#i swear those episodes have drugs in them its a fucking addiction

[jasntodds]

Caving In [1]

Pairing: Gar Logan x Fem!Powered!Reader, Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 13,538

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, angst, mentions of various injuries including a mention of road rash, bruises, cuts, and a burn, mentions of death, some fluff I suppose, a mention of drug addiction, jason todd is a smartass and so is the reader, reader gets arrested (not long and doesn’t go to the station or anything like that), a mention of the Joker and Two-Face

Summary: ❝Tell me Atlas: What is heavier, The world or its people’s hearts?❞ You never expected your life to end up this way, turned upside down by an infamous Gotham villain. It’s been a living hell, every single day, until Dick Grayson brings you to Titans tower where you meet Gar Logan and Jason Todd.

A/N: I came out of the gate swinging with a long chapter. But, I have literally been writing this every single day for a month straight and I have never been more excited about posting a series before. I am VERY proud of this series so please lemme know what you guys think!! I am easily motivated to post more often when I get feedback 😂 The first few chapters take place between season 2 episode 1 and season 2 episode 2. You can add yourself the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary​  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!!

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You didn’t have what you would consider a horrible childhood. In the grand scheme of things, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. You had a mom who loved you and did her absolute best to provide for you. You rarely ever fought and your mom took care of you. You had a few friends, none that really stuck around when shit hit the fan, but you don’t blame them. So, you had some friends and that was cool while it lasted. Your dad was ad deadbeat addict you only remember seeing once and the way you see it, good riddance. You had your mom.

Had.

However, that was then and this is now where you’re standing on the street, using a car window breaker to break into a car late at night in the middle of Gotham City. Gotham has a habit of breeding some real fucked up psychos. You’re almost positive it has got be the water and it’s only a matter of time before everyone in the city either turns into Batman and Robin or The Joker and The Riddler. The psycho doesn’t care who you are and if you have a family, they take and take and laugh in the face of everyone else’s agony. So, here you are breaking into a car as you’ve done for last few months since the Joker decided to do what he does best. Kill.

Whenever you break into a car, which is almost nightly now, you remember judging those who did before because this is someone else’s property. They probably worked hard for it and who are you to take it from them. But, no one ever said surviving was easy. You get it now, a little guilty about it but not guilty enough to stop.

“Sweet.” You huff to yourself, smile on your face as you find a hundred dollars in the center console. “Idiot.” You mumble as you stuff it in your pocket.

You rummage around the car some more, hoping to find more. If the person was dumb enough to leave a hundred dollars, maybe there’s something you could sell. You push around a few unimportant things like papers and a pair of old shoes, not finding much. With the shrug of a shoulder, you consider this car a win and back out of the car only for the flashing of red and blue to catch your attention from your peripheral.

“Ah, fuck me.” You groan, turning on your heels and sprinting as fast as your legs will let you down a close alleyway.

The sirens sound behind you. There’s still a smile plastered across your face with the lights behind you and your feet smacking puddles. The city lights guide you in and out of other alleys and down side streets. It’s a bit of a thrill. The air is wet on your skin, thick with moisture from the previous storm. The city streets have that smell of wet pavement and fresh rain, something that lives in your bones. Running through the streets of Gotham is a regular activity but you find it fun, adrenaline in your blood and city lights guiding the way.

This is not the first time GCPD has found you breaking into a car but they didn’t catch you then and you don’t think they’ll catch you now. The only one really competent at catching anyone committing a crime is Gotham is Batman and Robin but they don’t normally go after kids robbing cars. It’s not exactly hot radar here.

Your chest heaves with every step but you’re having a blast. The burning almost doesn’t bother you with every stride, lungs feeling like they could collapse at any moment. That’s part of the thrill, how far can you run before they catch you or your lungs explode. Well, normally, but tonight the pavement is a little too slick. You go to run around a corner, shoes slipping on the pavement, sending you right into the pavement.

“Shit!” You scream out, feeling the road rash on your arms and your legs, knowing you ripped your clothes from the fall.

“Hands up.” One of the cops says as they catch up, getting out of his car.

You roll your eyes, racking your brain in hopes you can come up with a big bad escape plan. You do not want to go into the system. “Can’t you see I’m little hurt here, asshole?”

“Looks like that’s on you.” His voice is annoyed. “Get up.”

“Again, I’m hurt.” You pout up at him. “I should really have an ambulance. It’s your fault I fell.”

“How do you figure?” The cop questions, making it evident this is not how what he thought he’d be doing tonight.

“You were chasing me.” You shrug a shoulder, looking at your elbow, grimacing at the sight of blood and gravel in your arm. “I wouldn’t have fallen had you just let me go.”

“You committed a crime. You’re not getting off.”

“I’m a minor living in Gotham City who just broke into a single car. Our courts can’t even keep the fucking Joker behind bars, you think I’ll be put away? Please.” You let out a scoff following by a hollowed laugh.

The one thing you have never learned how to do is hold your tongue. It’s always been a little bit of an issue but ever since your mom died, it’s gotten worse. Who do you have to hold your tongue for? You have no one. At least if the cop arrests you, you’ll have a warm bed to sleep in and probably a meal. Not a good one, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Get up.” The cops sneers, grabbing your arm and yanking you up. “We’ll take you to the hospital to get checked out. Where are your parents?”

“Dad’s somewhere getting high, mom’s in six feet under.” Your voice is nonchalant as you shake your arm free, your knees and arms feeling like they’re vibrating from the pain.

The cop looks down at you with a sigh. Unfortunately, this isn’t an unusual thing for him or any other cop in Gotham to deal with. Kids with parents who are either dead, nonexistent, or not participating in their lives is normal thing here. Far more normal than any other city. You have a smart mouth and you robbed a car but you’re also alone, parentless, and clearly homeless. He doesn’t really want to take you to the station. It’s another kid thrown into the prison system.

“You’re gonna call CPS, right?” You ask from the back of the squad car as the cop drives.

“That is protocol.” He says, glancing to you in the rearview mirror.

“I think that’s a horrible idea.” You scoff, plopping back in your seat, crossing your arms to the best of your ability with the stinging road rash.

“Can’t just let you live on the streets.”

“You could.” You sigh. scrunching your nose.

“Don’t you want a place to live?”

“Yeah, but the system is corrupt. You would know. Why the fuck would I wanna go there? I can take care of myself.”

“You’re in the back of my car and for what? A few bucks?”

“I’ve been doing fine. The pavement’s wet.” You pout. If you had shoes with actual grip, you wouldn’t have fallen.

“Look, I’m sure you’ll be fine, okay?” The cop’s voice is quieter this time, trying his best to be reassuring. “Lots of kids turn out fine.”

You roll your eyes, ignoring him as you watch the city pass by. There’s something in your gut that just knows this is not going to end well for you. Foster care, group homes, it never sounds like it’s going to end well, not for you. Maybe others, sure. Not all foster homes and group homes are bad, but you can feel it in your bones, the shattering of your world consuming you with every passing building. This is going to get really fucking bad.

1 Year Later 

Your eyes peek open, lids heavy and weighed down as your chest heaves. Your face is in agony with an aching pain your right side. Your head is throbbing as you blink your eyes, swearing it feels like you’ve been hit with a sledgehammer. The pavement is cool beneath you as your eyes move up the walls in front of you, a red and worn-away brick. It’s all moving so slowly for you, almost like a YouTube video lagging at 480p. Slow and staggered, taking in one sense at a time as you come to.

You feel someone beside you, their hand is warm on your arm and he comes into focus from the corner of your eye. Your heart rate spikes, the drowsiness vaporizes and the throbbing of your head suddenly makes everything click. Your eyes widen and you grab his forearm with your hand, a burning and stinging sensation makes him yank his hand away.

“Fuck!” He yells, looking at the growing chemical burn on his arm and back to you as you try to scramble to your feet, legs weak and stinging. “Wait!” He yells at you, trying to get you to stay put, processing what’s going on.

You get to your feet, the man following your lead and standing up, holding his arm across his stomach. Your eyes scan him over and look behind him, trying to ignore the throbbing in your head to come up with a clear plan to escape him. You’re not going back to the basement or to the heinous piece of shit who clearly left you here for dead.

“Who are you?” He asks, his voice is stern, jaw squared while he looks to your hands that outstretched in front of you. Your palms are flowing a florescent green aimed right at him.

You shake your head, matching his stare, teeth grinding. There's a firey anger in your eyes, almost telling him to go ahead and try you. You’re in agony, every muscle feels likes it’s being eaten by fire ants and you’re using every bit of strength to square off with him. But you hold that hard stare not willing to move. The pain will have to take a backseat this time.

“Look,” He lowers his voice trying to ignore the stinging pain of his arm. “I found you here. I was making sure you were okay.”

You scoff. “Sure. You just check on random people passed out in an alley?” You’ve lost a bit faith in humanity recently.

“You burn everyone who tries to help you?” He quips.

Your eyes narrow, not playing the game of getting ‘helped’ again. “Bold of you to assume people help.”

He sighs, dropping his head while his hair falls onto his forehead. “I’m Dick.” He picks up his head, stepping forward just one step and you take one back. “You’re hurt.” He gestures to your side where blood is seeping through the fabric of your shirt.

You look down and see the bright red staining the white fabric. Oh, that’s not good. A sense of queasiness comes over you and that’s when you really start taking in what’s happened. Flashes of the day before haunt your eyes, clouding your view of Dick. You slam your eyes shut which just seems to make the memories worse. The throbbing becomes a catastrophic earthquake in your head, begging to crumble everything in its path. Your hands come to your head, trying to get it to stop as the world around you starts to spin.

Dick takes a few steps forward. “Hey, are you okay?” Dick asks, looking down at you but before you can tell Dick to leave you alone, everything falls black, your legs going limp as you pass out, Dick catching you on the way down. “Alright, then.”

He looks you over, taking notice in the several cuts, bruises, and scars you have on your exposed skin. He has no idea what happened to you but he does know one thing, he’s going to find out and he’s gonna find out how you burned him. Dick’s always had a thing for saving kids so he picks you up and decides to take you to the tower. You were terrified, at least he knows you’ll be safe there.

Back at the tower, the elevator doors open and Dick walks through caring you with broken skin. Gar and Rachel are in the living room, their attention pulled back as they hear him come in.

“Hey, what are--” Gar pauses from his seat on the ottoman while Rachel stands up from her seat, eyes wide and confused as Dick comes into view.

“Who is that? What happened?” Rachel asks, her words fast as she walks over to Dick, Gar right behind her.

“I found her.” Dick states, his voice a bit exasperated. “Gar, can you help me?”

“Uh…sure.” Gar nods, knowing it’s because of Dr. Caulder that Dick’s even asking.

“Rachel, go spar with Jason.” Dick says and Rachel shakes her head but does as she’s told while Dick and Gar head off to the infirmary wing.

Dick places you on a bed while Gar stays behind him. This is weird. He knew Dick had a thing for picking up strays, that’s how him and Rachel ended up with Dick. But, it’s very weird being on the other side of that and actually seeing him bring someone home, especially someone who’s as banged up as you are and unconscious no less. It makes Gar pretty uncomfortable.

Dick directs Gar to grab bandages and the saline solution so they can clean some of the blood cuts that are visible to them. Gar does as directed without saying a single word. He just follows Dick’s lead and helps him clean a few cuts on your arms while Dick cleans a gash on your cheek. Whatever happened to you was bad, that’s something that everyone can see clear as day. But, they don’t know how it happened or why and maybe that’s the scariest part about it. Whatever happened, was bad and what if you’re more than a random person from the streets? Or what if you are and someone is hunting you or something? It’s a terrifying thought.

As they finish up, Gar sees Dick start addressing his own wound. He hadn’t noticed it before but now he can see a red burn on his arm. But, when Gar asked Dick about it, Dick brushed it off a bit by just saying you had done it when you came to for a minute. He didn’t seem to be too concerned about it which made Gar more confused by the whole situation. Not only are you just some girl off the streets but you also have powers and have already burned someone. That sounds a bit dangerous but Gar isn’t one to question authority so he goes with it.

They finish up before leaving you alone. Dick and Gar head to the comms lab where Dick gains access to the security cameras where he found you. He’s mostly showing Gar how to do the same, just in case something happens and Gar ever needs to know. Gar is more of the tech guy in the tower anyway. So, Gar watches closely as Dick brings up the city’s security cameras and they find footage of an older car that looks to be in decent condition pulling into the alley. A bald man with a medium build gets out, looking around to see if anyone is around. He walks to the back of the car and opens the door, pulling you out, looking completely lifeless. He dumps you up against a wall before getting back into his car, pulling out of the alley and driving away as if nothing happened.

Dick shakes his head, his jaw clenching and he just cannot understand how people do that to kids. Being a detective and Robin, he saw it a lot, grown adults beating on kids or getting verbally horrible with them, taking them to drug deals. It’s a mess and he cannot understand why adults do that to kids like it’s normal and it’s okay. There will never come a day where it doesn’t send his blood into a rapid boil.

“Do you think he…did that to her?” Gar asks, looking up to Dick with worry in his eyes.

Dick looks at him, seeing the concern embedded in his face. “I’m not sure.” Dick keeps his voice level, looking back at the screen. “But, by the looks of it, yeah or he knows who did.”

“Why would someone do that?” There’s sadness etched in every word. Gar doesn’t like real violence very much. He doesn’t know why anyone results to it unless it’s a dire situation. Similar to Dick, he just doesn’t understand how someone can do that to another person.

“Maybe we’ll get some answers as to what happened when she wakes up.” Dick nods his head, trying not to worry Gar more. “Why don’t you go join the others? I’ll watch the cameras until she wakes up.” The question was more of a request, rather than an actual offer and Gar knows that.

Gar nods his head and leaves, head swimming with the who, what, when, where, and why of the situation. Maybe you’re dangerous and that’s why it happened. You did burn Dick so you at least, have powers. But, maybe there’s more to it. Maybe you tried to defend yourself and it didn’t end in your favor. Gar knows it’ll be picking at the back of his head until they find out more but for now, there’s nothing he can do but listen to Dick and join Rachel and Jason.

You finally come to a few hours later. Your eyes open slowly, seeing a wall with a TV mounted to the wall in front of you, similar to a hospital room. But, it’s aesthetically warmer as you look around. The walls aren’t white and the lights aren’t fluorescent. The bed is definitely more comfortable and so is the blanket. For a split second, you almost forgot about your encounter with Dick and think maybe you really could be safe in a hospital but that second fades.

It comes back like a polaroid printing. Slow and fading the images, dulling the colors as it develops. It’s blotchy, the alley and Dick standing in front of you. A part of you isn’t entirely sure you can picture his face. All you know for certain is that he’s tall with brown hair and then you remember burning him, which wasn’t entirely on purpose. But, that’s it, it’s like it all just stop developing like maybe someone moved the camera right as they clicked the capture button. It just gets blurry and blank so you look around a bit more.

You notice gauze bandages wrapped around the cuts on your arms, an IV sticking out of your hand. You touch your face where there’s a bandage covering the large gash you had and you sit in a state of foggy confusion. Who is that guy and did he bring you here? If so, why? What’s his motive? Everyone has a motive and it’s never just to be kind. No one is ever just that nice. And where is here anyway? The room is big but it’s not a hospital, there isn’t anyone walking the hallway from where you can see. There isn’t a window looking into the room on the wall or on the door. It’s like a standard room so it’s not a hospital.

Dick walks into the room as you’re looking around, you only notice him when you look over and the dread fills your bones. It shouldn’t be too shocking given the amount times you’ve been hurt but you didn’t hear him come in and that sucks. Surely, with the laminate flooring and him wearing shoes, you should have been able to hear his footsteps but you didn’t. You can’t remember if his voice was muffled in the alley or if it was clear and that’s a bit unsettling. But, this has happened before and the hearing always comes back in a few days.

“You’re awake.” Dick says as he walks to the foot of your bed, his voice sounding a little muffled. You just stare at him, not wanting to talk until you know what’s going on. “What’s your name?” He asks and you get that look in your eye like you did in the alley, filled of anger and spite, with the slightest touch of terror. You shake your head slowly, standing your ground on not talking. “Alright,” Dick sighs, putting his hands in his front pockets. “Not talking?” Dick asks and you give him the quick raise of your brows, tilting your head slightly to your right.

It’s not that Dick thought this would be easy. He remembers being taken home by Bruce, how new and scary everything was. He had just witnessed his parents die and then some strange billionaire picks him up, decides to adopt him. It was weird and this is weird. It’s a little different and he doesn’t know your story, but he can understand your hesitance in talking.

“Well,” Dick lets out a breath. “Do you remember what happened?” Dick asks. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just nod your head. The alley?” Dick clarifies and your eyes narrow but you nod your head twice. “Do you remember how you got there?” Dick asks and he sees your eyes fade as if you’re not with him anymore. The heart monitor starts to steadily go up.

You remember everything, the haunting in your bones running your blood cold. You remember everything in vivid detail. He asks that question and you’re right back where you were, right in that room in that chair, in screaming agony. It’s all there, right in the front of your head and you might not be there now but you swear you never escaped.

“Okay,” Dick gets the hint that you do remember but it’s nothing good. “The tower is safe, fully secured if you’re worried about someone coming to get you.” That brings you back and of course you’re worried about that. But what does he know? “No one here is gonna hurt you.” Dick assures you and he can see the slightest bit of relief come your face. “There’s Gar, he came in and helped me clean up your cuts. They’re pretty bad.” Dick explains, getting no reaction. “Rachel, she’s nice, good kid and then there’s Jason, he’s a bit much sometimes but he’s a good kid, too.” You raise a brow at him, as if to be questioning why there are three other teenagers here. “It’s a long story.” Dick states and you give him a long singular nod. “What’s your name?”

You debate it for a minute. If you tell him, he might be able to find who did it and call him to come get you. But, you look to the badges on your arms and you figure he could also just run a blood test of some sort and figure it out. If this is some type of medical center, that’s something he could do. There is also the slight chance he actually wants to help and maybe telling him your name is just that. Telling him your name.

“Y/n.” Your voice is graveled.

The corner of Dick’s mouth pulls into a small smile. “I’m Dick.” He says and you nod again, remembering that detail. “How’d you burn my arm?” He asks, this time a little sterner and you match him again, shaking your head slowly.

That’s not something you’re going to discuss with some random, run-of-the-mill average person. Having powers and talking to a seemingly powerless person doesn’t seem to end well for the one with powers. So, she keeps her mouth pressed into a hard line.

“You’re not gonna tell me, huh?” Dick asks and he chuckles softly. You sure are stubborn. You shake your head giving him a small but sarcastic grin. “Alright,” Dick nods his head. “How’s food?”

The idea of food is almost nauseating from lack of food recently. The more you think about it the more foods come to your head. Burgers, pizza, pasta, even a bag of chips. All of it is making your mouth water. You are fucking hungry.

You nod slowly.

“I’ll have Gar bring something in for you.” Dick says as he starts walking towards the stand next to your bed. You move slightly to get away from him, your right side aching with the movement. “I’m just grabbing the remote for you.” Dick assures you, keeping his voice level while he opens the drawer and pulls out a black remote. “Here, there are streaming services connected. You can watch whatever.” You narrow your eyes as if expecting it to be a trick of some sort. “It’s just a remote.” Dick tells you and you take it from him slowly, carefully dodging his hands.

You give him a thankful nod as you turn the TV on, a welcome screen lighting up the once black screen. Dick gives you a warm smile before heading for the door, choosing to let you be by yourself for a few minutes. You watch him leave and once he’s out of view, you put your attention to the TV. This whole thing feels weirder by the minute but you’re injured and it hurts to even move. So, you scroll through recommended movies and find one that you remember your mom always saying you should watch together. You never got around to it so you turn it on now, letting the movie help you forget everything that’s happened.

It's half an hour before someone knocks on the open door to your room. You look over to see a cute boy with green and black hair wearing a black shirt with a red logo at the door. He gives you a wide and cheeky smile, holding a plate of pizza.

"Hey, I'm Gar." He greets you, walking in and to the side of your bed.

You look between his eyes and his hair. Green hair. Interesting choice. "Y/n."

"Here." Gar offers the plate to you gently.

You eye it carefully, not sure if you should really take it. What if it’s been poisoned? For all you know, these people are also crazy. But, you look back to his eyes and they’re so warm and welcoming, his smile kind and hopeful. And you are hungry. So, you take it with reluctance, careful not to brush his hands.

"Dick wanted me to bring it to you." Gar states.

"Thanks." The word is quiet as you rest the plate on your lap.

Gar watches as you seem disinterested. Dick told him you were not too talkative and seemed scared, that’s why he asked Gar to bring it in. Rachel is kind of course but Gar tends to be a little warmer and Jason is an unpredictable smartass. Gar seems like the best shot to find out information and he knows that’s why he’s here. But, he feels a bit bad for it and he kind of just wants you to eat.

"There's, uh, there's different kinds of pizza in the kitchen. If you wanted something else I could--"

"It's okay." You offer him a gentle laugh. His words were rambled as if he were nervous and you think it’s kind of sweet. "Cheese is fine." You pick the slice, Gar sticking his hands into his pants pockets.

He watches her for a few seconds, noticing the marks on your wrists, brows furrowing. The marks look like they're ligature marks. The very middle is a brighter color as if to have been rubbed raw. A sting punches Gar's heart and he moves his eyes to the TV, not wanting to look at any more injuries you might have. He’s seen enough for today.

"Oh, I love this movie!" Gar gushes, watching as the goonies walk through a cave, trying to escape the Fratellis.

You glance over to him, barely turning your head. "Yeah?" You ask before taking a bite of your pizza.

"Have you never seen it?" Gar asks, looking back to you, ready to start rambling about it.

He loves movies, especially classic. Movies and video games, that’s how he killed his time at Caulder House and that’s how he kills a lot his time here when Dick isn’t having them train. He likes the adventures the characters get to go and the ones he gets to partake in for video games. Being hidden away like a dirty secret, it was the only way for him to have some type of adventure and the love of movies and video games grew. He could talk for hours on end about them.

"No?" You chuckle softly, finding the excitement in his voice amusing. "Looks old."

"1985, Steven Spielberg." Gar beams.

"Oh, okay so you know the movie." You chuckle, chewing your lip and it feels so casual with him.

Maybe it's just because he brought you food. Or that he seems the same age as you and he looks non-threatening, especially with the green hair. He also just seems ready to talk about anything which you thinks is a little funny. And he's not asking you any questions about who you are or what you can do. On top of that, he’s not looking at you the way Dick was, with some sort of expectation of something. Maybe that’s just Dick’s face, but it’s like he expected you to just talk and talk about what happened. You don’t want people to expect something from you anymore and Gar doesn’t. He just likes the movie.

"D-did you w-wanna watch it?" You raise the question, eyeing him from the corner of your eye. It’s been awhile since you’ve had contact with other people, let alone someone your own age who just wants to talk about a movie.

"Really? Yeah!" Gar jogs around the bed, going to the chair that's by the windows and pulling it closer to your bed. "Cool." Gar bounces in his seat. There’s a reason he has this poster hanging in his room, he will watch it at any given opportunity.

You laugh at the boy who's a little too excited to watch a movie but it's kind of nice. "I like your hair." You say quietly.

"Oh, uh, thanks." Gar smiles softly at you. "Oh watch this, Data has awesome gadgets." Gar's attention goes back to the screen as you watch Data's shoes up from the back, oil spilling from the heels.

"Well, that's cool." You raise your brows, finding it interesting.

"Right?!" Gar exclaims. “He even has a winch attached to him!” Gar says. “But, that’s later, sorry, don’t wanna spoil it.” Gar looks down for a second and then back to the screen.

“No, that’s really cool.” You nod at him. “I liked the zipline between their houses.” You let out a laugh. “I actually think my mom would have killed me if I tried that but it was sick.”

“Yeah, right? Dick should let us put in a zipline.” Gar looks back at you, the excitement etched across his face.

The two of you sit and watch more of the movie while you finish the pizza. You look to him every so often, subconsciously making sure he isn't planning anything or looks like he might be ready to do something fucked up. It's as if you’re fully prepared for him being nice to turn out to be some type of act but instead, he just keeps his eyes on the screen and points out fun little facts he has about the movie when the scenes come on. It's a little confusing for you. You don't really understand why he'd be in here over a movie unless he was told to. It’s nice, of course, but Dick was a bit persistent which makes you wonder if that’s why Gar came in here in the first place.

Gar looks back at you, catching you look at him. He lets out a sigh, looking back to the movie and the smile falls. "You, uh, you wanna know why I'm here, huh?" He looks back to you.

You scrunch your face. "Kind of." You shrug, watching Gar grow defeated. "I-I don't mind....you in here. I-I just don't...d-don't know why you are." Your eyes are slightly narrowed.

"Dick asked me to see if I could get you to talk." Gar confesses. He’s gotten you to say more than Dick did so he didn’t see a point in hiding it. Maybe honesty will get them a little further.

"Mmm, yeah that tracks from the two minutes I've known him." You roll your eyes.

"Well, uh, in his defense, you did burn him." Gar slows his words down as he looks at you again.

You shrug, looking your hands on the blanket. It's a little bit of shame flowing through your veins. If Dick really was just trying to help and your head told you something different, that's really an issue. You wouldn't want to hurt anyone that was really trying to help you. You’ve just spent so much time in the defensive mode it's like your mind forgot what it's like to shut it off for a minute.

"How'd you do it?" Gar asks carefully.

"Mm, nice try." You shake your head at him, appreciating the effort but it’s still a no for you.

Gar shrugs, looking back to the TV. Having powers can be dangerous and Gar knows that so maybe you knowing you’re not alone will help. "I can turn into a tiger. If you're worried about sounding like you're a freak or--"

"Sorry, did you say...tiger?" You question, your voice nearly yelling.

"Yeah." Gar laughs. "I guess, it's uh, kind weird." He hangs his head a bit.

"What? That's fucking awesome. How do you do it?" Your words all slur together as you sit up, crossing your legs and leaning forward.

Gar laughs as he watches as you get excited. The only one who's ever seemed interested in it, kind of like this is Rachel. It's making Gar feel incredible and powerful. "I don't know. This doctor cured me from a mysterious disease. This was one of the side effects." Gar gestures to his head. "Turning into a green tiger."

"That's the coolest thing I have ever fucking heard in my life. Can I see?" You forget every ounce of suspicion you should have in this unfamiliar place but how many times do you run into someone who can turn into a tiger? Batman has cool gadgets and a cool car and Superman can fly but neither of them can turn into an animal. Turning into an animal is basically the coolest thing in the entire world.

"Maybe...." Gar pauses, a grin tugging at his lips. He's not so sure Dick would be happy if he decided to transform just because you asked. "So, what about you?"

You sigh and if he's gonna tell you, maybe you can tell him something. Turning into a tiger is still a power. "I can produce acid with my hands." You flip your palms up, gesturing toward Gar but not too close. Your palms glow a fluorescent green. "I can control how much and how strong it is." The green fades as you put your hand back down in your lap.

"That's awesome." Gar's brows knit together. "Have you been like that your whole life?"

You shakes your head, the mood shifting in the room. "No, something new. But, uh, we're not gonna talk about that."

"Okay." Gar gives you a side smile, accepting that he got an answer.

He doesn't really like to push people for answers anyway. He knows the only reason Dick as him to come here is because Gar is the most likely get something out you. Jason is....an asshole and would likely call you a freak. Rachel doesn't really have a lot of control with her powers so if something happened, that probably wouldn't end well. Gar was really Dick's best option in trying to get any answer of you and Gar does want to help. He helps people. He'd say it's one of his better qualities.

You let out a sigh, watching Gar get back into the movie. "I'm-I'm gonna have to like...talk to him, aren't I?"

Gar looks back at you, pursing his lips with a shrug. "Yeah, but hey, he's really not a bad guy. He can help. He won’t force you to talk, but it’s not a bad idea."

You scoff, seeing flashes of the last night you spent on the streets of Gotham. "Yeah, you know the last person who told me that...." You pause, seeing Gar's eyes soften. "Well, I ended up here." You gesture a hand over your face, knowing it can't look pretty by the sense of the throbbing. "So."

"I'm sorry." Gar says softly. "For whatever you went through."

"Thanks." You say quietly. "Is there anyway I can....borrow a hoodie or something? It's...cold." You pause and you’ve always been good at deflecting.

He nods. "Uh, yeah, yeah. I can grab you one." He stands up quickly, moving to the doorway. "I'll be right back." He smiles sweetly at you before leaving, jogging down the hallway.

Gar jogs to his room, rummaging through his clothes, looking for an oversized hoodie. He could have asked Rachel because he knows Rachel has to have something, too but he almost worries that Rachel will go bring it herself. It's obvious you don't really want to talk to anyone and Dick asked him to do it. He wasn't even supposed to actually leave you alone until Dick told him to. He's never been very good at staying put when he's told to. Call it a flaw. So, he goes through his clothes quickly and finds a gray zip-up hoodie.

"Gotcha." Gar says triumphantly before quickly turning around.

"What are you doing?" Dick asks with exasperation, arms crossed as he stands in the doorway.

Gar's eyes widen. "Uh, hey, Dick. I was just grabbing Y/n a hoodie. She asked."

"Didn't I tell you not to leave her alone?" Dick questions but his tone isn’t mad or upset and Gar nods. "It's alright." Dick shakes his head and offers Gar a gentle smile. "Just trying to help?"

"Yeah." Gar nods slowly. “I feel bad for her.”

"I'll bring it to her." Dick holds out a hand and Gar hands over the hoodie. "Did you find anything out?"

"She can produce acid from her hands. They turn green so I guess it can be obvious." Gar explains, feeling a little bad about it since you obviously don't want him to know but Gar isn't going to lie to Dick. "That's really it, though."

"Good work. Thank you." Dick says with a closed, half smile.

"You're welcome." Gar says, not exactly pleased about it.

Dick leaves Gar in his room, heading back to you. While Gar was talking with you, Dick came up with a plan. He has to find out what's going on. So, he's just going to try and make friends with you. Surely, you seeing that Gar is just another kid and is happy and healthy should help. He'll try to level with you. Not push you or badger you, just level.

You catch a glimpse of Dick coming through the doorframe caring a grey hoodie and you just shake your head. You aren't sure what you expected. Is it too much to ask that you just doesn't want to do talk to this Dick guy?

"Gar was bringing this to you. I stopped him." Dick says, offering the hoodie to you as you narrow your eyes at him.

Everyone always has an ulterior motive. You’re trying to figure out what his could possibly be. Taking in kids who need help? Who have powers? If that's what he's doing, is he building a team of teenage weapons? Is he powered, too? Does he not think it's a little bit weird? But you’re cold and take the hoodie from him.

"Acid, huh?" Dick asks, walking to the front of your bed, your eyes following him still narrowed. "How much control do you have?" Dick asks.

Your brows raise, looking side to side. What a weird fucking question. "Uh...I-I don't...I don't know. A lot, I guess?" You pause, watching him carefully. "Why?"

"I'm just wondering. If you're going to stay here, it's best for me to know." Dick explains and he's so calm despite the fact you burned him.

Stay? You don't know these people, why would you stay? Is that something that people do? Just stay with complete strangers in hopes they aren't serial killers or something? What if they're all a group of serial killers?

"Why would I stay?" You challenge.

Dick shrugs. "Do you have anywhere to go?"

You chew the inside of your cheek, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands. "No." Your voice is broken, as you dodge looking at Dick.

That's a fair point. You don't have anywhere to go. The only place you’ve ever known is Gotham and that basement. That's it. You don't know anyone in the city or have a phone to call anyone back in Gotham, not that you want to really. At least in Gotham, living on the streets wasn't easy but it was familiar. You knew the cars to break into, the stores to rob and get away with it. You knew where all the cameras were and the GCPD shift schedule. But, this is San Francisco and you are clueless.

"I know it seems..." Dick pauses for a second as he leans against the wall behind him. "Scary maybe?" He pauses again, you looking up to him. "But, really, I just wanna help."

You think about it for a few seconds. This is the most comfortable you’ve been in a year. You’re on high alert and you don't think your brain will ever rest but you’re warm, in a bed, watching a movie. You had pizza. You can't remember the last time you had pizza. And you got all this by not robbing anyone or squatting. Maybe a night or two couldn't hurt.

"O-okay." You say quietly.

"Yeah?" Dick offers a side smile, surprised you said okay. "Did you want to stay here?"

"Um...if that's...okay." Your words are soft and unsure. "As long as you're not gonna like....kill me, I guess."

Dick chuckles softly, looking to the floor and back to you. "We're not gonna kill you."

"Well, that's great then." You shrug, tugging at the sleeves again. "Um...what about the others? Do they have powers?" You ask before continuing. "Gar said he can turn into a Tiger so...."

"Yeah, he can." Dick confirms it and catches the smile wanting to split your face. "Rachel, she has powers. We're still trying to figure them out. Then there's Jason, don't mind him." Dick warns with a grin. "You'll get used to him but he doesn't have powers. He's pretty good at combat, though."

You nod, as if to be accepting what he's saying. "So, you just...pluck kids off the street or?"

"For someone who doesn't answer a lot of questions, you sure have a lot of them." Dick offers a light-hearted chuckle.

You tilt your head with a shrug. "I-I, uh, haven't, uh." You furrow your brows. "Haven't had much contact with anyone really. In a while." You suck in a breath. “I am also just an inquisitive person.”

Dick nods. "Rachel found me, actually. She needed help, I didn't want to help but..." He pauses thinking back to the whole mess that unfolded. "I couldn't just leave her on her own."

"Now you want to help?"

Dick nods once more. "Yeah, she doesn't have anyone else. I lost my parents so I get it. I didn't have anyone either until someone decided to reach out."

You nod slowly, grasping it now. It's like a passing of the kindness kind of thing. Someone helped him as a kid, showed him some of the greatest kindness so now he's out here doing the same. Assuming what he's saying is all true, that is.

"What about Gar and Jason?"

"Gar was with Rachel, we got separate and he helped her. Wanted to come with and he didn't have a place that he felt like he belonged. Jason....well, he needs more guidance. He's not really allowed to go back to being who he was yet. I took him in."

Your eyes narrow with suspension again. "Is he like a bad person or something?" The way he talks about Jason compared to the others is a little weird. He speaks highly of Rachel and Gar but seems to have a harder time doing that with Jason. There is some sort of history there that you are very intrigued about.

"No," Dick answers quickly with a shake of his head. "He's just a little reckless."

"Ahh." You say quietly, knowing that being reckless tends to be a little fun but also understanding the consequences. If it weren't for recklessness, you'd still be in Gotham. "So, what now then?"

"I can show you around, show you to a room that'll be yours if you’re feeling up for it."

"I'll have a room?" You ask with a scoff. "How fucking big is this place?"

Dick laughs. "It's pretty big."

"Sweet." You sit up fully, crossing your legs. "Then what?"

"Do you have other powers?" Dick asks, feeling like maybe he'll get an answer.

The other one isn’t a big deal, really. It doesn’t hurt anyone and will maybe just protect you. To you, right now, it doesn’t seem like not telling him is really going to be much benefit to you anyway but you also doesn’t know exactly how to explain it.

“Uh...” Your brows furrow as you search for words. “If...someone tries to....hit me or attack me,” You start. “I get this intense throbbing in the back of my head and I just....know where they’ll come from.” You explain.

“Combat clairvoyance, how long have you had that?” Dick asks, finding it interesting.

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s a new thing, like the acid.”

“Okay,” Dick nods his head. “Anything else?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” You answer honestly. Maybe you have more, maybe not. You’re hoping with everything in you that you don’t have some hidden power, one is more than enough for you and you’re stuck with two.

"Okay then." He seems satisfied with answers, choosing not to push to find out how you got your powers for right now. "Want the tour or did you want to rest some more?"

"Tour." You say without even thinking about it. You’ve been in the same room for months and you’re tired of being locked in one room. You want to see everything.

"Alright." Dick chuckles. He walks to the side of your bed and offers you an arm to help you.

"I'm fine." You shrug him off, pulling the blanket off of you, revealing your black leggings that have holes at one of the knees and one on the other shin. "Are there like....clothes I can borrow?" You ask as you get out of the bed carefully, your legs feeling a bit weak as you stand.

"I’m sure we’ll find something. Hoodie is Gar's though." Dick explains.

"Cool." You flash him a smile. "He's cool."

"Yeah, he's a good kid." Dick smiles back at you as the two of you exit the room.

Dick leads you down the hallway and decides to start with the kitchen and living area. It's right in the middle of the tower and figured that might be a good place to start. You take in the open-concept rooms. You’re relieved it's not all white. You remember watching HGTV back in Gotham and everything was always white. It's like these grown adults had a problem with color. Who would want to live in a place that looks like a hospital? But this tower isn't like that. It has a dark color palette. The floors, the walls, all dark but big floor-to-ceiling windows line the back wall of the two rooms giving the place plenty of light. A large fireplace sits in the center of the living room, not against a wall. You like it a lot more than you would ever openly admit.

"Kitchen, living room." Dick gestures a hand out, letting you walk in front of him to look at the rooms.

"It's nice." You say, looking back at Dick. "You an interior designer or something?" You quip, looking to the windows, seeing the city.

Dick just looks at you, looking unamused before a smile cracks across his face. "No," He scoffs. "I didn't decorate the place."

"Mmm, a shame. It would give you at least a point in my book." You look back to him and give a sarcastic grin.

"You're keeping a point system?" Dick’s brows riase, unsure if you’re joking or not.

"You don't?" You scoff with a chuckle.

It was a sarcastic comment but you’re not gonna let that go. You'd keep the bit going for as long as you know Dick now. He's stuck with a point system.

"What's next?" You ask.

"Follow me." Dick walks past you, leading you down a dark hallway.

You follow closely, looking at the rooms you pass which all have doors closed. The spacing of the doors indicated they're all large rooms. You couldn't tell what the housing market is like, something you never could even in Gotham but you'd have to bet this is at least a million-dollar house, apartment? Whatever it should be called. It's so fucking big.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you reach what seems to be a training room, a boy with black hair hitting a punching bag off to the side. You take in the area and are actually seriously questioning if Dick is turning kids into weapons. What would the point be to have a room like this if not? And there is already a kid working out so it’s being used. Maybe it’ll be beneficial to you. Learn a few things and escape when the time is right.

"This is the training room. When you're able, you can train here with everyone else."  Dick explains, putting his hands in his pockets as you stand at the open sliding doors.

The boy turns around hearing Dick talk. He looks at you with bruises and cuts across your face. He grimaces at the sight of you. Gar told him Dick brought you home but he didn’t think it was that bad.

"What the fuck happened to your face?" He asks with a scoff.

"What the fuck happened to yours?" You strike back, Dick doing a double take with the fire in your words.

"My face is fucking perfect, fuck you." Jason sneers, he was just asking a simple question. He didn't expect for you to have a comment back.

"Yeah, who the fuck says? Fuck you." You sneer back at him.

The immediate question of your face just caught you off guard. It seemed a bit rude, the way he asked and you’re not gonna let him talk to you like that. But, by the way his nostrils flare, you can tell that challenging him will be fun.

Dick watches the two of you, not even sure exactly what he expected from Jason but this should have been it.

"Hey," Dick shakes his head.

"She started it." Jason pouts his glove-covered hand at you.

"You asked what happened to my face!" You defend. “And my name is y/n.”

"Because you look like someone fucked you up. Maybe get in here and spar a bit, it'll save your face next time if you’re that offended." Jason snips.

"Jason, right?" You look to Dick and Dick nods.

"Heard about me, huh?" Jason gains a cocky grin as he walks closer to you.

"That tracks." You nod with the roll of your eyes. If he’s like this all the time, you get why Gar and Dick have both said you’d get used to him. But, what they don’t know is that people like Jason are always really fun to fuck with.

"What?" Jason asks, the smile still wide, almost expecting everyone to talk highly of him.

"Just heard you're really good at combat." You smile at him, playing into his ego and deciding to have a little bit of fun with him.

"Yeah, maybe I can show you a thing or two." Jason looks you up and down.

"I can show you." You do the same, mimicking his actions.

Dick stands there a bit in shock as to what is happening right now. You blatantly refused to talk to him and warmed up a bit to Gar. But, had he known introducing you to Jason would get you talking, he might have just done that first. What is even going on? And why are you humoring him? 

"Can we not--" Dick starts but Jason cuts him off.

"Look, babe, it looks like you're the one who needs help." Jason offers and you can't tell if this is him being nice or if he's trying to get laid or what but whatever the fuck it is, it is not working. But, either way, you know this is going to be fun.

"Okay, I'll bet you, you can't fucking touch me." You challenge him while Dick snaps his attention to you. Did you suddenly forget you were injured?

"You need more rest. Let's continue--"

"What's the bet?" Jason plays along.

You smirk at him, looking him up and down again. "Mmm, I don't know. If you can't land a single hit in thirty seconds, you owe me whatever I decide. If you win...."

Dick is standing there, asking the universe "Why him?" what did he do for this? He was just trying to help and now he's here with two of the same people. Of all people you had to be like, it had to be Jason. Can't be another Gar or Rachel. No, you have to be like Jason because Dick can never catch a break.

"I'll let you let off this time." Jason offers, catching Dick by surprise.

"Deal." You stick out your hand, Jason catching a glimpse of the mark on your wrists, pausing. "Don't make it fucking weird."

"Deal." Jason widens his eyes before sticking a hand out.

“Be careful.” Dick warns them.

Normally, Dick would step in and stop this. You’re injured and shouldn’t be doing anything really but he is pretty interested to see the combat clairvoyance in action. Jason is reckless and hot headed but he’s not violent and Dick doesn’t believe Jason will go full out. So, Dick doesn’t stop you as you walk to the middle of the floor, straight face.

"Come on, babe, let's see what you got." You mock Jason and Jason wastes no time in moving towards you.

Jason takes a swing, you dodging him making him miss, ignoring the pain your side. Your ability to mess with someone like Jason should also be a superpower. You will do everything in your power to not let any of your injuries interfere with this. Jason stutters for a second before trying again, missing. You give him a side smirk with the raise of your brows, taunting him. Jason huffs before putting more power into it, going faster this time and you put your arm up just in time to block him.

"What the fuck?" Jason mutters, throwing punches and trying to kick you while you keep dodging and blocking him.

It's fun for you and you know nothing about combat but you remember seeing videos of Batman and Robin fighting. He reminds you of them, the way he fights. If those two are any indication, he really must be good at it. But, this is also unfair to him and you think it's funny. You like how he's growing more and more frustrated, nostrils flaring with every miss. Jason takes another swing, right for the center of your face, you catch his fist, less than an inch from your nose.

You look past his fist, not letting him go, deciding to mess with him a little more. "You're kind of cute, ya know?" Jason narrows his eyes but his arm doesn't relax. He knows the tactic and he’d be lying if he didn’t find it a bit amusing that you tried it. "Nothing?" You raise a brow.

"Nice try." Jason yanks his fist away, going to the floor to trip you but you’re just quick enough for him to miss.

"Okay, that's enough." Dick walks to the middle with you, tired of watching and if this goes on any longer, he knows he'll be hearing from Jason about it. It's never something he wants to deal with.

“I won, thanks for that.” You beam at Jason. “Needed it.”

“You're just not playing fucking fair." Jason yells behind Dick.

"So, you thought it was fair to try hitting me, someone who has no combat experience and is injured but it's not fair for me to not tell you that I can avoid being hit?" You question and watch Jason become flustered.

"You started it." Jason groans and you can't help but find it funny.

You completely understands why Dick and Gar weren't very vocal about Jason. You get it now. He's definitely something else. Most people would probably find him annoying and an asshole, which he is, but you find it amusing more than anything. Plus, he looks like he carries damage. Something about the way he moves, the lost and distant look in his eyes. It's interesting.

"Yeah," You grin with a shrug. "And what are you gonna do about it?" You taunt, a wide, challenging smile on display.

Jason's brows furrow as he jerks his head back. He's never had anyone challenge him like this before and he's not a fan of it. He takes the same shit he dishes out but it is kind of fun going back and forth about it. But he really doesn't get it. No one comes out of the gate swinging like that.

"We're gonna continue the tour if that's okay with the two of you." Dick looks between you, his voice more a statement rather than an actual question.

"Okay." You offer him an apologetic smile.

"Yeah, I got shit to do." Jason mumbles, walking back to where he was when you first walked in, eyes trailing on you a little longer than he really wanted.

You smirk to yourself, watching Jason walk back to the punching bag. It's weird because he's kind of an asshole but something about him feels like home. Maybe it's because he isn't tip-toeing around you or offering you some weird type of kindness that makes your skin crawl. He doesn't look sympathetic and look at you with pity. Not after you talked away. Dick and Gar do though, it makes you shift and you hate the uneasiness about it.

You follow Dick back down another hallway decorated with lights and a few memorabilia-type things. It gives you the impression this isn't some new superhero thing, despite the younger ages of the other kids. It looks like this place was lived in for awhile, haunted by previous heroes.

"This is your room." Dick opens a black door, sitting in between two other rooms and showing you inside.

It's plain and simple. A TV sits on an entertainment center against the left-hand wall. Large windows line the first half of the room and a bed sits against the right wall. It's as if the room is literally divided into two parts, a living area and a sleeping area. Two small backless shelving units divide the two areas. A dresser is next to the left-hand side of the door, a turntable and a lamp sitting on top. They're empty and so is a bookshelf next to the left side of the bed. It's so empty.

"We can go tomorrow to get you some clothes and a few things if you want." Dick offers as you walk into the room fully taking it in.

"Uh..." You stutter, turning around to face him. "I-I don't have...money?"

Dick smiles gently. "It's okay. I got it."

Your eyes narrow at him and you cannot figure out why he would do this. "Okay...why? Like why are you doing this? Everyone has a motive so what's yours?"

Dick shrugs a shoulder, putting his hands in his pockets. "The people here are special and so are you. It's hard being out there and being special."

"So what makes you special then?"

"Same as Jason."

"Ahh." You nods your head once. Interesting. "What if I don't wanna fight?" You ask.

Dick shakes his head. "You don't have to, you just have to learn to control your powers. It's up to you if want to learn more. But you'll be safe here."

You feel like this is some type of dream about to turn into a nightmare. You’ve had a dream before where someone comes to rescue you from the dreadful and dreary basement but then they turn. They find out about your powers or they're just as fucked up as her foster dad and they just use you. An endless string of torture. This doesn't feel like that, not really, because this isn't a dream. You’re wide awake but it's hard to believe.

"Okay." You say, turning back around and walking to the TV.

"You can stream from it if you want, it's connected to the Wi-Fi already with the accounts, like the TV in the other room." Dick explains.

You look back to him. "Cool." Your voice is quiet and you always just liked to watch TV and movies.

It wasn't a coping mechanism or some type of escape from the hell for Gotham. Some people find fun in sports or art or social media, your thing was TV. You just found it fun to see the stories play out in front of your eyes, not reading, just watching. A part of you think it might sound dumb if you said TV was one of the things you missed the most.

"Well," Dick sighs. "I'll leave you be then. If you need anything, I'll be around and so will everyone else. Gar is to the right and Jason left, Rachel is across the hall." Dick explains.

You nod, still just looking around unsure how to even feel about being here. Is there a way you can plan an escape if shit hits the fan? Always have some type of escape plan. Anything can happen and you won't be captured again and held captive. But, Dick is really nice and there's a part of you that is certain if he were kidnapping kids and holding them here against their will, he would have let Jason go a long time ago.

"Uh....t-t-thank you." You stutter catching Dick right before he leaves the room. "For saving me."

"Don't mention it." Dick smiles at you, feeling good about the decision to help you. "Just don't burn me again."

"Yeah..." You scrunch your face. "Sorry."

"It's alright, get some rest." Dick says kindly before leaving you to yourself, shutting the door behind him.

Meanwhile, in the training room, Gar and Rachel have joined Jason. Rachel, thus far, is the only one who hasn't met you and she's curious. And if Dick is gonna bring another person so soon, all three of them feel like they need to talk about it. They should get a say if someone gets to join their little found family.

"What is she like?" Rachel asks.

"She's nice, seems scared though." Gar shrugs while Jason scoffs.

"She's a bitch." Jason walks over to the two of them. "And she's a freak."

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You think everyone is a freak." Jason has also called her a freak on more than one occasion.

"She was nice to me." Gar shrugs, casually knowing it's not exactly easy to be nice to Jason even on a good day.

He's his best friend, of course, but he's not easy to get along with. It's kind of up to Jason and what kind of day he's had. Gar, on the other hand, is the easiest one in the tower to get along with. He's just nice to everyone even if they aren't nice to him.

"Did she tell you how and why she burned Dick?" Rachel asks, ignoring Jason as he takes a seat beside Gar.

"She can produce acid with her hands." Gar states, ignoring the groan leaving Jason. "She didn't say why."

"Maybe that's why Dick brought her, to help control her powers." Rachel offers.

"Maybe." Gar tilts his head with the raise of his brows, not really thinking that's what it is. "I think he just has a thing for picking up strays."

"I wasn't a stray." Jason scoffs in his own defense, the idea of Bruce sending him here still sour in his mouth.

Rachel glares at him, unamused while Gar just shakes his head and ignores him. "You could talk to her." Gar says. "She's only talked to us, maybe a girl will make her feel better about being here."

"Yeah," Rachel laughs softly. "There's too much testosterone here." Rachel looks to Jason. "Is that okay with you?" She asks mockingly, not actually asking for his opinion.

Jason shrugs, seemingly to have not gotten the sarcastic tone. "She is hot, ya know, besides the cuts and shit so yeah. Need something pretty to look at it."

"Gross." Gar grimaces.

"You're such a fuckboy." Rachel shakes her head, looking back to Gar.

"Hey, fuck you." Jason retorts. "All you do is stare at Gar, I want someone to look at."

"I do not!" Rachel fires back, cheeks tinting red.

Gar watches the two of them, shifting in his seat having never noticed if she did stare at him or not. He's hoping she knows they're just friends. He is not very good at letting people down softly, mostly because he trips over his words and makes everything worse by trying to spare their feelings.

"Right." Jason scoffs, getting back to his feet. "You're with me, right?" Jason looks to Gar. "About y/n?"

"Uh..." Gar tilts his head, forehead wrinkling not even wanting to get into this.

He thinks it's a little insensitive. Of course, it's exactly what he expects from Jason but he's not gonna get dragged into it. You just got here and you’re very clearly traumatized. He's not looking at you in any type of way besides with sympathy and empathy. Though he does think you’re pretty, even with the cuts and bruises Jason wants to so rudely dismiss but Gar won't say it. It's not his place or the time. Surely, they can let you settle in and let you just do your own thing. They don't need to be talking about you.

Jason shakes his head. "We gotta find out more about her though, right? Like who the fuck is she?"

"Does it matter?" Rachel counters.

"Yeah, man, I don't think it's up to us." Gar adds in.

Jason puts his weight to one leg. "What if she's like...here to kill us or some shit? Shouldn't we know?"

"Pretty sure Dick would have looked into that already." Gar states, eyes slightly narrowed at him.

Jason is paranoid and dramatic and over-enthusiastic about being a hero. Gar thinks it's the coolest thing that's ever happened to him, becoming a Titan. There are so few people who get to say they're a Titan and Gar is one of them. He's so excited to get out there and fight these big bad guys but not until Dick says they're ready. Jason, on the other hand, has the experience and doesn't think he even needs to be here. Gar can tell Jason is just hoping you will be part of a big bad plot.

"Did he tell you that?" Jason counters.

"He doesn't need to, Jason." Rachel grows more annoyed with Jason with every passing second.

"Come on, you wanna know, right? How she got her powers? Ended up here? Think it's some coincidence or some shit with Dick finding her?" Jason argues, looking directly at Gar knowing Gar won't be able to resist. "We can find out."

"Gar." Rachel says.

It's the way she said his name that he knows it's threatening but...Jason has a point. If Dick and you don't find out, no one else will know. He doesn't think Rachel will rat them out or anything. Jason is always just very persistent and he'll probably do it himself, if Gar is there and he gets caught, maybe Dick will go easier on him and they won't have to listen to it.

Gar sighs. "Fine but just to sure."

"Unbelievable." Rachel stands up. "You two are terrible. We shouldn't pry into someone else's privacy."

"What if there is someone though? Jason kind of has a point." Gar counters, still sitting on the ground. “I mean, you were being chased by people who wanted to kill you. Maybe it’s better if we find out just to be safe.”

"You don't have to come." Jason shrugs a shoulder, looking at Rachel.

"I wasn't going to. You two do whatever you want." She waves her hands in annoyance before heading to leave the training room. "I'm going to be normal and just talk to her." Rachel leaves the boys to themselves, knowing they won't be far behind to go to the computer.

Gar and Jason stay in the training room a little longer before making their way to the infirmary. They saw the cuts and Gar helped Dick clean them up so Gar knows they can get blood from the garbage to run your DNA. It's definitely an invasion of privacy that doesn't quite sit well with him but what if Jason is right? He's paranoid, sure, but what if Dick didn't look into you? What are they supposed to do? It can't hurt. Dick sometimes seems too trusting, he didn't really ask Gar any questions before letting him join the little group. If Dick is just waiting for you to start talking and you’re a part of something bigger, that would be very not good for any of them. That's the reasons he lists as to why this isn't some horrible thing they're doing.

"Y/n Y/l/n." Jason crosses his arms as they see your picture show up on the screen.

"Born in Gotham City." Gar says, sitting at the computer, matching the stare on the large screen before looking at Jason, then back to the screen. "Uh...let's see. Her mom was killed...by the Joker." Gar's voice grows sad and quiet, looking over to Jason knowing his dad was killed by Two-Face.

"Shit." Jason huffs, a sense of what one might describe as guilt comes over him knowing what it's like.

"Dad has a rap sheet for drugs." Gar looks back to Jason and then back to the computer, growing more uncomfortable with the similarities of the two of you. "She was arrested for breaking into cars, put into foster care. That's all there is." Gar reads it off before looking back to Jason.

Jason squints his eyes at the screen, knowing how close he was to being you and something in the pit of his stomach feels horrible for how he treated you. It makes him feel uneasy, knowing he could have been you had he just robbed the wrong car of the hubcaps, had you robbed the right one. It’s a reality check.

"Look up the guy." Jason says, hiding the uneasiness in his voice.

"Jerry Johnson, what a name." Gar mocks. "Uh....former scientist from Gotham."

Gar lets the words sit in his mouth. The thing about Gotham is that it really does breed special kind of people. The fucked up kind of special. Mr. Freeze, Scarecrow, Penguin, the Joker, the Riddler, what is happening in that city? It doesn't take much for Gar to figure that your powers didn't come from anything accidental, that you were some type of test subject your foster dad used. That explains a lot, your attitude toward Dick. The defensiveness. Gar wonders how he came out the other end not like that. He wasn't really an experiment but...it was some crazy scientists who thought Gar changing into a tiger was better than dying. It is but it's not always easy and he's not always a fan of it. It's hard to imagine how you might feel.

"Fuck, dude." Jason huffs, looking down to Gar. "Think that guy did that to her?"

Gar shrugs, not wanting to think of someone being victimized like that. Beat, tortured, chained up. It makes his stomach twist. "Maybe." Gar clears his throat. "We should...get out of here." He looks away from the computer.

"Yeah," Jason says quietly while Gar exits out of everything.

"It doesn't seem like she's the bad guy." Gar's voice is defeated and maybe a part of him was hoping you would be. It would give them something to do but this just got really sad, really fast.

"Guess not." Jason mutters and Gar can't tell if he's disappointed or just lost in his thought about it.

"You okay, dude?"

"Yeah." Jason gives him a grin. "Just fucked up."

Gar curls his lips in with a nod. "Yeah."

While the boys sit and figure out how they're supposed to handle this newfound information without letting you or Dick know how they found out, Rachel went to your room.

You’re in your room, sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and watching Zombieland. The movie's been out for a while but you’re so in love with it. There's zombies who don't just walk and eat people. They actually have speed and the characters aren't dumb. There are rules to surviving any type of horror movie and this guy in the movie just gets it. It's by far one of your favorite comfort movies. And you’re having a great time, just relaxing for the first time in a year. It's like you can almost breathe clearly again, wrapped in a blanket on a couch and in a warm home. But, then a knock sounds on your door and you’re reminded that you’re not alone.

You get up, taking the blanket with you. "Uh....hey?" You ask, seeing the girl with purple hair, dressed head to toe in black with a weird red gem in the center of her forehead.

"Hey," Rachel smiles softly. "I'm Rachel."

"Y/n." You offer, hand still on the door.

"I just wanted to come and meet you. I know you met everyone else." Rachel explains nicely.

You nod and you almost feel like an animal at a zoo but that's not Rachel's fault. It's like when someone new comes to school halfway through the school year and suddenly everyone wants to talk to them. They're like a new toy.

"Yeah, uh, yeah." You nod, sliding your hand off the door. "Did....you wanna come in?" You ask, not sure if you should or not. It all feels so bizarre.

"Sure." Rachel smiles softly, walking inside while you shut the door. "How do you like your room?" Rachel looks around at the empty place, wondering how you would decorate it.

"It's okay." You answer with a shrug. "Kind of boring, I guess."

"Dick will get you stuff to make it yours." Rachel explains.

"Right." You nod slowly before going back to your spot on the couch.

You don't have much else to say. You’re not actively trying to be standoffish. Rachel is just being nice but you don't even know how you’re supposed to talk to people and you’re truthfully tired and want to enjoy your movie. You just didn't want to sound like a bitch and tell Rachel to leave.

"What do you think about the guys?" Rachel asks, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, not getting too close to you which you really appreciate. Rachel figures talking about the guys might be an easy way to get you to warm up to her.

"Uh..." You furrows your brows and a smile creeps onto your face. "Gar's really nice." You say quietly. "Dick is okay, I guess. Jason's an asshole."

Rachel lets out a laugh. "I know! It's been just us for a month." Rachel leans her head back dramatically making you laugh. "You'll get used to him. Gar and Dick make it easier."

You shake your head. "I don't mind, actually." You huff with a smile, earning yourself a surprised and confused look from Rachel. You shrug. "He's funny to fuck with. He gets all mad and I think it's funny."

"What'd you do?" Rachel asks, intrigued why someone would find it funny but also kind of wants to see someone actually get under Jason's skin and not be bothered by whatever ignorant comment he'll say.

"I asked him what was wrong with his face when he asked about mine then I challenged him to a bet. He lost." You hold your up proudly.

"What was the bet? Teach me. He bugs me." Rachel says dramatically, her eyes wide.

"I can do this thing," This time when you explain it, your head is held with pride and confidence. "I can sense when someone is gonna attack me, told him he could hit me and he couldn't."

"That's awesome! Can I be there next time, please?" Rachel pleads.

Rachel and Jason haven’t gotten along since her dad possessed him. They got along fine when they met in Chicago but then things got a little rocky. Rachel actually doesn’t like not getting along with him, especially living under the same roof, but she can’t pinpoint exactly what it was that made him not like her. She’s tried to be nice but it never really gets her anywhere with him. So, seeing someone put Jason in his place sounds like a good time.

"Sure. I don't think Dick thought it was very funny." You let out a soft chuckle, warming up to Rachel. She is very nice.

"Gar will think it's hilarious. They spar together more than us and Gar puts up a good fight but Jason always wins." Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Gar doesn't seem like a fighter."

Rachel shrugs a shoulder. "He's not."

"Probably a good thing, he's cute." You blurt it out, shocked you actually said that out loud. "I have said too much."

"No, it's okay. He is." Rachel laughs softly.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" You backtrack. "Are you a thing?"

"No!" Rachel exclaims. "No, we're just friends. No one here is like a thing or anything."

"Oh, okay. That's a bit surprising. Though, I guess you wouldn't be into Jason." You joke.

"God, no." Rachel grimaces with the thought. "I'd rather die." Rachel says making you laugh. "Is that Gar's?" Rachel points towards the hoodie.

"Uh...yeah. He loaned to me. I asked for a hoodie because it's a little cold in here."

"That's really nice of him." Rachel offers a soft side smile.

"Yeah..." You tug the sleeves over your hands.

"Can I ask what happened to you?" Rachel asks carefully.

You shift in your seat. You’d love to go as long as humanly possible without saying anything about it. It's just traumatic. It's not even like it's a secret. It's just hard to talk about and you don't know these people at all. It feels like something more personal than to just go around and blasting it to complete strangers. If Dick makes you say something, you will but until then, you'd like to just tell them on your own time. Not when you’re asked.

"Uh...it's....a-a long story." You look to the TV and Rachel can see that a part of you just shut down with the question. It's obvious that it's bad but Rachel didn't think it would cause a distant reaction.

"I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me or anything but if you want to talk about it, you can talk to me." Rachel's voice is quiet.

"T-thank you." You glance at her from the corner of your eye. "Uh...it's okay. I, uh, I just don't wanna talk about it yet." You shake your head.

"That's okay." Rachel smiles softly. "No pressure. We all have shit here." Rachel huffs with a laugh.

"I can tell." You whisper. "No offense." You say quickly. "You seem fine, actually but everyone else has....a vibe. Even Gar, feels like there's something going on. Jason can't be that big of an asshole without having trauma and Dick seems like he picks up teenagers off the street because of trauma."

Rachel laughs. "Yeah, pretty much." She lets out a sigh. "My dad is a demon who tried to kill me."

You furrow your brows, forehead wrinkling as you slowly turn to look at Rachel. "I'm sorry, what?"

Rachel nods. "Gave this as a trophy." Rachel taps the gem that's embedded to her forehead.

"Well..." You pause. "What the fuck?" You laugh. "It's not funny...I just....did not think I'd hear that."

"Yeah," Rachel laughs softly. "I didn't expect to find out my dad was a demon. I guess it explains a lot." Rachel scrunches her nose.

"Yeah, meeting the parental figure that fucked shit up can sometimes have answers even if it's not the ones you want." You say quietly, feeling Rachel staring at you. "Long story, dad's an addict. Got the answers I didn't want but needed."

"Jeez." Rachel sighs.

"Yeah," You say, realizing you’re saying too much and figured this was enough for the night. "Hey, uh, I'm like...really tired." You tug the sleeves of the hoodie over your hands again. "Can I get some sleep?" You ask slowly, trying not to sound harsh.

"Yeah, of course!" Rachel says quickly, getting up from her spot. "I'll see you tomorrow." Rachel smiles at you. "You can trust us, just so you know. We're a family here."

"Thanks." You answer before Rachel heads for the door and leaves.

You almost hate to admit but you think maybe you could fit in here. It's a bunch of people with trauma trying to make something work, maybe even work through it. You actually like everyone that lives here from the small interactions you’ve had. Everyone seems genuine, even if one of them is an asshole, at least it's genuine. None of them seem to be here being held against their will. Rachel and Gar made you feel comfortable. The door isn't locked and you can leave when you want. Something about it still feels too good to be true but for this moment, just this moment, you let yourself sit in peace with the hope that it's all going to be okay again.

next chapter

series masterlist | masterlist | tag list

Tag list: @italiana-20 // @fairyofshampoo​F----

[when-are-you-coming-back-steve]

que piensate de la musica

I'm so sorry bestie but I got fisctracted by criminal minds

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part fifteen Word count: ±6250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part fifteen summary: The hunt is over, and Zoë and the brothers go separate ways. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​ and @deanwanddamons​. Also a deep bow to @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​​ who was very patient with me when I asked about a hundred medical questions. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The lights of the suite switch on when Zoë slips the keycard in its holder by the door. After the assault she suffered earlier today, the Hampton Inn hotel management provided her with a bigger and better accommodation. Although she doesn’t plan to spend another night in Paragould, she took the generous offer.      Dean enters the spacious room as well, Sam following close behind, in case his brother needs assistance. It bugs the hell out of the older sibling, who has grumpily told him that he’s fine a couple of times already. Yet, he allows the hovering, because honestly; he doesn’t feel so fresh.

     On the way over, Zoë told him to lose the soaked shirt, which contradicted Dean’s instincts, because he has never felt this cold in his entire life, despite the heaters blowing air into the Chevy at level inferno. Even now, he can’t stop himself from shivering, his teeth clattering every now and then, despite his favorite leather coat that he’s wearing, the only clothing item that didn’t get drenched.

     Exhausted, he plops down on the kingsize bed, to out of it to comment on the luxurious suite. Closing his eyes for a second, he rubs his forehead, trying to rid himself from the throbbing inside his skull. He coughs again, the involuntary action burning his lungs. It’s a painful yet ironic sensation, because he didn’t expect to feel like his airway is on fire after drowning in a fucking lake.

     “Get out of those wet clothes, Dean,” Zoë tells him sternly, nodding at his jeans while slipping her Harley Davidson jacket on a coat hanger. “We need to warm you up.”

     Normally, he would have had at least three sly remarks ready, but not this time. Instead, he nods with a sniff, bending down to untie his shoelaces with shaky fingers. Sam drops one of their duffel bags on the other side of the bed, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, one of Dean’s henley’s, a hoodie, socks and underwear.      “I’m gonna take a shower first,” Dean says, pulling off his soaked boots.

     “Absolutely fucking not,” Zoë intervenes, setting up her extensive medical kit on the nightstand. “I made quite an effort to bring you back to life, so it would be an awful waste of my time if you go into shock and die on the bathroom floor.”      Sam raises his eyebrows at that, much like Dean, who lets his hand slip from his face.      “How else am I gonna get warm, ‘cause I’m fucking freezing,” he returns, his voice still hoarse.      “By raising your temperature slowly. Sam, can you grab a towel and fill that hot water bottle we got from the front desk? And get the extra comforters from the other bed.”

     While the younger Winchester goes to collect the required items, Zoë opens the lid and takes out an ear thermometer from the metal briefcase, placing a clean probe tip on the end while she sits down next to the battered hunter. Dean flinches away from her when she cups his face firmly to hold him in place, earning an annoyed glare from the former med student.      “Would you like me to use the regular one? Because I’ll give you one guess where I’d have to stick that. Now, sit still,” she orders, pulling his ear back to insert the device into his ear canal.      “Jesus, you’re not the one for bedside manners, are you?” Dean mutters, but cooperates either way.

     Zoë doesn’t respond, waiting for the thermometer to beep. She retreats it when it does exactly that and reads the display. “You’re at 95.2.”      “That low?” he says, unpleasantly surprised.      She nods, placing the small device on the side table. “That’s what happens when your main generator loses power. The central heating shuts down real quick when your heart stops beating.”

     Dean sniffles, very much aware of the fluid that is still creeping up his throat. He fights the urge to cough again and clears his throat uncomfortably, when Sam returns with the hot water bottle under his arm, white towels with the Hampton Inn logo on them in one hand and two thick duvets in the other.      “Dry yourself off and put on something warm, then wrap yourself in these.” She takes the comforter and lays it on the bed next to the older Winchester, before folding the water bottle in one of the towels. “Here, keep this close to you. Don’t lay down and don’t fall asleep,” she warns. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

     She gets up and muffles a grunt behind gritted teeth, her cracked ribs once again reminding the huntress of her current fragile state. Adrenaline pushed down the pain in the midst of action, but now that the dust has settled, it’s back at full force. Picking up her bag on the way, she heads to the spacious bathroom, locking the door behind her. Not really ready for the sight, she peels her wet top from her skin while she stands in front of the nine ft. wide mirror. Dark bruises greet her when she discards the tank top, her bra following suit. They match the colorful display on her right cheekbone and the black and blue fingerprints on her neck.

     “Wonderful,” she muddles, continuing to strip down, the soaked through fabric smacking against the nature stone tiles. She has no idea how she’s gonna ride all the way up to the Canadian border with an injury like this, but she doesn’t have a choice. Time isn’t exactly on her side.

     After a shower, Zoë runs a towel over her head and blow-dries her brown locks quickly. Usually, she allows her curls to dry naturally, but wearing a helmet on wet hair is anything but pleasant, not to mention that she will have to deal with a fogged up visor throughout most of the trip.

     She puts on clean underwear and hoists her leather biker pants up her legs, cursing under her breath at the ache that sears through her side with even the slightest movement. Something needs to be done, because she won’t last an hour on the Harley. Before she steps outside the bathroom, she secures her bra clasps. Not bothered to put on her top just yet, she pops her head from behind the door.      “Sam?”      The tall young guy looks up and for a second she wonders if he can actually see her through the fringe of brown damp locks.      “Can you grab me some KT tape from my med kit?” she asks, nodding at the briefcase next to Dean, who is huddled up in the exact spot where she left him, wrapped in the thick comforters.      “Sure,” Sam obliges, getting up. After rummaging for a few seconds, he finds what he’s looking for and turns to the bathroom to hand it over, but apparently she has different ideas.      “Get in,” she tells him.

     Perplexed, but not brave enough to hesitate and give her a reason to scold at him, he enters the large room, which could easily be considered a mini spa. A large jacuzzi is situated in the corner, a walk-in shower next to it. There’s even a sauna, the wooden benches shielded off by a glass wall. It’s nothing like the shabby motel rooms he and Dean usually coop up in. His admiration for the luxury comes to a sudden stop when his absent gaze lands on Zoë. Like a virgin teenager who walked in on his friend’s older sister, he stares at her for a short second, eyes wide and blown away. Shit, she’s not wearing a shirt.

     “Done gaping?” she responds, bored, placing her hand firmly in her unharmed side. “I need to tape my side and I can’t reach properly.”      Feeling caught, he shifts his attention to the KT tape in his hand. “Uh… y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, fiddling to open the package.      Rolling her eyes, she snatches the small box from his hands and opens it. “I swear to God, Sam, get yourself together. You’ve seen me in less.”

     Uncomfortably, the younger Winchester runs his fingers through his hair. Why is he being so awkward? Or maybe the better question is; why can’t he keep his eyes off her? He tries his best not to stare, but when he does, he notices the dark bruises on her ribs.      “Damn it, Zo. She got you good,” he huffs, worry replacing the uneasiness.      “It’s not that bad. I just need to secure it before I hit the road,” the tough woman mutters, peeling the plastic away from the sticky coating. She turns her back to Sam, moving her brown wavy hair over her left shoulder and out of the way. “You need to place the first strip diagonally and downward, starting from just below the scapula. You might need to lift my bra a little.”

     Somewhat nervous, the thoughtful guy rubs his hands together first, not wanting his touch to be cold. After handing him the medical tape, she lifts her right arm, hissing at the stretch.      “Right here?” he asks, lifting the wing of her lace bra, before sticking one end of the strip right below her shoulder blade.      She nods, breathing out a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

     Sam handles her gently, the pads of his fingers not as rough as she expected hunter’s hands to be. In silence he works, focussed on his task. Zoë watches him in the mirror, a small smile of amusement pulling at the corners of her mouth, despite the discomfort. His eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, hazel eyes tracing her bruised form. After a few more instructions, he secures the second strip with the same precision. Zoë can’t deny nor ignore the current that his touch sends through her body, and it has her intrigued.

     “One more. Vertical along my side,” she says, her voice softer than she has spoken to him all evening.      The younger Winchester tries not to gulp visibly, holding the enchanting woman still, while he smoothens the final strip down her bruised rib cage. He’s careful to prevent pressure on the sensitive area, not wanting to hurt her, but she shivers anyway. When he directs his gaze on her in their reflection, Sam notices it’s not pain that has her shuddering, because her challenging eyes tell a different story. They behold a hint of curiosity, interest... lust even.

     Not sure how to cope with the tension that hangs in the air, he clears his throat and lets his finger slip from her beautifully toned and proportioned body, averting his eyes from the mirror.      “I’m - uh - I’ll let you get dressed,” he stutters, awkwardly pointing his thumb over his shoulder before he heads to the door.      “I’ll be right out,” she promises, picking a clean shirt from her bag.

Zoë watches him leave, smirking at his behavior. He really doesn’t know how to act around her, and it’s highly entertaining. There is a definite pull she experiences towards him, an attraction that she can’t quite place, but it’s not something she can dwell on. This case will be the last one they worked together and tonight will be the last time she ever sees him. But before they go separate ways, she needs to give his brother a thorough check up, even though she doesn’t like his company half as much as Sam’s. Suck it up, Zo. You’ve got work to do.

     Refreshed and dressed, she enters the master suite again, Dean still on the side of the bed, wrapped up in comforters like a burrito. Zoë’s plump lips press together in a thin line, because now is not the moment to make fun of the hunter, who without a doubt feels miserable.

     “Alright, let’s give you your physical exam so I can hit the road, huh?” she suggests, sitting down next to the older Winchester brother, taking her stethoscope from her briefcase and hanging it around her neck, after which she picks up a blood pressure gauge as well. “Stretch out your right arm.”

     He shrugs the heavy comforter off his bare shoulders, silently obeying his physician’s orders. Again, Dean misses the perfect opportunity for a dirty comeback, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Although Zoë hasn’t known him for long, she did pick up on his usual demeanor, lightening the mood with a witty comment and some dark humor. Now, the joker is awfully quiet.

     “Y’know, you guys can have the room for the night,” she offers. “It’s paid for anyway.”      “Nah, I feel fine. Besides, if we don’t leave tonight, we’re gonna be late for our wolf hunt,” Dean replies, watching her strap the cuff around his upper arm.      Sam leans against the wall, observing the skilled woman as well. He hates to admit it, but Dean has a point. “He’s right. Today was the first night of a full moon, we won’t have much time if we stay any longer.”      “I’m just saying it might not be a bad idea to rest up,” Zoë points out, squeezing the rubber pump that’s attached to the cuff, filling it with air until circulation is cut off. “But you two kamikaze morons do what you gotta do.”      Sam scoffs at that. “You’re one to talk.”

     Her head cocks in his direction, staring him down intimidatingly, but Sam doesn’t budge and arches one eyebrow at her knowingly. His attitude annoys Zoë, and yet she doesn’t bite his head off. If circumstances were any different, she would have gladly spent at least the night in this luxurious suite and added several more, but she simply can’t. Wanting to avoid the reasoning behind her departure by all costs, she drops the matter.

     Instead, she pulls the stethoscope from behind her neck, widens the headset and places the tips in her ears. She then continues to place the diaphragm just above the crease of the elbow, while allowing the cuff to deflate. Blood begins to flow through the brachial artery again, causing a beat to thud against Zoë’s eardrums, and she reads the systolic pressure on the meter. Once the blood vessels remain open and the pounding sound stops, the closest what the Winchesters have to a doctor reads the meter again.

     “Your BP is 125 over 80. For a guy who lives off gas station food, pizza and burgers, that’s pretty damn healthy,” she comments, hooking the stethoscope around her neck again.      “Great. So can I go now?” Dean is about to rise up from the bed, but Zoë  grips him on the junction between his neck and his shoulder, pushing him down to sit on the bed again.      “Did I say I was done?” she snaps back at him.

     Dean bites his tongue when he feels her nails dig into his shoulder. He wants to yelp and call her names, yet he doesn’t, because Sam shoots him a warning glare. He argues with his little brother in silence, the younger sibling’s wide eyes sending death threats when Dean’s upper lip twitches while hinting at the woman who currently has a tight hold on him. He then shakes his head and gives in, too tired to have this discussion.

     Zoë ignores the tension all together. “Well, if you aren’t gonna stay, do you mind starting to load up the car, Sam? I wanna check out as soon as I’m done here,” Zoë states, giving him something else to do other than lurking over her shoulder.      “Sure,” the tall hunter says, and begins to gather their things, including the wet clothes Dean discarded earlier.

     When Sam has left, the tough Winchester drops his head, blinking a couple of times, clearly not feeling his best. Zoë monitors him closely; she had a hunch he was keeping up appearance in order not to worry his sibling.      “So now that your brother is out of the room, how are you really feeling?” she asks, removing the cuff from Dean’s arm. “And cut the bullshit. No one expects you to feel fine after flatlining.”

     The hunter looks up at her from under heavy eyelids, trying to figure out what her intentions are. He assumes she’s asking to determine further medical action, and so he drops the act.      “I - uh… I feel off, man,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose again.      “Headache?” she wonders, storing the sphygmomanometer away.      He nods, swallowing hard.      “Let me guess; you’re experiencing dizziness, decreased muscle strength, and feel like you could sleep for a week?” Zoë fills in for him.      “Sounds about right,” Dean sighs.

     Zoë puts in the ear tips of her stethoscope again in order to examine his heart, holding the bell between her second and third digit. She places the diaphragm on the right of the sternum, tracing his ribs under her fingertips to determine the right spot in order to hear the aortic valve. A stillness falls over the two, as Zoë concentrates to dissect the sound of Dean’s steady heartbeat, her other hand still holding him by the shoulder, her touch much more gentle this time around.

     Not wanting to disturb her focus, the older Winchester brother allows his gaze to wander, spending this rare moment without them yelling at each other to admire her. Whenever the tough as nails huntress boils his blood, he tends to only see the ugly side of Zoë Sullivan, but right here in this peaceful serenity, her beauty stuns him. Her face is slightly turned away, the profile of her sharp jawline and slightly upward pointed nose brought out by the warm light on the nightstand. She’s close enough for him to smell the coconut shampoo lingering in her freshly washed hair. Only now does he realize that his shivering has stilled, but he’s not sure if it actually has to do with his body temperature steadily going up, or that her soft touch is what calms his tremors. He’s not used to kind contact, a hand on his shoulder, a sweet ruffle through his hair like his mother used to do, but deep down, he craves it.

     When she shifts the bell of her stethoscope to the left side of his chest, Dean glances to her hand still gently gripping his tattooed arm, which is decorated with a short sleeve that fans out over his shoulder blade. Shades of black display what he stands for, symbols and sigils mixed with personal references to his life and the people who mean the world to him. He only now realizes she has been studying the piece of art forever edged in his skin, while she was listening to his heart.

     When Zoë is sure the pulmonic valve of Dean’s heart sounds normal as well, she slides the bell of her stethoscope to listen for the heart sounds on the right, but when the hunter flinches under her touch, her eyes dart up at his. “That hurts?”      “A bit. It’s fine,” he claims, shifting somewhat on the edge of the bed.      “Sure I didn’t break a rib?” she ponders, feeling the tender area in the center of his chest, where the first stage of a bruise is surfacing. “I worked your chest pretty hard.”

     Dean looks up at her, perplexed, as if it only now dawns on him what lengths Zoë went to save his life. She performed CPR on him, used all her capabilities to bring him back from the infinite darkness that was about to swallow him whole. Capabilities Sam doesn’t have, simply because he’s not trained to give medical aid. It hits Dean like lightning; if she hadn’t been there, he would have died.

     “Zo?”      The huntress shifts her attention from the sound of the mitral valve opening and closing, to her patient’s genuine eyes. The twenty-six year old tough guy seems that much younger all of a sudden, not sure how to get across what he wants to say.      “You - uh... If it wasn’t for you, I… y’know--”      “Don’t mention it.”

     Dean carefully glances up at her, meeting a small smile. A silent huff leaves his lips when he realizes she just returned his own words to him. Words he spoke in response to the huntress, when she tried to express gratitude for his rescue, earlier this afternoon.     “Well then, guess we’re square,” he comments. “Too bad I wasn’t conscious for the mouth-to-mouth action.”      “Ah, there he is. I was wondering when you were gonna feel good enough to start behaving like a jackass,” Zoë sniggers. “Your heart sounds fine, I’m gonna check your lungs now. Take slow breaths, okay?”

     With an amused smile on his lips, Dean does as told. Concentrating, the woman who would have aced med school listens to his respiration, using the stethoscope as an amplifier. Like she was taught, she starts at the left upper zone, then the right, comparing the two sides, before she moves down.      “Can you inhale a little deeper for me?” she requests.

     The hunter pulls in a big breath through his mouth, the action igniting a fire in his chest, similar to the time when he was a teenager, when he had a neglected cold that turned into something worse. He tries to fight another hacking fit, but loses the battle, quickly turning his head away from Zoë and coughs violently. When he settles, she continues the examination.      “Pain?” she wonders, although she has an idea what the answer might be.      “Burns,” he manages to say, his voice hoarse.      “Try again, take it easy this time,” Zoë encourages.

     After moving the diaphragm across her patient’s bare chest, she removes the medical instrument and takes a seat on the side of the bed as well, placing the bell on his back now. Staring at nothing in particular, she lets the sense of hearing take over completely. Brown eyes slightly shift from left to right, narrowing at a certain point.      “What?” Dean wonders, noticing a hint of discontent in her expression.      “Your lung sounds are a little faint; you still got some fluid in there,” the huntress explains, putting her stethoscope away. “It should clear by itself, your blood will absorb it, but if that cough gets worse, you're gonna need to see a real doctor.”      “You seem like a real doc to me,” he shrugs, covering the compliment by clearing his throat. “Haven’t had a check up in years.”

     Zoë casts her gaze down, appreciating the words, but unable to thank him for it. “Let’s keep it that way. Take these.”      She takes a small plastic bottle from her briefcase, a prescription on the side. “With the swamp water you took in, you’re likely to develop pneumonia without antibiotics. Take two tonight. The coming days, one in the morning, one in the evening, never on an empty stomach, until the bottle is empty, alright? If it hurts, you can take Ibuprofen, but don’t go over the maximum dosage. You want me to pack you some?”

     Somewhat stunned, Dean nods and takes the bottle between his index finger and his thumb. The doctor role Zoë is fulfilling right now, brings out an attentive and empathetic side of her, which he hasn’t seen yet to this extent. His injuries aren’t downgraded, he’s not told to man up and keep going, like his father so oftenly does when he suffered an injury on a hunt. He’s not used to this kind of care, but he values it.

“Thanks.”

The simple word that falls from his lips in a whisper has Zoë shift her eyes to him in surprise. She clearly wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’, but doesn’t call him out on the sentiment. Her smile grows a little wider and for the first time since their reunion, Dean sees the innocent Californian surf girl he remembered from back in the days.

     The huntress takes out the thermometer one last time, inserting it in his ear. He doesn’t move away this time, but slightly leans into her. The device beeps and she pulls it back.      “96.8; you’re getting there. If you want you can take a shower now, just not too hot.” She removes the tip and gets up, throwing it in the trash can. “You’re all set.”      “Alright,” he says, putting the water bottle aside and picking up a towel and his clothes.

     He retreats to the bathroom and appreciates the spacious rain shower, and returns to the main suite, dressed in a warm hoody and dry jeans.      His brother is back as well. “Ready to hit the road?”      Dean nods, putting on his leather coat and straightening the collar. “Let’s go.”

     The three hunters check out and walk out towards the parking lot five minutes later. The Impala is parked in front of the building across from Linwood Cemetery, the black paint job shimmering beautifully in the pale moonlight. Zoë approaches her bike, carrying a saddle bag over her shoulder and her helmet in the other hand, as the boys walk over to their car. Instinctively, Dean moves around to the left side of the car, but Zoë stops him.      “You’re not driving,” she decides, as if it’s her call to make. “Unless you wanna be a road hazard.”      “Oh, c’mon,” the owner of the car complains, redirecting a glare from the woman in their company to Sam, who is waiting for the keys with a smirk. After rolling his eyes, he tosses his brother the keys and drags his feet to the passenger side.      “Sleep upright for a night or two,” the med student suggests.      “Why the hell would I do that?” Dean returns, puzzled.      “Because I reckon you don’t want to suffocate during the night.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s called secondary drowning, asshat.”      Dean scoffs. “That’s a thing?”      Zoë chuckles at his obliviousness. “That’s a thing.”      “Noted,” Dean says, shoving down his warm jacket coat.

     “You made your deadline,” Sam reminds her, leaning his arms on the hardtop while looking over as she checks the time.      “Not yet, but at least I’ll make it in time for the big show,” she smiles faintly. “What about you two? Texas?”      “Yep, Waco,” Sam specifies.      Zoë nods. The Winchesters can tell from her reaction that she knows the place.      “When you’re in town, stop by at Honeybee Ham & Deli. I tell ya, their ham and turkey is awesome,” Zoë recommends.      Dean smiles happy as he pictures the plate full of juicy meat. “Will do.”      “What about you?” the younger sibling wonders.      Zoë climbs in the saddle of her Road King, which faces the two men. She doesn’t put her helmet on just yet, though. Her small smile disappears when she’s confronted with what’s coming. “I’m going up north,” she answers vaguely.

     A silence follows and Dean glances at Sam over the top of his car. They can both sense that something’s up.      “If you need a hand--” Sam starts carefully.      “No, I don’t. Really guys, you need to stay out of this one. It’s not your fight,” Zoë says, stern.      “Complicated case?” Dean comments.      “It’s just something I need to take care of. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help you gave me here, but this is personal business,” she answers, looking from one to the other. “Whatever you do, don’t follow me.”      “We have our own personal business to take care of,” Sam assures.      “Your Dad?” the huntress assumes.      “We want to find him. He’s probably after that thing that killed Mom and Jess by himself,” Sam states, determined.

     For a moment Dean observes his brother, aware of the strong mindedness in his voice. He could fight him. Hell, he can start an argument with him right now, but what would it matter? Sam isn’t easily convinced otherwise, not when it comes to this. He wants to find Dad and kill whatever brought so much misery upon them so desperately, that it’s becoming an obsession. When he returns his gaze Zoë, he’s caught off guard by her, who stares directly at him. She has been reading him all this time.      “Seems like you do have your own personal business to take care off,” she states wisely, hanging her helmet on the handlebar.

     “Sure you can ride?” Dean checks with her.      Zoë glances at him, but he isn’t mocking her, the oldest Winchester son actually has a solid point. She doesn’t feel great at all. Her head is still throbbing from the blow she took during her physical fight with Laura; she probably suffered a mild concussion. A 520 mile bike ride isn’t going to improve the ache in her bones either. She would love to go back into the Hampton Inn and get some sleep, which she normally does after an exhausting hunt. This time things are different, there’s just too little time.      “I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighs. “I should get going.”      “Be careful,” Sam offers.      Zoë only responds with a smile and looks down at her biker boots. It’s funny, all this time she has been fighting the Winchester boys, but now that she’s about to leave, she’s lingering.

     “I hope you’ll find John,” she says out of the blue.      Surprised, the brothers take her in. Where did that come from? The huntress notices the surprise on their faces, because she continues to explain herself.      “He’s your father. I know he can be a pain, but he’s family. Treasure that as long as you can.”

     Sam watches Dean nod agreeing, and he too realizes that she’s right. The last time he saw his father, they had a huge argument. Ever since, he has been afraid that he might never see his dad again, that he will never get the chance to say he’s sorry. That’s what he is, because he regrets yelling at him, he regrets picking a fight. He knows he’s not the only one to blame, but he bailed on both his brother and his father and chose his own path. He stands by that decision still, but he does realize how much his actions hurt them. The youngest Winchester is done fighting his Dad, he just wants to make sure he’s alright. Zoë knows loss. She lost her father in an unforgivable and certainly unforgettable manner. It’s that fact that makes both Dean and Sam understand that these wise words are coming straight from the heart.

     The huntress looks at them with a calm expression on her face, a satisfied one, and yet a glint of sadness is noticeable in her eyes. She doesn’t expect to see them ever again. Not wanting to wait until the goodbye becomes sentimental, Zoë kicks the ignition, the characteristic Harley Davidson rumbling loud in the night.      Before she can put on her helmet, Dean calls out for her. “See you around.”

     As he watches her response, Zoë keeps quiet. Not likely, she realizes, not pronouncing the words out loud. She gives them a last nod, pulls the helmet over her head, turns the throttle, and with a loud roar her Harley hits the highway. The  brothers watch the single red taillight get smaller, then she disappears out of sight. Silently, they stare at the road ahead, both thinking about what she just said. Sam is the first one to reply to it.

     “Did she just… say goodbye?” he checks, making sure he didn’t just interpret her words wrong.      Dean doesn’t respond and forks his fingers together while leaning his forearms on top of the car. Pondering, he stares down the street.      “As in… for good?” Sam adds.

     He glances at his older sibling, who opens his car door. Sam takes his example and settles in the driver’s seat. Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac sounds from the speakers as soon as the younger Winchester turns the key in the ignition.      “Are we going after her?” Sam wants to know, before he drives off.      “No,” Dean responds, annoyed by the fact that for a split second, he was thinking about it himself. “She’s a big girl, Sam. She can take care of herself.”      “That’s what you said last time,” his sibling bounces back.      “That was just bad luck. It’s not our job to protect fellow hunters, it’s our job to protect innocents,” Dean brings to mind.      “If Zoë's in trouble, she's innocent.”      “Believe me, Sam. I believe Zoë is everything but innocent,” the oldest of the two disagrees.

“I don't know, man. I think she’s after something big, or something big is after her,” Sam sighs, staring through the windshield in the direction where Zoë vanished just moments ago.      “So she’s onto a big fish,” Dean returns nonchalantly. “If she needs our help, she’ll call.”      The driver scoffs. “No, she won’t.”      Dean glances aside and observes his brother for a moment, confused by his brother’s motives. “I thought you were so determined to find Dad?”      “I am,” Same confirms.      “Then why the fuck do you care so much for some girl? We have better things to do. There’s a werewolf on the loose last time we checked and I don’t see why we should be bothering ourselves tracking down a hunter who’s fine on her own and is not keen on our company,” Dean rambles annoyed, after which he quotes her. ‘Whatever you do, do not follow me’. Her words, dude.”

     Sam gives in with a huff; maybe he’s right. Zoë made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want them on her tail. Maybe they should just let her be. But deep inside he feels it eating at him. His gut tells him that something bad is going to happen to her. Contemplating on the choice, he stares ahead.      “Seriously, if you want me to believe that you don’t have a major crush on her, you’ll have to do better than this.” Dean’s brows are raised as he looks aside.

     His younger brother glares at him, but decides not to respond. Dean is making fun of it, but he’s not sure himself how he feels about Zoë. She’s such a mysterious girl, with a dark sense of humor and a peculiar personality. She’s fierce, rapid on the counter, sarcastic, confident, smart. An amazing huntress with a big heart, even though she might act like she couldn’t care less. He can’t help but to be curious about her. Why? He can’t put his finger on it. There’s a connection between them, if they like it or not.

     Sam decides to change the subject, determining their new destination. “So? Waco then?”      “Waco it is,” Dean agrees.      Sam turns the Impala around, when they hear a strange clunk coming from the back of the car as he drives over a speed bump while exiting the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. Uh-oh, he realizes, assuming his brother heard it too.      “What is that?” Dean says out loud, looking over his shoulder. “Did you close the trunk? Stop the car.”

     Sam does as told and in the middle of the exit, Dean gets out. Sam stares in his back mirror, waiting for the inevitable. He already noticed the damage when loading up the car, but didn’t have the courage to tell the person who loves the Impala so dearly. That, and he wanted to give Zoë a head start. When he rolls down the window and pokes his head out, he sees Dean, boiling in rage.            “What’s going on?” Sam asks, pretending to be unaware.      He gets out and joins his brother, beholding the back of the Impala. The paint of the trunk is scratched, leaving the Chevrolet damaged by the shovel that Zoë used as leverage to break open the trunk. For a moment, Sam just stares at the car without saying a word. Dean, on the other hand, grits his teeth so hard that his brother can hear them grinding. His face looks like a volcano that is about to erupt as he clenches his fists, trying to contain his anger.

     “Insulting Baby is one thing, but this -” Dean hisses furiously, “this is unforgivable. I’m gonna kill her, I am so gonna fucking kill her!”      “Calm down,” Sam tries to ease him.      “Calm down?!  She fucked up MY CAR!!!” he shouts as he turns red.

     He slams the trunk and pushes it down hard, but it doesn’t lock as it should. Then he strides back to the front and gets in on the passenger side again. Quickly, Sam sits down behind the wheel, not wanting to piss him off even more. Dean is about to detonate; one wrong move, comment or facial expression and he will explode.            “Get the fuck going,” the owner of the classic car growls, squeezing the blood out of his hands around his cellphone, tempted to call perpertrator.      Sam gulps, surprised that the device doesn’t break in half, and uncomfortably leans back before he hits the gas. The day that Dean got this car from Dad, he learned a very important lesson; if you mess with the Impala, you mess with Dean.

     “For the record,” the older Winchester starts off. “This isn’t the last time we will see Sullivan.”      “It isn’t?” Sam carefully questions.      “Oh, we’ll see her again,” he snaps. “And I’m gonna kick her fine little ass when that time comes.”

      Poor Zoë, Sam can’t help but to think. She’s probably laughing that same fine little ass off right at this very moment, as Dean so poetically described it. A part of him hopes they will indeed never run into her again, because she is going to feel his brother’s wrath. What are the odds anyway? America is a big country; she is only one of over 320 million people in this nation. Sam glances ahead into the dark night and grins, because something tells him that their paths will collide again. Maybe even sooner than expected.

Well, that’s it! Episode 2 is wrapped up, now on to the next one. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

[floralkittygambler]

Reposting for reasons

Response to Honest’s post here: Doing this to spread this awareness more as I know theres a bit of a rift in the critical community - plus I really fucking go on. Im PISSED and I do apologise however it NEEDS urgent addressing. I know people will hate me for it but Im used to hate and honestly? Hating rather than helping to solve the issue only furthers my fucking point here. So yeah this is so more people are aware (no offense to any of those involved in said rift either, but this is an important message. Thank you for understanding and if I can do anything to make all sides comfortable, then please message me and I’ll do my upmost.) “ More awareness of this is needed. Even if it’s your favourite, you can’t justify their shit but rally against another’s shit. Have people tell you you’re experiences arent real or invalid because, like Husk, people have - in real life - shipped you with someone you are far from comfortable with but you still treat them like a person. Because you have basic respect. And people force you to accept harassment, touching, stalking, advances for THEIR satisfaction. People use you for their fantasies. But you’re just a ‘tsundere’ for it. Or you have addiction issues but people think being with another addict will ‘save’ you because you’re apparently too incompetent to save yourself. Love isnt some magic fuckin cure so stop romanticising it as a fuckin saviour. It’s gross and fuckin creepy. Get stalked and have someone NEVER accept your no just because you show youre still decent enough to not treat them shitty or any different from anyone else. Try having someone way older or way younger (both in morally fucked up ways) advance on you and people encourage that. People you’re supposed to feel safe around.

People touch you when you pull away or show discomfort. Follow you home. Have pictures of you and wont accept you dont like them like that and it’s not ‘playing hard to get’ or ‘the thrill of the chase’. Fuck. OFF. In fact, Im not only disappointed in the fandom. Im disappointed in the entire team who some should know better from their OWN personal experiences - or at least the bare minimal of being a fucking adult. Im disappointed in especially females (sorry idk whether girl or woman is more appropriate here-) who statistically are more likely to have experienced something similar at some point in their lives think this is a cute gay moment. No. Angel is made out as a fucking predator - Im not saying he is, Im saying that his persistence is very fucking unwelcome like one. People like Husk dont need that fucking invasiveness. They/We need patience and someone on our level. Angel’s I know are the fuckin polar opposite - and some of them I know are very sexually harassing, including unwanted touching. It’s a shitty way to present gay people. Gays are fuckin people. Some are cunts and some arent. It’s a HUMAN thing. But considering the shit theyve been subjected to, presenting a gay as a victim only to also show them as a perpetrator is insulting! And for those Ive seen argue this about how people like AD wouldnt know how to express their love normally and whatnot? His pig. His best friend. He’s in his fucking 30s. There are literal real life criminals who get molested as kids and then go on to molest kids. Not all who grow up like that turn into nonces. Stop just fucking STOP justifying and romanticising this bullshit! I used to see the good in AD but now he makes me fucking sick. Especially with my verrrrrry fucking real traumas and connections. But fuck me, eh? Because this fictional guy matters so much more. Fuck real victims. And whilst we’re at it, fuck AD too when it suits your fetishes! Sarcasm aside, the fans and the team need to straighten up their abhorrent behaviour. Stolas. Fucking clearly having an affair, knowingly fucking up his daughter’s mental health and bribing a guy into sex who only wants the book and nothing more. He even has a fucking warning button over Stolas- Guys, how do you think any of this is cute? Even the team gross me out- I genuinely see potential and talent and it’s all gone to shit to satisfy horny teens, horny adults, and literally everyone who doesnt for the life of them understand being an adult is more than sex, drugs, violence and swears! I REALLY want to keep enjoying HB/HH but it’s getting harder and harder with such ignorant and bordering lazy creators (note: lazy as in wont do the fucking research or actually listen to real criticism and victims), such despicable fans (yeah, some HDers fuckin mocked that they triggered my ED, yet they had the fucking NERVE to support Angel’s potential ED AND laugh and blame me for me getting treated so badly for actually having the balls to call Angel and the teams hypocrisy. I got told to kill myself, that my problems arent real - oh but Angels apparently is! Which... They *are* but AD isnt real so technically only onlookers will suffer and not a drawing  - and they just excused their toxic behaviours. These people are like “aww poor angie babey!” yet fuckin INSULT sex workers. All this red in Hazbin yet it feels everyone and they mama colour blind. The issues are getting worse and fans are outright becoming EVIL, VILE, Vindictive little bullies - from kids to adults. You SHOULD be ashamed of yourself if you conduct yourself in such a manner. And you need to readjust your attitudes and behaviours because the only fuckers getting hurt are actual fucking victims. Ever been violated and been gaslit so much you STILL fucking question it’s reality? So you drown that shit out yet somehow it’s effects still hit you? Fetishise it. Make it your uwu gae couple goals, you’re no better than people believing Harley and the Joker werent toxic af. If this shit happened to you, most of you would actually SEE where we’re all coming from. Also, stop making gay a fetish - you’re like those creepy old men in the alley heckling lesbians to make out so they can wank off. Gays, no ALL the LGBT+ are fucking people too. So dont give me that bullshit then start turning everything just gay or just straight to mentally wank off to. It’s degrading and dehumanising. And yes, fiction does effect reality. You crush on a fictional character? Mourn one? Support one? Hell, fuckin jerk off to one - that’s affecting reality. Remember how in fiction all blacks were treated as villians? Look how theyre treated IRL. JAWS, great classic unfortunately their was a spike in shark killings over a fucking movie - the shark in the movie wasnt even real for the most part because they dont behave like that! (Also the animatronic was so shit they genuinely had so many issues - I think they even took to naming each one! Some fun trivia there!). Tiger sharks are more nasty than great whites as tiger sharks will hunt and eat a human. Great whites prefer seals and dislike human flesh, they just mistake us for seals. Hell, theres the toothless basking shark - theyre often SWAM WITH by divers for being so friendly. Yet Jaws made people think all sharks are bloodlusting over humans. Slenderman was created for a fucking contest and that influenced a stabbing (NOT Victor’s fault). Watch a horror movie that isnt based on a real life event and tell me that at least ONE has left you peaking over your shoulder. Stella may be a bitch - we dont know for certain - but try getting cheated on. Y’know what? Try growing up in such a broken home like Octavia. Yeah reaaaaaal fucking cute now, huh? Funny how as well y’all petition for male victims to be taken seriously then laugh when fictional males experience this abuse, further adding to stigma. You can be hit on by the hottest mf on the planet but if you arent interested, that should be respected! Also we’ve all been inspired by at least one fictional character so yeah. Yknow, since I was little Ive been fighting for sex worker and homeless rights. But HH/HB treatment of both leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I’ll still fully support sex workers and the homeless, but that’s the fucking effect this show is having. Bearing in mind I wont ever share everything Ive been through - and I shouldnt fucking have to in order to be believed and validated (obvs proof is required in a legal case but that’s a whole other topic). Why should I share MY fucking pain especially when you fuckers have belittled and triggered it more so? We have our rights to our secrets but fuck ME you lot NEED to start acting appropriately and like decent fucking humans. ‘iTs HeLl’ yeah and welcome to Earth- the team and yourselves live HERE. You obide by THESE rules. And as someone with beliefs (and a LOT of ancient fucking texts and studies on this shit) their Hell isnt even a proper Hell! It’s closer to purgatory and even then it’s not. Regardless, it’s a poorly built world with the lore consistently changing per episode and tweet, with many plot holes, and is apparently easy to get into - even via accidentally watching porn according to a stream. If youre gonna parade youre a fucking expert and research into demonology and use real believed figures, at least get THAT right. In fact, Lucifer and Lilith (and Stolas tbf) are ESPECIALLY risky as theyre a lot more complex than most easy access texts will tell you. Likewise, Stolas’s first introduction and main focus is sex. He’s one of the FEW Goetia demons that dont have some involvement in relationship issues at ALL. He’s known for astrology, crystals and herbs but hes also known to aid MONEY troubles (it’s lesser known but it’s true! HB Stolas is an insult to the Prince). Turning Vodou into something evil is vile considering it’s powerful and liberated slaves. Pentagrams are nothing to do with Satan, they’re magic based sigils. Upside down cross is the symbol of a SAINT. It’s just some edgy attempt to trick people into believing they know more than they do. Also you should NEVER dabble and doodle sigils without knowing the meanings or respecting what they behold. Vox and Val, real fuckin cute way to make them look like a stupid fucking highschool drama instead of a fucking SEX TRAFFICKER (note: real pimps often target YOUNG folks too - aka minors - and groom them into sex work. Theres different types of pimp. Viv has shown barely any understanding of ‘the game’ and its a fucking insult to injury. Yes we KNOW what a fucking pimp and prozzie are! We dont need to see it. We need REAL AWARENESS.) and a fucking scheming bastard of a CEO salesman botman. And yet even THEN lets go a step further and make some yandere wuv on boyfweind aboose! Fuck off- Now I love a good anime but these tropes are getting fucking dangerous now. And unrealistic to real love and relationships. Kids nowadays know fuck all on a healthy relationship (neither did the fuckin 50s tbf) and Im seeing more romaticism and glorifying abusive situations. Like the show ‘You’. Ok, there’s a fuckin bloke online who slaughtered innocents and kidnapped yet people commented how cute he is on his IG and that they want to be kidnapped or killed by him next. Dont believe me? Look up Peter Manfredonia Connecticut and the comments people left him and then tell me why shit like whats being presented in HH/HB ISNT fucking concerning - because it is. For a series about redemption, it’s brilliant at the opposite (Quote from the creator herself, Viv has posted that it’s influencing her bad choices. Even as a joke, proof’s in the pudding). And the overall focus on sex in the way Viv does is so immature and really creepy, and this is from an ADULTS perspective. From one adult to another, Im concerned as to why any of them think this is a normal fixation. Then again they’ve hired quite a large amount of dodgy folks and even a child. Most of this shit gets avoided with a basic background check like most companies run. I DO like Hazbin. Or the premise. I love some of the cast and spite the others. In Helluva, I just like a tiny portion of the cast. And I critique it so harshly because Viv DOES need a wakeup slap, grounding to reality, people who arent going to big her up or kiss her arse for once and shape her up to be the best she can be. The actually reach and even surpass her potential. And to reach where you need to be, there’s a lot of harsh lessons youll face. That’s life. Shes chosen one of the most HEARTLESS industries and if she blocks out critique as ‘hate’ then she’s not strong enough and wont last. It’s just another unprepped YanDev again (except I dont believe Viv to be a nonce. Even with her dodgy past and dodgy present, I think her perspective on sex and relationship with sexuality is FAR from healthy BUT I dont believe she’s a pedophile. Ive bled my fair share and so far, I just think her sex perspective isnt healthy or mature for her age. But there’s little to nothing to suggest actual noncery - dont worry about accusations there. But YanDev is totally a dirty predator. Just clearing that up). Viv NEEDS some harshness and stability if she wants to do things right. And it’ll make her fucking cry but if she loves these projects as much as she claims to, then you’ll sacrifice blood, sweat and tears for that shit. Even the strongest points are mediocre at best when properly observed. She CAN do more, but she’ll have to face the harsh music. Viv wont see this, but if she does, I dont care if it upsets her. Why? Because this is that much of an issue - something she’s cultivated - that she needs to take action and not ignore it or be secretive about it. She needs to grow up and get tougher skin. Im not saying this to cause her pain. In fact, I wouldnt waste my fucking limited time if I DIDNT care. Trust me, I have duties to be met at a certain quota every single day. I say this shit only because I give a shit and care. If we met, she’d fucking hate me. But people like me are good for shaping people up to their potential. And we arent always this ‘tough love’ either. But when someone needs that level of harshness to help themselves, we’re not afraid to lose people or cause upset if the results end up being the best for them. If she ever saw this, she needs to re fucking evaluate her message, her story, and those she’s choosing to welcome into her circle. And all Im seeing is one rookie mistake after the other. Her paid patreon discord. Just like the messages Honest has posted on her side of being harassed (not in Vivs fyi), Ive experienced shit and bullying and even stay silent on their for being attacked for a group I fuckin paid to be in and yet I feel isolated. It’s all arsekissing and ‘thank you viv’ (thats an actual channel-) and it feels like a place of borderline worship and people trying to appease her 24/7 whilst kicking others with different opinions down. There’s so many I love but I aint kissin yer fuckin arse. Ask the closest friend I have - we’re fucking raw and wont just side with each other just because. We’ll call each other out if we think they’ve fucked up and then help each other build themselves up better. Because real fuckin people who actually care wont just want to be adored by you. They’ll care enough to point out your bullshit and help you, even if they upset you at the time. They’re real and upfront with you. People like us arent always the easiest to be close to either because we arent afraid of upsetting someone if it’s in their best interest and to help them. Likewise, we dont go out looking for fights either. Most times, we’re fuckin soft bastards- All this shit listed is the fuckin surface level of the real life hell of this fandom. And unsurprisingly, those who experience little to no toxicity have always been higher on that popularity ‘food chain’ - enough admirers and shared opinions that people wanna arse kiss regardless of their OWN feelings as well as neutral perspectives. I’d say you’re the lucky fans, but you’re not. You’re sheltered, and that isnt always the best way to be sadly. As for the fans. If Ive upset you. Well... I dont care. Because many of you have actively sought me out and weaponised my traumas against me. You never cared about my feelings then. Why should I care about yours? Im not doing this out of malice. Im fed up of humans behaving so pathetically yet claiming to be high and mighty. Most of you have been arseholes to those in and out of the community. The victims and non-victims alike. Hardly any of you considered once my real suffering. You put a drawing over a life. Many lives. You had the audacity to tell me Im full of shit. Some even using my real traumas to make a mockery of me and those Im around with a very similar history. Some with traumatic histories that differ from my own. You hardly ever considered the real lives of those effected. So no, Im not sorry for having the fucking balls to this day to still stand up for our rights and give us a voice that’s long been stolen. Im not sorry for being a fucking victim. Im not sorry for saying what desperately NEEDS voicing. And Im not sorry for not conforming to you or any fandom just to belong. We deserve better than to constantly be your fuckin arse monkeys (well... the trope is butt monkey but yknow-) and to be mistreated, misrepresented and harmed by you. You’re no different to the school bullies who give speeches on anti-bullying day. And I hope every single one of you starts looking into yourselves and improving. PS: Depending on the texts you read, Lucifer is said to have been redeemed or to be redeemed. Fun fact to haunt yalls with~ “

[gayliensav]

the opening card of fear the walking dead is literally the most annoying sound to my overly sensitive ears

but im starting a rewatch, just gonna keep updating this post below the cut

S1E01: “Pilot” 

ahahhaha that millennial daughter of theirs not watching to eat gluten. Bet the local white moms who are casual watchers for Norman loved this joke

Alicia is the only character I have liked from the very beginning (besides like...Strand, but he wasn’t in the first ep)

Like I know everyone is up Madison’s ass (at least they were last time I checked and I’m a few seasons behind), but I don’t like her or Travis all that much

Nick changed for me, I used to hate him but he got a little better

Nick hating Travis???? A BIG FUCKING MOOD

Like I understand that as the viewers who watch TWD we’re supposed to be annoyed with their decisions, which is how I feel from the beginning, but I do realize that’s how they want us to feel.

“You need to take Christopher” “i DoNt WaNnA gO”

He’s literally asking his son, a teenager, to come and spend the weekend in the hospital with someone he barely knows, like what does he expect here??

the lead up draaaaags on for too long

*slams fist on desk* wheres isaac lahey

I think one of the main problems with the relationships in this show is that there’s no lead up and no development, they just immediately love each other. Like with Rick and Michonne, we had seasons of lead up, but not with these two. The writers of this are capable of writing good relationships, they just chose to drag these two heteros into the main stage without giving them any backstory in the beginning.

This liveblog is going to consist of me making quips and then actual analysis of stuff

i walked out of the room to go to the bathroom and didnt miss anything

this one kids got it covered, tobias is prolly still out there

thats what I expected Paul Rovia to be like at the beginning of the apocalypse. Everyone is like dicking around and hes like nah fam and yeets his body outta town

the whole show is on 123movies, btw, dont give amc the numbers by watching it on their site. They also don’t have the first few seasons available anyways, so

like why don’t they just go check the building instead of saying Nick was just drugged. Like I know he was high, but he saw dead bodies, they need to call the police and have them check that shit out. Instead Travis just goes there by himself. Ricky Grimes would not approve.

I forget how long until the actual apocalypse stuff happens, but I’m getting a teeny bit bored already.

“Something really bad happened there” “I don’t care” lmao WHAT, Madison????

“You cannot enable him” IM HOWLING THESE WORDS JUST CAME FROM MADISON’S MOUTH

I paused and 50 pop ups came up, thanks

you know alicia’s bf goes down

IS THAT ANDRE FROM VICTORIOUS 

ITS LEON 

they really teased us with an almost-zombie huh almost like they knew we were bored

fffff there aint a doubt in my mind that anyone from the pilot except tobias and alicia survived this show

nick’s yeetin outta here

Like the concept of being in a huge city during the beginning was great, but we didn’t really get very much of that. The first few episodes especially when Travis was trying to get Chris and was stuck in that barber shop was great. Like that’s one of the few episodes of this that really stick in my mind. Those crazy fucking scenes were great.

“there’s no bodies...they couldn’t just get up and walk away” lollllll what clever writers WE HAVE

Like I’ll give Travis credit, he did try to be a good dad and stepdad...just bad timing, not great decisions in the end of the world, etc. Like the one scene where he was swearing he’d drag Nick to rehab??? That scene got me feelin’ stuff.

YES FINALLY SOME TENSION ON THE HIGHWAY LETS GO LESBIANS THIS IS THE WALKING FUCKING DEAD

lol a helicopter

 you know why all these kids aren’t in school??? their parents are anti-vaxxers

walkers walkers walker walkers LETS GO THERES A WALKER

“killshot, bitch”

that took way too long to be the first episode goddamn

S1E02: “So Close, Yet So Far” 

Ooooo cellphones are starting to go, shits getting good now

I’m like 30 minutes in and haven’t liveblogged anything, I’m bored

Well, that was that.

S1E03: “The Dog”

I hate this already because of the title we stan (1) TWD Dog in this house and his name is Dog Dixon

this star wars now???

See, I’m a neutral gay who just likes to watch chaos. A chaotic neutral, if you will. So this episode is fucking WILD, like this is what I mentioned before.

the monopoly scene was wholesome

I guess I could see Paul joining in on this chaos for a bit until he realized oh shit this aint good chief THEN yeeting outta there

Fun fact, the truck they use for the first part of Fear is Daryl, Aaron, and Paul’s truck on the askjaaryl blog:

The music while they’re driving is on fucking point, like it kinda sounds like that one TWD theme (the hopeful one) but remixed.

The scene where all the lights in the city go off PHEW poetic cinema

Madison: DONT LET IT IN! Nick: ITS A DOG! -- Daryl felt that

I frozzee I thought for a hot minute that it was Dog

He a cutie tho

that poor doggo im so sick of this show’s treatment towards them like

if anything happens to Dog, I think Norman will quit and rightfully so

i feel like just a few people in the post-apocalyptic world where zombie movies dont exist were just blessed with the knowledge that you have to shoot the head

damn chris really didnt do shit and got a whole broken nose huh

so far, stan list: alicia, victor strand (he hasnt appeared but yyknow), and chris sort of

they need a doctor but she never went to school before the end of hte world is this how alex feels all the time

S1E04: “Not Fade Away”

The opening to this one always really stuck with me. Like it’s so normal but you know it’s not.

lol remember that time everyone freaked the fuck out thinking this was Carl

I feel like Ophelia and this soldier dude would have one of those conversations where it’s like “what do you like about me?” “you’re beautiful” “is that it?” 

deadass don’t care if nick is over 18, she still hit her son who has an addiction he can’t control 

I think this is where I started to hate Madison. Instead of blaming the people who did it, she blamed Liza. Because that makes sense.

S1E05: “Cobalt”

YOU ARE MY DAD YOURE MY DAD BOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE

Strand out here scamming the heteros since before the apocalypse started

Paul Rovia and Victor Strand had a thing, you can’t change my mind

Everything but Strand’s scenes is boring to me and there is an extreme lack of those.

S1E06: “The Good Man”

Honestly, the relationship between Nick and Strand was really great.

“We’re gonna get along fine, Nick’s mom” is one of my favorite lines because like...it’s like a little kid talking to someone else’s parent, but he’s a grown ass man and he knows damn well how funny he is.

So wait did Ophelia die???

oop nope she good

lol she deadass apologizing that he got taken and not for beating her own son but OKAAAAAY

S2E01: “The Monster”

Here we go, a full length season this time. Let’s see how this goes.

[blainematters]

For your reading pleasure, a selection of awful fucking quotes from CC’s latest *~masterpiece~*. That’s right, I read all 407 pages so you don’t have to! Unless you too are a complete masochist, in which case go nuts.

This is image heavy, fair warning. Some names have been slightly altered to protect the crazies who would read this and cry.

Audiences found the show’s campiness to be rather charming, its unique underdog spirit resonated with them, and a global phenomenon was born. Nice description of Glee there. Very original. Good work.

Pitying looks were cast upon the unfortunate souls without seats, as if they were third-class passengers on the Titanic. The death of 1500 people in the worst maritime disaster in history is not a funny or clever simile.

Luckily for him, these days Cash had a little help to take the edge off. He reached into his pocket and pulled out three large pills and two marijuana gummy bears. This is how the main character treats his anxiety. He takes this combo with whiskey. This apparently makes him ‘completely numb’. 

He thought it was funny how there was hydrocodone, weed, and alcohol flowing through his veins at a work event but he wasn’t the biggest douchebag onstage. Except he really, really is. Funnily enough people on drugs aren’t the best judge of character.

If he responded with something they didn’t like, his social media would be bombarded with pictures, videos, and GIFs of decapitated animals, human feces, and militants destroying priceless artifacts.

“Olá, fucktards,” Davi said—his use of American slang was a work in progress. What. This character is brazilian, and he swears constantly. Those are his only character traits.

“That’s incredible, Huda,” Mo said. “If only diplomacy worked as efficiently as a fandom, there would never be war again.” I’m fucking dying.

“Young lady,” the psychologist said. “I have studied the human mind for more than four decades. I understand the appeal of joining the transgender community, but I promise you, the transgender movement is nothing short of a trend for nonconformists. In fact, it is still considered a mental illness by the World Health Organization.” Sorry, what appeal? What even is this nonsense? Why does it go on for five pages? Why the need to unnecessarily torture the trans character with this when it makes no difference to his storyline? Why?

Mo had suffered from OID (overactive imagination disorder) since childhood. The condition wasn’t officially recognized by the United States Department of Health (because Mo had made it up) but the disorder was just as taxing and consuming as any. From the entire community of people with mental illness: Fuck you CC. Fuck you for this awful, awful thing. Kindly go fuck yourself for pretending you have any understanding of what a mental illness is like to live with. Ugh.

A very good-looking man in his early twenties. He wore thick sunglasses, a black leather jacket, dark jeans, and designer boots. Yes, this is how ‘Cash’ is described. He’s also been previously described as a total mess who hasn’t showered in days, so I’m not totally convinced it’s accurate.

“I’m T0pher C0llins. It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carter.” T0pher C0llins? Are you fucking shitting me?

“I walked into my bedroom and saw Peaches had taken a huge dump in the middle of my bed, so I had to clean it up and put my comforter in the washer.” This is said by the only girl in the group, in front of ‘Cash’, who she idolises. Because girls are just stupid fucking blabbermouths right?

“-it’s getting asked advice on how to break into the industry from the guy taking a dump in the stall next to you” Oh look, another thing that has never, ever happened.

“You gotta say that shit so no one labels you as a future has-been—that’ll kill a career. Even if it’s obvious you’ll never do anything but the show you’re on, you can’t admit it.” The first honest and realistic thing in this book, and it only took till chapter seven!

“Every time I get any recognition he writes me into a coma or puts me through something horrendous as punishment. After I was on the cover of TV Guide, he put a dangerous stunt into a script and it broke my ankle. After I won a People’s Choice Award, he put my character in a coma for twelve episodes. The list goes on.” I wonder how Ryan Murphy will react when he hears about this character who is so clearly him?

“Nothing is stranger than fanfiction,” Cash said, like a sailor recalling his encounter with a horrible sea creature. THIS ENTIRE BOOK IS REAL LIFE FANFICTION YOU HYPOCRITICAL ASSHOLE.

“He’s a little jaded, I’ll give you that—but after all the joy he’s given us over the years, the least we can do is let him be a human being. ” Yes, let the straight white cis male tell you all how to think, feel, and act. Your hero isn’t a douche, he’s misunderstood. Let him treat you like shit because who else gets that experience?

The world’s biggest rubber-band ball bounced into the horizon like a deer recently freed from captivity. Chapter nine: ‘Cash’ destroys a national landmark for shits and giggles.

The actor excitedly passed out tickets to Topher, Joey, Sam, and the Sacagawea statue—mistaking it for Mo. He’s also a racist. Are we surprised?

Why is he dancing like an epileptic on roller skates? Aaaaand a joke about epilepsy. I’m sure Hannah loves it.

“What did you do? How did you get over it?” Joey said. “One day I woke up and decided I had had enough.” ‘Cash’ cures his crippling agoraphobia by just going outside. Again, fuck you CC. That is not how mental illness works. Do two seconds of research for fucks sake.

“The night we were all watching the season six finale of Wiz Kids at Joey’s house, I was actually supposed to be watching Billy while my mom was at a Bunco party. I gave him some cold medicine so he would sleep and ran home to check on him every commercial break.” Drug your disabled siblings, your friends will think you’re cool and laugh about instead of telling you  that you’re an awful fucking person. Which you are.

“Then one day, as I was posting a GIF of a decapitated giraffe on her profile, I learned WizKidLiz01 was a little girl with Down syndrome.” Also on the list of things that make you an awful fucking person… plagiarism or no, don’t do this shit.

“So what’s your real name?” Topher asked. “Now, that you’re not going to believe,” Cash said. “It’s Tom Hanks.”

“They were the most eccentric group of stoners Cash had ever seen and he couldn’t take his eyes off them, like they were the subjects of a fascinating nature documentary.” One character is literally screaming her head off with paranoia and scratching invisible bugs in her skin, but hey, watching teenagers on a drug trip is so interesting!

“I think you’re giving him too much credit,” Cash said. “He’ll be long gone by then.” Oh yeah, ‘Cash’ is extremely preoccupied with death. He frequently says shit like this alluding to it. No-one notices.

“Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell the fangirls about the treatment we’ve received today and unleash them upon your establishment like a plague of locusts! They’ll harass you, humiliate you, and chase your wrinkled, old, racist ass into hiding for the rest of your miserable existence! Do I make myself clear?” Um… what? Why would you even?

“Of course the brakes worked, I was just fucking with you,” Cash said. ‘Cash’ continues to be the absolute worst by making someone think she’s going to die. Of course, she somehow she also doesn’t know that James Dean died in a car accident. Sigh.

“But I think we’d know it if he was mentally unbalanced or an addict of some kind.” YOU ARE EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD AND YOU ARE A COMPLETE IDIOT. YOU LITERALLY JUST DESCRIBED ‘CASH’.

“You lose the right to humanity when you become famous. It’s just the way it is, but I’m not going to whine about it.” Except in this entire book.

“I’m transgender!” Sam declared. “I know what it’s like to have everyone treat you like something you’re not because people have been doing it to me my whole life. I’ve never met someone who could relate—but it’s like everything you just said! We’re both trapped! We’re both prisoners of unfair expectations!” These! things! are! not! comparable! Mostly because ‘Cash’ could leave that life any time, Sam won’t ever stop having to deal with being trans. Shut the fuck up CC. Sam then spends waaaay too much time explaining gender and sexual identity to ‘Cash’ because he’s a complete moron.

Darla spoke with the energy and enthusiasm of a camp counselor on crystal meth. How is this joke in any way appropriate when the main character is clearly a raging drug addict? He’s literally constantly tweaking.

The others stared at Cash in disbelief. It was like a demon living inside of him had taken the reins. Watch as these people we’re supposed to believe all got into prestigious colleges like Colombia and MIT completely fail to recognise the signs of an addict going through withdrawal.

They had never in their lives felt more exposed, more violated, or more gutted. It was as if someone had ripped off all their clothes and chucked their hearts into the depths of the Grand Canyon. ‘Cash’ is so self-obsessed and full of self-pity he decides to out two people in the group and tell another she’s wasting her life just to make them all feel as awful as he does. What a delightful person huh?

“Joey, I have always wanted a gay best friend. I’m not mad because you hid your orientation from me; I’m just upset because of all the Will & Grace opportunities we’ve missed out on.” ARE YOU SHITTING ME?

He was staring at Topher with a weak smile and his eyes were opened just barely enough to see. He clearly knew who Topher was, but Topher couldn’t place him.

“I have glioblastoma,” Cash said. “That’s a fancy stage name for brain cancer.”

I was fine and could easily hide this until a few days ago, but now I’m so weak and frail you don’t even recognise me. Usually Glioblastoma on the brain stem causes symptoms like seizures, confusion, paralysis, vomiting, dizziness, and loss of basic functions, but I’m a special snowflake and get to stay able-bodied and cognisant until the end!

“In April I started getting these really bad migraines,” Cash explained. “A doctor came to the set and recommended I get a scan. We were behind in production so the producers wouldn’t give me time off to get it done.” It’s all Hollywood’s fault he’s dying! Not his for not getting any fucking treatment. And actors can and do take days off for health reasons, that shit is totally allowed.

“Holy shit,” Topher said. “These are all mine.… You’ve saved every letter I ever wrote to you.…” That’s not totally fucking creepy at all, ‘Cash’.

“He’s not a bad person—he’s got brain cancer! That’s why he’s been behaving the way he has!” That makes everything okay! Except not really. Cancer doesn’t give you a free pass to be an asshole. You aren’t making the most of what life you have left, you’re just being a shithead.

“The actor had had so little control over his life, but his death was exactly how he wanted it to be.” Yes, he dies five days later. No-one wondered about his odd behaviour or suspected he might be sick until they visited him in a hospice. These people must be so stupid they can barely function for this to make sense. He’s been dying for months and nobody at all noticed? Bullshit.

“Oh gosh, I’m so nervous to hear how it went! I practically feel like I came out as transgender, too!” NO MORE.

“Not to be a downer, but did anyone watch the footage from Cash’s funeral today?” Mo asked. “Why did they wait a whole month to have it?” Topher asked. “Because it was sponsored by Canon and their new camera comes out this week,” Mo said.

I don’t think companies generally sponsor funerals? Let’s just hope it wasn’t an open casket, that shit would be nasty after a month.

“Fuck off, I’m banging Marilyn Monroe.” No, god no. Please no. Just end this thing now please.

The aspiring writer felt like she and her friends were living a ridiculous happy ending straight from the final page of one of her outlandish stories. Uh…

And a bonus from the author’s note:

However, for the purpose of good storytelling, the characters’ opinions and choices are sometimes flawed. Please do not view their actions as generalizations or examples to follow, but as the mistakes and triumphs of individuals. All of my characters were awful and/or treated like shit by everyone else, but that’s for the sake of the story. It’s not my fault if you act this way and everyone hates you! (And still love me please god I’m so alone...)

[marysunshine23]

Problematic?

So, I’ve noticed a... popular trend in some of the stuff that I like and follow on Tumblr. Certain series or concepts are being deemed “problematic”. For the fun of it, let’s see what the dictionary definition is for “problematic”:

a: posing a problem : difficult to solve or decide

b: not definite or settled : UNCERTAIN: their future remains problematic

c: open to question or debate : QUESTIONABLE

This is.... not how people are using it. People are using problematic for... oh what’s that word... I’ll leave that for later. Anyway, the people who are defining certain series or concepts are not using it as problematic by it’s dictionary definition. And here’s why I think it’s silly.

Before I begin listing off some examples of series or concepts that I’ve seen be called problematic, I’m going to say something as a general. If a show is not problematic, it’s either uneventful or just... boring. Even these “slice of life” “reality” shows amp up the problems in a story so there is something worth watching. In fiction, the entire point of the problem is for it to be solved near the end. And what’s the first definition? Oh, that’s right, “posing a problem that is difficult to solve or decide upon”.

And what keeps the tension in a story but definition number two, “note definite or settled”. If it were easy to solve the problem, then it would be, again, boring. So saying that anything with a plot is “problematic” is a big “no shit, Sherlock” because that’s the point. The point is for it to be problematic. Tons of shows that are episodic have problematic situations for every episode. Hell, even Spongebob can be defined as problematic.

However, I know I’m gonna have a million people be like “that’s not what we mean!” And I know that’s not what you mean, that’s why I’m pointing out that your choice of words is silly. Saying anything with a plot, episodic or long running is by definition problematic. So why am I bringing this up? Well, I think what people are mostly associating the word “problematic” to is the third definition, “Open to Question or Debate: Questionable”. And not just questionable as in “let’s discuss this”, it’s “this is morally questionable”; or like I like to say, morally ambiguous. Now that I have that established, let’s list some examples! And by some, I mean two.

Hazbin Hotel

Now, I’m going to say right off the bat, no shit is this morally ambiguous. It’s supposed to be. You have the main protagonist being the princess of Hell, then her girlfriend, her friendly acquaintance who is also a lot of morally not so ambiguous things, an infamous radio show host and two of his lackeys. A lot of people have a lot of complaints about this, and I want to address them quickly.

Angel Dust’s Appearance: A lot of people are upset with how Angel Dust looks; wide chested, wearing a mini-skirt and thigh-high boots, and a somewhat defined waist. People are assuming that his appearance is transphobic. And I have to ask... have you guys never seen an androgynous person before? Like... ever? And there are a million discussions about “fuck gender norms”. Yet when an androgynous looking male is wearing a miniskirt under his too tight jacket. Or maybe it’s the whole using the jacket to shove his chest together to make cleavage, but what five year old hasn’t done that after seeing a “voluptuous” person?

Angel Dust’s Career: He’s a prostitute. He’s a prostitute who is also a porn star. He’s a prostituting porn star who regularly gets into turf wars. He’s a prostituting porn star who regularly gets into turf wars and enjoys recreational drugs. Does that make him a sex addict? No. Does that make him a drug addict? No. Does that make him addicted to violence? No. Does that make him the poster child of that life style? Yes.

Vaggie’s “Stereo Type” Personality: Okay, so I didn’t even know this was a thing until I saw posts about it. Like, for real. I thought Hispanic women were all super nice and motherly and “you’re too skinny!” But then again, I’m pretty sure that’s every non-Caucasian mother stereotype. However, I never found Vaggie’s personality to be “overly angry” or “overly protective”. She gets mad that people are underrating Charlie and her dream, but not so much that she will immediately kill anyone who rolls their eye at Charlie. And if she was overly protective, she wouldn’t even let Charlie take this risk of creating a hotel and broadcasting about it.

Over Swearing: They’re in Hell. This show is for adults. An episode of South Park swears more than this. Grow the fuck up.

There’s Homophobia/Transphobia!: Yes. From the antagonists. Who you’re supposed to dislike. So they’re doing their job. Like I said, grow the fuck up.

There’s no LGBTQ+ Representation: Vaggie and Angel Dust are gay, Charlie is bi, Alastor is Ace.

But Vivzi-: Nope. I’m throwing down the “Right to be Forgotten” card from Europe. This says that if a person has made a mistake in the past and then has redeemed past behaviors with present, they have the “right to forget”, meaning that it’s been forgiven.  And because this is the world wide web, I can say I honestly don’t care what Vivzi did or said ten years ago.

TLDR: Everything brought up as “problematic” is, in all honesty, angry people looking for a reason to be angry.

Next!

Beastars!

Now, according to Barnes and Noble, Beastars is rated 12-17 recommended. Generally that’s a teen to older teen rating. On the other hand, Netflix rated it TV-MA, meaning for mature audiences. So it’s weird. Anyway, rather than going by why people have said about Beastars (negatively) we’re gonna use TV-MA’s guide!

D - Sexual or Suggestive Dialogue: Yup. “Breeding” is a very popular topic in Beastars. It’s part of why Haru is bullied so much. And, come on, Legoshi is given a bunny porn magazine to read. Like, for real. But the nice thing is, the conversation is very casual, so it’s easy to miss. So it’s not a huge deal.

L - Course or crude language: Yup, there’s swearing. Moving on

S - Sexual content: Oh yeah, Haru’s got that covered. In fact, there is a lot of sexual themes in this. But is it porn? No more than Panty and Stocking, and that’s a trip and a half. But also, it’s about as sexual as Sailor Moon. Like, in all seriousness, Usagi is banging Mamoru at 12-16 way more than Haru is banging Louis at 18. Just saying. And it’s shown about as much, so. Yeah. While sexuality isn’t a theme in the porn aspect, it is something that brings up a discussion. The discussion of “can sex be empowering?” And the answer is yes, absolutely, that’s why we don’t slut shame on my blog. But also, another discussion is “can sex skew your perspective of right and wrong”, and the answer is, again, yes! It can! And it might be a good thing.

V - Violence: Yup. But it’s less violent than Tokyo Ghoul. It’s not vamped to 100, it’s not bad. But again, its something to bring up discussion. “Should your physical/biological makeup dictated your actions?” In this, we see very aggressive and even violent herbivores, and on the flip side, very passive and very gentle carnivores. And much like other conversations of what’s socially acceptable, a violent aggressive herbivore is wildly more accepted than a mild, meek carnivore. And heaven forbid carnivores behave like the prideful and aggressive herbivores, ‘cause that’ll get them thrown into jail. So yes, there is violence; violence due to biology and social norms.

So, for being as sexual or as violent as other anime in existence, why is it “problematic”? Probably because people hate furries as much as they hate bronies. People don’t like sexualized anthros. The only place anthros are acceptable is in a Disney movie.

Remember that word I “forgot” at the beginning? The word people meant to use instead of problematic? The word is “discomforting”. It makes you uncomfortable. It doesn’t fit into the norm of what has been “acceptable” in media. As much as South Park, Family Guy, Futurama and other “adult” animation has been using “adult” humor and “adult” themes, it’s not adult in maturity. It’s slap stick, and crude.

People are using “problematic” for cartoon media, or media in general, that is taking actual adult themes and creative adult humor and saying “We’re not here to make you comfortable, we’re here to make you think.” People don’t want to think, people want their minds to be numb, and that is problematic. Not the show, the fact that you don’t want to think. And another thing that is problematic is how people push away actual proper representation and label it as “problematic”, and then complain that they aren’t represented at all; let alone properly. (Those who have followed me for a while know what I’m talking about I don’t need more people to argue with me on that topic.)

Quit using problematic to describe things that are discomforting. And quit acting like being uncomfortable is bad. Being uncomfortable means your growing, and your being tested. And being tested isn’t bad either. Long story short, quit acting like everyone has to accommodate to you because you “don’t like it” or it “hurts your feelings” or makes you uncomfortable. Nothing in life is comfortable, and if you don’t like something, don’t look at it. Don’t watch it. Don’t read it. You have free will. So don’t drag everyone down because you think the world should care about your feelings. It doesn’t.

[briutiful33]

Continuation

So I did time in prison. Which was something I knew I had to do, like it was on my bucket list or something. I also knew id be a drug addict for some reason ive always been drawn to the dark parts of life. The hard disturbed road that they warn you about in school was the road I found to be my calling. Lol. Sounds really stupid to say it like that but its the truth. My grandma and I watched requiem for a dream when I was like 12 and I cant even tell you how intrigued I was by the lifestyle. Anyways after prison and the realization of possibly going back if I didnt change my ways, I started using my skills to find spiritual stuff on line. Just really started hitting THE GOOGLE hard with questions I had or really just putting in words or phrases to see what The google had to say about it. I learned a lifetime of info in the few years ive been searching. Being drawn to the dark parts of life of course played a role on my searches at first I guess that was the major part of what triggered my spiritual awakening. Lucifer, the devil, the morning star whatever name its all the same for some reason I was compelled just as I was prior years at getting card numbers online. I had no idea what I was looking for but I just knew I had to find it. And boy did I find it. I remember it like yesterday i had been searching non stop for the document I didnt even know existed but man I screamed out to my boyfriend at the time, " I found it" I knew Id find it. The luciferian doctrine. So I glanced over it and that was the beginning of what I thought was me losing my fucking mind period. I went through hell phycologically It was like everyone around me was in on it. Like I stepped into some other demension. I still swear that I did. If I were not as stubborn as I am and hard headed with my own beliefs I guarantee you I would be dead because I would have killed myself. I cant even stress to you how serious I am about this. It was hell I am pretty sure of it. All my fears thrown in my face. My friends and family playing right along in sync with eachother on everything, I couldnt do anything right. I was going crazy they would say whats wrong with you, your so lost, You need help. At one point I really did think I needed help. They were so in sync with there torture so i googled it like i do everything, and what I found is the reason Im alive today. Up until That point it was all me it had to be me with the problem because it couldnt be everyone else.. RIGHT? Wrong. The google brought me to a page about gang stalking. Its actually like something that started out in the military I guess. But parts of it sounded exactly like what was happening to me. And the purpose of this Is to totally destroy the target to point of suicide or leaving town. Whether this was the deal in my situation I may never know but thank god I found it because that was all I needed to keep fighting. There was a possibility that it was everyone else. Sounds insane im sure. So I faught through it. And after so much negativity and being pulled this way and that way by my peers and me trying to change with each person I was near in hopes they wouldnt be unhappy with who I was. I finally cracked I realized FUCK this I fucking love who I am even if Im not all the way sure of that person yet I am fucking me and if they dont like me thats their problem fuck em. I embraced it, went along with the crap they were saying who cares im like yup im crazy, sure im a whore, im a follower uhuh yup and realized ya i can be a real fucking loser at times no ones fucking perfect. Its just im one to be honest when i make mistakes and vocalize them so maybe others can learn too but it makes u volunerable because now they have ur weakness which was almost deadly but ha I just laugh now cause if only these haters would realize what they are up against I know they would probably throw in the towel cause where there is a will there is a way and as long as im breathing the will is all ive got I mean literally its all ive got. I have no job ,no money, no car , the list goes on but I have the most important things in life, things that No one can take from me. HOPE, WILLPOWER, FAITH IN MY SELF AND IN GOD OR MY HIGHER POWER, which by the way lucifer led me right back to God. And the ability to have trust in myself above everyone else. Im talking trusting my self to point where im in a car with close friends and if i feel wierd im hopping out the mother fucking car cause myself is letting me know something aint right. Ive learned to manage those episodes i guess with more studying came more understanding which rid me of fear. I feel im rambling so to be continued....

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part four Word count: ±2800 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part four summary: After Dean takes a girl home, Sam goes to look for the huntress who is keeping the brothers’ belongings hostage. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Music: Shine On You Crazy Diamond - Pink Floyd Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​ and @deanwanddamons​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The nights are mild this November. The moon is almost full and stands high in the dark blue sky. This time it’s not the sun which shines a light on the hundreds of tombstones, neither does the cemetery have a peaceful feel like it did this morning. Trees create long shadows, so black that one would be afraid to walk through its darkness. At this hour the statues of angels and other Biblical figures don’t seem sacred, the figures looming over those who dare to disturb the dead.

     Anyone who would walk around the stretched out lands of Linwood Cemetery, would be rather sure the place is deserted. Nevertheless, someone is present. Not a grieving widow or a relative who got left behind, but a person who is, quite literally, digging up some dirt.      In a steady rhythm, scoops of soil fly through the air and land on a pile next to a hole in the ground. Down in the grave, Zoë is working like a miner. Even though it’s night, all she’s wearing is a thin Lakers basketball shirt, sweat shimmering on her body as her muscles move under her skin.

     For a moment she pauses; she reckons she’s almost there. Out of breath, she listens to her surroundings and scans the area like a periscope of a submarine, popping her head just above ground level.      Not a sound, nothing to see, yet she senses something. She can’t really put a finger on it, but glances at the loaded shotgun next to her in the grave nonetheless. She picks up the shovel instead, continuing to dig. Her senses grow stronger and the huntress freezes, picking up the smallest sound. Making a split second decision, Zoë goes for her shotgun, aims on pure gut instinct and fires. The slug demolishes half a gravestone and barely misses the person hiding behind it.      “Jesus Christ!” a startled voice cries out.      “Friends call me Zoë,” she responds, skillfully discharging the empty shell and reloading her rifle.

     She stays low to the ground and focuses on the tombstone from the hole, prepared for a possible counter attack, but nothing comes.      “Show yourself,” she commands.      A tall figure rises from behind the tombstone, his hands up.      “It’s me,” he says.      The man steps into the moonlight and Zoë instantly recognizes him.      “Sam...” She scoffs, actually not that surprised to see him. “Seriously man, there will come a day that I will kill one of you fucking Winchesters if you keep sneaking up on me like this.”

     “How the hell did you even notice me?” Sam questions, disappointed with his own ambushing skills.      “Are you kidding me? I can smell you from a mile away after your dive in that septic tank,” she nags.      Sam stares at her for a moment and smells himself.      “I showered!” he exclaims.      Zoë smirks; she can’t believe he actually fell for that. Sam also realizes she is deliberately messing with him and shoots her a deadly glare.      “What if I was the night guard?” he tests.      “If the night guard enters, I’ll notice it the minute he sets foot in the cemetery.” Zoë puts away her shotgun and picks up the shovel again. Before she continues digging, she looks back up. “What the fuck are you doing here anyway?”      Sam approaches the grave. “Looking for you.”      “Well, you found me. Now get lost,” the huntress scoffs.      “I’m not going anywhere without our stuff, Zo,” Sam states.      She stops what she was doing, leaning on the handle of the shovel.      “Sure. Just a sec. I’ll just pull your laptop case out of my back pocket and I think I stuffed the two duffel bags in my bra,” she responds, smartly.      He glares at her. “Ha-ha.”      Zoë continues shoveling dirt, while Sam halts on the edge of the hole in the ground. It’s not the first open grave he has seen, but that’s not what he’s looking at. Zoë has captured his attention, and Sam can’t stop watching.      The fabric of her shirt is drenched in sweat, a darker tone between her shoulder blades and down her chest. The moonlight distinguishes hardened arms and shoulders. She might be a lean built woman of no more than 5’8, yet clearly she is well trained. Even though Zoë has been working the soil for some time now, there is no sign of fatigue and every scoop is powerful. Just like that moment in Rochester, yesterday morning, she captivates him in such a way that it seems impossible to keep his eyes off her. When she walked by naked to turn up the radio she meant to get his attention, but apparently this time she feels uncomfortable.

     “What do you think this is? BustyAsianBeauties.com?” she remarks, glancing up at the hunter annoyed.      “Excuse me?” Sam returns, puzzled.      “Don’t get all innocent with me, perv. I happened to stumble on some browser internet history on your laptop, which is full of viruses because of that shit by the way,” she notifies.      Sam stares at her staggered, then the light bulb switches on. Rolling his eyes skyward, he huffs. “Dean.”      Zoë shrugs, continuing her job at hand. “I don’t really care which of you two can’t get laid enough. Your harddrive was a fucking mess.”      “You’ve been on my computer?”      It’s not so much a question. The tall Winchester eyes her from under his brown bangs, clearly not happy with her snooping around through his stuff. Zoë has the feeling that this would be a good time to lie, but just to rile him up a bit more, she doesn’t.      “I did, actually,” she comments. “Got a problem with that, college boy?”      Sam averts his gaze and grinds his teeth, which draws a reaction from Zoë.      “Hey, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t fuck up your computer with a dozen porn sites, videos, pi--”      “- I’m gonna kill him,” Sam growls.      “Oh, don’t wanna miss that.” Zoë turns up the speed, now that she has some extra motivation to hurry up.

     The youngest of the Winchester brothers glances down at her again. “So, this is your case?”      “I’m not digging up dead people for fun,” she retorts, without pausing.      “What’s the story?”      Zoë peers at him for a moment, but doesn’t stop with what she’s doing. Not seeing any harm in it, she gives him a brief summary. “Young girl got beat up by her father. One strike killed her.”      “Let me guess, what goes around comes around for the dad?” Sam assumes.      “Yep. Died yesterday,” she confirms.

     Whoa, she’s quick, Sam realizes. It’s not often that he has run a case that fast.      “How did you figure it all out in that short period of time?” Sam asks, genuinely interested.      “You guys have your methods to pick out cases. I have mine,” Zoë responds curtly.      The younger Winchester brother knows better than to continue the interrogation. A silence follows and Sam glances over at the gravestone.

     Laura Emily Shire      Beloved daughter and sister      01.22.1995 – 09.21.2005      Rest in Peace

     “Apparently not,” Sam comments on the last sentence, before he redirects his attention to the huntress. “Need help?”      “Do I look like I need help?” she counters.      He shakes his head and goes quiet, not daring to contradict her. He should have known Zoë wouldn’t accept a helping hand. So he watches, awkwardly, not sure what to do with his hands. Not for long, though, because three swings later, Zoë hits the coffin.

     The sudden difference in sound when the steel shovel collides with the wood draws Sam’s attention. He glances over the edge as Zoë wipes the dirt away. A hardwood beech coffin is exposed once again. Zoë busts the hinges with her shovel and opens the coffin, after which she quickly backs out. It’s one thing to burn just bones, but this little girl is still in the process of decomposition.      “Argh… man, that’s bad.” Zoë covers her mouth and nose with her hand and turns at Sam, who hands over her backpack.

     Trying not to inhale as she takes out a bag of salt and a small jerry can filled with gasoline, she continues to cover the remains with both.  She climbs out of the grave and takes a matchbox out of her pocket. With a smooth strike, Zoë lights a couple of matches and drops them down the hole. Almost immediately the fire spreads out and shines an orange light on their faces as the heat reaches for them. The body burns for a while and when the fire almost dies out, she shovels the dirt back in the hole. Sam wants to help, but she only brought one shovel, so there’s not much he can do.

     “How did you find me by the way?” Zoë wonders, as they saunter back to the main gates of Linwood Cemetery twenty minutes later.      “I drove by and saw your Harley in the parking lot of the Hampton, asked for you at the desk. They called up to your room, but you didn’t answer. Since your bike was still there, I just figured you were at the cemetery across the street,” he explains.      “I could have been having a bite and a drink somewhere,” she suggests.                          “Could have, yeah,” Sam admits, a small smile on his lips.      “Lucky guess, huh?” Zoë grins as they amble through the gate.      “More like a coincidence,” he expresses.      “Let me tell you one thing, Sam.” Zoë looks over her shoulder, an all knowing grin on her lips. “There’s no such thing as coincidence.”  

     They halt in front of the Hampton Inn as Zoë shakes off the cold and shrugs on her jacket. Grave digging can be quite intense, but now that she’s not busting her ass, she’s freezing. Before the huntress moves inside, she throws her backpack over her shoulder and turns around at Sam.      “What are you doing tonight?”      “Not much, actually. Dean has a girl over at the motel,” he sighs.      “Ah, I was wondering where the fucker was. Another one, huh? Not a shifter this time?” The huntress winks, remembering the joke she pulled on him.      Sam laughs too. “Not this time.”      “You didn’t tell him that we don’t know what sex that thing was, right?” Zoë checks.      “Nope.” Sam’s eyes sparkle for a moment, in the same way Dean’s eyes do so often. It’s probably a Winchester thing.      “I bet he has nightmares about it,” Zoë grins, enjoying the idea, but then turns to Sam as her amused facial expression changes into something more serious. “You have any last night?”

     Sam looks her in the eye and the sparkle disappears. He forgot about the fact that he opened up to the huntress about the strange dreams he’s been having and for a second he feels uncomfortable. He’s happy to shake his head.      “No, I slept quite well, actually. First time in three weeks,” he returns.      “Well, I didn’t.” She yawns and quickly covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m gonna catch some sleep. Night, Sam.”

     Zoë intends to stroll inside and leave the hunter at the entrance, but he clears his throat.      “Aren’t you forgetting something?”      Sleepy and confused, Zoë halts and looks at the younger Winchester. “You’re not getting a kiss, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”      Sam eyes her. “Our stuff.”      “Oh right,” she remembers, entering the Hampton Inn, Sam in tow.

     They take the elevator up to the second floor, where the huntress turns left, expecting Sam to follow. The younger Winchester seems impressed with the luxury of the hotel; he’s used to hunters settling for a much cheaper accommodation. As she slips her keycard through the lock, she yawns again.

     “That bad, huh?” Sam chuckles.      “I haven't had much sleep lately. Too many cases,” she replies and walks directly to the bathroom. “Let me freshen up, one sec.”

     One sec turns out to be five minutes, because after that amount of time she walks out of the bathroom, fresh and showered. She’s wearing a Nirvana shirt and pajama shorts, not even bothered to put on a bra, even though she has company. She’s going to turn in for bed soon anyway, the aftermath of her high this morning seriously kicking in. She carelessly beckons at Sam, pointing at the other end of the room.      “You can find your shit in the closet.”

     Sam crosses the space and opens the double doors. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the duffel bags, but he can’t spot his laptop.      “It’s on the table, still hooked up to the server,” she answers before he can ask.      He walks over and notices the USB cable. “Why is it hooked up?”      “Don’t get all emotional about it, but I’m copying my supernatural database to yours,” she tells him. “Since you guys are still going on what’s in that old book.”      Sam’s eyebrows perk up, surprised. She actually did that, something nice without him asking? Maybe she’s not so bad as his brother would have him believe after all.      “Thanks,” he expresses.

     She looks aside, able to tell that his gratitude is sincere. Touching the mouse pad, she triggers the screen to light up; it’s still copying. To pass the time she opens ITunes, starts one of her favorite playlists and the first tunes of Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd come from the speakers.      “Don’t mention it, but I'll tell you what.” She straightens her back and walks over to her bed. “It’s still transferring files, which might take another hour or so. If you don’t have a place to stay anyway, why don’t you hang out here? You can crash on the sofa if you want.”

     Another unexpected act of kindness; she just invited him in. Not that she would want anything from him, though, or does she? For a second the Winchester wonders why she’s so interested in him all of a sudden. She’s being nice, and that’s just off.      “Sure, if you don’t mind,” Sam accepts, masking his suspicion.      “As long as you shut your piehole, I don’t mind. I really need to sleep,” she clears up as she crawls into bed and pulls the covers up till her nose. “Remote is on the TV if you want to watch anything, as long as it isn’t porn,” she mumbles, fitting her eye mask over her face.      “Thanks, I’m good,” he assures, sitting down behind the table and glancing at the screen.      He watches the bar move slowly, the percentage going up with each passing minute.      “Hey Zo, is it alright if I--”      But he doesn’t finish his sentence. Zoë is already far away, curled up in fetus-position, wrapped in her covers. She seems so peaceful and vulnerable, so unlike the Zoë Sullivan he got to know these past couple of days. He smiles at the endearing sight. She’s quite a peculiar woman.

     It only takes a moment, though, before guilt settles on his chest and memories cloud his mind. Because every time when he thinks of Zoë, his thoughts wander off to Jessica as well. As if a voice in the back of his mind is mocking him for taking an interest in the new huntress. That it’s ‘not done’ since he’s in a relationship. But he isn’t. Jess is gone forever.

     Sam swallows apprehensively and glances at his laptop again. He sees images transferring, of ghouls and werewolves, wendigos and demons. Honestly, he can’t wait to get his hands on that thing that killed his former girlfriend and his mom. Never has he felt the urge to kill something so strongly, never has he felt so much anger and hatred towards anything. Of course, he has ended the lives of creatures and burned the bones of the souls that stayed behind, but never out of hate. He did those things for opposite reasons; to save people and help spirits to move on.

     The frustrating part about his attempt to find the creature that was responsible for the death of his loved ones? He has no idea where to start. Their dad has disappeared from the face of the earth and he and his brother have no leads whatsoever. They need to get back on the road, find their father and make progress fast, before that thing disappears off the radar again. Sam is going to make sure that he and Dean leave this town tomorrow first thing in the morning.

     When the time comes, when they finally find their father, the next step is making the bastard pay that murdered Mom and Jess. That thought right there is what drives him, disturbing yet thrilling, but that’s what everyone is after. The death of that monster, the ultimate revenge.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part five here

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part two Word count: ±1550 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part two summary: Zoë wakes up from another horrific flashback and tries to put the pieces together. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​, @kittenofdoomage​​ & @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     Paragould, Arkansas      November 25th, 2005 - Present day

     Gasping for air Zoë bolts upright in her bed. Breathing heavily, she stares at the wall in front of her, her eyes wide. It takes a moment before it settles in what just happened. Chill, take a breath, it was just another vision. 

     She swallows thickly, fighting the panic that got triggered. Closing her eyes, she inhales and lets the air slip from her lips, counting the seconds as she does so, waiting until her heart slows down. Exhausted she falls back on her pillow, worn out by the terrible night’s sleep. Fuck, that was worse than a bad trip. She feels like she just got out of a car crash; beat, sore, and confused. The restless dream has covered her skin in a thin layer of sweat and yet she feels stone cold. 

     A gaze at the clock on the cabinet informs her of the time, it’s 7:15 in the morning. She huffs, and she had hoped to sleep in. The familiar migraine pushes itself to the foreground and she squints; wonderful, just what she needed. 

With her eyes still half closed, she does her best to ignore the golden morning light coming from the tall windows. After throwing her legs over the side of the king size bed, she walks over to the luxurious bathroom; time to freshen up and at least come across as respectable again. 

     Every time she wakes up from one of these damn things, she’s unprepared for the blinding pains and black spots, even though she has experienced them plenty of times before. She's not really sure why she's still surprised by the effects, the aftermath has been very consistent so far. 

     Without looking at the faucet - her eyes narrowed to shut out the beams coming from the ceiling lamp - the huntress turns it on, the hot water steaming up the large mirror. She takes off her shirt and shorts and quickly finds comfort under the warm shower. As soon as the droplets hit her skin, a feeling of relief and relaxation washes over her. 

     Now that she’s getting back to her old self again, the tiredness sets in. How long did she sleep, an hour or two, maybe? After an exhausting eight hour drive - including a quick shower stop to get rid of the smell she was still carrying with her after her previous case - she finally arrived in Paragould. She checked into the first four star hotel she could find, got out of her clothes, and crashed on the bed. 

     As the warm water cleanses her, Zoë starts to take out the details of the images that she just saw during her sleep. It was the same dream she had the night before, the setting identical. She concentrates and brings back the memories she has been playing over and over in her head.

     “- that’s good news for the locals down there, let’s see if Brian can give us some positive news about the weather.”      “Well Julia, that I can. Looks like it’s going to be another sunny day in Greene County tomorrow. Clear blue skies, a mild, refreshing breeze from the southwest and a temperature of, brace yourself, 83° average, which is rather warm for this time of the year. Even when we look further up this week, it seems like this mild weather just keeps on going. Great circumstances for September and fall isn’t coming to Arkansas any time soon.”

     She could hear it so clear in her dream, the six o'clock weather forecast of the local TV station, somewhere September this year. After some research she found Greene County, in the far north east of the State of Arkansas. Over 38.000 people live in this county, with Paragould as its metropolitan area with a population of almost 25.000. Besides the fact that it seemed obvious to take a look in the largest city first, for some reason when that name appeared on her computer screen, she just knew this was where she needed to go. 

     Zoë turns off the shower and steps on the warm rug outside the cabin, after which she grabs a clean towel from the drying frame. For a second she glances at the stitched bullet wound next to her bellybutton, an injury which she suffered almost two days ago; it’s healing fine. With a second towel folded around her head and the other tightened around her chest, she walks out into the main room. It is a lot better than the previous motel; the colors are fresh and the room spacious. The furniture dissipates class, an abstract painting on the wall that could have been a Picasso only adding to that. 

     Now that the bad headache finally starts to fade, she can face the sunrise outside. Even though the temperature isn’t as high as it would be during July or August, the forecast hints for a lovely autumn day, even this late in the year. It’s just now that Zoë sees the cemetery in the distance. She chuckles; she sure picked her spot. 

     As she scans her environment, her thoughts wander off to Sam. She’s not exactly sure why she can’t stop thinking about him, but she has a hunch. Her dreams, his dreams, their dreams. Zoë was quite surprised when Sam mentioned he has been having nightmares, it got even weirder when she learned that he dreams about bad things happening to people, and it became scary when she realized his dreams actually come true. Familiar? Just a little, but not entirely, though. Sam apparently sees things that are about to happen, while she herself sees what already has. Zoë can’t help but wonder how it’s possible that two complete strangers have these visions, not to mention the chances of those two people meeting. Think about it; what if they are not the only ones?     A sigh escapes from her lips; there was a time that she could barely picture seeing the past or the future to be possible. What a weird world they live in. 

     She turns around and gazes at her messy bed for a moment. It seems to invite her back in and she would gladly like to crawl under those warm covers again and sleep some more. Then again, what’s the use if she’s going to wake up an hour later with the exact same images in her head, feeling just as horrible as she did a moment ago? She needs to charge her battery, though, able to count the number of hours she slept last week on two hands. No human being can keep this up, and if she wants to make good time on this case, she needs to be awake. 

     Contemplating, Zoë glances at the suitcase, custom made to fit the saddle bag of her Harley. After pulling the towel from her head and drying her hair with it, she tosses it on the bed and walks over. The huntress picks up the case and lays it on the bed, taking out her neatly folded clothes until she sees the lining. She folds back the seam, exposing a small zipper. Staring at the hidden pocket, she bites her lip. The doctor she was meant to be says she’s out of her fucking mind, but let’s face facts here: she’s running out of fuel. Just one line, she tells herself, taking out the little zip bag, containing a pinkish powder. Just to kick start this day and get this job over with.

     It’s not cocaine, nor is it meth; she’s not that suicidal. But a dose of amphetamine sulphate, otherwise known as speed, will give her the rush she needs and help her focus, despite the sleep deprivation. 

     Having done this numerous times already, Zoë takes the small mirror from the back of her suitcase and lays it down on the side table. She crushed the crystals at home already, powder taking up less space. Carefully, she tips what she estimates to be half a gram onto the reflecting surface, closing the bag before taking a scalpel blade and a short straw from the same secret compartment, tearing it out of the plastic. Skillfully, she chops the small particles and sweeps them into a line of about three inches with the blade. Holding one side of her nose closed and placing the straw up her other nostril, she positions the tiny tube at the end of the line and chases it, inhaling the drug swiftly. Zoë kicks back her head and takes a deep breath, feeling the chemicals prick between her eyes as her sinus cavity absorbs the amphetamines. She sniffles and wipes her nose, getting to her feet to clean up. 

     It will take a moment for the drugs to kick in, but when it does, she knows she will feel unstoppable and sleep will be the last thing on her mind. Deep down she’s walking a dangerous path, but isn’t that all she does? She’s a hunter for fuck’s sake; life doesn’t get more dangerous than that. Honestly, she stopped caring a long time ago. Death is inevitable, and with her lifestyle it’s going to be sooner than later. She might as well live on the edge and have some sweet nose candy along the way.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read chapter three here

[katehuntington]

Title: Changes - part two Word count: ±3000 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work as a team. Summary part two: Four years after the demon attack, a young woman is playing a cat and mouse game with another supernatural creature. Only this time around, she’s the hunter. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Music: About A Girl - Nirvana Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. @coffee-obsessed-writer​, @soupornatural​ & @mrswhozeewhatsis​, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ & @winchest09​ who are deciphering the recent version; thank you for helping me with this story and for taking it to a higher level. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

     Rochester, Minnesota      November 24th, 2005

     Rain falls during a chilly night in November. Thunder rumbles in the distance, as heavy showers dim flashes of lightning that jump from one cloud to the other. Several miles outside of the city in the wide-open spaces, the world seems deserted. The atmosphere is threatening as nature shows her power. Straight roads cross the farmlands, not a living soul using them. No one is on their way home or driving away from it. Then again, in this weather, who would want to be out on the road? 

     In the distance, a light appears and steadily approaches. A bright shimmer reflects in the water on the asphalt, the sound of an engine building as the vehicle gets closer. It’s not an ordinary engine, not even close to the sound that modern cars produce these days. Actually, it’s not even a car.      A black Harley Davidson cuts through the night, roaring like a lion. The classic motorbike leaves a spray in its wake, the water catapulted from the back tire. The polished paint job shines proudly, catching even the smallest glint of light. Raindrops try to cling to waxed metal, failing miserably. It’s obvious the owner of this beauty takes good care of her. It’s the type of bike you would expect an old rocker to ride. The kind that listens to Metallica and is a member of a biker gang. A tough guy with a beard and big sideburns, who rides from roadhouse to roadhouse, consuming nothing but steak and beer. Nevertheless, this lucky Harley is ridden by a young woman. 

     The rider seems to be in a hurry; despite the slippery roads; she’s speeding down 75th street NW at ninety miles an hour. This woman and her Harley have reason to haste. The biker tries to focus on the road ahead, yet glances in her side mirror frequently, checking if she’s being followed. The sharp pain in her abdomen keeps her awake. She mutters to herself, biting down the pain. How could you be so fucking stupid? It’s your job to know what you’re dealing with, and yet you were caught off guard!

     The suburb of Rochester appears in the south; she’s almost there. The rider bends over her bike, clamping one arm around her waist and applying pressure.       “Fucking hell,” she curses.      She refuses to look down at her injury and keeps herself together. Hopefully, it’s not too bad, she doesn’t have time to get stuck in the ER. It’s during moments like these she regrets falling in love with her ‘94 Harley Davidson Road King, because a faster bike like a modern Kawasaki sports bike would be much more convenient right now. 

     She follows the road, which is shadowed by trees on both sides, until she passes through a small town, called Douglas. Again, she checks her mirrors, but there’s nothing on her tail. In front of her, several cars and trucks are driving up route 52. A sigh of relief escapes her mouth; back in the civilized world.       After turning right just before the highway, she speeds up again on the road running parallel to it. Finally, the motel appears in the distance, a building with a large neon number ‘6’ on the roof. The female biker parks her Harley in front of the motel and turns the ignition. Not nearly as graceful as usual, she gets off her bike and heads toward the entrance of the motel. With her right hand on her bleeding wound, she stumbles across the parking lot as she takes off her helmet. 

     A flash of lightning cracks the sky and reflects on the cars parked in front. For a split second, she thinks she sees a shadow standing in the rain. Quickly, she turns towards it, but it’s gone, yet her hand goes for the gun tucked behind her waistband, instinctively. On high alert, she scans her surroundings, her intuition telling her she’s not alone. Is she getting paranoid? He wouldn’t come out here and follow her by car, would he? That would be insane, he’d be too exposed.      Her hand slips from the grip of the weapon and she makes a run for it. After hastily entering the motel, she closes the door behind her. It’s warm in the lobby, country music playing in the background, a huge contrast to the chilling weather outside. Standing in the bleak light instead of mysterious shadows makes her feel a bit more at ease. 

     The old man behind the counter looks up from his paper, peaking over his reading glasses. An empty soda bottle decorates his desk along with some paper wrappers which once held a Wendy’s cheeseburger. She stares at the wrappers for a moment. Fuck, she would kill for a burger right now.      “You’re behind on your payment, Mrs. Johnson,” the old man remarks.      She throws a Mastercard on the desk while closing her coat around her body, hiding her injury and keeping the hand she used to staunch the bleeding firmly against her side. The motel manager thankfully doesn’t seem to pick up on anything out of the ordinary and takes the card without thanking her.      “I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you the extra night, too. It’s way past check out.”      “No worries, book two more. I’ll be sticking around for a few more days,” she returns.      “Business taking longer than expected, huh?” he assumes, while working the computer.      “Something like that, yeah,” she answers shortly, not willing to elaborate.      “Those two nights were the last slots. It’s busy this weekend.” The man behind the desk hits the enter button. “You’re in luck.”      She frowns at the comment. Right, luck. Looks like luck got me fucking shot. Thankfully he doesn’t have any further questions, she’s not in the mood for a chit-chat with the fossil. 

     The restless woman scans the parking lot outside for the third time, slightly out of breath, her face tense. Every once in awhile the motel manager glances over his screen, observing his client. Her black leather biker jacket is soaked through, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. Brown hair falls down her shoulders, the tips escaped her helmet drenched from the rain. Her dark eyes seem worried, makeup slightly faded. A young woman, who - according to the information he got from her when she checked in - married early, apparently. How old could she be? Twenty four, twenty-five, maybe? She doesn’t really seem like the marrying type, and he has seen many folks come and go. The poor girl looks pale, too, as if she’s ill or carrying a heavy weight upon her shoulders. A lot of shady business has happened in his motel, so he knows the signs. Maybe it’s drug related, maybe she’s fleeing from an abusive relationship. Who knows? He doesn’t bother to ask anymore. It would put him out of business if he would. Besides, she doesn’t seem like the person anyone would want to mess with. He does make a mental note to keep an eye on her and make sure his motel doesn’t turn into a crime scene.      “Here ya go.” He hands her back her credit card. “You know the way.”

     The mystery woman nods, picks up her helmet from the desk, and turns down the hallway. While entering room number 82, she takes off her jacket together with her tartan wind scarf and strides to the bathroom. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, her gaze drops to her abdomen, where a bloodstain has darkened her grey shirt. She lifts it up, the fabric sticking to the punctured skin. Fuck, that feels anything but pleasant. She reveals the bullet wound underneath, several inches to the left of her belly button.      “Shit, shit, shit.”       Carefully she takes off her shirt, her breasts only covered with a bra. Still staring at her reflection, she ponders on her next move. Maybe paying a visit to the hospital isn’t such a bad idea after all. That bullet could have ripped through a number of organs. The small intestine, descending colon, she remembers clearly from the books and lectures. The inferior mesenteric artery branches out there too.       “Would’ve been more blood if it was an artery,” she mutters to no one but her own lonesome mind.

     The fact that the bullet bounced off the wall before it hit her, could mean that it didn’t sink too deep into her skin. She decides to give it a try and fish it out herself; if she can’t solve the problem, a doctor’s visit is always an option.      The young woman grabs a clean towel and wipes away the crimson around the wound as she moves back to the bedroom. She takes a small briefcase from under the bed, putting it down on the table in the corner of the room. A sigh falls from her lips when she sits down on the chair, then opens the lid, revealing a wide range of surgical instruments and medical supplies. Gauze, suture thread, sterilizers, tape, syringes, catheters, and several small bottles with different substances ranging from morphine to epinephrine; enough gear to do minor surgery.      She swallows apprehensively; this is going to get nasty.      “Hell, I’m not doing this alone.”      Next to her bed, a bottle of whiskey beckons her. With a moan, the injured woman gets up, grabs the Johnny Walker and the glass next to it. She turns on the radio on the cabinet, twisting the volume button all the way, and walks back to the table, halting to face the mirror inside the briefcase. Filling up the glass with alcohol, she grabs gloves, forceps, and other supplies she is going to need. In the background, the first tones of About A Girl by Nirvana comes through the small speaker. With the bottle of Johnny’s Black Label on standby, she clears her throat while putting on the blue latex gloves. Here goes nothing. 

     There is a sharp increase in pain as the forceps slowly enter her body. With her eyes focused on the reflection in the mirror, her jaws clamp together as she tries to reach the bullet. She groans, fighting the intense agony that almost seizes her attempt, struggling to contain herself and steady her breathing. Not wanting to draw any attention is the only thing preventing her from screaming at the top of her lungs. Finally, the forceps touch something solid. With tears burning in her eyes, she succeeds in getting a hold of it, then carefully pulls back and drops the bullet into the glass. Quickly, she grabs the whiskey and takes large swigs, wincing at the afterburn.      “Fuck, that hurts,” she hisses, placing the bottle back on the table with a loud bang.

     The worst part is done, but it’s not quite finished yet. Shaky hands reach for the disinfectant, but unfortunately, the bottle of chlorhexidine is empty. Stupid, she should have stocked up immediately after she used it all last time. Oh well, whiskey will have to do then. And so she takes the Jack and pours the last bit of whiskey over the wound. The alcohol needs only a second before taking effect. But when the stinging pain does come, she’s unable to tone down the growl leaving her throat. But you know what really pisses her off? Now she’s out of whiskey, too. 

     Frustrated, the young woman clenches her fist, waiting for the pain to fade until it’s bearable. After several minutes, she has finally calmed down enough to proceed. She takes the thread and stitch scissors and finishes the job. The pain from the stitching needle piercing her skin isn’t too bad; it almost feels like a tickle compared to the forceps. After ripping a sterile wound pad out of its package with her teeth and soaking it in betadine, she places it over the wound and tapes it to her skin. All done. Unfortunately, she will live to see another day.

     With a sigh, she strolls over to the bathroom while pulling her latex gloves off her hands. Again, the woman - who basically just performed surgery on herself - looks in the mirror.      “Well hello, gorgeous,” she mutters sarcastically, registering the bags under her eyes, the run-down mascara and messy hair.       She looks like a train wreck and that’s an understatement. But considering recent events, she's lucky to still be standing. After opening the faucet, she bends over the sink. The water feels refreshing on her skin as she washes her face. With her hands on the edge of the sink, she closes her eyes. Time for a moment to stop, debrief, and take a breath.

     The fucking night she had. 

     What the hell happened out there? Where did this go wrong? She found a pattern, located the next victim. At least, she thought she did.       Burdened, the brunette turns around and slowly walks back to the main room. The interior of the motel is rather boring, but the bed is comfortable enough and there’s a television. Normally she insists on more luxurious hotels, but with two big events happening in the city, this was all she could find. 

     By the bed, she halts. A puzzle of newspaper articles, pictures, books, and blueprints lay spread out over the mattress as some sort of mind map. An outsider would think this so-called Mrs. Johnson might be a special agent. That, or a psychotic killer, but neither is true. In fact, her name isn’t even Mrs. Johnson. 

     Biting her lip, she narrows her brown eyes and tries to find some sort of link, an explanation for what happened tonight. Terry Cliffer, the guy she expected to be the next target, turned out to be the bad guy. The bastard who shot her certainly looked an awful lot like Cliffer. Somehow the suspect was on to her and made a change of plans, but what was the trigger?      She picks up two articles, both from the local paper, the Post-Bulletin. One is about a murderer with an ironclad alibi, the other a tiny report of a strange robbery. Both incidents took place during the same night, both suspects were caught on surveillance cameras, both claimed to be elsewhere at the time of the crime, and neither fit the profile of a killer or a thief. Two separate mysteries for the local police, one crystal clear case for a hunter. Until now, that is.

      She mutters unintelligibly, annoyed with the fact that she’s one step behind. There’s another question poking at her subconscious, maybe one of even bigger importance: how the hell did it shift so fast? She picks up a book from her bed and rereads the passage she labeled ‘Shapeshifting’.      ‘Shapeshifting is a common theme in mythology and folklore. In its broadest sense, it is a metamorphosis (change in the physical form or shape) of a person. Shapeshifting involves physical changes such as alterations of age, gender, race,  general appearance, or changes between human and animal form.’      Still standing up, she leafs through the book, trying to find what she’s looking for.      “Forms of shapeshifting, powers, punitive changes, needed items, yadda yadda yadda. Damn it, where is it!?” 

     Throwing the book back on the bed, she sits down, wincing, and pulls her MacBook closer on the table. Focused, she fires up the hard drive and opens her archives. After a bit of searching, the screen finally shows the information she’s been looking for.      “Shifting process: The shifting process takes several hours, but can be hastened by the shapeshifter itself, by tearing off its own flesh - Oh, that’s just gross.” She shivers, disgusted, staring and rereading the passage just to be sure.      It might be gross, but this is what’s happening. Something disturbed the monster she’s hunting, but did she mess up this job or did someone else blow her cover? 

     She has to go back to the roots of this case for everything to make sense. At least three people are connected to each other. Three people who don’t work together, who don’t live close by, but there’s one thing they have in common: they’ve all been seen at 110th Ave NW just outside Rochester this month. Traffic cams confirmed this, so the shifter must be hiding somewhere along that road. But where?      She opens a satellite picture of the area on her Apple computer and observes the houses alongside the road. The estates are spread out and have long driveways. It would take months to figure out where the shifter’s den is, and the creature will be long gone by then. Yesterday, she thought she had a lead. She discovered the thing uses the sewer system to travel. More than fifty percent of the houses out there aren’t connected to the sewer system, but have their own septic tanks, so she could scratch those off the list. Only nine of the remaining houses are empty. The problem is, she already checked those homes and ended up with nothing.

     “C’mon, what does your gut tell you?” she mumbles to herself.      One house, deep in the forest, captures her eye. It’s not connected to the sewer system, but on the last drive by, she saw a ‘for sale’ sign by the side of the road. Good chance it’s empty. It wouldn’t make any sense for the shapeshifter to hide out in the woods, miles from the sewer, but she has a feeling something’s going on in that place. Her intuition is the only thing she’s going on, since there are no leads left to investigate. Why is a voice in the back of her mind telling her to go there when it makes absolutely no sense?      “This is fucking insane,” she states out loud as she gets up to put on a new top.      Insane, maybe. But she is not going to sit on her ass and watch this monster get away with more abductions. What concerns her, is the people of which it stole their identities, are now missing. They could be dead for all she knows, but they could also be held some place, and in that case, every second counts. This stops tonight; she has been hunting this fucker for way too long. Determined, she gathers her stuff and leaves the room, heading back to the hunting fields.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read chapter three here!