#jordan....ripping her tights

[poppy-metal]

going insane over toxic ballet au jordan!!! bc obviously the tension between u two is only going to build through rehearsals and the heat that pools in your belly when they touch you will only get harder to bear :( and they're still mean to you n you don't know how to process the fact that the way they talk to you turns you on--your dedication to dance hadn't given you much time to have physical relationships w anyone and you don't have enough experience to know wherher or not wanting them the way you do is okay :( but the fact that they haven't reported you to thw academy for getting all hot n bothered every time you dance gives you the tiniest bit of hope that they like you too.

and they do. fuck their hand every night thinking about you--the way you don't realize how filthy you look, panting from exertion and adrenaline and desire, pupils blown out when u look up at them. but fuck them, they've worked too hard to get this role and they won't throw it away just because their partner is irritating and young and naive and would look fucking unreal falling apart on their cock--pushes fantasies of fucking you dumb out of their head until they're alone w their thoughts in the shower. tries to pretend they don't want to ruin you--they know you aren't the perfect little prodigy everyone thinks you are. know that you want them. but they have too much at stake to consider doing something about it--not during performance season.

until, of course, performance season is ending--running the show for the last time in front of an audience and when you're holding the finishing pose, their strong arms holding your bodies together, they dip their head to mumble "good job." into your ear, low and out of breath and it's nothing sexual but you're flushing red. them feeling your hips twitch against their thigh, pressed so close they can feel you clench around nothing and hear you gasp, even over roaring applause, and fuck, they can't take it anymore.

getting through bows and critiques on autopilot, walking back towards the changing rooms in silence after most everyone else had left. them turning to face you when you reach their room and you gesture in the direction of your own, mumbling out an "thank you for... not dropping me, i guess. gnna go change. yeah." and you're flushed and squirming, hair that had escaped your bun framing your face, looking up at them with your doe eyes and they snap. grunt out a "for fuck's sake," and pull you into their room, closing the door behind you and you're being shoved up against it n they're kissing you hard, grabbing your hands to pin them against the wall. groaning into your mouth, running their hand down your body until they're running their finger along your slit through your tights. grunting "dripping all over my fucking thigh on stage. fucking pathetic." and you squeeze your eyes shut, head lolling against the door--whining, mouth falling open just from the pad of their finger tapping your clit through rough fabric. your now free hand coming up to cover your mouth, biting down when jordan starts circling your clit torturously slow. it doing little to muffle your desperate little noises.

yelping out a startled "jordan!!" when they lift you up by the backs of your thighs, dropping you on the couch in the corner. settling onto their knees next to you, grabbing you by the hips to pull you against them. hands slipping over your ass, grabbing at your thighs, teasing ur little hole through your sheer tights--you yelping when they grab them hard and rip them, baring your pussy to the cold room. flipping you over like you weigh nothing and bringing a hand down on your ass and the way you keen, high and needy, and roll your hips against nothing will star in their wet dreams for the rest of their life. running their fingers through your slit while you whimper, cheek smushed against the couch when you turn to look at them, letting out a broken, debauched moan when they spear you open on their fingers. "been waiting for this, yeah? filthy fucking girl. never felt like this, have you?" and you're nodding and grinding against their fingers and AAASIGJNF idfk my brain is mush

THIS IS SO SICK AND TWISTEEEEEEEEED

[yameoto]

TOP TEN BENEFITS. JORDAN, CATE, ANDRE.

synopsis ; you and godolkin's finest go out for some fun, just like any other night. little do you know, is that they have a little more in store for you than just partying.

oh. also, you're luke's girlfriend—not like that's going to stop them.

✗ warnings ; dark!jordan, dark!cate, dark!andre, cnc, dubcon, intox, foursome, cheating, strap-fucking. wc ; 1.9k

DISTANTLY, you can hear voices. you're not sure, really; your head's all dizzy and groggy, and your mouth is so dry you wonder if you’ve been chewing on cement. god.. you really can’t remember anything. how strong were those drinks?

"we sure about this, guys?" comes a voice, echoing on the outskirts of your mind. it's familiar. masculine.. or feminine? you really can't tell—not in this state, at least.

"of course we're sure." someone else interjects, gruffer, this time, clearly masculine. it sounds a lot like.. andre..?

"i mean, look at her," whispers another, voices so low—like they're trying not to wake you. this one's higher, more feminine and— oh that's definitely cate. "how could we not?"

how could they not what? nothing makes sense—not in your foggy, hungover brain at least; one that you're becoming increasingly suspicious is addled by something stronger than shots. but that can't be right—you hadn't blown lines with the others, had you? no, you definitely hadn't. so why does your head hurt so fucking much?

"guys..?" you mumble, trying to sit up on what you distantly realise is a bed, the edges of your vision still blurry. as it adjusts, you're met with the sight of jordan, andre and cate all standing over you, eyes strangely lidded, gleaming. "shit— she's up," jordan hisses, grip on your thigh tightening, and its then that you realise your skirt is gone—the entire stretch of your legs exposed to the three of them.

"fuck," cate sighs, lips drawing into a pout as you feel her hand, bare hand, hover over your other thigh, head jerking up to face the others with a frown on her lips. "should i do it again?"

"no," jordan and andre hiss in unison, exchanging a meaningful look as their fingers twitch, restless. "c'mon, you know you want her awake for this."

"awake for what?" you grumble, head throbbing far too much for you to wrap your head around the conversation. "i'm too hungover for this." you swing your legs off the edge of the bed, reaching for your discarded skirt before two pairs of her hands shoot out to stop you. your vision swims, and with a disconcerting lurch you realise you're so fucked-up you can't even tell whose is who's.

"you won't need that." jordan mutters, breath hot against your cheek as they curl their hand around your wrist, dragging it firmly into their lap. what the fuck?

"sorry about the skirt," cate hums affirmatively, eyes drifting to the poor, ripped thing on the floor and you swear you see the beginnings of a smirk curl her lips "someone got a little excited."

"hey—" andre puts his hands up, not looking too sorry at all. in fact, he looks like he's barely restraining a grin. "don't act like you two weren't drooling—"

"touché." jordan interjects, eyes rolling yet looking entirely too pleased with themselves as they play with your hand in their lap, inching it up their own thigh. “you look better without it, doll.”

"warm her up, jordan." cate's eyes flash, gaze boring into the sight of you, splayed against the pillows, and you resist the urge to whimper.

"don't tell me what to do," jordan grumbles, but there's a grin stretching at their lips and you almost wonder if cate used her powers with the speed in which they comply. their loose grip on your wrist becomes inordinately tight as they deftly undo their belt, dragging their pants and boxers down in one, swift move.

oh, fuck.

"hold on— i—" you splutter, stupidly, glancing between the three of them and jordan's throbbing, leaking cock. it gently bobs into your hand; head pink, glistening with pre-cum and you just want to—wait, what?

you're dating luke. you're dating luke. a spike of panic sends you twisting, surprisingly lucid for a moment as you attempt tugging your wrists away—to no avail, of course. top ten ranking aside; you don't stand a chance against three supes, especially not the three of them.

"hey— shh." jordan catches you, eyes flashing for a moment as they slowly, ever so slowly, guide your hand back to their cock—grunting when your fingers limply wrap around their tip. "fuck, that's it.." they groan, head tilting back. jesus fucking christ.

you don't even realise it when andre drags your panties down your thighs—and your flush only deepens at how fucking wet you are. that has to be the high, right? there's no way—why else would your cunt be dripping into the goddamn sheets, like that? for three of your friends? boyfriend absent from the room, no less. a feeble, embarrassed whine falls from your lips, as three hungry pairs of eyes have no shame in hiding how much they want to fucking devour you.

"look at you, so fucking wet." ande’s voice comes a deep rumble, belt unbuckling with a click as he inches closer. his hands slide over your thighs as he moves over, all the way, and you make another strained noise as his cock hits your belly.

"i think it's cute." cate hums, eyes glimmering as she leans across the bedspread, hands wrapping around the base of andre's eager, bobbing cock and directing it towards your splayed legs. andre’s basically fucking trembling with restless need, cate’s own breaths shallowing, picking up the pace. "luke ever get you this wet?"

your teeth tuck into your bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut because god, luke.. what the hell are you doing here? it feels like betrayal. it is betrayal—they need to stop—this is wrong—

you whine, making a choking noise as jordan’s grasp on your wrist steels enough to snap bone. you want to say; luke—? yes—he fucking has—i think—but you find you barely have the strength to moan, let alone protest.

“nah, i don’t think so.” jordan smirks, smug, as if they know exactly what’s going through your head as their hand guides yours; forcibly pumping your hand along their length. their frustrated growls of pleasure are enough to make you blush—let alone the feeling of andre’s hands roughly shoving your legs apart, spreading your folds open with two of his fingers. you whine, quivering, glazed pupils meeting his.

"fuck, luke's gonna kill us—" andre grunts once he finally rams into you, audibly groaning as you slam into the blankets with each thrust, inciting the most strangled little cries from your throat. it’s so much—you can’t help but thrash a little, under his touch. cate lets out a displeased hum, though at his words or his roughness you can't tell.

"what luke won't know won't hurt him." jordan counters from the other side of you, lips twisting into a grin as they bite into your shoulder, still moving your hands in thrusts along their length.

they keep shifting—each time you're distracted by cate or andre the feeling of their cock twitching under your hands changes to fingers sinking into sloppy, wet heat. it's ridiculous how hot it makes you, just jacking them off—but it’s not like you have any room to comment with andre thrusting into you like an animal, snarls coming out of his mouth as each movement sends you reeling with white-hot, carnal pleasure.

"move, you brute." cate interrupts, voice cutting through the blinding, purely instinctual pleasure of andre pumping you full like a rutting dog. her eyes glitter with an annoyance that give way to barely-restrained lust, and in your sex-drugs-cate induced haze (you're still not quite sure which it is, yet), you faintly register the plastic in her hand; long, thick, pink and fuck— is that a strap?

"not yet, cate, i'm almost done—" andre cuts himself with a guttural, bestial moan as his cock rams into you, again. you can feel it twitching inside of you; hear his breaths growing shallower as he grips your hips, so tight they might bruise. "oh, fuck—!" he groans loudly as he comes, thick, hot seed filling you up, hips still thrusting as he crams as much of his load into you as he possibly can. it takes a beat before he reluctantly pulls out, chest heaving.

"fuck, you felt so good," he groans, hands clumsily tugging you forward for a kiss before he's promptly pushed off before your lips can touch. "about fucking time." cate grunts, voice sharp, weight of andre on top of you replaced by two long, toned legs swinging on either side of your body, cate's hands running over that fucking strap at her hips. her lips curl into a smirk as your eyes—still glassy from andre's force—blink blearily up at her. you’re still so dazed, so adorable. she leans down to cup your chin. "you're such a pretty little thing," she murmurs, thumb brushing against your bottom lip, gaze darkening as she begins to prise your mouth open, gleam in her eyes giving away to sheer, unadulterated lust.

"open wide." she whispers, and that's the only pre-empt you get before you're choking on silicone, her hips bucking forward as she shoves herself into your mouth. her hands tighten in your hair, jerking you forward so that the entire length forces itself down your throat. tears spring to your eyes. you feel jordon's hands getting rougher as they use you to fuck themselves, teeth digging into your skin to muffle their own whines while your own, keening “mmfs—!” peter out to soft, quiet whimpers.

"you're so good for us," jordan moans, burying your fingers hilt-deep into their cunt, walls pulsing desperately around you. "so fucking good," cate assents with a breathy, pleasured groan of her own, back snapping as if it were her own cock that you’re gagging around. from behind her, andre’s hands are wrapped around himself, moving furiously as he arches over the bed. “you have no idea how long we’ve wanted this.” he hisses, one hand madly jerking himself off to the sight of cate fucking your face like she owns you, the other tangling in your hair. cate audibly moans, bucking into you further with a sharp inhale. "wish i could come in you for real." she mumbles, fingers running along your jaw as you splutter around plastic. she smiles, tilts her head up to look at jordon as they mutter something unintelligible, her thrusts increasing in pace, fucking your throat so raw, so good. "jordan's got something special to give you." she murmurs, voice honey sweet, hand dancing up your cheek.

you can hardly gargle a response through the strap in your mouth—but you don't have to. not when, with a resounding moan, all questions are answered with jordan promptly shooting their load all over your face, thick, hot strings of cum leaking around the edges of the strap and seeping into your mouth. they both groan, jordan slumping into your side with soft, intermittent pants.

"god.." they mutter into the crook of your neck, cate's thrusts slowing as she starts to loosen her grip on your hair; though not stopping, never stopping. "you're ours." jordan grunts, gripping your thigh with sudden, overwhelming intensity while cate continues jerking the strap down your throat, smile tugging at her lips. “ours." she echoes, voice soft—almost gentle if you didn’t know any better. she leans down, hand stretching out; smearing jordan's cum across your cheek in one, long, clean swipe. "fucking ours."

poor, poor luke.

[bubuslutty]

alt!gf x comics nerd!könig

Imagine an awkward comic book nerd König with an alt!gf way out of his league (according to him).

He works part time at a comic book store when he first meets her, he's in a corner arranging comics and manga when she walks in and his eyes widen behind his messy ginger long hair.

She's the prettiest girl he's ever fucking seen in his life and he can't take his eyes off of her. And so do the rest of the clients and workers in the shop.

She's wearing a tiny black baby tee with Miles Morales' Spider Logo on its front, the tee was tight and it looked like she didn't wear anything underneath it, and it was very short, that if she kept stretching her arms above her head too many times to reach for comics in the higher shelves, her shirt is bound to ride up to expose her nipples. Her stomach all down to a few inches below her belly button were naked, and a pair of tiny jean shorts hugged her waist and ass.

Then there was the jewelry, the chains, the arm warmers, gloves, leg warmers, mismatched socks with a pair of white and red Jordans, the headphones, hair clips and cute earrings that tied her outfit together.

She looked like a doll, like those pretty girls you'd see on Pinterest (König doesn't know that, though, bold of you to assume he uses Pinterest).

And König? Well, he was wearing a green t-shirt with the store's logo on the back and front, with a white long sleeved shirt under it, paired with a pair of loose ripped jeans and we'll worn white trainers. And finally, a black mask covering the lower half of his face.

She walked straight to the Marvel shelf, looking around with her hands crossed over her chest while humming until she gasped and got her hands on a comic with Spiderman 2099 plastered on the cover.

König tried his best to stop staring like a creep but she was just so hypnotising, he wanted to keep looking at her, maybe ask her name, what she likes to read–

Don't get ahead of yourself, König, have you seen her and seen yourself?

König's shoulders slumped as he watched her flip through the comic with a smile on her glossy lips, and his heart jumped when she met his eyes.

Shit.

König internally panicked and turned his head towards the shelf he was organizing and adding in new comics to be sold while his heart beat quickly in his chest. He gulped and his hand trembled when he heard shuffling and footsteps getting louder towards him over the sound of some random anime opening from the speakers in the shop.

"Excuse me?"

König tried not to flinch and slowly turned around and looked down at the owner of the voice, a bead of sweat running down the side of his face when he was face to face with the same girl he was gawking at.

"Yes?" König replied, masking his nervousness with a monotone voice.

"Can you get me a comic from the top shelf? I can't reach.." She asked, looking him over not so subtly and tilted her head to the side, adding a small, "Please?" at the end of her sentence.

"Where?" König asked and her eyes lit up. She turned around and led him straight to the shelf and told him the comic she was after as König easily reached for it and handed it over.

"Thank you," She smiled and took the comic from his bigger hand, their hands brushing as he kept watching her through his hair.

"Do you read marvel comics?" She asked and König was surprised, what is she doing?

Making conversation with him?

But girls usually got intimidated by his build and his personality.

König cleared his throat and shoved both of his hands in the pockets of his loose ripped jeans, "Sometimes."

"Do you have a character you like reading about? You don't have to answer if you have work to do, by the way! I'm just curious and want to read more comics about different characters!" She said, toying with the Lego spiderman keychain hanging off her belt hoop, pulling her shorts a bit lower and König looked away when more of her lacey red panties were visible.

"No it's alright. I have time. I like reading about Venom and Moon Knight. And you? Who do you like reading about?..." König answered, his voice not wavering, not even once even if he was screaming in his head.

He hopes he won't scare her away due to the lack of emotion and interest in his voice, but he was internally nervous and that's the only way he knows how to hide it.

But it seemed like the pretty girl wasn't phased nor intimidated by König's tone of voice, or how he literally covered her in his shadow.

"I really like Moon Knight! And Venom too! But obviously, Miles Morales' Spiderman is my favourite…" She excitedly told him and pointed at her chest, where Miles' graffiti Logo was.

"What's your name, by the way?" She quickly asked, and König was a bit overwhelmed.

"König." He answered without thinking and blinking, staring at her with his pale blue eyes.

"Hey, König." She giggled and told him her name as she hugged the comics to her chest.

König didn't know what to say except give her an awkward nod.

"Nice to meet you. I'll go pay for these. And uh, thanks for the help." She said, biting her lower lip and fluttering her pretty eyelashes at him.

"No worries." He said and stepped aside so she could make her way to the till.

König was left buzzing and slightly breathless, he blinked and turned around to face a shelf with Batman runs to compose himself while she paid for her comics. Then he felt a small tap on his back and turned around.

"Sorry I just wanted to give you this." She said while holding a hair band in her hand.

König stared down at her hand without saying anything then back up at her face.

"It's for your hair…" She said in a small voice and König didn't say anything, just stared at her.

Then she coughed, "I just thought– I'm so sorry for overstepping, I'll go now."

König moved without thinking and held her wrist, making her eyes widen like a deer caught in the headlight.

"Thanks." He said and took the hairband, making quick work of tying his hair in a manbun, and now she could see more of his face, his pale eyes, eyebrows, freckles and small scars.

She smiled a bit and gave him a nod, "Bye, now."

"Bye." König said, smiling behind his mask.

[jordanelemus]

ybc musical costume in-depth analysis! 💥🎸🎱

hi! I'm jordan, the costume designer (and also an actor and co-writer) of "the young blood chronicles" musical! i posted this on instagram, but i thought it might be cool to post it here too!

my initial role in “the young blood chronicles” musical was costume design, which, as a fashion enthusiast, i was incredibly excited about. i spent about a month curating a huge pinterest board collection and creating individual moodboards. the show takes place in 2013, but i wanted to take inspiration from both pre and post-hiatus fall out boy looks! here’s an in-depth look :’)

patrick’s main inspo was his “soul punk” era, which lives distinctly in the hiatus. i wanted something that would remind us that years had passed since the last time the band had made music together; something cool and trendy, but a little too dressed up for a long day in the studio. even when not onstage, ybc patrick is performing. clothes can give you power and he knows that. the yellow sunglasses were our way of getting around patrick’s glowing yellow eyes from the music videos, but i really love how it makes it seem like he has a mask on. it makes the end of “miss missing you” even more heartbreaking.

pete’s main inspo came from both his early clandestine drops as well as his more androgynous looks (both pre & post-hiatus). pete really cares about fashion, but he still has a chill la vibe. 2013 pete could often veer more edgy, but i chose to move in a different direction in order to better distinguish pete and patrick’s styles. unless you’re a vixen or patrick, you don’t get a leather jacket! sorry pete! to me, pete’s fashion has always felt so current while still being forward-thinking. ybc pete’s outfit could be from 2006 or 2024 and that was very purposeful!

andy’s looks are mostly pulled from more recent years, but band tees never go out of style. the mesh top under the tee alludes to his tattoos, which make up the extent of his stage looks these days since he typically does shows without a shirt on. celia had this mesh top in her closet and i love the colors on her (it’s the only source of color in the heaven outfits!). andy’s outfit is maybe the simplest of the four on paper, but i think it’s sick. it’s laid back, but super specific and grounded. it makes me want to start wearing basketball shorts.

joe’s looks are pulled from both pre-hiatus and early post-hiatus looks! striped sweaters & cargo pants are things he’s worn before, so i'm lucky i had them in my closet (especially since i wasn’t originally joe!). joe, especially in recent years, really likes wearing dark colors onstage, but, similar to how i avoided leather jackets for pete, i wanted to very clearly differentiate the boys from the vixens. any black piece of clothing on any of the boys had to be broken up with a design or pattern. no all black outfits! sorry joe!

the goal with the heaven outfits was to make the exact same outfits in all white. i wanted the exact same silhouettes as before. i’d say we were pretty successful! we got really lucky when it came to finding these costume pieces.

my vixens! these costumes were a lot more nebulous throughout the process. many of the costume pieces came from the actors’ own wardrobes. it was really important to me that each vixen had her own distinct style. baylee’s vixen (whom she named blair) has a more feminine style, her main costume piece being a lacy leotard. she's sweet with an edge. ava’s vixen is second-in-command & her outfit really screams that. the lingerie top is so killer. alexa’s vixen is almost a mix of baylee’s & ava’s in terms of style. the outfit is sweet, but edgy with the ripped tights & lingerie-style top. lauren’s vixen is a little more utilitarian, actually dressed in a way that makes sense for kidnapping four people. she’s more sporty than the others, but her combat boots are incredibly threatening. hbic is all that and more. her outfit is simple, but powerful. she is terrifying.

tiffany had to feel a bit like an outsider. she’s wearing the vixen clothes, but her jacket has some color on it. it’s a little too big on her. the other vixens really live in & embody their clothes, but for tiffany, it's a bit more like a costume.

here’s how i describe the angels: 1) the hottest girls at the ren faire & 2) like that picture of the angel guiding the two kids that every latine family has in their house. they almost feel out of place; so incredibly fluid in a show that is mostly made up of harsh lines. texture and layers were really the name of the game here, but the angels still have an edge to them. to quote fob: “…angels choking on their halos, get them drunk on rose water. see how dirty i can get them, pullin' out their fragile teeth & clip their tiny wings.”

+ i made pete’s bass machete and tiffany’s/joe’s guitar axe! i don’t have much to say about them, but i loved getting to utilize my cosplay foam skills.

this was my first time ever costuming a show and it was such a dream. the entire cast was so willing to experiment with me and it was such a joy to revisit aspects of 2013 fashion, which i remember from my preteen years, but never got to truly participate in! :’)

- jordan <3

ig: @/jordanelemus

photos: @/cararittner on ig!

[corruptedcaps]

Blast from the past: Redux

Some of my older stories have been banned permanently from Tumblr due to some NSFW images. So every once and awhile I will repost them with new SFW images (look for the #cc unbanned tag). This is one such story. Enjoy!

----

"Hey Shaun what is this stuff?" Chloe called out to her husband while sifting through the few remaining undamaged boxes from their flooded basement. She found one marked 'Shaun and Jordan'. Shaun hurried over but when he saw the box he seemed to go pale.

"Oh. That's stuff from my last relationship, way before I met you." He said slightly guilty as Chloe opened the box and started sifting through.

"Leather jackets? Switchblades? Cigarettes? Keys to a motorcycle? And what's this?" Chloe said pulling out a stack of pictures with the top one being one of a young rebellious couple making out next to a motorbike. Her leg was wrapped around him and his hands were all over her. Chloe realised that this was Shaun and Jordan. She was taken aback.

"Wow Shaun I never knew you had a biker phase." She said half teasing half curious.

"As I said it was a long time ago, I'm not proud of that period of my life. I stole, fought, commited such heinous criminal acts. But that’s not me anymore." He said. Chloe moved onto the next picture which was of Jordan posing suggestively on a bike.

"And what about her? What about Jordan?" Chloe asked.

"She... She died in a motorbike accident. After she died it was like I woke up to all the stupid shit I had been doing with my life. I packed up all our belongings into that box and forgot about it. It's not who I am anymore, don't worry. I should go into town and get some supplies to clean this all up, I'll be back in a bit." Shaun said kissing his wife goodbye.

Chloe, however, had flipped to another picture of just Shaun on a bike and she was fixated. He seemed so in charge, so manly, so tough in the past, it was kind of turning Chloe on. Sure she loved Shaun now but sometimes she wished there was a bit more fire to him.

Chloe flipped back to another picture of Jordan. She was stunning and had the tightest body Chloe had ever seen. Her eyes were so piercing that Chloe felt intimidated just looking at her. Chloe felt light headed as she heard a voice drift into her mind. "He could be that man again." It said.

"But how? How can he get his fire back?" She said in a dreamlike daze.

"He needs his bad bitch girlfriend by his side. You need to become the new me, the new Jordan. I'll help you bring the bad boy Shaun out." Jordan seemed to say from the picture. In her daze it made perfect sense to Chloe.

"Yessss of course, he needs to remember who he was." She said in a trance.

"You want to be me, you've always wanted to be a bad ass bitch and now here's your chance. I'll warp your body and mind into Shaun's perfect little slut then he'll be yours forever and together you will be the baddest couple around. Doesn't that sound good?" Jordan purred.

"Mmmmm fuck yes, Chloe is such a pathetic loser. I want to be Jordan." Chloe moaned in pleasure as she felt her pussy get slick.

"Goooood. Now if that is to happen then you'll need to look the part. Don't worry, this will feel amazing." Jordan whispered as Chloe felt her tits expand out of her sweater. She moaned in pleasure as she groped her new breasts in pleasure.

"YESSSSS fuck yes I want more! Make them bigger!" Chloe demanded.

"Now you're acting like me." Jordan said cackling to herself as Chloe fell more under her corruption. Her tits swelled even bigger and Chloe ripped off her top to better appreciate her new weapons.

"If these don't light a fire under Shaun nothing will. I'm such a hot bitch now." Chloe said vainly touching herself all over.

"You're nearly there. Now pick out a tight outfit from the box to really become me." Jordan enticed her but Chloe was already a willing victim. She pulled out a form fitting leather corset and loved how it barely contained her new tits. The more she admired herself the more of Jordan slipped into her.

"Mmmmm soon I'll have my alpha male back and then we'll show this town a thing or two about fear." She said cackling to herself. Chloe was almost completely taken over by Jordan but there was still an annoying little piece of goodness residing in her. Jordan knew just how to get rid of it and fully take over.

"That's it my little pet, now just one last step and we will be one. You'll be a true evil bitch like me, maybe even badder. Go to the garage, I have a gift waiting." Jordan said and Chloe felt a shiver of anticipation pass through her like it was Christmas. A smile curled up her lips as she entered the garage and saw waiting for her was a motorbike. Not just any bike though.

"Your bike." Chloe said running a hand across the sleek metal becoming more and more turned on as she did.

"You mean your bike? Don't you want to be Jordan? Don't you want to be me?" Jordan whispered.

"More than anything." Chloe said her voice dripping with lust.

"Then climb on and start her up." Jordan said and Chloe stalked over obediently. She threw her leg over the powerful machine and instantly felt at home. She turned the key and started it up. The vibration from the engine made her wet as she straddled tight to the machine.

"Doesn't that feel good? Only thing that beats it is a good hard fucking. Now Rev it up. The more you do the more of me you let in." Jordan said seductively. Chloe revved it again and again each time getting closer and closer to orgasming. She moaned as she felt Jordan's soul begin to merge with her own with each Rev.

"Oh fuck FUCK! Yessss I feel like such an evil bitch. I feel like a hot bad ass slut! I feel like Jordan! NO! I AM JORDAN!" She screamed as their two personalities crashed into one another. At once Chloe had new memories flood her mind. She was Jordan now and it felt perfect. She ran her sharp nails down her transformed body in ecstasy.

"Shaun has been missing a real woman's touch and a real woman's pussy but once he gets a look at me he'll forget all about weak little Chloe." She said tieing her hair up into a mohawk. She loved how it looked. It made her look like a woman not to be messed with. Just then she heard a car pull up outside.

"Hmmmm speak of my devil. Time to get him playing on the dark side again." She said with a wicked smile. She heard him go into the basement with the supplies he just bought and she followed patiently after him. Her high heels clacked loudly on the metal stairs she descended causing Shaun to turn around.

"Chloe? Is that you?" He said certain it was but began doubting himself the more he looked at her.

"Try again lover." She said in a breathy voice and tone he did not recognize her having before. It was like she acting like...

"Jordan? No this can't be real." He said backing away.

"What's the matter baby? You look like you've seen a ghost." She said smiling knowingly while approaching him

"What have you done with Chloe?" He said unable to take his eyes off her body while he continued to back away.

"Me and Chloe had a little talk and decided it was in everyone's best interest if you got a little of your fire back, a little of your passion. That's why I'm here baby, you need your evil muse." She said eyeing him sexily and hungrily.

"No I want Chloe back, I'm not that man anymore I'm a better man. I'm a good man!" He said as she backed him into a corner.

"A good man maybe? But a better man? Not even close." She said and then pounced on him locking her lips on his. He fought at first against her soft warm lips but the more they continued the more he lost himself to her. He was transported back to when he was young and carefree, when he only gave a fuck about one person. After about a minute he was pushing her against the wall and moved from kissing her lips to her neck.

"Oh you fucking nasty slut I've missed you. And I've especially missed this tight little thing." He said as he stroked her pussy.

"There's my man." Jordan said while helping him take off his pants. She undid his belt and his pants careened to the floor.

"Mmmmm nice to see somethings haven't changed." She said licking her lips as she gazed at his huge member.

Original note count before ban: 285

[thebluestbluewords]

custody battles

in honor of this post reigniting my brainrot about isle custody battles, have a little half a fic that’s been lingering in my drafts!

+

"Jay," Evie says. Begs. Her voice is so soft and so, so achingly kind. "It was never going to be us. She's going to one of Jordan's friends. They'll take her to Agrabah for the summer, and then she'll be back at Auradon Prep, and we can see her-" 

Jay's voice rips out of him like he's dragging the words over broken glass. "You can see her." 

Evie's eyes close for a moment. "You can see her too. Going to college isn't a death sentence, you know. You're allowed to come visit us." 

"Right. Like we're allowed to visit home." 

"That," Evie says softly, "Was uncalled for. I'm trying to bring over as many kids as I can--" 

"She's my family--"

"You're my family," Mal snaps. "And you're being a fuckin' jerk right now, jaybird." 

Jay explodes up into furious motion. He's not made for sulking, not built for it the way that Mal is. He's meant to be in motion, so it's better that he's pacing now, even if his jaw is set and angry and he's clenching his hands alternately into fists and tight, sharp flat-hand gestures. There's nerve clusters in the neck and wrist that are better served by a flat chop or pinch than a punch, and based on the motions that Mal's seeing, Jay's thinking about the one in the wrist that'll make the whole hand go numb. 

"They split us up--" Jay spits. 

"Because we can only take on so many kids." 

"They don't care. They don't. Care." Jay growls out. He's clenching his shoulders so tight that they're shaking. He's shaking all over, a low, furious vibration that the pacing isn't doing anything to fix. "We're numbers to them." 

"We're not just numbers to Ben," Mal points out. "He's one of them. We're people to him, and he's fighting for us." 

"Against his shitbag dad," Jay growls. "And the fucking government who fucking hate us. They're not gonna listen to him. They never fucking listen." 

"That's why we have to keep trying," Evie breaks in. "And trying again, and again, until we can get it through to them that we're more than just a bunch of numbers on paper that they can lock in a drawer the second we're out of their faces. We're being as loud as we can right now, and look at where it's gotten us. We have more kids coming over, and most foster families approved than we thought we were going to get, so we are making progress. Slow and steady will win this race in the end, Jay." 

Jay's shoulder twitches. He rolls his arm, all of the muscles in his back tight and visible, strung hard with tension. "Right. Yeah." 

"Jade's going to be fine. They're going to take care of her." 

"Yeah," Jay mutters. "Like we couldn't." 

Ouch. The insult isn't meant for her, but it still lands. They've been attached at the hip for so long, Mal-and-Jay, Jay-and-Mal, that the barbs Jay turns on himself land for her too. They're the ones who were supposed to protect the gang, and they're the two who failed their people. 

[usermischief]

chapter 58: it's not the devil at your door Warnings: violence

You can read it on AO3 as well.

[a/n: sorry for the very long wait. Life got in the way. Thank you so much for your patience. I hope you're enjoying the new chapter💖]

---

“John, with all due respect, I don’t think you have any idea what you’re dealing with.”

“I’m dealing with two traumatized teenagers, Noshiko.”

Stiles watches the spot on the ley line where his father most likely stands, watches as Jordan puts his head in his hands. The conversation must’ve been going on for longer than he’s awake. They’re all exhausted, Stiles can hear it in their voices.

“I think,” Brett pipes up from where he sits on the kitchen counter, “you’re underestimating Sheriff Stilinski.”

Noshiko makes a small impatient noise. “I think your personal feelings are clouding your judgement.”

“Funny, I could say the same about you.”

“Brett.” Satomi’s voice is calm, but it does have the desired effect of shutting her second in command up. Still, there is anger vibrating through the ley line connected to Brett. It’s not surprising. Although Satomi has always seemingly maintained a neutral balance. This time, however, it feels as if she’s choosing a side – a side Brett does clearly not agree with.

Stiles can’t blame him. He’s not agreeing with Noshiko either, but that’s nothing new. They haven’t really agreed on anything for most of the time. Well, aside from killing him in case he’s going to become a hazard for the people around him. That has been the case only a couple of days ago. Now, however, things are different again. Plus, killing him always comes with the price of killing every single chimera still alive and kicking.

Jordan leans back in his chair. “Locking him up in the Hale Vault is only going to re-traumatise him.” He curls his hands around something. A mug, perhaps, or a glass. If Jordan were alone, it might’ve been a glass of whiskey but with Stiles’ dad, Satomi, and Noshiko around, it’s probably some sort of calming tea.

Stiles wonders if he wishes for something stronger. He certainly would.

Noshiko doesn’t sound happy with that, “if we don’t, we put the whole town at risk.”

“You make it sound like Stiles is some sort of monster,” Brett remarks icily.

“He killed-“

“Enough!” His dad slams his hands on the table. The sound startles Stiles enough to pull away from the ley lines accidentally, returning to the quiet of his bedroom with his heart hammering as if he’s run a marathon – not because he’s scared or surprised. Noshiko has proven more than once that she’s absolutely willing to kill him if the need arises, or perhaps as a precaution. While he would’ve agreed with her a while ago, now, the thought of it only makes him want to rip her head off.

Maybe that’s proof enough of her being right.

“You know, it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin. He whips around, spotting Isaac sitting on a mattress on the floor next to his bed. He’s wrapped in a blanket, wearing a sheepish grin. Stiles stares at him, speechless for a while then he settles back into his pillow. The movement jostled his wound, and he grinds his teeth. With a soft sigh, he closes his eyes, trying to ignore the pain. It feels as if someone set his whole upper body on fire.

Next to him, Isaac shuffles under his covers. “I’m angry too.” Again, he’s silent, and the night grows heavy around them. “She’s got no idea what you had to do down there.”

A tight first curls around his heart. No. She doesn’t know. Not everything, that is. But neither does Isaac. Nobody knows the full story of what happened in Eichen House’s basement. Isaac is aware of most of it, but he’s got no clue about the worst part of the story.

Without replying, Stiles pulls his covers up to his chin, fighting the urge to roll onto his side and hide away from the world for a little while longer. He’s not ready to face it yet, or anyone in it.

-

Tracy screeches as she steps on a broken flashlight in the darkness and loses her footing.

“Quiet,” Theo snaps. There’s an edge to his voice. It’s not quite fear yet, but he’s certainly worried.

Once Stiles is done with Tracy, he’ll deal with Theo. Mates or not, nobody will take away his food ever again. Some lessons clearly need to be taught as early as possible so shit like this will never happen again.

Stiles turns his head to the right. Even if Tracy were as quiet as a statue, he wouldn’t have any issue finding her in complete darkness. The scent of her sheer panic acts like a neon sign.

“Quiet!” Theo orders again, and his voice carries through the dark hallway. “Stiles, stop it.” Red eyes flash in the darkness, darting back and forth as if looking for him. They pass right over him, but his aura doesn’t give him away like it would Kira or perhaps even Noshiko and other foxes. The night is his kingdom. It bends to his will.

Tracy shrieks then hits the ground hard. She makes it almost too easy.

“Miecio!” Theo’s voice is calm, but his scent is spiked with fear now. Is he afraid of him, or what he might do? “You wanna be pissed at someone, be pissed at me. I killed Deaton, remember? She didn’t do anything.”

Stiles whips his head around and stares at the vague shape of his boyfriend, his mate. It’s getting easier to see him by the second. He can almost make out his features now. Under normal circumstances, Theo wouldn’t have any issue finding him. But now, Stiles doesn’t want to be found. By anybody. He narrows his eyes, following Theo as he moves to the left as quietly as possible. Away from him. Towards Tracy. He grinds his teeth. “Don’t tell me you’re protecting her.”

Theo’s red eyes snap towards him, and he stops moving. It’s hard to tell if he sees him or merely fixes on a spot in the dark, he assumes to be Stiles. “I’m protecting you.”

“From her?” Stiles scoffs. “Don’t insult me.”

“I’m protecting you from yourself.” Theo takes a step forward. Judging by the groan of pain, he hit one of the orderlies instead of the ground. It doesn’t deter him from moving, much less talking. “I know you’re angry, but-“

Stiles shoots his hand out, curling his fingers around Corey’s throat. “Do you consider me stupid, Theodore?” He tightens his grip, digging his fingertips into the soft skin without looking away from Theo. It would be easy, so very easy. But Corey is innocent in all this. He’s merely following orders. With a sigh, he lets go of the kid. “I’m awfully sorry about this,” he says, and, for what it’s worth, he actually means it, before shoving his hand against Corey’s chest.

A surge of energy rushes through Stiles’ body and hits Corey square in the chest. It sends him flying and crashing straight into Theo.

Stiles chuckles. “Now,” he whispers, finally stepping out of the doorway. “Oh, Tracy.” If only he could hear her heartbeat now. He can only imagine it would match the panic filling all his senses. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” As if she could hide from him. Nobody can. Not in here. However, there is nothing quite as sweet as the taste of hope ripped away.

“Tracy~” he sings. He raises his brows. He can see her now, crouching next to one of the guards, a hand pressed over her mouth. She’s holding out her right hand, claws dripping with venom, probably hoping Stiles is stupid enough to run into her.

Stiles stops on the other side of the body. “Boo,” he whispers and kicks her in the face.

She screams out in pains as she sprawls on the floor.

Could he have used magic? Yes. But this is so much more satisfying.

“Theo, please. Help!”

Stiles sets his jaw. Without hesitation, he grabs her by the hair and slams her into the wall. “I’m done with this.” Done with her dragging Theo into her business. Done with her acting like Theo cares about her. She isn’t even supposed to be here. She was supposed to rot. “Just because he got you out doesn’t mean you’re going to stay.” He leans closer and places his mouth right next to her ear. “I’m going to get rid of you one way or another.” But not quite yet, first, he is going to have a fun time with teaching her a lesson. Everything would’ve been so much easier for her if she finally realised that Theo isn’t hers to touch.

Something shifts in the darkness, striding closer by the second. Flames lick around the corner and illuminate Theo, staring at him, and Corey, both hands pressed against the wall but now frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Welcome to the party.” That certainly makes everything a lot easier. Smirking, he slams Tracy’s head against the wall and lets go of her, not bothering to wait until she’s crumpled to the ground, whimpering softly. Instead, he returns to his spot by the door, watching in amusement as Corey shuffles towards Theo again. Keeping his distance isn’t the worst idea. There will be a point when even following orders isn’t an excuse for getting to Isaac any longer, and Stiles really doesn’t want to hurt Corey.

Theo reaches out for him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Jordan,” he calls just as the hellhound rounds the corner, “we need your help.” It’s not hard to imagine how much this admission must’ve hurt his ego.

Try as he might, Stiles cannot suppress a bark of laughter. Does Theo truly believe Jordan would follow his orders?

“Stiles,” Jordan breathes, almost surprised to see him unharmed and alive. Perhaps not an unusual reaction after being gone for so long.

“Jay,” Stiles replies with a small nod, “Cerberus.” It’s fascinating to see how Jordan’s face morphs into a nearly expressionless mask. If not for Isaac, Stiles would feel bad for using him like this. However, it isn’t about revenge, it’s about a rescue, and Cerberus is the only person Stiles trusts to get Isaac out of here. Jordan would understand. He will understand. “Bring Isaac to safety. Just you. Nobody touches. Nobody stops you.”

Theo shakes his head. “Jordan…” But he is smarter than to step into a hellhound’s path. All he can do is watch. He clenches his jaw, narrowing his eyes as he’s reduced to stand by, unable to do anything else. As great as Tracy’s panic may be, there is something about Theo’s anger, that’s so much more tempting, something Stiles just can’t stay away from – and he refuses to allow anyone to come in-between them.

Gently, Jordan lifts Isaac into his arms. The werewolf makes a soft pained noise, but he is safe with Jordan – most likely a lot safer than he would be with Stiles. He could leave with him, just walk out of here, and end this nightmare once and for all.

His gaze snaps to Deaton. It’s over.

It’s over.

Stiles curls his hands into fists.

But he’s not done. Not yet anyway.

-

“Hey.” Someone shakes his shoulder.

Stiles startles awake, fist aiming blindly in the direction of the sound.

Luckily, Jordan has quick reflexes. He catches his wrist before his knuckles had the chance to connect with his nose. “Nice aim.” Jordan cocks a brow, studying his face for a few moments before his expression softens and something akin to regret sneaks into his features. He probably should’ve known better than to wake Stiles up like this.

Drawing his brows together, Stiles slumps into the pillows. He is still exhausted, but that’s not what’s keeping him glued to his mattress. It’s the past and the memories. The reality of what happened and what he did. It’s the blood on his hands. It’s the crushing realisation of having gone to far.

It’s also the fucking pain in his chest.

“Josh is here.” Jordan places his hand on the blanket next to Stiles’ arm. “He wants to know if you want to join them.”

Pressing his lips together, Stiles pushes himself into a sitting position although he’d rather burrow deeper into his blanket and hide from everyone and everything forever. He winces at another zap of sharp pain cuts through his chest and back. Stiles notices the twitch of Jordan’s hands, but he seems to know better than to baby him. Turns out having one silver eyes makes for a good death glare.

Stiles clears his throat. “Theo?”

Jordan avoids his eyes.

Stiles drops his gaze to his hands then shakes his head.

Bed sheets rustle as Isaac props himself up. As much as Stiles would prefer to be alone at the moment, Isaac’s presence keeps the panic at bay. His dad joked about the co-dependency, but it was a half-hearted attempt at lightening the mood after he found out Isaac moved into Stiles’ bedroom. The days aren’t even the issue. It’s when the nightmares creep in.

Jordan runs a hand through his hair. “You can’t hide forever.”

-

“Come on, Stiles!” Theo’s frustration is palpable. “You can’t hide forever!”

Oh, but he can. Especially down here where it’s pitch black. Watching Theo getting more and more angry is like getting an early Christmas present. Stiles doesn’t want to miss it for the world. In fact, he’d like to make it worse. He wants him to explode, to taste all that pent-up rage his mate has been holding on to forever.

“Stiles, please.”

“Begging, really?” Stiles laughs softly, watching as Tracy and Corey work their way along the walls, probably to get behind him. It’s not a stupid idea to surround him, but in the end, Stiles can see them while they still have no clue where he is. With Cerberus’ fire gone, they’re back in complete darkness. “Come on, Misu, you’re an alpha now. Begging should be beneath you.”

As expected, Theo’s anger spikes briefly. His short fuse if truly a gift. “And you’re a nogitsune now, everyone is afraid of you.” His tone shifts. The storm of anger turns to a cool breeze. It’s nothing more than a façade. “Yet you’re hiding.”

“I’m not hiding.” Stiles moves to stand right in front of Theo, brushing his fingers lightly over Theo’s cheek. The simple touch makes him dizzy with want. A soft gasp falls from Theo’s lips. How long have they not touched each other? How long has he been down here? “I’m playing,” he adds in a low voice.

Before he has the chance to get a hold of him, Stiles puts distance between them. He’ s not stupid enough to risk being caught. Real kitsune or not, once Theo’s got him, it would be game over, and he’s not quite ready to end it.

Not until he’s done with Tracy.

Stiles watches her shuffle further down the wall and draws his brows together. It doesn’t seem like they’re trying to surround him.

“You play with your food?” Theo asks, his voice mocking, almost cruel – it’s the same he’s used on Scott whenever they interacted lately. “I thought your mother taught you better than that.”

Stiles whips around. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Rage licks at his insides. Stiles curls his hands into tight fists. Nobody is putting his mother into a bad light, not even Theo.

Before he can move, however, the lights come back on. A soft curse falls from his lips, and he shields his eyes. For a moment, it disorients him badly. Blood rushes in his ears.

His muscles ache.

He’s starving.

Badly.

“Tracy, no!” Theo yells.

Without the warning, Stiles would’ve been caught blindsided. This, however, allows him to sidestep her attack. Still, the claws miss him only narrowly, and he nearly falls on his ass. He rights himself the second Tracy attacks him again. There’s blood smeared under her nose and cheek. Her nose doesn’t look quite right either. Her fangs bared in anger. Good thing that anger makes her just a stupid as it does everyone else, so he manages to catch both her wrists easily.

She snarls, trying to free herself.

As luck would have it, strength-wise they’re pretty evenly matched. It’s alphas that will forever be the bane of his existence. Not only can they kill him with a single bite, they also overpower him as if he’s nothing more than an ordinary creature.

Which he most certainly is not.

Grinding his teeth, he kicks Tracy in the stomach. He’s done playing with her. This fucking kanima needs to get lost.

Now.

As she folds in on herself, Stiles lets go of her arms and grabs her head instead.

“No!” Corey’s voice echoes in the hallway.

Footsteps approach rapidly from his left, but it doesn’t matter. Stiles snaps her neck. Hardly anything could be more satisfying. Too bad she’s going to heal from that. Too bad she’ll wake up and continue to be a fucking menace in his life. Maybe he should end it right now. That would spare him a lot of problems in the future.

Theo crashes into him, and it’s like being hit by a wrecking ball. They hit the ground hard. Stiles grinds his teeth together, trying to keep the grunt of pain safely tugged away. Instead, he wedges his arm free and elbows Theo in the face. The impact sends another wave of pain through his arm. The shock, however, startles Theo long enough that Stiles manages to get out from underneath him before he’s able to pin him down.

With narrowed eyes, Theo spits blood on the ground and gets to his feet.

Behind him, Corey disappears into thin air, Tracy slung over her shoulder.

Stiles fixes his boyfriend with a glare. “You’re still protecting her?” How could he? After what she did? Not to him, but to Theo. She nearly got him killed. Her jealousy almost ended the life of the one person she claimed to love.

“I don’t care about what happens to her.” And yet, Theo is shifting into the middle of the hallway, making his intentions absolutely clear. There is no getting past him. He’s helping her get away. “I care about you.” Yet he curls his hands into fists and narrows his eyes. He’s ready to stop him if push comes to shove. An unstoppable force. “And that you can still look at yourself once you’re out of here.”

“How nice of you.” Stiles cocks his head to the side. How far would Theo really go to stop him, is the real question. There was a time when he would’ve hurt him. Not too long ago, Theo was more than willing to use violence to get his way. Things are different now, but how different is Theo when someone defies him for too long?

-

“Sorry,” his dad whispers, pulling his hands away. “I’m sorry.”

Stiles glances at him in the mirror then back at his chest. The wound is still red and aggressive. He’s still bleeding whenever he’s moving too much, or his bandages are changed. “It’s fine.” Jordan didn’t have any more luck yesterday either. The bandages stick to his skin, tugging on the scabs. He’d prefer if nobody touched it, but with how aggressively red his skin already is, he also doesn’t want to risk an infection. Not with how slowly he’s healing at the moment.

Slow enough, in fact, that people are questioning his intentions. He is trying to heal himself.

But getting run through with the sword of a thunder kitsune is nothing to shake off that easily.

Carefully, he pokes one of the scabs and winces. Yeah, there’s no shot he’ll risk an infection.

“Should we call someone?” his dad inquires with furrowed brows.

The things Stiles would give to see his dad relax. But until he’s fully healed, and the Dread Doctors are dealt with, there’s not exactly much he can do to help that. “Who, Deaton?” his tone is mocking, bit his dad’s glare shuts him up quickly. Although his father understands that Stiles and Theo had to do what was necessary, he’s still the sheriff of this town. “I don’t think so. I’m healing just a little slower than usual.” And that’s more annoying than something to worry about.

His father sighs. “I don’t know anything about this.” As it is, he isn’t the only one. Stiles is pretty sure nobody here knows what the hell is going on either – and the only people who might have an inkling are either wanting to kill him or dead. That’s not exactly comforting.

There’s also Morrell, but the last time they ran into each other, she wanted to kill him. So, he doesn’t exactly trust her either.

When his dad holds up the bandage, Stiles raises his arms compliantly. He just wants to go back to bed and sleep, or at the very least rest his eyes.

“You should stay home for the rest of the week,” his dad muses as he carefully wraps the bandage around Stiles’ chest. Only someone attuned to the supernatural world would suggest that resting for a week is enough to deal with a wound like this. A few months ago, Stiles would’ve easily died like a normal person after someone drove their whole fucking katana through his chest.

Now, he’s merely sleeping it off.

“You know,” Stiles says in a soft voice, “I do have enough credits to graduate early.” Attending summer school to be a good friend to Scott helped wit that.

His dad purses his lips. “No.” That doesn’t come as a surprise. His health and education are two things he’s never not extremely serious about.

“I can’t go to college anyway.” They don’t even know if he’s able to leave the nemeton’s territory at all, but they’re pretty sure he won’t be able to stay away for as long as any college would require him to. Once his grandparents are too old to travel, Stiles is never going to see them again.

His dad pulls the bandage tighter almost passive-aggressively. “What happened-“

“Dad, I’m a walking and talking time-bomb.” Stiles locks eyes with him in the mirror, and he knows he’s won the argument before it really began. “I’m a nogitsune now. I need to get a handle on this, or I’ll accidentally turn my school into a warzone because I’m in a bad mood. I can’t go back and play lacrosse like nothing’s changed. I can’t be that irresponsible.” And he most certainly won’t be. He was flying off the handle bad enough that he- Stiles shakes his head. Best not to think about that. Besides, there is still the issue with the Dread Doctors. If they haven’t gotten what they came for, there’s always the possibility they’ll come back for him again. A school full of students didn’t stop them before, and it’s not going to stop them now.

“I just want you to have a normal life.” He secures the bandage and drop his hands.

Stiles hates seeing him like that. He hates that his father has always tried his best to keep Stiles’ life as normal as humanly possible. Ever since his mother passed away. It has never been normal, but they found their new normal. They’ll be able to do that again. “I could start working for you,” Stiles offers with a small grin. He’s wanted to become an FBI agent, but with the trajectory his life is going, becoming a deputy might be the next best thing.

His dad offers him a small smile in return. “We’ll figure something out, kiddo.”

-

“Let’s figure this out, okay?” Theo’s new reasonable side is seriously starting to piss him off. He is burning with anger, and yet he’s just standing there. Again. Trying to defuse the situation.

Stiles wants to rip his head off. Instead, he moves his fingers in a beckoning gesture, and the four broken flashlights raise into the air, lifted by the few shadows Stiles has access to. “Oh yeah?” He’s not interested in talking this out. He’s interested in getting rid of Tracy for good. Sighing deeply, he points at a flashlight. Without a second of hesitation, it shoots directly at Theo’s face.

His eyes narrow as he swats it away like an annoying housefly. “Stop it.”

But Stiles doesn’t. “Or what?” he asks as the next flashlight rushes towards Theo.

Again, he slaps it away. “I said, stop.”

Stiles grins and hurls the next one at him. “And I said, or what?” There’s got to be a way to push Theo over the edge. He needs him to move out of his way before Corey gets too far away. He might be able to deal with Theo by himself as long as Theo won’t be able to grab him, but there’s no way in hell he can deal with the whole rescue squad.

Not right now, that is.

Not when he’s weak.

Theo bares his teeth in a snarl. “Stiles, stop.”

“Make me,” Stiles taunts before sending the last flashlight in his direction.

Finally, Theo breaks into a run, his anger boiling over, becoming stronger than his logic. Because he knows what he’s doing is stupid. He’s got to know; Stiles is having the upper hand the very moment he’s giving him an opening.

Stiles can see the realization on his face the moment he’s twisting away and out of reach. He doesn’t wait around to bask in Theo’s frustration. Instead, he breaks into a run. He doesn’t know where all his friends are, but he can pinpoint the ones he’s worried about the most – Theo, behind him in the hallway, running but not gaining on him. Brett, standing guard by the showers, the easiest way in and out, and then there’s Peter, waiting in the tunnels.

Corey hasn’t reached Brett yet, but Stiles is running out of time.

He’s doubling his efforts, rushing past mostly paralyzed guards. The chimeras didn’t even try to be sneaky on their way in. That makes it a lot easier to catch up, and thanks to Jordan burning every line of mountain ash he came across, nothing else is stopping him. Nothing at all.

As he runs, Stiles breaks every light he can find. The hallway plunges into darkness, reinvigorating him with every step he takes.

Somewhere in front of him, Corey gasps.

Gotcha.

Stiles gathers his strength and make a sweeping motion towards the ground. It takes a few seconds until the rumbling starts and a couple more until the ground is breaking apart right in front of his feet.

And more importantly, right underneath Corey’s feet.

The chimera yelps when he loses his footing in the darkness. Only a heartbeat later, Tracy tumbles into view.

“What the-“

“Jackson!” Theo yells. “Stop him. Stop him!”

Brett is moving now. Seems like he’s not been guarding the showers alone. Great. Then again, who is he told to stop? Guards, or Stiles.

Traitors. The lot of them.

Stiles brings his hands up, using the shadows to hurl the rubble towards the remaining lights in front of him.

They’re plunged into complete darkness just as Brett and Jackson round the corner.

Stiles heaves a breath and moves out of the doorway. Fuck. He was so fucking close. There’s no way to- Stiles blinks. But there is. There is a way to kill her quietly and get some power back. After all, she doesn’t need to be conscious to be terrified.

Two sets of footsteps come to a stop near the other gate. “What the hell?” Jackson repeats, sounding utterly confused. “I just saw him. He was right there.” Unbeknownst to him, he is pointing directly at Stiles. Being utterly invisible will never cease to amaze him. Werewolves aren’t usually this easy to fool.

Still, that’s his cue to move. Slowly, he tiptoes towards the wall and inches his way towards Tracy. Their confusion might be the last chance he’ll have to get to her.

“No,” Corey breathes, sitting on the ground and holding his ankle. “He’s here. He can vanish in the dark.” As he moves, a small wince of pain echoes in Stiles’ ears like a gunshot.

Hunger and guilt twist in his stomach. Corey wasn’t meant to get hurt, but following orders means that you could end up as collateral damage. The world isn’t fair, not even to someone as innocent as Corey.

Stiles crouches down next to Tracy. He places a hand over her mouth, forcing the darkness to swallow her up too. All that’s going to give them away now would be a sound.

“Tracy.” Theo comes to a stop somewhere behind him. “He’s going to kill Tracy.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Stiles places his other hand at her temple. There are no defences keeping him out. He sinks into her mind as if swallowed up by the ocean.

“She’s-“ Brett cuts off.

“She was right there!” Jackson sounds more confused than worried as Stiles makes his way into the swirling of world of Tracy’s nightmares – of the Dread Doctors and what they did to her, of her father’s death, all the other night terrors that used to plague her.

Of Theo looking at Stiles.

Of Theo sending her away.

Of Theo in his bed, unresponsive and fighting for his life.

Her fault.

Stiles grinds his teeth. That was her fucking fault, and it’s going to be the last thing she’ll ever see. He digs his fingers into the nightmare, dragging it up to the forefront of her mind, twisting it, showing her how truly alone she really was.

Because that’s the thing she’s most afraid of.

Loneliness.

Of everyone she cares about leaving her forever. A room full of people with no one to turn to, a pack, a family that doesn’t care if she’s dying right next to them.

“Phone!”

The terror tastes exquisite. Panic like that, panic stemming from love rejected, from being left behind is something he could get used to.

“Phone, someone get a fucking phone.”

And the best thing about it? She’ll never wake up from it. The last moments of her life will be filled with everything she’s utterly afraid of.

How fitting.

Bright light rips him out of the nightmare.

Stiles blinks, raises a hand to protect his eyes.

Theo crashes into him again, ripping him off Tracy. It feels like what Stiles can only imagine to be hit by a wreaking ball. The impact makes his bones ache. Unfortunately, this time Theo is also prepared for Stiles’ trying to hit him. He grabs his arm in a painful grip. “Don’t,” Theo warns in a low growl.

But Stiles has one hand free. He slams it to the ground. The nemeton reacts faster this time. Roots curl around Theo’s ankles and rip him away before slamming him straight into Jackson, whose phone clatters to the ground. It lands flashlight down, taking part of the light with it.

Brett’s phone is still directed at him, and he’s standing only a foot away. “Don’t even think about it.” His stance is clear. Brett will fight him, no questions asked. He’s come a long way since their last run in down in the tunnels.

“You people really need to stop telling me what I can and can’t do.” Stiles jumps to his feet.

Brett huffs. “Go on, throw your rocks at me. You can’t kill me with your powers.”

“Oh, but I can.” Stiles smiles, cocking his head to the left as he pulls the roots back towards him. “And I have.” And he will again.

Just not yet.

Now, he needs to leave. Preferably fast and before the werewolves manage to pin him down. He is going to walk out of this place with his head held high or not at all.

Stiles flicks his wrist, and four phones are grabbed by shadows and pulled towards him. Four, but it’s only five people. He looks at the phones, drawing his brows together. Theo didn’t bring his phone. He’s also wearing sweatpants. Someone is prepared to hunt him down as a wolf if he has to. 

Of course, Theo isn’t about to give up easily.

Fun.

Stiles crushes their phones and throws the remnants back at them. By the sound of it, his aim wasn’t off.

Now, to distract them. A little bit of strife can never hurt anyone. All he has to do is-“

“I’m going to fucking strangle him,” Jackson snaps, fidgeting with something right next to his left eye.

It takes Theo a second to react, but he grabs his brother by the throat and slams him into the cold stone wall. “Touch him, and I’ll rip your head off.”

Never mind.

With anger issues running so deep in the family, Stiles doesn’t have to do anything. No wonder he’s so drawn to all of them, and especially Theo. Theo’s anger, his rage, it’s like crack. If they weren’t mates already, Stiles would’ve guessed they were destined to be anyway.

Brett growls in annoyance. “Guys, you know-“

“Don’t start, Prep School,” Jackson snarls. “You don’t get to act all high and mighty just because Satomi had pity on the poor little orphan.”

That snaps Brett to attention. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take much, but with how aggressive Jackson and Theo are, this fight works without much of his input. Good. Makes it a lot easier for him to slip out unnoticed.

Stiles grabs Corey by the back of his collar and pulls him to his feet. “Time to go,” he whispers, watching as the three guys barely resist to jump each other’s throat. Maybe they’re finally getting it out of their systems so their childish bickering will stop. “It’s gonna get ugly soon.” Too bad, Stiles has to leave. He would’ve preferred to stick around and watch everything blow up, but alas…

“You fuckin-“

“What?” Brett taunts, “you fucking what, Theodore. Speak your mind.”

Stiles doesn’t hear the reply, if there even is one. Instead, he slips into the showers and ushers Corey out of Eichen and into the tunnels. His second least favourite place on this godforsaken earth.

Corey drops to the ground with a wince and crouches down to hold his ankle.

“Sorry about that,” Stiles says, and he means it. The kid wasn’t supposed to get hurt. “Wait here. I’m sure the others will come soon.”

Sitting down, Corey frowns at him. “Why are you so nice to me?”

Nice is debatable, but in comparison to the others, Stiles supposed he’s right. “You didn’t stand in my way… at least not out of your own free will.” He shrugs and turns away. Time is a limited resource, one he’s not planning on wasting any longer, not even for Corey.

Sighing, he hurries down the corridor in the direction of Peter. He’s not sure who is stationed at the other exits, and although Peter may be strong, Stiles is pretty sure he’s his best bet of getting out of here before his influence over the others is completely gone.

Whoever decided to put Jackson and Brett together wasn’t exactly a genius. No wonder Stiles is usually the one making the plans.

“I know you’re here,” Stiles calls, slowing down as his eyes dart around the intersection. He has absolutely no intention of getting jumped by Peter Hale so close to freedom. “You might as well come out now.” After all, he can’t evade what he cannot see.

“My, my.” Peter chuckles. “So angry.” Slowly, he’s sauntering around the corner, placing himself in the middle of the intersection with his hands in his pockets.

Stiles curls his into fists. Peter seems almost bored and not the least bit concerned about Stiles getting past everyone on his own. “You’re alone?” Stiles asks, forcing himself to relax his shoulders. “Are you that full of yourself?” To be honest, he wouldn’t put it past him.

“You’d be surprised what a little family time can change.” Peter’s smile is unpleasant as during his worst days.

And Stiles doesn’t trust it or the fact that he’s all alone down here. That just doesn’t seem right. Loyalty to his family or not, Peter is the one most likely to let him walk away if it benefits him in some way.

“Get out of my way.”

“Unfortunately, I was told not to let you pass.” Peter is standing his ground, and with how narrow the tunnels are, getting around him might become an actual challenge. The thing is, if Peter doesn’t move to ensure Stiles isn’t turning the other way either.

He narrows his eyes. “What do you want?” because this is Peter Hale, and Peter Hale always wants something.

His smile broadens, and Stiles only barely resist the urge to step away when Peter closes in. “Your anger.” Peter raises his hands as if to grab Stiles’ face but thinks better of it. All that rage holds so much raw power, and you’re wasting it on my son’s incredibly uninteresting plaything.”

Stiles stiffens and curls his hands into fists. “What?” he asks through gritted teeth

“Oh, she hates you.” Peter leans in and lowers his voice. “Every day, she was sitting in his home, hoping you’d rot somewhere. She never wanted you to be found, Stiles.” Every single word is a match struck, slowly burning away the threads holding Stiles together. “And then,” Peter continues, putting his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, “the worst part, the utmost insult, Theo brought her here. Not to knock out those guards, oh no. She was his failsafe.”

Footsteps echo in the corridor, and Stiles looks over his shoulder, watching Jackson and Theo rush towards them at breakneck speeds.

Peter puts his mouth right next to Stiles’ ear. “She was supposed to paralyze you in case you lost your mind.” A chuckle ripples through his body. “Theo didn’t trust you, so he-“ Peter makes sure to lower his voice even further “-brought-“ and yet every single word feels like a godforsaken punch in the gut “-her.”

Stiles turns around fully, curling his hands into fists.

Without a second of hesitation, Jackson yanks Theo to a stop. “What did you do?”

Stiles’ gaze is locked on Theo. Angry churns in his stomach, spreading its uncomfortable heat throughout his whole body until there is nothing else left.

“I was told not to harm him,” Peter replies as he steps away from him. “I happen to be formidable at improvising.”

Stiles reaches a hand towards the shadows. There is terrible lighting down here, yet enough for him to vanish completely. Still, there is plenty to use to teach Theo his lesson once and for all. He pulls his hand back, dragging six shadowy throwing stars into the light.

“Do you- uh.” Jackson stops himself, glancing from Theo to the throwing stars and back again. “Are they real?”

Theo merely scoffs. “He’s a nogitsune.” The idiot might have not been said, but it’s very clearly heard.

Idiot, indeed.

Stiles throws the first star.

Although Theo seems to believe all of this is merely a hallucination, he moves his hand to swat it away like he’s previously done with the flashlight – unlike those, however, the throwing star buries itself in the back of Theo’s hand, drawing very real blood. A gasp of pain falls from his lips. For a moment, he stares at his hand, watches the thin line of blood forming on his wrist. He grinds his teeth, blue eyes narrowing dangerously as they lock with Stiles.

Rage.

Finally.

“Fine,” he snarls, pulling the star out of his hand. “Have it your way, little fox.” Blood drops into the dust at his feet before his skin closes up.

Stiles raises his brows and snaps his fingers, dissolving the stars in front of him.

“Theo, don’t fall-“

“Stay out of this,” Theo snaps without as much as a glance at his brothers. “Get the others and get out of here.” For merely a second, Theo looks at Peter. “You too. This is personal.”

While Peter is listening to Theo, Jackson doesn’t seem convinced. “Listen, Theo. This is a terrible idea.” He puts a hand on Theo’s shoulder and watches Peter as he all but saunters over to them. He couldn’t pretend to be more unbothered if he tried, yet, merely a moment before he passes Theo, he shakes his head. The movement is so small, Stiles would’ve never noticed if he hadn’t been looking for it.

“No,” Theo snarls in response to something Stiles didn’t hear. “I want you both to leave.”

And they do, even if only reluctantly.

Theo doesn’t move, but his claws spring free with a soft snick. “Not exactly how I imagined our reunion to be.”

“That makes two of us.” Stiles crosses his arms behind his back and smiles, head cocked slightly to the left. “I wonder whose fault that is.” After all, Theo came here not only disrespecting but also insulting him by bringing Tracy along like she’s never done anything wrong in her life ever – like she’s never done anything to them.

Red bleeds into Theo’s eyes. “Your little game ends here.” Without wasting any more time, Theo charges at him.

Predictable.

Stiles avoids him at the last second. Smirking, he dips his hand into the shadows again. A rush of power courses through his as the darkness bends to his will and around his fingers to create a slim chain. Stiles grabs it with both hands and wraps it around Theo’s throat. A snarls fills the silence of the corridor as Stiles yanks him back.

Theo’s breath hitches. His hands fly up to grab the chain, but for a moment, Stiles is stronger. “You know,” he breathes, pressing his mouth against Theo’s ear, “you should just give up.”

“On you?” Theo makes an odd sound in the back of his throat. “Over my dead body.”

Stiles lets go of the chain as if it burned him and steps away from Theo. His chest is suddenly too tight, his heart at least two sizes to big. He opens his mouth, but the words get stuck in his throat.

The chain dissipates.

“Miecio.” Theo raises his hands. His movements are so unbelievably slow – like he’s dealing with a caged animal.

And in some ways, perhaps he does.

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t want you to die.” The words come out broken and angry. His heart hurts, and he wants to punch Theo until his knuckles bleed.

“Really?” Theo’s lips quirk into a grin. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” He moves closer, one step at a time. So dreadfully slow. The grin doesn’t reach his eyes.

Stiles’ body goes cold.

Theo doesn’t trust him.

But he trusted Tracy.

The rage returns like a tidal wave, drowning Stiles, consuming him. He rushes forward, slamming into Theo at full speed. It’s like running into a brick wall. But the anger numbs his pain. They’re crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

“Stiles!” Theo bares his teeth, sharp, a death sentence. It’s one bite, that could kill him. Maybe even less. “Snap out of it.” He reaches for his arms.

But Stiles gets his hands on him first. He grabs Theo’s face and straddles him, slamming his head against the unforgiving stones once then twice. “Fuck you,” he spits. The soft groan, the pain thrumming under Theo’s skin – it’s like a drug. “Fuck you.” He could’ve already been out of here, but Theo had to make it complicated. He had to kill Deaton and, worst of all, he had to bring Tracy to stop him. Not only did he think that she could beat him, out of everyone, he chose the one person disrespecting Stiles and their relationship – and he’s not going to allow that again.

Stiles digs his fingers into Theo’s skin, almost blind with rage. “And you call yourself my mate? His eyes burn, tears prick at their corners. He’s been kidnapped, starved and experimented on.

And Theo allowed her back.

“You disgust me.”

Theo’s grips around his hips tightens as Stiles forces his way into his head. Another soft groan falls from his lips, one that might have very well be his name.

Stiles hits a wall in Theo’s mind. He didn’t expect this to be easy, not at all, but this one makes his head spin. Stiles closes his eyes and takes a breath. “Let me in,” he whispers, locking eyes with Theo again, and presses his thumb to the corner of his mouth. His stomach flutters as somewhere, deep inside him, the desire to kiss and hold Theo takes root. He’s missed him, desperately. His body craves his touch, his warmth so much more than everything else.

There.

The flash of an image. The woods. A bridge.

His sister’s death.

Stiles grinds his teeth and latches onto it, hooks his fingers into the crack to pry it open. “Let me in.”

“Please,” Theo growls, but the sound is weak, almost soft.  “Miecio, please.” Pain swims to the surface. Emotional pain. The one Theo loves so much.

Stiles gets it. He really does. It’s beautifully raw and nearly overwhelming, especially as Theo’s defences finally break open.

Another pained groan falls from Theo’s lips, but he’s stubbornly fighting back and sinks his claws into Stiles’ sides.

He hisses in pain.

Bastard.

The image flickers again, but Theo isn’t the only one who’s stubborn. Stiles pushes harder against his mental barriers, refusing to be forced out again – and then everything around him shifts into focus.

He’s standing on the bridge, looking down at Tara pleading for her life. She’s dying. Slowly and alone because Theo doesn’t care.

Or rather, he didn’t.

The little boy next to him is void of any feelings but pure hatred. He couldn’t care less about his sister’s death. Things are different now. The image flickers without Stiles’ doing. Little Theo is gone, replaced by Theo as he is now – damaged and unable to help. He is trying, however, pounding his fists against an invisible wall.

But there’s no way through.

No way to help—

Stiles blinks. There is Tara, dead in the water, his biggest regret. Next to her are the Dread Doctors, each of them holding one person.

Stiles, Jackson, and Peter.

After his sister’s death, Theo’s biggest fear remains the same; losing his family all over again.

“Stiles…”

He blinks again. The image in front of him flickers. What is he doing? What was the thinking? Theo would never hurt him. He’d never break his trust. Why- No. No. This is all wrong. This isn’t what he meant to do.

He’s hurting Theo over nothing.

Stiles pulls back and lets go of Theo, nearly throwing himself off him in his haste to get away. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, reaching out but hesitant to touch as Theo rolls onto his side, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “I’m- Theo, Misu, I- I didn’t- I’m sorry. I-“ didn’t mean to do that? Didn’t know what came over me? But he does. He knows the answer to that very question. Rage. Jealousy. The simple fact that he believed Theo disrespected him.

And Peter’s words finally made him snap.

“Theo, I-“

“Mom. Mom, no!”

Sharp, raging hot pain burns in his chest. Stiles opens his mouth, but no sound escapes him as he blinks down at the katana coated in his own blood sticking out of his chest.

-

“I’m going to kill her.”

“And that, dear brother, is why you need a babysitter around the clock.”

Theo glares at Jackson but doesn’t stop his pacing. His shoulders have been one rigid line ever since Stiles’ dad dropped him off here. Theo didn’t act particularly surprised about the early visit. He even had Stiles’ favorite breakfast ready at this ungodly hour in the morning. They didn’t even try to hide that they’ve planned this.

That, at least, means his dad stayed in contact with Theo despite Stiles avoiding him after what happened in Eichen.  

Huffing, Theo all but throws himself onto the couch and puts his head on Stiles’ lap. The way he is able to bounce back from everything – the way he trusts Stiles so much more than Stiles does himself – it’s almost too much.

Stiles swallows around the heart lodged in his throat. “Comfortable?” he asks, trying to sound casual, like he’s joking, but his voice is quiet and brittle.

Enough so that Theo studies his face with knitted brows before he smirks at him, “always.”

Jackson groans. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather be in school right now.”

“Why aren’t you?” Stiles asks as Jackson slaps Theo’s legs for some room.

His brother doesn’t fail to respond with a kick before scooting up a little higher.

“Because he-“ Jackson points at Theo without looking at him “- is a homicidal maniac, and you are the most unstable person I’ve ever met.”

Theo scoffs. “Why do I get flack when everyone in here killed someone?”

Jackson shoots him a sharp look.

Stiles pushes Theo off and gets to his feet.

Theo’s eyes widen slightly as he sits up. “Babe—”

“Don’t.”

“That wasn’t you.”

“I said don’t!” Stiles has never been able to handle insults very well, but on a normal day, he was able to wrap the insults up with a neat little bow to obsess over at a later time. “Don’t fucking tell me who I am, okay?”

Jackson eyes him warily, not moving from his spot on the couch. He won’t even give them the illusion of privacy.

Narrowing his eyes, Theo all but launches himself over the back of the couch. Although being smaller than Stiles, he seems to be towering over him. “You want me to call you a murderer instead? A monster?”

Stiles balls his hands into fists. “Don’t try to take away my accountability, jackass.” His heart is pounding in his chest as his anger rises like a tidal wave.

“You killed Tracy,” Theo shoots back without a second of hesitation. “Is that what you want to hear?” He sounds like it didn’t matter when it most certainly does.

It wasn’t self-defense. Not this time.

With Tracy, it was murder.

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair. “I killed her in a fit of jealous rage.” Who knows what else could put him in a state like that? He’s a ticking time bomb.

“It’s kind of hot when you say it like that,” Theo smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I can’t believe I’m related to you,” Jackson mutters as he gets to his feet. “Anyone want a drink?” He points in the direction of the kitchen.

For a moment, Stiles stares at him. Yeah, sure, how could they ever be related. More so to clear his head than as a response. “Was it still hot when I tried to kill you?”

“Not really, no.” Theo cocks his head to the side almost contemplatively. “But I nearly killed you once too. I’d say we’re even.”

Stiles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “If you want to be technical about it,” he remarks icily, crossing his arms over his chest, “I almost killed you three times already.”

Theo huffs out a breath. “The time you threw me across the room hardly counts.”

“I should’ve stayed in London,” Jackson mutters as he wanders into the kitchen, shaking his head.

“This isn’t funny,” Stiles snaps.

“I know.”

“Then stop making light of this!” Stiles curls his hands into fists again and presses his arms tightly against his chest. He wants to throw something. He wants to hit something, someone. Theo, more specifically.

Theo stares at him for a moment, lips pressed together then he lets out a breath. “I’m not.”

“Trust me, Stilinski,” Jackson chimes in, tossing Theo a water bottle which he catches effortlessly, “we’re all taking this very seriously.” Raising his brows, he offers Stiles one as well.

Stiles can’t help but think of his babcia for a moment, who strongly believes that a good herbal tea can cure everything. Sighing, he takes the bottle and sits down on the edge of the dining table – if not to drink it, then at the least to give his hands something to do. He fidgets with the label, suddenly feeling utterly exhausted mentally. The urge to hide in his room returns in full force, and all he can do now is try not to shrink into himself.

Scrunching his brows together, Stiles rubs his chest. The pressure on the not fully healed wound helps grounding him.

“Does it still hurt?” Theo asks in a soft tone.

Stiles only nods. It’s been a week since Noshiko tried killing him, and he struggled to heal for the first couple of days. His body took over in the end. Now, the only mark on his body is the one on his chest. Everything else is gone, even Donovan’s bite. He’s hated and loved his scars, but in the end, they were proof of everything he’s endured – they made this carbon-copy of his body his very own, they made him feel human.

They’re gone now, and Stiles feels like a stranger to himself.

Theo sets the bottle of water on the table next to him. “Babe,” he all but whispers and cups his jaw, gently forcing Stiles to look at him, “I know you’d prefer to blame yourself for the rest of eternity, but I’m not going to. Things like that happen.”

Scoffing, Jackson sits down on the table next to him.

Stiles quirks a brow. “You mean a lot of people try to kill their significant other?”

“You were turned into a nogitsune hardly an hour before killing Tracy,” Jackson reminds him, twisting the cap of his water bottle as he stares out the window. “Losing control is kind of an initiation ritual for supernatural creatures. All your senses are heightened, your instincts crank your emotions up to a hundred – even Theo struggled to adjust to turning into an alpha, and he is still technically human.”

Technically.

Believing them is easy, hiding behind their words is not. Stiles swallows and looks everywhere but Theo’s face. “It’s no excuse.”

“No,” Jackson agrees.

Theo shoots him a look. “But we did learn what triggers you, so, we know what to avoid for now.”

“Hitting on your boyfriend for example, which is a mystery to me anyway.” Jackson smirks at Theo, clearly satisfied with himself.

“Killing your food,” Theo continues, not deigning the dig with a reaction. “Speaking ill of your mother.”

Under normal circumstances, Stiles wouldn’t have reacted badly to Theo implying his mother didn’t raise him well. Theo liked his mother, a lot. There were days when they hung out in the kitchen and watched her bake or cook or just drank hot chocolate together. During her stays at the hospital, Theo constantly kept asking if she’s okay and when she’d be coming home, and he’d be there on the days they’d pick her up. Theo never even spoke badly about his dad, and he’s given him a hard time.  

Jackson grimaces, “don’t go around insulting people’s mothers. You’re asking to get jumped.”

Stiles presses his lips together to hide his smile.

Judging by Theo narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, he’s probably failing miserably. “Glad you think this is funny.” He squeezes Stiles’ cheeks for a moment before smiling himself. Genuine, soft. He leans down to brush their lips together.

And that’s almost all it takes for Stiles’ heart to nearly combust.

“We’ll figure this out,” Theo whispers.

Stiles nods, slowly, and buries his face in his chest.

[catierambles]

Alternate Instincts Ch.2

No, you didn't miss one. Chapter 1 is here, it just wasn't labeled because it was a what-if drabble that snowballed. Like the drabble that kicked off Feral Instincts

Pairing: The Rogue’s Gallery (Geralt, Syverson, Mike, August Walker, Walter Marshall) x Stephanie Daniels (OFC)

WC 877

Warnings: mentions of blood, injury, and some steamy bathroom shenanigans

It was a couple hours before Geralt showed up again, his shoulders tense, his dark shirt even darker with blood from a gash across his chest.

“He a stain?” Sy asked as he walked into the cabin but Geralt shook his head with a grunt.

“Lost him at an access road.” He said, heading up the stairs after a brief look at Stephanie who had jumped up from the couch when he walked in.

“Are you okay?” She asked and he nodded, but didn’t otherwise respond. She hesitated a moment before she followed him, finding him in the bathroom, his shirt off and thrown into the wastebasket by the sink. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He asked, examining the long cut on his chest in the mirror.

“This is my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Jordan is--”

“A Feral.” Geralt said, “They’re violent and unpredictable. If it hadn’t been me, it might have been you. He handled the knife like he knew what he was doing.” She was quiet for a long moment.

“How bad is it?”

“Looks worse than it is.” He said and she walked further into the bathroom.

“Sit.” She said and he looked at her, “Let me take a look at it.”

“You don’t--”

“Sit. Down.” She said and he blinked at her quickly before sitting on the closed toilet lid, watching as she opened the cabinet above the sink, finding the first aid kit in there. Rifling through the plastic box, she dug out the alcohol wipes, gauze, medical tape, and antibiotic ointment. “Washcloths?”

“Under the sink.” She bent slightly, grabbing one and turning the tap on hot, soaking the rag and wringing it out. Going over to him, he watched her evenly as she wiped the blood from his skin gently, trying the best she could to clean it from his chest hair.

“You won’t need stitches.”

“I know.” He said simply, keeping his hands on his thighs lest he did anything stupid like touch her. “You deal with injuries often?”

“Played rugby in high school and college.” She said simply, “Mom wasn’t the greatest and dad wasn’t around for most of it, so whenever I got minor injuries, I treated them myself. Cuts, scrapes, those kinds of things.” He just hummed at her. “It’s stopped bleeding, but I won’t be able to bandage it without you shaving the hair from around it, unless you want to deal with medical tape ripping the hair out of your chest.”

“I’ll deal.” He said, the corner of his lips perking up slightly. He hadn’t taken his eyes from her as she worked, even as she swiped the alcohol wipe over the cut to clean it, the muscle of his chest jumping slightly at the sting. “Never got your name.”

“Oh, yeah, you weren’t here when introductions were made.” Stephanie said, “Stephanie.” She finally met his eyes and there was a moment before she looked away, a slight blush tinting her cheeks.

“Stephanie.” He said and she looked at him again. Something moved behind his eyes and she blinked slightly in surprise. He stood, making her back up a step, almost towering over her. His eyes moved over her slowly and he reached up, his hand sliding over her jaw and back into her hair making her gasp gently. An odd feeling, like fur sliding over her mind made her shudder and he hummed again, his head tilting to the side as a slight furrow creased his brow.

“What…” She asked, her eyes closing and she felt him lean into her, could hear him scent the air around her before he angled her head to the side and buried his face in the bend of her neck, breathing in deep. A strangle rumble made his chest shake and he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against him tight as he took her scent in again deep into his lungs. Her hands wrapped around his biceps and she whimpered slightly as his palm flattened against her back, keeping them flush together.

“Stephanie.” He whispered, his lips pressing against her skin and if it wasn’t for his arm around her waist, her legs would have given out from under her. “Fuck.” His hand slipped under her t-shirt, smoothing along her skin and she breathed in, his scent filling her nose, making her fingers curl against his biceps. He smelled like trees and earth, but also like the air right before a heavy snowfall, cold and clean. That feeling of fur slid over her mind again, heavier this time, and a lightning quick image of a massive white wolf flashed over her mind’s eye.

Geralt pulled away from her neck, resting his forehead against hers and she could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“My wolf knows you, Stephanie.” He said, “It wants you. I want you. Can I have you?”

“Y--”

“You two look cozy.” Sy’s voice from the doorway snapped them back to reality and he stepped back as she pushed, watching her flee the bathroom, moving around Sy. “Expected somethin’ like that from Mikey, not you. He’s been givin’ her heart eyes since they met.”

“She’s my Mate.” Geralt said, his hands flat against the cold stone of the countertop.

“What?”

“She’s my Mate.”

[justporo]

A Song of Night and Laughter (Part 13)

In which Astarion again says "Murder is okay, but not to disrespect my wife" because obviously, people didn't hear him the first time - so he says it harder... and with a knife.

Song for this one: Killing Time - Jordan Fiction

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: Descriptions of violence

“You really thought you would get away with holding a knife to my throat, vampire spawn?”, Miyena hissed. The blade pressed into Astarion’s neck. You were frozen against the stone wall and since Astarion was being threatened and you were pressed up against him to a wall, you had exactly zero options to do something.

The vampire didn’t even spare Miyena a look. His eyes were boring into yours, highly alert and threatening although you knew it wasn’t because of you. His pupils were diluted, his body tense like a panther ready to pounce.

“And you really thought you could kill a vampire with a simple blade like this? You wound me – only figuratively so though”, he spoke with a sneer, seemingly not stressed out at all. You felt the slightest shift in his posture that allowed you just a tad of movement.

“Of course not, I’m not the idiot you’ve taken me for, vampire”, the tiefling woman answered with a hideous smile on her face. Then suddenly Astarion could feel a sharp stake press into his back. He cursed under his breath, his eyes wandering skywards where the moon shone in defeat but still keeping the nonchalant façade. This man would seemingly never lose his teasing and sassy nature – not even in the face of death. Maybe that was when he especially needed it.

You gulped but your mind raced feverishly trying to think of a way out of this. For starters, you decided to keep her talking: “How did you manage to get away from the cityguard? The place was swarming with them!” It worked, the tiefling’s focus shifted to you even though a wince from Astarion made sure to remind you that the stake was still pressing into his back.

“You are not the only one proficient with lockpicking and sneaking around – remember that we are thieves? And I am not as dull as Eodin. And you really think these sad little puppy guards could hold me for long?”, she hissed at you and spitting out your former friend’s name – she surely changed alliances quickly. You could see her arrogant sneer, her dark blue hair shimmering in the silvery moonlight.

But you had her where you wanted her: showing off and wasting precious time talking. Astarion had managed to shift his position ever so slightly. His eyes bored into yours again, flicking to the side for a split second. You understood.

When Miyena was about to tell you how she planned to take her revenge on you especially, you whirled out from under Astarion’s arm and swished to grab at the tiefling’s hand that was holding the stake. Meanwhile Astarion grabbed the hand that was holding the dagger and basically ripped it away from his throat then using her arm to twirl her around – not entirely different from the way he had made you do when you had danced.

The tiefling who had no hands free to do anything, yelped in shock. You twisted her hand to let go of the stake. It clattered to the cobblestones of the alley. You immediately grabbed it and broke it over your thigh then threw the parts further down the dark alley. Then you turned back around again.

Astarion had Miyena in a chokehold and he was the one again having a knife at her throat. His face was contorted in hatred and his fangs bared. You could almost see his red eyes glow, but it must have been a shimmer of the icy moonlight. The panther had pounced and had its teeth around his victim’s neck.

“You really thought you could come out here and threaten me and Tav?”, he hissed at the tiefling who was now helplessly grabbing at his arm holding her head in a tight chokehold – a far cry from the cocky demeanor she had been showing only a few moments ago. “You really thought you could come out here and just kill a vampire?”, he hissed with an even harsher tone. Fury radiated off Astarion, sending lava-hot and icy-cold shivers down your spine all at the same time.

He was basically feral: the way he held Miyena who clearly had not much air left and then on top of that a blade pressed to her face, that had already knicked the skin. You could see a thin line of blood running down her cheek. Even from a distance you could see his pupils dilate – not sure if caused by adrenaline or the smell of the tiefling’s blood that surely most have hit him holding her that close. And with that you saw that Astarion was only mere moments away from completely losing it.

There was a choice you had to make, and quickly. Let her be killed by your soulmate while you stood and watched – she had been the one threatening you in the first place after all – or step in. You felt cold hatred for her and fury deeply inside you which mimicked Astarion’s outer rush of emotions. A part of you would be delighted to see her killed, watch Astarion slit her throat right in front of you. Coming to this conclusion scared you: knowing what you’d be capable of if it was Astarion’s life that was at stake.

But for all the dark violent feelings you had, you still felt compassion: you had worked together for many years, overcome many challenges and shared many hardships – even though you might’ve never really considered her a friend. And you had never been a coldblooded killer – and you sure as all hells wouldn’t start now.

“Astarion”, you whispered. His gaze connected with yours, his face immediately softening. “Please”, you whispered again so faintly there is almost no sound at all. For a heartbeat or two you see different urges battle on the vampire’s face but he finally releases his hold on the tiefling’s neck. He kept holding her with an iron grip though and pressed the dagger against her neck.

Miyena coughed and wheezed trying to fill her lungs with air again, her eyes full of panic. She dared not to try and speak.

Astarion grabbed her by the chin and made her look at him – her faces so close they could’ve kissed. “I’ll have you know that if it had only been me you’d be dead now – leaking out onto the cobblestones”, he spoke intently, enunciating every syllable and with that showing his fangs with every single word. “And if you ever try to threaten us again or send someone else after us or even if I just see you across the street: know that I will kill you and I will make it slow.” Then Astarion’s eyes wandered to you again. Anger still swirled in them but there was also understanding and worry – for you.

You were sure that that was it. That he would let her go now and you’d never see a piece of her again. But Miyena obviously had thoughts on that. “You are so fucking pathetic, Tav, you know that?”, she scoffed and spat on the ground. “You run around acting all goodie-goodie like you’re better than all of us. But you’re a liar and the thief like the rest of us and probably a killer too. And still, you act like that, even making your pet vampire…”

A slash of silver, a feral hiss, a huge spray of crimson blood and a body toppled to the ground. Your eyes widened in shock. Astarion knelt over Miyena’s body. You feared that he had actually lost control. But then you saw the tiefling move, not dead.

The vampire was still standing over the tiefling and it seemed he was whispering something to her, Miyena’s eyes widened and she started to scurry away from him in panic, but slipped on the steady stream of thick red blood that had started running down her throat. The vampire stood up again. “If you run now you’d might find someone in time to save you from bleeding out. I’d hurry though – and don’t fucking scream or I will get you yet”, Astarion said cooly to her.

This time time the tiefling cut her losses for good and got up to her feet and tumbled away – her wound leaving a trail of red. Astarion let the dagger clatter to the ground and turned to you.

You could see his whole face and half his body was splattered with the tiefling’s blood. His pupils were almost blotting out the red of his irises. He started to prowl towards you – his demeanor still predatory and his movement almost feline. His eyes never left yours until he was standing right in front of you. You saw the hunger in his eyes. He licked over his lips slowly, his eyes flickering shut as he tasted the fresh blood that coated them. Your lips opened as you watched his head roll back in bliss and saw his Adam’s apple work as he was trying to regain composure. Then he looked at you again, cocking his head with a smirk that barely did anything to hide the desire that clouded his features.

“Now, where were we, darling?”

Tags: @daedriclys

[callsignspark]

Mar[r]y Me | part four

pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Mariella “M&M” Vertucci (fem!OC)

summary: A love story told through friendship, laughter, and food.

series warnings: 18+ minors DNI, discussion of insecurities, difficult family relationships, discussions of food and alcohol use, an asshole man from Hinge, discussions of body image, conversations on what it’s like to be a fat woman trying to date in today’s society, suggestive language, warnings to be added as needed

word count: 6.6k

previous part | main masterlist

note: happy Friday! I am extremely excited about this part and I can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts on this chapter!! a big thanks to Jordan for all the yelling in the DMs over this one as I was writing it. and thank you for the love on three and 3.5!

part four - perfect post-beach meal

Ding Dong!

The doorbell echoes through the house, disturbing Mary, but not fully waking her.

Ding Dong!

Her left eye cracks open and immediately shuts, pulling the quilt over her pounding head to block the sunshine streaming through the blinds. I knew I would regret that fourth glass of wine last night.

Ding Dong!

The third ring makes her decide that whoever is at the door can go fuck themselves. Jehovah’s Witness or Girl Scout be damned. If it was important, her phone would be ringing.

Brrrrrring! Brrrrrring! 

The ringer volume alone makes her stomach churn, combined with the brightness of her screen as Danielle’s face flashes at her; it’s an all-out assault on her hungover existence. She questions every decision she’s made since turning eighteen.

Ding Dong!

“Please tell me this is an emergency.”

“Answer the door. Then chug some water and sling back a few Tylenol.”

The line clicks off.

Ding Dong!

“I should have partnered with Brett for chemistry. He was dumb as a box of rocks and couldn’t stop staring at my tits. But I think it would have been a better decision overall.” The doorbell goes off again, somehow sounding more aggressive. “Alright, I’m coming. I’m coming.”

Rolling out of bed and getting her robe on without dry heaving feels like an accomplishment and a half. Her trek to the front door takes an eternity, the previous night’s wreckage strewn through the house.

Her bra lays outside her bedroom door, in the same place she dropped it after her intoxicated brain decided it had to go.

The uncomfortable dress, the one Danielle had spent hours talking her into, is crumbled in the hallway. The zipper is probably broken, she thinks mournfully, remembering how she had struggled to get the restrictive piece of clothing off by herself.

Her heels are unceremoniously dumped next to the front door. What had started as a cute outfit decision had quickly turned into a nightmare accessory and almost resulted in a sprained ankle when the evening took a turn.

She’s glaring at the culprit of her current state - the empty wine bottle and a lone glass - when she catches sight of the time.

“Who the fuck is at my door at 8:30 in the morning.” She exclaims to an empty house.

Ding Dong!

She rips the door open, ready to yell at Reuben for interrupting her much-needed post-cry sleep but loses all of her steam when she comes face to face with Bradley.

“Wha-” She doesn’t even get a chance to finish her one-word question when a tiny body slams into her legs.

“Auntie Mary!” Annabeth disappears into her house before she can process what’s happening.

“Don’t worry! I got her!” Jake - where the fuck did he come from? - hustles past her, following the little girl. “Cute outfit, M&M.”

The exaggerated wink he sends her way reminds her of what she’s currently wearing, the realization washing over her head like a bucket of ice water.

Her bathrobe is covering her favorite silky nightdress.

And nothing else.

She pulls her robe together, tying the knot as tight as possible and clutching the top together with her fist. Her panic causes her to miss the longing look in Bradley’s eyes. His brain focusing on the width of her hips, the dip of her waist before traveling up and locking on the way her nipples press against the pink fabric.

The confusion and stress on her face snaps him out of it. He hands over her favorite drink from Starbucks - something he is very proud of himself for memorizing - and doesn’t say anything until she’s taken a sip.

“We’re babysitting today.” Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out except for a squeak. Bradley’s eyebrows shoot up, “Are you okay?”

Mary’s head drops and she groans, moving her hand from her robe to rub her forehead. He’s not sure what to do, slightly distracted by the cleavage that has appeared, when she turns and waves him into the house. He locks the door and follows her toward her room, slowing down as he takes in the trail of clothing leading down the hall.

He catches up to her in the bedroom, eyeing the messy, unmade bed. “Did we interrupt something?”

“What could you have interrupted?” She questions, taking some pills with a water bottle from her nightstand, following it up with a big gulp of her iced tea. “Why am I babysitting?”

“We’re babysitting. To give Reuben and Danielle a bit of a break. I’m not confident enough to try and watch the baby, but I know I can handle a preschooler.”

“How did I get pulled into this?”

“She knows you better, and frankly, trying to brave the bathroom situation seemed like too much for my first time. So I needed another adult, preferably a woman, preferably you.”

“And Jake is here because?”

“We’re giving Javy a break, too.” She snorts at his joke. “Get ready; we’re going to the beach! They sent us with snacks, sand toys, and enough sunscreen to cover the entire 7th fleet.”

“I need to shower and eat something.”

“Go ahead and shower; we’ve got time. I brought you a ham and cheese croissant.”

“I have some watermelon and baby carrots in the fridge. Can you pack those up and put them in the cooler while I get ready? The cooler is in my office.”

“On it.” He’s already moving toward the kitchen, throwing a thumbs up over his shoulder and forcing himself not to look back where he knows she’s undoing her bathrobe.

She’s brushing her teeth, feeling better after washing away the previous night’s disappointment, when she has the sudden realization that her clothes are still littering the floor. Mary hustles out of the ensuite and can feel her face start to burn when she sees the remnants of her outfit sitting on the dresser. She swallows her pride and walks into the kitchen, which she’s surprised to see has been cleaned. “Where’s Annie?”

“They’re outside, and she’s giving Jake a lesson on… something. He’s gotten smacked with her fairy wand about seven times so far, so she’s either cursing him or fixing him. Only time will tell.” He turns from where he’s washing a knife. “That baggie has your croissant. You ready to go?”

“Did you put my clothes in my room?” She blurts it out and immediately wants to hide in her room.

“Uhh, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, red blooming on his cheeks. “Sorry if that’s weird.”

“No! Not- I just-” She stutters over her words. “I wasn’t expecting it! It’s nice, but you didn’t have to do that. You also didn’t have to clean the kitchen. Thank you!”

“No problem; Danielle mentioned you went out with a friend last night, and you might be a bit hungover, so I figured I’d help some; besides, you only had like five things in the sink. It took no time.”

“Well, thank you.” A muffled shout comes from the yard, and Jake storms into the house with Annie tucked under his arm like a football.

“Okay, is it time to go yet? Annie Oakley and I are ready to dig in the sand! Race you to the front door!” He plops her on the floor and pretends to take off, watching as the little girl books it towards the door.

He shoves something at Mary’s chest. “We are leaving that fucking wand here. She keeps smacking me and telling me her spell isn’t working. That I’m still not “cute” like Bob. Fucking, Bob.”

“Jake!”

“Coming, munchkin! Hide that thing now!” As he jogs toward the front door, the hissed instruction breaks the other two.

“We should probably go before our children get into another fight.” Mary giggles at Bradley’s statement, grabbing her beach bag and food, her brain rotating the “our children” over and over in her mind.

“For you!” Annie shoves a seashell into Bradley’s hand.

“Oh, thank you! Look at how pretty this one is, Mary.” He shows off the tiny pink shell before putting it in his pocket.

“You’re growing quite the collection.” Mary mummers, smiling as she’s gifted a tiny lavender shell. The morning had been filled with splashing in the waves and building sandcastles that did not want to stay up, and then Annie wanted to look for seashells.

“So are you.” He puts the shell in his other pocket, the one holding everything Annie has handed Mary. “Jake is going to be so jealous.”

The two adults pause their meandering to look back at their blanket, where Jake volunteered to stay and watch their stuff. Apparently, he’s made a friend while waiting for the other Daggers to arrive.

Mary runs her eyes over the woman flirting with Jake. Her body is encased in a red string bikini that perfectly fits her thin, tanned figure. She suddenly feels very secure in her decision to keep her coverup dress on.

“Hey, how was New York? How’s your family? I feel like I haven’t seen you since the Secret Santa party.” She turns her attention back to Rooster, who has crouched down to assist in the search for more shells. “This one is for mommy? Okay.”

“Christmas was good; family is fine. Everyone was their usual selves, so nothing new there. Although I’m 74% sure my favorite cousin is pregnant again, and no one else has figured it out yet. So, now it’s just a matter of waiting for a Facebook announcement post to see if I’m right.”

She smiles when she hears laughter coming from the blanket; Jake deserves someone who makes him happy. Her good mood disappears in an instant as Annabeth starts splashing in the shallow water, soaking the bottom half of her coverup.

“Oh, Annie!” She stops herself from yelling, knowing the preschooler didn’t do it maliciously. “Okay, how about we have some watermelon and dry off before lunch arrives?”

The little girl sprints up to Bradley, raising her arms to be picked up. “What? You want a piggyback ride?”

She shrieks in joy when he flips her onto his back and starts jogging toward their spot, moving very carefully to avoid hurting her. Mary follows behind them at a slower pace, dreading the visual of what she’ll look like next to the blonde goddess who has joined Jake on his towel.

“There’s my favorite girl!” Jake catches Annabeth as she jumps into his arms the moment Bradley sets her down.

Her tiny hands clasp his face. “Watermelon.” She demands, making the four adults laugh.

“Watermelon, please.” Bradley gently reminds her, already opening the cooler, handing the sunscreen to Mary when she reaches for it.

“Watermelon, please.”

“Come here, baby.” Mary puts her arms out for Annie. “We gotta reapply sunscreen, and then we can have watermelon.”

“Nooo!” She whines, trying to hide in Jake’s neck.

“The sun is hot! We need to make sure we’re protected, kiddo!” Jake assists.

“Jake too?”

“Yes, me too.”

That’s all she needs to allow herself to be sprayed with the sun protectant, insisting on holding Jake’s hand while Mary sprays him down too. She’s happily munching watermelon on Jake’s lap when she asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m Tammy, a friend of Jake’s sister! I just stopped to say hi for a second. What’s your name?”

“Annabeth Fitch! I’m four years old.”

“Annabeth! That’s a pretty name!” She looks down the beach, waving at a group getting ready to leave. “I gotta go, but it was good to see you, Jake. I’ll have to tell Olivia I ran into you when we get back to school! I love your suit, by the way, it’s so cute! Bye, guys!”

Her last statement is directed at Mary, who has pulled her damp coverup off to dry in the sun and is standing there in her black one-piece. Bradley gulps, thankful that his sunglasses block his slow pursual of her figure. She looks incredible. Curves in all his favorite places, and her clipped-up hair shows off the neck he’s dreamt of marking up.

A low whistle interrupts his favorite daydream, the one that includes Mary, the backseat of his Bronco, and the dog tags he never wears but stores in his glove box.

“Damn, Mariella!” Phoenix is leering over her sunglasses, arm in arm with Yale’s very pregnant wife, Kristina, who is pumping her fist and chanting her name. Logan, Bob, and Javy slowly follow behind, carrying beach supplies, while the Lee kids run straight to Annabeth.

“Oh my god, stop it, you two!” Mary laughs, her face red enough that Bradley isn’t sure if it’s from their cat calls or the sun.

“Absolutely not! You look hot!” Kris' attempt at a hug turns into a side squeeze, her belly getting in the way. “We brought pasta salad, but please tell me you have more watermelon. It’s all baby #4 has had me craving.”

“We do! It’s in the cooler behind the pile of children on Jake; help yourself!”

The guys finally arrive with chairs, a cooler, and other supplies. The adults catch up while Kristina lays out ground rules for her kids before handing out sandwiches and bowls of pasta salad to everyone.

The men wolf down their food before starting a two-on-two football game, and the kids beg Bob to help them build a sandcastle, a request he happily completes, leaving the three women relaxing in chairs. They spend the next few hours in relative silence under the umbrellas, reading and occasionally chatting or reapplying sunscreen to the children and Bob. 

It’s when Bradley makes his way back to their spot, carrying the youngest Lee, that things change. He hands the three-year-old off to her mother. “Yale said she was getting cranky, and it might be good to let her chill with you guys.”

“Yeah, it’s almost her N-A-P time. Come here, sweetie, let’s cuddle a little.”

Bradley groans, “An N-A-P sounds good. Is there room for me under the umbrella, honey?”

“Of course, you should put more sunscreen on if you’re going to lay down, though.” She ignores the eyes burning into the side of her face and the jaws that drop when she complies with his ask for help getting his back.

Using her folded coverup as a pillow, he lays on his stomach in the shade and gets comfortable. “Wake me up if you need something.”

She gets exactly ten minutes of peace, just enough time for Andrea and Bradley to fall asleep, before the other two start in on her.

“So, I heard you had a date last night. How did that go?” Kris tees up, casually flipping through her magazine.

“Oh! Where did you meet him?” Natasha’s faux innocence annoys her.

“Well, if Dani told you that I had a date, then I’m sure she also told you how bad it was.” She snaps, staring steadfastly at her book and pretending to read. She isn’t actually reading; she can’t. The words have started to blur together from her tears. “And if she told you how bad it was, then you definitely know we met on an app.”

The sniffle that punctuates her sentence springs the other two into motion.

Nat sits in front of her in the sand, taking the book from her, and Kris holds her hand, her mom voice kicking.

“Hey, woah, okay. What’s wrong? How bad is bad? Did he hurt you?” Mary shakes her head, taking a deep breath to avoid crying. “Want to talk about it?”

“I went home to Brooklyn for Christmas as usual, but with this new job, I get more days off during the holidays, so I stayed longer than normal. Which was a mistake. All it meant was three extra days of my mom complaining about my lack of a love life and how I haven’t given her grandkids - that usual spiel. But she took it a step further this time. She actually tried to set me up with the son of one of her friends from her book club.”

“How did that go?”

“It didn’t. I refused to go. Then there was a lot of screaming - mostly about embarrassing her - and I got the first flight out of JFK that I could. I spent the rest of my holiday week on the couch watching Parks and Rec. And I felt so defeated that I redownloaded Hinge and updated my profile.”

“You met on Hinge?” Nat sounds surprised.

“Yeah, I figured it was better than Tinder.”

“Was it?”

“No, just as many dick pic offers.” The women laugh, Mary wiping her eyes where a few tears had slipped by.

“Anyway, I matched with this cute guy, Jeremy. We chatted for a few days, and he asked me to dinner. We had been clicking, and he seemed nice, plus he hadn’t tried to send me any photos, so I said yes.” She pauses to check on Annie, making a mental note to make an apple pie for Bob as a thank you for keeping the kids occupied.

“So what happened?”

“We met at that steakhouse downtown, Samson’s, and he texted me that he was at the bar. Apparently, there was a wait even though we had a reservation, and I was fine with that. I’ve spent enough time in restaurants to know that shit happens and sometimes you get behind, but it very much was not fine with him. He was incredibly rude to the hostess and the bartender. And then when our table was ready - only like 15 minutes later than planned, by the way, it was nothing - he looked at me and went, “This isn’t going to happen. You don’t look like what I thought you would based on your photos.” and left me with the check for our drinks.”

The small chorus of “what the fuck” makes her start to hysterically laugh.

“I know! It’s so fucking ridiculous that that was his reason! Like, I know what I look like.” She gestures to her body, her voice slightly shrill. “I know better than anyone else what I look like. I know that men don’t like bodies that look like mine. I know that men need to get to know me before they’re interested in me. I know that no one is attracted to me at first glance. I am so fucking aware of what I look like, and I am meticulous about choosing photos that accurately represent what I look like. Yes, they're flattering photos, but they very clearly show that I am fat.”

“Mary! That’s so ridiculous! You’re beautiful!” Kristina scolds her.

“I know I’m pretty, Kris, but I’m also fat. And I’m not saying that to put myself down or fish for compliments. It’s just a fact. I have brown eyes, I have a master's degree in project management, I’m fat.” She sighs. “But guys can’t get past the stomach or the hips or the slight double chin. I could look exactly like Farrah Fawcett, and men still would be stuck on the fact that my thighs are bigger than their heads!”

The group falls silent. Neither of the other women know what to say.

“I know what I just said sounds terrible, but please don’t feel bad. It’s how it’s always been for me; I’m used to it. I know how to work the system, how to figure out if a guy is good for me or not.” She chuckles humorlessly. “Though apparently not electronically; don’t worry, I already deleted my profile for good.”

“I’m sorry we teased you. Danielle didn’t mention this guy was such a dick.” Nat apologizes.

“That’s because she doesn’t know. The bartender was really nice and said she would give me three drinks on the house if I ordered an appetizer to go with it because he was so awful. I took her offer, got severely tipsy, took a Lyft back home, and then polished off the bottle of wine that was taking up space in my fridge. White is always a good accompaniment to crying if you were wondering.”

“Wait, so how does she know the date went badly if you didn’t tell her?”

“After finishing the wine, I realized I wasn’t just tipsy but drunk, and then suddenly, my dress was suffocating me, but I couldn’t get it unzipped. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that when I was getting dressed because Danielle helped me. I remember crying harder and calling Dani when I couldn’t get it. I’m guessing the hysterical breakdown was a clue of how the night went. And she must have talked me through it because the dress wasn’t on my body when I woke up this morning.”

“God, why does everything go extra wrong when you’re sad and drunk?”

“I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I ripped the zipper of my brand-new dress because I got overstimulated.” She pouts.

“Oh, that’s an easy fix!” Kris waves her hand like she’s waving the problem away. “If you did break the zipper, just give the dress to Logan or bring it by the house sometime, and I’ll fix it for you, no problem!”

“Really? That would be am-”

“What about Jake?”

“What?”

“What about Jake?” Phoenix repeats, “Why don’t you date him? The two of you flirt all the time! And as much as it pains me to say it, he’s a good-looking guy. And - bonus! - he’s way less insufferable than he used to be.”

“Oh! Yes! You two would be so cute together!”

“You know we’re not actually flirting, right? We banter and “flirt,” but it’s all platonic. And Jake is handsome, but he doesn’t do it for me.”

“That man is sex on a stick, and he doesn’t do it for you?” Kristina questions.

“Not in that way? Like objectively, I know Jake is very attractive; there’s no doubt that he’s hot, but I’m not actually attracted to him. It’s the same way with Maverick. He’s a good-looking guy, but I have zero interest in fucking him.”

That sends the group into laughter.

“Okay, okay! I get what you mean!” Nat forces herself to stop laughing, “What about Bradley?”

Mary looks down at the man sleeping soundly on the towel beside her, and her heart twists.

Bradley.

Her good friend who does things to help her without even asking what she needs. Who frequently brings her an afternoon snack because she gets derailed in the repair shop and forgets to grab lunch before the canteen closes.

Bradley.

Who overwhelms her senses every time she sees him. Whose cologne makes her heart skip a beat. Who always wraps her in a warm hug, but never before checking if it’s okay. Whose hands touch her with a level of care that she’s never experienced before.

Bradley.

Who, when she tries hard enough, she can trick herself into thinking that he’s actually flirting with her. That he actually wants her.

Bradley.

“It’s the same thing as with Jake; he’s a good guy, a great friend - good looking, too - and he play flirts with me. But that’s all it is.”

“Mary-”

“Please don’t.” Her whispered plea cuts them off. “Don’t be like Danielle and Reuben and try to tell me how much he likes me. That he has a crush on me. I know he doesn’t, so I can’t let myself think that. I don’t think I could handle the rejection and the disappointment.”

The sound of crying swiftly stops the conversation, Mary running down the beach to where Annabeth is holding her head, cradled in Bob’s arms.

“She tripped and bonked her head on a bucket. It wasn’t too hard, and she’s not bleeding. I think she just scared herself.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” She brushes over his hair affectionately before scooping her niece into her arms. “Come on, baby, let's take a walk.”

She stands and starts making her way down the beach, waving to let the others know everything is okay and trying to soothe her crying goddaughter.

“Hey! Everything okay?” Bradley jogs up to them, rubbing his hand over Annie’s hair, checking to make sure she’s not bleeding. “Sorry it took me a minute, Phoenix slapped me. You okay, Miss Annie?”

Annabeth buries her head in Mary’s shoulder as she explains what happened, big crocodile tears wetting her shoulder. “So we’re gonna walk for a little bit. And then I think it might be time for H-O-M-E. Someone seems a bit T-I-R-E-D.”

“Okay, that sounds good. Just let me know, okay?” He drops a kiss on Annie’s forehead and turns to head back, giving the girls some privacy.

“Rooster!”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Annie makes grabby hands at him. “Want me to walk with you?”

She easily transfers to Bradley’s arms. With Annie curled up on his chest and Mary tucked into his side, holding on to his arm and resting her head against his shoulder, the three of them walk down a deserted stretch of sand. Completely unaware of the multiple cameras capturing the sweet moment behind them.

“I thought you said the perfect post-beach meal includes your Aunt Lindsey’s potato salad?”

“It does.” Mary grabs the container filled with creamy, dill, red-skin potato salad and smiles at the man working the deli counter. “Thank you, have a good one!”

She drops the clear quart container into their cart and tickles Annie’s neck, making her giggle and try to squirm away.

“Then why are we buying potato salad for dinner?”

After their walk down the beach, Mary called Dani to let her know that she was going to have Annie sleepover at her house while Bradley packed up their stuff. Once she found out she was spending the night with her favorite aunt, Annie immediately asked for beach meal, prompting Bradley to ask what that meant.

“The perfect post-beach meal! It’s something my cousins, and I created when we were younger. It’s a fully-loaded cold-cut sandwich, served with my Aunt Lindsey’s potato salad - a family secret - and a handful of potato chips. Best paired with lemonade.” She explains in the car, inviting him to join them for dinner and a movie in her living room.

He immediately accepts, eager to spend more time with Mary and Annie, the little girl quickly wrapping him around her little finger. “We’ll have to stop by my place so I can shower; I don’t want to drag sand all through your house.”

“Just grab a change of clothes; you can shower at my house. We’re going to have to clean up, too, huh?” She turns around to the backseat, tickling Annie’s tummy, smiling as her shrieks of laughter fill the Bronco. “If we’re going to do post-beach meal, we need to stop at the grocery store for a few things, too.”

She chuckles, “That is the secret. Aunt Lindsey’s secret recipe is that she always bought potato salad from the deli down the road and put it in one of her nice serving bowls.”

Bradley laughs! “That’s cheating!”

“No, that’s being smart and saving yourself a ton of work. If you knew how big my family is, you would realize that making enough potato salad for everyone ends up being an all-day ordeal.”

“How big is your family?” He’s curious. He knows she has a bigger family; every story has a different family member attached to its background, but she’s never given exact details.

“I’m one of four; all my brothers have at least two kids. My mom is one of five, my dad is one of six, and all four of my grandparents had multiple siblings. Thirty-one people on my dad’s side moved from Sicily in 1888 or 1889, I can’t remember right now, and my mom’s side came over before World War II. They set up shop in the city, and everyone has pretty much stayed in the Brooklyn area since then. Last family reunion, there was easily over a hundred and fifty people that showed up.”

“Wow…” Bradley blinks at her unexpected answer. “People still do family reunions?”

“Mine do.” She answers distractedly, searching for an acceptable red onion. “You like red onion, right?”

He’s leaning on the cart when a little hand tugs at the sunglasses hooked into his shirt, his eyes shifting from Mary’s legs to Annie. “I’ll eat anything except for radishes, hard-boiled eggs, and anything Jake grills - I just don’t trust him, despite his self-proclaimed Texas grillmaster skills.”

“Noted. Okay, we just need lettuce and lemonade because I’m not making that from scratch today.” She looks up from the list on her phone. “Oh! You look cute, baby! I think Bradley’s glasses might be a little big for you, though.”

“Ah, she’ll grow into them. Right, peanut?” They both laugh as the shades fall off her face when she nods in agreement. “I think I should hold onto these for you until you get a little bigger.”

“You guys wait here for a minute, I’m gonna grab a head of lettuce, and then we’re basically all set.” She rubs a hand across his back as she walks away, smiling as Bradley realizes he’s losing the argument about what movie they’re going to watch with dinner.

“Ho-le-y shit! Look at that!”

“Oh. my. god. Do you think he’s single?”

“I hope so! That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The frantic whispering drags Mary’s attention from the iceberg lettuce display. She watches as a group of pretty, twenty-something girls point and ogle in Bradley’s direction. Her eyes flick towards the shopping cart her goddaughter is sitting in, her pink striped coverup swallowing her tiny frame.

Well, they’re not wrong. He does look sexy.

The muscle shirt he’s wearing shows off the hard work he’s put in recently. The team has been hitting the gym more frequently since the new year, starting to prepare for a short deployment they have coming up in the spring. He’s golden from spending the day in the sun, and his brown hair is fluffy from the salt water. Combined with how he’s entertaining an adorable little girl, who is clearly enamored with him, she completely understands the thirsting happening next to the avocado tower.

“I’m going up to him. How do my boobs look?”

The brazenness of the group leader stuns her.

Absolutely fucking not.

Without looking, she grabs a head of lettuce and hustles back to the cart, grinning at Annie when she points at her. Bradley turns and smiles, pulling her into his chest as he drops the lettuce next to Annie in the cart. “This one has insisted that we need ice cream to round out this perfect meal of ours, and I think I agree with her. What do you think, honey?”

She melts into his hold, savoring the way his arm feels wrapped around her waist. “Well, I do have chocolate sauce and rainbow sprinkles that are dying to be used up. So I think you’re absolutely right; we should get ice cream.”

Bradley and Annie high-five as he starts booking it toward the freezer section, leaving Mary in their dust. She snorts at the ridiculousness she’s brought to the grocery store and starts to follow them.

“Hey!” A voice behind her catches her attention. She turns, vindication spreading through her chest when she sees the disappointed faces of the group of younger women.

“Congrats on him; he’s a beauty.” The leader gives her a thumbs up and a wink like she had just bagged a prize deer.

She laughs in response, giving a small wave over her shoulder as she works to catch up. Knowing that without supervision, Annie will con Bradley into buying five flavors of ice cream.

“Alright, that’s your final number of the night, twinkle toes. Time for bed.” Mary lifts herself off the couch where she’s spent the last forty-five minutes leaning against Bradley.

After dinner and mini ice cream sundaes were eaten and Cars had finished, Annie shoved the adults together on the couch and demanded they watch her dance around the living room to Top 40 hits.

“Time to brush my teeth?”

“Yes, time to brush your teeth.” She swings Annie onto her hip. “Wanna watch that James Bond movie you were talking about last week?”

“Yeah, if you’re up for it?” Bradley gets up when she nods in response. “Awesome, I’ll finish the dishes and set it up.”

“Thank you, I’ll be back after she’s asleep.”

He watches her walk down the hallway towards her bedroom, talking to the sleepy preschooler in her arms before moving into the kitchen. As he washes the ice cream bowls, he thinks about how much he’s enjoyed the day. He never thought the highlight of his week would be fighting for an hour to secure a car seat into Bronco and then spending 12+ hours caring for a four-year-old. But it has been, and he’s enjoyed every moment.

He pours them each a glass of the Moscato he picked up at the store and sprawls on her pink couch, scrolling through his phone while he waits for her to put Annie to bed. It’s not too long before soft footsteps grab his attention, and he gulps when she rounds the corner.

“My leggings were too uncomfortable, so I changed into my pajamas; I hope you don’t mind.”

How could I mind looking at your ass in those shorts?

“Course not; want you to be comfy.” He watches her bend down to add detergent to the dishwasher, her sweatshirt catching his eye. “Do you have an aviator boyfriend somewhere in Florida that we don’t know about?”

“What?”

“Your sweatshirt. I’ve only seen people who come out of flight school with those.”

“Oh, this! I always talked about how I wanted one of these sweatshirts, so when I announced that I was leaving to come out here, my favorite admiral got me one as a going-away present.” She points to her sleeve as she sits beside him, “He even got my call sign embroidered on it!”

“Cute; how come I’ve never seen this before?”

“I only wear it at bedtime. He ordered it to be oversized for me, which I appreciate, but it was so big that it practically was a dress. Dani and I tried to crop it one night, but we didn’t measure, misjudged it, and well…” She lifts her arms slightly above her head, her tummy and the very bottom curve of her breasts coming into view. “Not exactly public friendly.”

He hums, distracted by how if she had lifted her arms one more inch, she would have completely flashed him.

“You, uhh-” He clears his throat, “You ready to watch the movie? I poured you a glass of wine.”

“Thank you!” She hits play as she takes a sip. “Oh, Bradley, you did such a good job picking this out.”

He grunts in response, his brain fixated on the little moan she let out after her second sip.

Twenty minutes into the movie, he pauses it when she squirms for the tenth time. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“Sorry. My back hurts, and there’s not enough room to lay down.”

“Come lay with me. There’s plenty of room here.”

“Really?” She asks as she’s already moving around the coffee table to his other side. “You don’t mind?”

“Just come lay down, Mary.” She slots herself next to him on the chaise, resting her head on his shoulder and throwing a leg over his thighs. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” She pats his chest in thanks, and he starts the movie up again. He wraps an arm around her, slipping his hand under her sweatshirt and rubbing her back when she doesn’t protest.

When the movie ends two hours later, she yawns and shifts on his chest as the credits roll. “I liked that a lot; I think that’s Daniel Craig’s best movie.” She bends her leg, pulling it further up his lap and freezing when she feels him.

“Sorry.” He grunts, trying to scoot away, yelling at himself for making her uncomfortable.

A hand on his chest stops him.

“It’s okay.” She quietly reassures him, her hand sliding up to cradle the side of his face, turning him to look at her. “I don’t mind.”

The look in his eyes takes her breath away. He looks hungry. Like he wants her. The way his breathing gets heavier when she sinks her hand into his hair gives her the confidence boost she needs. Summoning all the grace she possibly can, Mary sits up and swings a leg over his hips. His hands guide her onto his lap, her eyes widening when she sits down.

“You’re so hard.” She says breathlessly, shocked at how aroused he is underneath her.

“You’ve been pressed against me for two hours in these tiny little shorts with no bra on, and you smell good.” He shrugs helplessly like he had no control over the situation.

“Bradley…” She trails off when he moans as her hands tug his hair. She leans into him, heart pounding as their chests and noses touch. Her eyes flutter, a quiet whine escaping as she enjoys the way his hand grabs at her ass, big and warm through the thin material of her shorts. The other hand runs up her thigh and slips under the hem to hold her hip, thumbing over the lacey edge of her panties. Mary moans as he pulls her further into him, tilting her head and letting her lips brush his.

“Aunt Mary!”

She sits up straight, balancing herself on his chest. “Annie?! What’s wrong?” She climbs off Bradley, apologizing as she goes.

“I- I- I had a bad dream! Th-the dinosaurs were there!” She wails, tears pouring down her cheeks as she hiccups.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s okay! It’s okay! Those dinosaurs aren’t real. They were just machines for the movie. They can’t hurt you.” She bounces Annie, trying to soothe her. She’s going to kick Reuben’s ass all the way to Australia for allowing Annabeth to watch Jurassic Park. Knowing it’s his fault that she and Bradley were interrupted.

“Can we watch Frozen?” The sniffles break her heart, and she immediately gives in.

Mary sighs, “Yeah, let's wipe your face off, and we’ll watch Frozen.” After the tears and snot are washed away, she settles on the opposite end of the couch with Annie in her arms, wrapping a blanket around them and turning on the movie.

Once the citizens of Arendelle are singing about ice, she risks a glance over at Bradley to find him already watching her. Her heart skipping a beat at the intensity of his stare. She lets herself openly watch as he adjusts himself through his shorts before dragging a hand across his mouth, his eyes only leaving hers to watch the way her teeth dig into her bottom lip. She can’t remember the last time she was this turned on and mourns the fact that she didn’t even get a chance to taste his lips.

Eventually, she breaks eye contact, looking at the movie when Annie points. Bradley doesn’t look away - can’t look away - her cheeks are flushed, and she's still slightly panting. He’s annoyed they were interrupted and feels bad about being annoyed. But he’s never going to be able to forget the way she felt on his lap. So soft, so warm. How she fit perfectly into his hands, like she was made for him. He can’t think about how her hands pulled his hair and how she wiggled on his lap, or he knows he’s going to get hard again. Those 90 seconds are going to star in his dreams for the rest of his life.

She’s perfect. I’m gonna ask her out next week, and we’ll go to dinner somewhere nice. We’ll go to Samson’s. He decides.

I can’t believe that asshole didn’t want her.

Who wouldn’t want her? 

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[sacredwrath]

P5. Breakfast

Past captivity + torture, panic attack, ptsd, confusion, angst, whumpee thinks caretakers are whumper (briefly)

Jesse watches their family eat. Jordan is the only person seemingly unaffected by the events of yesterday. The break neck speed of their story doesn't leave room for thought, much less interjection. Jesse is glad. Hearing about the new pine fort they’re building in the forest relaxes them, keeping them grounded in the moment.

“OH- and Jes, when your leg is better, you also have to see, there's a new nest! It's over by beaver creek! I couldn't tell if they were swallows for sure, but they looked like it. One has a blue head, and you can hear the babies from all the way down the path!”

“Wow!” Jesse tries. “How's the dam? Are the beavers still working on it?”

“Oh yes! They've made so much progress. I don't really know what a finished dam looks like, but it must be getting close now! I saw one of them…”

It feels strange to see life move on. To Jordan and the rest, to the beavers, life just kept moving. They feel strangely out of place, like a time traveler peering in at their own life, their past life.

Jordan chugs their apple juice, quiet for the first time the whole meal. They slam their cup down on the table and Jesse berates themself for their flinch, glancing quickly around to see if anyone noticed.

“Anyways, see you losers later! Bye Jesse, I have to show you my bow and arrow later, Jake helped me make it while you were gone.” They hop off their chair gathering up trinkets and shoving them in a bag.

“I can't wait!” Jesse smiles. They have to look away, tears springing unbidden to their eyes. They missed this, missed breakfast, missed Jordan and their wild adventures. “Hey Jordan” they call after the scurrying figure “can I have a hug”

“Of course!” Jordan sprints back to the table and tackles Jesse in a hug.

“Oof” they grunt, but squeeze back just as tightly.

Once they've left and only the adults are left, Jesse dabs at their eyes with a napkin, keeping their eyes on their plate. They aren't ready for the gentle questions, the concerned glances, having to explain. They can sense their family's curiosity, their concern, but aren't ready to face it.

Isa jumps in, expertly filling the silence with casual conversation. Drawing everyone in and carefully steering talk away from Jesse. They have never been more grateful for that particular kindness.

Jake talks about a new girl he met down in the city. They're getting coffee, again, on Saturday. The others tease him about the disastrous end of his last whirlwind romance. Jesse missed it.

Nora complains that Misha keeps sabotaging her tinctures. “You're the worst mentor!” She exclaims. “she keeps assigning me all these formulas, then changes the recipe halfway through.”

“Don't question my methods, young one. I'm teaching you medicine not how to follow a recipe.” Misha grins wickedly. Nora rolls her eyes.

“You see what I put up with every day.” she leans over as if for a kiss, but snaps at Mishas lip instead.

“ow! You animal!” Misha snaps, dragging her into a hug.

Jesse finds themself smiling, letting the normalcy wash over them. It feels so good to finally be home.

Without warning Jesse's throat starts to feel tight. They gasp, feeling hands close around their neck. Throwing themself back, away from the table, they topple their chair and land hard, jarring their leg. Panic floods them, their blood runs ice cold. They have to get away.

Hands reach for them and they scream, scrambling back, throwing up arms to protect their face even though they know it's pointless. Hands squeezing their throat, they claw at them, trying to rip them away.

Too many people,

Nowhere to go

Escape

Escape

Escape

Escape

They scramble away

Away from what?

They lash out at something, nails ripping through skin

Are they screaming?

Their back slams into a wall

They try and wedge themself behind something, try to hide

Their heart is beating too fast, pain ripping through their chest, and the hands are still crushing their throat

“Please-” They try to beg, but the word gets stuck

“Jesse” It's Isa's voice, calm and clear

They must be hallucinating. Isa can't be here.

“Jesse, it's me, Isa, can you hear me?”

Why is Isa here?

They can't breath, how did they catch her too?

The hands are so tight on their neck.

They're getting dizzy, but still trying to push Morgan back. They aren't strong enough, there's no point fighting. There never is.

He smothers them, arms encircling theirs, pinning them to their sides.

Thought slows, their head turning to mud

They feel every millimeter of skin against theirs burning in anticipation of pain

“please…” They whimper through numb lips. The most pointless word to ever exist, but against all experience the arms let go

It's Isa, stepping back from them

Confusion and hurt flash through them. Why is she her? Why is she the one hurting them?

Their visual field broadens and they see everyone else too. Their whole family arrayed in front of them

Slowly, reality oozes back into focus

Isa isn't there, back in their cell, they themself aren't there. Not anymore, they were rescued. Now they're here. They're home

Here and home

They take in the room, large windows letting in sunlight and a soft, cool breeze.

Wooden floors under them, the smell of breakfast still in the air.

They realize they're huddled in a ball under the breakfast bar, a fallen chair on onside and their friends panicked faces on the other

What just happened?

“Isa?” They ask.

She reaches for them, but stops before they make contact.

“Jes! Are you ok? What just happened?”

They breath a short, unconvincing laugh. “Don't know.” They struggle, “can you help me up?”

Isa is careful to touch them, and they suddenly feel embarrassed. They never wanted their friends to see them like this. Like they were with him

Averting their eyes, they mumble a thank you as Isa half carries them to the couch.

They still feel shaky, light-headed, and confused. Now that the panic is fading, they find they can't clearly remember what just happened.

“I'm sorry.” They try “I'm not sure what happened.”

“That's ok, it was probably a panic attack. Here,” Isa takes a glass of water from Jake and holds it out to them.

In still shaking hands, they take it, focusing hard not to spill. A few sips help them feel more present, but they can't stop their trembling

“Sorry-” They try again, not sure what else to say. A tidal wave of pent-up emotion building in their chest. They fight to keep it in. “Sorry- I don't- sorry”

“It's ok Jes, there's nothing to be sorry for.” Isa reaches for them again and they flinch, tears building in their eyes faster than they can blink them away.

“Sorry, it's not you-”

“I know, there's nothing to be sorry for. You've just been through- something terrible. We all understand-”

“You don't.” Jesse snaps, regretting it immediately. Heat rushes to their cheeks “I'm sorry-” they don't want to look up and see the hurt on their faces. They bury their face in their hands.

“You're right, we don't understand, but we'd like to, we want to help you.”

Jesse says nothing. No one should understand, but selfishly, they wish someone did.

The manage to regain control of the tears, shoving them back down.

“It's ok.” They try. “I'm ok now.” They force a smile. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Isa narrows their eyes at them in displeasure. “Jes we want to help you. Just tell us what you need.”

“I- right now, I just want to drop it ok? I can't…” They trail off

“Ok. It's dropped. For now.” Isa puts on a shaky smile. “But we're all here for you when you're ready.”

Jesse nods, wondering if they'll ever be ready.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra

[pollylynn]

Title: Bound and Determined WC: 900

"There’s nothing going on between Beckett and me.”

— Richard Castle, Tick, Tick, Tick . . . (2 x 17)

She is wide awake with a gun under her pillow. Metaphorically under her pillow. A gun literally under her pillow would be unsafe. She flops from her back to her stomach, punching said pillow as she lands, silently cursing his name. It’s his fault she’s wide awake, policing her own internal thoughts for literary correctness.

It’s his fault that she is not, in fact, too tired to argue. She has, in fact, been having a deeply satisfying, one-sided argument this whole time since she stalked off, wine-less and all too aware of the smug smile he was, no doubt, leveling at her back. Or she had been having it right up until the literary policing started. She has been lying here, staring up at the ceiling, at one wall, then the other, at the door with its stubbornly non-moving knob, her mind whirring its way through every jab and cut and devastating blow she could have, should have, would have landed if only she’d taken him up on that glass of wine. Maybe she should have taken him up on that glass of wine. Maybe she should have taken the whole damned bottle to bed with her. 

“Not really,” she tells the ceiling as she groans and flops on to her back again. Her history—her dad’s history—will not really allow her to be a going-to-bed-with-a-bottle-of-wine kind of person. “Which you should know.” She sticks her tongue out at the door and adds another unforgivable sin to his already substantial total. She scowls hard at  the painted white brick the bedroom shares with the living room. She grips the blankets tight in her fists and wills herself not to throw them back, not to tear open the door and stomp back down the hall for the sheer pleasure of sharing with him the highlight reel of insults her brain has spent the last few hours coming up with. 

She grips the blankets tight in her fists and wills herself not to throw them back, not to slip soundlessly from the bed, not to slink back down the hall to pour herself a soundless, clandestine glass of wine. It’s a dual, white-knuckle truth. She forces her fingers to loosen their hold just a little, but the blankets make their cautious way to her chin. Her shoulders hunch. She’s burrowing deeper into the pillows. She’s making herself small, and what’s that about? What is any of this about? 

She is wide a wake, despite the fact that she is exhausted in every possible way. That is his fault. She tries to right herself by returning to this central fact, but the secret hour has struck in which exhaustion wakes up the whole damned internal house and insists on some middle-of-the-night introspection. 

Why is it his fault that she is wide awake? There’s the obvious. She really does want a chance to deliver some hindsight-curated shots about his schoolboy crush on Jordan Shaw. She wants go gloriously off script and rip him a new one for his crack about the sexlessness of their relationship, although now that she thinks about it, that particular theme could use some curation, because what exactly is the problem with him, for once, confirming the sexlessness of their relationship, rather than responding to Jordan Shaw’s shockingly unprofessional commentary with his usual—a sly, maddeningly confident, Not yet? 

Relationship.

That’s the crux of it. She wants, childishly, to rush out there, startle him badly enough that he rolls off the couch, waking at the exact moment that his head connects with the hardwood floor. She wants to shout at the top of her lungs that—oh, by the way—they do not have a relationship, they just have . . . sexlessness. 

That’s what she wants to do, and yeah, it’s a line of argument that definitely needs some work.  But more important, even in her current state of exhaustion, her mind won’t allow it, any more than it will allow her to abuse the word literally. 

He is on her couch, and she suspects that if she were to rush or stomp or creep or slink down the hallway and out into the living room, she’d find he’s wide awake, too. He’s probably polishing his own comebacks and stockpiling riffs about her “ridiculous” jealousy, because he is ever himself, just as she is ever herself. 

He is on her couch, because he is not leaving her alone. Because he feels responsible, and even if he has nothing to offer in the way of protection against a crazed wanna-be serial killer, save his rapier wit and a heart-stoppingly expensive bottle of wine, he is still there when it would have been easier for him to not still be there. It would have been easier for him never to have come at all—to have stayed home making sure his Agent Jordan Shaw in The Recapitator poster is hanging level on the wall of his bedroom. It would have been easier for him to have gone when she started scolding him for his breaches of imaginary protocol. 

There are so many things in the world that would have been easier than him lying on her couch, almost certainly awake—than her lying here with the covers up to her chin, very definitely awake. 

There are so many things in the world that must be easier than this thing—this relationship—they’re in.  

A/N: I am ashamed to admit that I have cracked myself up with the image of Castle's bedroom papered with Jordan Shaw posters. J/K. I clearly have no shame.

images via homeofthenutty

[ladyhindsight]

In the previous chapter, Jace tells Clary that “I can’t talk to you” and “I can’t talk to you, I can’t be with you, I can’t even look at you.” Then, as Clary obviously gets upset and leaves, Jace goes after her and has the audacity to say this:

Consistency, what is it. Make it make sense.

Jace and Clary then proceed to have an angsty fight about their current relationship troubles. Clary demands her phone back from Jace who has hold onto it like a relic of ancient times because it’s Clary’s. Aww. Not.

When Clary and Jocelyn leave for the hospital to see the devil baby, Jocelyn tells Clary to put on a coat because weather. No mention of Clary grabbing a bag. When Catarina gives Clary the Ziploc bag containing the piece of fabric from said devil baby, Clary puts it in her coat pocket. No mention of Clary having her bag.

Are we just supposed to assume Clary has it whenever she is out and about? Because now it appeared out of nowhere.

Clary doesn’t have a crystal ball. Clary and Simon have not talked since the diner (which was the day before), after which Jace began accompanying Simon around. Simon is a constant prop for Jace to show Clary that he cares for her by helping out Simon. Isn’t he nice.

They proceed to kissing and fighting and dry-fucking against a brick wall. During their verbal exchanges, Jace’s logic is so unsound, so wholly inane in this whole fight (not to mention this whole book) that I’d rather save my mental capacity from the frustration that it made me experience and just move on.

I like that Jace, even for a brief moment in his life, identifies as Lightwood. But, as the later chapters will make clear, there is this inconsistency with what names these characters throw around, which only makes me think that calling Jace a Lightwood now will only preface the “payoff” when he finally becomes a Herondale. The Mortal Instruments at this point in time exist concurrently with The Infernal Devices, with William Herondale and all, which really just underlines the importance of that relation.

Just to touch a little on Jace’s ridiculous and self-centered logic during the argument. How can Clary see anything when Jace refuses to be in her presence? The audacity of this boy to expect everyone, especially Clary, to be attuned to his pain is unbelievable.

So the dry-fucking proceeds.

Additionally to the fact that this whole scene makes me barf, I also hate the narrating. 

→ ...and dug his fingers into the thin fabric of her tights. They ripped, and his wet fingers were on the bare skin of her legs. She slid her hands...

Isabelle, for the second time in this book, interrupts their slobbering all over each other. She is looking for Simon who is currently munching on Maureen.

Jace and Clary have this incredibly dumb argument while making out in the rain. Clary was confused prior to this scene, is confused in the middle of it, and does not get any closer ending her confusion after it. Jace is the sole reason Clary feels like crap about herself and her relationship to Jace while Jace just refuses to elaborate what is going on with him because he is a self-centered prick wallowing in self-pity. Then he, with his AUDACITY, just leaves Clary hanging and runs off like the little bitch he is, all the while the narrative would have the readers pity him. No.

We cut back to Simon and the backstage. Jordan interrupts Simon’s snack and pries him off of Maureen.

Actually no.

Jordan tells Simon to fuck off while he takes care of Maureen. Simon is high on human blood and everything is pretty.

God forbid that the writing actually would just show this instead of telling it.

Isabelle then finds Simon.

→ Jace and Clary are the hottest couple in the series

→ I can’t remember or find where anything about this cake appointment was mentioned. Jocelyn tries to lie to Clary about going to see the devil baby and says: “I was just running out,” she said. “A few last-minute wedding things have come up, and—” meaning there weren’t any appointments.

→ I can’t remember or find where Clary says she won’t be attending the gig because of a cake appointment.

→ ...Simon said. The cake appointment must have been canceled or something.

→ Jace not taking his duties seriously was already stated by Simon in the chapter 7: “It was pretty clear he wasn’t taking his bodyguard duties all that seriously, but that had been obvious from the beginning.“ Stop restating the same things.

Simon and Isabelle are then busted by Maia who appears out of nowhere, carrying a flyer to the gig.

→ Simon never told Isabelle and Maia about him seeing them both. Never grew a spine and seized an opportunity to tell either of them. He rather blames it on nothing having a change while he never bother to create one.

→ Isabelle is only upset with Simon because Maia is also Simon’s friend. Isabelle and Maia are not friends, the writing also says this, so what is it to Isabelle? Isabelle herself is inconsistent in this dating thing and holds Simon to a different standard than herself.

→ Maia is the only one in this farce that was completely blindsided. She was truthful, never had any obligation to speak to or tell Isabelle anything because they don’t even hang out or speak to each other on any basis, and only went on with what Simon gave her. Which was never no we are not dating neither I am also seeing someone else. Which would’ve given Maia any choice in the matter whether he’d want to casually see someone who was also seeing other people.

Simon is a Nice Guy to a tee. Did not age well.

Isabelle has no leg to stand on, should have no say over who Clary is friends with, neither should be bothered who Clary is friends with. Isabelle is not Clary’s primary friend in this equation. This is dumb.

Jordan then appears, having taken care of Maureen, and Maia sees him.

You go, girl. Give him hell.

[justmanic03]

Amethyst - Chapter Seventeen

What?! Gladlily is evolving!

"Oh, whats this? An evolution? This is going to go viral!" Chen grabbed her Rotom phone and pointed the camera so that it was now facing Lily, who was becoming shrouded in the exciting evolution mist.

Congratulations! Your Gladlily evolved into Gladimax!!!

Chen and I couldn't help but squeal in awe at the adorable, fully-evolved Pokemon that stood before us. Her hair had now grown into full-on tulip braids, and her body was now an assembly of leaves rather than just one single leaf she had back when she was still a Gladillum. However, she still retained those adorable black eyes and signature squeak! "Awww, she's so cute!" Chen gushed over her, as I glanced over at the chat on her live video. The gifters in the chat were now sending red tulip gifts to celebrate along with us.

"What a beautiful Pokemon!" One of them wrote in the chat.

"You're really lucky, Y/N," another said.

I laughed as I saw the viewer count had now exceeded ten thousand. At that moment, Buzz and Jordan appeared, causing Chen to grab her Rotom phone and step aside.

"Look at this! Lily evolved again!" I exclaimed, pointing at the beautiful grass Pokemon that stood beside me.

"Wow, she's so cute!" Jordan stuck his hand out to play with Lily's hair, which she happily squeaked in acceptance.

"So, you beat Chen, huh? That means you've got six gym badges now!" Buzz interjected.

"Yeah, he/she really brought up a snowstorm! I've never had this many gifts on a live before!" Chen called out from across the room.

"Anyway, Y/N, Jordan told me you wanted to talk to me about a theory that you have."

****

The Juniperia warden had kindly allowed us to use the town hall as a point for our second meeting. This meeting consisted of Buzz, Jordan, Danny and Mackenzie, but Lisa was unfortunately missing.

"What do you guys think of my new outfit!" Mackenzie asked, lifting his arms so that we could see his new hoodie. It was a pale white hoodie, in vast contrast to his dark hair, with a print of a shiny Gengar. He was also wearing ripped blue denim jeans rather than his usual skin-tight black ones.

"Glad to see you finally saw sense," Danny mocked. "That Moon outfit was horrendous."

"I'd rather put that behind me." Mackenzie scowled back, as Danny sent me a cheeky wink.

"Quite a few things have happened since our last meeting." Buzz explained. "Chairwoman Crystal and Deputy Chairman Clyde paid a visit to Birch's lab to examine the corrupted Aron Pokemon. They have all concluded that the Pokemon has indeed been messed with by some kind of mechanical device that switches up types. Crystal said it was something she'd seen before in one of Team Moon's bases."

"So does that mean we can safely conclude that Team Moon were the ones responsible for the incident?" Danny queried.

Buzz nodded. "It's looking extremely likely."

"Does that mean Lisa is off the hook?" I chimed in.

"Not quite. Maddie informed the Elite Four about Lisa's obsession with Team Moon, and they've taken her into their headquarters at the League to question her about it, and hopefully educate her and set her on the right path."

"Oh god, I hope they're not too harsh on her." Mackenzie interjected.

"I think she'll be fine. Crystal can be quite tough at times, but deep down she just wants to protect the safety of Taldourse and everyone in it. Not to mention Clyde likes to turn everything into a joke. They'll be like good cop and bad cop," Jordan explained.

I nodded my head, feeling slightly more reassured. Deep down, I prayed that Lisa would be okay.

"So, about this theory of yours?" Buzz snapped me out of my thoughts as I realised all eyes in the room were on me.

"Yeah, I was watching Chen's webcast. You said you think Team Moon could've been responsible for Kossi's death," Danny said.

I nodded. "Well, who else could it have been? Team Moon are disgusting. They've been proven to have harmed Pokemon in the past, who's to say they're not capable of harming people as well?"

"But Kossi was the strongest and most powerful trainer in Taldourse. Even Team Moon weren't dumb enough to try and mess with him. Besides, everyone knows that Team Moon were terrified of the Castors." Buzz interjected. "I can understand your theory, Y/N, but I'm afraid it just doesn't hold water in the grand scheme of things."

"I still believe it, though." I stood firm in my ground.

"I agree with Y/N. There's something seriously wrong with these people." Mackenzie spoke up.

"Anyway, back to the plan. As you all know, we've sadly run dry on leads." Buzz continued. "If we can't find any Team Moon grunts, it must be because they've ditched their uniforms and are starting to blend in with ordinary people. So they're hiding in plain sight."

"So you're saying any random person in any of the cities could be a part of Team Moon?!" Danny gasped.

Buzz nodded. "We can't trust anyone outside of our task force other than the Gym Leaders and the Elite Four. So here's the plan: I want Y/N, Danny and Mackenzie to continue with the gym challenge, and collect all seven of your gym badges. Then, head to the Pokemon League to take on the Elite Four."

The three of us agreed, nodding our heads.

"If you see anyone acting suspicious, give me a call on the Rotom Phone immediately, and if you see any more corrupted Pokemon, call Professor Birch. Jordan and I are going to head up to Opaquia and see if we can find any clues in Team Moon's old base."

****

And so, we began our descent down Juniper Mountain once again. Although climbing downwards was a breeze compared to upwards, we still had to be extremely cautious to avoid slipping. Despite everything, Danny managed to remain in relatively good spirits.

"I've evolved a bunch of my Pokemon now." He boasted.

"Oh really? What's your team?" Mackenzie inquired.

"I got Pikachu, of course, Zana, Slowbro, Sylveon, Flygon and Garchomp."

"Oh that's neat. So you're an electric specialist, huh, Danny?" Mack continued.

"Yep. Electrics are my favourites. What about you guys?"

"Well I'm more partial to ghost types. And Lisa is into fire and dark mostly," Mackenzie explained. "What about you, Y/N?"

"Oh, I don't have a specific type I'm into," I said. "I like to switch out my team a lot, give everyone a chance to shine, you know?"

"That's fair. Hey, I'm in a battling mood now!" Danny piped up, with a big grin on his face. "Who wants to take me on?!"

"Considering I've beaten you three times, I think I'll pass on this one." Mackenzie smirked as he backed away onto the sidelines.

Danny's eyes then turned to me. "Are you ready to get thrashed, Y/N?"

"No, but I'm sure as hell ready to do some thrashing!" I responded, grabbing a Pokeball as Mackenzie watched in ernest.

You are challenged by Pokemon Trainer Danny!

Danny sent out Pikachu!

You sent out Gladimax!

Pikachu used Thunderbolt!

It's not very effective...

"Lily, use Petal Dance!" It's super effective! Pikachu's HP is down to 1!

Pikachu toughed it out so Danny wouldn't feel sad!

"Haha, I love you Pika!" Danny cried. "Use Dig!"

Pikachu burrowed its way under ground!

I smirked. I had always enjoyed trolling dig users by using their own move against them, hence why I kept it in the move pool of the majority of my Pokemon. "Lily, use dig!"

Lily burrowed its way underground!

Danny's eyes widened in shock.

"Haha, I like your style, Y/N!" Mackenzie laughed as he clapped his hands in anticipation.

Pikachu used dig! Lily avoided the attack!

Lily used dig!

Pikachu fainted!

Mack and I burst out laughing as Pikachu fainted and was recalled back into his Pokeball. Danny, however, was red-faced in humiliation due to my trolling of him. Even Lily was squeaking in amusement. However, my laughter quickly came to an abrupt halt when I noticed someone rather unsavoury tracking across the snow a few yards away with an exceptionally large Latios trailing her, grumbling loudly.

"Optimus, no, I can't give you anymore rare candy; you are already on your maximum level." The blonde-haired lady attempted to explain to the disgruntled dragon. My fists immediately clenched.

Danny and Mackenzie immediately picked up on my sudden change of demeanour, and turned around to see none other than Harp Girl.

"Oh no..." Danny muttered. "Not this girl again..."

Her head suddenly snapped around in hostility as she picked up on our presence.

Her gaze was incredibly cold and hostile, just like it had been back when we had first met her on Juniper Mountain.

[thornappleworld]

The Yellow Video

File #SGS-445937

The Yellow Video

Report by field researcher SGS Jordan Headrick

I'd always heard that it's best to have a yellow object near the computer monitor before you play the video. I used a banana from that bowl Rachel keeps in the break room. They also say you should be relaxed and genuinely in a good state of mind. I took a long, hot shower to clear my mind, turned the lights low in my office, smoked two joints and listened to some soothing music before beginning. All that was easy. You've got to be able to chill out and let go or this job will eat you alive.

I hit “play” on the video I downloaded from a certain questionable site. Honestly, I was surprised it even worked. I'd been trying to find a legit copy for a few weeks now, and had a lot of fakes. I've done my little calm-down ritual so much that the guys at the local weed shop don't even card me any more. Anyway, I found a forum for Yellowheads and one of them sent me a link, and here we are.

The video started, this one actually looked legit. The opening shot is a little shaky, presumably as the camera on a stand on what appears to be a picnic table is being set to “record” and adjusted slightly. It's set near a short end of a picnic table, pointing back over it, centering on a yellow camping chair set there, empty for the moment. The table itself appears to have been painted a dark red long ago & now the paint is mostly gone. There is a small low Tupperware-type opaque white container set there on camera left. The container has what appears to be something written on it in black sharpie which then faded and got scratched away through wear, tear, & washing. I'd read that people have digitally enhanced on this bit of writing and tried to fill in the gaps and read the words. General consensus is that it says the name “Whitney Guerrero” or “Whitney Guerrera” in cursive and followed by a smiley face. I could only really make out the “W”. The container does not appear to have a lid, but there is a yellow steno-style notebook set on top of it, obscuring the container's contents. The notebook is open with the front cover flipped back. There is writing on the notebook's open page and it seems to be utterly illegible from this angle. There is a yellow sparkle gel pen clipped toward the bottom of the page. A small, fluffy yellow feather is taped to the cap positioned on the back of the pen. It appears that many pages have been ripped out of the notebook. On camera right is a plastic takeout-style cup half-full of iced coffee. The straw is white with yellow stripes. Beyond the chair is a series of houses, like a high-end trailer park. Most of the video only shows the fronts of five houses, but there's a few frames while the camera is being adjusted that show seven more before the view is obstructed by a hill.

With the camera is set, a woman enters from camera left and sits in the camping chair. As she's sitting we see she's wearing black tights as well as a bright yellow hoodie with the hood pulled up. The hoodie has the word “Pythia” written on it in Semi-wildstyle graffiti lettering. This is what most people have taken to calling the her, I've gotten in the habit of doing the same.

Pythia appears to be a thin Hispanic woman in her early to mid 20's. She is wearing her hood up for the entire video, but we do see long straight black hair spilling out of the hood. Based on the size of the objects in the video with her, someone worked out that she's about five foot nine (175 cm). There are no visible piercings (note: we never clearly see her ears) in some shots there appears to be a QR code tattooed on the back of her right wrist (note: her sleeve always obscures it at least partially)

She then places the container and notebook on her lap, hidden by the picnic table. She looks just off camera and straightens out her hood. She then seems to read what is written on the notebook, glancing at the words briefly while she sips on the iced coffee. We see the feather bounce as she crosses something out and writes something else. This goes on for about twenty seconds. She then puts the cup back down on camera right. She looks up at the camera with a worried expression for a moment before closing her eyes, taking some deep calm breaths for a full minute than looking at the camera with a warm smile. She speaks in perfect fluent Mexican Spanish with a crisp voice that has a honeyed quality to it.

I had straight A's in high school Spanish, and I downloaded that owl app to brush up when I got this assignment. I can follow what she's saying pretty well. She starts.

“Hi, it's me, the Woman in Yellow, and it's been a whole week since we've chatted, so let's fix that. My crew and I have tested nine products this week, and let me tell you, it's been a fantastic week. We're starting heroic with 'Wanliss Bliss'.”

She produces a bundle small, brown dried mushroom, presumably from the container.

“Obviously named after President Wanliss. Really, I'm surprised no one named a strain after him sooner.”

She pops the bundle into her mouth, smiles as she chews, then grimaces for a moment and washes it down with with a sip from the iced coffee.

“The taste is harsh, but it contains about 1.9 percent psilocybin and acts fast. It's the strongest strain we've featured yet.

(Note: What she consumed is an estimated estimated six grams worth. Given its reported potency, that is far too much for even most experienced psilonauts)

“Next up, we have 'København Buffalo'. It's about as potent as 'Golden Teacher' and leads to the same sort of introspection, but also provides a good floating sort of body high. A good time inside and out.

Then there's my new favorite, 'M4nt1c0r3 24'. If you're searching for it online, that's M-four-N-T-one-C-zero-R-three than the number 24. It's not too potent on its own, but it greatly enhances the effects...of...oh no.”

She hesitates, a worried look flashes across her face. She clears her throat and keeps going.

“It's not too potent on its own, but it greatly enhances the effects of any other strain you take with it in both strength and duration. It will stick with you for a long time and you'll kinda forget that it's there, than it will be everywhere.

After that, we have 'God Gazer' which is really a hybrid of two very different strains; 'Golden Royalty' and 'Bookkeeper Celebration'. It doesn't have the most impact of all the strains on this list, but still it's pretty popular and worth noting at this point.

You'll know you're on the right track with this next strain 'Catvertisement'. It's fun at first, but can get to be a bit much eventually.

Next we have 'Flying Oblivion' this one isn't as fun as 'Catvertisement' but will have a deep impact. If you're suffering from anxiety, this will help you find peace, but goes bad very easily, so proceed with caution.

At number seven we have 'Blue Saucer' which, much like 'M4nt1c0r3 24' was a tricky one to track down. Every time we found a place that had it in stock, it was gone by the time we got there. It was frustrating but worth the determination because of how satisfying it was when we did catch up with it.

Now it's time to touch base with something that is everywhere and hit us all by surprise. 'Fly Girl' resonates with everyone I know that's experienced it... and that's literally everyone I know. If you see 'Fly Girl' on the menu, go to her, seriously, it's that good.

And finally we have 'Avion #641'. The thing about this one is... is...”

She looks confused and her eyes visibly dilate as she stares into the distance, then into the camera. More than that. It's an inescapable fact, I just knew that this wes no longer just a video. She was talking to me and looking not just into my eyes, but into me on a deeper level than I'd ever experienced anywhere else.

As she starts to speak, it's worth noting the bird stretching its wings, revealing that it has a woman's head and bare torso. It stands casually for a moment, than launches into the air, flying camera left and out of frame.

Pythia SPEAKS.

“We were dropped and left behind as worlds were being built, and much like any dropped seed, we grew.”

She sipped her iced coffee as she watched it dawn on me that I didn't need to translate that. She wasn't speaking English... I'm not even sure she was speaking at all. I remember her wordlessly singing and I just understood. I reached out and go back to see that part again, she interrupted me.

She SAID “That won't be necessary.”

I know, the timing is always perfect for this part. Even if you know about it in advance, and intentionally try to mess with it. She always stops you from interrupting her, or expresses satisfaction that you didn't. The exact wording is different for everyone. I was amazed at how smooth and natural it felt.

This is also the time I started to notice colors, especially yellow, are more vibrant... even off the screen. I glanced at Rachel's banana and it was beautiful. Pythia waved a fly away from her iced coffee. It resettles on the banana and I was struck by the metallic dark green of its exoskeleton in contrast to the matte yellow of the peel.

Pythia SPOKE again and had my full attention.

“Now that I have your attention” she SAID “here is my prophecy for you.”

You've heard of this part. It's different for everyone. They say everyone who watches it is presented with a personal choice. One of those little ones that ends up having a profound impact on your life. Meeting that special someone, placing the right bet, or being randomly targeted in a mass shooting. You don't know what the “right” choice is, just where it must be made. Every person only gets to hear their prediction once. To everyone who's seen this before, this video would appear to have ended. I had a notebook and pen ready.

She put her warm, soft hands on my cheeks and looked into my eyes.

“You will approach the check-out lines in a store. The choice will be between registers 3 and 7. The one you pick determines your path for all days hence. Don't forget to share, like and subscribe.”

With that, the video ended. The screen looked so flat and bland. I scribbled down the little prophecy so I wouldn't forget, but I know I never will. My head hurt and I needed a bathroom very badly. I noticed the sun rising through my window then realized that I'd been sitting there for eleven hours.

Report ends.

General notes

The “Yellowheads” are a community that has two purposes. The first is to analyze the above video as much as they can, trying to find hidden messages, the original source (called Yellowsauce), or anything else they can possibly learn from it. So far, there's no results that everyone agrees with.

The second purpose is to take psychedelics, especially mushrooms, and try to have visions.

No one has ever been able to successfully identify the location where this was filmed.

No one has ever been able to successfully identify Pythia

No one has ever been able find any more videos by Pythia (though many fake ones exist)

With the exception of “Golden Teacher” none of the mushroom strains predated this video.

At time of recording, there is no President Wanliss and never has been.

Almost two weeks later I was at the grocery store and only two lanes were open. 3 and 7. I chose lane 7. I hope it was the right call.