#me when blonde dramatic hunters

[pinkcadavart]

Mr. Patricide over here

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

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Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. ��Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

[vashwoo]

Routine

pairing: vash the stampede x gn!reader content: fluff cw: mention of injury and blood, mention of vash getting threatened with a gun a/n: mostly tristamp vash since the boots and arm are explicitly described, but it could work for the other vashs

Mundane routines can be grounding experiences for those living life on the run, and that certainly is the case for Vash the Stampede. Including you in his daily rituals made them a smidge more special.

wc: 1.3k

The Humanoid Typhoon lived a life where he wasn’t sure if dinner was on the menu in the evenings, or if breakfast was even an option when the twin suns rose. The outlaw was always left gnawing at his chapped lip, wondering if he’d even have the opportunity to make some quick cash the next town over to rest in a rickety bed.

When you live a life of uncertainty and guaranteed danger like Vash the Stampede did, you tend to grip and sink your nails into routine, mundane things.

The blonde unconsciously craved routine, even if the routine was as simple as brushing his teeth when it was dark out and spitting out the paste into a rusted basin. Even if his boring ritual was splashing uncomfortably warm and metallic-scented water on his wind-chapped skin and patting it down with his wrinkled shirt.

Routine is something he cherished to have. And he clung to any opportunity to keep them alive.

A routine was grounding. It was a reminder that he survived another hard day on this godforsaken planet. It gave him something to look forward to.

On the flip side, when a routine was interrupted, it unnerved him; it made his skin crawl. When you don’t have much to look forward to, tremors rattling a routine can feel like earthquakes.

The other week, after a terrible run-in with some bounty hunters, Vash shakily splashed tepid water on his face and reached down low for his shirt, only to miserably recall he tossed it aside after he used it to wipe down the blood from the freshly sewn wound on his leg. As water dripped everywhere, he released a shuddered exhale, only to feel a hesitant hand rest on his arm.

When injured man forced an eye open, he noticed you held out one of your own fresh shirts. Making no move to accept your kindness, you lifted it to his face to dry it yourself.

Despite snapping back to reality and fervently denying your offer, this was a welcome tremor against his nightly routine. You were an embraced earthquake.

“Vash?”

He blinks, snapping to attention as his gaze focused on the flickering embers in front of him.

“You havin’ a staring contest with the fire? Hope you’re winning.”

He heard you tease him under the shared sleeping bag a small distance away. His bright eyes squinted and peered over at you from his spot near the dying fire.

When he softly called back, inquiring what you needed from him, you sighed almost dramatically, draping your arm over your forehead like a fainting maiden. Vash snorts.

Hastily, you flung the fabric from your body and folded your arms over your chest, staring at him expectantly and petulantly. 

“Vash the Stampede. Did you forget that I sleep better when you’re right next to me?” You accuse lightheartedly, but he doesn’t miss the wobbly grin threatening to split your face in twain. For extra motivation, you sweetly pat the space next to you. His nose scrunches as he slowly raises himself from the simmering heat, kicking the flames out. Smoke wafts from the singed brush he collected earlier as he dusts himself off.

“Haven’t forgotten,” he reassures, keeping his voice low and light to not wake the others. The sound of his boots kicked up the sand as he finished his words, “…was just thinking.”

His routine before you came along and forcibly jammed yourself into his heart included brushing his teeth, spitting the foam into a basin or onto the sand, wiping the dirt from his face, ripping his boots off, diving into a sleeping bag on the unforgiving ground, and having yet another restless night.

It wasn’t like that these days.

Vash hoped he’d never go back to that old routine.

He liked his new one with you in it.

Your eyes softened at his words as you watched him gingerly undo his boots and holster. Your arms relax from their position as you prop yourself up to watch him. The silence between you two mixed with the desert air and the quiet hum of the worms around the campsite. Intimate.

The gunman swiftly undid the taut laces, tucking them into the boots.

Soon, Vash ruffles his tresses with a sigh and crawls next to you into the sleeping bag.

His routine, while delightfully altered since your loud arrival into his life, remained mostly the same.

He still spat his toothpaste onto the desert sands.

He still used the bottom of his ratty shirt to dry his face, and he still removed his boots at the end of the day before he buried himself into the bag. 

Nowadays, his routine didn’t end with him laying in bed, tossing and turning, praying for ‘no nightmares, please no nightmares—‘

He used to cross his fingers, hoping he’d wake up without hearing the sound of a clicking hammer and seeing up the barrel of a rusted gun. Early in his travels, well before he learned how to check his surroundings, he found himself rousing and at the mercy of desperate souls looking for life-changing money.

These days were better; he’d crawl into a sleeping bag with its seams screaming for mercy because he’d share it with someone dear to him.

These days, he’d train his eyes on you, watching your expressions as you rambled about the day, as if he wasn’t there to begin with.

He’d feel you shimmy yourself next to him, commenting about how warm he was and how good it felt when the rest of the world was so cold at night. You’d always face him, your breath colliding against his with how close you laid next to him. 

These days, he’d hear you whisper about whatever was on your mind as you brushed his hair back behind his ear. You’d repeat that soothing motion over and over. Your nail would gently scratch at his scalp on the way back around, and he’d sink deeper into the worn padding of the bag.

On harder days, the days that battered you down, you didn’t talk like this. You’d tiredly look at him, and he’d tiredly stared back. Vash would gently place his hand on your cheek and rub the apples of it, wordlessly offering his own affections.

On the nights when his flesh hand touched your skin, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut. He’d wipe any tears, and he’d wish deep down he could wipe away your troubles too.

On the nights when his mechanical fingers graced your skin instead, you’d croon at the chilled feeling, listening to the whirring of the motors and joints as he cherished your visage. You’d wrap your hand around his, stopping his ministrations.

Instead of crossing his fingers and praying he didn’t have to bolt the first thing in the morning, he would timidly cross his fingers with yours. When you didn’t pull away, he’d hold on a little tighter.

Currently, you were whispering about how ridiculous Wolfwood looked when riding a toma, struggling to balance himself and the obnoxious cross on his back. “I cannot believe he rides a toma like… like this…!”

When your arms excitedly shoot out and almost slam into his nose in the midst of mimicking and mocking the priest, Vash snickers and gathers your fidgety hands in his. Before you could grumble, he gives them a firm squeeze.

Today was a good day though. Even if limbs weren’t tangled under the bedsheets on a real bed, it was a good day.

“Thought you called me over to sleep, mayfly.” He chided without bite, hesitantly brushing his lips against the knuckles of your hands. You snicker and explain that nighttime is the perfect time to gossip about your sleeping companions. Thus, you continued but moved on to the next exhilarating topic.

All the while, the man in the nearly ripped sleeping bag admires the crinkles forming at the corners of your eyes. When you shook with laughter, he felt his own lips quirk up as well. 

By now, the moons were high in the sky.

As you continued to chatter, your words slowly melded into one another. Vash felt his eyes grow heavy, and he was hoping for good dreams.

What a nice routine.

[patchworkgargoyle]

🩸 A Steddie Big Bang Fic 🌙

story by: @patchworkgargoyle || art to come by: @mcdadarts || playlist to come by: @steves-strapcollection Rating: E || Words: ~45k || CW: graphic depictions of violence, blood drinking || Full tag list on ao3! || Posting: weekly Fic title from Wolf Like Me - TV On The Radio Holy shit, it's finally here. I'm not panicking, are you panicking!? I should've announced this sooner but hey, it is what it is!

Summary

Steve and Robin are called away from a party by The Party, after finding a beheaded werewolf in the woods. Not only is Steve a werewolf himself, but he's a Hunter too--part of a lineage of monster hunters trying to keep the natural safe from the supernatural, and in the midst of investigating this murder he finds evidence that points him towards Eddie Munson, recent high school drop out and resident drug dealer. But evidence isn't everything.

Chapters 1 & 2 will be posted around noon PT tomorrow, January 6th!! But in the meantime, here's a snippet...

By the shed, though, two figures caught Steve's eye. A girl with a high, bouncy, blonde ponytail and Carver's letterman – Chrissy Cunningham. He often wondered why such a sweet girl was with Jason, she was always friendly with the basketball team and managed Jason's mood swings with ease, not that she should've had to. But beside her, half hidden in shadow, stood her total opposite.

Eddie Munson flicked the ash from his joint and laughed at something Chrissy said while he leaned against the metal shed with her. The distant fire caught, just barely, on the shine of his dark eyes and the curls of his hair. Steve wondered how he wasn't cold. Chrissy clutched her jacket close while Eddie's leather jacket and denim vest fell open to the cold autumn air, revealing some tee for a band Steve didn't know. He hadn't seen Eddie around since midway through his own senior year, Eddie's second attempt. But he hadn't come back to school after winter break.

The rumour mill churned out every kind of story about it – that he'd dropped out or gotten sick, or he'd died, or he stole a car and ran to the coast (whichever one seemed more dramatic). Seeing him here at Penny's party was surprising, either way. Must be back to dealing.

Steve's gaze lingered. He looked pale, but… good, smiling fondly at Chrissy as she kept speaking, something about the newest cheerleader. He had a dimple in his left cheek when he grinned, just above some intense scarring on his jaw Steve didn’t remember from school, but there was something with his teeth– 

Eddie's eyes flicked up, and met Steve's instantly. Something swooped low in his gut, he couldn't name it but it made his heart kick up a couple beats faster. Adrenaline? No. All the warmth in Eddie's face faded as soon as he saw Steve staring, chased away by a hard, emotionless expression. Catching on quickly, Chrissy glanced back at Steve, then to Eddie again, leaning in to whisper. Eddie kept staring back at Steve, who couldn't look away. He felt pinned, his cigarette turning to ash, and Steve thought that maybe he shouldn't look away, like this was some kind of battle of wills. Robin would mock him for trying to be macho, but he couldn't help it. Didn't want to.

[yugenwrites]

∗ —— Adrian “Alucard” Tepes x D.

∗ —— Part one, part two, part three, part four ( coming soon ).

∗ —— NOTES: This story is inspired by some of the fanart that is done by tender miasma / suzannart! The worlds of Castlevania and Vampire Hunter D are connected to one and another.

“Belmont said that you have fought with his ancestors. How old are you D and now many of his ancestors have you worked alongside with?” Sypha asked the dhampyre but the man did not answer, only sighing in response. He didn't feel like striking up any type of conversation, he just wanted to get away from the three of them since they did nothing but bicker.

“He's very old,” the left hand spoke like D had done a couple of minutes ago, he had dug his nails into the face of the parasite but this time with an irritated scowl.

“Enough of your foolish antics.” D was bothered by not only his companion but the three fools behind him. “Once we are finally free from this area, I will be parting from the three of you. I did wish that it was four.” Of course he was referring to the fourth person as his hand.

“If I could leave you, I would but you would be absolutely miserable without me,” the hand exclaimed at the dhampyre who curled his fingers downward and into his palm, nails digging into the flesh for the third time. “That hurts you bastard!”

“We all need to stay together. The faster we can get to Dracula's castle the quicker we will be able to put an end to this.” Sypha took a couple of steps forward in a quick motion, now walking beside D who didn't bother to look at her.

“I work alone and the people of Wallachia will need someone to look after them before they get devoured by night creatures.”

“I'm sure that they would have some dislike towards you as well, you may be half of a human but I am sure as long as you have vampire blood or genetics, you will be seen as a monster nonetheless,” Alucard stated as D began to turn away from the trio.

“Anyone can be considered a monster whether they are human, vampyre, or a demon. Even if I am a vampyre hunter, I am aware of the many things that a mere man or even a child is capable of doing. No one in this world is truly innocent but it is enough to try to change such a thing and help those who are in need of it.”

“And what if they aren't willing to take some of your generosity? Would you still provide aid to those even when they push you away?”

“I cannot force anyone and shall not do it. Not everyone is willing to accept aid and some will look down upon it.” Alucard couldn't help but to think back. To think back how a year ago was when his mother was burned down to ashes because of her so-called witchery when the only thing she wanted to do was help those who needed it. “I'm sure that you three alone would be able to make it to the castle by yourselves without my aid. I will make sure that the creatures of the night do not come in between you or your travels.”

“So . . . You are helping us basically?” Trevor questioned.

“In a sense, yes, but it's more for the people and not for your benefit.” D had paused in his tracks and turned his head to look at Alucard, eyes narrowed and nothing but a frown worn upon his face. “You. Be wise of the choices that you decide to make.” With those words, D had continued to walk away from the trio and Alucard found himself averting his gaze.

Alucard knew that the man didn't trust him, he thought that he was going to end up like his father and become full of rage to the point where even he was going to cause destruction to Wallachia and its people. The blonde wasn't a fool, he was able to control his emotions despite being saddened and upset about his mother's death. As much as it was unfortunate, it was something that was bound to happen one day.

The only one that seemed to really believe that he had good intentions was Sypha and the other speakers who believed in the story of the sleeping soldier despite it seeming more dramatic than what it needed to be. Lost in his thoughts, he had walked away to clear his head in a secluded area while Trevor and Sypha went to meet up with her people. He would join them a little bit down the line but for now he needed some time to himself even if he had spent a whole year sleeping in a coffin. Some things needed to be planned out and organized and he wanted to do such in silence.

The night was rather cold, the fear that the people had worn on their faces was nothing but clear. D held his suspicions of Alucard. Even if he had swore that he was going to kill his father before he creates any more damage, he doesn't know what he may do afterwards or even beforehand. “Maybe you were a little too rude to him. He's just a kid,” his left hand commented despite his own rudeness to the dhampyre earlier.

“He is no child, he is a full adult. I'm sure that he is able to handle the things that will be thrown at him with the decision he has chosen to make.” Even the parasite of a hand could think that the dhampyre was rather cold towards others at times, such a thought was rare considering his own personality.

“Don't give me that shit, you could have been a little bit nicer to him and you know it.” After all, Alucard had just lost his mother a year ago and to be able to stop the upbringing madness being caused and the possible end of the existence of humans, the blonde would have to kill his own father. A soft huff escaped D’s lips, maybe he could have but he wasn't going to during all of this. There was business that needed to be taken care of.

“This is no time for mourning and treating him with sympathy. The fate of the world lies within his hands.” His eyes narrowed underneath the tip of the hat that he wore so low and his lips were curled downward into a frown.

Only a couple of hours had passed until the sun slowly began to shine within the sky, the people who were hiding in their homes soon coming out to see that they were alive. D made sure that the night creatures didn't lay a single hand on a civilian or even glanced in their direction. Not many had shown up, maybe at least seven. Most of them were killed in the horde from earlier on when night took its course. The vampire hunter walked around and tended to people's needs even though they were skeptical of him due to his vampirism.

“Ye could have fuckin' stopped this!” There was one man who pointed at the black haired hunter, poking him directly in the chest.

“No, I couldn't have. The only thing that I can provide for you right now is safety from the creatures of the night after the people decided to burn down that woman you call a witch.” The hand was swatted away and the tip of his hat was pulled downward to hide his irritated expression.

“Cause she was a bloody witch!” The man shouted, rather angrily. D fell silent upon those words. He knows well that marrying a vampyre would be more than enough to get her killed though he doesn't know the whole story. After a couple of seconds, he had found himself walking away from the male, hearing curses escape his rather vulgar mouth. Humans in Wallachia didn't seem like the best group of people, rather inappropriate and stupid; blind. Seeing that most of the people were fine, he decided to leave them be for a moment and see if there was anything that he himself had needed.

“Hunter D!” He heard a familiar voice come from behind him which made him turn his gaze.

“Speaker . . .have you grown tired of them already?” As much as it seemed like it was a joke, the tone of his voice was serious.

“Well yes and no. I left the two of them alone so I would be able to find a covered wagon and some horses for travel. We can't move as fast as we want to on bare feet, you know?”

“That didn't seem like the best idea to leave them alone with one another. Maybe they are going at each other's throats right now.”

“I wouldn't be surprised. They haven't stopped their stupid bickering.” The female would let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes in the process. “I was wondering if maybe you can tag along with us. I know that you wish to tend to the people but it will be faster if we were to all travel together, don't you think?”

“As much as that seems to be true, I do not think that I will have the patience to deal with those two and if I went off on my own and fought off those night creatures before they reached you, it would make travel much smoother.” Sypha nodded her head, that would probably be the best option and she is sure that the small dispute between him and Alucard may get worse.

“Just promise that you won't get yourself killed, alright?”

“How insulting, I am a hunter. I am only doing my job.” D turned himself away but before he could walk away, a bag of coins was tossed in Sypha's direction which was caught. “This should pay for what you need for now. Between the three of you alone, I am sure that you wouldn't have enough.”

“Thank you, I'll make sure the two idiots don't get a hold of it.” With that being said, she watched D as he began to walk away from her before leaving herself to go the opposite direction. She knew it may take some time for her to find someone who sold wagons, nonetheless horses. It was likely that the night creatures could have destroyed them to stop the people from leaving but with their journey, the trio needed one.

[carpisuns]

Huntlow Hearts Exchange gift for @amanitaaurelia ! Happy belated Valentine's Day 💕

Rating: G

Word count: 6.3k

Summary: She spun around, breaking the vines around her ankles. “Why do you still call me that? We only got to play flyer derby together one time. I’m not your captain anymore.”

Hunter blinked, magenta eyes wide. “Of course you are.”

“Why?”

“Because … because I’d follow you anywhere. Captain.”

After another failed attempt to make a portal door, Willow feels at fault. Just when she's about to break down, Hunter finds her.

when we talk like this

“Ugh, it’s no use!” Luz groaned. “We’re never gonna figure out a way to make a portal work.”

Willow frowned, watching Luz pace back and forth across the clubhouse floor. Normally, Luz was the one who was brimming with enthusiasm and ready to try new ideas. But lately she’d gotten restless. Agitated.

“We can’t give up yet! We’ll find a way,” Amity said, trying valiantly for certainty but not quite making the mark.

Luz stopped pacing. “How? Without Titan’s blood, we don’t have power. We can’t—”

“Actually,” Hunter cut in, drawing out every syllable, “there might be another way.”

Willow glanced at him. He was grinning with his tooth gap on full display, brows arched, absolutely dripping with Golden Guard confidence.

Flapjack twittered softly on his shoulder. They all looked at Hunter expectantly.

“And? Care to share with the class?” Gus put down whatever human doohickey he’d been playing with. “Dude, we’ve talked about the dramatic pause thing. I mean, I of all people appreciate the power of some good theatrics, but you really don’t need to make a whole production of it every time you have an idea. Just spit it out.”

Hunter’s grin slipped into a pout. “Fine,” he said, sweeping his forelock out of his face.

His hair had grown shockingly fast since they’d arrived. After just a few weeks, the back was long and scraggly. Willow had to wonder how he’d managed to keep it so short and neat before. At this rate, he must’ve had to pay daily visits to the castle’s barber.

He’d pulled it back in a tiny blond tuft at the back of his neck. She couldn’t decide whether it was stupid or cute. (Both, probably.)

“Okay, so, we know we need Titan’s blood to power the door,” Hunter said. “And obviously we can’t get any here. But what if we could use a substitute?”

Luz’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of substitute?”

“Well, I’ve read a lot about how the Titan’s magic powers the Boiling Isles. Every natural ecosystem, every living thing that grows on the Titan’s corpse is infused with its magic. If we can get something that’s been growing on the Isles, there might be enough Titan magic in it to power the door.”

“But how are we supposed to get something from the Isles without a door?” Vee piped up.

“That’s where the captain comes in.”

Willow blinked. “Me? How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

“You can use your plant magic to recreate a plant that’s native to the Isles!” Hunter said. “Of course, it would be best to use an actual plant from the Isles, but after centuries of native growth on the Titan, the magic should be part of the plant’s genetic structure. So if Willow is able to create a plant with her own magic that’s a close enough match to the native plant—to the point that it has the same genome—we just might have what we need.”

“Hmm,” Gus said. “Sounds like a long shot.”

��Right, but what do we have to lose by trying? Besides, if anyone can do this, it’s Willow, right?” Hunter turned to her. “What do you say, Captain? Worth a shot?”

Everyone was staring at her now. Gus, Amity, and Vee looked pretty convinced by Hunter’s presentation. Even Luz looked mildly hopeful. And Hunter was waiting patiently for her answer, no trace of doubt on his face.

“Um,” she said.

I can do this. I can do this.

Willow took a deep breath and stood, shoulders squared. “Yeah. Let’s give it a go.”

Hunter beamed at her. “Cool. Well, um, we probably want to pick a plant that we know grows close to a confirmed deposit of Titan’s blood. That way the magical connection will be stronger. Any ideas?”

“What about Eclipse Lake?” Amity suggested. “The blood is gone now, but at least we know it used to be there.”

“Good idea. Do we know what kinds of plants grow there?” Hunter asked.

Willow frowned, trying to remember back to her botany class. “Well, I know that there are starfire lilies in that area. They’re really old and pretty rare, but they’re really useful for potions, because if you pluck the petals they leak this kinda sticky blue stuff that’s supposed to amplify the effects or whatever potion you’re making.”

Luz’s head snapped up. “Like Titan’s blood.”

“Sort of.”

“That sounds perfect,” Hunter said. “Do you think you can conjure one?”

Willow bit her lip. “Um, we dissected them once in class. I think … yeah, I can do it. I just have to remember the pattern.”

“Take your time,” Hunter said.

Willow closed her eyes. In her mind, all plants had a pattern—a signature unique to every species. When she held it in her mind she could feel it in her fingers, her palms, a tingling up her arms and to her chest, the source of all her magic. It was a pull, a question, a call to bring the plant to life. Like if she asked with enough certainty, it would answer with leaves and stems and blossoms at her feet.

Tentora razor plants had a spiky pattern, sharp and angular. Gemmaranda bushes were cloudy and dreamlike. And starfire lilies—she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, remembering—they were like a shower of sparks.

“Ready,” she murmured.

She raised a finger, holding the pattern in her mind. Then, carefully, she drew a spell circle. It glowed in the air, and when it faded, an enormous lily burst through a crack in the floorboards.

“Nice work, Willow!” Gus said. “Does it look like the real thing?”

Willow inspected it. A supple black stem. Large, sharp-edged leaves. And dark blue petals, with flecks of luminescent orange scattered across the surface like glowing embers.

“Yeah,” she said. “It looks right to me.”

“Okay, so, do we just … pick it up?” Luz crouched down by the flower. “Maybe we coat the edges of the door in the blue stuff?”

“Let’s try that,” Hunter said. “Captain, wanna do the honors, since this is your handiwork?”

“Sure.”

Willow plucked a petal to release the liquid, and the lily let out a cry. Everyone jumped.

“Titan, what was that?” Gus shouted. “Willow, did that thing just scream at us?”

“Oh! Sorry. Forgot to tell you about that little side effect. They’re a little bit vain, and going bald is not exactly their favorite.” She winced as she plucked another petal, letting the liquid spill over her fingers. “Sorry, little friend! This is really important, I promise.”

When her hands were properly dripping in starfire juice, she stood and walked to the door. Everyone followed her out of the clubhouse, watching as she ran her fingers along the doorframe, staining it midnight blue.

They all stared through the open door, waiting with bated breath. The seconds ticked by. No light. No sign of magic. Not even a spark.

“Well,” Gus said finally, “I’m gonna take that as a no.”

He said it lightly, casually, like it was a joke, but Willow knew Gus well enough to recognize the disappointment in his voice. Behind her, Luz let out a weary sigh, and Willow felt her own heart sink inside her chest.

She’d gotten too used to being hailed as the best plant witch at Hexside. She’d forgotten what it felt like to fail like this. And somehow, this felt even worse than Professor Hermonculus humiliating her in class. He didn’t matter to her anymore. He was cruel and callous and he’d always been wrong about her.

No … this time, away from her dads, trapped under glass, crushing her friends’ last seed of hope—all with plant magic, the one thing she was supposed to be good at …

This time felt much worse.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” Amity said. “We’ll figure something else out. Thanks for trying, Willow.”

She offered a small, encouraging smile. Something about it made old fire spark inside Willow’s blood. She knew Amity wasn’t like that anymore, that she wasn’t trying to be condescending, that she was just trying to be nice, but it made Willow remember things she’d rather forget. Those early days when they’d first started hanging out again, back when Amity went out of her way to compliment Willow for every small, unimpressive bit of magic. When she’d heap on encouragements every time she made a small slip-up—even when she didn’t slip up. Back when Amity still saw her as Half-a-Witch Willow, something small and weak she had to protect. Someone who wore failures on her shoulders like a cloak. Someone who couldn’t help anyone, even herself.

Willow forced a smile. “Would you guys excuse me for a minute? I’ve gotta go, um, check on the garden. I’ll be right back.”

She strode past Hunter, refusing to look him in the eye. She couldn’t bear to see whatever brand of disappointment she would find there.

The summer air was sticky, and the sun beat down on her bare shoulders. She really should go water the garden—it hadn’t rained this week—but instead she found herself venturing further into the woods. Gardening always made her feel better when she was stressed or sad, but it didn’t help with this kind of mood. Her hands had balled into bloodstained fists, shaking at her sides. She didn’t trust them to be gentle right now.

In the cover of the trees, Willow paced back and forth across undergrowth. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and it felt like her veins were stretching under her skin, magic coursing through every bloodpath in her body.

She forced herself to stop moving and close her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. She counted the seconds on her fingers, just like her dads had taught her.

Her eyes snapped open. Dad. Papa.

Where were they now?

A familiar ache seized in her chest. There was nothing she could do to help them. No way to protect them, or even know if they were okay. She couldn’t even help her friends here, couldn’t find a way back home, couldn’t do … anything.

A lump formed in her throat, and hot tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away furiously, remembering at the last second not to touch her face with her sticky fingers. She wouldn’t cry over this. She had to be strong. For Gus, and Hunter, and Amity, and Luz. For her dads. For everyone.

But she didn’t feel strong today. She felt lost, and weak, and broken, and that made her angry—angry at herself for failing again, angry at Belos for hurting people, just … angry.

A groan slipped through her teeth as she paced through the trees again. She still remembered the time when Luz and Amity had entered her mindscape and seen all the burning inside of her. She thought she was done with burning now. But sleeping embers have a way of sparking back into life. Like buried seeds that burst through shell and soil to clamor toward the sun.

Her mindscape was a forest, but Willow had always thought of herself as a garden. She had a multitude of scattered seeds inside her. Some she cultivated carefully (compassion, patience, loyalty, confidence—all the things she wanted to be). And some she ignored, hoping they would never sprout. Those seeds scared her. She didn’t want to know what they could be if they grew.

But some of them grew anyway, without her permission, for years and years, because “out of sight” never really was “out of mind.” She hated that about herself—that underneath all the layers of bud and blossom that she painstakingly grew from her own tears and sweat, bitter seeds slept beneath her soil. They woke unbidden, taking stealthy root inside her heart, creeping upward to choke out every goodness she had fought so hard to keep alive. Anger, fear, hopelessness—they were all like thorny vines that tangled in her ribs and twined around her veins, relentless weeds that crawled through every space and corner and filled her blood like poison, like—

“Captain?”

Willow flinched, pulled back to the reality of the forest around her—the creaking trunks, the fluttering leaves, the rich smell of dirt and moss. And an alarming tightness around her feet. She glanced down to see a thick knot of vines wrapped around her ankles, thorns pressed against her skin.

It had been a long time since that had happened to her.

“Captain?” Hunter asked again.

“What?” she snapped—harsher than she meant to. She kept her back to him, face burning. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the vines.

Hunter hesitated. “Um, we decided to take a break. Camila’s making something called lemon … laminate, I think? Some kind of human drink. If you want some.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The starfire juice had dried a little, but it still made her fingers stick together. She took in a slow, deep breath. “No, thanks.”

“Um, are you sure? Luz says it’s—”

“Hunter, please go.”

A pause. “Captain, are you okay?”

Finally, she broke. She spun around, breaking the vines around her ankles. “Why do you still call me that? We only got to play flyer derby together one time. I’m not your captain anymore.”

Hunter blinked, magenta eyes wide. “Of course you are.”

“Why?”

“Because … because I’d follow you anywhere. Captain.”

Hunter held her gaze. His cheeks were flushed, but he stood tall, shoulders squared, like he was ready to follow her into battle right this second. It was the stance of the Golden Guard. A proud soldier who wasn’t afraid of anything.

But Willow had seen Hunter when he was afraid. And lonely. And unsure. She’d seen him happy too—having conversations with Flapjack that she couldn’t really follow, nerding out over some weird human thing with Gus, laughing at Luz’s Principal Bump impression.

It was hard to remember sometimes that not so long ago, he’d been the leader of the Emperor’s Coven. Now, instead of a white cloak and a golden mask, he wore a brightly colored shirt with a pattern of weird squiggles and shapes. (What had Luz called it again? “Bowling alley carpet.”) He looked strangely out of place against the muted forest backdrop, but somehow, he’d always seemed to belong in this place much more than Willow ever did.

Still, he wanted to get back home, and he’d been counting on her back there. Hunter was smart. He studied a lot. He cared a lot. He offered more ideas than anyone else. And he’d seemed so hopeful about this one. And somehow that fact made her failure even worse. Of everyone there, why did it cut the deepest to know that she’d let Hunter down?

Willow sighed. “You shouldn’t follow me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This isn’t a flyer derby match. It’s—it’s real life, and it’s complicated, and it’s scary, and if we lose then …” She swallowed. “You just—you shouldn’t put so much faith in me. I don’t know what I’m doing. And I’m just gonna screw it up, like I always do. Like I just did.”

Hunter was quiet for a moment. “Is this about what happened with the door? It wasn’t your fault. We all knew it was a slim shot.”

“No—I mean, yes, but it’s more that that! I just …” Willow sank onto a mossy log. “I’m so tired, Hunter. I’m so tired of being half a witch.”

He didn’t answer for a long time, until she wondered whether he had left. But when she glanced up, he was still standing there, head bowed, with his face hidden in shadow.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for making you feel like that. I—I shouldn’t have put so much pressure on you, especially when I knew it probably wouldn’t work, and—”

“It’s not you,” Willow said quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you,” he said. “It seems like you conjured that lily perfectly. The only reason it didn’t work was that it was never going to work. It wasn’t a proper substitute for Titan’s blood. I mean, it was just a stupid theory. You can’t blame yourself for not being able to bend the laws of magic.”

“It wasn’t a stupid theory,” Willow said. “Just an untested one.”

Hunter let out a breath. “And now we know it doesn’t work.”

“Right. Now we know.”

Hunter perched on the log beside her and stared down at his shoes (the weird rubber slip-ons with holes in them—his “clowndals,” according to Amity).

“I still think about it all the time, you know,” he said. “That day.”

His voice was such a timid, quiet thing—so unlike his usual eager chatter. His brows were drawn, shoulders sloped, eyes glued to the forest floor, his whole stance colored with remorse.

“What day?” she asked.

“The day we met. When I kidnapped you all for the Emperor’s Coven, and I thought you would be happy, but then you said … you said the same thing. That you’re just half a witch.” He squeezed his eyes shut, like even the thought itself was painful. “I felt awful. I couldn’t believe I had made you of all people feel so … small. I know what that feels like. And I promised myself then that I would never make you feel that way again.”

“You didn’t.”

He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Then why are you saying it now?”

“Because … I know that people look up to me now. Gus. Luz. Even Amity, I think.” She glanced his way but didn’t dare to include him in the list (although, if she was honest, she was pretty sure he should be the first one—a thought that made her feel strange and proud and nervous all at once).

“And I guess sometimes I’m just scared,” she went on. “Scared that underneath everything, I’m still just Half-a-Witch Willow. That I’m just pretending I’m someone different, and everyone’s gonna figure it out. That I’m gonna fail them, because I’m not strong enough to protect them, and I was lying by promising that I could.”

She took a shaking breath, gripping her knees. “And I can’t fail. I have to be strong, so we can all get back home. So we can save our families. So we can saved the Isles.” She shook her head. “I’ve been slacking off lately. I should be training more. If I’d been training maybe I’d be stronger. And sharper. My magic would be better. Maybe I could’ve conjured up a better lily. One that actually would’ve worked like you said.”

“It was never going to work. Even with a real lily from the lake.”

“Well, we don’t know that. I probably got something wrong. Maybe if I’d—”

“Cap—Willow.”

She fell silent, eyes drawn to the shape of his profile, smattered with gold that filtered down through the leaves.

Hunter breathed in. “I’ve been in the Emperor’s Coven for as long as I can remember. With the best and brightest and strongest witches on the Boiling Isles. But until that day at Hexside, I had never met a witch a like you.”

Willow heartbeat stumbled. She wasn’t sure whether it was what he said or the fact that it was Hunter who said it.

“Your magic is like nothing I’ve ever seen,” he continued, talking faster as he went. “You’re as good as some of the coven heads—and they’ve had years more experience than you! But—but what makes you a great witch is more than just your magic. It’s, like … your”—he paused, apparently struggling for words—“your heart? I don’t know; I’ve known a lot of talented witches whose magic was impressive technically but it just lacked … something. It felt kind of empty, I guess? But yours is never like that.”

He still hadn’t looked at her, but his hands had sprung to life, like they were weaving a subtle magic of their own as he spoke to the trees around them.

“Obviously I can’t do magic,” Hunter said, “but I’ve studied about to a lot. And one thing I learned is that inner magic always has an emotional core. And the quality of the magic depends on where it comes from. And yours … yours always comes from this place of compassion and care and protection. I think that’s why it’s so strong. You’re a powerful witch not just because you’re good at magic but because you’re a good person.”

His voice was slowing down now, softening to match the murmuring trees, and his hands came to rest on knees, gripping the hem of his shorts. “You’re kind, and smart, and brave, and strong. And—and when you don’t feel brave you’re still strong. And when you don’t feel strong you’re still … you’re still … Willow.”

At last, he turned to her, holding her gaze with a look in his eyes that made something stir deep in her chest.

“You’re Willow,” he repeated, softly, almost reverently, like it meant something, like her name was an answer to the most important question. And somehow, she got it.

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Hunter groaned.

“Ugh, I don’t know how to say what I mean,” he said. “That was—sorry, that was probably stupid. I—I want to make you understand, but I just—”

“I understand.” Willow paused. “Thank you.”

A blush spread from his cheeks to his ears. “A-anytime,” he said.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The longer she watched him, the more the stirring in her chest grew stronger—like the flowers of her garden were just waking up, unfurling their petals to greet the sun.

She turned her gaze back to the trees.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I just get … angry. And I have a hard time controlling it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched for a reaction. She’d just admitted something she didn’t like to admit to anyone, even herself. Those bitter seeds and thorny vines she wished that she could kill.

But Hunter didn’t even move, and when he spoke, his voice was calm. “It's okay. Everyone gets angry.”

She turned back to him. “That’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t treat my friends that way.”

“Well, maybe, sometimes, you just need to … let it out?”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“You have a lot of reasons to be angry,” Hunter said. “You cant hold it in all the time, right? So if you ever need to be angry … you can be angry at me. It’s okay.” He offered a gentle smile, a loose strand of hair lifting in the breeze.

“Hunter, I’m not mad at you.”

“No, I know! I’m just saying that you can be mad at me. If you need to. If you need somewhere to let it go. I can take it. Promise. I’ve taken worse.”

Her eyes roved over the notch in his ear, the scar on his face, the bags under his eyes—still present after weeks of rest. He had taken a lot. Too much. But he came through it all like this—still hopeful, still trusting, still so willing to place his faith in her.

Somehow she could sense the way she looked to him. He could still see them, she was sure (the weeds and bitter seeds), but that’s not what mattered to him. He saw the whole garden. He saw her.

Willow cleared her throat, ignoring the goosebumps that sprang up on her arms. “I don’t think that will work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t feel angry when I look at you. I can’t let it go, because when you show up, it’s gone.”

“Oh. Well. That’s—that’s good, I guess.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Isn’t it?”

She smiled. “Yeah, it is. Thanks, Hunter. For helping me feel like myself again.”

He smiled back, cheeks still dusted in pink. “Cool. Happy to help.”

She couldn’t help but stare at the gap between his teeth; his sharply bent nose; his thick, dark brows that somehow didn’t match his hair at all. All these little things that by themselves might seem imperfect. But when you put them all together, it was Hunter. And Hunter was … Hunter was …

She shook her head, trying not to notice the heat in her cheeks and the fluttering in her stomach. “I think you said there was some, uh, limmy-nad? I want to try some.”

“Yeah. Um, sure.”

They both stood, and she walked quickly in the direction of the house.

“Wait!”

He grabbed her hand but dropped it, cheeks blazing, as soon as she turned around. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

“Y-yeah?” she asked.

He sucked in a breath and addressed a patch of mushrooms at their feet. “Um, I just wanted to tell you that … I know you’re kind of carrying a lot right now, and you—you don’t have to do it by yourself. I learned that, when I ran away. I thought I’d have to be on my own. But—but you and Gus—you saved me. All of you. If it weren’t for you, I’d be—I’d …”

His brow scrunched, and he shook his head.

Willow didn’t want to think about it either.

“The point is, we may not get to play flyer derby anymore, but we’re still a team, right? We’re gonna do this together. All of us.” He straightened, and suddenly that proud soldier was back, looking her squarely in the eye. “You’re not my captain because you know what you’re doing. You’re my captain because you know who you are. And if you ever forget, I’ll be here to remind you. Okay?”

It should’ve been hard to take him seriously in this outfit, with half his scraggly hair falling out of that tiny ponytail, but all his words were bleeding with sincerity. She felt them sink into her skin and bolster up her bones—make her stand a little taller, feel a little stronger. There was a song inside her ribcage and a sun behind her eyes, and she felt her garden blooming, loud and lush and wild.

“Thanks, Hunter,” she whispered.

-------

When they got back to the house, the others seemed to be in good spirits, despite their recent failure. While they talked and laughed at the kitchen table, Willow went to the sink and scrubbed her hands, watching the blue seep out until her skin was clean again.

“Captain?” Hunter appeared at her elbow, holding two glasses of yellow juice. “I brought you some, uh, lemonade.”

“Thanks.” She took one and clinked it against the edge of his. “Cheers!”

“Huh? Oh. Um, cheers.”

They both took a sip. The drink was acidic and sugary, leaving a tangy aftertaste on her tongue.

“Oh, it’s sweeter than I thought!” Hunter wrinkled his nose. “And also … sour?”

His face twisted, eyebrows scrunching, and it was such a ridiculous, over-the-top Hunter face that she had to laugh.

“Hey, don’t judge,” she teased. “You started out as kind of sour yourself when we first met.”

He flushed. “Right.”

“But don’t worry.” She raised her glass to her lips again, hiding her smile behind its rim. “I knew you’d turn out sweet.”

He blinked down at her, liked he’d been temporarily stunned, and then a smile stole across his blushing face.

“Willow, come look at this video.” Gus snickered. “This cat looks just like Hunter.”

Hunter’s head snapped toward the table, where the others were crowded around Luz’s phone. “What? No, it doesn’t.”

“How would you know?” Gus said. “You haven’t even seen it.”

“Let me see.” Hunter lunged toward the table, nearly spilling his drink, while Luz held the phone out of his reach. Willow lingered back for just a minute, laughing softly while she watched.

(As it turned out, the cat did look a lot like Hunter.)

(It was pretty cute, honestly.)

----

That night, Willow plopped her new scrapbook on the kitchen table, opening to the first page. Camila had given it to her the other day, to fill with all the photos she’d been taking. She sorted through the pile, filing away each memory.

There were … a lot more photos of Hunter than she remembered.

“Hey.”

Willow jumped, swiveling around to find Hunter himself, clutching a potted flower in his hands.

“Hunter! Um, hi!” She quickly swept the photos into a stack, realizing too late that the one one top was a potentially incriminating picture of him attempting to twirl spaghetti on his fork.

“I, uh—I brought you this.” He held up the flower—the starfire lily, newly planted in a terra cotta pot. “I noticed that its petals had regrown, and I thought you should keep it.”

She grinned. “You brought me a flower? How sweet. Now I’m embarrassed. I should’ve brought one for you too.”

His face reddened. “No! I’m, um—technically this is already yours, so I’m just … returning it to you. I just didn’t think the middle of the clubhouse floor was the safest spot for it. But I knew you’d take good care of it.”

Willow stared. “You … you were worried about the lily?”

“Um, well, I just know that you like plants a lot. I mean, of course—you’re a plant witch. Like, the best there is. And, I don’t know, I just thought you’d probably want to look after it. Since its petals came back, you know?”

“That’s—yeah. That’s really thoughtful of you. Thanks.” She took the pot from him and placed it on the table.

“I hope I didn’t hurt it,” he said. “I tried to be extra careful when I was digging it up. Like you taught me in the garden the other day. I didn’t want to make it cry again.”

She smiled. “You did a good job. It seems pretty happy to me.”

“Um, good.” He smiled back nervously. “I’m glad.”

Willow ran a thumb along the smooth edge of a newly born petal. “I totally forgot that their petals regrow. Pretty cool, huh?”

Hunter nodded. “When I saw that they’d come back, I remembered that I’ve read about these flowers before. I used to do a lot of research about potions and stuff, to help my—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Anyway, when the petals regrow, the starfire juice replenishes too. And its stronger every time. The lily may be vain, but it’s really resilient. It’ll regrow every time it’s plucked. It’s very coveted by potioneers, because if you have one it can keep producing starfire juice for years.”

“Wow,” Willow said. “I don’t remember learning about that in class. That’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah! Apparently they’re also very difficult to conjure, which is partially why they’re in such high demand. Not many witches have the magical skill to summon one that actually has the same properties as a real one. Except for you, I guess.”

He flashed her a smile, and something fluttered in her stomach.

“We don’t know if this one even works with potions. Maybe it just looks pretty.” She turned back to the flower to hide her face. “And you are very pretty! Your petals grew back so nicely,” she cooed down at it.

“Well, you managed to make one that has starfire juice,” he pointed out. “And that regrows its petals.”

“That doesn’t mean it works in potions.” She glanced up from the lily with a smile. “We’d have to test it to be sure, wouldn’t we? Just like your theory.”

“I don’t have to test it to know you did it right. You—you’re an amazing witch, Willow.” He rubbed the back of his neck, ears pink, and Willow felt heat rise to her cheeks.

“I think—I think you’re kind of like a starfire lily,” he said in a rush. “’Cause hard things have happened to you, but you always come back stronger. And you make all of us stronger too. Amplify our effects … or whatever. ’Cause you’re the captain, and you make the team better.”

Willow’s face felt like it was glowing now, and so did her chest. Hunter finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, and she blinked back at him, at a loss for what to say.

You make me feel stronger too, Hunter.

“Thanks,” she said at last. “That means a lot.”

He fingers found the hem of his oversized pajama shirt, fiddling with the fabric. “Also, um, just so you know … it’s okay to cry when your petals are plucked. It’s—it’s not vain. It sucks. Even if you come back stronger, it’s okay to feel hurt first. Or—or angry. Or lost.”

She stared at him, heart pounding, feeling, once again, that he was seeing straight through her—to the vines and trees and blossoms, to the weeds and bitter seeds. He saw it, she knew. He saw it all.

“Sorry!” he said quickly, waving his hands in front of his face. “Was that—? That was weird. Or, like, I didn’t mean—I was just—”

“No,” she said, “it was really nice.”

Without thinking, she stepped closer, and she could almost hear his heartbeat pick up (or maybe that was just an echo of her own).

Hunter cleared his throat. “Well, Gus and I were gonna watch a movie. If you want to join.”

“I was gonna work on this.” She gestured to the scrapbook. “Maybe next time?”

“Sure. Of course.” For a second he just stood there, arms hanging limply at his sides, like he wasn’t sure what to do next. Then he blinked into motion with a jerk. “Uh, bye!”

He was halfway to the stairs when she stopped him. “Hunter.”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

She let the pattern fill her mind—blinding beams and and blooming spots and gentle dappled gold.

Her spell circle glowed in the air, and a flower fell into Hunter’s hands.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A thank-you,” she said. “For the lily. And for helping me today.”

“Oh.” He stared down at it, gripping the stem in his fist. “What kind is it?”

“It’s called a sunflower. It’s from the human realm. It, um, kind of reminds me of you.”

He looked up. “It does? Why?”

Her fingers were tingling, and she wasn’t sure if it was residual magic or something else.

“I don’t know. It’s bright. And happy.” She paused. “It makes me smile.”

He blinked, lips parting to give her a glimpse of the gap between his teeth. Then he smiled softly, bright and warm to match the flower in his hands. “Me too.”

“Hunter!” Gus called up the stairs. “Are you coming? The movie’s getting cold, dude.”

“That doesn’t—what does that even mean?” Hunter called back.

“It means get your butt down here or I’m gonna find out what happened to Shrek and Fiona without you!”

“No—wait! I’ll be right there!” Hunter stumbled toward the stairs. “Um, good night, Captain! Thanks for the sunflower.”

“Night, Hunter.”

Willow sank onto a chair at the table, listening to the sounds of the movie drifting up from the basement. She pulled the scrapbook toward her and ran a hand over its smooth, empty pages.

They’d been busy in the human realm for these last few weeks. When they weren’t working on the portal door, they were exploring their new world, trying to make memories to distract them from home. Already Willow had dozens of photos, enough to fill half the scrapbook, probably. But where to start?

She picked up the photo on the top of the stack—the one of Hunter gracelessly eating a bowl of spaghetti. She laughed softly. Maybe not this one (but it was definitely a keeper).

The next one was a group shot, all of them standing in front of the newly refurbished clubhouse. Hunter stood at her side, with Flapjack on his shoulder, wearing a smile so bright that it rivaled the sun.

Carefully, Willow taped the photo into the scrapbook. Not too shabby! she wrote underneath.

She flipped through the book of stickers Camila had gotten her, and one of them caught her eye. A smiling sunflower, lifting a leaf like it was waving hello. She peeled it off and stuck it in the scrapbook, right next to Hunter.

Beside her, a leftover drop of starfire juice was clinging to the lily’s stem. Willow wiped it up with a finger and then pressed it to the scrapbook next to the sticker, stamping the paper with a blue fingerprint.

“To remember today,” she told the lily. “You have to remember the hard things too. Because the hard stuff leads to the good stuff, you know?”

She stared at the tip of her finger, stained once again with blue. “It was nice, to talk with him like that,” she whispered. “I hope we get to talk like that again.”

When they got home—when all of this was over—she hoped they’d get to play flyer derby. She hoped she’d get to be the captain again. (It was nice that at least to Hunter, she still was.)

One day, she decided, they’d leave practice together and have a long talk, like they did today, and she’d repay the favor and tell him everything that made him wonderful.

But for now, it was nice to talk like that here, with sap-sticky hands and thorn-bitten ankles and a heartbeat that wouldn’t stand still. It would be nice like that, she thought, no matter where they were.

Willow glued another photo to the page.

One day they would all make it home. But until then, she was here with a scrapbook, so she would fill it up with long talks, and lemonade, and starfire lilies.

[strawberry-writings]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚Joy˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

☆*♡¡~𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐑~¡♡*☆

♡ Vera nair paired with a child!you ♡

~fluff, platonic...

{♡} Today the survivor's would be meeting a new survivor, there isn't much information on the certain survivor but all they know is that they're quite young. But that wouldn't stop Vera's morning routine.

She made sure to brush her teeth with toothpaste and a toothbrush, take a morning bath, and prepare herself for the day. She was assigned a match today so she would unfortunately have to go to battle.

She went with her signature red lipstick and black mascara, the beauty mark on her face isn't exactly too prominent so she used eyeliner to highlight it. Vera wore her basic clothing which was purple at the most, it was her favorite color.

Vera stepped out of her room and went to eat breakfast she normally ate a crossiant, and that's what she did. She simply ate a crossiant and drank some tea, but she would have to eat a lot more for dinner as she would need that energy. During matches you basically have to run from cipher to cipher, run while kiting the hunter, and run to rescue the others.

She would have to eat more to stay energized, the match was scheduled at 10:50am daytime but everyone heard Ms. Dyer speak to someone. They speculated that it was the new survivor and a certain individual, Mike Morton was good at making friends so maybe he would become friends with the new survivor.

The doctor came into the room with a child.

"(name) you'll be staying here from now on, and make sure to always tell me when you need help or something else."

Emily smiled at the young child, a bunch of survivors sat at the dinner table in shock because what was another child doing at this terrible manor? The Little girl in the manor also known as Memory approached the other child, she smiled and introduced herself.

"Hi! My name's Memory what's your name?"

(name) answered.

"My name is (name) it's nice to meet you Memory.."

The blonde little girl grabbed her hand and approached each survivor in the dinner room one by one. She eventually approached Vera, and pointed at her while saying

"This is The perfumer Vera nair and she's a container! She has also amazing taste in fashion!"

Vera looked down at the two children standing infront of her she decided to wave at (name) and Memory. (name) gave Vera a polite smile, but Vera was pondering about something else so she didn't notice.

A few hour's passed and Vera carefully walked to the matching room and to her surprise she saw the new survivor with The postman and The mechanic wearing her candy girl costume. The hunter was the Bloody queen also known as Mary.

Poor (name) looked quite anxious and scared for her first match, Vera swore deep down to protect her as she didn't want her to get injured by the hunter. She planned to take the first kite.

As everything went black Vera saw a familiar map called Leo's memory but it was rather more of a dawn outside, Vera ran carefully to the factory and began decoding. She saw (name) struggling with decoding so she decided to help, and she began decoding with (name).

(name) unfortunately got too frustrated and started crying a bit. Vera got down to her height and started comforting her, she tried her best to cheer (name) up.

After comforting the child they gave The perfumer a smile full of joy, but both their heartbeats increased which was a sign that the hunter was nearby. The Bloody queen entered the factory and gave them a smile, Tracy followed after Mary and seemed to be having a good time.

Vera immediately knew that the hunter was friendly and carefully took (name) to Mary and explained that she was being friendly. The Bloody queen showed her abilites and summoned her aqua mirror, everyone could see Mary's reflection and it soon disappeared.

They all went outside together and started having a snowball battle, Vera let (name) win and Tracy got hit by Mary's snowball. It was only (name) and Mary left.

"Oh nooooo! I'm doomed!"

Mary said faking a dramatic voice before feeling a cold sensation on her face. (name) had won the snowball battle and she gave everyone a smile full of joy and happiness, it was the smile Vera had while she was still with her dead sister.

Vera's real name isn't Vera its actually Chloé Nair, she murdered her sister because she supposedly plagiarized her work in perfumery, but that wasn't her twin sister's real intentions. Chloé still feels the immense amount of guilt till this day.

The match ended as The Bloody queen surrendered, and while going back to the manor The postman wasn't seen during the match. He was considered introverted and quiet and liked to communicate with animals.

Tracy, Vera, and (name) laughed and smiled on their way back from the match, it was truly a moment of Joy.

♡~

[unfortunate-songbird]

Analysis because I’m bored

I’d do a venndiagram thing but it won’t fit everything so you get a confusing list instead

Zuko from Avatar. Hunter from Owl House. Leo from Rise. Tommy from DSMP.

What do they have in common?

a frikcin lot, actually

Leo&Hunter&Zuko&Tommy

16 y/old boy

Trauma city baybee

Has cried on screen at least once 

Self-sacrificial tendencies (some more prominent than others)

Mental health in the gutter

What’s a therapist

Magic exists

Angst magnets both in canon and in the fandom

Can Not catch a break ever

Cocky

They all have siblings

Dumbass. Every single one of them. They’ve all done really stupid things.

Sometimes they are in absolutely misery and sometimes they are just incredibly funny for no reason

High key dramatic 

“Most people find me annoying at first” they piss off a lot of people and can be kinda obnoxious 

Strange creatures exist

Distinct color

Almost fell to their death in a very dramatic scene 

But wait, there’s more:

Tommy&Hunter&Leo

No mom at all

Literally none

Silly goofy guys <3

Blonde (look ik Leo only had hair for 1 episode and it was evil but let me have this)

Really wants attention/validation and does some stupid stuff to get it (ok Zuko probably does too but it’s a little less?? Obvious?? Idk)

America exists 

They live in a comedy world (aside from the angst) and it Shows

Starts out silly goofy and then turns into angst (Avatar was kinda angsty from the beginning)

Knows a few words of Spanish (which is more than Zuko knows considering Spanish doesn’t exist in his world)

Leo&Zuko&Tommy

swords

swords

swords

Don’t wanna flex but they’ve never been possessed (rip Hunter)

Doesn’t travel between realms (fantasy vs the real world but with some magic involved)

Does not attend school at all and shows no interest in doing so

Has a normal vocabulary (doesn’t use nerd words as much as Hunter)

Face visible from their first appearance 

Has fist-fought people and will again

Fshshs this one is not very long

Zuko&Hunter&Leo

Cartoon

They can wield magic powers

Has a large support group of people who love them (oof Tommy)

Has at least one good parental figure (oof Tommy)

Recovery! Hopeful endings! :) (oof tommy) 

When they almost fell to their death they were saved by a loved one (oof tommy)

Big brother moment (at least one younger sibling) 

Very protective over younger siblings (adopted or not)

American accents

Tommy&Hunter&Zuko

human (look hunter’s a clone of a human I’m counting it)

They like girls (probably straight)

Manipulated by one of the most powerful character in their world

Experienced abuse and is very clearly traumatized by it 

Not very good at acting like they’re totally fine and not at all mentally ill

Trauma is actually addressed in canon (Fshshs rip Leo) 

Goes off into the wilderness alone for a while and comes back disheveled, distressed, and generally not vibing

Can go places without being immediately ostracized due to being an actual turtle (Rip Leo)

Can’t lie to save their lives

Actually exists in other worlds besides just like…. New York

But of course, who would I be if I just stopped there??

Tommy&Hunter

fully blonde

Has had multiple panic attacks on screen

Dog person (hunter likes wolves and tommy does too)

Finds out rather abruptly that their abuser doesn’t care about them and has a mental breakdown over it

Friends are all very very traumatized

Would cry at being accepted into a family (Hunter did and you can’t tell me Tommy wouldn’t bc he really badly wants a family) 

People tend to dislike them a lot despite them not really deserving it? (Like yeah they’re a little obnoxious at times but it’s not that big of a deal)

Their animal friends always die :(((

Worrying suicidal/semi-suicidal behavior?? (Hunter was digging his own grave ok I know it was kinda played for humor but that’s messed up. I don’t even need to mention Tommy boy was fully and canonically suicidal)

Spend most of their time in another realm being somewhat? Aware of another realm but no one really going there until much later

LGBTQ rep in canon (not them specifically tho)

“Aw, they’re finally heali- oop, nope, there’s another buttload of trauma”

Zuko&Leo

Uses two swords at once

Very good sword fighter also

Tends to kinda jump into things without thinking even though they’re smart and can strategize well but somehow it works out for them in ways it really shouldn’t 

Is occasionally the voice of reason while everyone else is being dumb

Feels weak and powerless next to their super-powerful awesome sibling(s)

Main parental figure is a short Asian man with grey hair that is very powerful but tends to act silly. Also they don’t like utilizing their incredible fighting skills unless necessary bc of their Tragic Past (TM)

Tommy&Leo

Your second priority is your loved ones. Your first priority should always be committing to the bit

Humor coping mechanism 

Makes stupid decisions for the funni

Really loves their older brother who gives them a lot of guidance (to the point of almost being a parental figure)

They have a main mentor/parental/familial figure that they really love and that loves them in return but their relationship is somewhat strained due to the mentor figure’s poor mental health causing them to inadvertently hurt them

Make silly noises heehoo

Some angst but mostly funni

They have heartbreaking angst and then straight back to crack levels of comedy

Can be very overconfident in their abilities, especially when it comes to smooth-talking/scamming people

Trapped in a prison with an unbeatable foe and basically beaten to death 

They only escaped because of magic previously thought impossible 

Angst in a dark void heehoo

Younger brother energy

Antagonizes a lot of people

Allowed to swear

Upset someone who loves them because they didn’t seem to be taking a situation seriously and it ended up with a lot of hurt from both parties 

Hunter&Zuko

Father figure is the leader of an oppressive regime 

Raised from birth to believe said regime is good and helping people

Good heart under it all

Redemption arc when they figure out they’re on the wrong side (takes a while because they don’t want to think ill of their father figure even though they’re blatantly abusive)

Mental breakdown moment when they realize- was in denial for a long time before that point

Visible scars caused by abuser

Gets a new, actually nice parental figure

Big brother of their friend group 

Bulliable 

Socially awkward 

Changes outfits throughout the show to show their character growth and development

Has some moments of empathy with protagonists before actual redemption arc

Not actually the protagonist/ main focus (look, Tommy and Leo are very much main characters)

Adopted 12 y/o younger brother who is very powerful and they are very protective over him 

Little brothers’ eyes glow blue when they use their powers

Zuko&Tommy

theater nerds 

Overdramatic

Red guys

Lashes out at people who care about him 

Born naturally (as far as we know)

One-on-one duels don’t work out so great for them

They have been Everywhere. Almost every large event involves them somehow

100% actually human 

Sometimes uses swords, sometimes other stuff

Don’t do great wandering in the wilderness on their own

Talks to themselves/random animals when stressed

Anger issues anger issues anger issues

Jerk with a heart of gold (real) 

Has canonically committed many crimes and doesn’t feel guilt about most of them (some of the worse ones that really hurt people they do feel bad for tho)

They commit arson and it’s not ideal

Falls into a minor villain arc right when it seemed like they were going to get better, then realizes this isn’t who they are and confronts the person encouraging them to be violent/cruel

Leo&Hunter

Artificially created by a dramatic being with a gold horned mask and nefarious plans centered around genocide and conquest

Obsessed with a science fiction franchise and dresses up as characters from it

Is shown to enjoy wearing animal costumes once and then it’s never brought up again (Leo’s unicorn onesie and Hunter’s split-second Flapjack costume)

Teleportation 

Trauma surrounding possession

Knows a little bit of Spanish 

Acts confident and smug and cocky when in battle mode but is actually insecure and sad

also:

anyway that’s all thanks for reading

[tameodesza]

Confession (KevinShawn/BretShawn)

AO3 link | masterlist

Shawn is pressured to come clean about his affair with Bret Hart.

a/n: Back with more angst! This follows the events that took place in this fic

“If you don’t tell Kevin, I will.”

The threat came from a very pissed off Hunter after he spotted Shawn leaving the Harts’ locker room, clothes disheveled and a hickey on full display.

The glowing smile Shawn was wearing immediately dropped as he angrily hissed, “No, the hell you won’t! It’s none of your fucking business-”

“It is when I’m friends with the both of you.”

Shawn scoffed, “But you’ve known me longer. I’m your best friend for fucks sake!”

“And he’s my friend, too! You’re putting me in a difficult situation, Shawn.”

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” Shawn said as he continued walking down the hall.

Hunter followed him as he said, “How do you expect me to talk to Kevin and act like everything’s ok when I know his boyfriend’s getting fucked by Bret Hart-”

“Shhh!” Shawn looked around cautiously to be sure no one had heard Hunter. When the coast was clear, Shawn said to Hunter, “You don’t think I feel guilty about it? I feel like shit.”

“Then why are you still fucking around?” Shawn didn’t have a good answer and he didn’t feel like thinking of one.

“Just drop it. You’re giving me a headache.”

“It’s not right, Shawn. And you know it-”

“I know! Ok? I know. Just…give me time. I’ll tell him.”

“Soon.”

“Ok, yes. Soon.”

Hunter wasn’t sure if he trusted Shawn, but he decided to drop it for now, hoping he could take Shawn at his word.

   The next time Shawn saw Kevin was two weeks later. With Shawn traveling in between towns and Kevin having a day off, Kevin suggested that the two of them book a hotel room to spend some quality time together.

Normally, Shawn would be excited. He hadn’t seen Kevin in over a month, and he missed him so much. But he still hadn’t told Kevin about Bret. Shawn felt that the conversation was one that needed to be had in-person rather than over the phone.

Shawn planned on telling Kevin as soon as he saw the man. But it was so hard to even think of uttering those words when Shawn opened the hotel room door to see his boyfriend’s beaming smile.

Kevin pulled Shawn into the room, immediately engulfing the man into a tight long-lasting hug, glad to have Shawn in his arms again. “Hey, baby. I missed you so much,” he whispered.

Shawn tightened his grip onto Kevin whispering back, “I missed you too.”

Kevin pulled back slightly to look at Shawn, bringing up a hand to slowly caress his face as he took in his beauty, before bringing Shawn into a slow and sensual kiss. Shawn kissed back just as eagerly, briefly forgetting why he was so nervous in the first place.

After separating, Kevin rested his head onto Shawn’s as he continued to stroke the blond’s cheek. His lips ghosted over Shawn’s as he said, “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Shawn smiled, “Me too.” Then his smile faltered as he remembered why he was really there.

He had to tell Kevin the truth.

But it was hard to, especially with how sweet Kevin was being.

The taller man had gone out of his way to make Shawn feel special. He ordered room service, lit candles, brought out an expensive bottle of wine, and gifted Shawn a few knickknacks he picked up on the road that he knew the blond would like.

Shawn’s heart melted that whole evening as he further drowned in guilt. He was guilty that Kevin was being so thoughtful while he harbored such a horrible secret. And despite his guilt, he unashamedly basked in the attention Kevin was giving him – the attention that Shawn had been craving for the past few months.

His guilt only worsened when, after pouring another glass of wine, Kevin said earnestly, “I’m sorry I haven’t been putting in much effort lately.”

Shawn shook his head. “Kevin, it’s fine. You don’t need to apologize,” and make him feel even worse about himself.

But Kevin insisted, “I know you try your best to be understanding, but we all reach a breaking point. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me, Shawn. I love you, and I promise I’ll do better.”

Shawn got teary-eyed, but for reasons that Kevin wasn’t aware of. The taller man chuckled as he brought Shawn into a hug saying, “You’ve always been an emotional guy.”

Which was true. But Shawn was emotional for multiple reasons that night. He was touched by how caring and thoughtful Kevin was being. But the reality of the situation was also hitting him.

Like the good boyfriend he was, Kevin could sense that something was bothering Shawn, especially after noticing Shawn’s shoulders trembling slightly. He stroked Shawn’s back gently as he asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Shawn pulled back from the hug, wiping his eyes before looking up at Kevin’s concerned face. The secret was on the tip of his tongue. But instead of the truth coming out, Shawn said, “I love you. So much.”

That brought a smile to Kevin, the taller man cupping Shawn’s face with both of his hands, thumbing away the tears on Shawn’s cheeks. “I love you, too. In case I haven’t said it enough tonight.” He then pulled Shawn into a passionate kiss that soon turned heated.

That was all it took for the couple to forget about dinner and make their way towards the bed.

Shawn didn’t know just how much he missed being caressed and wrapped around Kevin until the man was thrusting into him with such care and ease.

It wasn’t the quick fuck he and Bret usually had. No. It was passionate, sensual, and brought Shawn so much pleasure – so much that he climaxed twice before Kevin could even finish. That night, Kevin gave Shawn everything he needed, but was too impatient to wait for.

And because Shawn was a selfish man, he decided the truth could wait. He’d tell Kevin eventually, but not tonight. For one more night, he wanted to experience Kevin’s love before it would be taken away from him.

   Shawn was the first to wake the next morning, his head resting on Kevin’s chest as his guilty conscience weighed heavy. He didn’t know Kevin was up until he felt the man’s hand slowly tread through his hair.

Shawn closed his eyes, sighing heavily as he worried about how he was going to tell Kevin the truth. He didn’t want to break the man’s heart. He didn’t deserve it, but Shawn couldn’t keep prolonging it.

However, right as Shawn was about to open his mouth, he was thrown off by Kevin saying, “I was thinking about going back to the WWF.”

Shawn’s eyes flew open as he tilted up his head to look at Kevin in shock. “What?”

Kevin smiled as booped Shawn’s nose saying, “You heard me.”

However, Shawn didn’t return the smile, genuinely confused. “But… why? Things are going so well for you at WCW.”

Kevin let out a breath. “I know, I know. But it’s not the same being there without you, Shawn.”

“But…you’d be taking a major pay cut, right?”

“I don’t care. You mean that much to me.”

And Shawn wanted to cry again.

The fact that Kevin was so serious about him, serious enough to leave millions of dollars behind to be with him, was too much. He couldn’t let him make such a drastic decision without knowing the truth.

Shawn frowned to himself before fully sitting up and saying, “I can’t do this.”

Kevin frowned as well, not liking the sound of that. He sat up, asking, “Is there something wrong?”

Shawn groaned as he rubbed incessantly at his face. He then looked into Kevin’s eyes, voice quivering as he said, “I have to tell you something.”

Kevin hated seeing Shawn upset, and obviously whatever he was about to say was bothering him. So he grabbed Shawn’s hand in support, saying softly, “Take your time.”

Shawn grimaced as he said, “Please, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be sweet to me right now. I don’t deserve it.”

Kevin tilted his head in question. “Why wouldn’t you deserve it, Shawn?”

“Because after you hear what I’m about to say, you’re going to want nothing to do with me.”

Kevin tightened his grip on Shawn’s hand, saying, “Never. There’s nothing you could say that’ll make me love you any less.”

Shawn slowly pulled his hand away from Kevin’s, taking a deep breath before saying, “I cheated.”

It was as if time stood still, the room quieting as the words settled in the air. Kevin looked like the color drained from his face, mouth hanging open in shock at the revelation. There’s no way. He must have heard wrong.

Seeing Kevin go quiet, Shawn quickly spewed, “I’m a terrible person, and I feel so horrible about it! I’m sorry. I’m so so fucking sorry, Kev. Kevin.” Shawn tried to get the man’s attention who was looking spaced out.

Shawn tried to place his hand back into Kevin’s, but the man snatched away, asking, “Who was it?”

Shawn stalled, causing Kevin to shout, “Who the fuck was it, Shawn?!” Shawn jumped, slightly startled at the outburst.

The truth of the matter was that Shawn didn’t want Kevin to know, honestly afraid of what the older man would do.

Fed up with Shawn’s silence, Kevin hissed, “If you don’t tell me right now, I’m leaving-”

“Bret! It, it was Bret.”

Kevin was taken aback, not believing what he was hearing. Last time he checked, Shawn and Bret didn’t get along, or at least that’s what it seemed like before he left for WCW. “How long?”

Shawn swallowed hard, his hesitation causing Kevin to reiterate, “How long has this been going on behind my back, Shawn?!”

Shawn’s heart pounded as he said shakily, “Uh, a-a few months. I’m sorry- Babe!”

Kevin swiftly stood up from the bed, no longer wanting to hear what Shawn had to say. He was beyond livid, and he knew being anywhere near Shawn was a bad idea.

Unfortunately for him, Shawn trailed behind him, desperately grabbing at Kevin’s arm as he said frantically, “Would you please just listen to me-”

Kevin snatched his arm away, exclaiming, “Get the fuck away from me, Shawn! Don’t fucking touch me.”

Shawn’s eyes instantly pooled with unshed tears, the younger man not used to being on the receiving end of an irate Kevin.

Throughout their relationship, Kevin was always so careful with him, so patient and understanding. They rarely fought, and even during the small times that they did, Kevin always tried his best not to raise his voice, especially because he knew how fragile Shawn was, and screaming at the blond only tended to make matters worse.

However, now Kevin had every reason to be pissed, and Shawn knew it. But it didn’t make being on the receiving end of Kevin’s tirade hurt any less.

Shawn sniffed, saying weakly, “Kevin-”

“Tell me. What was the meaning of this,” Kevin asked as he gestured between Shawn and himself. “of us falling in love, of me devoting my life to you, of us planning our lives together, of us meeting each other’s family? What’s the meaning of it if all you were going to do is shit on everything we’ve been building together?! Does it mean anything to you-”

“Yes! Of course it does, Kev. You mean so much to me. I love you!”

Kevin tsked, shaking his head in disbelief. “Love. This is how you show me you love me? By running to the next man when I’m not giving you enough attention-”

“No-”

“Because you want to know how I show my love? By being fucking faithful to you!”

“I know-”

“You don’t think I get lonely on the road without you?! You don’t think I get frustrated when we don’t have time for each other?! You don’t think I’ve had opportunities to fuck around with people, too?! I have, Shawn. But I never did it because I love you! But I guess I loved you more than you loved me-”

“No, Kevin, that’s not true! I love you – only you.”

“Then why’d you do it?! If you love me so fucking much, why would you throw us away like this?”

“I-,” Shawn cut himself off. He was at a loss for words. No explanation could justify why he did what he did. “I-I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

Shawn shrugged, “I-,” he sighed. “I just missed you so much. We barely talked, and the few times we did, we would get into these petty arguments. Then we would make plans to see each other, but they’d get canceled. And you were always so busy-”

“So it’s my fault-”

“No! No, it’s not, Kev. That’s not what I’m saying. I just, I don’t know what to say. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

Kevin went quiet, dragging his hands over his face as he contemplated what to say next. He was so stressed out. This was his worst nightmare, and he never thought Shawn would be the one to put him through it.

He was so angry, both at Shawn and himself. Maybe he didn’t try hard enough. Maybe he didn’t put Shawn first at times. Maybe he did prioritize his work obligations over spending time with Shawn. He knew he was a sucky boyfriend for that.

But did that mean he deserved to get cheated on?

“Kev?”

Kevin was brought out of his thoughts, looking up to see Shawn slowly approaching him like a scared animal. However, Shawn halted at Kevin’s next question. “How many times?”

He needed to know. As heartbreaking as it was to imagine Shawn sharing his body with someone else, Kevin needed to know how bad it was. Was it only one time? Although that was still bad in his eyes, a part of Kevin felt like he could forgive Shawn and move on.

“Um,” said Shawn as he averted his eyes.

The guilt was eating him alive. He hadn’t anticipated for Kevin to ask such detailed questions. Part of him hoped Kevin would give him a pass and they could forget it ever happened. But he should’ve known better.

“Shawn,” Kevin said flatly, this time having no energy to raise his voice. “How many?”

Shawn looked up again and his heart nearly broke at seeing Kevin’s misty eyes.

This was what he was afraid of. He never wanted to hurt Kevin. Never. Yes, Shawn was selfish. Yes, he enjoyed being with Bret. But breaking Kevin’s heart was never his goal.

“I-I don’t know.” Which was the truth. He wasn’t proud to admit that between the various sneaky meetups in locker rooms and hotels, he and Bret had fucked more times than he could count.

“Give me a number.”

Shawn furrowed his brows, saying, “I don’t know, Kev. Multiple times. I can’t give a number.”

Multiple times. They had sex multiple times. Not one. Not two. Multiple. That was all Kevin needed to hear for his world to come crashing down.

Kevin closed his eyes as he felt his throat closing up. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing as a nauseous pit settled in his stomach. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“If you want to be with him, then go.”

Shawn’s heart dropped. He did like Bret, but he didn’t want to be with the man. Shawn knew he was such an asshole for cheating, and Kevin deserved as much space as he needed. But he didn’t want them to end the relationship.

“What, no! Kevin, I don’t-”

“We’re done.”

The tears that Shawn was holding back were unleashed, streaming endlessly down his cheeks as he reached for Kevin’s hand. “Baby, please-”

“Shawn, leave.”

“No,” Shawn sobbed as he threw himself at the man, tightly wrapping his arms around Kevin as he cried into the man’s chest. “Please don’t do this! I’m sorry! I want to be with you!”

It took everything in Kevin not to reciprocate the hug. He’d always been weak for Shawn’s tears, but this was a moment where Shawn didn’t deserve his sympathy. “Shawn, let me go.”

When the younger man didn’t listen, Kevin tightly gripped Shawn’s arms, forcing them away from his body. “Go!”

Seeing that Kevin wasn’t going to change his mind, Shawn dropped his arms before slowly walking to his gym bag. He threw on some clothes, glancing at Kevin every so often, before putting on his shoes, grabbing his bag, and making his way towards the door.

He gave one last glance at Kevin before leaving the room and the broken man inside of it.

Once Shawn was gone, Kevin didn’t hold back any longer, his emotions coming at full force as silent tears streamed down his cheeks. He desperately wanted to punch someone – preferably Bret Hart – but with no one in sight, Kevin let out a yell as he picked up a lamp and threw it into a wall, the lamp shattering on impact.

Breathing heavily, he sat on the edge of the bed, gripping his hair in his hands as he cried, feeling just as broken as the lamp on the floor.

[pdaliceliveblogs]

So.

That was a hell of a thing.

I’m honestly impressed by how many times that managed to punch me in the heart, in different ways— with love, with fear, with fury, with achy mourning.

This wrap-up post is super belated, and some of it was written right after I first watched the ep, and some a good two months later, so I apologize if it’s a little scattered. What an episode, though.

There are definitely places where you can feel the pain of the compression. Both montages felt like they could have filled whole episodes on their own, and the map in a box under the floorboards is weirdly convenient— I’d love to know why it’s there, who put it there, why it’s encoded as a rebus, why there are apparently a bunch of rebuses in Old Gravesfield, and I know that stuff is all going to be left up to speculation. Speculation is fun, and I don’t think everything ever needs an explicit explanation— in fact, it’s a pet peeve of mine when people treat “wasn’t spelled out explicitly” as equivalent to “plot hole”— but this does feel like something they could have gone into more deeply if they’d had time.

That said, damn it was good. They didn’t just make the best of what they had, they made something genuinely fantastic. The kids settling in— everything from Amity’s awkward tea attempt to Willow becoming a Polaroid nerd (hey, didn’t I have in my headcanons/designs post that she’d keep a meticulous journal to show her dads when they got back?) was fantastic, Gus’s conflicting joy at seeing the realm he’d been so curious about and achy sadness missing his dad, there’s so much rich loam there for both wacky shenanigans and angsty character exploration and they managed to hit on both at least a little in the time, which, damn. Kudos.

Luz is such a good protagonist, such a good character, I really love her. Her depression throughout this episode hurt in a really accurate way; she was spiraling and hating herself while at the same time loving her family and her friends, she was struggling to work up the energy to be excited about a couples’ cosplay that would have had her bouncing off the walls a couple months before, she was trying to do what she thought was right even though that was dramatically warped by where her brain was at that point. It would have helped no one for her to stay in the Human Realm. If she was thinking clearly, she’d have known that, and she was very obviously not thinking clearly. It’s, uh, relatable. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the belief that the ones you love will be better off without you is one that’s really hard to shake.

The whole possession thing with Hunter… god. It’s such a visceral horror, being taken over from the inside out, dragged forcibly back into the old you even after you worked so hard to become someone better, someone you like to be. That Little Blond Puritan Clone Boy Cannot Catch a Break, except that he did, for most of the episode, and it was really wonderful to watch him being happy. Let the boy nerd out and cosplay and wear a homemade three wolf moon tee and and cherish the fuck out of his pet bird and fuck around at a thrift store wearing a goofy cardinal kigurumi and pick up a hobby. He’s a seventeen year old kid, he’s spent most of his life as a child soldier for his abusive uncle, and he got to flourish, for a bit. He got to thrive. He got friends, and a family, and a break.

Gus was awesome with him all episode, by the way. Repeatedly dropping hints that he already knows about the Grimwalker thing, not pushing him to explain, just being there for him and encouraging him. What a good friend.

(Side note, I love it when characters who have spent a lot of time together have similar speech patterns, so even though it’s painful as hell when that’s not a healthy relationship it was kind of amazing to hear Hunter go “up-bup-bup-bup spoileeeers!!” and think about Belos doing the dismissive “up-bup-bup” back in YB,OS)

The possession itself (ha, I got off track, sorry) was so well handled to build the slow dread, the pierced finger, the eyes, the creep up the back of his jaw, the layering of the voice. I mentioned it as I was blogging, but the fact that Hunter’s voice remained present the whole time was a fantastically terrifying choice. The whole battle was so gorgeously done, not just the sequence with the incredible animation (though that was definitely a highlight) but the way Belos gloated, his skill at saying exactly the right thing at the right time to fuck with his opponents, and Hunter’s desperate push to tell him exactly what he wanted and try to get rid of him, his own safety notwithstanding.

Honestly, Camila was the MVP of the episode. I loved the deeper dive into her character, the fact that she’s so much more like her daughter than we thought, the issues she had in school and how they were used to manipulate her with her desire to give Luz a better life… but more than her backstory, what made her so wonderful is the woman she is now. Her immediate acceptance of the witchlings, her steady research to try and figure out how to best care for them and for her queer daughter, putting in the work, the coupons, oh ow the coupons, her blasé willingness to find some blood if that’s what they need, her fierce protectiveness, her strong will. It was honestly a delight to get to know her better, and I’m so glad she’ll be there for what comes next.

I think that’s all I have to say right now— one of the side effects of it taking me so dang long to write a proper wrap-up is that I’ve made posts (and written fic) about several of the other things I was thinking about, ha.

I was holding out on checking with my screener about asks until I made myself write this up, so I’ll do that now; if y’all sent me any, I’ll answer them soon <3

[reidsaurora]

Part Six: "Paint The Kitchen Neon" ~ S. Reid

Summary: In preparation of Imogen's Christmas visit, Spencer decides to employ the help of Penelope in an endeavor to paint his apartment. Little did he know he'd also be employing her for some much needed advice.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Imogen Sterren (bipolar!OC) and platonic!Garceid

Word Count: 3,122

Content Warning: one (1) explicit swear word, light mentions of food, light mentions of the sanitarium, a light mention of medications, lmk if i missed anything!

Genre: Fluff? i guess Angst if you squint but it's really just Spencer being an overthinker

Extra Notes: none that i can think of right now!

Based On the Song: Soon You'll Get Better by Taylor Swift

Originally Written/Re-Written: 06/27/2022 through 07/13/2022 and 12/11/2022

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

"Soon You'll Get Better" series masterlist can be found here!

"𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭." - 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐥

Christmas was now only a week away, and Spencer couldn't be more excited. The sound of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer could be heard on the television, probably fifty presents lay underneath the tree, and the smell of Spencer's favorite cinnamon candle wafted heavily in the air.

There was only one thing missing, and she'd be there in only a matter of days.

Spencer's every thought was filled with Christmas cheer. It wasn't until a certain blonde knocked on the door that he was shaken from his thoughts.

"Merry Christmas week," Penelope smiled as Spencer opened the door for her.

He gave her a small, closed-lip smile as he closed it behind her. "Merry Christmas week to you as well, Pen."

She grinned thankfully as she hung up her coat, noticing Spencer's favorite cardigan hanging from the coat rack. "Hey, I was wondering where that went," she said, pointing to the sweater. As she looked it over, she noticed three gold stars stuck to the pocket area. "That's a new addition."

He blushed as he remembered his lunch date with Imogen and Diana. "When I visited Mom, she quizzed me and Imogen on Margery Kempe. She gave us gold star stickers every time we got a question right. Those are the only ones that haven't fallen off yet."

A puzzled look came across Penelope's face. "Huh, that's a strange coincidence. Three gold stars for three golden people."

Spencer chuckled, almost silently, at his friend's comment. His lips puckered as if he'd gone off into deep thought about something, though Penelope was unsure what the subject of his thoughts was.

"So," she said with a smile in an attempt to distract him, "You told me to throw my hair up and put on some clothes that I didn't mind getting dirty. What fun and messy activity are we attempting today?" she asked, her braids flopping as she turned to face him.

"We…" his voice trailed off dramatically as he grabbed a bag from the kitchen counter, "are going to be painting my apartment."

Her jaw flew open in surprise, her brows raised in confusion. "You, Spencer 'I hate change' Reid, want to paint your apartment?"

"Is there a problem with that?" he asked, a laugh threatening to roll off his tongue.

"No!" she panicked. "I'm just… confused," she corrected him. "I mean, in all the time I've known you, I've never once heard you talk bad about your hunter green walls."

He supposed she was right. In the three years they'd known each other, and in the almost four years he'd been staying in that apartment, not once had he complained about the wall color. In fact, he believed that the wall color was part of what attracted him to the homey feel of the unit in the first place.

"I just thought it was time for a change," he answered. "A good change," he clarified.

Penelope could tell there was a hint of a hidden message in Spencer's statement, but chose to ignore it. "Well, lucky for you, boy wonder, I painted my own apartment all by myself, so now I know what mistakes to avoid this time."

He chuckled quietly. "That's awesome, Pen. I'm just gonna go change my outfit, but I'll be back ASAP."

And with that, Spencer jogged off to his bedroom to change into some painting-appropriate clothes.

As he tossed his shirt onto the floor, he noticed he'd left Imogen's last letter laying atop his dresser. He inspected it for a moment, noting the gold star she'd drawn on the bottom corner beside her name.

He half-smiled, his lips going into their signature scrunch as he re-read the letter.

"Dear Spencer,

Is it any coincidence that when I tried to pull the stickers off my sweater, three of them seemed to be perpetually stuck? It got me thinking—about the number 3, that is. First of all, there's three of us: you, me, and Diana. Then, there's the fact that my room is the third door on the left side of my hall. I'm writing this on the thirteenth, and it's the third weekday of this week. I met you during the third week of October.

I don't know. Maybe it is all just a coincidence. But that pesky little number seems to be following me everywhere.

So, that got me thinking about this book. Have you ever read "Angel Numbers" by Doreen Virtue? Well, just in case you haven't, she says that seeing the number 3 means the ascended masters, like Jesus or Ganesh, are near and listening to your prayers.

I suppose it's true. I have been praying every day since I met you that I'd be able to see you outside of this stuffy place. And now, I'm going to see you—flying in on the twenty-third and staying for three days.

Anywho, I suppose this letter is getting about as pesky as the number 3. I can't wait to see you next week!

I <3 ya, - Imogen 𖤐"

Spencer smiled as he placed the letter back on his dresser. He thought about her words—what the number three meant. He supposed, too, that there must be some truth in it. After all, he'd also found himself hoping and praying for some way to get her out of that sanitarium.

He turned his attention back to the task at hand, quickly changing his clothes before re-entering the living room.

By the time he'd made it back, Penelope had already started to cover the baseboards and electrical outlets with painter's tape.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten where your own closet was," she joked.

Spencer shot her a small smile before grabbing the extra roll of painter's tape and crouching down in front of the baseboards.

As he stuck a piece of the bright blue tape to the wall, he called, "Hey, Penelope?"

"What's up?" she replied, her words nearly running together as she focused on covering the light switch.

"Do you believe in angel numbers?" Spencer asked as he looked up at her.

Her eyes narrowed as her lips pressed tightly together—her pondering face. After a couple of seconds, she nodded. "I suppose anything is possible if you have enough faith in it," she answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. I've just been researching a ton of religions lately," he lied. "For light reading."

He'd noticed himself doing that—lying—a lot since he'd met Imogen. He didn't blame it on her, but he did wonder why the two felt the need to be so secretive when they weren't even dating.

He wondered about that, too—if he'd ever have the courage to actually ask her to be his girlfriend. He thought about it every day, even promised himself he'd ask her in person when she visited. Still, the idea of having a girlfriend that lived 2,423 miles away from him worried him beyond belief.

"You mean you've been studying a ton of Imogen lately?" she kidded, smiling to signal that it was a joke.

He sighed, hanging his head. "Yeah, actually," he admitted.

Penelope gave him a half-smile before taking him by the hand and leading him to the couch. "I was going to ask if you were OK, but I realize that's a stupid question," she said as she sat down. "So instead, I will ask: what's eating at ya?"

Spencer fiddled with his fingers, avoiding eye contact with Penelope. "Imogen mentioned in her last letter that the number three had been following her around," he started, still fidgeting with his hands. "She explained to me that it means a higher master, like God for example, is watching out for you and hears your prayers."

Penelope nodded so as to show him she was intently listening to him, though she was genuinely curious as to where this was leading.

"She told me she prays every day that she'll be able to see me for Christmas. She told me a few days ago that she'd like to move in if she ever gets released," he further explained. "It's got me thinking: do soulmates really exist? And if so, how do I know she's mine? I mean, what if we've just convinced ourselves that we're soulmates, when in reality, it's just infatuation fogging up the windshield?"

"Spencer," she sighed, grabbing one of his hands in both of hers and rubbing the skin with her thumb.

Tears pricked his eyes, a couple spewing over his eyelids. "Penelope, I'm scared that one of us is gonna turn the wipers on and realize that it was all just infatuation fog."

She grabbed a tissue from the coffee table, placing it lightly in his hand as she said, "OK, first things first, that was actually a very cute analogy."

A smile—a genuine smile—found its way to his lips. For a split second, he almost felt content, like he was in the most comforting place known to mankind.

"Secondly, I think you don't give yourself the credit you deserve. You're a good person, Spence. Yeah, that means you're more likely to get burned. But it also means you have this uncanny ability to see the best in people. So, when everyone else might be looking at Imogen and all they see is a mental illness diagnosis, you, boy wonder, are gonna see anything but that," she smiled. "You're gonna look at her and see all of her quirks—like how she refuses to go to the bathroom with the door locked. You're gonna see her imperfections—like how she can't make a grilled cheese sandwich for shit," she said with a giggle, which earned her a giggle from Spencer too. "But most importantly, you're gonna see that that's what makes Imogen Imogen."

Spencer chuckled through his tears. "OK, seriously, why didn't you become a therapist or something?" he laughed lightly, dabbing his tears away with the tissue.

Penelope gave him a kind smile as she answered, "Because then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of knowing you."

He smiled as the two stood up from the couch. He gave her a quick hug, leaving a soft kiss on her hairline. "Thank you, Penelope."

"No problem, string bean," she kidded. As she pulled away, she asked, "Hey, can I play some Christmas music while we work?"

"You wouldn't be Penelope without it," he chuckled.

Eight hours, multiple cups of coffee, lots of Ella Fitzgerald, and several deep talks later, Spencer's living room and kitchen were finally painted "Sunburst" yellow. Sure, they'd have to apply a second coat the next day, but even halfway through the process, the room already felt more cheerful.

"I love it!" Penelope squealed, signaling how proud of their work she was.

Once again, Spencer found himself grinning from ear to ear. "I love the way it turned out."

Penelope turned to face him before giving him a kind smile. "Imogen's gonna love it, too."

"How did you -"

"Spencer," she started hesitantly, "I've never seen you act this way before."

He blushed, looking away. "Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a beautiful thing," she informed him. "I don't know anyone else who'd paint their house for someone who may never get to see it," she said, immediately regretting her words. "Uh, that's not what I meant," she panicked.

He chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I understand what you meant, Penelope."

"Anyway," she continued, "I think it's beautiful that you'd do this for her. The way you treat Imogen…" she searched for her words for a moment, "It's like she hung up the moon and stars for you."

Spencer stayed silent, opting instead for a closed-lip smile.

"You said before that you were worried about the infatuation fog," she brought up. "Maybe that fog is caused by the clouds of love."

Spencer gave her a toothy smile this time, wrapping her up in a tight hug. "You will never understand how much I cherish you, Penelope Garcia."

She giggled into his chest. "I love you too, you big dork."

After a moment, Penelope let go and walked over to the door. As she grabbed her coat from the coat rack, she said, "Remember to take your meds tonight, drink plenty of water, and don't sweat the little stuff."

Spencer's lips turned upward as they scrunched. "You too."

"Love ya," she grinned.

"Love you too," he grinned back as she grabbed the door. Quickly, he spoke back up. "Hey, Penelope."

"Yeah?" she asked, turning back to face him.

"She may get to see the new paint job sooner than you think."

Penelope's eyes grew in wonder as her jaw dropped. "Really?!"

He nodded, his lips pressed into a tight smile. "Mhm," he answered. "Her doctor is releasing her for Christmas."

Penelope stuttered some form of words that Spencer understood were congratulatory, before running over to hug him once more.

"Will I get to meet her?" she practically shrieked in excitement.

"Maybe," he told her. "I made a list of all the things I want her to see while she's here. You're pretty high up on it."

Her bottom lip puckered out in gratefulness. "You do love me!"

He chuckled, "Did you ever doubt it before?"

"No, but now I know you really love me," she grinned as she let go.

He chuckled as she walked toward the door, rambling a PowerPoint presentation's worth of ideas she had for when she finally got to meet Imogen.

She rambled the whole way out the door, only stopping to say, "I love you," once more.

Spencer chuckled as he closed the front door behind her. He turned to take another look around the room, taking in the new pigment on the walls.

As he looked around, he remembered the one thing, or rather, one person he'd been avoiding. He felt a wave of guilt come over his stomach—the kind of guilt that, no matter how hard you tried, you'd never be able to swallow it back or simply shrug it off.

He sighed nervously, grabbing his phone. His hands shook as he regretfully dialed the number he dreaded most at that particular moment. "Yes, this is Dr. Reid. I'd like to speak with Diana Reid, my mother," he exhaled, apprehension almost audible in his voice.

He waited anxiously as he was placed on hold, attempting those all too familiar breathing exercises both Penelope and his therapist reminded him of every time they spoke to him.

"Yes, this is Ms. Diana Reid," his mother answered.

Spencer almost let out a chuckle at her formality. "Hey, Mom, it's me."

"Oh, hi, Spencer," she replied. He could almost hear a smile sitting on her lips.

As he remembered the reason why he was calling, his previous feeling of guilt started to flood his stomach again. "I have a sort of a strange question for you."

"Damn, not even a 'How are you?'"

Spencer let out a shocked chuckle. "Language, Mom."

"Sorry," she laughed along. "Though, if you can't ask me how I am beforehand, it must be important."

Guilt. Horrible, wretched, sin-filled guilt. "Has Imogen said anything to you about Christmas?"

Diana thought long and hard for a moment. "Not that I can remember, no."

He braced himself, knowing his mother would appreciate best if he just ripped the bandage straight off. "Well, she told me in her last letter that she won't be home for Christmas."

"Oh," her voice fell in what Spencer assumed was disappointment. "Well, that is rather sad. Though, I'm more upset that she didn't tell me."

Spencer wondered why Imogen never told Diana. He wondered if it was out of secrecy or sheer forgetfulness. He attempted to ignore his thoughts before moving forward. "The problem is, Mom," he paused to nervously lick his lips, "she says she wants to come visit me for Christmas."

"Oh, how wonderful!" Diana exclaimed.

"Now, I know that it's tradit-" he stopped mid-sentence when he processed her reaction. "Wait, what?" he asked, feeling like his eyes would bug out of their sockets.

"I think it's a wonderful idea. I think she'll really enjoy herself in Washington."

"You do?" Spencer couldn't recall another moment where he'd felt remotely this befuddled. He'd braced himself for impact, but nearly forgot that there was a possibility of his mother being happy for him.

"Spencer," she said, using that tone she always used when she was going to give a lecture, "even I can tell that you love her."

Spencer thought about her words for a moment. He wondered if love was too strong a word, if what he felt for Imogen was just infatuation. But his mind wandered back to the first time he laid eyes on her, then that night when he helped her through her panic attack—that's when he realized it was quite the opposite. Love couldn't even compare to the feeling he had for her.

Still, he replied to his mother with, "I'm not sure I'd say that just yet, but she is pretty special to me."

Diana stayed silent for a moment. Unbeknownst to Spencer, she had shed a few silent tears. Though her tears were filled with slight sadness, the most significant emotion fueling her tears was joy—absolute joy that her son had found what she believed was true love. She'd wondered if Spencer would be luckier than she was in love, and when she saw the way he and Imogen looked at each other, she knew. He'd found the Catherine to his Heathcliff.

"Spencer, I remember when you were a little boy, when I'd read all those novels to you. I remember hoping and praying that you'd get luckier than I did. Now, it feels like it's happening right before my eyes."

Cold, wet, gratitude-filled tears fell from Spencer's eyes. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Spencer. Don't think for one second that I'll be upset that you won't be here for Christmas. You deserve it. Imogen deserves it too."

Though she couldn't see it, he gave her a bittersweet smile. "Thank you."

Diana was the one who hung up first, much to Spencer's relief, because he wasn't sure he had it in him to say goodbye to her. In all honesty, he might've stayed on the phone with her all night just to make up for everything.

He placed his phone back on the coffee table, taking another teary-eyed look at his new wall color. He sighed contently as he thought of Imogen, knowing that in a matter of days, he'd finally be in the same room as the girl who made him fall in love with the neon color that now lived on his living room and kitchen walls.

"𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭." - 𝐖𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠

CAN YOU GUYS BELIEVE WE'RE HALFWAY THROUGH THE SERIES ALREADY 😭😭

Buckle up because something is coming very very soon!! You'll have to wait until next week... or maybe the next week... or maybe even the next week to find out what I mean. But it's coming, and you'll know.

Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this week's chapter of SYGB! I look forward to seeing you guys in the same place, same time next week!

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[starlightrows]

Welcome back to Krax Watches! Today I’m watching: Sons of Summer

Spoilers below!

Movie starts out fantastic, first person we see is Tem! A++

Exactly what we saw in the trailer with the hand off

You guys, his salt and pepper stubble is EVERYTHING

You know this girl is cool because she has a chuck of pink in her hair

Getting right into it with “one last job”

I have a terrible habit about picking up accents, this is going to make me parrot an Australian/New Zealand accent for the next several days

Several minutes of unnecessary surfing B Roll

They call it liquid ballet… I hope they don’t actually call surfing that

More surfing B roll

These actors are really stiff

Flashback montage of their looooove

This is a stupid stupid stupid stupid plan. Like the definition of a half cocked plan

No one drives a fancy car to a drug drop. Aren’t you supposed to blend in and not stick out?

Oh my fucking god that suit!

I can just see it now, him in the suit checking his watch will be made into a gif in the next week

A mob bridal dinner?

I kind of forgot Tem (still don’t know the character name yet) is kinda the bad guy in this

Ew ew ew smarmy man

I was confused as to what just happened…. They stole the car that had the drugs in it.

The intense red lighting in this (very tame) car chase

More very stiff acting

This dude is more concerned about his girlfriend leaving him for being involved in drug trafficking than the traffickers finding him and busting his skull for it… what the fuck?

How does he know that the girl knows anything?

Or what? What do you mean or what?

Also Tem’s character finally has a name, Frank

Ooooooh he’s in the apartment….. he’s not a bounty hunter in this but I feel like whatever he is, is worse

I don’t know how he didn’t catch her… but the second she leaves that closet he’s going to be sitting there

More surfing

I went to the kitchen to get a snack and make a cup of tea and they are STILL surfing

Who is this woman? That the girlfriend called out of nowhere

Can’t tell if this is trying to be a murder mystery about who killed the blond guys dad? Or if it’s just weird background information

Another rando is introduced

More surfing

Oh… now one of the surfer boys is comatose

Finally a fight scene!

More love scene flashbacks

What the fuck just happened? 😂 why did this bro-y campfire just turn into a fight? The dialogue was more like a porno line than a threat

Oh my god. I can’t stop laughing. “You’re old!” “No you’re old” stab stab slow motion stab 🔪

What the fuck he wasn’t even holding anything to stab him with?

More god damn surfing

So is the cost of dying…. What does that even mean?

Hand is bloody before he punches the tree

This movie just cuts from random scene to random scene with no connection

Blondie is suddenly fine after punching that tree, screaming in the rain and weeping about his dead friend… also their other friend is comatose in the hospital still

Please god no…. Not another surfing montage

Their hair is lightly damp and perfect

ooooh a bromancy vacation montage

Dramatically on a bus for a singular second before cutting to another unconnected scene

Another surfing montage?! How? Why? Fucking why? There’s only 20 minutes left, this better be the last one (just kidding I know there is at least two more coming)

Hang on… there’s only 15 minutes left and this girl has still not been kidnapped like in the trailer… what the fuck?

Lying is bad for your health…. Okay that was funny

Sean Bindaboo… that can not be a real last name

So…. Did the girl just decide to take a bus to nowhere and go on a walking holiday?

Fuck him up Frank!

There is no way. On this entire god damn planet of earth. That Frank just runs into the girlfriend on the side of the road

Finally she’s been kidnapped! I never thought that would make me happy

At least Frank isn’t violent with her

Not gonna lie…. The way Franks speaks when threatening big blond idiot…. Pretty hot

They way Sean runs 😂

His friends are so fucking stupid

What the fuck? The rando girl from the surfing montage agreed to help them with this drug drop? What the fuck is this movie?

I do not buy it. Blondie successfully drowned Frank. I know that’s what happened in the canon of the movie, but that’s dumb

Old footage? For no reason?

Plastic lei and all of them surfing

Wow comatose guy lived! And is surfing with a bandage on

No! Don’t leave the plastic lei in the ocean you assholes

Frank’s not dead!!!! Wait what? How is that the last scene of the movie?

You guys this movie is terrible. 3/10 at best. Glad I watched it though, had to see for myself

[thornescratch]

Bobadinluke 😈

I ship it! (lol duh)

What made you ship it: Like a lot of people, five minutes of the Mandalorian made me get into Din/Luke and reawakened my massive Star Wars love (I grew up on the original trilogy and those damn Ewok movies), and then tumblr started randomly showing me things from that tag, so I ran across a story that I really liked, and I ended up checking out the author’s AO3 account. I ended up reading a Bobadinluke story she was also writing, and then joined her newly created discord server on a whim, and one thing just led to another. Plus, like, Tem’s voice.

What are your favorite things about the ship? I like how it‘s three dudes who all have very weird and super intense father/parent issues, and yet all of them manage to have unique father/parent issues, which makes it all the more interesting when those three collide. I also like how it includes a lot of bonus tropes in addition to the daddy issues. Enemies to lovers! Strangers to lovers! Reluctant allies! Age difference! Size difference! Loaded history! Found family! It gives you the opportunity for big ol’ emotional exchanges, and also characters fucking nasty. I like a wide spectrum like that.

I also like the parallels that accompany all three characters, not just in terms of losing family at an early age and how that fundamentally changes their life direction, but also in terms of being thrust into a role or identity that they didn’t necessarily ask for or know how to handle. I like how each of them struggles with how to grow or develop a culture or place that’s had a lot of history. I like how their three personalities would fit (and clash) and how each of them has strengths and weaknesses that the other two supplement or draw upon.

Also as mentioned, I was into SW from an early age, so Luke is one of the OG members of my Short Blond Over Powered Twink That I Enjoy Seeing Get Wrecked group. Why settle for watching him get wrecked by one Mando when I can have two, yknow.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? I think fandom in general tends to target Han as having the most issues with Luke shacking up with Din and Boba, or use him as the comic relief, but I think it would actually be Leia who’d have the hardest time giving approval or who would dig her heels in on accepting it. I don’t think Han would necessarily like it, but I think Han’s more likely to be pragmatic about it.

Leia, on the other hand-- I don’t really see her easily getting over or forgiving Boba for working for Vader, hunting Luke, turning Han over to Jabba, and standing by and witnessing her captivity and humiliation at Jabba’s. (In fact, I think the bit in Tales of the Bounty Hunters where she and Boba have a hilariously hateful little sleepover together and discuss their respective moral codes doesn’t mean she’d respect him; I think if anything, it would raise her contempt.) So, scenarios or set ups where Leia has no problem with Boba or is dismissive of Han’s feelings about him tend to make me skeptical. Plus, like, the optics of being a senator and trying not to let your career be sunk from your dumbass twin who is also the last Jedi having relationships with a crime lord and the king of a bunch of militant warriors going stir-crazy.

I also think the relationship isn’t necessarily always going to start with Din as the center. That’s actually one of the things I find interesting about it, since Boba and Luke have their weird history going back to Boba hunting Luke down for Vader, and Luke’s role in Boba ending up in the sarlacc. (I think fandom sometimes sleeps on the whole Luke and Boba fighting in Obi-Wan’s hut. I want more shit written about that.) But that’s a fun thing about the relationship; it changes dramatically based on the order in which the participants get involved. Din/Boba adding Luke is different from Din/Luke adding Boba, which is in turn different from Boba/Luke adding Din.

[clouseplayssims]

Oregon Trail TS3 Sim Narrowdown

Abraham: "He can be recognized by his very athletic looks despite his grandiose body and his long blond hair with red streaks. If Seasons is installed, Abraham normally runs the kissing booth for boys during the Spring festival." There's a lot to unpack here, but he's kind of a vibe.

Eugene: gives me grown-up kid from Hey Arnold energy.

Davy: "Davy Linnell is a"A pre-made babysitter from Sunset Valley. He can be made playable by asking him to move in, or by marrying him when he's older. He doesn't have any skills and relationships at the start of the game. He only has three traits instead of the usual four. Also, despite having the family-oriented trait, he is prone to neglecting the children's needs."

Nate: "Unusually for a non-alien, Nate's eyes are pitch black."

Edward: he's a magician so that's fun.

Artie: he has some pretty dramatic cheekbones.

Big Steve: the name sold me. Also "Oddly, his first name consists of two words instead of just one, which may imply a large physical or authoritative size, although this is unconfirmed." WHAT DOES THAT MEAN EXACTLY!?

Trevor: "In high school, Trevor Burton broke a lot of hearts on his ever-present quest for the next conquest. Will living on his own in a new town soften his outlook?" Flirty, commitment issues, couch potato. Cute? "Sometimes when the player makes a new game, Trevor may randomly be the boyfriend of any Sim he knows, even if it's one of his ex-girlfriends."

[aeternals]

bourbon street tended to be buzzing with energy at all points in the day but there was a small stretch in the small early hours when riley could get things like inventory done. the french doors were open wide to let in the brine and the gentle breeze. music hummed through the sound system he'd set up several years prior, meant to accompany the live bands that played friday through sunday.

several half empty bottles were on the polished mahogany when the scent sage and ash started drifting in. but, it was a second whiff of mesquite that had riley looking up towards the street.

another witch's familiar, currently known to the world as corbin walked leisurely in with a toothpick held between his lips and both hands stuffed into a very dramatic trench coat. the raven's tall, human figure was always clad in black whenever riley saw him. very 90's goth dramatic.

a step behind him was a werewolf riley hadn't seen in about three years. not since their poor attempt at a relationship went south.

" hale ashwood, " the tall blonde slams down a shot glass despite the time of day. it earned him a lazy grin. wood clattered against ceramic tile as the wolf let gravity pull him down into one of the stools that would be barely visible later in the evening. either customers would fill them or push them aside in attempts to join the revelry.

" hi, babe, " torn knuckles drum against the counter. to riley that had to mean a run in with either magic or silver. something to prevent the wolf from healing as quickly as he normally would. " i need to speak with big daddy ash. "

just like that old frustrations bubbled back to the surface. only one thing would prompt hale to ask about riley's demonic patron; desperation. since it wasn't anywhere close to october that could only mean someone used the death of his pack as a means to get under his skin.

" wasn't me, " corbin chimed in as if reading riley's mind. instead of joining them at the bar, he chooses to walk towards the opposite wall to plop down into a velvet couch. " i was picking up a spell jar when i found him bouncing a head into a wall. "

which made riley's ire settle back down on the amber-eyed shifter sitting in front of him. the love was still there. hard not to spend five minutes around hale and not love him but it was equally difficult to stay for the self destructive spectacle. a younger version of himself thought another home would help ease that pain. both his mothers welcomed him in with open arms. so did several others of the coven. all it did was exasperate everything hale was trying to hide himself from.

" one, please don't call my patron ' daddy. ' two, we've been over this a hundred times. it wasn't demons that killed your family. and - " riley holds up a hand before the wolf can chime in, which earns him a roll of eyes. " if they - whoever - was possessed by something then he doesn't know about it. no one who's passed these wards since the last time you asked has known a fucking thing. "

the scent of sage hit him again. when riley looked up corbin was still sitting on the couch, only now he had a small can of peanuts. he sighed.

looking back at hale, he leans down on the counter to ask, " what happened? "

" i was in gehenna having fun, " the wolf's hand shoots up defensively. " and i may or may not have beat the shit out of a hunter. "

" did you ask dumah? "

another roll of eyes. " i am not now nor am i ever talking to an angel, rye. "

" so...you'll fly half way across the country to ask me? you know you can probably shout his name and he'll come eventually. "

scrunching his nose, hale had the decency to look a little ashamed. " about that... "

[toweringclam]

Adam the Apothecary (Octopath OC)

"Master gave me the gift of life, now I must return the favor."

Links to previous: Osanna the Cleric, Clyde the Merchant, Tusitala the Dancer, Opal the Thief, Penelope the Scholar

Name: Adam Job: Apothecary Gender: Masc (Equally male and female, but most people assume male and he accepts that) Element: Lightning (Spell: Galvanize) Latent Power: Advanced Chemistry (materials impart additional abilities to concoctions) Appearance: Slim but extremely muscular (as opposed to Tusitala's more bulky build). Wears a long coat with no shirt, showing his many scars. Long blonde hair and feminine facial features contrast with his build. Friendly Action: Inquire Unfriendly Action: Press (Gain followers by defeating in combat) Starting Region: Uplands. The requisite mountainous region, though again I want to make it more colorful than past versions. Lots of alpine meadows full of flowers. Starting Town: Blaumberg. A place with a lot of the aforementioned flowers. It's a dilapidated castle town, being largely abandoned and reclaimed by nature. Should give a feeling of melancholy and fallen grandeur. Allied with Noland, but independent. Starting Story: Adam was created by his master an uncertain time ago. His master taught him and cared for him, but one day left on a journey and never returned. He's been taking care of the castle on his own and studying medicine ever since. Noland forces arrive to steal his master's research and set the castle on fire. He confronts their leader, who tells him that his master is dead. But he refuses to believe it, and sets out to find the truth. Goal: Find his master and figure out the secret of his own resurrection so that if they are truly dead, he can bring them back. Battle Motif: "To Restore Life," a dramatic and gothic piece emphasizing the pipe organ.

Adam's character came about when I was shuffling around the jobs and elements. For two games, Lightning has been the purview of Hunters, but I thought it'd be cool to shake things up. As soon as I thought of the lightning + apothecary combination, the answer became clear. BTW, his path action "Press" is him just grabbing someone and saying "I need your help." The typical response is "D...do I have a choice?!"

I worry that in this concept I'm leaning on the two greater antagonists too much. After all, I'm on #6, and 4 of them have been directly opposed to one of the two empires, with the remaining two skirting the line between them. But it also makes the themes more cohesive, and ties into the way I'm doing the split path actions, which I promise I will explain at the end.

Adam has probably changed his motivations more than any other. I've hopped from trying to cure death, to revenge against his master, to trying to save his ailing master, and many more. I finally settled on him in the same ballpark as H'aanit. A complicated relationship to someone he really cares about, but feels abandoned by.