the sexy grown up version of the one she wore as a teenager. It's sleek, it's modern, and the black and pink hugs her curves and muscles perfectly.

She's so transcendent that I momentarily forget that I'm a supervillain. Can you blame me though? I'm literally living out one of my teenage fantasies here. Like… my inner fourteen year old is re-experiencing baby's first gender crisis.

An unmistakable whiff of sulfur tickles my nose, snapping me back to reality. Somebody crouches behind the chair I'm tied to and gets to work on the handcuffs. Of course they're low tech, anything with any kind of tech and I'd have been out in minutes.

"You like it?" Lady Lacuna says as she cuts through the first cuff. "Bit of a late wedding present."

My eyes slide back to Cannonball and the familiar logo, it's unmistakably my version of her logo.

"Oh shit," I said breathlessly. "You made her that?"

"Technically it was her idea," she replies. "I did make a couple design choices with you in mind though."

I swear, I owe this woman the biggest favor.

She finishes cutting and the second cuff falls off. My power floods back as whatever nullification crap was in them wears off. My head is still fuzzy from all the lightning bolts that are still flying around, but I can suddenly feel the hum of the power lines running through the building and the grittier digital signals in distant computers.

Lady L slaps a gauntlet into my hand. It's one of mine. I slip it onto my wrist and my awareness expands further.

I jump to my feet. I've got to help my wife. Lady L grabs my by the shoulder.

"Girl, no!" she hisses. "You don't have any of your gear. He's going to fucking fry you if you try to engage."

"But Em… uh… Cannonball?" I plead.

I look back to see Cannonball deliver a roundhouse kick to Thundercloud's head.

"She's got this," Emily says, watching Cannonball with an unreadable expression.

She's right. I don't have any of my gadgets or armor and my powers are pretty useless in a stand up fight.

There's an explosion as Thundercloud unleashes one of his finishing moves. I'm knocked back a few steps and I have to shield my eyes against the blinding light and the patter of rubble.

As I open my eyes, Cannonball is there. She's been thrown across the room again and has skidded to a halt at my feet. She's dirty and sweaty and her hair is singed, but she's just as beautiful as I've ever seen her.

She blinks up at me.

"Hey, gorgeous," she says, sending my heart aflutter.

"You… you look amazing," I stammer.

She glances down at her costume, which is holding up remarkably well considering the punishment she's been going through. She grimaces slightly before forcing a cockeyed smile.

"This old thing?" she asks as she drags herself to her feet. "Thought it might be good to dust it off and relive the glory days."

Before I can come back with anything, we hear a groan behind us and Lady L is staggering and clutching her head. I don't know if you've ever seen a head wound, but there's always like an alarming amount of blood.

An instant later, all the hair on my neck lifts up and I barely have enough time to dive out of the way of another lightning bolt.

It strikes Cannonball in the chest, knocking her back and she lets out a string of curses that I'm definitely not repeating. She looks at me, then at Lady L.

"Both of you get out of here," she says. "I've got this."

I give her a nod and she sprints towards Thundercloud again.

I don't have to be told twice, not with Lady L being injured. I grab her by the arm and drag her behind a desk.

"Let me see," I say and pull her hand away from her head.

"I'm fine," she says, slurring slightly.

She's… probably fine. The wound looks a lot worse than it is, but I'm pretty convinced she's got a concussion. She definitely needs medical attention.

"We gotta get out of here," I say. "Do you think you can manage a portal? Dr Hands has that townhouse in the city."

She blinks, trying to clear her head.

"Y-yeah," she says. "I think… yeah…"

She raises a hand and the fabric of reality rends open with an almost audible scream.

Without a second thought, I drag her through.

It closes right behind us and the silence falls like a wet blanket, the sounds of a super fight replaced with the night sounds of the city.

We're… not at Dr Hands' place. We're in a park somewhere. Still in Paris as far as I can tell. It's after midnight, so it's pretty deserted. That said, I'm really not a fan of the idea of dragging an obvious super who is very obviously injured through this place.

I can't even speak French. Like I tried downloading a dictionary into my brain and… well, it didn't go very well. I've mostly been relying on Emily to get around.

Jen. Focus.

The gauntlet Lady L gave me has connected to the internet, so that's good. Without a HUD, it takes me a minute to get oriented, but I manage to determine that she only missed our destination by a couple blocks, so that's good.

I get her arm over my shoulder and heft her up.

"Come on," I say. "It's not far."

She nods, but doesn't say anything. Actually she looks like she's going to be sick. That's probably not good.

We make it about a block and a half when she staggers and slumps in my arms.

"Hey, L! Hold it together just a little more. You're supposed to be rescuing me, remember?"

She huffs a laugh.

"No, I'm just backup. Your wife is doing all the work."

She turns and grips my collar. Her eyes are glazed, definitely a concussion.

"Never," she says deliberately. "Never, ever let her go. Never take her for granted."

So… I've heard their story, or at least Emily's side of it, but it hits a little differently when your wife's ex is staring you in the face and commanding you to cherish her.

I nod.

Oh my god, I think she's about to start crying. She lets go and staggers to a bench. I have to lunge to catch her before she smacks her head again.

"I fucked up," she blubbers. "I did it again, I fucked it all up."

"Um..."

What am I supposed to say to that? I'm sorry it didn't work out between you and my brother and also my brother-in-law who is also kind of your nemesis?

"I still love them," she says. "Dale and John were the best things to ever happen to me."

She takes a long ragged breath.

"I still love Emily," she wails.

Okay, so... you know that feeling when your best friend who's a supervillain admits she's still in love with your wife, but your wife used to be a superhero and had a nasty breakup about superhero stuff, but ended up falling in love and marrying a different supervillain?

Actually, that's really weirdly specific. You very probably don't know what that's like.

I rub her back gently. It seems like the right thing to do. But then she sniffs and she's blinking her tears away as she looks at me. Her lips part and there's something desperate in her face. She leans forward…

Is she…?

Oh shit, she is trying to kiss me.

Nope. Nope nope nope.

I gently take her shoulders and push her away.

"Sarah, buddy," I say as gently as I can manage. "I'm flattered, but we're not going to do that right now. Maybe you can buy me and Em breakfast and we can talk this over, but right now we're going to get you some medical attention."

[askmadcomcrew]

favorite ranged + melee + throwable?

Hank: I prefer pistols and rifles when it comes to ranged. Swords and knives for melee, and shurikens and daggers for throwables. Anything is a throwable if you throw it hard enough, though.

Sanford: Ranged? Probably a good ol' fashioned 12 gauge shotgun. Why put one hole in a guy when you can put a dozen holes in 'em? For melee and throwables, it's gotta be my trusty hook. It's got the best of both worlds.

Deimos: Definitely the MP7 sub-machine gun, but I'll take an MP5 if those're out of stock. I don't like gettin' too close to these bozos, but if I gotta choose a melee weapon I'd probably go for a knife. Somethin' light and easy to swing but not any less deadly? And when I throw stuff it better be a grenade or a flashbang.

Doc: Of course, I prefer sniper rifles, so the VSS Vintorez is my go to pick. However if there's not one available, anything with a scope will do. I usually prefer to use two knifes if I have to go melee, but ideally that wouldn't even happen. I'm a real big fan of frag grenades or any kind of throwable explosive device.

Tricky: I LOVE LIGHT MACHINE GUNS!!! NOTHING LIKE DUMPING OVER 100 ROUNDS OF LEAD AT SOME IDIOTS WHILE THEY SCRAMBLE FOR COVER!!! OF COURSE MY FAVORITE MELEE WEAPON IS GOING TO BE MY STOP SIGN, I SHOULDN'T EVEN HAVE TO SAY THAT!!! AND IF I'M REALLY ANNOYED AT SOMEONE, I CAN THROW IT AT THEM TOO!!

Jeb: Smith and Wesson .500 Magnum Revolver. My personal favorite when it comes to dealing with my enemies. It can be used at longer ranges due to its long barrel, and is perfectly competent at mid to short ranges. The lack of ammo capacity is a notable detractor, but when you're as accurate as me, it matters a lot less. Of course, my binary sword quickly enters the 'favorites' category when it comes to melee weapons. Long reach, high durability, and more than enough sharpness to stab or cleave through anyone unfortunate enough to stand in the way. For thrown weapons, I have my dissonant bolts for that. I don't even have to aim them, just think about where I want them to go and they'll do it.

Crackpot: Ranged weapons are unfortunately quite uncommon down here, but I was always very fond of bows and crossbows. Quite primitive compared to a gun, but the right type of arrowhead will render even the toughest armor useless. Not to mention they are very, very quiet, which is useful when moving around zed-infested areas. Us buoyant have mastered hook type weapons, for use as melee and as thrown. Very useful for closing the distance without a ranged weapon.

Sheriff: Well 'a 'course I'm gonna respond with a good ol' fashioned revolver. I wouldn't be much of a cowpoke without one. 6 shots ain't a lot, but when you got two of 'em, you can make that 12. More n' enough to kill anythin' that moves. I personally don't like t' get my hands dirty, but I'll take a good ol' huntin' knife if I can get my hands on one. Somethin' that won't break on me too quick like. I'd also probably take some throwin' knives or axes, I ain't the best at it but I can land my shots decent enough. They ain't ideal, but useful in a pinch, or as a last ditch attack.

Phobos: I personally do not use guns. I always found them to be quite uncivilized. They are...Below me. You may think me a fool for that, but can you block and reflect bullets back at your enemies with a sword? A trusty blade is more than enough to suit the needs of a distinguished gentleman such as myself. Not to mention they can be thrown at the enemy if need be, but I prefer to get up close and personal.

Auditor: High capacity weapons such as light machine guns and high explosives like rocket launchers or grenade launchers. I am not physically harmed by either of these things, so I find them to be most effective when dealing with enemies myself. These days I tend to default to the modified version of the binary sword I picked up off Christoff, however before that, I was quite fond of the megachete. I am not restricted by things such as weight, so I found them quite effective due to their large size and chopping power. If I ever need to throw something, I will likely just cast fireballs from my hands.

[cloudsuniversencharacters]

All EXEs reaction to Julie (the Cat) taking em all out Especially Lord X 😩😳🙈 /j on a date. Go.

((Sorry for all the EXE-related asks by the way, it's my current hyperfixation rn- 👉👈))

(No worries, it's alright. ^^)

X would be weirded out at first, I mean it is weird for someone to take someone like him out on a date. He has killed loads of animals in Green Hills and even Sonic's Friends (at least in his world). Anywho, he would probably have table manners.

“To be honest, I don't know why you would ask me out. Plus, I'm not that good in public places.”

X says, looking confused, gently tapping his foot on the ground while having his arms crossed. I mean, he wasn't going to to say no to free food though, if you were paying since he doesn't have any money obviously.

OG Sonic.EXE would be very surprised. Him? On a date? Now that's new to him, he would probably say yes, but would probably take awhile since he would probably be thinking about what to wear or do. He would probably steal money from someone random and pay for the food when on the date with you.

“Uhm... well... I guess, it's just this is new to me.” Sonic.EXE says, scratching his head while looking bewildered and confused.

Lord X would be surprised, but soon he would be smug about it. Since, he is limitless, he knows about Tumblr and You. Yep, he knows you like him and that amuses him. Lord X would get dressed in the finest suit, aswell as be a gentleman to you. And don't worry about the meal, he'll pay for it. How? That remains unknown.

“Well now... seems like I have a fan-girl...~ Well.. I supposed I could go out with you.” Lord X says, smiling and slightly teasing, being playful about this.

Like the others, Xenophanes would say yes. He would even get dressed in a suit and everything, but don't expect him to have good table manners. But on the bright side, he would look cute in a suit in his smaller form, but just make sure not to make him "angy".

“I'd love to-! I-I mean sure.” Xenophanes says, flustering but secretly happy on the inside... currently. Maybe he's excited to go on a date with someone, eh, who knows.

OMT would be confused, but again like the rest, he would say yes. Though, he'd be a little embarrassed and watchful to make sure nobody saw him while going on a date with you. He would be nervous since this is his first date, and probably flustering alot. So much for being scary.

“Wha-? Why...?” OMT sighs, tapping his foot on the ground before looking back up at you, “I'll go, but this'll be embarrassing...” OMT says, flustering immensly and not making eye-contact.

(Fun little fact: There's a Genderbent version of OMT- just wanted to say because why not-)

Exeller would happily say yes, it was a break from killing and murdering and he wanted a little relaxation. He wouldn't wear a suit, maybe, it depends. But, he would just talk to you about random stuff about his life and would even listen to you talk, and he would pay for the food. Though, he might have 'some' table manners, some.

[gutsfics]

Since you write for multiple Choices stories, I'm curious: (how) do they all intertwine? Do your various MCs know each other? How do they get along? How did they meet? If any of your stories don't exist in the same universe, how would the characters get along if they did?

aaaa i love this question!!!! i love figuring out how these stories all fit together even if they don't interact <3

they do all intertwine, but in some places what's 'canon' and what isn't gets a little muddy. like for example, for me both RCD and HWU are equally canon, but its impossible for them to both exist in the same timeline, but that doesn't mean that there isn't connections that happen in both versions. Simon is Hunt's nephew in both RCD and HWU, but how he met Avalon is different because how Hunt met Avalon is different. and that's not even touching on all of the different versions for It Lives I have, and how those different endings would change how It Lives connects to all of the other stories. plus also: all of my sillies fun aus (which i will not talk about here at risk of this post going wayyy too long)

this might get a little messy, my mind is bouncing all over the place. under a read more bc i Will talk way too much about this <3

Simon

anyway since i mentioned Simon by name I'm gonna start with him. im ignoring choices HSS for him & his friends, bc i don't like that it kind of retcons some of HSS prime + makes all of the original friend group just People Who Go To School Together And Barely Interact.

obviously, he is Thomas' nephew, his dad is Thomas' older brother. they're very close, Thomas is his favorite uncle & he's very supportive with Simon figuring out his gender stuff. in fact, he's the person who buys Simon his first suit and the person who helps Simon find a good surgeon for his top surgery, as Thomas himself had issues with his own and didn't want Simon to experience the same things he did (more on this later)

in the HWU world, Simon meets Avalon over his spring break, which he used to sit in on a few classes of Thomas' classes. they know who each other are in really simple terms, just "there's that tall guy from that one class Thomas teaches, he sure is a nice dude :)" "oh, there's that high schooler who's sitting in on classes that Ethan wants to be the agent of. i hope he doesn't feel too pressured to make a decision right now, he's still got plenty of time to figure things out". they do eventually form a stronger relationship but that's only after Thomas and Avalon end up together officially- Simon thinks Avalon is really cool, and Avalon likes that his daughters have a cousin they can look up to (Simon LOVES babysitting/hanging out with Dawn and Lily btw theyre defo The World's Most Chaotic Cousins)

in RCD world, Simon was very small when Avalon and Thomas were together the first time and he knew Avalon just as Thomas' Cool Fun Roommate. he was absolutely DEVASTATED when Avalon "moved away" (read: they broke up) bc he thought Avalon was just SO COOL. but alas, since he was so small at the time he doesn't really remember Avalon all that well. But he is excited when Avalon reenters Thomas' life, and even more excited to find out that they're getting married (he'd be about early/mid 20s by this point). he may not remember Avalon too clearly, but he remembers how much he loved it when Uncle Thomas and his Best Friend Avalon came to visit

in both worlds: one Dr Bryce Lahela does Simon's top surgery (i'd say he gets it maybe mid/late 20s). he specifically chose an Edenbrook doctor bc Thomas knows Dr Banerji and he asked if there were any surgeons that Dr Banerji would trust to do the surgery properly, and he recommended Bryce :) more on how Thomas knows Naveen later

Baxter & Reigan

theyre getting a whole section to just them bc theyre BoyBestFriends and there's a lot about em (but ill try to keep it short)

Baxter and Reigan met in high school, after Baxter was deemed healthy enough to actually attend school instead of just being homeschooled in a hospital room (it was absolutely 100% Baxter's idea and want to do this, their parents wanted to keep them in the hospital 24/7 bc they were worried they'd immediately get sick)

at the time Baxter had been super standoffish and did not like being around people, so Reigan was the one to approach Baxter first. he was fairly well liked and respected by their classmates & he wanted to make sure that they didn't have an awful experience in school. eventually Baxter ended up asking Reigan out, not because they were particularly attracted to him (they were a bit of a late bloomer in that regard) but because they wanted to have all of those Normal Teenage Experiences(tm) and they did like spending time with him. and he said yes, bc even though he didn't feel any attraction either (he's ace/aro), he did like spending time with them as well (and to some degree was hoping that attraction might happen eventually)

dating for them just looked like how hanging out did, although they did hold hands a bit more and kiss at some point, when Baxter decided that they were at The Point In A Relationship Where You Kiss. they also went to prom together.

they broke up shortly after graduating high school, half bc Baxter achieved all those Normal Teenage Experiences(tm) they wanted to and half bc Reigan felt bad that he felt no attraction to Baxter, although he didn't mention it at the time bc he didn't want to hurt Baxter's feelings. there was a bit of a pause in their friendship after this, as both of them felt that they had to give the other some space to get over the romantic part of the relationship, but in the end they realized that neither cared? and went right back to being close good best friends :)

their friendship ended up being long distance for a while, as both college and career choices got in the way of being physically near each other. but. the week that Reigan got the job offer for McGraw Byrne was the week that Raf broke up with Baxter AND Ethan left for the Amazon, and the idea of being just a three hour train ride from his best friend defo played a role in him deciding to take the job. he actually flew to Boston instead of NYC so he could spend a little time with Baxter before he got too busy with his job. Baxter, Aurora, and Bryce actually spent one of their days off helping Reigan's dad furnish Reigan's Cool New NYC Apartment :)

speaking of Reigan's dad. Baxter is actually WAY closer w Reigan's parents than they are w their own. in fact, when Baxter went NC with their parents, Reigan's parent's were like "cool WE'RE your parents now :) we love you kiddo"

anyway. the attack in OH year two happened to line up w the end of LOA book one/beginning of book two (at least it does in my timeline) & Reigan immediately dropped everything to head to Boston to make sure Baxter was okay. while he was there, Martin kept trying to give Reigan really petty cases that were a waste of time, even though Reigan had taken time off and given a reason for it. he ended up chewing Martin out over the phone and quitting, deciding that he'd just look for a job in Boston to be closer to Baxter anyway. he stays in Boston for a bit to help take care of Baxter after they're discharged from the hospital, and when he gets back to New York he learns that Aislinn and Gabe also quit & have started their own law firm, which Reigan has been given a job offer for. he takes it only after Baxter assures him that they will be fine if he stays in NYC

Baxter is the reason that Reigan and Tobias meet (but not the reason that they end up in a qpr together) and they're also the Best Man Of Honor at both the weddings they end up having (Reigan and Tobias marry twice-- once in a Boston courthouse bc they decide that the legal benefits of being married work with what they want from the relationship w each other (Baxter's role here was just a witness), and a second time a more traditional wedding (more of an exchange of vows than a legal process this time) a year or two later to appease the parents)

and this does Not have to do with Baxter and Reigan's friendship but it doesn't really warrant it's own section: Reigan and my Bachelorette Party MC, Hallie, are friends from law school :) and speaking of Hallie, she's the twin sister of one of my Lovelink MCs, Harvy, although Harvy and Hallie were separated at birth bc their bio mom didn't know she was having twins until giving birth & she was unprepared to raise both so Hallie was put up for adoption & raised in the US (Harvy was raised in Vancouver, Canada). it takes em a while to find out about each other (Hallie knew she was adopted but didn't know she was a twin (her adoptive parents didn't know either) and Harvy just straight up Didn't Know he was a twin as his mom didn't tell him). also Harvy technically is just A Character I Have Now bc i really don't care for Lovelink anymore

It Lives

ok so here's where it gets messy. also i might kind of be vague here sorry

the It Lives series has a bunch of different ways to end (zero thanks to pb, this is 100% itlivesproject's win [blows a kiss for the itlivesproject crew <3]), all of which i really like.

so tbh for my world. each and every one of the endings is both canon and non canon, depending on which one i feel like writing for. bc sometimes i wanna write some cute soft fluff where Noah and Devi get to overcome their trauma. and sometimes i want Noah to fucking wallow in his pathetic meowmeow sopping wet sadboy misery where [SPOILERS] bc [SPOILERS] and [SPOILERS] (seriously pls go read the it lives trilogy theyre so good, especially It Lives Within)

however. It Lives IS canon in my worlds. i like the idea of a very mundane world having some kind of exciting magic to it, even if its mostly unknown. just. a magic that touches everyone's lives in little ways and connects us all together :) and that's EXACTLY what the Power is

anyway the ending where the It Lives characters get to interact with characters from other stories is the one where Noah and Devi get to overcome their trauma, and they open up a restaurant together <3 basically i think at some point All of my characters will end up having a meal at Baby Jane's. not all together, but they'll make their way there eventually :)

also there's my au where It Lives is a tv show which I KNOW i said i wouldn't talk about aus BUT i just want yall to know that the actor who plays Devi (i don't have a name for him yet, bc hes not technically Devi) sees Avalon as a mentor figure :)

Thomas & Naveen

(tw for medical malpractice and transphobia)

hey so remember when i said i'd talk about Thomas' top surgery later? and that i'd also talk about how he knows Naveen? well.

my Thomas took a gap year between his senior year of high school and his freshman year of college to medically and legally transition. he was moving to a new place and he wanted to be as stealth as he could be. so as soon as he turned 18, he got his name legally changed and started on testosterone, and got his top surgery scheduled. his plan was that by the time he started college, he would have recovered from his surgery and he'd have been on T for long enough that he'd be going through most of the changes he'd want from it

he specifically found a surgeon in the same town his older brother (Simon's dad, his name is Jonathan) had moved to so he'd have some company/a caretaker while he recovered. unfortunately for him, that surgeon... kind of sucked. his surgery was done wrong, and wasn't healing properly, even though both Thomas and Jon were making sure they were doing everything right. but when they tried to talk to the surgeon, the surgeon would just say "nope everything's fine nothing is wrong you are delusional :) its SUPPOSED to be all rotten and nasty :) stop bothering me" and no one else in the clinic seemed to care at all?

anyway one day Jon just had Enough, bc he'd heard from other people who'd had this surgery how recovery typically looked, and his brother was just wasting away, too weak to do anything bc of how his surgery got fucked up and he kind of just. snapped. and started yelling at the surgeon to Please Fucking Do Something.

while the surgeon didn't do anything, Jon's yelling attracted the attention of a different doctor, one who had only heard bits and pieces about this patient who's brother kept stopping by to ask over and over again if a surgery was healing properly, one who'd heard said surgeon being kind of a dick about it in the breakroom, and he decided that someone needed to do something to help these brothers

that doctor being a young Dr Naveen Banerji, pre diagnostics team and pre Edenbrook employment

he caught Jon just outside after Jon had been..... "politely" escorted out and asked what, specifically seemed to be wrong with his brother's recovery

immediately recognizing the problem caused the surgeon's incompetence/prejudices effecting the health and safety of a patient, Naveen helped Jon find a hospital to take Thomas to, one that would actually help him with what was wrong and set him onto a proper path for recovery

he also quit his job at that hospital. he'd noticed things similar to that happening before, but this was just the final straw. he helped as many patients as he could there, but at some point you have to know when to walk away. but that was a good thing for his career, as he was able to start the diagnostics team at Edenbrook, not to mention that other hospital ended up getting shut down for medical malpractice

Thomas and Naveen stayed in touch, and now whenever Thomas ends up in Boston for whatever reason, he'll stop by for a visit :)

[abbygraceasd]

The Idiot's Lantern

I step out of the tardis, brushing a stray hair back and looking around. It’s a shame Rose decided to stay with her mom for a while, but it might be better for right now.

“I thought we’d be going for the Vegas era.”

The Doctor pokes his head out of the tardis, “You’re kidding, aren’t you? If you wanna see Elvis, you go in the late ’50s! The time before burgers.” He goes back inside, “When they called him ‘the pelvis’ and he still had a waist!”

I giggle.

“What’s more, you see him in style!”

I look over at the tardis when I hear the sound of an engine. The Doctor rides out on a blue late-50s moped.

I laugh in amusement as he stops, with big sunglasses and a white helmet on his head.

He makes an Elvis face and does an impression, “You goin’ my way, doll?”

“Is there any other way to go, daddy-o?” I walk towards the moped, “Straight from the fridge, man!”

“Hey, you speak the lingo!” He hands me a blue version of his helmet, I take it and put it on.

“Yeah, well, I was obsessed with Marilyn Monroe when I was in middle school.” I sit behind him and wrap my arms around his waist.

We drive off down the street.

“Where we off to?” I shout over the noise of the engine.

“Ed Sullivan TV Studios, Elvis did ‘Hound Dog’ on one of the shows, there were loads of complaints. Bit of luck, we’ll just catch it.”

“And that would be in New York?” I ask.

“That’s the one!” A red London bus drives past us, and the Doctor stops the moped. I look around and notice, we are in fact in London.

“Digging that New York vibe.” I tease him.

“Well… this could still be New York, I mean this looks very New York to me... Sort of… Londony New York, mind…” “What are all the flags for?”

We walk past two boys carrying a tv into a house.

“There you go, sir, all wired up for the great occasion.”

“The great occasion? What d’you mean?” The Doctor asks.

“Where’ve you been living, out in the Colonies? Coronation, of course.”

“What Coronation’s that, then?” 

The man seems bemused, “What d’you mean? The Coronation.”

The Doctor seems confused so he looks to me for help.

“The Queen’s.” He doesn’t get it, “Queen Elizabeth!”

“Oh! Oh, is this 1953?!”

“Last time I looked. Time for a lovely bit of pomp and circumstance, what we do best.”

I look up at the chimneys, “Look at all the TV aerials… looks like everyone’s got one. That’s weird, gran said tellies were so rare they all had to pile into one house.”

“Not round here, love. Magpie’s Marvelous Tellies, only five quid a box.”

The Doctor suddenly cuts in, “Oh but this is a brilliant year! Classic! Technicolor, Everest climbed, everything off the ration. The Nation throwing off the shadows of war and looking forward to a happier, brighter future!”

I hear a woman shouting, “Someone help me, please! Ted!”

A man with a blanket over his head is being led into a black police car by two suited men.

We rush over.

“Leave him alone, it’s my husband!”

“What’s going on?” The Doctor asks.

The blanketed man is pushed into the back seat, as a teen boy runs out of his house, “Oi, what are you doing?!”

One suited man addresses the Doctor, “Police business, now get out of the way, sir!”

I look at the boy, “Who did they take, do you know him?”

“Must be Mr. Gallagher…”

The car drives off, leaving the woman, Mrs. Gallagher in despair. Another woman comes out of the house the boy came out of.

“It’s happening all over the place. They’re turning into monsters…”

A man storms out of the house, “Tommy! Not one word!” We all look at him.

“Get inside now!”

The boy, now known to me as Tommy speaks, “Sorry, I'd better do as he says…”

Mrs. Gallagher is still sobbing, but the Doctor puts on his sunglasses again and runs over to the moped, and kicks it to life, “All aboard!” 

I hop on the back and we ride off after the police car.

We drive around the corner and stop short at the market stall.

“Lost ‘em! How’d they get away from us?”

“Surprised they didn’t turn back and arrest you for reckless driving, have you passed your test?!”

The Doctor isn’t listening, “Men in black? Vanishing police cars? This is Churchill’s England, not Stalin’s Russia!”

“That boy said people were turning into monsters.”

The Doctor turns to me.

“Maybe we should go and ask the neighbors.”

We knock on the door of the house that Tommy lives in, the door is opened by his father.

“Who are you, then?”

“Let’s see then, judging by the look of you, family man, nice house, decent wage, fought in the war, therefore, I represent Queen and country!” The Doctor holds up the psychic paper with a flourish, “Just doing a little check of her Majesty’s forthcoming subjects for the great day. Don’t mind if I come in? Nah, didn’t think you did, thank you!”

He barges past the man before he can protest and I follow after him.

We end up in the living room.

“Not bad, very nice! Very well kept! I’d like to congratulate you, Mrs…?” “Connolly.” She answers timidly.

“Now then Rita, I can handle this. This gentleman’s a proper representative!”

I set my jaw, staring at the man.

“Don’t mind the wife, she rattles on a bit.”

“Well, maybe she should rattle on a bit more.” I interject faking an accent, “I’m not convinced you’re doing your patriotic duty.” I glance around at the flags, “Nice flags. Why are they not flying?”

He speaks after a nervous pause, “There we are Rita, I told you, get them up, Queen and country!” “I’m sorry…” She apologizes.

“Get it done! Do it now.”

“Hold on a minute. You’ve got hands, Mr. Connolly. Two big hands. Why is that your wife’s job?”

“It’s housework, innit?” “And that’s the woman’s job?”

“Course it is!”

I cross my arms and set a glare on the man, “Are you suggesting the Queen does the housework?”

“No! Not at all!” I hand him a string of flags, giving him an insistent stare, “Then get busy.”

He sets about hanging the flags, feigning enthusiasm. I am not convinced.

“You’ll be proud of us, ma’am! We’ll have Union Jacks left, right, and center!”

I narrow my eyes at him and smirk, “Mr. Connolly, it’s only the Union Jack when it's flown at sea.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, I do apologize!”

I smile at him widely, “Well, don’t get it wrong again, there’s a good man.” I speak with force, “Now get to it!”

He hastily gets back to work. I smile at the Doctor as I sit on the couch next to him.

“Right then! Nice and comfy, at Her Majesty’s leisure!” He speaks quieter to me, “What was that?”

“Reminds me of mom.”

“I’m the Doctor and this is Abby, and you are?” He looks at Tommy, who seems surprised to be noticed.

“Tommy.”

We shift on the couch, making room for Tommy between us.

“Well, sit yourself down, Tommy.” The Doctor motions to the other chair, for Rita to sit.

“Have a look at this. I love telly, don’t you?”

“I think it's brilliant.”

“Good man!”

We watch the program, apparently about fossils silently for a few moments before the Doctor turns around to check on Eddie, who is still hanging the flags.

I turn to Rita, “Now, why don’t you tell us what’s wrong?”

She seems reluctant, “Did he say he was a Doctor?” “Yes, I am.”

“Can you help her? Oh please, can you help her, Doctor?” Eddie overhears this last part, and interrupts, “Now then Rita, I don’t think the gentleman needs to know…”

Rita begins to cry, I move forward in my seat, “Tell us what’s wrong, and we can help.”

Rita’s sobs grow louder, and she just shakes her head helplessly. I go over and wrap an arm around her.

“Hold on a minute! Queen and country are one thing, but this is my house!” Eddie looks down and the flags in his hands, chucking them down, “What the… what the hell am I doing? Now you listen here, Doctor! You may have fancy qualifications, but what goes on under my roof is my business!”

I look at him, “All the people are being bundled into…” Eddie shouts, “I am talking!”

I stand, raising my voice louder than his, glaring at him as I pull his tie to make him eye level with me, “Now you listen here, and listen good, I will not tolerate being yelled at by a man who has no ruling over my life. You are staring into a deep dark pit of trouble if you don’t let us help.”

He’s shaken, so I continue, “So I’m ordering you, sir, to tell us what’s going on!”

He tries to think of something to say but is stopped by the sounds of banging coming from upstairs. We both look up.

“She won’t stop.” He speaks with a degree of fear.

The banging continues, louder this time, “She never stops.”

Tommy starts to speak in a slightly shaky voice. I let go of Eddie’s tie and turn to the boy.

“We started hearing stories, all ‘round the place. People who’ve changed. Families kept it secret ‘cause they were scared. The police started finding out. We don’t know how, no one does. They just… turn up, come to the door, and take ‘em. Any time of day or night.”

“Show us.”

“Gran? It’s Tommy.” He opens the door wider, allowing all of us to see inside the darkened room.

“‘S all right Gran, I’ve brought help.”

His gran is standing by the window, slowly moving toward us. Tommy steps further into the room and turns on the light.

She has no face, all the features are gone, and it’s smoothed over.

The Doctor peers at the blank face. I stand near him, Tommy and Rita are close together behind us, and Eddie remains completely outside the room.

“Her face is completely gone.” He scans her with the sonic screwdriver, “Scarcely an electrical impulse left. Almost a complete neural shutdown, she’s ticking over, like her brain has been… wiped clean.” He puts the sonic screwdriver away, but still examines her face.

“What’re we gonna do, Doctor? We can’t even feed her!”

We are interrupted by the crash of policemen entering the house.

“We’ve got company.”

“It’s them, they’ve come for her!”

“What was she doing before this happened? Where was she?”

Rita hesitates as the policemen clamber up the stairs.

“Tell me, quickly, think!” “I can’t think! She doesn’t leave the house! She was just…”

Tommy is cut off by the entrance of a big burly man and some supporting officers. 

The Doctor attempts to buy some time by talking.

Much to my horror, the man punches the Doctor in the face.

The men take the opportunity to throw a blanket over Tommy’s gran and usher her to the stairs. Everyone runs after them as I attempt to wake the Doctor.

He suddenly wakes up as if nothing happened, “Ah, hell of a right hook! Have to watch out for that!” He stands and bolts down the stairs.

The Doctor pushes past them and runs to the moped as I go down the stairs as fast as I can in my shoes.

I pause at the entrance of the living room, noticing red, buzzing tendrils of electricity coming out of the television. The Doctor calls for me again. The tendrils are absorbed back into the television, prompting me to move closer. I turn the television set around to see the red electricity still buzzing along the aerial, and a large label saying Magpie Electricals. 

Tommy, Rita, and Eddie come back into the living room.

“How’d they find her? Who told ‘em?”

Eddie notices me, “You! Get the hell out of my house!”

I get up, “I’m going, I’m done! Nice to meet you, Tommy, and Mrs. Connolly. And as for you, Mr. Connolly, only an idiot hangs the Union Flag upside-down. Shame on you!” I grin cheerfully before running out of the house.

I enter Magpie’s shop, where the man himself is adjusting a TV set on the counter.

He looks up nervously as I come in, “Oh, I, I’m sorry miss, I’m afraid you’re too late. I was just about to lock the door.”

I shut the door behind me, “Yeah? Well, I wanna buy a telly.”

“Come back tomorrow. Please.”

“You’ll be closed, won’t you?”

“What?”

“For the big day? The coronation…”

“Yes, yes, of course. The big day.” He tries to make me leave as I approach him, “I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to watch it. Please go.”

“Seems to me half of London’s got a television since you’re practically giving them away.”

“I have my reasons.” “And what are they?”

Before he can answer me, one of the televisions on display tunes itself, and a woman appears on the screen, “Hungry! Hungry!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s just a television. One of these modern programs. Now, I do think you should leave! Right now!”

“Not until you’ve told me. How come you’re televisions are so cheap?”

“It’s my patriotic duty. Seems only right that as many folks as possible get to watch the coronation. We may be losing the Empire but we can still be proud! Twenty million people they reckon’ll be watching! Imagine that!”

I smile, not convinced in the slightest.

“And twenty million people can’t be wrong, eh? So why don’t you get yourself back home and get up, bright and early, for the big day?”

“Nah. I’m not leaving ‘til I’ve seen everything.” “I need to close.” “Mr. Magpie, something’s happening out there. Ordinary people are struck down and changed and the only new thing in the house is a television. Your television. What’s going on?”

He gives up, “I knew this would happen. I knew I'd be found out.” He locks the door.

I look at him, uneasy, “All right, then, it's just you and me… Are you gonna come clean? What’s really in it for you?”

“For me? Perhaps some peace.”

“From what?”

“From Her.” He glances over at the television screen.

I follow his gaze, “That’s just a woman on the tv, that’s just a program.”

“What a pretty little girl.”

I stare at the screen, “Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I am, little one. Unseasonably chilly for this time of year, don’t you think?”

“What are you?”

“I’m the Wire. And I’m hungry…!” She bares her teeth- pinkish-purplish bolts of electricity shoot out of the screen and encompass my face, sucking.

“Magpie, help me!”

His voice is muffled.

Everything goes black.

Suddenly I can see again, there are dozens of people surrounding me.

The policemen let us out and we go back to Florizel Street.

I spot the Doctor staring at me. I run to him as fast as I can and jump into his open arms.

We walk down the street, watching the people.

“Is that Wire lady trapped for good?”

“Hope so. Just to be on the safe side though, I’ll use my unrivaled knowledge of trans-temporal extirpation methods to neutralize the residual electronic pattern.”

I think for a moment, before hitting his arm, “Just say you’re gonna tape over it.”

“I’m surprised you understood that.”

“The Tardis has been giving me lessons in whatever gibberish you’re always on about.” I grin.

We stop in front of Tommy, “Tell you what Tommy, you can have the scooter. Little present. Best keep it in the garage for a few years though, eh?”

Tommy looks over the Doctor’s shoulder, “Good riddance.”

“Is that it then, Tommy? New monarch, new age, new world, no room for a man like Eddie Connelly.”

“That’s right. He deserves it.”

I can tell he almost means those words, so I nudge his shoulder, “Go after him.”

“What for?”

“He’s your dad.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“No duh. As I said, he’s your dad. But you’re clever. Clever enough to save the world so don’t stop there. Go on!” I nudge him again.

Tommy runs to join his dad. They walk side by side and Tommy takes his dad’s bag for him. They continue down the street together.

We watch them fondly from a distance. The Doctor hands me a glass of orange juice. We clink our glasses together, smiling.

[novelconcepts]

FOUND IT!!! Consider this an official ask for 3 and 14 combined! #wheee

smiling into a kiss and play wrestling

Having a best friend again is strange. She’d gone so long imagining the phrase as a sort of neon sign staked firmly in the past: Best Friend, already spoken for. Eddie had always been it; no other volunteers need apply. 

But Eddie’s gone now, out of her life, living out wherever his might go in another country altogether, and Dani finds the position has--slowly, without really planning for it--been filled once more. Not that she planned for it. Not that could ever could have. 

She didn’t come to Bly looking for Jamie, and if you’d told her the gardener who refused to so much as meet her eyes, much less introduce herself, would become the most important person in her life--well. Life is full of surprises.

There is so little of Eddie in Jamie, she sometimes wonders how both could have occupied the same shape in her heart. Sometimes wonders how Eddie--who prized cleanliness, routine work hours, dinners at his mother’s once a week--would look at Jamie, if he could see her. Jamie, all tousled hair, happiest with a cigarette between her teeth and both hands buried in soil. Jamie, who has never kept a nine-to-five, never craved Sunday afternoons with her parents, never looks at Dani like she expects firm posture, bright smile, neat clothes. 

They couldn’t possibly be more different--and yet, somehow, Jamie is her best friend. Unfair to think it, maybe, but she might be the best friend Dani’s ever had. Her sense of humor is dark, her vocabulary wallpapered with curse words and shorn letters; she smells of nicotine and sunscreen, dresses in wrinkled flannels and torn jeans. Where Eddie looped an arm around her shoulders, Jamie nudges her with bony elbows; where Eddie pressed his lips to her temple, Jamie leans carefully away. Different, in every measure. 

And it isn’t that she likes Jamie more. That wouldn’t be fair--not after so many years in Eddie’s company. It’s just that when Jamie looks at her, eyes bright, dirt smudged on one cheek, sometimes, she feels...

“You’re thinking,” Jamie observes. She doesn’t say it the way Eddie would--the way he always pointed out when she was clenching her fist under the table, or picking at her nails, his voice edged with concern bordering on condescension. Her voice is light, her lips curved in a small smile. 

Eddie never quite smiled at her like that. Or, if he did, it didn't pluck the same chord in her stomach. Not that that matters. Not that that affects the sincerity of friendship. 

Not that it’s making her feel weirdly flushed this afternoon. 

“Am I not allowed to think?” she asks. The sun, she thinks, is responsible for the goofy smile on her face. The heat of the day, which stretches on and on the way only early July knows how.

“Not arguing,” Jamie says. “One of us ought to.”

She’s on her knees, pulling weeds, her face shining with sweat. There’s something about days like this--afternoons where the kids are occupied helping Owen bake cookies, leaving Dani to nurse a glass of water and pleasantly-meandering conversation--that feels almost too good to be allowed. Eddie would have wanted to do something with a day like this: hike, or clear up the yard, or go visit family. 

Jamie, on the other hand, pushes to her feet and surveys the bed she’s spent all day working. “Think that’s good enough for a break. Here, budge over.”

Dani obediently scoots to the edge of her seat, amused when Jamie flops down half in her lap. A year of working at the manor, and Jamie’s gone from a woman who couldn’t make eye contact to save her life to this: gangly limbs tossed haphazardly over Dani’s, sweat-slick skin sticking where it lands against Dani’s shoulder. It’s too hot for cozying up like this, but she can’t seem to convince herself to push Jamie away. 

“There,” Jamie sighs, tilting her head back against the plastic of the lawn chair. “Christ, feels good just to breathe.”

“You breathe,” Dani says, “and I’ll think. Together, we make an almost-functional human being.”

“Almost,” Jamie says wryly. Her hand loops around Dani’s, teasing the sweating glass out of her grip long enough to take a sip. Dani nudges her. 

“Could get you one of your own, if you ever learned to ask politely.”

“Don’t like me polite,” Jamie says with a shrug. “My brand is prickly-yet-charming, and we both know I’m your favorite for it.”

“Technically,” Dani corrects, “Flora is my favorite. Mainly because she doesn’t make me remind her to say please.”

“Please,” Jamie says without missing a beat, “keep pretending you aren’t captivated by my winning personality.”

Dani laughs. “Oh, is that what I am?”

“Mm.” Jamie takes another sip, reaches over her to set the glass down on the table, closes her eyes. “S’what you were all pensive about just now, I’m sure. How entranced you are with my witty banter.”

“Entranced,” Dani repeats.

“Beguiled. Mesmerized. Drunk with adoration.” Jamie’s face is pink, a bead of sweat neatly lining her upper lip. Dani only realizes she’s staring a fortunate beat before Jamie rolls her head to the left, peering at her with lazy amusement. “Go on. Tell me how much you love me.”

“Love how ridiculous you can be, maybe.” And how sweet, and how unquestioningly soft, though she doesn’t see a need to put that into words--or a way to do it without sounding entirely out of her head. The heat, she thinks, is absolutely getting to her. 

It’s the heat, making her want suddenly to slide an arm between the plastic back of the chair and the cotton of Jamie’s tank top, pulling her even closer. The heat, making her want to displace the normal back-and-forth ease of friendship with something else entirely. 

She’s had a best friend before. She’s never quite wanted to do with Eddie what she is, more and more, thinking about with Jamie curled up beside her. 

Distract, she thinks, because Jamie is still watching her with that half-lidded expression she gets when the sun is particularly bright, the day’s work has been well-tended, and Dani’s shoulder is a cushion beneath her head. More and more, it’s been feeling like a dangerous sort of moment, Jamie’s face lingering near the crook of her neck. Jamie’s breath coasting down the neckline of her dress. Jamie’s smile sweeter than should be allowed, given the grumpy way she slouches around the grounds. 

“Thinking,” Jamie says, her voice almost soft. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s not illegal.”

“Is,” Jamie says, “if you’re gonna just stare at me all googly-eyed while you do it. C’mon, what gives? Is today some holiday I’ve forgotten?” She sits up a little straighter, her face comic in its sudden concern. “Shit, Poppins, it’s not your birthday.”

She almost wants to say it is, just to watch Jamie turn fascinating new shades of maroon. “No--just--it’s hot.”

Jamie sags back with palpable relief. Her arm is freckled, Dani notices, beyond the norm; the summer is drawing all sorts of secrets from her skin, and it’s suddenly painfully tempting, the urge to trace her nail along these newfound constellations. 

Distract, she thinks again, more urgently this time. Without thinking it through, without considering the consequences, she dips two fingers into the glass of water and flicks the still-cool moisture directly into Jamie’s face. 

Jamie, to her credit, hardly jumps. She’s just blinking at Dani like their conversation has taken an unanticipated left turn into another language, water dripping from the end of her nose. 

“Okay,” she says. “If that’s how we’re playing it.”

Her arm reaches across without hesitation, replicating Dani’s playbook: two fingers dipped, flicked, landing back in her lap as Dani sputters. 

“You got me in the eye.”

“Cooled you off, though?” Jamie asks, almost politely. Dani laughs, and suddenly, it’s war. There’s barely enough room on the chair for the both of them to sit like adults, much less to squirm around, hips knocking, legs tangled up as the remainder of the glass finds its way--droplet by droplet--into Jamie’s face, down Dani’s neck, sometimes missing entirely and disappearing into the sizzling summer air. 

Dani is ultimately the victor, an upset decided when she grasps the glass--now containing maybe two inches of water--and upends it directly over Jamie’s head. She’s laughing almost too hard to breathe, particularly when Jamie gives a firm shake of her hair, looking like a rumpled dog after a bath.

“That,” Jamie says in a low, dangerous tone, “cannot stand.”

She’s up before Dani can stop her, sprinting toward the garden hose uncoiled in the grass. Dani twists in her seat, knees drawn up to her chest, arms extended.

“Don’t you dare!”

“All’s fair,” Jamie says, almost apologetically, depressing the trigger. 

They are, Dani notes somewhere in the back of her mind, full-grown adult women. They are thirty years old, gainfully employed, responsible for the upkeep of an entire house and the well-being of two small children. 

They are also now chasing one another across the lawn, Dani sopping wet, Jamie laughing so hard she nearly trips over her own feet taking a corner too fast. The hose is growing more and more tangled by the minute as she dashes in a zig-zag pattern, periodically firing a jet of water over her shoulder, and Dani has no prayer of catching up--not with her shoes squelching, slipping on wet grass, her lungs clenched around a soundless jag of laughter. 

Adults, she thinks, as Jamie makes the insurmountable error of trying to bolt past her like a quarterback dodging a tackle; she makes a successful leap over the tangled hose, but forgets at the last second to factor in the edge of the lawn chair. Dani has her around the middle before she can dart out of reach, the both of them tumbling over in a cackling heap of grass clippings, puddled hose water, freckled limbs. 

They’re rolling, shouting wordlessly around giggles, Dani struggling to pry the hose out of Jamie’s hands. It’s harder than it looks; Jamie is small, but strong in an annoyingly wiry sort of way. Even when Dani manages to get her onto her back, the water is inescapable, dousing in short jets across her chest, down her arms, pooling awkwardly between them. 

“You are,” she laughs, “a child.”

“Could a child do this?” Jamie replies, jerking upward at the hips with unexpected force. Dani rocks up with her, one hand grasping the sodden front of Jamie’s shirt for balance, and drops back down without budging from her seat. Jamie releases an oof as her back makes rough contact with the ground again, giggling too hard to successfully shove Dani over.

“Yes, actually, I think a child would be exactly that effective,” Dani informs her. Her body has never felt quite this alive, her muscles aching with the effort of an unplanned run. Jamie, chest heaving for breath, is practically glowing. 

“Just want to remind you,” Jamie says, “you did start this.”

“Does that mean I win?” If she hasn’t, she can’t imagine it would feel any better than this: straddling Jamie’s hips in the soft grass, cool water seeping down her back, her dress sticking pleasantly to warm skin. Jamie allows the hose to drop from her grip at last, her head tipped back, eyes closed.

“Call it a draw.”

“What if I wanted to win?” She slides a hand up without thinking, pinning Jamie by the wrist before she can decide to take up her watery weapon again. Jamie draws a deep breath, face flushed, grinning. 

“Guess you’d have to work harder for it.”

Children, Dani thinks--but suddenly, it doesn’t feel childish anymore. Suddenly, she’s overly aware of her dress rucked high around her thighs, of how short Jamie’s shorts really are, how her body is considerably less obscured than usual with her shirt plastered to her frame. Suddenly, she’s aware of Jamie’s hand flexing against the grass, pinned beside her head with a loose enough grip to break--though Jamie isn’t breaking it. Isn’t even trying.

Jamie is, instead, gazing up at her with hair mussed, eyes bright. Jamie, whose free hand is sliding up to rest along the curve of Dani’s hip. 

She’s Dani’s best friend, like he was, but this doesn’t feel like it belongs in the same category as late-night stories swapped by the fire, or letting each other steal the vegetables the other doesn’t care for off their plate. This feels like a category all its own: the way Jamie licks her lips as Dani’s head lowers, the way Dani’s fingers graze the freckles painting her wrist on the way up to notching her palm against Jamie’s. 

Her hair is wet, and Jamie’s face is sweaty, and there’s so little romance to the whole picture, it takes her by surprise. She’s always thought there should be talking before a thing like this, at least--a decision made on equal footing. 

“I don’t have to,” she says, even as Jamie is saying, “Do you want to?”

Children would laugh again, go back to wrestling, go back to how it all felt just a few minutes before. They are not, Dani notes as she lowers her head--as Jamie shifts up at the shoulders to meet her--children. 

She’s hyper-aware of all of it now: the sun beating against her shoulders, the hand Jamie is using to grip the back of her dress, the exact angle of Jamie’s mouth parting beneath her own. Her tongue is gentle, brushing Jamie’s, and the sound Jamie makes into her is anything but. 

She’s smiling, she realizes, so hard, it hurts--that deep, wonderful hurt of laughing too hard for too long, of slipping in the grass and landing in a heap with someone who couldn’t help catching her on the way down. She’s grinning into Jamie even as she’s kissing her, even as she’s letting her body stretch out to press Jamie more firmly against the damp ground. 

And Jamie, fingers curled between her own, making soft sounds of appreciation into the kiss, is grinning right back. 

“This was your plan all along,” she accuses, brushing the hair from Dani’s eyes when they break for a breath. “Awful lot of work, for a kiss.”

“All’s fair?” Dani suggests--and she genuinely, honestly cannot decide which she likes more: the way Jamie kisses, or the way Jamie kisses and laughs at the same time. All of it, she feels, goes a country mile beyond best friends. All of it goes a country mile beyond anything she could ever have dreamed up, walking away from him the way she did. 

It couldn’t possibly be more different.

[chaosemeraldchasers]

Sonic Music

Dear Readers,

I don't know about you, but whenever I think of a Sonic game, the first thing that comes to mind is the music! From Sonic 1, Sonic Adventure to Mania there are so many original scores that Sega has attached to these games. Sometimes when I play a game or particular level the music puts me back to that first moment I entered that zone and how it perfectly suited that region.

For your reading pleasure I have compiled a top 10 list of the best Sonic tracks - feel free to comment.

10. Green Hill Zone - the OG of the Sonic musical score. This diddy was originally composed by Masato Nakamura [band member of Dreams Come True] and has reappeared several times throughout the franchises gaming history, i.e. Sonic Generations, Sonic Mania, and Sonic Forces. In an article written by Carl Anka of the Sabotage Times (2013) the original Sonic the Hedgehog game was touted as having the greatest music of any video game as a result of Green Hill's catchy beat. Don't believe me? Then you better check out some tracks that actually sampled this beat -Ms. Rightfernow by Wiz Kahlifa is a total bop.

9. Kick the Rock! - the hip hop track from Sonic Adventure 2 rapped in the POV as Knuckles is serious vibes. It gives our boy Rad Red some serious street cred - even the subtle burns and acknowledgement of how hot Rouge is kinda makes you laugh and ads to the lore that they're vibing.

8. Knuckles Theme - From Sonic Adventure this song actually sucks, BUT it comes with this epic line that has become a joke among us Classic Fans "You can call me Knuckles, unlike Sonic I don't chuckle I'd rather flex my muscles" - well then, explain this!!??

7. Ice Cap Zone - ok kids, the fact that the Michael Jackson allegedly composed this and that it has been remixed countless times is evidence enough for it to be a certified bop. This little diddy is on my snowboarding jams soundtrack. This upbeat rave-like song will make you want to get up and move. Every time it comes on and I'm on my board I'm envisioning the moment I saw Sonic on a snowboard for the first time and it was MF epic. Only the coolest kids snowboarded in the 90's so this just further solidified Sonic as the OG of the gaming character world for being Way Past Cool.

6. Star Dust Speedway (Act 2, Mania version) - Tee Lopes was a fucking GENIUS on all tracks relating to Mania. When Taxman decided to hire a sound guy he picked THE guy. A decade prior to Mania he got his start doing remixes on Sonic tracks which is where he was sourced to do the project. Lopes states that, “Although I wanted to make something that everyone could enjoy,” he says of the soundtrack, “I must confess that I specifically aimed to make older Sonic fans feel like they're kids again.” And he did...

5. Pumpkin Hill - Another Knux track, the Echidna can spit bars what can I say? This shit gives me hardcore 90's rap vibes and I'm all for that. It's creepy its, its upbeat, it works perfect for the level.

4. Oil Ocean - Sonic 2 I see you! Waiting on that movie like... hurry up 2022! Can we talk about this track? Epic. Original, Mania, or remixed you can't beat the vibe.

3. Metallic Madness (Mania, Act 2) - does anyone know wtf the guy in the back is jibbering? Not sure what it is but I love it. This track can get you ramped up with it's highs and lows... that saxobeat too. Super fun, am I right?

2. Studiopolis (Acts 1 & 2) - Turn this on and try not to bop your head and think 'yeah i get it'.... definitely the BEST new track Sega has put out in a very loooooooooooooong time - again, Tee Lopes we do not deserve you.

and finally... the best song in Sonic history:

1. Chemical Plant Zone - This is the song all us millennial's remember. As we cautiously picked up the controller knowing damn well that those water parts were coming up and NO tails did not swim and bubble shields did not exist. Friends, while you're trying to get up those damn stairs of death without drowning this music is both the most anxiety inducing track and your biggest hype beast when you make it through the stairs of hell and then past the floating rafts of doom. This song is hands-down a mutha-fuckin' work of art - don't agree? fight me.

For your viewing pleasure - all Millennials' personal hell as small children - you're welcome.

Xo, Em 💙🦔

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[theangrypokemaniac]

There's a sneering attitude that the dub is inherently inferior solely for being a dub, and when I say 'dub' I mean the American one. No one attacks the South American interpretation, funnily enough, or the variety that exist globally.

Why not if foreign languages are so abhorrent?  Do you think it's kewl to hate America?

That's so original you know.

If the moan centres on the dub changing certain things, well that's a pointless stance, because it's impossible to do otherwise.

What's accepted in one country is not always permitted elsewhere, so either you make those alterations or it's never shown. I'd prefer seeing a slightly toned down version rather than have it never reach the West at all.

This is without considering the technical obstacles that a direct translation brings. The words do have to fit the mouth movements, and if they don't, truncation must follow.

America and Japan are different; the population of the former are not going to comprehend the references to the latter's history and culture, which necessitates some divergence from the original to give it mass appeal.

Anime is a branch of entertainment. It has to attract the public's good will to stay in business. If impenetrable, it'll fail, with all the resulting unemployment and finacial losses that brings.

Those in charge of dubbing understandably think they're on safer ground promoting familiarity rather than the strange, but that's not to say Pokémon was stripped of its identity. On the contrary, it was like nothing I'd ever encountered before.

I may have watched Western cartoons then, but the idea of doing so now is silly. I won't give time to any modern animation unless it's Japanese. Growing up on the dub has not produced an ephemeral fan less serious or 'true'.

The 4Kids dub had wit, humour, deep emotion, suggestive comments and flights of fancy. The voices fitted the characters well.

Unlike the current one, where everyone sounds on the verge of vomiting, but then they're clearly working with substandard material on a miserly budget. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear after all.

Dubs can be bad, but the very state of being a dub doesn't confer worthlessness automatically. Considering the work gone into them, attempting to gain your favour, it seems rude not to appreciate the time and energy spent in production.

Knowing a little about history, sub-only fanatics remind me of the kind of folk who opposed an English Bible, because it was too good for the oiks to read the word of God.

Of course it was alright for them, rich enough to be taught Latin, but not so much the ordinary man.

It amuses me how dozens dismiss the dub, but see no hypocrisy in using its evidence to further their ship or anti-ship arguments, so it can't be that revolting.

It's also bizarre that so many hold sacred the sub of a series currently in a frenzy to shed every aspect of its anime and Japanese origins, leaving a vague, rootless ghost, supposedly making it easier to slip down the gullet of the masses.

Pokémon I've seen referred to as a 'gateway drug', as in the anime that introduced a generation to the entire concept. This means the dub. You would not have got enough kids in the late Nineties to read a screen rather than watch it, and even today most would lose interest rapidly.

Where would you be without that dub? Unless you're Japanese, your first experience of Pokémon will have been a dub, and if not the American, the one where you live, which was only made because there was the funds available.

You may have then progressed to watching the sub, but only because that dub stirred love in your soul.

Where would the franchise be without that dub? You think Pokémon would've grown to be a world-wide obsession raking in billions by itself? No, it'd still be a solely Japanese phenomena, and most likely never lasted this long.

Its decades of supremacy rests on the quality of that dub. It sold games and merchandise to kids by the ton, giving an incentive to keep the series going. If you're not a fan from the first wave, then your favourite era would have never existed had it not been financially attractive carrying on.

The team who wrote the first film actually preferred the dub, moved to tears by its emotive use of music, therefore they aren't so precious as the fans.

Where would anime be without that dub? Pokémon brought it to the West. A handful slipped through previously, but made minor impression.

To those who would dismiss Pokémon entirely in favour of more 'worthy' output such as Studio Ghibli, I would say that Pokémon, first the games, then the programme they inspired, must have an integral quality to have caught on in Japan, which isn't exactly short on similar concepts.

To have gained popularity in a crowded market, and so fervently a dub became an option, can only have come about because it held a certain magic.

It was the dub that smashed a hole in the cultural barrier, setting free the tidal wave to engulf the world. In Pokémon's trail followed Digimon, Cardcaptors, Monster Rancher, Yu-Gi-Oh! et cetera.

Without Pokémon, I doubt they'd have been translated, and definitely never broadcast on mainstream television. That came about as channels desperately hunted down anything Japanese to serve as the next craze.

I really appreciated the effort made by 4Kids in converting every aspect of the series to suit American tastes, including changing text on signs, letters and books into English. I assumed this was standard practice until I watched others.

I could never be as involved in them as I was Pokémon because of that block. It was like being denied access to the deeper waters, fenced into the shallows, and implied a rushed dub, with little care shown but to chase the same crowd and money.

If personified, the dub 'n' sub wouldn't be one human being, but rather identical twins: the same to a casual observer, but easy to tell apart by the more attentive.

It's like the games: Red and Blue are versions of a single adventure, but not totally one. Take the dub and the sub the same way. They are parallel dimensions running on separate rails, and beyond reconciliation, and that's before we consider that, sub and dub alike, each generation has only a faint relation to its predecessor, working on its own whims.

Everyone has a favourite, or can like both, and there's nothing wrong in that, but so many are proud of the fact they hate the dub, as if it conveys a revered status of supremacy.

When Disney films are shown abroad, they too are translated, and I'm sure references and jokes are redesigned to make sense to the locals. It's no use selling yourself as a comedy then being surprised when the audience refuses to laugh, having no idea what you mean.

If people prefer that one, for being what introduced them to Disney as a whole, or as a fond memory of childhood, then so what?

I don't mind if their view of a character is minutely at odds with mine, having seen the original, because what they think is canon to their version, so can't be wrong.

I don't go round declaring every Disney dub to be pathetic by its nature, that viewers of them are of a lesser breed of fan for preferring their own tongue, even though more of the world's population understand English than they do Japanese.

If you enjoy one tailored to your country there's no crime in it, just as I like one at least comprehensible to mine. It's not even my culture, but I pick it up mostly.

The choice must be made on which to follow, and this blog runs on dub canon, as that has a claim on my heart. Just because I don't acknowledge what takes place in the sub doesn't mean I'm unaware of it, but it has no bearing on what I write.

The idea that the dub alters things willy-nilly without rhyme nor reason is also mistaken. Often it does it because the original does not make sense.

In the sub, I know Nanny and Pop-Pop are just a couple of old duffers taken at random and dropped in to a castle, supposedly as James's far away nannies.

Oh yeah, that's a cushy position. You doing a lot of child care from miles off?

Mind you, it used to describe 'em as 'caretakers' on Bulbapædia, as if Nan serves as housekeeper whilst Pop tends to the garden.

That's right. Ma and Pa finally got some work out of this pair of freeloaders.

They're not related, remember? No, no, absolutely not, no way. Of course their style reflects that. They just gave Pop a 'tache, thick eyebrows and a bigger nose, and Nan got a bun and lines in her hair, but there's certainly no connection. Oh no. Such a thing is ridiculous.

They're NOT family. No. Yet Hoenn James still panics they might learn he's joined Team Rocket, spending the whole episode trying to hide the truth.

Why? Who are servants to criticise the son of their employers? Why should their opinion be of any consequence to Hoenn James, especially when his parents, fiancée and butler are cognizant of reality?

Children of aristocrats are usually brought up by governesses, thus develop a stronger attachment to these figures rather than their parents, but that isn't the case here.

James lived with Ma and Pa, not the codgers minding the castle. He would have very little contact with distant employees compared to those who waited on him daily, so why seek out their approval?

Hoenn James apparently was permitted visits to Nan 'n' Pop, which is strange considering they're not relatives. Why them and not any other house-stters?

That's right, Ma and Pa sent their son to one of their properties without them, entrusting him to the care of two shrivelled pensioners of his size that he barely knew, and who could keel over at any minute. There are no other servants present. Apparently Nan and Pop clean an entire castle by themselves.

Oh, and they run a makeshift Pokémon sanctuary, but since it's not their home it has to be done with Ma and Pa's blessing, who also have to pay for it, but they're eevul aren't they?

The idea that somehow Nanny and Pop-Pop have not cottoned on to James's occupation by now is risible.

Servants gossip about their masters. I bet the entire household of his home know, and so in turn does the county. That Nan and Pop remain oblivious proves how isolated they are, for no one's thought to inform them.

When it came to dubbing it, they were made his grandparents, removing all the above nonsense. Of course he visits his nan and granddad, it's their gaff and their money funding the place, and it is likely his mother or father would keep James's job a secret, for fear the shock would finish 'em off.

It should do really. If they're not bothered by it that's a sign of where his rapscallion ways were inherited.

They aren't facially akin to Ma and Pa, but display the same additions, so if staff it's bloody lazy, as if nannies have to resemble your parents, but inventing a blood link excuses the slothful characterisation.

Every reference I've seen on Tumblr relating to the coffin-dodgers calls them Nanny and Pop-Pop. Apparently the dub decision is met with universal approval. It does have redeeming aspects then.

Now the sub writers, rather than ignore this development, took to it too. They aren't exactly bursting with ideas these days and are probably grateful for the lifelines offered.

Remembering James had parents, they forced a likeness between them and Nanny and Pop-Pop. How else do you explain the inexplicable ageing, even when Sinnoh Ma and Sinnoh Pa are younger than Ma and Pa?

I've also known for years that the sub has this woman as Jessie's foster mother, not Ma Jess, but that's stupid.

I can grasp the idea that Jessie and Ma might have endured extreme deprivation, considering that's what Team Rocket has brought to Jessie anyway, and that they may have lived at the bottom of Mew's mountain prior to Ma's death.

What I find difficult to take in is that social services (or as they're known where I live, the S.S.), however notoriously awful they are, would give a child to a mad bitch in a shack with no running water.

Come on, they have to at least pretend to be concerned for Jessie's welfare.

As Jessie is very young, bereavement can't have befallen her in the distant past, so how can she be happy this soon after becoming an orphan? How could the grieving period be a cherished memory?

If that woman's creaming off the money, why hasn't she fixed the place up by now? Where do the payments go, sniffing glue?

Then there's the depiction. If this is just some daft bint never to be mentioned again, why do they conceal her face? Who cares what she looks like when she's unimportant?

Here's another figure from Jessie's past. She isn't disguised, and why not when she too briefly appears and is then forgotten?

Who was she?

The only sort of characters they tended to hide were other members of Team Rocket:

During the early scenes featuring Giovanni, he was enveloped in shadow, adding both intrigue and a sense of menace.

Madame Boss also got this treatment, even though there was probably no intention to ever feature her in the anime. What's the use in keeping an appearance a mystery if it'll remain masked?

With that pattern, it implies this woman is in the same category, like Ma Jess.

When it came to animation, it definitely was intended to be a foster mother. Not her real one. No.

What did they do?

They gave her Jessie's skin tone and purple hair hanging down her back!

You know, like Ma Jess?

Any colour would've done. Any at all, and being anime I do mean any colour, but no. The choice was made to give her the looks of the exact person she's not meant to be!

Is it that surprising the dub simplified things?

I don't mind if you like the dub, sub, both, or any from around the world, but I'm tired of the smug condescension, as if we all agree the sub is the only one that counts, and that dub fans are grunting troglodytes, or not 'proper' aficionados.

None of us would be here were it not for the dub. Pokémon would not be here. I think it deserves some respect for how much of a difference it made, to my life and to yours.

[catwillowtree]

The Curious Case of the Governor and his Wife

So, something was bothering me about the whole Prison Governor plotline, a niggle. Or several. Like, a niggle bucket. And I thought I'd look into them a bit. If someone else has already done it point me to em! Basically:

Who was The Governor anyway?

How did Eurus 'enslave' him and what was that all about?

That wife?!

The OOC-ness of "today we are soldiers" John & "sos but yeah we need to talk this small girl into crashing the plane" Mycroft refusing to kill him

WTF was it all about. The whole thing made NO SENSE on a textual level. The fuckiness was epic - prisoners can't enslave a whole prison, and if they could, why stay at all; the Governor is in control when he sounds the alarm and then Boop! he is imprisoned in Euru's cell which now magically has glass etc etc etc and forever. So - does it make more sense on some sort of subtextual or metaphoric reading? (SPOILER ALERT: yas)

So the first thing - I thought the casting of Art Malik (who did a stunning job) was kind of interesting, because he is a slightly bigger name than the usual bit part actor in Sherlock... or maybe not but at any rate he rang a bell so I looked him up. Turns out he had a big role in 1987 Bond film The Living Daylights. He plays (hella hot) Afghan ally to Bond, soldier/rebel leader Kamran Shah :

We know through John's blog that Afghanistan vet John forced Sherlock to do Bond with him. I can imagine them watching this particular AFGANISTAN BOND film and John talking shop a little bit about the war, or Afghan history. Casting Malik in charge of a 'Bond villian's lair' supports the already very well evidenced theory that this is not taking part in the show's reality: we do not dream new faces and whoever's head we are in, they have 'cast' Malik from an actual Bond film in their own dream/coke hallucination/coma. Cool.

Bond night must be a fond memory of John and Sherlock's friendship pre-fall. Whose mind we are in, we don't 100% know, but I tend to think that because we are in 'Sherrinford' (an early version of ACD's Holmes) and because mind 'experiments' are being run in all of Eurus' trials, what we're actually seeing in S4 is Sherlock trying to figure out his own mind.

In any case, every character in the show, we know, represents some aspect of John and Sherlock's characters or relationship. So what about The Governor? I think he is both of their damn selves, maybe even their relationship. He is Sherlock with his simple tailored suit (note the straining buttons!), locking away emotion/Eurus but actually crap at it and 'enslaved' by them/her since the Christmas (with John) 5 years ago when Moriarty "woke her up", willing to top himself for someone else. He is also John - he wears the John motif of a blue checked pocket square, married (more on that in a mo)... actually it's mostly the marriage. The governor himself draws attention to the parallels between him and John ("What would you give to have your wife back?"). Let's talk about that one.

We know a little about The Governor's marriage because we hear snippets of his conversations with Eurus:

Eurus: She smiles at you when you come home - like a reflex.

Smiling is advertising.

You're going to cry. It's okay if you cry.

Governor: I don't need to cry.

Eurus: I can help you cry.

I'm only trying to help you. We can help each other. Helping someone is the best way you can help yourself.

Governor: I don't trust you.

Eurus: You have no idea how I could help. Bring me your wife. I want to meet her.

Governor: I don't need your help.

Eurus: I can fix her for you and I'll give her straight back. Good as new, I promise.

Governor: That's all? What you're proposing is not... It's not right.

Eurus: Do you trust your wife?

Do you trust her?

Governor: You've got to stop saying these things. It's completely inappropriate.

So the wife. A fake. Untrustworthy. Smiles a lot, reflexively. A facade.... sounds a lot like

Hi Mary! So far, so obvious.

The 'facade' that is Mary, though, runs way deeper than the surface level of her lying about being the most unlikely assassin ever. (This always seemed like the stupidest lie - I mean, date 2, take John to a gun range, be ridic good, he's hooked. Why pretend?) As others have pointed out though the real lie of Mary *is* heteronormativity. She's Doyle writing paper-thin and temporary wives for John into his story of the Gayest Detective Ever and his Devoted Boyfriend. Her smile, her reflexive smile, is advertising that everything is awesome. She's a lie - the lie that John is straight, and that being gay is "not right. It's inappropriate."

So:

The Governor is John and Sherlock's relationship/friendship

The governor's wife is Mary....

Who is heteronormativity, the need for John to be straight

BUT WAIT for the governor's wife = Mary = the heteronormativite facade of John's marriage to survive, "The Governor" = John and Sherlock's relationship must die

Back to the question "What would you give to have your wife back?" Ultimately, John cannot sacrifice his relationship with Sherlock to maintain a facade - he refuses to kill The Governor.

So, what happens? The Governor grabs the gun and shoots himself, Moriarty and Emilia Ricolletti style, in the head. And...

Eurus kills "The fake wife" anyway. I guess heteronormativity must die.

No real fake wives were killed in the making of this post.

P.S. There's something even better about the Governor though - his name is DAVID. Look up David & Jonathan ;) best read in the Old Testament from Samuel 1:18 on. Honeyed shafts, LOTS of covenants and smiting, and the most. Epic. Gay. Story. It's mindblowing, but for another post I think....