#gale weathers needs a break!!!!

[psychofreakforc]

Gale is taking their daughters to see a movie, but they're angry because one wanted to watch oppenheimer and the other Barbie.

[antiqua-lugar]

fun fact, during my first fully blind playthrought of bg3 I honestly thought gale was the writers' favourite if nothing else because of how much varied dialogue he had. like I never reallly had a conversation with astarion that wasn't about his trauma, his vampirism or how boring I am for not wanting to take over a cult but I knew all of gale's hobbies, two or three childhood's anecdotes and the whole history of tara, who he was making plans to introduce to me later.

[tasty-bitch-nugget-666]

No more scream movies PLEASE ain't no way you scrom'd that much.

[sorcerous-caress]

Hi I hope your having a good day by the time you read this! I was hoping I could request Minthara, Karlach, Gale, and Zevlor (If you write for him) reacting to a Tav that looks visibly under the weather but ignores it to continue to do things rather than resting?

Heh I’ve got a cold that’s kicking my ass rn but even tho it’s the week before thanksgiving break my college classes are piling me with stuff to do ya know?

I'm currently dealing with similar things, anon. Life demands us to function even at our worst sometimes. The migranes can be ruthless. Please make sure to rest and take care of yourself. You're more important than your assignments and classes.

Dealing with a stressed Tav who refuses to rest.

[Fluff, comfort, nb!reader]

[Minthara, Karlach, Gale, Zevlor]

Minthara

As cruel and cold as she tends to be, there is certainly some tenderness deep inside her heart that's saved solely for you.

If it was someone else, she wouldn't have cared. If anything she expects her followers to work themselves to the death if it benfited her, she has no tolerance for the weak.

And yet, every principle she has ever held goes straight out the window when it comes to you. The sight of your visibly tired face and exhausted body makes her furrow her eyebrows in worry, forms a tightness in her chest.

She respects you immensely, and she knows for a fact you're not weak. If anything you're stronger than anyone she has ever met before.

Minthara wants to show that she can be strong for you too, prove herself as the capable and reliable partner you entrusted your heart with. Take the burdens off your shoulders and carry it on her own. No price is too great when it comes to ensuring your well being, whether it be a life or gold.

But even her own abilities only extend so far, she knows there are things that you simply can't let her handle. She feels as if she failed you when the only thing she can do is stand there uselessly whilst you struggle through your hardships.

Kind words of encouragement don't come easily for her. There's no softness left on her tongue, and tenderness is a foreign language long forgotten. Yet she tries, she still tries through failed awkward attempts and borderline counterproductive advice. She still tries to offer some sort of relief for you, to understand you better, to just be with you.

Karlach

It pains her in a way, seeing you brush off your own health so easily and discard your wellbeing. You don't realise how much she envies you, envies having the health to spare to neglect.

The engine burns against her chest, sending her on a coughing fit more times than she could count, her time is nearing its end.

If she were you, she'd treasure it. Her life, her body, and her own pulsing heart.

Karlach still buries her feelings and comforts you, putting your needs above hers. Attempting to get you to smile again, tricking you into having at least a nap when you're especially exhausted.

You're a soldier, she reminds you, you're brave, strong, and capable. And she will always have your back no matter what, so don't go fighting the world on your own when it's better to take a step back and recover first.

Gale

She'd drown you with kisses, brighten your day up with hugs, and offer the most loving and tender touches. Each word coming from her mouth is filled with sincerity, yet it barely scrapes the surface of how deep her love is for you.

He's been there more than once. Hell, he still neglects his own health for his studies, even to this day. He can relate to you a lot.

It's the feeling of being left behind, everyone else seems to have their ducks in a row while you're struggling just to stay afloat ontop of the water. How tempting it is just to give in and sink, the threat of the abyss below whispering into your ears.

Yet you stay swimming, the both of you need to. Have to.

No matter how muddy and ruthless the current gets, no matter how aggressive the waves become. He'll hold your hand amidst the storm and anchor you to him.

Each one resurfacing the other whenever they start to drown, pulling each other up.

It's not the most healthy, he is self-aware enough to admit it. But he can't condem you for what he himself is guilty of, he can't tell you to take a rest when the orb bleeds his sins of greed through his chest.

Zevlor

He brings you food, peeled oranges and cut apples, sweet tea and freshly baked cookies. Shares his lunch and dinner with you, shares his own warmth too under the blanket.

He has experienced many things throughout his long life, he has lead an army in hell and did whatever he had to do for the sake of his people.

He has sacrificed many years, decades even of his own life for them. He would've given it all for them if he could, to ensure their freedom, to ensure the kids got to grow up safe and sound.

In the same way, he is ready to sacrifice his well-being to preserve yours. Ready to bear your responsibilities so you can go rest and sleep soundly.

So please, don't refuse an old person like him when he invites you over for some tea and to take a breath. He's absolutely certain that you can relay on him for whatever tasks you have, even stay at his own home if you require assistance.

A big part of why he managed to survive all those years of war, is because he knew when to ask for help, when to cast aside his pride and let even strangers lend a hand for the sake of his people.

He doesn't order you outright. He's not your general, and he doesn't have authority over you. Yet his voice is firm when he insists on you accepting help, allowing yourself this small mercy.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

omg omg maybe like chad x riley weathers reader

doesn’t have to be anything super specific maybe like comforting them after dewey dies or after gale is attacked

or hcs honestly anything

Warnings: mention of character death (Dewey)

my taglists are here (I added one for SCREAM) + you can requests here at any time

—

The day your parents announced their separation to you was the worst day of your life.

You had only been thirteen years old, but you remembered it like it was yesterday.

Mindy and Chad had invited you over for the weekend-long sleepover. You spent the weekend watching horror movies in secret — and hiding in Chad’s shoulder during gore-y parts you couldn’t stomach —, eating popcorn and ice scream, scraping your knee when falling from Mindy’s bike. It was a really fun weekend. You were excited to tell your parents all about it when they picked you up, but only your mom was in the car.

When you got home, your dad was there and you could tell by his face that he wasn’t in his best mood. You thought it had something to do with your grandmother, but it wasn’t. Your parents sat you down and announced that they would be divorcing.

You never thought another day could take this day’s position — until today.

You were at Chad’s, hanging out on the couch and distracting yourselves from the return of ghostface, when you received a text from Sam asking you to come to the hospital. Since Tara had not been released yet and she didn't have access to her phone, you assumed she wanted to see you, but when you arrived at the hospital you were faced with a totally different scene.

Lights from police cars were flashing around the entrance, giving away that something — likely ghostface related — had happened. Your stomach twisted at the thought and you leaned into Chad’s side, getting the feeling that this was ghostface related. He released a shuddered breath, wrapping a protective arm around you.

Chad was the one to point Sam and Richie talking to the police in a corner. He pulled you toward them, but your eyes caught a body-bag being rolled out of the hospital by coroners. There was a tag attached to the bag — a name —, but it was too far to be able to read it.

Was it Tara? Did ghostface finish her?

It didn’t make sense though. If Tara had been killed, Sam would be crying the loss of her sister. Instead, she and Richie were looking at you with sad and pitying faces.

‘’We’re so sorry, Y/N,’’ Sam said, heavy-heartedly informing you that the body in the bag was Dewey.

An agonizing scream derived out of your lungs as all the air was knocked out of them. Your heart began racing in shock and disbelief, refusing to accept that your father was dead. He was strong and resilient, he had survived many ghostface attacks and stabbings. He couldn't be dead, no.

Sam was retelling what happened inside the hospital. How ghostface had attacked Tara and that Dewey came to help them. Although he had retired, helping and saving people was something he would never stop doing.

He fought until whoever was under the killer was knocked out, but he didn't come with Sam, Tara and Richie in the elevator. He went to shoot ghostface, because according to the pattern of the past, it's the only way to kill them.

After a moment, Dewey was not coming out so Richie went back to check on him and found the ex-sheriff in a pool of his own blood — dead.

You slipped from Chad’s grip and ran to the coroners, hot tears streaming like waterfalls. ‘’No! Dad!’’ you screamed as the two men set the body-bag in the back of the van.

Before you could reach them, one of the police who knew you pulled you away. Her heart was breaking at the loss of her old co-worker, but she couldn’t let you get close to the body-bag. Another scream left your lips as you attempted to get away from the policewoman’s grip, the pain in your heart so big you needed to scream.

Chad came over to you, taking over from the police officer, and immediately you stopped screaming, turning them into heavy sobs. You felt your knees giving out, not strong enough to stand anymore. Thankfully, Chad caught you before you fell to the parking lot’s ground.

He didn’t say anything, knowing no words would fix your pain. Chad didn’t have any experience with death. The only person he lost was his uncle Randy, but he wasn’t even born when he died. So he took the support route and wrapped his arms around you tightly.

You leaned against his chest, crying into his hoodie as sobs shook your whole body.

Your mother had been called too. Her car pulled up in the parking lot a few minutes after you. She got out, calling your father’s name like she did in the past attacks, but this time he wasn’t there.

All she saw was her daughter crying in the arms of her boyfriend. 

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos​ @xjennyx2 @jennasslut​

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight

[100beesinatrenchcoat]

Since you want to be asked about BG3 an I don't have a more creative idea: what is your favourite character and why? Feel free to ramble <3

YES OKAY OMG

I am so conflicted between Astarion and Gale, I love both of them so much.

AND I'LL TELL YOU WHY, ITS THE BEAUTIFUL PROGRESSION OF HEARTACHE AND HEALING IN THEIR STORIES.

Astarion is a story of a cycle of abuse and a lack of autonomy (which you could argue that baldurs gate as a game is a story about autonomy but that's a different post.) and where it goes depends so heavily on how much you respect that. Astarion was a vampire spawn and Cazadors slave for 200 years, and that was all he was ever considered. He was not treated as his own individual, he was a shadow of cazador. Forced to use his conventional attractiveness to someone else's advantage. Ultimately his happiness at the end of the game depends on weather or not you allow him to become his own person when he's free. Letting him make choices for himself and not using him for his looks, and not allowing him to continue his cycle of abuse. Yes, ascended astarion acts in a conventionally attractive and desirable way. But when he's drunk on power he loses any kindness he may have held. Ascended astarion does not feel love towards whoever he's been romanced by, he sees them as someone to hold power of. Which is ultimately the worst choice for him because you've continued the cycle of abuse instead of breaking it. It is incredibly ingenious writing.

AND GALE. Oh my poor boy Gale.

The way so much of the fandom treats gale makes me incredibly sad, not only because it just doesn't make sense (seriously you only need to give him three magic items the entire game it's not that bad) but also because HE DOESN'T DESERVE IT!!! Gale was taken advantage of by the goddess mystra. She had her eyes on that boy since he was eight years old. Not out of love, it was purely because Gale was a talented wizard. Mystra did not love gale for how wonderful gale is, she loved him for his talents. And you can barely even call that love. Meanwhile gale was LITERALLY PREPARED TO DIE FOR MYSTRA. how the hell is that fair at all!!! And people get annoyed with gale because he's just not ashamed to talk about his trauma, hes more open and honest than Astarion or Shadowheart might be. He is so open, he wears his heart on his sleeve and people say "he's a yapper" !?!?!? NO!!! JAIL FOR YOU!!! Gale only knows how to exist when he's wanted. He talks about magic so much because he's been convinced that it is his only redeeming quality and the only thing anyone will ever care about him for. He wants to share his talent with tav/whoever because he wants them to be interested in him, and he thinks his magic is the only interesting thing about him. Romancing Gale and showing him that he is loved for him as a person is one of the most rewarding and fulfilling stories I have seen in my entire life. I love him so much..

[alpydk]

Desperate (RuganxReader)

He has a choke hold on me right now - So here is some hastily written smut (1300 words or so of it...)as a break from all the angst I've made recently - I will say although this is awesome, as all fanfic is, smut is not my go-to writing choice. But I needed this, desperate for it, you might say.

For a few weeks, you’ve been travelling with your party along the Sword Coast in search of a healer for your tadpole problem. A few weeks of dirt, blood, cold washes in the river and hands kept to yourself. As much as you hate to admit it in such low-class terms; you’re horny, desperate to ride someone, but unfortunately picky with your tastes. 

The vampire, Astarion had appeared the obvious choice with his flirty remarks and pristine good looks, but he wasn’t your type. Too pretty, not to mention he couldn’t handle the banter you gave back at him. Typical elf you thought to yourself. Then there was sweet Gale, a good age, good-looking but too much of a romantic, a bit too good for your liking. You ask yourself; why have red wine when there is ale on tap? Gale was more the type to lovingly caress your inner thigh and build up to some gentle foreplay for an age rather than just fuck you like an animal against the wall, the floor, or anywhere you really wanted so he was out of the running. And then there were the others; Wyll was too young, Shadowheart too distant, Karlach on fire. Lae’zel… just no. Desperate but picky…

***

Fucking gnolls and their stupid giggling. Great, now you’ve got blood on you again and the whole area is up in flames. Who in the hells was the genius to start throwing alchemist's fire? Well, at least the beasts have been taken care of. You’ve expected nothing but corpses, empty crates, and maybe the odd trip wire; Rugan is not what you’re expecting to come across. Slightly taller than you, older, weathered from a few too many fights, and most likely a few too many stiff drinks as well; and shit, when he speaks you feel that desperate hunger come back to you full force. You would happily be fucked by him against the wall, the floor, the back of this bloody cave if left alone with him. 

Ah, a Zhentarim. Typical. You’d had run-ins with them back in the city. The word around was that they were trying to take over The Guild; a few gold misplaced and a skirmish or two down by the docks, but it wasn’t your place to get involved. Leave that to Nine-Fingers to deal with. Your job was to simply keep the books in order at the keep, whilst playing both sides to keep your lifestyle comfortable, of course. Well, maybe now this could play to your advantage as well; make a little gold and if you meet up with him again then you could see what would happen. At least now you have something to think of during those lonely nights of tent life. 

You’ve always been one for voices as stupid as the concept sounds and his sticks with you. …Tighter than a Duke’s purse strings… You bite the inside of your lip thinking of other things usually construed as tight. When did your mind become so crude? Why did everyone else have to be here right now? Why can’t you just push him against that wall and have your way with him? You see him looking at you as Gale speaks; maybe he’s thinking the same thing, or maybe he’s recognised you from the keep. What does it all matter though? Desperate…

***

You both plan to make some gold selling the chest he’s transporting. You figure, what harm could it do? You find out soon after though exactly what harm; with the death of the poor lad that was with him, the death of the Zhents that had him tied and beaten to a chair, and an awakening to something you’ve never really thought about before. You beautiful bastard. Gods, what you’d give to keep him tied to that chair, to suck his cock knowing his arms are bound behind him and there’s nothing he can do but let out deep moans from your touch. That fantasy will keep you going for a few nights, that's for sure, and then maybe if you’re lucky that drink he’s promised you could turn into more, a desperate touch-starved reality.  

***

Baldur’s Gate. It’s been a long time having to make do with the odd night with Astarion, with some drow, with your own thoughts to keep you going, but you know you’ll soon be at the Elfsong Tavern and can get that sweet release you’ve been craving. Yeah, the tadpole is still slithering away in your mind, yeah there are all the other problems, like saving the world and a stone lord that had suddenly become your issue to deal with, but none of it matters in comparison to what, who you’ve been craving. Rugan…

He stands at the bar, a pint in hand. Finally, someone with a real taste in alcohol. He recognises you even out of the armour, hopefully out of the clothes later too. Things have gone to shit for him since the day in the caves, but he doesn’t want to talk about it much and you’re grateful after carrying the emotional baggage of your travelling companions. You watch as he downs the last bit of his drink before placing his hand on your thigh. He doesn’t say anything, he just looks at you for your reaction. You can already feel the warmth in your face, and you want to say it’s the drink but you both know that’s a complete lie. 

You can’t tell who booked the room or even how you’ve both reached this point as you push through a door, hands already exploring one another’s bodies, tongues entwined in a frantic effort to make up for lost time. The door is kicked shut to keep your hands placed on his body and as you make your way to what you hope is the bed, you both leave behind a trail of clothing, a light cotton shirt and leather trousers with ridiculous ties. On any other day, you might tease, pulling at them with your teeth but that will not happen tonight. Tonight, you want him, you need him inside you. 

Desperate longing leads to desperate touches. Your hand is wrapped around his shaft, though it takes little to wind him up. His grabs are as eager as yours as you feel him wrap a strong arm around your leg pulling you in closer, onto him. Did you even make it to the bed? You don’t seem to care as you feel him thrust inside you, deeper than you expected after seeing how tight his trousers were, a pleasant yet welcome surprise. Shit, it’s been so long and you wanted to draw this night out, to have it build up to some enchanted moment and see fireworks but right now, you are in that cave, you are on that floor, you are up against that wall, and you are being given what you have hungered after for so long. By the gods, he is everything and more than you could possibly have ever wanted. 

You hear his breath grow heavy against your neck as he jolts into you mercilessly. You grip him feeling your heart racing and your muscles tightening, wanting to give him everything, wanting this night to last forever but you know it won’t be much longer for either of you. You feel your release building and you try to hold it off, try to think of anything else but the throbbing inside of you and just as you think you’ve regained some control you hear his growled whisper in your ear; Your name spoken from those thirsting lips.   

***

The next morning you wake up alone amongst the creased sheets of the bed you’d both shared. The trail of your clothing leads to what appears to be a sofa and you smile to yourself now knowing the full story of the night. You’ve no idea where he’s gone or even if you’ll see him again but right now you don’t care as your head rests on the pillow and the events of last night flood your brain. That beautiful bastard, Rugan, once again leaving you desperate…

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Fleetbreaker’s Bones

“More than three hundred years dead and rotting and it’s still going to kill us all. That’s dedication right there.”

-Tousu, hapless deckhand moments before a wreck

The remnants of this great kaiju turned fossil-reef has been swallowing up ships for centuries, a habit it’s not managed to break despite a great hero spearing it to a volcanic atoll and founding a prosperous kingdom over the territory it never would have ceded in life. Underwater lava flows create boiling mists and unstable weather patterns making sailing anywhere near the island a gamble. Ships lost in storms throughout the region seem invariably pulled towards the reef, leading many in villages along the coast to speculate that not even death can sate the great beast’s hunger.

In more recent years a ramshackle band of corsairs has decided to make the Reef their home, having suffered a disastrous defeat while raiding the mainland and needing somewhere, no matter how inhospitable, to regroup.  The Fleetbreaker ironically provided the perfect safe harbour, close enough to the trading lanes to raid, far enough out of anyone’s way and into unfriendly waters that reprisal was unlikely. They’ve had such success that they’ve been able to cobble together dwellings and fortifications across the reef, as well as a knocked together shipyard in the sheltered caverns that were one the kaiju’s belly.

Adventure Hooks:

The Fleetbreaker Pirates have managed to chart the rhythm of the atoll’s seemingly unpredictable weather, following in the wake of storms like scavengers after a bloodthirsty predator. With the party’s vessel having barely survived the night battling a sulfurous smelling gale, they’ll have to act quickly as first light and the hope that comes with it is dashed by the appearance of enemy vessels on the horizon.

Captured at sea (or perhaps after having one too many rounds of grog while in port) the party find themselves clapped in irons, stripped of their gear, and locked in a series of muggy stone cells. The Fleetbreakers deal in slaves as well as plundered goods, and it’s only a matter of weeks or maybe even days before their buyer shows up to trade in flesh. They have to escape, but how? Sneak out just their friends and disguise themselves on an enemy ship? Break out the other innocents and risk detection?

There are many sections of the great fossil reef where the pirates do not go, tidal warrens inhabited by skittering things made monstrous by generations of feeding off kaiju flesh, boiling caverns where lava vents glow just beneith the surface of the water and odd shapes move in the mineral vapour, lofty and winding passages leading to the lonlely spinal cliffs where the sound of strange birds causes hallucinations. Somewhere among all of this is the hero’s spear, a divinely invested artifact that has the power to found, and perhaps destroy kingdoms. The party may unwittingly stumble across this artifact while escaping captivity, or find it in a dramatic moment as they pursue the last of the pirate captains into the caverns in their final push to oust the corsairs once and for all. What they do with it after that is all up to them.

[ethanlandrysrightballsack]

My Way of Life / Scream 2023 - gotta be a part of your soul and your heart all the time.

and you can aim for my heart, go for blood but you would still miss me in your bones. my tears ricochet / taylor swift

laurie riley can remember the 2011 attacks as if it was yesterday.

she was just a little girl, adopted in the right family at the wrong time, you could say. she didn't necessarily remember her past all that well, not before being taken in by the sheriff, at the time, dewey riley and his wife, the famous reporter, gale weathers. she didn't know of dewey's promise to her mother shortly before her death either. all she ever had of her biological parents was a expensive piece of jewerly that she was sure was the most expensive thing that she had ever owned growing up, a heart shaped necklace with small diamonds on the corners of the heart. inside, was a picture of her.

she had been locked away, confided in the very same bedroom she had fallen asleep in earlier that night, after her babysitter, kirby's friend, charlie, had ordered her some mcdonalds, agreeing with a forced smile to look after the girl while her parents were...busy. truth be told, she hadn't meant to wake up. it was the eerie silence that had stirred her awake, the ticking of the clock being the only thing that had rung in her ears, aside from the muffled sound of whatever movie jill had put on for the young girl that, in a weird way, you could consider her adopted cousin, considering of how highly sidney had spoke about the sheriff, that it only made sense to think of each other as family, right? her little feet tiptoed their way out, taking a quick peek around both corners. nothing. this wasn't normal. she had never felt such a feeling before, but she felt the skin jump out of her body hearing a muffled whimper from outside...seemingly on the porch?

the rest was a blur. kirby was being practically cradled by the boy she had trusted with her entire life, a knife lodged deep into her stomach, breaking and cutting through skin a little with the amount of force by the blows. she hadn't meant to make noise, and neither of them had meant for her to walk in on what was something that a child never should have experienced. but it was a fight or flight type of situation, and maybe if she was just a little older, she could have taken him on. but she was much smaller, thinner. and it was how quick he removed the knife and walked toward her had sent her falling on her ass. she hadn't recognized the smile that was on his face. near damn carnivolific, with small little fangs bearing that she took off as soon as she could. but she didn't make it far, as she barely managed to shut the door as charlie had made it, swinging the dripping weapon with intent, but only engraving the door. she had managed to get a smaller dresser shoved against it, and eventually, she heard him yell something, though it only sounded like a muffled curse before walking away. no one else ever came to that door.

though she heard it all. despite how desperately she tried to drown out the sounds, by the tv playing distinctively in the background, to covering her ears and rocking back and forth as it all got louder.

stabbing. crying. yelling. more yelling. gunshots. more noise.

stabbingcryingyellingmoreyellinggunshotsmorenoisestabbingcryingyellingmoreyellinggunshotsmorenoisestabbingcryingyellingmoreyellinggunshotsmorenoisestabbingcryingyellingmoreyellinggunshotsmorenoi-

she couldn't help but scream feeling a pair of hands on her shoulders, a undescribable feeling of dread had filled her poor heart that night. she was so sure that charlie had came back. to finish the job. but once her vision cleared, and the ringing slowly eased enough to hear, she could make out the silhouette of who was most certainty her dad's friend! someone that...gale didn't seem to care for. but to her, it was all she needed, hugging onto her as soon as she could. she could just cry until she couldn't anymore, and judy hicks just held her. shushed her, rocked her back and forth as if she were her own. it felt nice.

"gale? gale, she's in here!" the blonde shouted, as she focused her gaze instead on the familiar uniform that they shared, her cries turning into light whimpers, her heartbeat slowly coming back down to normal. she didn't hear much of what judy and gale were saying, she felt both women searching her body intensly, before realizing there was a small cut on her hand. so it only seemed right to take her to the hospital where jill, the hero, and her aunt sidney were staying for treatment.

according to her father, jill lied. straight to his face, too. said something that only a killer would have known, but she wasn't fully aware. she knew she received her first stab that day, a piece of glass through the leg by the girl she thought she could trust. she lost consciousness then, having only been found after the aftermath, clinging to the weakening pulse she still had.

the next couple of years wasn't all that fun for her. she learned how to use a gun as soon as she could walk right again. she learned basic self defense, as soon as she was old enough. her father made her take martial arts, just to be able to defend herself. at just aged fourteen, she carried around a switchblade as a way to protect herself.

on the weekends, she'd find herself instead in new york city with her mom and her new boyfriend. oh, right. mom and dad separated. it wasn't that big of a deal for laurie, as she was always much, much more closer with her father. and her small trips there had earned herself a friend, with a silly boy a little younger than her, with a bowl cut but with a extremely endearing personality and a smile that could light up the entire room. she liked him, a lot. but he seemed to like her more. though, laurie didn't quite understand what love was at the time, and the visits slowly stopped as her father retired, and she could tell her father was starting to slowly decline from his long, long years of constant attacks.

just a couple of months after her nineteenth birthday, it started up again. this time, she had her own group of friends. consisting of those from her childhood; tara, wes, and mindy, specifically. but with mindy, came her much more insufferable brother, chad and his girlfriend, liv. they didn't talk much, but laurie liked her. enough to offer to stay behind just to make sure vance wouldn't try anything with her. and then, there was amber. they met in middle school, a little after she stopped visiting new york and they instantly formed a bond. tara called it love at first sight, and a part of laurie wondered if that was true. at the time, she believed so.

though she knew she was declining. the stabs were brutal. the screaming. the cutting.

stabbingmorestabbingscreamingmorescreamsslicingofskinstabbingmorestabbingscreamingmorescreamsslicingofskinstabbingmorestabbingscreamingmorescreamsslicingofskin-

she knew she took too long to react. by the time she ran up to stab the figure carving into her father, she felt a familiar sharp, burning pain in her lower abdomen, and she heard her father choking on his own blood, focused on her now. and she just sobbed, seeing all for herself the life drain from his eyes the longer he looked at her. before there was nothing left. she dropped with him, screaming at the top of her lungs, as for a moment, the figure just watched her, before kicking her in the face. that was enough to knock her out.

but she still wasn't dead. she could feel gentle hands shaking at her, she recognized sam's voice telling richie and paramedics that she was awake, but her eyes didn't leave that of the bag that her father was being zipped into, whispering something that not even sam could understand. she felt herself drift back into the nothingness that waited for her.

and she kept spiraling. after they managed to get her stable, she couldn't stop thinking about it. about what they did. the more she thought, the more the sorrow turned into anger. the more she thought, the more her fist clenched at her side. she needed to seek revenge, for him. it made sense to her at the time. and then, that was all that was in her mind. so the promise was made then. she'd kill them. every last one of them.

she didn't even recognize herself anymore. even after it was all said and done, but where was the satisfication? she made sure they suffered. just like dewey did. but it wasn't enough. why wasn't it fucking enough? she lost count of how many times she tackled amber to the floor once gale and sidney had her distracted, activating her switchblade and...her screams. the blood. gale and sidney even flinching a little. their screams, mixing together, until eventually, amber fell quiet, but she didn't stop. it wasn't until gale pulled her back, that she nearly stabbed her in reflex too. it was all so blurry for her. before eventually, those deep stabs from richie seemed to kick in, the adrenaline fading away and instead, feeling her body go limp in her mother's arms.

that time, she did die. for two minutes. sidney managed to get her breathing again, but she needed multiple blood transfusions just to pull through. she just felt...numb, when she woke up. why her? why couldn't wes, liv, or even judy had of pulled through? at the time, she hated being alive. she just wanted her father, but she could never act irrationally, as tara slept in the same bed with her. they had known each other since they were toddlers, after all. she couldn't leave her, or her and dewey's dog.

so reluctantly, she agreed to go with the group to new york city. its not like she had a choice, tara had signed her up for blackmore with the others. though the moment she was in that car, the better it got. her head resting comfortably in tara's lap, her acrylics digging into her scalp, which just only lulled her to sleep. it didn't help that the cheesy pop music tara had chosen for them to listen to on the drive there was unironically catchy.

to her surprise, she found herself liking it here. aside from how people would target her and sam, specifically, labeling and calling them murderers and other taunting names for their involvement in the woodsboro massacres, believing that they were behind it. laurie though, tried to not let it bother her, as much as she could. it's not like it didn't bother her, sometimes it brought back too much painful memories and she'd lock herself away in her room all day, but she didn't want to be a scared child anymore. she wanted to be free from it all. to live her own fucking life.

though as soon as the first weekend of the first month of their stay at blackmore hit, chad had called everybody to ask if they'd all be okay with going out for a celebratory dinner, and to also just get to know each other, which everyone did agree to. but the last person she didn't expect to see walk in was a familiar face.

a much more older version of who she once knew. she felt her heart skip a beat, and he was sure as hell he did too. he almost looked like a deer in headlights, just as taken aback as she was. the shock was strong, but eventually, both of them smiled widely, almost at the same time. but neither could speak, feeling tingly everywhere in their body. in their hearts, in their souls. like it was meant to be.

"e?" she asks, still taken aback, but a lot more confident in her guess now, which he just smiled wider and ran forward to squeeze her into a hug. one she gladly accepted, the shy boy spinning her around as they both laughed, glad to be in each other's arms again.

but the others just stared, the confusion clear as day for even tara, a part of her childhood that laurie had never once spoken on. but nobody seemed to notice quinn as well, narrowing her eyebrows a little as the realization came in. and how her little brother placed her down and seemed to forget all about how the entire group was there. instead sitting in a booth behind the group, so still around if they wanted to talk, but the two seemed to want to be left alone. smiling, laughing, and complimenting each other.

for chad, it had been the most brave thing of ethan he had ever seen. for the longest time he had known his roomie, he knew of ethan being the shy type of boy who preferred to be by himself and had no clue how to even approach a girl. but here he was, acting like he's known her all his life.

it was just the beginning of the end.

Taissa Farmiga / Laurie Riley (Weathers) Daddy's Girl. 80s Music. The Older Sister. Starlit Skies. Romance Movies. Literally Padme Amidala. Twenty.

Jack Champion / Ethan Landry Mama's Boy. Curly Brown Hair. Total Star Wars Geek. Literally Anakin Skywalker. Aquarium Lover. Nineteen.

Katie Douglas / Adrianna Riley-Weathers Daddy's Girl. The Little Sister. Ceo of Simple Sweaters and Pretty Cardigans. Born to Die. Sunsets. Nineteen.

Jenna Ortega / Tara Carpenter Nobody's Daughter. The Fashionista. The Archer. Midnights. My Immortal. Nineteen.

Sydney Sweeney / Esther Macher Nobody's Daughter. The Nurse. Otherwise known as Ellie Williams. Red Leathered Jackets. Sunsets. Twenty Six

Melissa Barerra / Samantha Carpenter Daddy's Girl. The Mastermind. Otherwise known as Dina Woodward. CEO of Plain White Sweaters. The Archer. Twenty Five

Vivien Lyra-Blair / Judith Landry Nobody's Daughter. Ceo of Colorful Clothes. Aspiring Actress. Otherwise Known as the Boogeyman's Daughter. Eight.

Piper Rubio / Abigail "Abby" Faye Taylor - Altieri Daddy's Girl. Flare Jeans. Ice Skater. Artist. Anything Sweet. Swiftie. Nine.

remaining cast!! Scott Foley ... Roman Bridger Parker Posey ... Jennifer Jolie Courtney Cox ... Gale Weathers David Arquette ... Dewey Riley Neve Campbell ... Sidney Prescott Mikey Madison ... Amber Freeman Jasmin - Savoy Brown ... Mindy-Meeks Martin Mason Gooding ... Chad-Meeks Martin Dylan Minette ... Wes Hicks Sonia Ammar ... Liv Mackenzie Jack Quaid ... Richie Kirsch (Bailey) Emma Myers ... Annalise Elizabeth Hamilton ( Riley - Weathers ) Devyn Nekoda ... Anika Kayoko Madeleine McGraw ... Younger! Laurie Riley Younger! Noah Jupe ... Younger! Ethan Landry Liana Liberato ... Quinn Bailey Dermot Mulroney ... Wayne Bailey Hayden Panettiere ... Kirby Reed Josh Hutcherson ... Mike Taylor-Altieri

THE REST AS DESCRIBED / DEPICTED !

OOO. HIII EVERYONE WELCOME TO MY WAY OF LIFE!! you are all my ELITE EMPLOYEES, seeing this before i post it on my wattpad account haha (if i even do). this here is a fic of me, and a collection of my close friends (ciel, kara, and sarinnah)'s characters for our own personal little screamverse!! we, as a group, do not support the creators or anything of the sort. as far as we're concerned, erm, we created this universe!! we are the masters now!! no ones safe. not even the children. OOO. so adding onto this, some of these characters don't belong to me!! i'd get sued if i said so. and im broke. so they kind of need credits.

OO1. Annalise Riley-Weathers, Mike Taylor-Altieri && Abby Taylor-Altieri belong to someone i seriously consider my little brother. FCKIN CHRIST WE ARE INSANE. WE LITERALLY REMADE 4, 5 AND 6 JUST FOR GIGGLES. THERES SO MUCH LORE GOOD GOD CIEL. WHEN I SAY STOP ME FROM RAMBLING, I MEAN IT. I mean jesus where do i even start with you. you're more of family to me than my actual one is, and that says a lot. i've known you for almost two years now, but it feels like i've known you for even longer. you're genuinely the most funniest, talented and overall amazing people ive ever met. you also saved my life, so many times without ever physically being there. i wish we could meet bb ): its uhm...kind of embarrassing how i dont have your tag for here!! im new here. but dont worry ill harass you later (morelike send you the link) but i love u sm. OO2. Adrianna Riley-Weathers belongs to my other friend, sare!! i know we don't talk a lot and we can totally blame discord's shitty notification system for that but i love our little roleplay and our little conversations we have even if its to shit on ur over the top ex friend!! im so happy you're comfortable enough telling me stuff i wouldn't tell anyone else. ur the best <3 and no, fuck chara they dont exist. you want a chad ship? fine, ethan is in love w chad too. they are now canon suck it. TARA IS A LESBIAN. TAMBER COME BACK TO ME...TAMBER...TAMBER I MISS Y- OO3. and finally, Esther Macher && Samantha Carpenter belongs to my friend, Kara. im sorry you've had to put up with my "i want ethan landry to shove me against a wall and (insert controversial comment here)" comments in ur tiktok feed, im a little menace for this goofy guy if u couldn't tell!! but seriously, even though we've only known each other off and on for about a year now but started talking actively a few months ago, your genuinely super charismatic and funny like i genuinely adore u. also, if anyone else tries to come on here saying they love samantha carpenter the most, ill just say ur lying, because thats actually her. you'll never compare, cope. but in all seriousness, tysm for putting up with my constant shit i appreciate you so much, even if right now we're just spamming each other's tiktok because we'd rather put a gun in our mouths then send out replies to our roleplay...

OOO. so anyways i hope u enjoy this book the more i send out chapters for it!! ill be making a masterlist for u crazy folks <3 laurie && judith are my babies i lovelove them so much. god im nervous

[bg-brainrot]

Day 8 of the BG3 Holiday Challenge with some found family <3

Prompt: Chosen Family

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Premise: You don’t have any family left in Baldur’s Gate, so when it comes time to celebrate Midwinter, you invite the family you do have: all of your old companions that can make it. Shadowheart, Gale, Halsin, and a few others join you for a meal and gift exchange. 

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Holidays, post-canon, chosen family, extended family of ragtag adventurers, even volo is included

Word count: ~1.4k

“My dear, I’m afraid that staring at the clock won’t make our guests arrive any faster.” You turn to see Astarion standing at the doorway to your drawing room, holding a stack of letters. He’s dressed impeccably in his holiday best, even sporting a small red poinsettia in his lapel. Initially, he’d resisted the festive addition, but you reminded him that, while mild, a poinsettia is poisonous. Not a moment later the flower had found its way into his outfit.

You’re also adorned festively, a bright branch of holly weaved into your belt. Dressed to impress and ready to party for the Midwinter celebration, all that’s left are your guests– which aren’t due for another ten minutes. You sigh at Astarion’s words, knowing that he’s right. “How else am I supposed to spend the time?”

Astarion walks over to your seat on the coach and hands you half of the stack of letters. “Well, I figured this might be a fantastic opportunity to make sure we had an accurate headcount. In case we need to ask Gale to conjure any chairs.”

You take the letters gratefully and pat the seat next to you. He sits and you begin to sort through the papers. “Good idea, let’s see…” The first letter is from Alfira. It’s a lovely little letter, thanking you for the invitation, detailing her Midwinter plans with Lakrissa, and ending with a short little poem for the holiday. “Alfira already had plans.”

“Oh good,” Astarion says with a small clap. “I don’t think my poor ears could take yet another rendition of the Twelve Days of Midwinter.” He waves the letter in his hand as he follows up with, “Rolan also already had plans, something about Cal and Lia wanting to travel for the holiday.”

“Maybe we should have done that,” you say to Astarion, filled with more dread at hosting a party for your closest friends than you’ve had fighting any monster.

He knows you don’t really mean it, but agrees anyway. “We still have time to escape! I hear the feywild has some lovely weather.”

“How would we get to the feywild?” you ask, taking a look at the next letter in your stack.

“I don’t know, we’d figure it out,” he responds, before rolling his eyes at the letter he’s holding. “Why did you even invite Volo?”

You shrug, honestly unsure what compelled you. “He seems lonely, I guess?”

“Well, he’s still a yes,” Astarion says, grimacing.

“Good, I suppose.” You wave the letter in your hand at him, before adding, “Dame Aylin and Isobel can’t make it. Something about seeing Midwinter's arrival in each others’ arms.”

“But of course. We could have done the same, you know.” 

Your love gives you a suggestive look, which you smack with your next letter. “Stop tempting me! I know we can do this, and apparently the guests we do have are looking forward to it. Remember, Gale’s immediate yes? He’s even bringing Tara.”

“Do you suppose she requires her own chair?” Astarion asks, tapping his chin with what could only be Shadowheart’s letter, its writing neat and flowing.

“I think I already took her into account for chairs.” You’re positive you had, lest you offend the great Tara. “Is that Shadowheart’s response? Did she send an update?”

Astarion looks down at the letter, as if he'd forgotten that he was holding it. “Let's see. It says, ‘Don't worry, I'm still able to make it. Is it alright if I bring the owlbear? I wasn't able to find someone to watch him.'"

You stare at Astarion who only stares back. You break the silence to ask the question on both of your minds, "Where will we put him?"

"Perhaps Gale can shrink him for the night?"

"Good idea," you say with a nod and move on to the next letter in your stack. It's a short missive from Dammon. An appreciative message, though he already has Midwinter plans as well. “Dammon was a no.”

Your love smirks, giving you a knowing look. “Likely because Karlach couldn’t make it. Still can’t make it I take it?”

“Karlach and Wyll gratefully declined,” you say, holding up their letter. It’s been written quickly, has some scorched edges, and smells deeply of sulfur– truly no mystery as to why they couldn’t make it. “But Halsin said he would be here.”

"Someone, who I think is Withers, just sent back 'no'. Hmm." Astarion looks at the small piece of parchment containing the singular word and holds it up to you. “Why did you invite Withers? Scratch that, how did you invite Withers?”

You simply raise a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug and say, “It felt rude not to invite him.”

He looks at you for a second, as if pondering whether or not it’s worth digging into the ‘how’ when a knock sounds at the door. “Oh, I suppose our first guest has arrived. Would you like to wager on who it might be?”

“Why bother,” you say with a snort, setting aside the rest of the stack and heading to the door. “We both know it’s Gale.”

Astarion laughs at your confident proclamation, and laughs even harder when you open the door to a smiling wizard, dressed in what can only be considered a holiday robe, lit up with faerie lights. Tara stands next to him, proudly wearing a red ribbon.

“Welcome! Come in, come in,” you say, waving him into your house. Once they’ve entered, you give Gale a hearty hug and Tara a small bow, which she seems to appreciate. After you take his coat and they settle in, Astarion serves them both a drink, a wine for Gale, a bowl of broth for Tara.

You spend some time talking and catching up until your next guests arrive with a soft knock. 

At the door is Shadowheart, wearing a markedly less ostentatious holiday outfit, a simple green sweater with silver pants, followed closely by a large owlbear. After a quick bit of magic from Gale, they both make their way inside to warm hugs and their own drinks. 

They’re just about sitting down when another knock comes.

The night continues in much the same fashion as Halsin arrives, then Volo, then Jaheira with several of her children in tow. Then, just when you think no one else will arrive, Minsc shows up with Boo wearing a single jolly bell.

The entire group settles in for drinks, food, and merriment, discussing all that they’ve been up to since you’ve last gotten together. The company is lively, the atmosphere warm, and you’re immensely satisfied with the outcome of your efforts as you finally take a seat next to Astarion. You begin to wonder why you were worried about hosting this at all.

Ahead of the party, you hadn’t received a response from Lae’zel. She was likely too busy in the Astral Plane to respond, so you tried not to think too much of it. However, partway through the night you receive a message from her through a Sending spell: “This is Lae’zel. Apologies, I’m indisposed. I’ve been informed Midwinter is a celebration, so consider this my celebratory message.”

You laugh and send your own message back, “Thank you, Lae’zel. Hope to see you for the next one!”

Astarion smiles at you once you relay the message to the group, squeezing your hand in his. He knew you’d been worried about her despite it all, and knowing that she, too, was alive and safe would finally set your mind at ease. And it did– like something that was missing finally clicked into place and you could just breathe.

You knew that not everyone would be able to make it, and you’re still not confident in your hosting abilities, but somehow, you’re still so very content. Something about sitting in a room with your love, your closest friends, and even Volo, fills you with so much hope for the upcoming spring.

When the group lifts their glasses to cheer for all that you’ve accomplished this year, the trials and tribulations you’ve overcome together, you can’t help but add, “And to the family we’ve made along the way. May we always find our way back to one another!”

The night passes in a haze of joy and love– somehow, by the end of it, you've agreed to host again next year. You can feel Astarion's amusement as he chuckles and holds you close.

[jomiddlemarch]

Declare the past, diagnose the present, foretell the future

Taking in-house on-call at St. Mungo’s on Imbolc wasn’t the absolute worst, as far as Hermione was concerned. It wasn’t a major holiday and the Scottish weather, an unfathomably vile mix of sleet and snow accompanied by icy gales that defied any warming charm, lent itself to staying in. As her social life was not exactly riotous post-break-up with Ron, however amicably resigned and rueful they’d both been about it, staying in at St. Mungo’s, with its endless supply of ginger biscuits and at least one interesting patient per ward, was tolerable. Acceptable.

It could have been, anyway.

“You like being on-call, Granger?” 

That was Draco Malfoy, her fellow senior registrar, academic rival, and star of far too many risqué dreams she continued to blame on eating cheese late at night. He’d grown significantly after the final battle, which she refused to capitalize when she thought of it, just as she refused to refer to Voldemort as anything other than Tom Riddle. Draco, no longer beholden to a genocidal sorcerer who had far too close a relationship with his voracious familiar and thus no longer suffering from an untreated ulcer along as well as the fear of watching his mother being tortured in her own sitting room, had put on a good 2-plus stone of muscle along with several more inches and somehow managed to make the lime-green robes St. Mungo’s insisted on look like something that would get an approving nod during Fashion Week in Milan. It should be a fourth Unforgivable that someone so silvery blond didn’t look anemic, bilious, or curdled in the next hue over from chartreuse. He looked edible. 

Delicious.

Hermione looked like a generous dollop of the Seafoam Salad her American Cousin Luella brought to every summer tea-party Hermione’s mother had ever thrown, despite being told she was such a dear but she needn’t. Hermione tried to take comfort in the many extendable pockets she’d been able to spell into her robe’s inner lining, but nothing could fully offset the color. 

At the moment, Draco had opened his robes and put his feet up on the coffee-table in the staff break-room, his collar unbuttoned, his tie loosened. He’d stopped using whatever charm or enchanted pomade he’d relied on when they were at Hogwarts and his hair looked silky, a lock threatening to fall across his forehead. If they were called to an emergency, he’d probably cast a wandless Reparo vestis and immediately look the part of a Pureblood senior registrar, but in the meantime, he was…louche. Unconscionably, unbearably erotic.

Hermione thought back to the tea she’d hurried through before heading to Dangerous Dai at a brisk clip. She’d had nary a bite of Brie. Or Cheddar. 

She had no plausible deniability.

Still, he was helping a bit with the judgy curl to his lips and that gleam in his grey eyes which was somewhere between curious and condescending. She’d lean into the condescending part.

“I don’t mind it. It’s part of the work, being a Healer. If you have a true vocation, you don’t resent being on-call,” she said.

She sounded like an impossible prig even to herself but needs must.

“Bollocks,” he retorted, but not meanly. “Don’t you miss your cat?”

“Crookshanks is part-Kneazle,” she said.

“Fine, your part-Kneazle,” Draco said. “Wouldn’t you rather be home with him, doing whatever it is you do away from here?”

“Are you fishing for details or trying to mock me? You’ll have to decide,” Hermione said.

“I’m trying to say it’s just the two of us here, you don’t have to pretend you love being stuck at St. Mungo’s overnight,” Draco said. 

It occurred to Hermione that if she suffered a cardiac event in the next three seconds, Draco would be the one to resuscitate her and that no one ever looked their best post-resuscitation, even when magic was the primary intervention. Vanity, that’s what would keep her from having a heart attack.

Just the two of us.

For Sweet Circe’s fucking sweet sake.

Draco gave her a searching look because the pause had lengthened notably. Anyone else would have said something like Earth to Hermione, except they’d have to be Muggleborn to say that, because Wizards still didn’t grasp that Muggles had been to the Moon and sent rovers to Mars. They didn’t grasp a dog had been sent into space.

“It’s all right. I don’t actually mind it all that much myself, if I’m being honest. And before you feel compelled to point it out, yes, I am Slytherin but I am capable of candor, especially when it suits my needs,” he said.

“It suits you to be honest with me?” she said.

“We’re a team, aren’t we?” he said and she nodded before she could stop herself and ask what exactly he meant, she’d happily taken four feet of parchment on the topic. “Lying, keeping things from each other, it won’t help us. I know you don’t trust me—”

“I—” she interrupted, breaking off when she realized she wasn’t sure she wanted to say she did trust him or that she wanted to, very badly.

“I know we agreed to a fresh slate when we started training here and I also know if was too much to ask of you,” he said. 

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Yes, I was under duress. Yes, I was seventeen. Yes, we’re all allowed to make mistakes. But I still have a brand on my arm from a group that wanted you dead and defiled and the best I did on your behalf was to pretend I didn’t know you for a few minutes,” he said. 

“What else could you have done?” Hermione said, shrugging. 

“I could have risked my life. I could have died,” he said. “Potter did, when he saved me from Fiendfyre—”

“I’m not nearly as nice as Harry,” Hermione said.

Draco laughed, rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You’re a better person than I am and you don’t have to argue with me about it. Some things are simply true. I’d like you to trust me, that’s what I’m saying, albeit terribly clumsily,” he replied.

“Albeit?” she repeated. Using humor to deflect was a time-honored tradition and she didn’t know what to do with her sizable attraction when it was suddenly not only about his broad shoulders and narrow hips, the feline grace of his gait, the North Sea of his eyes and his impossibly deft hands (Nimue help her, Draco’s hands…) but also his mind, his insight. She’d known he was clever, her equal in most fields, slightly ahead of her in Charms (though behind in Arithmancy) but she hadn’t appreciated how thoughtful he was or had become. How he could be gentle. 

“I use overly formal language when I feel out of my depth,” he said. Admitted. 

“You were totally at ease then, when Crispin Fillament was hemorrhaging? All I heard was good old Anglo-Saxon obscenities from you while you were trying to shove the blood back into his aorta,” Hermione said, grinning.

“That bugger. He wasn’t helping at all, and I don’t mean his choice to sing operettas,” Draco said. “It was like his blood didn’t even want back in. It felt oddly sentient—”

“Operetta can be polarizing,” Hermione said. They were having an absolutely insane conversation, Thickey Ward caliber, and she was more relaxed than she’d ever been around him while also being turned on. Draco’s expression shifted from entertained to speculative. Assessing. She resisted the impulse to touch her hair or fiddle with the collar of her robes, glad she’d kept her shoes on, regretting her laundry day choice of striped tights.

“We’ve worked together for nearly seven years and you still don’t trust me,” he said. 

“I don’t suspect you of, well, anything in particular,” she replied. It seemed a weak response, even to her. It might not even be fair, but she couldn’t necessarily feel her way into being fair to him. Even if there were times when she wanted to.

“I know. It’s good of you,” he said. “It just, it’s not enough.”

“It’s not enough? You dare to demand I—”

“I’m not demanding anything, Hermione,” he interrupted. “I don’t expect more. I don’t deserve more. I only want more.”

“You want more,” she repeated. She sounded somewhere between incredulous and stupid. As he’d spent a significant amount of his youth the Crabbe and Goyle, the stupidity shouldn’t bother him as it did her.

“I believe Weasley liked to refer to me as a greedy git. I don’t pretend to have entirely outgrown that,” he said.

“That was because you hogged the pudding,” Hermione said.

“Well, I’ve outgrown that. Though I do still like sweet things,” he said. He tilted his head to one side and should have resembled an owl but of course, he didn’t. If anything, he looked like a fallen angel, though he probably wouldn’t have recognized Lucifer if she’d mentioned the name. The Bible was given short-shrift in the Muggle culture studies required at St. Mungo’s where they ran more to Pasteur, Salk and gene-sequencing. “If I want more, I must give more.”

“Is this some sort of rudimentary physics equation?” Hermione said. “You do know Newton covered this area already.”

“I mean, if I want you to trust me, I need to give you more reason. I need to share more, so you feel I’ve earned it. That it’s, I’m worth it,” he said, nodding as he spoke. Hermione felt herself flush and wanted to argue but she couldn’t think of anything compelling to refute his assertion.

“Shall I tell you why I became a Healer?” Draco said.

“If you like,” Hermione replied diffidently, as if she hadn’t wondered nearly every time she saw him and had frankly obsessed over it for the first six months of their training. Obsessed as in Ginny staged an intervention with Padma and Susan and Gabrielle on the Floo, with Luna playing mother over the teapot joining in the chorus that maybe Hermione needed to let it go or go ahead and jump Draco’s bones. She had been so far gone Luna Lovegood had told her she needed to get some perspective (which she suggested would be helped along with a tincture of canawaddle blossom and raging iron jaguar tears. Hermione had just taken the full glass of Shiraz Padma offered and nodded.)

“Because of my parents,” he said. It had been his idea to discuss his reasons but he seemed uncertain how he’d explain or uneasy about her response.

“It was their idea?” Hermione hazarded a guess. It wasn’t a good guess and she’d be shocked if she were right but it was within the realm of possibility in a world where there were both cellphones and wands threaded with a phoenix’s fiery tail-feather.

“Fuck no,” he said, almost choking on a laugh. A bitter one.

“It might’ve been,” she retorted. 

“Only you would believe that possible and before you get horribly offended and flounce off, I mean only you could believe them capable of such humanity. That they would care about other people, that they would care that I did something worthwhile with my time,” he said. He made a calming gesture with his hand, the one he wore a signet ring on. It wasn’t the Malfoy signet though. “You also forget they are the most terrible snobs and think any kind of work is beneath a Malfoy or the bloody scion of the Most Noble House of Black. My mother thinks I’m overly sentimental and my father thinks the whole thing is crass and degrading.”

“I don’t flounce,” Hermione said because what he’d said was a lot to unpack and she couldn’t risk him thinking flouncing was within her repertoire.

“I stand corrected,” he said.

“Why did you become a Healer? How were your parents involved?” she asked. 

“They ruined so many lives. My father, I’ve never asked, I’ve never wanted to know, but I think he’s a murderer and my mother went along with it all. Whatever she told herself about how she had to put me first, it was all an excuse,” he said, holding her gaze the whole time. “Other families left Britain. Other families refused to take a side. Millie’s parents sent her younger brothers to Ilvermorny. Zabini’s mother cast some spell on Blaise that kept Voldemort from touching him, something Darker than Dark, she called in favors all over Europe and West Africa. My parents ruined my life. This is the best way I could think of to make something of it all.”

“That’s, I don’t even know what to say, Draco,” Hermione replied.

“You don’t have to have something to say. It’s just how it is,” he said.

“Is it enough? Atonement?” Hermione asked.

“Mostly. And I like the craft. Snape played favorites and he gave me extra lessons, tradework secrets. The man was frankly a bloody genius. Sectumsempra was his juvenilia. I’m good at Potions and I was taught by one of the best Potions Masters in the past three hundred years,” Draco said.

“It’s nice to hear you admit it,” Hermione said. 

“The special treatment or Snape’s brilliance?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, making Draco smile.

“I wished I could have saved him,” Draco said. “Though I don’t know what surviving would have meant for him. He was broken.”

“He wanted us to let him go. After he gave Harry the memory, he didn’t want to have to live anymore. I tried to stay. Harry and Ron didn’t see his eyes, but he looked at me and I knew it,” Hermione said.

“He doesn’t haunt me. In case you’re wondering,” Draco said. “His portrait often has a choice remark for me, but that’s all.”

“I became a Healer because of my parents too,” Hermione said.

“Yeah?”

“When it was getting close, that last year, you know, none of the adults made any plans to keep my parents safe. They told me not to worry mostly. All Dumbledore cared about was Harry and the Elder wand. Tonks, she was your cousin, she was the only one who said I should look out for my own people,” Hermione said. Tonks’s hair had been a rich chestnut streaked with white when she’d said it, her eyes the glittering green Hermione had always wished to see in the mirror, and she hadn’t minced words. She’d been as serious as Hermione had ever seen her, serious as death, and then it wasn’t spoken of again. Hermione had hoped there would be a time to tell Tonks, to thank her. “I Obliviated my parents and relocated them to Australia, I gave them new identities. I erased myself from their minds. Entirely.”

“What?” To his credit, Draco looked 90% stunned and 10% impressed. Harry had looked 100% horrified and Ron had physically recoiled when she told them. 

“I did some research, figured out how to Obliviate them in the way that would keep them safest,” she said. “Voldemort wasn’t going to care about two random Muggles named Wilkins in bloody Melbourne. Other than you, your father and Snape, none of the Death-eaters were smart enough to figure it out and it turned out Snape was a double-agent, so my odds were even better than I’d counted on.”

“That’s advanced charmwork,” Draco said. “That kind of Obliviation.”

“I had to use Arithmancy too. And runes,” Hermione said. “It had to work. I couldn’t ruin their lives. I couldn’t be the reason they were killed.”

“It worked,” he said. “You saved them.”

“Yes. But it was harder to reverse than I’d hoped,” she said. She said hoped but she meant thought, planned, expected. She’d been wrong. “And when they remembered, they remembered I never asked their permission.”

“You didn’t?”

“They’d never have agreed. I cast the spell behind their backs. An assassination, my mother called it,” she said. She hadn’t told them about being tortured; they couldn’t understand Cruciatus the way anyone magical would and she didn’t want them to ask why she hadn’t confided more in them. Didn’t want them to feel guilty or worse, to accuse her of trying to make them feel guilty to justify her actions.

“You saved their lives,” Draco repeated. 

“That’s what I tell myself,” she replied.

“Do you plan to specialize in memory curses? Because of your parents?” he asked.

“No. It’s not that. I became a Healer because they can understand it. They are dentists, Muggle Healer for teeth, and I was able to preserve all of that when I Obliviated them. They would have said, once, I should take up whatever career I felt called to, but they value healing. It’s something we can talk about. Without much…rancor. They see what we do as another science, this training similar enough, the way the American medical system is similar to the British one,” she said.

“Do you even want to be a Healer?” Draco said.

“It’s fine. Maybe I would have ended up here anyway. You have to master a lot of different magical disciplines and there’s some research to be done. There’s always other people around and you can get a decent cuppa in the canteen,” she said, shrugging. “The robes don’t suit me, but that’s a small price to pay.”

“You wanted something else though,” he said. “You don’t have to lie to me. I won’t try to convince you to leave St. Mungo’s.”

“There’s a course on ancient magics in Alexandria. And the Wizarding Library there, they do archival work and Anatomia liborum,” she said. “I read about it when I was researching the Horcruxes. It sounded intriguing.”

“What else?” he prompted.

“In Japan, at Mahoutokoro, there a witch studying arithmancy and algorithm engineering. That’s a Muggle science, it has to do with computers and programming, which you probably have no idea about, but it’s cutting edge work,” Hermione said.

“Instead you’re here,” he said.

“It’s not so bad,” Hermione said. It was easy to say, because she’d said it to herself about a thousand times. “I’m learning a lot and it’s important, to be able to heal people, and sometimes what’s wrong with them seems impossible, but in an absurdly funny way. My parents like it, when I tell them about work, even if I have to tone it down so they believe me.”

“Doesn’t seem like enough. Not for you,” he said.

“You’re here,” she replied, before she thought better of it.

For a moment, Draco was so still she wondered if she’d cast a wandless Petrificus totalis without consciously registering it.

“It’s not what you think,” she said.

“What do I think, Hermione?” he asked. He didn’t sound sly or arch, not remotely mocking, though he could have and she wouldn’t have been able to blame him. He sounded serious, as if she was the final arbiter of his fate, the Chief Witch of the Wizengamot pronouncing his sentence.

“It wasn’t a grand declaration,” she said.

“I didn’t think ‘you’re here’ was a grand declaration,” he replied. He’d relaxed a bit. Bully for him. Hermione felt like she might spontaneously combust, which coupled with the lime-green robes, was certain to be unattractive.

“You’re clever and well-read and you don’t cave when I argue with you but you don’t try to squash me either,” she said. “You think of things quite differently than I do, but in a good way. You’re my peer, intellectually.”

“I’m your peer, intellectually. That’s what you meant,” he said.

“You spent your formative years with Crabbe and Goyle. It’s not nothing,” she retorted.

“I played chess with Blaise Zabini for seven years. Theo Nott taught me Sanskrit and Pazu Veda in his spare time,” he replied. It felt like an obscure jab at Harry and Ron, neither of whom would claim to be excellent student, but who each had their strengths. They were, perhaps, not ones that lent themselves to spirited discussions, especially since Hermione had an admittedly limited grasp of chess and no real motivation to learn it. She wouldn’t risk the conversation devolving into a cranky argument, relitigating their school-days.

“Theo Nott was fluent in Pazu Veda?” 

“They don’t teach necromancy at Hogwarts, so I can’t vouch for his fluency, but he could read it and translate,” Draco said. He crossed his legs at the ankle, a gesture of pure insouciance. His grey eyes studied her and she lifted her chin. “You’re stalling.”

“I’m not,” she said. For possibly the first time she could remember, she wished to be paged to the receiving area to attend to a disgustingly feculent and smoking heap of Wizard burping up turds, suffering from an unknown but obviously not life-threatening curse or potion. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it anymore, we won’t. I wanted you to trust me and that won’t happen if you feel like I’m grilling you or prying. I’ll try to keep doing whatever it is that makes me being here make St. Mungo’s worth it to you,” he said.

He was a Slytherin but he’d spoken as directly as an Gryffindor, as thoughtfully as any Ravenclaw, as kindly as any Hufflepuff.

“I like you,” she said. 

She was not going to mention lust, her own for his face, his shoulders and his hands, the nape of his neck, the line of his thigh when he crouched down to talk to some patient on the Thickey Ward who thought they were a mole. His lips when he smiled. His eyes when he had a new idea that she was going to hate at first. She was courageous, not foolhardy.

“I like you too. Very much,” he said. “Exceedingly. I don’t want you to worry, having said it first, that your feelings are unrequited. They are very, very requited. Maximally requited.”

“I only said I like you,” she replied.

“I know. You don’t make grand declarations. I do. When they are called for,” he said.

“And it’s called for now?”

“We’ve worked together for seven years. We’ve known each other since we were eleven. You just admitted you like me. I’m not risking waiting another decade for you to understand how I feel about you,” he said. “Wizards have long lives but I’d hate to have this conversation with a white beard down to my navel.”

“You will never have a white beard down to your navel. You’d never do something so cliché,” Hermione said.

“You’re probably right. But I still prefer telling you tonight,” he said. “It means that when I ask you if you’d like a cup of tea and a biscuit in the canteen, you’ll know I don’t just mean a cup of tea and a biscuit.”

“But we’d still have those, right?” Hermione said. “Because I skipped lunch today.”

“I will buy you every biscuit in the canteen,” he said. “And breakfast tomorrow morning. Somewhere where you can get a decent omelet.”

“So, someplace Muggle,” Hermione said. 

“Most assuredly so. At least until we both have a weekend off,” he said.

“Then what?”

“Then I take you to Paris.”

*

Five hexes, three Dark-adjacent curses, nine (nine!) misbrewed Potions causing inflammation, exudation, and one case of rapid-fire recitation in Norn, an unlicensed researcher’s run-in with a surly matagot, and a family suffering from mazy measles, meant that no biscuits, chocolate, ginger or lemon, were consumed and the tea in the canteen’s urn remained untasted by either of them.

They did, however, make quick work of a passable cheese omelet at a very nice café once they’d given sign-out to the day’s team.

And Draco Side-alonged her home, giving her a kiss on the cheek at the door.

Hermione kissed him back. Not on the cheek. 

She wasn’t about to wait for Paris for a French kiss, not when they had so little say over the on-call schedule.

Not when he looked at her with those sleepy grey eyes.

Not when he murmured her name against her lips.

[psychofreakforc]

Tara tries to get out of every situation by saying "i'm just a little guy"

[just-another-siimp]

Epilogue

Warnings: Brief mention of war, injuries and anxiety, alcohol use, poor fire safety, lots of smooches (16+), lots of fluff, a ton of fluff.

Authors Note: This is is, the Enemy at the Gate series is finally done! All this is is self indulgent fluffy. Pairing below the cut!

Word Count: 2k

Enemy at the Gate || Alone || Prison Break || Epilogue

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Reader

The months following Las Almas blurred into one, with Hassan dead and Makarov crawling out of the rafters like the cockroach that he was, there was so much work to be done. Laswell had other plans for the 141st, forcing a mandatory leave period of 6 weeks. Allowing everyone to heal both mentally and physically. For some of you returning home was a secret blessing, it allowed opportunities for hidden relationships to bloom behind drawn curtains. Not that your relationship was hidden from the 141st, they were the people you trusted with your life so it was only natural that they knew. It was either that or have them find out, and they always find out. 

For you home is a cottage on the outskirts of Metz, allowing the beauty of the French countryside to swallow you whole. At first you’d thought the choice to move to France of all places would be something you’d regret, yet there had been nothing but happy memories made in the cottage you and your beloved called home. While you’d been away the seasons had changed, summer had been in full swing, the Apricot trees in the back garden had been full of the sweet fruit. Now it was covered in snow, the flowers had died long ago, leaves fallen to the ground below long before you’d even thought of home. Yet under a blanket of white, it was still your favourite place to be. 

-

Soft quacks could be heard just outside your kitchen window, peaking out from the frosted glass you caught sight of your two favourite trouble makers. Henry and Gale, a pair of ducks that belonged to your neighbour but always had a habit of venturing over to your cottage. They supplied a pleasant background noise as you kneaded dough, even in the cold weather it was easy to build up a sweat. Your arm still ached, bullet wound leaving a nasty scar despite the neat stitching. After a few more weeks it would be back to normal but for now you dealt with the ache, covering the bowl with a damp towel before leaving the dough to proof. 

The kitchen was an organised mess, Stew bubbling away in it’s pot atop the stove while vegetables soaked in water waiting to be formed into something that resembled a salad. The cupboard was fully stocked with snacks, both sweet and savoury. Outside in the garage there was a fridge filled with beer, amongst other drinks. Next to it a pile of firewood had been stacked sky high, your neighbour (the owner of Henry and Gale) had kept it well stocked in exchange for Apricots from your tree. Staring at the fridge you looked at the list you’d written, there wasn’t a lot left to do before the boys arrived but still you paced the kitchen anxiously. 

Gale’s quacking was interrupted by a car engine as it pulled into the driveway, a flurry of snow and wings indicated that the pair had flown away spooked by the slam of a car door. Suddenly you remembered you were supposed to be resting, you’d promised not to do anything on your own and allow your arm a chance to heal without extra strain. There wasn’t time to hide the evidence, front door creaking open reminding you that it needed to be oiled before Price arrived. He’d go full handyman and try finding other things to fix if you didn’t. 

“Babe, I’m home! You’d never believe what I found at the store today-” Your heart skipped a beat hearing his voice, excitement already welling up in your chest. The kitchen door swung open and you attempted to look as though you’d just been standing in the kitchen for no reason. “Hey- you’re supposed to be resting!”

“Oh hey.. Gaz- you’re back home early!” The way he was staring at you was a clear indication that your goose was indeed cooked, as he placed the bags down. Reaching out to you he pulled you closer, hand reaching up to cup your cheek before brushing flour off of your nose. Ah, so you’d really been caught red handed.

“Is this how you feel when you catch one of us working when we’re supposed to be resting?” He asked softly, lips pressed to your forehead as he pulled you into him. It was hard not to melt into his embrace, breathe in his cologne as his hands trailed down to your waist leaving warmth in his wake. 

“Oh it’s incredibly frustrating to see.” You murmured softly into the crook of his neck, leaning all of your weight into him with a content sigh. It was nice to have him home, even if he was only gone for a couple of hours. “Especially when the Captain falls asleep at his desk in the process.”

You’re both laughing at that, Gaz leaning down a little further lips pressing to yours in a sweet kiss. Fingers pressing flush into the back of your thighs tapping once as if to say ‘up’, the movement was effortless as he lifted you onto the counter. Fingers curled into his hair, still slightly damp from the snow he must’ve been caught in while he was out. His lips tasted faintly of chocolate, your brow furrowed and you pulled away. 

“Did you have hot chocolate without me?” Guilt was written all over his face, his fingers traced gentle circles into your sides trying to soften you up. “I can’t believe you.” 

“They were handing out cups for free! How could I say no?” 

“Easily.” He kissed your nose, you pouted at him trying to hide the smile that threatened to break out on your face. Gaz knew you weren’t really angry at him, how could you be? When you didn’t say anything he trailed kisses across your cheek and down your jaw, coaxing a whine from your lips. “Kyle.. I’m trying to be angry at you.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to take the coco powder they were selling back to the store.” You tried turning to the paper bag that sat forgotten on the kitchen counter next to you, his right hand rested on the side of your neck. Thumb grazing your chin before grasping it gently, keeping your focus on him. “The marshmallows too.” 

“Giant Marshmallows?” 

“Of course, biggest I could find.” 

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Before he could respond you’d pulled him closer, eyes fluttering shut as you both lost yourselves in the kiss. It was often like this after deployment, there was no looming threat or unwanted eyes on either of you. In this little bubble of the world you could both cherish the little moments and the silly moments just like this one. 

The rest of the morning was spent in the kitchen, with you sat at a bar stool while Gaz worked on perfecting his stew refusing to let you do anything to help. This time you listened to his ‘orders’ laughing when he mocked you, scolding you just as you did to him and the others when they didn’t rest. Elbows rested on the cool countertop, your chin resting on the palm of your hand was you watched him cook. Hot chocolate with a comically large marshmallow floating within it partially forgotten. 

-

Snow crunched beneath your feet, cool air nipping at exposed skin as you shuffled out to the wood pile. There were some things that Gaz couldn’t stop you from helping with, like a puppy you’d followed him out into the snow not taking no for an answer. He still wouldn’t let you carry the wood, instead allowing you to light the fire and only because you’d hidden the matches from him. 

“You could’ve at least put gloves on.” He said walking towards you, firewood piled in his arms. “Can you grab the axe for me, love?” 

“Why wear gloves when you can hold my hand?” There was a pep in your step as you grabbed the axe off of the wall, true intentions hidden behind a giddy smile as you followed him to the designated wood cutting stump. “One axe, ready and willing to serve. Sir!” 

“Are you having a sugar high?” 

“Hmm maybe.” 

“That hot chocolate is pretty good, I bet even Ghost will like it.” You watched as he removed his jacket, wrapping it over your shoulders before taking the axe from your waiting hands. That reminded you, looking at the time it wouldn’t be long before the others arrived. The dough was only half way through it’s second proof, there were still blankets that needed to be pulled from cupboards for whoever crashed on the couch and neither you or Kyle had made the salad. The first crack of axe meeting wood pulled you from your thoughts, this was the real reason you’d come outside just to watch Gaz at work. 

-

Ghost was the first to arrive, he wore the usual skull balaclava which really made the bright pink box of chocolates in his arms stand out more. You would’ve laughed but he didn’t give you the chance, shoving the box into your arms and walking into the cottage not without ruffling your hair on the way. You could hear Gaz greeting him in the kitchen, their voices muffled by the kitchen door as it closed again. The sun had set roughly an hour ago, leaving the surrounding area covered in darkness. There was no reason for you to be standing at the door still, yet you couldn’t stop looking into the black searching for something that wasn’t there. 

“Chip.” You almost screamed, whirling around to face Ghost with a half hearted glare. He shot you an apologetic look, reaching past you to turn on the front garden lights. Illuminating the darkness, revealing Gale and Henry snuggled together under the bench. “It’s just the ducks, nothings gonna come crawling out of the shadows here.” 

“I know.” You whispered softly, stepping away from the door and closing it. Ignoring how the cold seemed to settle in your bones despite the fireplace being well lit. Ghost had forced you to show him to the livingroom despite him knowing exactly where it was, distracting you from what lurked in the shadows. 

-

Price and Soap had arrived together, the Captain having picked up John in london before driving the rest of the way. They both planned to stay a few days, using it as an excuse to stay at their home away from home. Not that you or Gaz were complaining, it was nice to have the extra company especially because it meant getting to listen to Soap butcher french with his thick Scottish accent. Ghost would most likely be gone by morning, he wasn’t the type to stick around for long but you always made him promise to take some leftovers home. 

The five of you surrounded the fire pit, Soap standing a bit too close to comfort as he tipped his head back downing another Guava Cruiser. Your home was one of the only places where he’d drink something other than beer or a strong spirit, in private where none of you judged further than shitty banter. These types of gatherings didn’t happen often, it was a chance for everyone to relax. As always Gaz’s cooking was the main star of the show, matched with the fresh bread you’d made that afternoon it was a real treat. Even Ghost had taken Gaz up on the offer of a hot coco (mind you it had a shot of peppermint liquour and no marshmallow, sorta disappointing really) from where he stood next to Soap he seemed to be enjoying it. Even if he had to stop the Scot from falling into the fire. 

None of you worried about what battles were next to come.

Tag List: @komorebiiiiiiii @mauveserpent @mydogeatscoffeecups @reiya-djarin @underatreedrinkingtea @blueoorchid @poohkie90 @kult6 @watermaylon-writes @boxofgasoline @cumbersome-robes @frazie99 @bowserowser @urfavsunkissedleo @kyuupidwrites @omgitstatertot @justpeachiixx @trashy-panda777 @msecho19 @spinkeydinkey @whoreforhorror

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Seeing as Scream 7 is going to end up being cancelled because who even wants to watch it anymore, what would you personally have done with the plot and storyline?

Also Happy New Year!!!!!

This ask. Oh my GOD! This ask yes! Okay, okay, let's get into it.

I want some serious stakes, some real blood, hear me out. I want shit to be serious. So.

We start off with someone getting ready. We are unable to tell who they are, like gloved handles lacing books, sheathing a knife, all that, like it is not clear who it is. We then see them leave, we keep on their boots as they walk, some cuts, they make it to wherever they are meant to be. We hear rustling in their backpack, and then you see the robe drop, they are in the Ghostface fit. It pans up slowly, phone is out and they are calling someone.

Who do they call for the opening cold call?

Gale Weathers.

We have the opening scene, the back and forth, all that, they've broken in, they get the drop on Gale, I am talking a dirty, nasty thing, like she is tryna come around the corner and just gets a knife in the side of the throat, blade is dragged through and just full throat slit. She is bleeding and choking everywhere. Ghostface doesn't leave until she is dead. Multiple stab wounds. Stays until she is no longer breathing.

It is an uncomfortable shot, long. Ghostface with the mask a little bloody just staring down at her.

Then, they leave. No big dramatic slash to the title. Not this time.

We get into the main people, Tara, and Sam and Chad and Mindy finding out that Gale is fucking dead. Obvi there is concern about what this means.

I think the four of them have been cautious about getting close to other people, but the small relationships that they have allowed are not targeted like they all expect. It's the opposite. Anyone who is causing the core four issues is ending up dead.

Suspicion is thrown on the core four hard. Kirby is involved, she is of course trying to help, when she gets a bit too close she is hurt but not killed, just seriously maimed, to the point of medically incuded coma lets say. Sidney is mentioned briefly, she is staying farrrr away from all of this mess, everyone is glad about that, because man she still deserves that break.

The cops feel very unhelpful and so it's on the four to try and solve this, but it's hard, long, twisting, shit is confusing and not making sense and they are TIRED. The average Scream movie takes place over a few days, this will be longer. Suspicion is weighing heavily on all of them, the murders are piling up, it isn't totally making sense, it's messy, there seems to be no real reason to who is dying. At first.

It comes out over time that these people who are being killed sucked, did morally shady and awful things.

I want this body count high and us caring about the people in my opinion is not important. I want them amount of gore and the uncertainty to be bringing the scares and the heat, I want it oppressive.

And then. Kirby gets out of her medically induced coma.

And guess what she has to share?

She knows who did it. She is on the phone with like Tara and Kirby reveals the killer is Sam.

Not sure the place of the final set piece, but somewhere outdoors is appealing to me, don't ask me why, (also btw we should just set this in winter, blood on snow man, we need it, we need a winter set Scream to finish this series cuz this would be the finale' in my opinion)

Mindy is there for the reveal monologue cuz she deserves that. Sam goes off about how frustrated she is. It's been years since the last Ghostface event. She talks about how good it felt to kill and having some asshole pop up and terrorize them, she got to kill in self-defence, get some of the urges out, there has been no such opportunity in too long. She tried to ignore it, the pressure is building, she is attempting to be good, but then she gets an email from Gale who reaches out, she is trying to be better and do right by her, telling Sam and giving her a heads-up she is going to be writing a new book about the events of EVERYTHING, a full covering of all the Ghostface murders with her years of perspective after everything and Sam is just done.

She decides she is going to get her fix. She is gonna take out Gale and be done. She does it and oh my fucking God she missed this. She cannot stop herself, it becomes a compulsion. So, whenever the opportunity arises, when someone fucks with her family, with the core four, she takes the opportunity. It escalates further, she is seeking out people who she deems deserve this because that makes it okay, right? She is better than those other murders, those previous Ghostface's. She has been through so much, she's earned the right, she is doing it to protect her family. She has just fully snapped under everything.

They, the core four, assume she is gonna take them out. They know too much, she is going to end them.

She doesn't hurt or go after them because she wants them all to be together always. Tries to convince them that this is what is right, this is what should happen, just keep quiet and she will keep everyone safe. Girl is manic and unhinged.

They can't let that happen.

Three against one. They don't kill her but manage to hurt her bad enough to restrain her. The cops are called, she is hauled off, screaming and crying and heartbroken. The core four is no more, but hey, the triangle is the strongest shape in nature, so maybe they can find a way to be okay. Sam is naturally locked up and ngl at this point we also get some serious confirmation Stu IS alive and is ALSO in prison because Sam gets a letter from him. Sam and Stu are prison pen pals, no, you cannot change my mind.

[chaos-grimlin]

Another part of marked please

Yes here you go!

Intro: No one truly knows what happened that night in Woodsboro, California. All the public knows was that two teenage boys, Billy Loomis and Stu Macher, went crazy. That the boys killed with no motive, that it was a case of crazy and peer pressure. Sidney Prescott, the "girlfriend" of Billy Loomis,Y/n L/n, the girl both boys were deeply obsessed with, and Gale weathers, a news reporter, where 3 of 5 witnesses that were willing to talk and tell their sides of the story to the public while Dewy Riley, the deputy sheriff of woodsboro, and tennager Randy Meeks refused to talk to law enforcements at the time. All the stories told to law enforcement seem to differ from person to person, but...in this tale, we will focus on Y/n, the obsessions, side of the story...

Marked (Poly! Billy Loomis and Stu macher x reader)

Word count:1046

Chapter 19- My hero

^3rd person P.O.V^^^

After 3 weeks the doctors finally cleared Y/n to go. And once she thought she was finally free, people that wanted answers would surround her.

News reporters, cops, students from school was all she seen as she stepped out, turns out, word about her leaving the hospital spred quickly, although barely anyone knew she was coming home other then Dewy, her parents, and Randy.

"MISS. L/N! MISS. L/N WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT" a news reporter screamed as a camera was shoved into Y/ns face.

Y/n felt tears pool In her eyes as she shoved the camera out of her face.

"PLEASE MISS GIVE US THE ANSWERS! WHO DID THIS?!" A man screamed. "DID YOU GET THE PHONE CALLS LIKE CASEY BECKER"

Y/n felt her already shattered heart break even more.

"Please leave me alone" she whispered, bareluy finding her voice.

"Hey kiddo" a soft voice chimed out through all the choas as a hand lightly grasped her shoulder.

Y/n flinched and turned on her heels, her e/c eyes locking onto a pair of brown ones.

"Dewy" she said in a breathy voice as he pulled her towards him. "Come on lets go" he said as he eyed the reporters that followed them.

"MISS. L/N PLEASE SAY SOMETHING!"

"Leave the kid alone!" Dewy yelled as he walked Y/n to his police cruiser.

"WE NEED ANSWERS!"

Dewy kept Y/n close as he opened the car door for her.

"Thanks" she whispered forcing a small yet fake smile.

Dewy nodded as she slipped into the car.

Once she was fully in, Dewy shut the door and quickly made way to the drivers side and opened the door and hopped in before the reporters could bug him.

Dewy shut the door and started the car, looking over at Y/n as he did.

"Hey, kiddo, im sorry" Dewy whispered as the car engine roared to life.

"For what?" Y/n said as she wiped away her tears with the palm of her hand.

"I shouldn't have let you walk home at night" he said, guilt lacing his voice.

Dewy started driving as Y/ns body went stiff.

"Its fine" she choked out

Dewy stayed quiet as he drove, tears stung his eyes as he thought of everything Y/n had been through.

Him, Randy, and Tatum have all been blaming themselves.

"Don't cry Dewy" y/n whispered.

"No no listen. Im so sorry i let you walk home alone, none of this would have happened." Dewy rambled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly.

Dewy saw the image of her, of her laying there, looking almost lifeless as Randy untied her.

Dewy heard Randy's screams, he felt the pressure of needing to hurry up before she died in Randys arms.

No amount of police training could have trained Dewy for that..

"I was the stubborn one...it...it was all my fault" Y/n muttered, her voice cracking as she hung her head low.

If she would have let someone walk with her, she wouldn't have gotten raped...

But...

A thought, a singular thought flowed through her mind..

And that was...

There was two of them...they were both strong...so... If Dewy, Tatum, or Randy went... They all would have gotten hurt, maybe even killed...

Maybe it was for the better that she had went alone...

Yet... She wished she didn't.

Y/n moved slightly in the hard seats of the police cruiser as tears built up in her eyes.

She let out a small sniffle as she wrapped her arms around herself, finding a little bit of comfort.

"No..i shouldn't have taken no for an answer.." Dewy protested.

Y/n hated hearing people blame theirself for this...

It was all her fault...

She took full blame..

If she would have fought back more

Kicked and screamed more

If she would have just went the next day...

None of this would have happened.

Y/n trailed her fingers lightly over her covered thigh, feeling the thick bandaged that laid under her clothes.

"Were going to find out who did this to you.." Dewy said as he looked at her, the whites of his eyes were stained red.

Y/n looked up at him, she wanted to say something but the words didnt come out, instead they stayed in her throat.

"This is among one of the worst things to have happened here..." He muttered under his breath, fixating his eyes back onto the road.

Y/n stayed quiet, letting her head droop down, allowing her eyes to lock onto her hands.

Countless thoughts raced through her skull, mostly ones blaming her for all of this.

It was like all the sadness from all of this was hitting her all at one time, seeing her spiraling into a vas pit of darkness, one she couldn't climb out of as her world crumbled around her.

She wanted to give up at this point...

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

The rest of the car ride was silent, no noise filled the car other then Y/ns small sniffles.

"Were here" Dewy whispered as he pulled up to his and Tatums house.

Y/n looked at the house, thankful he didn't bring her to her own house.

Y/n feared going back to her own house, especially her own room.

"Thank you for picking me up" Y/n said with a soft smile.

"No problem" he said, returning the smile.

Dewy opened his door after he parked the police car, and Y/n did the same.

As she stood up and shut the door, her legs started to shake under her own weight slightly.

"Y/N!!" A group of voices screamed out in unison.

Y/ns eyes snapped upward only to see the whole group running at her.

In seconds, Tatum, Randy, Billy, Stu, and Sidney had their arms around Y/n, trapping her in a group hug.

Y/n gasped as she stumbled slightly.

She didn't know why, but something didn't feel right...

She felt that same fearful, gut wrenching feeling in her stomach..

The same feeling she had before she was attacked.....

[lucitrix]

Turn Around

Scream (1996)

Platonic Sidney & Randy

Happy Holidays @spooky-switch !! Thanks for giving me an excuse to have a Scream marathon! Thanks to @squealing-santa for organising such a wonderful event yet again <3.

After what was now known as the “Woodsboro Murders” thanks to a certain Gale Weathers, Randy and Sidney often found themselves at each other’s homes. Whether talking about college plans, or watching whatever movie Randy brought from work, the two were never far from each other. Over the Christmas break, Sidney had spent a few days at the Meeks’ home, binging film after film.

Black Christmas was his choice this time, alongside his classic commentary. Sidney had once found it a bit annoying, but now it was a source of comfort. Sidney had also questioned his choice of a slasher film but was met with something she couldn’t fight with.

“The movies are nothing once you’ve been through the real thing.”

“Plus,” Randy had said, “Its arguably the first slasher, and perfect for the holiday!”

Sidney was in the kitchen, finishing up some JiffyPop, when she heard something that piqued her interest.

“Come on, what’s wrong with you?”

Taking the popcorn off the stove, she quietly poked her head into the living room. Randy sat on the couch, back to her, nearly yelling at the TV screen.

“Why would you go into the attic? And for fucks sake turn around!”

An idea blossomed in Sidney’s head. With a smile blooming on her face, she quietly crept towards the couch.

“Come on! Turn around! He’s behind you, just turn around!”

Quickly, after rolling her eyes, Sidney reached over the back of the couch, and jammed her fingers into his armpits.

Over the screech and subsequent laughter that exploded out of Randy, Sidney teasingly parroted,

“Look out! She’s right behind you Randy! Just turn around!”

From behind him, Sidney could see a blush begin to take over his ears. She clambered over the back of the couch and pushed the giggling teen onto his stomach. Straddling Randy, pinning him to the couch, her fingers gently traced over his reddening ears.

“SID WHAT-” he tried to get words out, but his laughter stopping him from being able to form any kind of sentence.

Instead he simply flailed as much as he could, twisting his head side to side, trying to shake of Sidney’s tickly nails.

            “What? Can’t follow your own rules?” Sidney retorted, leaning down to blow a loud raspberry on his neck, laughing herself at Randy nearly bucking her off.

Despite his thrashing, Randy didn’t really mind what was happening, and Sidney knew. Tickling had been a frequent part of their friendship, especially after Randy’s drunken admission a few years go. He liked the feeling, the closeness to his friends, and the laughter. Finding a reason to laugh was harder to come by.

Sidney also needed this. She loved Randy’s laugh, from giggly, to loud cackles, and if lucky, an occasional snort. She liked to see her friend smile.

Her fingers left his ears, and Randy took the second to breathe. It truly was only a second before Sidney gently spidered her fingers across his back, smiling brightly and the high-pitched giggles that flowed freely from her friend’s mouth. Gentle touches over his spine gave him time to breathe between gentle giggles, moving up closer to his neck elicited more squirming, and scribbling quickly over his ribs caused his laughter to get louder.

With a few final pinches at his sides, each followed by a screech from the boy, Sidney shuffled of Randy’s back and further down the couch.

“I hate you,” Randy finally let out, as he flipped himself slowly onto his back, no malice in his words.

“No you don’t,” Sidney followed, looking over at her friend’s bright red face.

Quick as lightning, Randy managed to get a few solid jabs to Sidney’s side, eliciting a few shocked giggles, but backed off when his hands were gently slapped away.

The two turned their attention back to the movie.

“Come on! How did she not see that coming!”