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eyelessfaces · 5 months

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I'll be the silence ringing through and through and through

santiago garcia x reader

summary: if santi had it his way, he would be back home, with you, his mouth on your neck or something of that kind– it would have been possible, a few months ago. or in some alternate universe where he hadn’t fucked it all up. in short; santi wants you back.

warnings: mentions of a breakup but no reason is mentioned, alcohol consumption

tags: f!reader, exes to lovers, inevitable angst, fluff

word count: 1.7k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

happy new year!!!! randomly dropping a santi fic to start it right hhhh

fic title is from the song "heart to heart" by fiddlehead :)

reblogs and feedback are extremely (I cannot stress this enough) appreciated!!

If Santi had it his way, he would be back home, with you, his mouth on your neck or something of that kind–

It would have been possible, a few months ago.

Or in some alternate universe where he hadn’t fucked it all up, and where he would be holding you by the waist and kissing your cheek instead of having to watch you from afar, scrutinizing every littlest movement of yours while he was slumped in Frankie’s couch, like an hermit, feeling helpless, the neck of his beer being the only thing to kiss his lips tonight.

Maybe it was just the alcohol, maybe everything would seem way less dramatic tomorrow, save for the hangover headache – but no, scratch that, he wasn’t even drunk, just barely tipsy, so no, tomorrow won’t be better.

It must be the sight of you laughing at another man’s joke then, probably.

Was he hitting on you? Was he just a friend, like Benny, Will and Frankie were to you?

He shouldn’t care; that wasn’t his business, that wasn’t his problem. Not anymore. Not that he had been the kind to carefully observe your every movement any time you talked to another man back when you were together. He had never really been of that kind, he trusted you.

Except here, right now, it was his problem. For some reason, it felt like it was, and even more than before, when you were still together.

Because now that you didn’t love him anymore, there was nothing to stop you from doing anything with that man.

Would that man fill the hole Santi had left in your heart? Would he make you happier than Santi ever had?

Probably. He was probably a good man, would be a good boyfriend, wouldn’t fuck everything up. Would probably even marry you, and he’d be damn right to.

“He’s gay” Will snorts, plopping down next to Santi, giving a small pat to his chest. Santi’s gaze finally departs from you to turn to his right, where his friend has settled next to him.

“Good to know, but I‘m not interested in him,” Santi jokes, looking down at his half full beer. Half empty.

“That, I know.” Will cocks his head to the side, a more serious expression over his face as he brings his beer to his mouth. Santi’s gaze darts back to you and that man talking, a sick feeling filling his stomach as he sees you smile and shake your head frantically just the way you used to when he would come up with a shitty joke. “I’m like, eighty three percent sure she’s still in love with you.” Will speaks again, nudging Santi’s knee with his own.

“Seventeen percent of what?” Santi chuckles, more convinced that the rest of that percentage is the most important part.

“Seventeen percent of, you still fucked up, man.” Will says, patting Santi’s knee before getting up from the couch, already. “I’m not good at math dude, but all I can tell you is, it’s worth trying again!” he declares over the music, pointing at Santi before disappearing through the crowd.

Easier said than done.

Santi sighs, bites the inside of his cheek as he runs a hand over his few days old stubble.

He had never had any issue talking to people with ease, but for some reason, the idea of talking to you tonight seemed like the most intimidating thing he ever had to do in his entire life.

But god, did he want to look at you in the eyes again. To have you make that focused frown whenever you were attentively listening to someone. To see the way your lips curled up into a smile when you could pre shot a joke, and the way you still pretended not to know what the punchline was, and still ended up laughing.

Santi smiles to himself, finishes his beer, and when he looks up, you’re not in the crowd anymore. Then Benny joins him when he goes to the kitchen for a refill, and you happen to slip out of his mind for the time being.

—

The air is crisp, compared to the smothering heat inside. It tickles your cheeks, the tip of your ears, it hits every exposed area of skin, the sweat over it now feeling ice cold.

It’s all you needed and wanted, so you shouldn’t complain.

You walk back and forth along Frankie’s porch, the overwhelming feeling of the slight tipsiness and the fast beating of your heart simmering down, and you lean against the wall, taking a deep breath.

You turn at the sound of the door opening beside you, the loud, previously muffled sound of the music now clear, ending up face to face with the one person you did your best to not go talk to all night long.

“Shit, sorry. I’ll go” Santi apologizes, still firmly holding the doorknob, starting to go back inside.

“No, no, it’s alright” you say, inviting him to stay with you. “I didn’t privatize the porch” you joke, giving him an awkward smile.

He chuckles as he tentatively steps outside, closing the door behind him, leaning his back against the wall beside you. Neither of you say a single word for a while, then he looks over at you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. “I assumed you wouldn’t wanna see me.” he finally declares, making you scoff and shrug.

“I actually don’t mind,” you say, looking over at him. He’s now looking ahead, a small pinched smile over his lips. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before looking back at you.

“I feel like an idiot.”

“Fair enough, you are one.” you immediately sigh, looking away. His gaze is too heavy. “I loved you.” the knot inside your throat tightens only after you pronounce the words, thankfully.

He swallows hard, a shiver running down his spine. It’s not the cold air’s doing. He stares deeply at you, watching you doing your best not to look at him.

“I know.”

The atmosphere hangs heavily as the awkwardness takes over. The silence lingers, punctuated only by the sounds of the night around you.

He pushes himself away from the wall, taking a step closer and turning to look at you, forcing the both of you to truly establish eye contact for the first time tonight.

"I fucked up, I know," he admits, his voice low and filled with remorse. "But I never meant to hurt you." he shakes his head. “Ever.”

You blink, your gaze tearing from his. "You did anyway," you reply, your tone tinged with a mixture of bitterness and sadness. The memories of the pain he caused are still fresh, wounds not fully healed.

He runs a hand over his stubble, a nervous habit you remember all too well. "I know I can't change anything that I did, but I want you to know that I'm sorry."

Your eyes meet his own again, searching for sincerity. "It doesn't fix everything," you say, your guard still up.

He nods understandingly. "I just needed to tell you, and to let you know I haven't stopped thinking about you."

The vulnerability in his gaze begins to chip away at your defenses. Despite the hurt, a part of you softens. "Santi–”

He cuts you off– "I've been thinking, and you know I don’t do it often” he jokes, scoffing. “And I realized how much I lost when I let you go."

A wave of internal conflict washes over you. Your past relationship is a heavy burden you’re carrying, and you’re not sure you should grant him your forgiveness, yet there's a glimmer of something in his eyes that translates his genuine desire for redemption, and there’s some part of you that craves everything you had with him.

“Please,” he starts, his gaze chasing yours as he softly holds onto your wrist. “Please give me a second chance”

His plea hangs in the air, and you can feel the sincerity in his touch. The warmth of his hand on your wrist is a rough contrast to the chill in the night air. You sigh, and look away, torn between the pain of the past and the possibility of a different future. The silence stretches painfully, and you can hear the faint sounds of the night around you – a distant car passing by, the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

A shiver shakes through you, the brown of his eyes seeming deeper than usual, softer as he silently begs for you to say something.

“Second and last chance” you finally declare, refusing to give up on everything you’ve done to try to get over him, yet indulging in everything you’ve ever wanted since you’ve been apart.

He nods silently, his hand leaving your wrist to settle at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. “Okay. Alright. I won’t need another one” he promises confidently, the frown over his face eventually softening. You smile as his thumb gently rubs over your now cold skin.

“Alright, but you gotta kiss me for it to take effect” you tease as you break the tense atmosphere, readjusting your position onto your feet and placing your hands at either side of his neck. His skin is warm, and you feel his muscles contract under your hands when he laughs.

“Good thing I’ve been wanting to do it all night long” he smirks before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours, smiling as you sigh into the kiss. This is it; you feel complete again.

He tastes of booze, and his light stubble slightly stinging when he moves are surprisingly pleasant. Your hand shifts to rest at the back of his neck, feeling his scar here, his own hands pulling you closer at the waist where he squeezes lightly when you run your other hand through his short hair.

You pull away only once it becomes necessary, the lack of oxygen making you all giddy though you’re not sure it’s just it. Santi is still holding you close as he presses his warm lips over your forehead, laughing when a shiver runs through your spine and makes you jolt.

“Alright” he declares as he strips himself of his jacket, pulling it over your shoulders.

“You already pulled this trick on our first date” you scoff, looking over at him. A sly smirk grows over his face as you adjust the jacket over your shoulders.

“...And it worked, didn’t it?”

—

reblogs and feedback are extremely (I cannot stress this enough) appreciated!!

triple frontier taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @alexxavicry @grxywindd @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @luxisluxurious @dowbastan

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia #santiago pope garcia x reader #triple frontier #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #sorry for the tags it's just to reach more people^^#oscar isaac

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rowanthestrange · 4 months

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The Master And Margarita Jacket

(Matthew Sweet’s Doctor Who version…but with a frisson of Bulgakov’s)

It’s done! With every bit of unphotographical glittery metallic paint that I can’t capture on camera even if my iphone skills weren’t rubbish.

@spoonietimelordy, @rearranging-deck-chairs, @bearinabandana and everyone else who Did The Reading of that one ‘I Am The Master’ novel but I’ve forgotten to tag because i’m so sleep deprived i can’t think any more but hopefully other people will, assemble!

Detailed closeups and explanations (with some spoilers) below:

Starting front top right side (face on). -Margarita herself, biting a mushroom. A more Cockatoo beak than Macaw, with red face instead of white, to make what exactly she is more mysterious. -The Master Who logo here is just gold, any shading didn’t look right when it was so thin.

Front top right pocket. Purple, of course.

-Next section down are these three. The ‘Never Stop Growing’ patch is my second favourite patch of the bunch. So many Master Themes, and plot relevant. -Then the little ‘Best Buds’ with the heart in the middle. I was inordinately proud of that idea. (Buds, budding, bigenerated vibe). -And then ‘Obscene Lotus’. That’s mentioned early in the book, and while it’s just described as a big purplish lotus, there’s so much sexual charging in that scene that, well, you gotta.

Me, reusing the ‘budding’ pun in a different capacity? It’s more likely than you think.

-The cover of the Penguin Clothbound Classic version of the original The Master And Margarita, that took multiple days to complete and so much agony. -The patch is a blank one that I bought, then painted the design to look like one of those stamps people sometimes put in books. Painted the border the same colour, then tea-stained it to look like old paper. Certainly in real life the colour comes out nicely. I couldn’t find his autograph (and sadly there’s an unrelated artist with the same name lol) but he got his doctorate in Wilkie Collins so I just looked up examples of that guy’s writing and tried to give it a bit of that vibe. Hopefully it’s the thought that counts. But hey, if anyone ever meets him and gets me a signature sample I can just redo it.

General mushroom patch - I like the fire kind of vibe and the looming.

To the other side!

So. You’re asking what’s with the daisy theme. Fair. So Margarita is also another name for a daisy in some languages. I choose to lean into that because it’s also the widely known symbol of Three - with that scene where he talks to Jo and recounts how a hermit living on a mountain helped dispel his depression by getting him to focus on the beauty of the flower (“and it was the most daisiest daisy”). Given that Three is essentially a character in the book, this felt like the vibe we’re going for. It’s perennial. It also is a healer of bruises and wounds, how can that not be relevant meta wise too to the Master’s new companion, hm? And okay yes, Mikhail does say he’s not a botanist, but if you can think of another way to get that message across other than botanical illustration page…

I like the patch because lightbulb, idea, full of mushrooms etc.

-‘I Am The Master’ being the name of the book the story is contained in, plus Fun With Identity. -Next the one bit of Real Art that I attempted to copy in glittery acrylics - Magritte’s ‘The Treachery Of Images’ or more commonly known ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’. The story not only of the Master’s experiences recently, but the story’s themes of hallucinations and deceptions; as well as being the symbol of Russian!Brigadier. -This patch is great isn’t it? A play on the Master’s apparent alcoholism or Russian blending in as you prefer, and of course, The Lighthouse of Martin!Doctor fame.

-Mikhail’s guitar for playing Brown Sugar and other ominous inference songs. -The formula triangle of Love, Food, and Music (I couldn’t think of a self-evident way to show his approach to food - Russian dumplings are, well, not exactly distinct). On its side so the glittery pink triangle points in a certain direction because he’s escaped places and I can do ominous inferences too Sweet. -Maybe controversial? There is a failed love story component in here though, that I just couldn’t leave unmarked. The Doctor, K’vo, and Jo all have their parts to play in that.

Now for the arms:

Here’s the right-side looking-on arm. -I repainted this mushroom patch to be the orange and green of K’vo’s. -You’ve already seen the long image of it above, so here’s just a snippet closeup of the motif that goes along both arms. Daisies linked in a chain with the words ‘daisiest daisy’ (if you wonder why everything’s outlined by the way, a) i like the style, and b) it makes glitter infinitely more legible and clearer to see if there’s a dark matt border around it breaking it up, especially with something as variable coloured as denim). There’s the sunflower in the middle because Margarita loves her sunflower seeds.

This is the other arm. Margarita holding a margarita in a margarita. What’s more to add? I used my shittest white (mixed with my fabric medium as everything else has been at every step) rather than @yesokayiknow’s excellent suggestion of Liquitex, which has saved me everywhere else, including those light patches. But here shitty kids basics acrylic is translucent enough to do some excellent work pretending to be glass and ice. The parrot patch has been altered to make the beak entirely black and her face red instead of macaw white, to keep her species ambiguous as literary theme demands.

To the back!

This Master Who logo is bigger, so it has the Master’s purple highlights like bruising.

Here is a small UNIT patch I modified to be a Russian one, globe focused on their continent (roughly). Sweet just translated the word ‘unit’ for Russian!Brigadier’s group, and the text is the re-cyrilliced version of that.

Skipping to the bottom…

Here referencing O’s collection of Doctor Information, Sweet adding to that with having distinct scrapbooks. ‘Manuscripts Don’t Burn’ is a line from Bulgakov’s The Master And Margarita (spoken by Satan in fact, mhmm) and became something of a rallying cry for oppressed Russian artists. I have ‘Author Unknown’ for the obvious meta with his and the Doctor’s memories, and likewise, the fact that flames are clearly present and burning lets the viewer come to whatever conclusion they like. #133 was chosen for the simple fact that in my copy of Bulgakov’s novel, and the one depicted on the front of the jacket, it is page 133 which starts the chapter The Hero Enters, where we meet The Master who has renounced all other names (who is very much, as Interference notes, the Doctor). They are glitter paint titles done on Hemline repair patches, black, brown, white, and navy blue. I know anything too painty on that area of the back will risk a lot of wear, and these are easily replaced when necessary (if still hours of lettering).

To the left most side…

This was the most expensive patch I bought, £12. But worth it. The mushroom stalk is silk.

Here I depicted in silhouette the scene of the Master climbing up to the Doctor on the giant mushroom. I chose silhouette so as not to draw the eye too much. I also added some 2ply black-black glitter cotton as part of his climbing equipment, attached on by some silver stitches for the…things I can’t remember the name of. It gives it a bit more 3D effect, but also keeps the thread close enough it shouldn’t pull on anything.

And at its base we have a reference to Mikhail’s chosen middle name. I chose to believe it’s relevant, Sweet’s too deep into this for it not to be. This is a cover I edited to highlight the namesake who actually travelled Russia and collected the tales of this book, and indeed, it does include the story of Koschei The Deathless. I edited the robe to be red instead of its original yellow, and added the quintessential Time Lord collar. But I think it’s perfectly passable. This is iron on transfer paper (dark) onto a very light grey polycotton to turn it into a patch. It…*cough* hasn’t had its edges finished or strictly been attached yet, but that’s a bit of handwork I can do as and when.

So finally back up to the middle

I’ve expanded out @spoonlesss-artbook fantastic angel-winged Margarita’s Master art. The Redbubble bag was only that big as it was (hemmed with bostik fabric glue like a true pro and attached as a panel) so it cut off a little, and it didn’t go the whole way anyway, so now we get some endings of the feathers, some all the way up to the arm of the jacket. I tried to blend it into the fire, one creature of both. And trying to get a multidimensional feel, boundary breaking. And again, very glittery irl so plays very well with the fire theme. It was fun when it came to colour-matching particularly the blue wing at the top, because the glitter gives it a bit of a sheen. I blunted it with a few careful washes of black so it still sparkles but is the right colour in most angles.

The Redbubble edit cuts @spoonietimelordy’s signature, so I copied it from the original and moved it over to the left side in some sparkly silver. Also internet doxxing my real life self on the bottom of the back as my own signature.

Doesn’t look like the sort of thing that would take weeks when you see it all together, but I’m really happy with it. I’m so grateful for everyone who’s shown their brilliant art to me and shared posts about painting all these years, cus it allowed me to absorb stuff and let me come out of the gate swinging! It feels thoroughly addictive. Even if I only know ‘use tiny brush’ for almost everything and glitter metallic is great for hiding sins. (And a ‘Ha!’ in the face of my mother keeping me away from it my whole life because of mess - I never got even a single speck on any clothes that wasn’t this jacket. I could’ve been doing this for years rather than just picking up a brush at the age of thirty-damn-one. But at least I’ve got it now).

And thanks to Matthew Sweet for feeding the worms in my brain too.

#the master and margarita #i am the master #matthew sweet #doctor who #dw fanart #the master #dhawan!master #jacket painting #mine #:)#(and you never ask a gentleman how much his patches cost)

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greenerteacups · 1 year

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Frequently Asked Questions

Hi! If I’m asked a question more often than sometimes, it’s probably here. Static page also accessible at this link.

When is the next chapter coming out?

I update on Friday mornings, weekly, usually before noon PST. If it’s a Friday and you don’t see an update, it’s either because I’m on a writing break, or we’re in a hiatus between books. Or I've been hit by a car or something.

Do you have social media?

Aside from Tumblr — nope! I’m one of those hermit types. My AO3 account was previously the only place I was active online. I made a Tumblr so I could offer a platform to interact with people who are more comfortable here than in the AO3 comments section (for instance, there’s no anonymity function on AO3; you can log out and comment as a guest, but that’s a lot of work, and then there's not an easy way to check if your question was answered.)

Can I tag you in [thing]?

Yeah! I check back in here every few days, on average, to scope out my inbox and my mentions. If you make something for my fic, I’ll publicize it everywhere, obviously.

Can I bind your fics?

Yep! Carte blanche. I don’t own the copyright for anything I write, so I appreciate the thoughtfulness of people asking, but you can absolutely go ahead and do whatever the hell you want with the text of my fic. Print it, paint it, burn it, bind it, turn it into blackout poetry. Transformative art is human nature. But if you do, please, please, show me! I’ll scream for a thousand years.

Caveat: I’ve seen some people have anxieties about the sale of bound fics for profit, since they’re worried about publishers cracking down on copyright violation and litigating fanfiction. This is tough, because on the one hand, bookbinding can be expensive; on the other hand, selling fic is a violation of copyright, and the only way AO3 is allowed to exist is by authors making precisely $0 from anything they post. (This is why AO3 will boot you immediately if they catch you trying to make money from non-original works on their site — if I so much as drop a PayPal link in the description for Lionheart, the fic will quickly be taken down, and my account could be suspended.) So my stance is: I’m not going to sell my fics; if you bind for personal use, this doesn’t matter, go for it, live deliciously, etc; if you bind to sell, please be careful and discreet as you can. But you have my OK, for what it’s worth.

Can I translate your fics?

Yes, of course.

Will you write other things, besides Lionheart?

Eventually, yeah. Probably nothing longform soon, however. When I’m writing something, I get engrossed in the world and I sort of tunnel-vision onto the project. When Lionheart goes on a hiatus between books, I may pop out and do something else, just to keep my skills sharp and give my mind a break. That’s where shorter pieces like The Climb and SWLITS came from. But I keep my eyes on the prize, as far as what I’m writing, because I pride myself on having finished most (though admittedly, not all) things I’ve ever started on AO3. I hate having unfinished projects cluttering up my Works page.

I don’t read WIPs. When will Lionheart be finished/should I read Lionheart?

Listen, I’m not gonna tell anyone how to read fic. If your reading preferences make you happy, then you’re doing it right. And I’ve also been burned by remarkable WIPs that peter out, or die on a cliffhanger, and they just about break my heart. I can’t promise that won’t happen, because I don’t know what life holds in store. I also can’t promise when Lionheart will be finished, because, frankly, I have no idea! As a full-book rewrite, if you look at the current chapter count, and then look at the number of books in the series, then, yeah, it clearly has a long way to go.

But I also know that the Completed Works filter on AO3 is hiding a lot of good fic, and I think people who only read completed stuff are missing out on the real fun of update culture — of reading something serially, the excitement of waiting for the next chapter to drop, looking for clues about long-running puzzles, theorizing in the comments, getting to experience each new hit live. That’s one of the few things about fanfic that you can’t get in a novel, and it’s a real treat. I’d at least give it a try.

Otherwise, here’s what I can tell you: Books 1, 2, 3, and 4 will all be finished. They will have completed endings, and will offer (satisfying, I hope) resolutions to the major conflicts of those stories. And that’s a fact.

#greenteacup asks

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dodgebolts · 1 year

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I think you're taking the polls too seriously tbh? Like yeah it's a popularity contest but like... That's the point? The polls don't say "vote who you think would win mcc" or "vote who you think would win dodgebolt" or "vote who's vibes you like more" it doesn't really specify so everyone can just kinda interpret it however they want.

And knowing who'd win an event is impossible anyway since that hugely depends on game order. You get for example gridrunners and builtmart as the last two games then yeah a hermit heavy team can absolutely beat a dream team. Whereas if you get, idk, battle box last then that'd be a whole other story.

It's a popularity contest and yeah dream isn't hugely popular on tumblr these days. But I doubt most ppl are seeing those posts and going "I hate dream I hate him so much, I do not know this other team at all but I will vote for them anyway". Most are probably just like "huh I liked the vibes of this team I'll vote them"

It's silly little polls about silly little block games, it's fine. Just vibe and have fun with it

I’ll be real my mind is not on those polls anymore, I’ve blocked the account bc I saw something that annoyed me and moved on 😭 but I’ll level with you and say there were people in the tags saying that they hated Dream and were voting against him without knowing the other team ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also while you’re here I’m going to heavily disagree with you on the game order stuff—at the time of MCCAS, the game lineup was:

sky battle

battle box

parkour tag

TGTTOS

grid runners

BSABM

ace race

HITW

SOT

only two of these games are ‘weaknesses’ for red (heavily dependent on the GR rooms) and in p much every other one, it’s widely agreed dteam are dominant players—the team was touted as broken and guaranteed to win by literally everyone (to the point of discourse!) so I’m not sure why you’re arguing that, not to mention they literally went 2-7 in battle box 😭😭 both history and stats disagree with your argument there.

Regardless, they’re polls, it’s not the end of the world. I love MCC a ton but there’s always been a vibe of the community disliking dteam, and I’ll be honest, it’s very difficult to have fun when everyone’s looking to discredit them in some way. Whether through polls, stats posts, tier arguments, etc. it’s draining. Hope you have fun in the polls though ^_^

#long post #discourse #all I did was advocate for my team to win as I assume tumblr brackets are meant to be? not sure why I’m the bad guy here #tldr we lost and then the tumblr poll ceases to exist in my mind 🙌 idk why ur in my inbox a day after it ended LOL #for the record though:#but it’s very difficult to vibe and have fun when I went to check the notes of the post and half the tags voting for pink were #shitting on red and dtblr for nothing but existing 😭#negative

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martuzzio · 3 years

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The idea of Ren joining the Amputees-Only club sounds so bittersweet... cuz before he knew they were having fun, but also knew that they were allowed to have a bond like that. He never expected to join them.

I can honestly imagine in his first few meetings there's a few times where Ren just cries, poor guy...

Rendog's first Amputee's Only Club Meeting (written under the cut because this one is longer than normal)

Despite what the universe seems to think, Doc is a pretty easygoing guy. Yes, he does look scary as hell and yes, he was a mob boss at one point, but that doesn’t mean he’s a violent person. Well, he’s violent when he needs to be, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. In reality, his favorite moments are all from quiet parts of his normal, boring, daily life as a hermit.

In these everyday moments, Doc likes to process things. He likes to sit in the greenhouse and watch the bio bees work alongside the robot bees. He likes to brush his fingers on the plants and let his half-robotic brain process the data into something that resembles touch. He likes to listen to Grian and Etho chat as they work.

He observes small moments like these because that’s all he really does. He takes in data and processes it. He uses the processed information to judge his surroundings and react accordingly. Sometimes this means that he uses his data to laugh at his friends who make dumb jokes. But sometimes he uses the data to run, hide, or fight back. When all you do is process data to keep yourself alive, it becomes very hard to ignore incoming information.

This is how Doc eventually locates Ren. He wasn’t planning on finding where his longtime friend wheeled off to, much less go searching for him, but Doc unfortunately decided to take a more leisurely route to the bridge and his camera eye caught the slight movement anyway. Doc has to give it to him; the man knows how to hide. The werewolf is in a lesser-used community room, curled into a dusty couch that’s been shoved into the corner. The chrome wheels of his temporary mobility aid reflect off of the window overlooking deep space. Ren has his left leg drawn up to this chest. His stump of a right leg rests on the couch cushion, shunned. Ren’s obviously hid because he doesn’t want to be found, but unluckily for him, Doc was specifically altered to notice things.

Ren’s flinch when Doc claps his hand on his shoulder is almost unnoticeable. Ren looks like he’s either been crying or had a bad allergic reaction to the dust. Doc assumes the former.

“Cub was working on your new parts earlier today. They look pretty sick,” he ventures.

Ren looks like he has the entire universe on his shoulders. “That’s wonderful,” he mumbles. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but instead sighs and slides his eyes shut.

Doc plops down on the couch and slings his arm over the back of the rest. The action makes Ren recoil again, this time more visibly, and Doc pointedly ignores it. Instead, he says, “As much as I want you to come see what Cub is making, you will go to him when you feel like it. There is nothing you need to do right now besides heal.”

Ren barks out a wet laugh. “Bro, I appreciate you so much, but how can stumps heal?”

Doc’s cybernetic hand twitches in sympathy. “You know what I mean, man, and we both know it.” Doc replies. He looks down at the sliver of space between his leg and Ren’s and chews his words. Ren shifts his gaze to Doc’s arm, then to gaze directly at the creeper’s face.

Doc feels uncomfortable in a way he’s never felt before. All of the other amputee hermits were already amputees when they joined the crew. They had time to heal, be angry, and let go in their own ways. He did, too. But now, with Ren sitting next to him, suffering through the same kind of anguish Doc felt when he first woke up from being operated on, Doc suddenly doesn’t know how to act. How do you comfort someone who literally lost a third of their body? As much as Doc knows what that feels like and as much as he wants to help his friend, he might not be able to. He might not ever be able to.

It’s the single most heartbreaking thing that Doc’s realized in a long, long time.

This revelation causes the duo to sit in silence for a long while. Then, Doc gets an idea. His eye shifts to look at his friend. Ren narrows his eyes tiredly but waits anyway.

“The Amputees-Only Club meeting is in a few minutes.” Doc murmurs. Ren is silent, but he plows on. “I think you should come,” he pleads. “I think everyone would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s throat clicks as he swallows. “I’m sure they would.”

“I would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s eyelids squeeze together. “I know you would.”

“Then let’s go,” Doc insists as he pushes himself to his feet. He turns around and smiles as much as he can at his friend, still curled up on the couch. Ren gazes exhaustedly back. “I think it would be a good idea.” He wishes his smile weren’t so frightening.

Ren moves to rub his eyes with his hands but remembers he’s missing one of his arms a little too late. The resulting crumpled expression immediately burns into Doc’s deep storage memory. “I don’t know, Doc.” The werewolf manages after a long moment. “I appreciate you trying to help, but…”

Doc understands. Of course he does. When he first joined the hermits, the idea of a weekly club meeting exclusively for amputees sounded farfetched at best and belittling at worst. Hell, he didn’t even think there were enough amputees on the team to warrant a club. Imagine his surprise when three other people showed up to his first session, all excited he was there to hang out with them.

With this in mind, all he can do is repeat, “I think it would be a good idea.”

Ren stares up at him, and in that moment, he looks as old as Xisuma. But then he gently closes his eyes, inhales slowly and shallowly, and motions for Doc to drag his mobility aid closer. Doc complies immediately.

The journey to the meeting room, like every other journey on the Hermit Craft, is long. It’s made even longer because of Ren’s inexperience with his aid, but Doc doesn’t dare to offer his help. They eventually end up in front of the elevator that Doc remotely called beforehand with his brain chip. When the doors open, Doc lets Ren wheel in first.

Ren is silent in the elevator. Doc tries to catch his expression, but his friend’s unruly hair blocks his vision. “We’re playing cards tonight.” He mentions.

“That’s what you do at every Amputee-Only Club meeting.”

Doc shifts his eye back to the elevator door. “…Correct.”

Ren doesn’t reply.

When the duo finally reaches the Club meeting room, Doc pauses outside for a moment instead of directing his brain to open the door like normal. He glances down at Ren again and murmurs, “if you don’t want to go back, or to your room or something, that’s—”

“It’s fine,” Ren interrupts. He sounds defeated. “We walked all the way here, so we may as well go.”

Doc activates the door without another thought.

The door slides open and reveals the club room. It’s small, smaller than the average community space on the Hermit Craft, but it feels warm. The soft yellow color painted on the walls matches pleasantly with the yellow of the couch cushions. Joe definitely was the one to orchestrate that. There’s a small kitchenette in the corner that’s set up to have nice views of outer space. Various game tables fill the rest of the room, a few surrounded by five chairs. Doc wonders if Ren will notice the new chair addition. Maybe he already had.

The most interesting part of the space, though, is the people within it. TFC is bundled up on the couch, snoring pleasantly and covered in at least ten blankets. His usual plate of cookies is already half eaten. Iskall is standing at the kitchen counter, fiddling with a teacup filled with a mysterious bright pink liquid. His outfit has a few suspicious-looking singe marks at the hem. Finally, Scar is sat at the poker table in the middle of the room, crossed legs resting on an adjacent chair. He’s sorting through a pile of yellow and orange chips. To Doc’s continued wonder, the stack of bright blue cards resting near Scar’s elbow have miraculously not been knocked onto the floor yet.

When the doors open, Scar and Iskall look over. Ren immediately shifts at Doc’s elbow. Doc waits a moment to let Ren speak if he wants to, but when his shorter friend remains silent, he clears his throat in a grinding noise and announces, unnecessarily, “We’re here.”

Scar is so excited that his eyes have turned into little slivers of green. “Ren, I’m so happy you decided to tag along!” He kicks one of the chairs out from the table and clonks his foot on it for emphasis. The blue cards wobble on the edge of the table but still refuse to fall. “Sit down! Iskall can get you something to drink. Have you ever played poker?” He leans forward with the question. “It’s difficult, but I think it’s fun!”

“Uh, I haven’t.” Ren replies awkwardly, still at the door alongside Doc. “I’ve never even heard of it before.”

“Yeah, I would be surprised if you knew about it. It’s one of those old-timey games from TFC’s era.” Iskall says from across the room. He is now by the couch and is gently patting TFC’s fluffy hair to wake him. “Don’t worry that you don’t know. We’ll teach you.”

Ren tries and fails to make a pointed noise of interest, but he still seems intrigued. Doc feels the knot in his chest loosen a little. He rolls his shoulders to relieve some tension and moves to sit down. By the time he turns his head to look back, Ren is already wheeling forward to join him but looks lost as to where he should sit.

“Howdy, Ren. Sit next to me so I can teach you, but I’ll only teach if you’re willing to listen.” TFC, now awake, grumbles good-naturedly as he heaves himself off the couch. With his large frame still wrapped in a dozen blankets, he looks like a huge bear compared to Iskall. Which is impressive, Doc thinks, since Iskall is nowhere near frail. TFC’s metal prosthetic clonks on the floor as he walks over to the poker table. As he sits down across from Scar, he says, “There’s no point in just sitting there and gawking at us. Grab a seat.” He uses his leg to nudge the chair to his left.

Ren blinks and maneuvers his aid to let him sit down next to the astronaut. TFC procures a blanket from his pile and offers one to him. Ren, after slowly settling in his chair, accepts the pink fuzzy blanket. Doc accepts a purple one.

TFC lances over to Ren as he saves the blue cards from the edge of the table. “Poker’s good fun. You’ll get it in no time.” He snorts and flicks his gaze to Scar, who is busy stacking the chips into a pyramid. “This one always makes sure we have a great, long game.”

Scar looks up and winces minutely in a false apology. “Sorry about that.”

TFC chuckles. “Boy, I’ve never had better games than when I play with you.”

Scar’s grin almost sparkles. TFC and Doc grin back and Iskall hides his laugh in his shoulder.

“Anyway, ready for your first game with us amputees?” TFC brings the conversation back to Ren, who suddenly looks a lot more uncomfortable.

“I,” he begins, his eyes flicking to TFC, then Doc, before looking down. “I, well, uh…”

The table is silent. Iskall is staring at the table with his hands in his lap. TFC sighs and begins shuffling the cards. Doc, as much as he wants to clear the air somehow, can’t seem to find a way to do so. Scar just looks sad. He looks right at Ren, almost through him.

Ren stares back, eyes wide.

“You don’t want to be here.” Scar says quietly, finally. It’s not a question. Ren’s choked response makes the ex-convex smile slightly. “You can say so, Ren. You’re not going to hurt our feelings. None of us want to be here. But, as much as we may want to, we can’t change what happened to us.” He falls silent again as he looks at a particularly twisted scar on the back of his left hand. He rubs at it harshly with the pad of his thumb before Iskall stops him. “This might be selfish,” Scar continues, softly, “but I’m happy that I at least don’t have to sit in here alone.”

For a long moment, the table is silent. Then, with a rush of noise, Ren makes a sound like he’s dying. In a certain way, Doc thinks, he is.

“I don’t want to be here,” Ren confesses as his open mouth contorts and tears roll down his face. “I don’t want to be here.”

All Doc can do is wrap his arms around everyone else, encasing Ren and his other amputee friends in his embrace, and wish he could do more.

#hermitcraft #space outlaws stories #rendog #docm77 #tinfoilchef #goodtimeswithscar #iskall85

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riacte · 3 years

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Dogwarts / 3rd Life Cheat Sheet for MCC 15 Purple Pandas

Ren and Martyn were buddies in Season 1 of the 3rd Life SMP and they are an alliance known as the Renchanting duo/ Kingdom of Dogwarts. Now they’re finally teamed up, and the 3rd Life SMP members have a habit of referring to 3rd Life in MCC. The Ren-Martyn fandom also talks about Dogwarts a lot. If you have no idea what is a Dogwarts and why people love them, no fear! This post will try to explain it in simple terms.

3rd Life SMP is a SMP started by Grian. Season 1 has 14 members (roughly half are hermits, other half are friends of the hermits. You can find the full list in the description of Ren’s 3rd Life videos.) Everyone on the server has three lives— the first life symbolised by green names, second by yellow names, third by red names. If you lose all three lives, you permadie. Green names and yellow names are not allowed to be hostile unless they were attacked first, but the goal of red names is to kill everyone on the server. The three lives are also symbolised by three hearts, like this:

(Fun fact: Because of the green-yellow-red colours, the subtwt for 3rd Life is called traffictwt after traffic lights. The 3rd Life tumblr fandom is occasionally referred to as trafficblr.)

3rd Lifers record every week for three hours at the same time with proximity chat. The server has a small border to encourage interaction. They are eight sessions in total, and they’re all cut into YouTube episodes (no streams!), so it’s fairly bingeable.

So what’s the deal with Martyn and Ren?

Ren decided to set up an enchanting shop during the first session. Martyn was wandering around and having fun scaring people with creeper noises until he came to Ren’s enchanting shop. Martyn then used Ren’s enchanting service without paying (essentially a robbery), but Ren let Martyn go on the condition Martyn would act as a walking free advertisement. Martyn agreed, and they became business partners. Martyn actually coined the name Renchanting and its motto “Don’t be a Dog, be a God”. Ren named Martyn as his “marketing manager” (which sounds a little like Martynmanager).

True to his word, Martyn went around and spread the good news of Renchanting to everyone. Martyn brought business to Renchanting, and when Ren was being threatened by customers (who harassed Ren into lower his prices/ giving out enchantments for free), Martyn acted defensive of Ren and even said Ren was being “bullied”. Ren was being taken advantage of because he was too nice. (Martyn did do some stuff not related to Ren, but since this is a Dogwarts cheat sheet I won’t be mentioning that.)

Then came GoodTimesWithScar. The main “villain” to Renchanting, if you will.

Basically, Scar was playing the role of a cartoon villain. He scammed people out of their armour and possessions, and eventually found his way to Renchanting. At that point, Martyn and Ren were loyal to each other. Scar asked for Ren’s enchanting table. In return, when Scar turned red, he would not kill Ren and Martyn. Ren appeared to be torn, but due to Martyn depending on him and the business, he refused Scar’s offer (“you can’t take the enchanting out of Renchanting!”). Scar also acted condescending to Martyn (Martyn was seen as Ren’s “minion”). So Ren and Martyn were officially on Scar’s kill list, but Ren did not regret it.

At some point, Ren got tired of people walking into his store and stepping all over him, so he built high walls around the Renchanting building. Everyone (including Renchanting themselves) broke through the walls, and this was a running gag. Ren declared himself king by wearing the crown he got from MCC9 Blue Bats.

Note: Ren was kind, and it was the cruel world that forced Ren to be defensive. Other POVs paint them as the villain but Dogwarts enthusiasts will say that is not the case AT ALL.

Time passed. Scar turned red. He and his buddy Grian set up traps at Renchanting, and one blew up Ren and a bunch of other people. Ren, now a yellow name, was furious, but could not get his revenge because yellow names were not allowed to hurt other players. So naturally, Ren decided to become a red.

Ren renamed an axe to “RED WINTER IS COMING” and gave it to Martyn to chop his head off. (There’s some dramatic roleplay here, highly recommend a watch.) Martyn painfully did, and the message “Red Winter is Coming” was shown in the chat, which told everyone that Ren meant business. To test Martyn’s loyalty, Ren told Martyn he could kill him if he wanted to. Ren, freshly respawned and without armour, punched Martyn. Martyn, as a green name, could attack Ren due to Ren attacking first. However, Martyn did not kill Ren, and dramatically declared Ren was the one who showed him life, and thus he would return the favour.

So Ren was known as the Red King (with grey skin, bloodied MCC crown, and a Scottish/pirate accent). Martyn became known as the King’s Hand, and called Ren “my lord” “my liege”. Later, Martyn acquired an outfit with a cloak and a red hand on the back of the cloak, which is now used to symbolise Martyn.

They established the Kingdom of Dogwarts (after Hogwarts and the enchanting/magic gimmick) to find more allies (notable ones include Ethoslab and Skizzleman). Allies could stick a Red Banner in their base to show loyalty, members were called Red Knights / Red Army.

A Red Banner (the design is supposed to be blood dripping down):

Without spoiling too much, Ren and Martyn remained loyal to each other till the very end. They were very dramatic (even jokingly called homoerotic by some lmao) and had many hardcore quotes, and are highly beloved. They are the most dramatic and RP intensive group on the server. So people want Dogwarts, the king and his hand, together again.

A small sample of quotes that might be referenced:

I think going red next week is in my fate. It’s in my cards. There will be blood, for this. A king cannot be king without war. (Ren)

I won’t do it! You took me in when I was a lowly traveller, goin’ across the lands, searchin’ the four corners of this world. I learned that there was nothing in this world for me. Nothing but walls, corners, edges. And you know what? You showed me life. As much as I’ve taken it from you, you gave it back to me in bucket fulls. and I just- I’m with you. This is us now. This is us. (Martyn)

If we're going to survive the Red Winter, we gotta do it together, laddies. Hand in hand. Rotten hand in hand of the living. To the end! (Ren)

It’s just the world versus us. (Martyn)

(Note: Dogwarts refers to the group of people allied with Ren and Martyn, including Etho and Skizzleman. Renchanting duo refers to Ren and Martyn ONLY)

Other references:

Joel notably screamed “THE RED KING DIES TONIGHT, FELLAS!” with a crowd of wolves following him

Dogwarts killed Grian and Scar’s llama Pizza because Scar stole a Red Banner

Jimmy and Scott were flower husbands. Jimmy thought Renchanting was going to sacrifice Scott.

Everyone else in MCC (Grian, Scott, Jimmy, Joel) were enemies with Dogwarts

The 3rd Lifers reference 3rd Life a lot despite it being over. Martyn even fought for Dogwarts in MCC14 and MCCP but failed. Haha.

The fandom commonly refers to Purple15 as King (Ren), Queen (False), Ace (Illumina), and Joker/Hand (Martyn) after playing cards.

This is it, I am tired, this is probably too long but I feel I skipped a lot of details. If anyone has anything to add or correct, feel free to do so. Also, I’m pretty certain this won’t appear in the tags, so please reblog! Thank you, and Red Winter is Coming.

(I might add a reblog detailing False’s very much fanon involvement in Dogwarts, and why everyone was so hyped for Renchanting + False.)

#3rd life smp #3rdlifesmp #mcyt #mcc #purple pandas #falsesymmetry #rendog #illuminahd #inthelittlewood #ria.txt #dogwarts #renchanting #long post #pls rb im sure this isnt in the tags lol

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shepard-ram · 3 years

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Wolf in Foxes Clothing [Yandere!Fundy x Hc!Reader]

(Request: 💐 i am Once Again requesting whatever you feel like writing o/)

(Continuing on the path of using "write whatever you want" to put my anons on the main tag lol. This time it's these two asks from Tele Anon- Tw. Yandere, Kidnapping,)

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Hermitcraft was a land of information. From the architecture made with years of experience in each placement, farms that used only the latest and most efficient techniques, to even games perfectly displaying the fun In function. The Hermits were champions of innovation, and to do that you needed to know alot about the external world. That's exactly what this latest venture was supposed to be.

The Dream Smp wasn't the only server that you're family was scouting, but it was the one you were most interested in. You had been on missions to other Smps before but the few tales that floated around drew you in more than any others had. You and a couple others accompanied Xisuma during the agreements with Dream, who had his own advisor's.

Even though you could catch the tension between Dreams group you stayed friendly, knowing better than to step into a server known for war with people already angry at you. One of these members was a Fox hybrid that Iskall had aprently talked to before, it was why the two were in the negotiation. While you didn't get a chance to properly talk with him, you could tell he held you all in a much higher regard than just someone who he had a mutual friend with.

By the end of the talk it was decided that Fundy would be your guide for the week you planned to stay. Well more accurately, he excitedly volunteered the moment the suggestion of one was brought up.

Fundy was internally screaming, oh how long he had idolized the Hermits. Sure he talked to Iskall once, but that was nothing compared to the opportunity to spend an entire week as your go-to.

After the meeting the Smp had some more internal talks about the event. No matter what was happening or who made a rapport with you, the guest of honor would not be associated with any conflicts. It was completely fine with him, and the server had already gotten calmer in the days before your trip.

Fundy decided to make you a little place to stay for the week. He knew it would be nothing compared to what the Hermits have, but he could make a decently sized, cozy place for you two.

"Us two?" You questioned on your first day on your tour. It was more of a half day, just meeting everyone and learning the map.

"W-Well yeah! It can be very dangerous here, -and I'm supposed be your anchor! You don't have any amor or weapons. I don't know what I would tell everyone if you got hurt while I'm supposed to keep track of you..." His explanation made sense, and it was kind of endearing to see him stutter it out. So you agreed to occupie the house.

You fell into a routine for the little vacation: he showed you the server, you talked to people, wrote down and drew as much as you could in your journal, then you would go back to the house at around sundown and spend the rest of the night talking before going to bed.

He adored those evenings beyond words. He thought about what being your friend would be like, and by God did you hit every single mark. He was so used to being tossed to the back without thought. To being some shadow of a background character, but you were a spotlight. In every little conversation you made him feel important, made him feel appreciated, made him feel seen. When he was by your side, around others or not, he wasn't some unknown extra.

It was nothing short of addicting, you and your attention were addicting. The sweet and bubbly laughs, and way you stood behind him when something startled you, he never wanted it to end. Seeing someone he admired treat him like a protector pulled him to cloud nine.

During one of your evenings you excitedly asked to pet his ears when he mentioned he "kinda liked it". From then on your relationship was a lot more affectionate, he never wanted to leave this heaven. You didn't define what you had going on, but when you fell asleep on his chest- in his arms? He couldn't help but believe that this was ment to be.

"Hey Fundy?" You approached the half asleep fox, still fighting the morning fatigue.

"Yeah?" He yawned, gazing at you with a dreamy expression.

"I enjoyed spending time with you, hopefully we can still talk when I go home." That's when he remembered- it was your last day here.

"But- but I, we-" It already felt like his world was crumbling and he was there trying to hold it together. "You are home."

"What?" He was already walking towards you. Forcing you to step back away from the only door.

"I need you more than everybody, I appreciate you more than everybody, I- I need you." He repeated. You realized just how much stronger than you he was.

All you can do is hope that the Hermits will find you soon.

#shepard ram writes #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x y/n #dream smp x you #dsmp x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #tw. yandere #c: fundy

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takenyoomies · 3 years

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Takeomi's "Day Off"

Title - Takeomi's "Day Off"

Rated - T

Summary - When Senju said it was his "day off", this was not what Akashi Takeomi had in mind.

Tags - Food, Movies, Wakasa Lock-picking, Swearing, Benkei Slander, Mildly OOC

Characters - Takeomi, Wakasa, Benkei, Senju, Draken(mentioned), Shinichiro(mentioned), Terano South(mentioned)

TWs - mentions of character death

Word Count - 2977

Read on AO3

The evening forecast calls for-

“Rain.”

Thunderstorms until the late evening, and it will then clear up around nine o’clock. Back to you for the local news to talk about how you can protect yourself from-

Click.

Takeomi sighed as he took another drag off of his cigarette, neatly ashing it in a black ceramic ashtray he’d found long ago in the belongings of none other than Shinichiro Sano. With his gaze affixed to the ever infinite tile ceiling, one thing crossed his mind. What was he going to do on his day away from the rest of the members of Brahman?

It wasn’t often that the scar-faced man had a rare “day off,” as Senju called them. He chuckled at the idea as he hadn’t been employed since he lost his ambitions, though all things considered, helping manage the gang members did feel like a full-time job. There was the somewhat apathetic Wakasa, who seemingly followed Senju to the ends of the earth. However, enjoyed the occasional prank. Benkei was pretty hot-headed in their quarrels. However, outside of them, he seemed to enjoy the more minor things...only to also become hot-headed about those too. Takeomi rubbed the bridge of his nose as he remembered the time they went fishing only for Benkei to pick a fight with his fishing pole for not catching him any fish. There also was Senju, his sister, who was calm for the most part until she wasn’t, and it became a game of World War between the five of them as they tried to figure out who stole the last manju from the plate in the middle of the table. And lastly, there was of course the new member of the gang, Draken, who hid mainly in the shadows and made a relatively decent hot curry.

The scar-faced man stood from the well-loved recliner, stretching his back as he made his way to the kitchen to grab a beer, “Wonder what they’re up to today…” He murmured as he opened the fridge, plucking a silver can from its place on the shelf. He turned his body to walk back towards the living room only to hear the doorbell ring. He froze in place, blinking. No one other than four people knew he lived here, and all four of those people knew it was his day off.

The bell rang again.

He pursed his lips, thinking that perhaps they would go away.

“He has to be home, and he never goes anywhere.” A deep voice stated, almost in annoyance.

“True...I don’t see the point in him going anywhere, to be honest, and it’s raining.” A tired voice replied, almost sounding bored with the situation.

Takeomi huffed, “Oh, so they think I’m a hermit?” He thought to himself, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“Well...we could always use...that.” The last voice said, the doorbell ringing one more time.

“Oh! I like that idea.” The deep voice spoke excitedly.

Takeomi blinked, wondering what that meant, only to hear the telltale sound of scratching at his door. He hurriedly rushed over, unlocking the door as he quickly realized what that was.

“How many times have I told you, if I’m not answering the door, don’t get Waka to pick the lock!” He yelled in exasperation as he whipped open the door. Benkei collapsed into the genkan while Senju and Wakasa remained kneeling outside, both looking up at the semi-tired-looking man holding a beer, a cigarette between his lips.

“Oh. Hi Takeomi.” Wakasa finally spoke with a wave, his bored face showing how unaffected he was by the man in front of him.

Benkei groaned as he rose from his position on the floor, “If you would’ve answered the door, maybe we wouldn’t have had to use Waka.” He rubbed his head, “And would it kill you to open the door slower?”

“You act as though I’m some item for you to use when you get locked out…” The two-toned-haired man retorted, standing from his crouched position, patting his pants as he put away the lock-picking kit back into his bag.

The buff man clicked his tongue, “As if that’s the biggest fucking issue here.”

Takeomi sighed, looking at the group in front of him, “What are you three even doing here?” He questioned, noticing the plastic bags, “It’s my day off.”

“Well…” Senju started, standing from her position on the ground as well, “We were going to meet up at the park, but it’s raining.”

“Yeah, I wonder who did that.” Benkei huffed sarcastically, crossing his arms.

“You can’t blame me for the rain every time.” Takeomi pointed out, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

“I can, and I fucking will.”

“Regardless of if Takeomi made it rain,” Senju cut in, looking over at the several plastic bags on the concrete behind them, “Your apartment was the closest.”

Takeomi exhaled, the smoke wrapping around him like the safety he needed in that moment as he paused to think. Yes, he could refuse them entry. Unfortunately, though, that would likely just cause them to force their way in like usual. He sighed in defeat, “Alright, get in.”

Senju smiled, “Yay!” The smallest cheered, rushing into the apartment past Takeomi and Benkei.

“Wait, shit, she’s gonna get the chair!” Bekei roared in sudden realization, attempting to blow past the other man as well, only to be stopped by an arm.

“Pick up the bags and then go fight over the chair. Don’t make Waka carry everything.” Takeomi warned, only to receive a glare in return.

“You do it if you’re so concerned.” He snapped, sliding under the arm that was blocking his path inside and rushing inside, “Hey Senju, you got it last time!”

Takeomi shook his head, “Never changes.” He looked over at the plastic bags that Wakasa was beginning to gather up, “It’s always us, huh?”

“Been that way since…” Wakasa trailed off before shrugging a bit, the lollipop in his mouth shifting, “Take these, and I’ll carry the rest.”

The older man knew what he meant by that sentence and was somewhat thankful he didn’t finish it. Sometimes he wondered if that ghost would ever stop haunting the three of them. He shook the thought as he grabbed onto the two plastic bags, peering into them and noticing the sheer amount of food.

“Just...how much did all of you buy?” He questioned, the cigarette on his lips nearly dropping in astonishment.

A hum of amusement came from Wakasa’s throat, “Senju kept putting things in the basket, and Benkei...Well, you know him.”

“And you?” Takeomi questioned, only to see the two-toned-haired man pull out a bag of lollipops. The scar-faced man's lips tilted into a smile, “How predictable.”

“Please,” Wakasa began as they walked inside, Takeomi could already hear the sounds of an argument, “My simple tastes are far superior to Benkei’s ridiculous tastes in cola-flavored garbage.”

Takeomi snorted, “I didn’t know you had a candy complex.”

Wakasa rolled his eyes, “Is that even real?”

“Beats me.” Takeomi chuckled as they made their way into the living room to see a smug-looking Senju placed in the comfortable recliner and an angry Benkei gesturing.

Benkei groaned, “Like I said, you got it last time so, get up!”

Senju smiled sweetly as she settled herself into the recliner, “No, I’m comfortable.”

You could see a vein pop on the buff man’s forehead, “Oh my god, you’re so!” He attempted to piece together before growling once more.

Senju snickered, “Use your words Benkei.”

“Senju, don’t be mean to the wildlife.” Wakasa sighed, placing the bags on the coffee table.

“I am not an animal!” Benkei yelled in offense.

“Hm. Debatable.” Wakasa shrugged as he sat down on one of the pillows.

Takeomi shook his head, placing the other plastic bags onto the table, opening his beer, taking a sip, and wrinkling his nose. Warm. However, this seemed to get the attention of Benkei.

“Hey, Takeomi, if you’re having a beer, share one with the rest of us.” The bearded man complained, strolling over to him.

“Bring your own.” He breathed, waving his spare hand at him, sitting down at the table beside Wakasa, “You just were at the store.”

“If I remember correctly, you said you were going to bum one off of Takeomi.” Wakasa’s bored voice cut in, exposing the other’s plans as he opened a bag of hard candy.

“I-I did not.” Benkei huffed, crossing his arms and looking to the side.

“I clearly recall you stating, Waka, I’m gonna get a beer from Takeomi, so I don’t have to buy a six-pack! I’m so smart, haha or something of that effect.” Wakasa mimicked the burly man set before himself, popping the lollipop out of his mouth and pointing at him with it.

Takeomi hummed, “Is that right?”

“No way, I would never say that!” Benkei denied, holding his hands up in refusal.

“Senju can confirm it, probably.” Wakasa sighed, popping the sweet back in his mouth.

“Ain’t no way she heard sh-”

“I was in the other aisle. Even I heard you say it, Benkei.” Senju confirmed.

“Okay, maybe I did say that,” Benkei muttered, looking to the side, “But come on, beer is expensive!”

“And bumming it off of me makes that okay?” Takeomi asked incredulously, shaking his head.

“Yes.” Benkei grinned, only to receive a look of disapproval from the man.

Takeomi sighed, “I’d say you’re unbelievable, though this is far too in character for you.”

Benkei snorted in amusement, “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Eyebrow twitching, the scar-faced man sighed once more, "If you could stop swearing in front of my sister, that'd be wonderful."

Benkei huffed, "I don't think she minds it."

"Well I-"

Senju waved an arm, interrupting the conversation, “Hey, can you pass me the sour gummy worms?” She asked, as if to ignore the on-going conversation about herself.

Wakasa sighed and looked over to Takeomi, “You’re closer.”

Takeomi stared daggers at Benkei, who shrugged with a lopsided grin. He turned towards Wakasa, “Fine, fine.” Takeomi groaned, putting his cigarette out into the ashtray, “Which bag are they in?”

Wakasa shrugged, opening a can of juice, “Probably the one with the candy.”

Takeomi pulled one of the bags forward, fishing around for the bag of sour candy. “Is this the right bag?” He questioned as he fumbled through the several different types of snacks.

“Probably.” Wakasa’s bored eyes peering over at the man, “Actually, they might be in the other other candy bag.”

Takeomi stopped his search to look up at the two-toned-haired man, “You mean to tell me you have two entire bags of candy?”

The accused party sighed, “Listen, blame Senju for that one.”

“Nuh-uh Waka, you pitched in to at least half the damage!” The light-haired girl chimed in, crossing her arms with a knowing look.

Benkei snorted as he sat down at the table, “And by half, that’d be one bag each.”

“Thank you. I can do basic math,” Wakasa replied, rolling his eyes and pulling the other bag forward. His fingers instantly pulling out the bag of sour gummy worms, much to Takeomi’s surprise.

“How did you…” Takeomi started, only to have the bag of gummy worms flung into his chest, “...Nevermind.” He breathed, standing from his place at the table and walking over to the snowy-haired girl, “Here.”

Senju grinned, “Thanks.” She spoke happily as she grabbed the package of sweets out of his hands, biting open the top with her teeth.

Takeomi sighed attempting to grab the package back from her, “Hey, you’re gonna ruin your teeth like that.”

Wrinkling her nose, Senju looked up at Takeomi, “You’re not the boss of me.” She spoke sarcastically with a slight smile, shoving a gummy worm into her awaiting mouth.

The dark-haired man raised a brow, “...And I’m assuming you forgot that sour food is sour, again.”

Senju’s face had contorted, her nose wrinkling as her lips puckered, “Shut up…” She whimpered, shoving another gummy worm into her mouth.

"You're how old?" Takeomi questioned with an amused smile, as Senju pouted.

"Worst brother ever." She huffed.

Benkei tilted his head over only to burst into laughter, “Happens every time, man.”

“You do the same when you eat spicy food.” Wakasa mentioned as he took a sip from his drink, “Remember the time we ate Draken’s hot curry? You were crying like a baby.”

Takeomi snorted as he remembered the scene, Draken had said he would make them curry since they were eating out too much, and Benkei had been the most excited about it. But, of course, this only seemed to fire up the braid-haired man more when it came to making the curry, so when it came down to them eating, he had even given Benkei an extra serving.

“Do you remember when he took the first bite?” Takeomi pondered as he walked back over to the table, Benkei groaning and placing his head on the table in embarrassment.

“Man, quit it, do you have to?” Benkei pleaded, peeking an eye up towards the man.

“Do you mean the it burns part or take me to the hospital one?” Wakasa questioned with slight amusement.

The buff man grumbled, “I’m going home. This is bullshit.”

“So you can bark, but you can’t take a bite?” Takeomi teased, grabbing his beer and taking another swig, once again scrunching his nose, “This is disgusting.”

“Then why are you still drinking it…?” Wakasa sighed in exasperation.

“Because wasting beer is a cardinal sin.” Takeomi clarified.

Benkei sat up quickly, pointing at both Takeomi and Wakasa, “You know what else a cardinal sin is? Dunking on your homies.”

The two-toned-haired man blinked, before shaking his head and clasping his hands together, and looking directly into Benkei’s eyes, “So is having an IQ of below 70, but we’re still accepting of you, Benkei.” He spoke carefully before downing the rest of his drink, “Alright, are we watching a movie?”

Benkei sat at the table, mouth agape, unsure of what to say or do, all while Takeomi and Senju snickered uncontrollably in the background.

“Sure, we can do that.” Takeomi finally spoke through his laughs, lighting a cigarette, “Though we’re not watching Jurassic Park again and making Terano South references.”

“Aw, come on!” Senju pouted.

“We could always watch Pulp Fiction?” Wakasa offered with a half-hearted shrug.

Takeomi raised a knowing brow, “You just want to say the does he look like a bitch part again, Waka.”

He sighed, “Guilty.”

“What about-” Benkei began.

“No.” Takeomi interrupted.

The burly man huffed and crossed his arms, “But I didn’t even say shit!”

“We are not watching Austin Powers.” The man with the cigarette proclaimed, shaking his head.

“...Fine.”

“What about Goodfellas?” Senju pointed out, swinging her legs from the recliner, “That’s always a favorite.”

Benkei groaned, “We’ve watched that like 20 times, though.”

Takeomi hummed, “What’s 21, though…”

“Waka can probably quote all the lines in that one, too, then.” Benkei thought out loud.

“Did you hear him last time?” Senju asked while tilting her head to the side, “He even did the voices.”

“He wasn’t here last time we watched, remember?” Takeomi pointed out, taking a hit off of his cigarette and exhaling.

“Oh, right!” Senju realized.

“Wait, you mean to tell me I missed Waka doin’ Goodfellas impressions?!” Benkei asked, looking around at the group, “Why did no one tell me!”

“You miss a lot of things when you screw around doing other things.” Wakasa pointed out as he stood, “Goodfellas it is.” He walked over to the bookcase and grabbed a VHS case for the movie.

“The real question is...did we rewind it when we watched it last time,” Senju commented as Wakasa walked over to the television set and shoved it into the VHS player.

“I don’t see why we wouldn’t ha-” It was not rewound, “Goddamn it.” Takeomi huffed.

“Short intermission, I guess.” Wakasa breathed as he hit the rewind button, walking back to the table and plopping down.

The smoking man chuckled, “You know, I didn’t expect to spend my day off like this?”

“Oh?” Wakasa asked, raising a brow.

Benkei snorted, “What, did you expect to sleep all day and drink beer?”

Takeomi rolled his eyes, “No, though that sounds peaceful compared to the mess all of you seem to bring.” He huffed, inhaling the last of the cigarette and putting it out into the ashtray. The VCR clicked, signifying the tape was done rewinding. “I got it,” Takeomi stated as he stood from his seat at the table, walking towards the TV set.

“I guess it is your day off…” Senju hummed, her legs once again moving back and forth as she spoke, “But, we missed you.”

Benkei’s eye’s widened, “Shhh!! You weren’t supposed to tell him!” As he attempted to silence the small leader.

The scar-faced man’s hand stopped as it reached forward. He blinked. They missed him. He felt his heart swell in his chest as a smile spread its way onto his face.

“Hey, Takeomi...” Wakasa questioned boredly after a moment, “Tell me they didn’t take you out with just that?”

“I’m fine.” He responded, pressing play on the VCR and turning to walk towards the light switch. While the smile on his face had disappeared, the warm and fuzzy feelings had not as he switched off the lights. Making his way back to the table, he received an all-knowing look from Wakasa as he sat down.

As the previews for the movie were nearing their end, Takeomi leaned forwards towards Wakasa, attempting not to alert the other two members of the room.

“So, even you missed me?” He questioned quietly as the beginning scene started, the two-toned-haired man not entirely paying attention.

“Yeah, yeah…” the two-toned-haired man dismissed, the piece of candy in his mouth shifting against his teeth.

“Hm.” Takeomi hummed, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the tiled ceiling once more. He could vaguely hear the storm outside over the sound of Wakasa quoting the movie, Benkei’s obnoxious wheezes of laughter, and Senju’s tiny kicks against his favorite recliner that he always gave up to one of them instead to sit on the floor himself. A gentle smile once again made its way back onto his face.

Maybe it should rain more often.

#takeomi akashi #imaushi wakasa #senju kawaragi #benkei #arashi keizou #brahman #fanfiction #mildly ooc #will likely have to change senju's gender #here we are #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers spoilers #imi writes

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

Text

College has stopped kicking my butt enough for me to post another chapter of the the Scattered au fic. this one is meant to be a parallel to last chapter, so you might want to reread that one.

scattered au is by @hermitcraftheadcanons and their community

reading tag list: still just @helleborusangel right now. Send an ask if you want to be added on.

Xisuma pulled himself out of the water, coughing a bit from what had gotten past his filter. He tried to look around only to squint at the light from the surface. He didn’t think he had swum that far up, but for all he knew, he was able to push himself that far to finally escape the warden. So when something suddenly attacked him and didn’t immediately kill him, Xisuma quickly fought back.

While initially swimming, he thought he had felt something though wasn’t sure, but this was much more clear. And slimelike, it seemed, since that’s what it felt like when he attacked it. But the following grunt of pain from the attacker sounded much more human like.

Xisuma did his best to focus on whatever was there, but he was seeing double. He looked back and forth, trying to tell if it was just from the intense lighting change or from there actually being two… things there. And it seemed it was the latter when the things looked at each other.

“Well, that’s probably not good.” The two things spoke in unison, which didn’t help the headache that Xisuma could feel coming on. Still, he was able to focus enough to get a good look at whatever was there and was a slime hybrid of sorts similar to Jevin, though instead of his very clearly blue slime, these two - one? They were more of a sea green. Plus from what Xisuma could guess, they were able to split like a regular slime, something Jevin couldn’t.

“Sorry.” Xisuma spoke up, it finally clicking in his mind that he had likely damaged them enough to make them split. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were attacking- I mean, maybe you were, but this does seem to be where you’re staying, so I guess I invaded your home a bit.”

“I guess. So, are you from around here?” The slime pair asked, making Xisuma shake his head. “Huh, neither am I… are we… This is the first time I’ve split so-”

Xisuma tilted his head a little. “I guess it is pretty safe here. Have you had any deaths so far?”

“I thought that was going to be my first.”

“So that would explain the lack of death messages as opposed to Gemini or Pearlescent. Do you know either of them?”

“No, sorry, not really.” The slime people answered. “Well, uh, there’s just enough here if you need basic tools, but not much else. I’ve got a pickaxe- crafting table.”

Xisuma looked between the two. “I think both would be nice. I spawned underground and had trouble with getting anything at all.” And before he could say more, the slime people were handing him those two items and a few more.

“You’re on your own for food though. Berries aren’t the most filling, so I’ve been eating them all up. They taste nice though.” And to prove their point, each of the slime people went after a berry, though they went after the same one and ended up fighting over it.

Xisuma nodded and went up to one of the walls. This would be much easier than getting the warden to do all his mining, seeing as how he would now be in control. He started to staircase out of the cave, placing what few torches he had until he found more coal. Technically he didn’t need to, but then something could spawn and head down and attack the slime pair. And Xisuma didn’t want to never return and just leave them there alone forever. So when he finally did get up to the surface, Xisuma went straight back down. “Are you sure you want to- er, what are you doing?”

The slime people looked back over to Xisuma and shrugged. “Trying to fuse back together or something. Why did you come back?”

Xisuma wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but the next thing he really knew, he was going back up towards the surface, his arms full from holding the slime pair, one cradled in each arm. Sure, they said they would be safe alone in the cave, but X couldn’t help the feeling that they wouldn’t be safe so far away. He was pretty sure it was just from his worry about everyone else, and this was just one person he could protect, but Xisuma couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else going on.

Hypno leaned against Etho, who was doing surprisingly well considering their current situation. Both of them were low on hunger, only managing to stay alive from what little they could get from the flowers and grass they picked and ate. Etho somehow managed to find a pig wandering around and killed it for some raw pork, handing it to Hypno to eat. They couldn’t cook it, but Etho was less worried about the hunger the meat would satiate and more about the fact that Hypno wasn’t fully himself.

After the initial shock of finding horns on Hypno’s head, the pair looked him over. Hypno made mention of an ache at the base of his spine, and Etho found a few concerning bumps on Hypno’s upper back. Until they actively looked into it, Hypno hadn’t noticed anything wrong, which led to them checking Etho, and also giving the ninja something to plan for on his next respawns.

Etho was glad they didn’t notice much with him, but with little to do, he explained to Hypno his encounters with Ren, Impulse and Grian. Out of the three, Impulse had seemed the most normal, only having red eyes instead of the golden brown he usually sported. Ren had seemed fine at first, but then in the attack from the creeper, the shifter had killed Etho, acting like an attacked wolf. And then Grian for the most part had been acting like a bird, though near the end…

A moobloom trotted over, pulling Etho out of his thoughts. It nuzzled against Hypno, who happily reciprocated. Still worried about the other hermit and the effects the environment was having on him, Etho forcefully separated the two, needing to attack the animal to make it flee.

“What was that for Etho? It was just being friendly.”

“Right now, we need to be cautious of everything. Especially those cows and all the flowers around here. Because in case you forgot, growing horns like that is not normal. Plus, we could use the food right now.”

Hypno huffed. “We’ll use up more energy trying to kill it than we would get from anything it drops. It’s better to let us willingly help us than-”

Etho suddenly held up a finger to shush Hypno, letting them listen to the breeze. “Do you hear that?”

Hypno listened, only hearing a few moos from the nearby moobloom. “The cows?”

“Well, okay yeah. But it’s more what I’m not hearing.” And then Etho pulled out his communicator. Hypno watched as Etho stared at the screen, mask moving ever so slightly as he mouthed counting up. But nothing was happening. At first, Hypno didn’t get what was so important until he pulled out his own communicator. No death messages were coming in. Specifically none from Impulse.

“Impulse got out.” Hypno said, whispering in disbelief. “Someone must have found him.”

Etho nodded. “Yeah, but the question is who.” And then almost immediately, it was answered.

Zedaph was slain by impulseSV

If there was one thing that was a benefit to respawning in the same place every time, it was the fact that no matter how many times Impulse died, the guardians wouldn’t disappear. Meaning that after a few attempts, he finally killed one of the monsters giving him grief. Just being able to slay one of them felt freeing with all the torment he was currently being put through, but that wasn’t the only benefit.

When the guardian died, it dropped two things, a prismarine shard and some cod. Impulse greedily grabbed at the items, stuffing the shard in his inventory and then stuffing the fish in his mouth. After not eating in so long, the fish seemed like the most heavenly food in the world, though Impulse had other ideas on why that was the case.

Here and there, guardians had completely ignored him. Sometimes he felt like he was getting a full breath of air even though he was still stuck in the water. He hadn’t missed the webbing between his fingers and toes growing each respawn nor the scales that appeared and itched like crazy. Half of Impulse would have preferred drowning forever instead of whatever this was, but his other half realized that it was likely his only way out.

Another respawn left him fumbling for his prismarine shard, using it to dig into the nearby blocks. Along with the claw-like nails he had gained, Impulse was able to break another block, making him smile at first, but then his expression dropped. With the way the temples were constructed, the walls weren’t that thick. Instead of gaining an air pocket, he had just broken into another chamber.

“Impulse.”

In anger, Impulse took the prismarine shard and used it against the next guardian he saw.

“Impulse.”

He started by using it like a knife and jamming it into the eye of the beast, making it flail and spread its spikes.

“Impulse.”

As the world around him seemed to fade into blues and golds, Impulse kept attacking, needing to get his anger out somehow.

“Impulse. Impulse. Impulse.” And then Impulse felt like he was falling, but he still thrashed around, trying to stop whatever it was. Then the next thing he knew, it was like gravity had increased drastically, leaving him pressed against the floor. Something moved and he attacked it, surprised to find it feeling much fluffier than the guardians had been. There was a sound, like someone talking, but why would anyone be talking with him stuck all alone. Etho maybe? Was he back?

As the creature died in his hands, Impulse looked towards the sound. The first thing he noticed was that Etho’s eyes were now both red. Even the sclera were red. He had also dyed his hair blond, and gotten rid of his mask, and well that wasn’t Etho at all. Impulse kicked his legs to try and swim closer, only to finally realize he wasn’t underwater anymore.

The moment Impulse realized he was out of the sea temple, he started taking gulps of air. His lungs had already started breathing it all, but now he was trying to get as much oxygen as he could before he drowned again. A part in the back of his mind told him he couldn’t drown right now, but his mental state wasn’t the best right now.

“Hey Impulse. Calming down now?” Tango was asking, and Impulse looked over, glad to see his friend. He nodded, which got Tango to smile before looking off towards the horizon. Impulse briefly followed Tango’s eyes before his hand moved and he felt the soft wool of the carpets beneath him. It almost felt overwhelming how different it was compared to the past week plus that he had been stuck in the temple. But it was also good, so he wrapped himself up before following Tango’s eyes once more.

“What’s that way?” Impulse spoke, voice feeling unfamiliar from disuse and possibly alterations that matched everything else going on with him.

“Zed. I’m hoping he’ll be able to find us again since I have made a bit of a path.”

Impulse tilted his head before noticing his inventory had many more items. “Did he get killed or something?”

“Yeah, you sort of killed him when we first summoned you in.” Tango explained, and Impulse felt horrified. Him? Kill Zedaph? For a prank or something, sure, that was believable, But this had been from pure bloodlust at the time.

“I killed him? Oh no! I didn’t know! It had been a guardian at first, and then I was falling, and then I was-”

“Hey, calm down.” Tango replied. He took a step toward Impulse, obviously to comfort him, but then Impulse was surprised to see his friend change their mind and step back again. “Zed and I figured something like this might happen. We would have made beds to set our spawn, but we haven’t been collecting wool that much, so at most we would have had just one piece.”

Impulse chucked a little after realizing there were no sheep around. “What? Did Zedaph finally grow his hair out enough?” And he expected Tango to laugh in return, but the frown that appeared didn’t bode well.

“Impulse, do you… realize what you look like?” Tango asked, and then Impulse looked down at his hand and flexed it.

“What’s happened with Zedaph?”

Tango took a few steps to the side and a moment later the nearby leaves of a tree caught fire. “Zed and I have had both of our more animal-esque traits acting up. I’m burning just about any flammable thing that gets close to me and his wool is growing out of control. There’s other stuff too but…”

“But even if you’re not ending up like me, you’re still dealing with your own things.”

“Hey! I’m back! And it looks like Impulse has not killed you!”

Hels cut down a hoglin that was in the way of he and Wels as they travelled the nether. Wels was reluctantly following, his copy being the only reason he was doing so well right now. Well that, and the fact that he was promising some sort of shelter. They went a bit further, and then Wels spotted something that was clearly man made, making him try to run forward for shelter before he was grabbed by Hels. “Don’t run ahead idiot. I just know that you’ll manage to die if you try that and we’ll have to start all over.”

“Well I’m sure I could find a way to survive fine on my own.”

“Sure you could.” Hels said, obviously sarcastic. “And your death messages make that so very believable. Tell me, have you noticed anything odd about your situation, other than being stuck in the nether.”

“Well, chat hasn’t been working right and I can’t regenerate my health.”

“Right… Well, what have you been eating?” Hels asked as they finally reached the door to the helsmit’s base, opening it to let Wels inside.

“Mainly crimson fungi or the rare pork if I can chip enough health away from a hoglin.” Wels answered, linking himself to the respawn anchor sitting inside.

“That fungi is only edible to hoglins you know.” Hels said, closing the door and then crossing his arms.

“Well obviously that’s not the case here.” And then Wels made his point by munching down on a mushroom he still had in his inventory.

Hels pursed his lips before yanking the fungi out of Wels’ hand and then smashing the knight’s head against a nearby wall. “Spit that out right now or I’ll go again until I break your tusks.”

“My what?” Wels asked, reluctantly spitting out the half chewed fungus.

“You’re an idiot. How did you not notice you were growing tusks?”

And Wels didn’t have an answer, just letting his hand go to his mouth and feel what were definitely tusks. “When did-”

“Who knows. My guess is it's something with this world. It’s not like any of us want to be here.”

Wels looked back over to Hels at that comment, a questioning look on his face. “Evil Xisuma approached me a few weeks ago. He was planning to get into the new season before the rest of you so he could keep from getting banned and put some action into play with his brother and a number of the other hermits. I wasn’t as interested in his plan, but having fun on the server on my own seemed like a good idea to me. A few others were planning to join us, but I’m sure they haven’t followed along. So as far as I’m aware, it is only Evil Xisuma and I trapped here with all of you.”

“Well, at the very least neither of us are stuck here alone.” Wels spoke, trying to give a positive spin on things.

“I would have preferred to be alone.” Hels replied. “You’ll use up more of my resources. That being said, my guess is you’re necessary for whatever is going on around here to stop. So until that’s fixed or I learn otherwise, I am reluctantly helping you.”

“Alright, that sounds fine for now. And you said Evil Xisuma is here too, correct? Any clue where he could be?”

Bdubs stared down at the void below his feet, glad to have stopped moving, though his gut was still getting used to that change. The guy in pink armor next to him was reluctantly patting his back as another wave of nausea hit and he started to dry heave. “Th-Thanks.”

“Whatever. I just know what being stuck in the void is like so I have a little sympathy.”

“Well glad to know I’m not the only one stuck in this situation. Not that that’s a good thing.”

“Right.” The armored person deadpanned, looking down at the void as well.

Bdubs was quiet for a little before looking over to his savior. “So then, I don’t really think I caught your name in all our yelling to heave both of us up here.”

The other person raised an eyebrow at Bdubs, as if to ask if he was serious, then being a little surprised when he was. The person hesitated, looking down, not to the void but more at their lap, then a hand fiddled with their hair before they finally looked back at Bdubs. “Name’s Xannes.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Bdubs!” And he held out a hand, pausing as he noticed the state it was in.

Xannes took the hand carefully and shook it, before helping it back to Bdubs’ side. “Side effect of the void. I’m more protected because of my armor, but you don’t have that.”

“Well now I’m actually upset about not having armor, even if it were pink.”

Xannes looked incredulous at that before putting his hands on his hips. “Hey, this is simply a… lightish red.”

“You mean pink.”

“Lightish. Red.”

“Lightish red is red mixed with white. And what does that give you? Pink. You’ve got pink armor.”

“Alright, so maybe it’s supposed to be pink.” Xannes conceded. “But my color is red, and this isn’t my armor, I’m simply borrowing it. So for anyone else, it would be pink, but as long as I wear it, it’s a lightish red.”

“Whatever you say.”

Xannes sighed and then carefully took Bdubs’ hand again. “Alright, so looking again, this doesn’t quite look as natural as being stuck in the voice can make it. Obviously that’s because none of this is natural. Even though it wouldn’t help me in the long run if it were working, I have tested plenty with my communicator and learned a number of things. First, we are not the only ones in a situation like this.”

“Yeah.” Bdubs agreed. “I already met Scar stuck on one of the islands below.”

“Noted.” Xannes nodded. “Well, others have similar odd spawns. I- Someone named Impulse had been stuck in a guardian temple, a Docm77 has been sent to his death by goats. X-Xisuma has been dealing with a warden.” Xannes started to explain, voice getting quieter at the last example, though Bdubs didn’t notice.

“And the void stuff?”

“If I knew more about what was going on, I could tell you. But as it stands, I can just tell your limbs seem to have a form of void-bite and your eyes are as dark as the void itself.”

Bdubs leaned back a little in shock at the comment. “Wait, really?” And then he was fishing into his shirt before pulling out a knife, Xannes’ eyes widening at the weapon. Bdubs held the blade up, briefly putting it back down to shine it against his shirt before using it as a mirror and then staring into it. Sure enough, his eyes seemed to go on forever into their sockets, pure darkness filling them.

“How many knives do you have?” Xannes asked, tearing Bdubs’ gaze from the weapon.

“Huh? Oh, I’ve got plenty. Want one?” And he pulled out another, only the tiniest bit worried about being stabbed by the unfamiliar person. But instead of stabbing him, Xannes simply threw the knife off the edge, watching it fall down. “What was that for?”

Xannes didn’t really reply, just holding a finger up for Bdubs to wait. Reluctantly, he did, but then got restless as time seemed to drag on. Any time he attempted to talk, he would just get shushed, making it feel even worse. Finally, out of nowhere, the knife suddenly fell past them, making Bdubs jump back enough that he nearly fell off their gateway and into the void, but Xannes grabbed him before that could happen and pulled him back in.

“Well then, it seems like a loop around the void lasts around two and a half minutes.” Xannes stated, shifting to turn his body and move to a different part of the gateway. “I guess it would be less on a second loop after already reaching terminal velocity, but it's good to know. I know something has been flying past here ever so often but I was still sort of stuck on the side of this thing for most of it, then I was dealing with you, so… you get the idea.”

“You telling me everything’s looping up and down like us?” Bdubs asked, looking around the sky, or what passed for it in the end.

“Us and anything non-living. I’ve already seen that there have been three void related deaths by Scar, Etho and TinFoilChef.”

“Well so far I’ve only seen Scar and you.” Bdubs replied. “I guess those other two are stuck around here too.”

“The chef, yes, but I’m not so sure about the other.” And Xannes handed his comm to Bdubs, showing a list of death messages, all belonging to Etho. “I have a function that lets me sort these messages. It’s very handy.” And then he reached off to the side, catching a comm as it fell from the air. “And this would be yours. I’ve seen it here and there… To be honest, it seems like it takes more than two or so minutes. We might need to test more.”

Bdubs swapped their communicators before looking down at the abyss below. “Well, Scar’s somewhere down there, I already found him once. I’m gonna see if I can get to him again and you can do whatever while I’m falling.”

Xannes rubbed his chin and then nodded. “Alright, go ahead. I’ll look out for you. If you respawn, wait a loop for me to catch you because I don’t have omniscient reaction time.”

“Sounds good to me.” Bdubs replied with a smile, then jumped into the void once more, ignoring the fear that came with it.

Scar rolled around on the end stone, trying to get to sleep. Sure, beds didn’t work in the end, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t sleep. It just wasn’t restful enough to keep phantoms away or set a spawn. Not like he needed to set a spawn three blocks away from his current one.

But right now, there was too much noise. The endermen were slowly losing their cool with Scar and he was also hearing the whispering of the vex. To be honest, that was probably why huge endermen were acting as they were. Void magic didn’t like to work with other magic.

But even with all of that, Scar really wanted to sleep for another reason. The whispers of the vex weren’t the only new thing with him. He had polished the pillar near him as just something to do other than wait around. The end rod in particular he shined until it was just mirror-like enough that he saw his green eyes were now vex blue. From that, he checked himself over a bit more and found that his eyes weren’t the only change. He seemed to be an inch or three shorter and his skin was definitely paler than before. He didn’t have wings again, but he knew it would only be a matter of time.

Scar really didn’t want to use any more help from the vex yet, knowing it would speed things up. He wanted to keep hope out for seeing Bdubs again before doing anything since it could be his last chance before a deal was needed once more. If he could just-

“Convex.” A much clearer whisper spoke, making Scar jump a little. “Are you sure a deal is such a bad thing at this stage in time?”

“Oh no no no no no.” Scar insisted, standing up and waving his hands in refusal. “I’m sure I’ll be better use to my friends if I’m not mostly stuck working with you guys.”

“What if you were not working for us?” The whisper asked, making Scar pause.

“Wait? I’m Convex because I can’t become true vex because of Xisuma and him tainting me and Cub with the void or something. I would think now being stuck in the end would make it worse, not better!”

“You still cannot, that is true. But a new evoker is being trained, one also tainted by the void. And I believe you would want to work with them.”

Scar inhaled sharply at the implication, knowing that it must be a hermit they were referring to. He fumbled in pulling his communicator out and then scrolled through all the death messages before finally seeing what he wanted. Death messages to vindicators and evokers, both about Mumbo. “So clarification on this deal?”

“You will still be considered Convex, but on a higher level than before. Not quite at the level of standard vex however. But during this, you will be linked to the new evoker, and cannot be released unless they themselves will it. And you should not will your release either.”

“Yeah, yeah, if that’s all, sure!” Scar agreed quickly, so excited he didn’t really take the time to think it over. Then suddenly he could feel more magic flowing into him. So much it felt like a red hot iron pressed all over his body, especially at his scars. And then it was gone, and he was left panting on the ground.

He didn’t know how long he had been there, but suddenly his name was shouted and Scar managed to lift his head up. He saw Bdubs rocking down towards him again and suddenly felt stronger again, getting a burst of energy and moving towards the builder. New wings spread from his back and let him fly, keeping him above the void as he grabbed his friend and then slowed them before reaching the abyss below, then slowly dragging them back up.

“Bdubs! Are you okay?!” Scar asked the moment they were both on the endstone, only staying on his feet for a second before his knees buckled beneath him.

“Am I okay? Am I okay?! I’m on the sweet sweet ground again!” And then he kissed the stone beneath him. “What about you? You look… not Scar but sound normal.”

“I can explain more in a bit. There’s an end city just over that way and I want to get something so we can start towards the main island. I’ll see if there’s elytra for you.”

“Oh no. I don’t think I ever want to fly again. If anyone, give it to Xannes.”

“Who?”

“Okay, guess my story first.”

On the main island, TFC dodged another attack from the dragon. She had been attacking less frequently, which was good and bad in his eyes. No attacking meant less dying, but TFC needed her attacks to even attempt destroying all the crystals. Because there was no way she was dying to fists alone with them still around.

That all being said, TFC had a sneaking suspicion on why exactly that was happening. His prosthetics were built to match his remaining limbs in function, but gradually over the past few respawns, they were becoming off balance. In trying to fix them, TFC realized he was less human than before, claws on his hands and feet, and tenderness at his tailbone and shoulder blades.

TFC was old, that much was true. And because of that, he had seen all sorts of situations. While for the most part the problems of this world were new to TFC, adaptations were not. A number of present day hybrids were a result of that. Heck, mob variants were also sourced from suce and occurrence. So yeah, TFC was not too surprised about seemingly becoming a dragon hybrid.

Thinking it over, in the long run it would likely give him just enough of an upper hand to defeat the dragon, but there was also the concern of how long it would take to get to that point and how far these alterations would go. If this went too far, the world itself could mistake him for a new ender dragon, and even after killing the real one, no portal would form due to his existence.

Well, if that was the case, he would need to figure out what it was that made the existence of the dragon close the portal and see if he could reverse it. Especially since he recalled at least one or two hermits were supposed to be stuck in the end with him. Though that did give him another idea. Maybe he didn’t have to keep fighting if the dragon opened the portal herself.

The next time TFC respawned, he waited, giving her time to rest. When he was sure the dragon was fully healed again, the miner made his way to the podium and waited. The dragon swooped a few times, giving some warning shots, but she didn’t attack TFC directly, and he made no move to attack the crystals. She didn’t look happy, but TFC had plenty of time to wait.

In a bout of frustration, ink was spilled over the floor, making Mumbo even more frustrated than before. He didn’t understand the need for learning another language just for spells. He was sure that knowing the characters that appeared with enchanting would be enough, but apparently the illagers had their own writing system. At the very least, Mumbo recognized a character or two that Scar or Cub must have had written down, but it still felt like he was learning a new language from scratch.

With ink all over the place, Mumbo paused to work on cleaning everything up. He had ruined nearly all his materials, so now he would have to attempt to get more or find an illager who would assist him in such a task. Paper was easy enough to get, a farm already set up in the mansion, but Mumbo hadn’t automated it yet, so there wasn’t going to be much to reap. And squid ink wasn’t something they just had on hand.

Mumbo reached the farming room and grabbed what sugarcane had grown, taking the reeds over to a crafting table then cutting and pressing them into paper. He only managed to make six pages from all of that and didn’t have the material to bind them into a book.Instead of leaving the room, Mumbo put the paper into a nearby chest and then pulled out his redstone materials.

As Mumbo built, he decided to multitask by using redstone dust to practice some of the characters he needed to learn. He couldn’t remember the normal order of the characters, so he just wrote them at random. He never really focused on the characters, so he didn’t notice when a few in a line started to glow a bit. In fact, he was just pausing his writing to work on fixing a bit of redstone, his head stuck in the contraption.

His hand blindly reached for some string to add as a tripwire, but he was about half a foot to the wrong side of his pile of materials. When Mumbo’s hand started to go further, it was stopped by some thread being placed in his hand. The redstoner said his thanks and then strung it up before pausing and pulling his head out.

Standing nearby was someone Mumbo immediately recognized, not knowing anyone else with a bright red sweater like that. Not caring that he was currently covered in redstone dust, Mumbo jumped at the newcomer and hugged them tightly, so glad to see a familiar face. “Grian! You’re okay! How did you get here? Where are the bots? Are you alright?”

But pulling away again, Mumbo watched as Grian just blinked at him, seeming a little confused. “I think you may be mistaken and confused, my mustachioed friend. I mean, I am okay and I got here because of you, but I’m not sure what you mean by bots and well, you were trying to take to someone named Grian.”

Mumbo furrowed his brows. Looking them over again, he could tell this had to be Grian. His clothes and hair and everything were the same. He couldn’t quite tell about their eyes because they were wearing a mask, but it matched the one he had seen Grian with in the past, a black mark on its face instead of the purple Eflyn expected. The only thing unfamiliar were the wings. Shape and pattern wise, they matched the wings Grian had, but the colors of the feathers were no longer red yellow and blue, but purple grey and black.

“Well then. If you’re not Grian, then who are you?” Mumbo asked, and the person giggled slightly.

“I could have swore you already knew, but I guess not. The name is Xelqua, but don’t go throwing it around to just anyone.” And just hearing it reminded Mumbo. It had been a name Grian had told him before.

“Well, if you don’t want me throwing it around, I’m going to have to call you something.” Mumbo spoke up, Xelqua seeming to agree. “Since I already mistook you for him and he’s not around, how about I call you Grian.”

“Hmm.” Grian thought about it before shaking his head. “Just you and me, you can call me Xelqua. Otherwise just Watcher is fine, okay?”

“But I-” Mumbo started to say, and then there was a clatter, making Mumbo and Grian look over at the door where Eflyn was standing.

“Well. It seems we have another guest then…”

Joe had paused in his material gathering. It was just going to be for a little bit, but he needed to clear his head. And the best idea he had for that was climbing the tower at spawn the correct way. Sure, he could try climbing from the outside or something, finding a window, but at this point these were definitely Watchers, and Joe was very much aware that they were not to be messed with.

Joe needed to pause on a platform to hold his head, a headache forming. It had been coming and going for a while, but it didn’t feel so bad now, the tower already lit up pretty well. As he waited, his other hand clutched at the wall as best it could, just feeling the texture of the wall, as if to check that it was real. “Guess you really couldn’t have been swayed, now could you?” Joe asked, speaking into the empty air around him. “Well maybe after this mess we can try it again.”

Joe climbed a few more parts of the parkour that acted as steps before nearly falling to a sudden splitting headache. He half considered letting go and trying again, there being enough hay lining the floor below to break his fall, but he had already gotten so far. And maybe if he could get to the top of the tower…

It had been ages ago when Joe had first met a Watcher. From what he could tell, it was even the first Watcher to exist. One that eventually disappeared to time that not even the other Watchers knew what happened. He wasn’t an expert of whatever the Watchers exactly were, but it had been enough that he recognized Grian as one pretty quickly when they first met in season six. Though that was partially from that not being their first meeting.

Yes, Joe had been along for a very long time. Which is why he was not happy with everything going on. But he had a bargaining chip in the form of knowledge, so getting to the top might be the one place to try and use it.

His headache passed and the glow from his eyes faded. Joe pulled himself back onto the platform and then adjusted his glasses. Just a bit more to go until he was at the top.

Doc woke up in a wood hut, lying in a bed. His back and head hurt, getting worse when he attempted to move to get up. He tried to remember what happened last, but suddenly being knocked unconscious wasn’t the best thing to try and remember. Looking around in a way that didn’t hurt as much, he was able to see a chest as well as something lying on the ground to his right.

Some crackling implied there was also a furnace running nearby. Mixed with that was some slight banging of metal from crafting and the hum of a tune that was familiar to Doc, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Another attempt to sit up left Doc yelp slightly in pain, stopping the humming and crafting sounds, getting replaced with footsteps that came towards him. “Are you awake this time?”

“Grumbot?” Doc asked, vaguely recognizing the robot that appeared in front of him. He only really distinctly knew his larger form, only seeing him and his brother at this size when they were just about to leave their previous world.

“Yeah. looks like you are. We have some bread if you’re hungry.” Grum spoke in a quiet voice that felt so odd compared to how energetic the hermits usually were. That being said, it had been a while since he had seen anyone else, so it might have just been from what others were dealing with. “I also left some of the wheat as wheat if you prefer that.”

“What? Why would I want that? Bread sounds fine.”

“Okay, I wasn’t sure if you were like dad or not.” Grum said before he went over to the chest, giving Doc a moment to think things over.

“Dad as in Grian or Mumbo?”

“Grian.” Grum answered, pulling out some food. “He was with us on the mountain. Everything was getting to him, so he started eating seeds instead of other stuff.”

“Okay. Is he out getting supplies or something?” Doc asked and then Grum’s face shifted to something sadder. “What happened to Grian?”

“I don’t know.” Grum spoke, managing to be quieter than before. “He just disappeared and Jrum and I were stuck alone on the mountain. And then I messed up.” And it took all of Doc’s willpower to not sit up and possibly hurt himself in the process with how sad Grum sounded in that moment.

“Why? What happened?”

“Someone figured out how to send messages in chat by accident. Jrum and I noticed, and we were going to try it out for ourselves, but it didn’t go right. And now Jrum… Jrum didn’t respawn right.”

And with that comment, Doc realized what was on the ground nearby. Jrum’s body was laid out, screen dark and body unmoving. “How long has he been like that?”

“A few days I think. It got really snowy so I couldn’t quite tell. Then I got busy digging through the snow until I found some ice to break.”

“And that must have been the waterfall I took down off the mountain.” Doc said, making Grum look a little sheepish.

“Sorry about hitting you when I fell. I freaked out a bit and then you were there and I couldn’t react in time. I’m sure if it was anyone else, they would have been in worse shape.”

“Why’s that?” Doc asked, though he had an idea based on which side of him ached more.

“Well, your metal parts helped protect you plus I think your thicker skull helped from a concussion.”

“My what?”

“Oh, I thought you…” Grum said, trailing off. “Um, so I think more weird stuff is happening than just being stuck wherever.”

“Yeah, I knew that.” Doc said. “Creeper instincts have been kicking in like crazy.”

“Well, your death messages mentioned goats a lot. It looks like because of that, you’ve started turning into a goat hybrid as well.”

“I’ve what?” Doc asked, incredulously. He ignored the pain from moving when he started feeling himself over, finally finding horns coming from his head. “Oh… huh…”

Grum forced Doc back down to a resting position before feeding him some bread. Here, how about I tell you what I know about, then you can tell me what you know.

“Sounds good to me.”

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trenchcoatimpala · 3 years

Text

Hey guys! It’s been a hot second since I wrote something, so I’m here with a little ficlet. I am still writing something bigger (4k words currently and still going) so that is coming. But in the meantime, enjoy this little one-shot filled with established relationship Destiel and Dean in a hospital.

wc: 1.2k

Also on archive

Dean found himself drifting off to the sweet litany of beeping monitors. The sound was like a lullaby in his head, the slow beep beep beep beep nothing more than a whisper, telling him to sleep. It rocked him on gentle waves and coaxed him closer to unconsciousness, although, a Dean that wasn’t pumped full of pain medication would understand that the beeping had nothing to do with his drooping eyelids and everything to do with said pain medication.

Sleep was welcome to his aching body. He knew it was bad, it had to be if he was in the hospital and not some rundown motel, but his mind was foggy enough not to worry about just how bad.

He came and went from consciousness, only waking when a nurse came to check on him or the drugs wore off and the pain started to creep in. His head hurt like a motherfucker and there was a throbbing ache in his leg and ribs that caused his breath to stutter every time he inhaled.

“How are we doing?” a nurse asked, she was blond, petite, and was exactly Dean’s type, but unfortunately, being bedridden and out of it meant that he couldn’t exactly turn the charm on easily. Not to mention, he was already taken, he had no reason to flirt.

“‘M’kay,” Dean slurred in response.

The nurse checked his eyes, changed his bandages, and the whole time Dean let his attention fall in and out of focus. The nurse was wearing some kind of flowery perfume that made Dean want to sneeze, but somehow he managed to keep his bodily fluids to himself.

“Don’t worry, we’ll have you out of here in no time,” the nurse said as she gave him a pat on the cheek, checked over the monitors one more time, and then left the room.

“Who’s worried,” Dean mumbled to her retreating back as he let himself flop back against the pillows, smiling as the morphine she’d given him reached his system.

The next time someone came into his room, he was pleased to see that it was Sam, with Cas in tow.

“Hey Dean,” Sam said as he sat down in the chair by his bed.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean replied with a smile.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asked.

Dean shifted his gaze to Cas and couldn’t help but let his smile grow. “Peachy.”

“Do you remember what happened?” Cas asked as he sat down in the chair on the other side of Dean’s bed.

“‘S a little fuzzy,” Dean admitted, still only having eyes for Cas.

“That ghoul threw you good,” Sam said.

“Straight through the window,” Cas chimed in. “You hit your head pretty bad on the concrete.”

“But not before the ghoul kicked out your leg,” Sam added.

Dean groaned. “No wonder I feel like I was just run over by a stampede.”

“We’re working on your discharge papers,” Sam said as he clapped a hand down on Dean’s shoulder, Dean winced at the impact. “Sorry.”

Dean waved him off with a grunt. “When do you think I’ll be out of here?”

“They’ll probably want to keep you overnight to monitor you,” Cas replied.

“Awesome,” Dean mumbled.

“I’ll go see if I can negotiate a change to that plan,” Sam said as he stood up.

Once Sam was gone, Dean grinned lazily at Cas. “Hi.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replied warmly.

Dean reached up a hand and gently ran his fingers over Cas’s face. Stubble scratched at the pads of his fingers but Dean liked the pull of it. He took in the bags under Cas’s eyes and the scab forming on his left cheek, but in searching Cas’s blue gaze he found concern there.

“You look worried.”

Cas huffed a broken laugh. “Of course I’m worried, you’re hurt.”

“‘S nothin’, ‘ve had worse.”

“You haven’t had a concussion to this severity before, I know that much,” Cas said as he reached out and took Dean’s hand in his own.

Dean liked the feeling of Cas’s warm palm fitted into his, and he said as much, leaving Cas to laugh in amusement. Dean felt a dopy grin spread across his face and he let himself get lost in those blue eyes again.

“I love you,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself.

Cas squeezed his hand. “I love you too.”

Dean drew his lips into a pout. “What, no kiss?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “I’m not kissing you while you’re this drugged up.”

Dean’s pout grew. “Why not?”

“Because it would be inappropriate,” Cas replied. Dean crossed his arms like a petulant child, of course that proved difficult due to his broken ribs, but he tried anyway. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Cas warned.

“It’s not like I’m not aware of my actions,” Dean argued.

Cas sighed. “Dean, we’re in a hospital, I’d much rather kiss you once we’re back in our bed, preferably after you’ve brushed your teeth and taken a shower.”

Dean uncrossed his arms and nodded slowly. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Cas did kiss the back of Dean’s hand to make up for it and Dean let his fingers thread with Cas’s.

“I wish I could heal you,” Cas said softly. “I hate that I can’t.”

Dean squeezed Cas’s hand and put on his best reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Besides, if you healed me I wouldn’t get you doting on me like this.”

Cas frowned but there was a small twinkle in his eyes. “Still, I hate seeing you in pain.”

“‘M not in pain.”

“You might change that sentiment once the drugs wear off.”

Dean didn’t have enough energy to respond so he let his eyes close and when Sam returned to the room, he found them like that, Dean dozing off and Cas sitting resolutely by his side.

“Dean’ll be good to go in a few hours,” Sam announced as he plopped into his previously vacated chair, tearing Dean from his almost-slumber.

“Super,” Dean yawned as he cracked open an eye to look at his brother.

Dean spent the rest of his hospital stay eating pudding and watching crap TV and when he was finally wheeled out of the building and helped into the backseat of Baby, he let out a sigh of relief.

“I hate hospitals,” Dean grumbled as he leaned into Cas’s shoulder.

“I know,” Cas replied as he ran a hand through Dean’s hair.

The car ride was silent after that, and when they got back to the bunker Dean was practically carried down the stairs and into his room. Cas helped Dean clean up and then he collapsed onto their bed and Cas joined him.

“You owe me a kiss,” Dean said as he looked over at his husband.

Cas smiled and scooched closer to Dean, placing a hand on his cheek and drawing him in. Their lips met in a soft kiss, but Dean deepened it the first chance he got and Cas grinned into his mouth.

When they pulled apart, Dean felt like he was floating. “That was worth the wait,” he said.

“I’m glad,” Cas replied as their hands tangled together under the sheets. “Now try to get some rest.”

“Okay, Mom,” Dean grumbled.

“I certainly hope you don’t see me as an equivalent to your mother,” Cas said, slightly affronted, but teasing.

Dean shoved gently at him, which caused his ribs to twinge painfully, but he ignored it. “No way in Hell.”

“Good.”

“Love you,” Dean said over a yawn as he squeezed Cas’s hand.

“Love you, too.”

Dean fell asleep with a smile on his face, despite the throbbing pain of his injured limbs. Cas was the only medicine he needed.

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angelanimedesaray · 3 years

Text

Wings in the Dark Chapter 1: Encounter

AN: All right...we’re flipping the script with this series, hehehe. Also, I’m doing MOSTLY similar vampire rules to the Investment series, but there’s gonna be some key differences to make things more...interesting. hehehe.

Listen, I’ve honestly had this idea for over a year, and it’s finally coming to fruition, I’m gonna be excited.

Tell me if you want tagged!

Characters: Levi, Vampire!Reader, Numerous BG Characters

Pairing: (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings: Language...don’t really have anything else for this chapter

Word Count: 5616

Masterlist Next Chapter---->

*Reader’s POV*

The sound of new recruits in the midst of combat training filled the air, a cacophony of moving feet, cries of attack, sounds of pain, accelerated heartbeats and the occasional shouted order from a supervisor. The wind was strong enough to blow hair about your face, but not enough to be cutting, the sun beating down from above warm enough to drive away any chill from the wind. The occasional sliding foot kicked dust up into the air, making it hard not to sneeze as your sensitive nose became agitated from all the dust in the air. Your arms were held up in an at the ready stance, but your mind wasn’t entirely on the training that was happening in front of you.

The Survey Corps. At long last, you managed to make it past your training in the Cadet Corps and choose your branch of the military to go into. Despite the high death rate and the negative publicity the Survey Corps got, it had been your clear goal since day one. It was the only place you felt you could go where you might feel useful, where these abilities of yours could finally be put to good use.

Of course, you weren’t through with the training phase quite yet. The Scouts had their own tests to put the new recruits through, unique maneuvers and combat preparation that would also help determine where you were going to go within the regiment. You still had to get past this sorting period, so you didn’t let yourself get celebratory yet.

But still, two years of hard work in the Cadet Corps, learning to readjust, learning your limits, refining mannerisms, careful planning and consideration into your every move.

Of course, that wasn’t what it looked like to your classmates. To them, you were well aware that you were the cold and aloof antisocial bitch that would knock everyone to the ground like they were nothing in the combat training, and always kept everyone at a distance.

It wasn’t that you were hateful, far from it. You just didn’t want to risk anyone getting too close to you while you were in the Cadets. And it wasn’t your fault if the training came too easily for you--you couldn’t help your nature. Hell, most of your focus had gone into holding back and restraining yourself since day one. While you wanted to make an impression and prove your skill and worth in combat, you didn’t want to stand out too much and draw unwanted attention. It had taken ridiculous amounts of concentration and effort, carefully planned throws on tests and combat evaluations, in order to purposely place at sixth in the top ten. Skilled, but not a shining star that would get full attention.

But that first place spot could have easily been yours, if you didn’t have to be so careful about how you presented yourself.

As important as it was to do well in these tests to get properly placed somewhere you and your abilities could be of use, you still had to maintain the front of someone who ranked sixth, not suddenly display all the skill and strength that belonged to someone easily top of the class. Not to mention, you were on a time limit for something far more important to your stay in the cadets for the long run.

This was your grace period to figure out what you needed to do in order to blend in with everyone else. And not just in skill. Your main concern was your food source.

Back in the cadets, in had started as a painful struggle, having to find ways to sneak out without anyone noticing so you could get a proper bite that would last you at least half a month. The cadets had also been your trial by fire to see how well you could handle freshly spilled blood in front of you, though you were painfully aware that particular test was only going to get more difficult when you went out into the field and Titans started eating people.

Right now at the Scouts, though, you didn’t even have escape routes, predetermined, best routes to sneak out and get a drink without anyone noticing. You hadn’t pinned down sleeping schedules for everyone yet, either, so you could figure out who you needed to be wary of when you were trying to sneak out. If you couldn’t find good times to sneak out and the best ways to leave and return undetected, then your time with the Scouts would prove to be painfully short, for your own safety.

And you wanted to stay here as long as possible, for reasons that had taken root deep in your heart.

Of course, you still had to worry about the training and some basic parts of being a Scout, as well. You were still frustrated with yourself for forgetting one of the simplest things--the horses. Of course, you got a painful reminder when you entered the stables and the majority of the horses got nervous and skittish while the rest went wild.

Not everything was easy to you. You now had to find and befriend a horse that you could hopefully keep with you that wouldn’t be afraid of the predator it could sense in you. It was going to take time, and you were certain this oddity about you had already been noticed, but hopefully when you befriended one of the horses, any sparked suspicions would go away.

Then there was the ODM gear. Obviously you could operate it, you wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t. The problem was that your instincts and reflexes could happen faster than the gear could operate. It made it difficult to slow down and operate it properly when you were running on instinct, and even after two years in the Cadets you were still trying to temper your natural instincts to slow down to something the gear could keep up with. Though you had managed in your personal training time to also craft some maneuvers of your own that was more forgiving to your sharp reflexes and instincts, maneuvers that actually required more physical movement and less dependability on the cables. The less you tried to do with the gear and more you did with your own body, the less of a chance you had to screw up a maneuver by going too fast for the gear to execute at a costly moment.

But out of everything in this grace period that was going to be the most difficult, it was the social aspect. You always kept everyone at a distance because you didn’t want anyone to get close enough to find out what you were, or to risk them getting hurt. As such, you usually came off as antisocial or rude, when really it was maddeningly lonely for you. But what else were you supposed to do? You didn’t even want to think of what kind of a disaster could unfold if you allowed yourself to get close to someone, they found out what you were, reacted negatively and then...and then what? What were you supposed to do with a threat to your safety when it was someone you’d grown close to?

You shuddered at the thought every time it wandered into your mind. This was one of your greatest concerns with being around people again, but now, you were in a situation where you were going to have to do the balancing act flawlessly anyway. One thing you had learned watching the Scouts so far was that there was a degree of trust and closeness in the community. Privacy was still a thing, obviously, and you didn’t have to be best friends with everyone...but people had to know you could be trusted, that you would have their backs out in the field. You had to be amicable at the very least with people--you couldn’t keep them all pushed far away or give them a reason to think you might be hiding something. You were going to have to start making friends with your comrades despite your reservations, but you couldn’t quite figure out how to start.

This was what you got for being a hermit living by herself for oh so long before coming back to the surface, back into daylight, back around people--

Your sparring partner shifted, and your eyes refocused slightly on the match in front of you. It seemed he was going to be one of the many who had seen the glazed over look in your eyes and assumed they could get the drop on you because you weren’t paying attention.

Just like everyone else, he was about to find out how wrong he was.

As he charged you, you reacted rather instinctively, grabbing at his arm and sweeping his leg out from under him before sending him to the ground on his own momentum.

“How?” he fumed. “You weren’t even paying attention!”

“You probably shouldn’t assume that of your opponent,” you returned calmly. Just because you’d been lost in your own thoughts didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention.

Your partner wilted slightly, looking dejected, and you had to stop and do some mental math to figure out how long the two of you had been sparring. It was probably best if you let him win this next one. Both so you could break this perfect streak and so he could get a bit of his pride and confidence back. Plus, you’d get to rotate to a new partner, and the cycle would start fresh. He could probably use some time matched more evenly against someone anyway. It wasn’t fair to anyone who got matched with you, even if they didn’t know it.

What were they supposed to do against someone they thought was human, that was anything but?

You fell back into your at-the-ready stance, watching him closely this time to make sure you knew exactly what he was going to do. He came at you again, his feet planted firmly, form practically perfect--

--you shifted one of your feet so that you were standing just a little too wide--

--and this time as he tackled you, he was able to easily knock you off your feet. Not too easily, you made sure there was enough resistance he found it believable, but for the most part, you let him knock you to the ground.

“Yes!” he cried successfully as he sprang back to his feet, the elation of finally receiving a victory causing his blood to rush in your ears. You closed your eyes and took your time getting calmly to your feet, brushing yourself off as you regained control of yourself.

You’d had a brief spike of hunger with his blood pumping so close to you. Thankfully, you had some practice controlling your thirst in these kinds of situations after so long in the Cadets.

While you were getting up, one of your overseers called for a switch in partners now that he had finally won a bought against you. You got to your feet as your partner scurried away in relief, brushing hair from your face as you waited expectantly to see who would be matched up with you this time.

Unfortunately, it seemed someone had caught your throw this time.

Instead of another new recruit stepping in front of you, a well maintained shock of raven hair and sharp pale blue eyes entered your vision as Captain Levi himself approached, his gaze centered solely on you.

You’d known he was helping supervise the new recruits--all the squad leaders and section commanders were rotating through so they could get a feel for the new recruits and see if there was anyone specifically they wanted with them. You hadn’t realized, however, that you’d caught his attention. But instead of looking pleased, he seemed a little irked.

Quickly, you snapped to a salute, body tense for a few moments as you waited to see what he was going to say. You already knew it wasn’t going to be praise.

“Throwing matches doesn’t help anyone,” Levi said bluntly, his sharp gaze fixated on you.

Fuck, he’d noticed that? You supposed anyone paying close enough attention could catch it, but you’d hoped you were being subtle enough your throws would go undetected.

Then again, this was an entirely different field from the Cadets. You were among the true elite, if you were going to put a bit of your bias in there, and if anyone was going to catch on…

You needed to be more careful.

“I felt he would benefit more from a different sparring partner, sir,” you said stiffly. It wasn’t a lie--hell, anyone would do better if they were paired with someone other than you. You didn’t mean for that to sound cocky, but it was the truth. You were naturally designed to outmatch humans.

“You don’t seem to be putting much effort into this training, either. Do you feel it’s beneath you, cadet?” Levi asked, his voice low. Some of your old classmates that had come to the Scouts as well were letting their eyes wander to the scene in the middle of the training field, most likely looking forward to the frigid ‘slacker’ finally get what was coming to her.

“Quite the opposite, sir. Titans aren’t the only threat in the world--you never know when you’ll need training like this,” you countered, meeting his gaze as you gave a reason that you’d once uttered to shut down the dismissal of other cadets for these person on person combat training exercises. You had your own demons these kinds of moves could be used against, but there were also plenty of...unpleasant...people in the world. You never knew when your life would be threatened by another person, and it was in those moments when you would want this kind of training.

Of course, with your reflexes and strength, it was easier to execute them. Your learning process went into learning the techniques, and once you had that down, you really didn’t have much to worry about.

There was a spark of curiosity in Captain Levi’s eyes at your answer--apparently it hadn’t been a wrong one. You recognized the training’s value instead of brushing it off like most people. And most people who did realize its value usually didn’t state it openly like you just had. Maybe you should have cut that last part out.

He still didn’t look pleased, though, which was understandable if his observations had led him to believe you weren’t taking this training as seriously as it should, that you were brushing it off.

“Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what you’ve learned. I’ll expect perfection with that attitude of yours,” Levi said in a flat voice, taking a few more steps until he was standing opposite you. There was a dangerous note in his voice, and you had the feeling he intended to make you take this sparring seriously, with full attention.

“Sir?”

Levi didn’t answer. He fell into an at the ready position across from you, and you realized he wasn’t going to give you time to ask any more questions. He was about to attack, and you had better be ready for it.

You finally dropped the salute that had loosened during your brief conversation, falling back into a similar at the ready position and feeling your attention start to sharpen. Around you, people were turning their attention away from their training to see Captain Levi give the careless newbie a lesson.

A small part of you whispered that perhaps you should let him take you down right out of the gates, have him teach you the lesson and then move on, deal with the fact you’d made a poor impression on the captain of the Elite Squad.

You let out a slow breath, the world snapping into attention as you honed in on your opponent, Humanity’s Strongest.

Something inside you refused to lay down and take it. You were going to at least show him that you had potential. This was your moment to prove that it wasn’t all bravado and charades. You had skill to back it up, you were capable, and you were not some slacker that wasn’t taking any of this seriously. You were here to fight, to help in the push against the Titans,, no matter what anyone thought from their first impression of you. You were here to stay.

Levi’s eyes flashed, and your body instinctively tensed for the oncoming attack as he darted forward with an almost inhuman speed. You clamped down on your instinct to use your truly inhuman speed to step out of the way, instead choosing to block or at least re-direct the blow with his foot with your arm as you went low, ducking under the kick and coming up on his side. Levi was already turning when you were halfway up, and his fist connected with your side, causing you to take a few steps back.

Shit, that hurt. He really was going to teach you a lesson to take this seriously, wasn’t he? If you didn’t want to end up beat to hell, you better be ready to show him you were learning.

And after the strength of that blow and the speed of his attack, you were going to have to put some actual effort into this.

Levi was already coming in again with another attack, fist cutting through the space between the two of you. You turned your body aside to avoid it, knee coming up to try and get him in the gut. He knocked it aside with his other arm as you blocked the one that had tried to punch you from coming at you again, grabbing onto his forearm and bringing yourself into his space. You threw a punch of your own, still holding back to avoid seriously hurting him, but he blocked it just as quickly, the two of you grappling up close with a series of punches, blocks, and shifted feet before you decided to break away, fists still up and ready for a pursuit. He kept using his small stature to get under your defenses and go after your weak spots, using momentum and your own weight against you. But you were able to return in kind, upping the effort you put into your offense and defense with every block or failed hit.

You could hear his heart, which had started so steady and calm, starting to pick up from effort and exertion as well--so you weren’t the only one who had started to put effort into this fight. You were both two combatants that rarely found someone on their level to fight, and now here you were.

A voice in the back of your mind screamed to stop and throw the fight before you gave away too much, but you couldn’t stop yourself, your own heart pounding with excitement. When was the last time someone could actually challenge you? Which one of you was actually capable of winning this fight?

Hell, you’d never thought someone human could stand toe to toe with you in basic hand to hand without bringing some dirty tricks to the match, but here you were. As exciting as it was, there was also something strangely...relieving, about it. Reassuring.

Levi’s knee flashed through your vision, and you had to lean back, hands coming down to meet it and stop the assault before it could connect with your chin.

Reflection could come later, right now...well, you should really be throwing this fight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You kept meeting his attacks and coming in with your own, no matter how much reason screamed at you to stop.

Suddenly, Levi switched tactics, and instead of coming in to hit you, he grappled you to the ground, the two of you now caught in a tussle to see who could pin the other and end this fight. His arm started to snake around your throat, and you quickly placed an arm against your throat to break the incoming hold, dropping your shoulder with hands wrapped around his forearm to throw him over you. He managed to keep his grip for the most part, but he was no longer in the position to choke you out from behind.

His heartbeat, as well as your own, continued to pound in your ears, telling you just how much you both were fighting. This had rapidly changed from a lesson to be taught into a straight up match at some point, both of you fighting for dominance, with not a single peep from the onlookers as both of you started throwing in dirty tactics that looked more like skills learned on the streets than something taught in military training.

He’d landed some solid hits on you, easily bruising your body where he connected, but so had you. Of course, you were still trying to be careful and not hurt him, but the longer this fight went on, the less restraint you showed, because all the while you were testing his limits, seeing how far you could safely go, and you had yet to see a sign that it had been to far.

At this rate, I wouldn’t mind this being a regular thing. This is exhilarating.

In the scuffle, Levi ended up below you in the middle of a roll, and you took advantage of the position, leg planted firmly behind him near his head, arm grasping his and pulling it up, about to trap him in a position where he wouldn’t be able to move without breaking a limb.

You felt a tingle on the back of your neck as your eyes met.

Levi’s eyes widened in surprise.

Your ears perked at the first sign of whispers among your spectators.

“Is she...gonna beat Captain Levi?”

“I thought he was Humanity’s Strongest?”

“Some random cadet is gonna beat Levi?”

Your heart froze, even as your body kept moving.

He couldn’t hear the whispers, not that you felt he cared much about such a moniker, but you could hear, and you did care. Levi knew he was about to be beat, you could see the flicker of realization in his eyes. And right now, with both of you putting effort into this fight and no attempts to throw from you so far, he might pounce on an opening without seeing it for the throw it was.

Maybe.

Whether that was true or not, this fight had to end, and it had to end one way.

Your grip shifted slightly on his arm, your foot slid slightly to the side, and you changed your weight distribution, giving him a split second window he could still get out of this. And just as you’d hoped, he took full advantage, breaking your grip on his arm and knocking you off balance with your now unsecure stance and uneven weight distribution. As quickly as you’d started to pin him, Levi suddenly leapt on top, his arm pressed hard against your chest as you found yourself flat on your back, wind knocked out of you abruptly by the fast move.

In the brief second before Levi pulled away, you saw disappointment in his eyes.

Right.

This all started because he realized you were throwing fights. And now you’d just thrown the fight with him. Whether or not he knew why was up for debate, but what matters was he knew you threw it at the last second.

Levi got to his feet, brushing dirt off himself with distaste before he stared down at you with a face that looked perfectly controlled, though those eyes of his were gazing at you with a thousand thoughtful emotions that made you uneasy as you sat up.

“Put that effort into sparring with your comrades, and they might learn something,” he said dismissively, then turned and left the field, most likely to go clean himself up.

You got to your feet, expression hidden by hair that had fallen loose in the match. Now that it was over, you were able to think more clearly, and you were chastising yourself thoroughly on the inside for such a stupid move.

Who cared if it had felt exhilarating to spar with someone on even ground? Who cared if you hadn’t wanted to give him the wrong impression of you on what might have been his first time seeing you? Who cared if the feeling of realizing there was someone out there that wasn’t what you were, that could fight you like that, was akin to not feeling so alone for the briefest second?

You shouldn’t have done that. You weren’t supposed to be drawing that kind of attention to yourself. It was sloppy and stupid and you could only see it resulting in trouble. You should have thrown the match far earlier than when you had, you shouldn’t have given everyone the impression that you could take Levi’s title from him.

Because even if it could, even if you were able to best him in a fight, you shouldn’t. Not in public, anyway, where word could spread and people started calling you the strongest instead. It wasn’t right, and the thought made you feel dirty and ashamed.

A vampire shouldn’t have the title of Humanity’s Strongest.

*Levi’s POV*

Coming out of the bath with damp hair still hanging on his face and shirt not buttoned up yet, Levi let out a soft sigh and leaned against the wall beside his office window, hand brushing thoughtfully over a nasty bruise he’d gotten in that sparring match from the cadet, his mind lost in thought even as he started carefully buttoning up the shirt.

That...had not turned out like he’d expected it to.

When he saw her throw that match so cleverly after watching her act with such clear distance during the training, he’d been irritated at the thought that she wasn’t taking the training seriously. Or that she might think throwing the fight helped her opponent somehow by making him think they’d won on their own merit. They weren’t going to learn if they were allowed to win. If anything, such a move hurt their progress more than it helped, so he’d intended to put a stop to that thinking before it got too far. Besides, with how carefully she timed and planned that throw, she had to have some kind of real skill she was hiding.

What he couldn’t understand was why she would hold back. Especially now, at the stage where the aptitude shown decided where each recruit would be tasked.

No matter what the reason behind it all, he’d felt a push was necessary to make her step it up and start trying. Seeing her standing there appearing not to take any of it seriously had been irksome, and he wasn’t going to let it happen while he was on the training grounds.

As he’d thought, she’d sharpened up when he challenged her. There was no far away glaze in her eyes when he stepped up to spar her, just unbridled focus and determination, perhaps even a bit of excitement. For a moment, he’d despised it because he thought it was because she was one of those, so hell bent on impressing him, everything else be damned. The kind of attitude that got people killed out in the field because they were too busy trying to impress instead of actually learn, that showed people to be nothing more than squabbling children who weren’t taking any of this seriously.

As the fight progressed and she started to show her true strength, though, it started to make more sense.

He could still vividly picture the shift in her demeanor, the glint in her eyes the second before their spar began. How at that moment, he knew he was about to see if she was sitting on true potential and was paying attention, or was just blowing smoke up people’s asses and blowing it all off.

He’d been fully ready to knock her into the dirt in that first strike to knock reality back into her, but that wasn’t what happened. He’d been genuinely surprised when she managed to block and keep up with him, even more with how well she was able to return what he gave her. Quickly he’d abandoned the thoughts of teaching an arrogant cadet a lesson and instead started to prod at her capabilities, intrigued and impressed with what he found. Being able to spar with someone on such even ground was a rarity, and he’d found the experience rather...exhilarating.

She was faster and stronger than she appeared, just like him. She was also quite clever--predictably, considering the care she’d put into throwing her matches--and had clearly been paying attention to the taught techniques. However, when he’d thrown something street learned and not taught by the military, she hadn’t flinched, and pulled a few underhanded street fighting techniques of her own.

Which gave him a peek at her background, as well. If he was to look, he would bet his salary that he would find that she got into some kind of trouble in the past--the illegal kind.

Several of her blows had, clearly, hurt, which told him she wasn’t holding back anymore--at least not as much. A part of him could tell, through their whole fight, that there was still something she was holding back with, just like he was. He hadn’t tapped into that strange power of his, not fully, and she had also kept herself from using her full potential--something tipped off by the fact her attacks had been getting progressively faster and harder. Of course, in a spar, you weren’t supposed to go all out--for example, neither of them were trying to do anything lethal. But even then, she was sitting on something.

Now he was fairly confident the reason she’d been holding back on the others had been to avoid hurting a comrade by accident. That he couldn’t fault her for, but she still shouldn’t have been throwing the fights. They needed to learn, and making them think they’d won didn’t help them.

Of course, there was also the glaring fact of how she’d ended that fight.

He had definitely been shocked the moment he’d realized she was about to pin him. Of course it hadn’t been anywhere in his mind that a younger rookie would beat him in a spar--before today he would have thought that kind of suggestion was madness. But she’d done it, and for the briefest moment, just before she would have pinned him, he saw the faintest red glimmer in her eyes.

Then some kind of realization hit her, she seemed to register she was about to win as well, and she’d shifted. At first, he’d thought she’d simply hesitated, that her unbalance had come from getting inside her own head in the middle of the fight, and he had pounced on that opportunity. There was another part of that moment that was worrisome to him, though.

For some reason, he’d reacted off a survival instinct, even though he was well aware that it was a spar. It hadn’t been a mere moment of ‘I want to win this fight,’ but a split second where he felt like an eagle pinned down by a horned owl, where natural instinct told him if he didn’t break free…

But of course...it had just been a spar, no matter what the novel moment had made him feel for a split second.

Of course, once he had her pinned beneath him, he realized how easy the motion had been--to easy for someone who was a hair’s breath away from being pinned and the fight being over. And he could tell from the look in her eyes, the dulling of that sharp gaze and the distance in her posture, that she’d thrown the fight.

Again.

Of course he was disappointed. The entire spar had started because she’d been throwing matches with her fellow recruits, and at the last second, when she would have pinned even him and proven what she was capable of, she backed off. She held back.

The only two who knew she really won that fight was him, and her.

He knew she’d been holding back the whole time. That she threw at the end. That there was a dangerous edge to her. That even if he went all out, there was a chance she could take him.

Levi looked out his office window, which overlooked the training grounds that were now empty after combat training had finished. Why did she do it? Why did she throw the fight? Why was she hiding her potential instead of showing what she was truly capable of? What did she want to hide, and why was she trying to hide it?

Who was she?

Did she have a power similar to his own?

Did he want her on his squad? That question he was far more unsure about, because while her raw skill alone tempted him to recruit her to the Elite Squad, something stirred uneasily in his gut about her. From the look in her eyes, that glint, that moment of survival instincts kicking in, all the unknowns...

There were too many questions and too many unknowns about her right now. He wasn’t about to act hastily. First, he needed to learn what he could about this new recruit, ask around and keep an eye on her from a distance. Once his questions were answered…

Well, that all depended on what he would find after some digging.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags: @humanitys-hottestsoldier @clary-quinn @sunny-flo @whalerus

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carryonmywaywardcaptain · 3 years

Text

Miles of Memories- 1

We’ve Got Tonight- Bob Seger

Miles of Memories Masterlist CarryOnCap’s Masterlist

Dean x reader Best Friends to Lovers AU

Summary: Feeling anxious about heading off to college, you make the most of your last night in town with the help of your best friend, Dean.

Warnings: fluffy, adorable Dean and fun banter. Slight angst (goodbyes are hard). Minor mentions of childhood trauma

WC: 2,900

A/N: This part is like a “prelude” to give you a glimpse of Y/N and Dean’s relationship (5 years before the main storyline). I hope you stay tuned for the slowest of Dean x fem!reader slowburns. I’m so excited to share this story, so please let me know what you think! MASSIVE thanks to my spectacular and badass beta crew—@christopher-evxns @deanwinchesterswitch @ezilyamuzed & @wonder-cole—for all of their help and input!! I edited even after their feedback, so all mistakes are my own. Credit to Bob Seger for the song :)

Zipping your suitcase closed with a heavy sigh, you worked through your mental checklist for the hundredth time to make sure you hadn’t forgotten to pack anything.

“Jeez, you act like it’s the last time you’ll ever see this place or something.” With a smile and a roll of your eyes, you turned to see Dean leaning casually against your doorframe. “Y’know, I figured I’d talk to Bobby about renting this space out anyway. Save you the stress of missing it while you’re gone because it’ll look completely different the next time you come back.”

“I’m not too worried. I think you’re the last person Bobby would trust with anything—let alone a space in his house.”

Dean grinned, pushing off the doorframe to mosey into your room. “See, normally I’d agree with you. But it just so happens that he gave me my very own key to the garage, so I think he’s coming around. This ready?” He pointed at the suitcase on your bed, and you nodded.

“Riiight. I’m supposed to believe that Bobby would actually give you a key to come and go at the shop anytime you want.”

Dean shrugged, spinning on his heel with your bag in hand. “Guess he’s looking for a new favorite since you’re skipping town to go be successful out in the real world.”

You snorted and shook your head, silently following him to the door. He stepped out of the way, placing his free hand on the doorknob as you scanned the bedroom one last time. Gnawing your bottom lip, you sucked in a deep breath and tried to alleviate some of the tightness in your chest.

This room had been a safe haven for most of your life, and it was hard to remember the days before you called it “home.” Your mother had passed away when you were a toddler, and your father was a drunk, in and out of jail and your life until one day he didn’t come back. Bobby had often been the one who took care of you when your father needed to pass you off onto someone else.

You didn’t remember much about the “Travelin’ Man” (as Bobby not-so-lovingly referred to him on the rare occasions he was mentioned), but you could easily recall the night Bobby told you this would be your room for good. The relief and excitement you’d felt upon learning you’d have a space of your own were still vivid. Knowing you had a place you could always return to provided a sense of stability and consistency you’d never known.

Bobby may not have been your father by blood, but he was your dad in every sense of the word. Sure, he was a little rough around the edges and tended to be a hermit, but he also had a heart of gold, and not once had he ever made you question whether he cared about you.

A few weeks after settling into your new home, you had met Jessica and Sam during recess at your new elementary school. Although they were a grade younger, you’d instantly hit it off with them. Jess and Sam had always been there for you over the years, too, willing to lend an ear or make time for movie nights and spontaneous trips to the diner. Eventually, Sam had introduced you to Dean, and the two of you had been inseparable ever since. Each and every memory you had growing up involved at least one (if not all three) of them. But while it was difficult saying goodbye to everyone in general...you still hadn’t been able to grasp the idea of saying goodbye to Dean.

Dean was the one who had been by your side through everything. From heartfelt life chats and your deepest moments of self-doubt to car ride sing-alongs and your loudest belly laughs. He was always there to comfort you, remind you not to take things so seriously, and even drag you into trouble once in a while.

The thought of leaving him and your safe, familiar home brought yet another wave of apprehension and doubt. What if you were making a huge mistake?

“Y/N...” Dean’s gentle voice coaxed you back to reality. “We’ve still got a lot to pack into our night, so don’t go checking out on me yet.”

Without looking back, you slipped past Dean and heard him shut the door as you made your way downstairs.

“You know, this wouldn’t be so hard if you would’ve just applied like I told you to. Then we could both be going off to college together, and you’d find out what an honor it would be to have me as a roomie.”

“Okay, well, let me remind you that you’re the one who decided to go ‘see what’s out there’ and get a fancy college degree under her belt. And, even if we did survive being roommates without making the other want to pull their hair out, there’s no way in hell that town would be able to handle both of us.”

“That’s fair.”

“Besides, I won’t have much of a chance to miss you. You’ll probably flunk out and be back here by the end of the semester anyway.”

“Also fair,” you laughed. “Taking a year off to work at The Roadhouse and pretend to get my life together seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’m a little worried about getting into the groove of studying and all that crap again.”

“You know, if you need help, all you gotta do is pick up the phone. I mean, Sammy’s a real bookworm, and he’s only a phone call away.” Dean winked as he held the front door open and motioned for you to lead the way.

Sticking your tongue in your cheek, you fought to hide your amusement at the way he threw his brother under the bus. Before you made it through the door, you whirled around toward the stairs again. “Dang it. I forgot my bathroom bag. Do you mind tossing that one in the car? I’ll be right back!”

“Another bag? Where are you gonna put all this crap?” he muttered.

After retrieving the pouch from the bathroom upstairs and making sure you hadn’t left any necessary items in the drawers and cabinets, you hurried outside to find Dean patiently waiting beside your car. You tossed the small bag and he caught it with ease, pitching it in the backseat before closing the door.

“And done. Any last-minute stops to make along the way?” he asked.

“Nope. I caught Ellen, Jo, and Jody at the end of my shift yesterday, and Charlie was over for a bit this morning. And, you know, Sam and Jess ditched us for California last weekend. That means you and Bobby are the only two left to put up with me until I leave in the morning.”

When your voice cracked unexpectedly, you cleared your throat and surveyed the scrapyard until the faint prick in the corners of your eyes faded. As your departure drew near and you considered everything you were leaving behind, venturing out into the world was quickly beginning to feel more daunting than exciting.

“Hey…” Dean gripped the tops of your arms, stirring you from your thoughts. “We’ve got tonight. Who needs tomorrow? We’ve got tonight...babe. Why don’t you staaaaaaaayy—”

You had thought he was going to say something sweet and comforting, but you playfully shoved him in the chest when you realized he was speaking in Bob Seger lyrics. He stumbled back a step, laughing as he walked around the front of the impala and climbed inside.

***

There was an old park on the outskirts of town where Bobby and John would occasionally drop you both off when they had errands to run. As the years passed, you began riding your bikes the few miles across town, taking turns balancing Sam on your handlebars until Dean was old enough to drive. Eventually, Sam stopped tagging along, but somewhere along the way the park became a place you and Dean cherished.

A large pond stretched across most of the area, and there was a stately willow tree near the water’s edge that served as your designated “spot.” It was a hideaway often overlooked by others, but it was the perfect escape when the two of you needed a place that was all your own.

“Alright.” Dean plopped down beside you on the blanket. “You’ve got your grub, an amazing view, and the best company you could ever ask for. What else could you possibly want?”

“You’re right. Baby’s good company and all, but she’s not much of a conversationalist.”

Dean grimaced. “Just for that, I might eat your food.”

“Depending on what it is, I might let you.”

He smirked and unrolled the brown paper sack in his hand. “PB&J’s, just like Mom used to make! I asked if she could whip up a few before she flew out to make sure Sam got all settled at Stanford. She said to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t catch you and to wish you good luck. This seemed like a, uh, better idea at the time...now that it’s been a couple of days, these might taste like shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you took the sandwich Dean offered. “We’ve probably eaten worse, but I appreciate the sentimental twist. Seeing as how you’re in your 20’s and you had your mom make us sandwiches.”

“Hey, I was going for authenticity! Trying to help you feel like a kid again before you start adulting or whatever and—you know what? Just shut up and eat your food.”

The two of you unwrapped your sandwiches and continued bantering back and forth between bites. Even though the bread was soggy from marinating in jelly for a few days, and it certainly wasn’t the best thing you’d ever eaten, it brought back a flood of nostalgia.

When a comfortable silence fell over the two of you, your thoughts began to drift to dozens of adventures you and Dean had had here. You gazed out over the water, watching the willow branches graze the surface as they gently swayed in the breeze. You tried to commit every detail to memory as you soaked in the peaceful atmosphere, not knowing how long it would be until you returned.

After a while, Dean chuckled under his breath, and you looked at him curiously.

“You remember that day we were pretending to be pirates, and Dad ended up coming to pick us up early?”

“Of course.”

“Man, he was so pissed when he saw us standing on top of that picnic table we managed to drag out and ‘sail’ into the middle of the pond. Sure made an awesome ship, though.”

You smiled at the memory, though it was anything but funny at the time. “I think he was a little more pissed at the fact that we left Sam playing alone in the gazebo. And obviously what made the ‘ship’ great was the pirate flag I made.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean snorted. “You mean the crappy skull you drew on our lunch bag and stuck on the end of a stick? Pretty sure we were having a blast with the ship because it was my brilliant idea in the first place.”

“I was like 8, and it was still better than anything you could’ve drawn.” You crumpled up your trash and threw it at him. “And I was having fun--right up until you pushed me off anyway. I nearly choked to death on all that nasty water I sucked in.”

“Okay, well, you shouldn’t have been trying to be Captain when I’m the oldest, and it was clearly my title to begin with. There was no plank to walk, but obviously, you had to go overboard.”

He grinned, keeping his gaze fixed on the water. As you studied his face and noticed the faraway look in his eye, his smile faded. You figured his thoughts had drifted back to his dad, who had passed away a couple of years later.

“I felt so damn bad, though. I really was afraid you were gonna drown. And Bobby was ready to kill me when he found out.”

“Lucky for you, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

The two of you joked and reminisced for several more hours, eventually watching the sun set over the water until it sank below the horizon. When it was time to head back to Bobby’s, Dean took the long way home so you could crank the radio and sing along with your hand hanging lazily out the open window. Back at the house, you sat on the kitchen counter and talked with both men until Bobby finally bid you goodnight--but you still weren’t ready to call it a night, knowing morning would come soon and it would be time for you to leave.

After convincing Dean to stay a little longer, you grabbed a couple of old blankets and spread them in the bed of one of the pickup trucks near the house. With your head on his chest and your body tucked comfortably against his side, you chatted beneath the stars until you drifted off to sleep.

***

“Got everything all packed up?” Bobby asked.

“I think so,” you answered.

“Better double-check because I’m not driving a few hours just to bring you a lost shoe or something.”

“Is that a challenge?” you teased, seeing right through his gruff quip. “Because I bet I could talk you into it. We both know you’re not gonna know what to do without me.”

He frowned a little before smiling fondly, and you could’ve sworn there was a misty glaze in his eyes.

“Yeah. I s’pose you’re right.”

“Oh, don’t get all sentimental on me now. You could probably use a little break. Besides, I’ll be back so often you’ll just get sick of me all over again.”

“C’mere, kid.”

Bobby reached out and pulled you into a hug. Much too soon, he let go and stepped aside so you could say goodbye to Dean. His soft green eyes had been fixed on you, but he glanced away and clenched his jaw when you took a step toward him.

“So, uh...don’t forget about us when you make it big out there in the real world—catch a break as an artist or an author or some music critic.”

“Yeah, okay,” you scoffed. “I haven’t even picked out a major yet, but I think I have an advisor who can help me figure out a good fit...eventually. Maybe I’ll be a doctor—or follow in Sam’s footsteps and be a lawyer!”

“There you go. Why not just do it all while you’re at it? Jack of all trades, master of none. Whatever you end up doing, you better come back to visit soon.”

“You got it. Try not to turn into a grumpy old man while I’m gone.”

He shook his head, cracking a smile as he met your eyes. “Only a couple years older than you, brat. Anyway, I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night, so I made you a playlist for the drive. Figured I might as well do something useful while I was awake. I sent it to you while you were getting ready.”

Pulling out your phone, you found a message already waiting with a link to the playlist.

“This is awesome, Dean, thank you. But if it ends up being six hours of nothing but Zeppelin, I’m gonna be pissed.”

He tossed his head back and laughed, making the knot in your throat grow once again at the thought of not seeing him almost every day. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d miss you as much as you were going to miss him.

“Don’t worry; I think it ended up being a decent mix. Not too many classics and not too much of the more modern crap. There was, uh... a certain thought process behind each song, let’s just say that.”

“We all know some of that modern crap is a guilty pleasure of yours. I mean, Taylor Swift?”

“Yeah…” His gaze lingered until his grin faded to a sad smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you leaned forward and threw an arm around each man. Squeezing your eyes closed, you hugged them tight.

“All joking aside...you got nothing to worry about. You’re gonna kick this college thing in the ass,” Dean murmured.

“Thank you.”

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of their embrace and quickly made your way to the car.

“Drive safe--and call when you get there!” Bobby hollered.

Stealing one last glimpse over your shoulder, you waved and slid behind the wheel. You hit shuffle on the playlist, letting the music fill the vehicle while you fasten your seatbelt.

I know it’s late

I know you’re weary

I know your plans don’t include me...

You shook your head and smiled, blinking back tears at the irony of the song—the lyrics perfectly encapsulating your night with Dean.

Look at the stars so far away

We’ve got tonight

Who needs tomorrow?

We’ve got tonight, babe

Why don’t you stay?

As you started the car and drove away, seeing him and Bobby grow smaller in the rearview mirror, you finally began to cry.

Part 2

CarryOnCap Crew (Forevers):

@abswritesfandoms @amanda-teaches @cosicas-cuquis @crist1216 @droidyouseek @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @flawless-disaster @janeyboo @jenn0755 @ksgeekgirl @maresmiley @memyselfandmaddox @notyourtypicalrose @randomparanoid @rynabarnesrogers @sandlee44 @scarletsoldierrr @shann-the-artist-moon @sheerioasteroidpanda @shynara51 @someday-when-you-leave-me @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @thisismysecrethappyplace @torntaltos @waywardbaby @waywardrose13 @weebid @whimsicalrobots @wintersoldierbaby @yesfanficsaremylife

Cap’s SPN Crew:

@adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @alexwinchester23 @chevyharvelle @deangirl7695 @dean-winchesters-bacon @fandomoniumflurry @pisces-cutie @supernaturalenchanted @superromijn @thoughts-and-funnies @waywardnerd67 @x-waywardaf-x

Miles of Mems Tags:

@bobbie3939 @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @mlovesstories @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @valsworldofcreativity

Also tagging those of you who seemed interested when I posted the masterlist. I don’t want to pester you, so I probably won’t tag you in future parts unless you let me know that you’d like to be tagged!

@badlittlehabit99 @cajunquandary @devvoon @flamencodiva @hybrid-in-the-making @impalackless @janicho88 @themoonblooms

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years

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towers for your honeycomb chap 2: more meany pants tony

part one

content: tony’s being a dick again, mention of Peter’s Family Problems, confined spaces, smoking, @carelessannie is a character and Has A Boyfriend That Is a Real Person I Know, tony calls peter a turtle, crying

word count: 1.5k // square filled: locked in a closet!

song for this chapter here -> that’s not a good excuse - eli.

It was late, it was cold... mid-December nights were usually slow, but not no-car-in-sight-for-hours slow. Peter didn't handle any of those well on their own, but all three?

Working with Tony the entire time didn't do much to help, either.

They'd clocked on together, they'd be clocking off together - it was his worst nightmare. There wasn't anything to do, either - they'd already finished half of the closing list and every single chore. Annie had FaceTimed her boyfriend after finishing her chem homework - hell - the girls'd made a snowman outside the front of the stand, for fuck's sake!

Time was barely crawling. It made Peter irritable - apparently, it made Tony irritable, too.

⁘|||⁘

Annie hung up her FaceTime call with Sebastian, excited at the prospect of food. She turned, ready to take orders from the three that were now in front of her. "Okay - Panda Express - what is he bringing us?"

Courtney piped up first. "I'll just do another of what you're doing, A." She went back to her phone, more interested in her boy of the week than the rest of the conversation.

Annie typed it into her texts, looking back toward the boys. "You two - what is he getting you?" Tony spoke next. "I'll do the same thing. I'm easy." Peter scoffed a bit at that, covering it poorly with a cough. Annie shot him a look. Don't start shit.

"Peter, anything?" She knew him too well to ask. "Nah babe, I'm gonna eat at home."

That suddenly got Tony's attention. "What, you're not eating? We still have two hours left, and you look like you're about to fall over." Perfect Parker timing, his stomach growled - audibly enough to justify Tony's comment.

Peter shoved past him, making his way toward the back. He didn't want to engage - he wanted to- to- to text Resa, pour himself into some chores, maybe dive into a snowdrift - literally anything but continue the conversation.

Tony on the other hand... he didn't know when to stop. "What's your deal, Parker? The man is bringing us food, on his own dime. You really gonna be rude enough to refuse?"

Peter closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. "It doesn't matter what my deal is, Tony - maybe I just don't like Panda. Maybe I don't want something that heavy on my stomach. Maybe my mom has food waiting for me at home. You don't know shit - so why don't you just leave it alone?" Mmm a bit harsh, Parker, take it down a notch.

Tony scoffed. "We both know you don’t have anything waiting for you, anywhere, Parker. Quit talkin' big and just accept the generosity."

Both Courtney and Annie gasped at that one. It was common knowledge around the stand that Peter's home life was off-limits. Hell, everyone's was - leave your shit at the door applied to everyone else's shit too. Apparently, Tony didn't get the memo.

"Okay, nope. I'm not listening to this conversation. Both of you, fridge!" Courtney - taller and stronger than both of them - grabbed the boys, practically tossing them into the walk-in. The door slammed behind them, something jamming it from the outside.

Her voice was muffled, but they both understood - they weren't getting out until they figured this out. They'd been fighting off and on for months, and it was causing serious issues in the stand. The girls were uncomfortable - sure, it was fine if they were separated during shifts, but that couldn't go on forever.

This just happened to be everyone’s final straw.

Peter pressed his forehead into the door, not wanting to face the other man. This wasn't exactly how he'd planned on spending his evening - and now that he found himself here, he was going to do everything he could to avoid avoid avoid any further confrontation.

His mouth hadn’t caught the memo.

“That’s two.” Shut the fuck up.

He couldn’t see them, but he could practically hear Tony’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Two what?” He was still seated, from what Peter could tell. At least he wasn’t about to get his ass beat.

“Two apologies you owe me. Me and the girls. For being rude, and talking shit in the stand.” God damn it Peter, shut your mouth!

Tony scoffed. “You’re still on about that? Come on, Parker, can’t you just let it go?”

He tried. Peter tried really, really hard to hold himself back, he did. But it just... it wasn’t like him, to take shit like this. To allow someone like- like- like Tony Stark to make his life a living hell. Mob connections be damned, he wasn’t going to take it anymore. It was exhausting, and Peter was tired of coming to work every day dreading his shift.

He got up, turning to face Tony. He might’ve been shorter than him normally, but with Tony sat on the foot-tall milk crate, there was quite a difference. It was childish, but it made him feel like he had the upper hand.

“You- you- you can’t keep pushing me around like this, Tony. You’ve been a dick to me for months, and I’m sick of it. All I wanted was one stupid, little apology, and you can’t even give me that!

“I left you alone! I tried to make our shifts together easy, I stayed out of your way! I begged Courtney to never schedule us or rotate us together. Do you know how difficult that is?? Especially in a stand this size, Tony, it’s nearly impossible.” He was near tears at this point, voice close to breaking.

“And then you have the audacity to come here, in my stand, and talk about my- my family - which was not fucking okay, by the way. It just- it’s so cruel, Tony! I’m done!

“I tried to be nice, I really did. But you make it so fucking difficult. So forgive me for not being able to just let it go.”

⁘|||⁘

Peter was always an ugly crier. Snotty, red eyes, uncontrollable shaking.

He was also an angry crier. The two tended not to mesh well.

It didn’t help that people tended to not take him seriously anyway. He was small, entirely not intimidating. Couldn’t hurt a fly. The second you get him even remotely upset, and he bursts into tears?

He wasn’t expecting sympathy from Tony.

⁘|||⁘

He was done sobbing by this point, but the damage was done.

He’d thoroughly embarassed himself in front of the man he’d just... just demanded so much from. It wasn’t his lowest moment, but it was close. Nice going, P.

Peter was convinced he couldn’t be locked in the fridge with anyone wor-

There was a hand on his shoulder.

His head shot up, grabbing Tony by the wrist. “Don’t touch me!” It came out louder than he’d intended, and the look of fear written on Tony’s face did make him feel a bit bad. Peter hadn’t let go. “Just- don’t- just ask first, fuck.”

He released his grip, turning to dig his head back into his arms. He’d tucked himself into the far corner, drawing his knees up around him so he could get as far from the door as possible. He wanted to sink himself straight into the floor, mesh with the concrete, never show his face at work again -

But there Tony was, looking down at him like he was a startled puppy.

He plopped himself down next to Peter, facing in toward the center of the fridge. He tilted his head, making contact with Peter’s left knee. “Would you look at me?” Gentle.

Peter sniffled, trying to clear his nose. He knew he wasn’t the most presentable right now - wet spots soaking both of his sleeves, nose probably bright & cherry-tinged. He shifted, just barely peeking past his forearms.

“There we go.” Peter sniffled again.

Tony looked like there was a war going on inside him. Peter’d never spent this long looking at him - certainly never this long at his eyes. There was so much to them, so much hurt and understanding he’d never seen before. So much he recognized.

Tony was drawing circles into his shin, now, steady movement bringing him back to the present. “Come on, little turtle, come outta that shell for me.”

Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “’m not a turtle.”

Tony laughed. “What, then? Hermit crab? Clownfish? What else hides when it’s upset?” It was a sad attempt at breaking the tension, and he knew it.

Peter wasn’t phased by it, either. His glare stuck.

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry. No animal nicknames. I got it.” He smiled as his hands came away from Peter’s body, pulling up in a defensive position. “Plain ‘ole human insults, then, promise.”

Peter let out a huff. “How hard was that?”

“Was what?”

“You said sorry.” Oh.

“I... I guess I did.” Tony’s hands came down. He pushed himself to his feet, crossing toward the door. “Consider it an accident.” His entire demeanor had shifted - he was back to his normal, standoff-ish self.

Whoever Peter’d spent the last couple of minutes with was gone.

“N- Tony I-”

“Forget it, Peter. Seriously.” He pushed at the handle of the fridge door, thankful it was free to open. He bypassed the girls, grabbing the rest of his shit and tearing out the door. The cigarette barely lit with how fast he made the trek to his truck, lighter burning the side of his thumb.

When did he get so soft?

Fuck.

tag list: @longlivestarker @bluestarker xoxo

#sfsummerbingo21 #starkerfestivalsevents #starker #peter parker/tony stark #peter parker x tony stark #.mine #.fic #i wrote all of this save the last bit of dialogue a week ago #i just couldn't find a place to end it #i found a place apparently #coffee shop au #more enemies babey

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gameofdrarry · 3 years

Text

Wizards Hearts Recs: Canon Divergent

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Evitative by Vichan Rated: Teen Words: 222,452 Tags: Slytherin Harry Potter, Re-sorting, Dark Arts, Slow Burn, Dark!Harry Summary: In the summer before his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry is drawn to a room in Grimmauld Place. Like the Gryffindor he is, he enters the room without fear. The room is a library, and Harry is surprised to find that he’s eager to learn. Then he gets the bad news: he’s been accidentally expelled from Hogwarts, and he needs to be sorted again. Everyone is confident that he’ll go straight back to Gryffindor, but with what he's been learning, Harry’s not so sure. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Secondary Task by ProfessorFrankly Rated: Mature Words: 50842 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Swearing, Frank discussion of teen sex, No actual teen sex, Canon-Typical Violence, If you've read GoF you know the last bit's where the violence and stuff is, Most of this fic has a "T" rating, Quantum Bang 2020 Summary: When Harry Potter’s name comes out of the Goblet of Fire, Draco Malfoy decides the Boy-Who-LIved needs a friend, whether he wants one, or not. With his mother’s backing, Draco sets out to make sure Harry knows he has someone in his corner, for now, and if Draco has his way, for always. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Outtake: The Second Task by MickeySLee Rated: Mature Words: 30824 Tags: Secret Relationship, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Triwizard Tournament, Hostage Situations, Draco Malfoy is a Good Boyfriend, Harry Potter is a Good Boyfriend, Plot Twists, Romance, Fluff, Homosexuality, Homophobia, Good Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, weekly updates!, Hogwarts Era, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Bashing, POV Hermione Granger, Hurt/Comfort, Consent is Sexy, Fairy Tale Elements Summary: Part of the series Outtakes and A Hard Story. Fourth Year. The Triwizard Tournament. The Second Task. What would happen if Dumbledore made a different decision when it was discovered Draco is who Harry would miss most? Instead of covering it up and declaring Ron to be Harry's hostage, Draco is the one at the bottom of the lake. No one could have foreseen how much trouble that caused. You may want to read A Hard Story or Throughout the Twists to Times first. This story is completed and will be uploaded one chapter per week on Sunday. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Parades, Pansy, and fuck I’m too gay for this by false_heteros Rated: General Words: 2227 Tags: Pride is at the end :), A lot of pureblood bullshit, Loneliness, Draco is Sad, Harry Needs a Hug, Pride, Pride Parades, Modern Era, Sirius Black Lives, Mentions of past child abuse, Cedric Diggory Dies, past homophobia, Gay Harry Potter, Gay Draco Malfoy Summary: After the war, Draco, who had been staying at home like a fucking hermit till Pansy came along, finally finds out about the LGBTQ+ Community, he dives head first into research and is amazed at what he finds. Harry wanders muggle London once every few days. Blending with the crowd and not feeling different for once. He comes along a group of people with beautiful colours around them. “What are they doing?” ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Closure is a state of mind by Quicksilvermaid Rated: Explicit Words: 12229 Tags: Morally Grey Draco Malfoy, Inappropriate medical/therapist relationships, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Lies, Self-Esteem Issues, low key stalking behaviour, Loneliness, Guilt, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, taking advantage of a grieving person, Death of a Spouse, Character Death, (not Drarry), Disfigurement, Scars, Brief Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Drinking, First Time, Polyjuice Potion, Sex While Using Polyjuice Potion, pensieve sex, Voyeurism, wanking, Concealed Identity, Bittersweet Ending, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020 Summary: After Harry's husband Charlie is killed, his Mind Healer recommends a Polyjuice therapy company, so Harry can see 'Charlie' again and find closure over his death. Draco, whose life over the last ten years has gone from bad to worse, gets assigned Potter's case. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Harry Potter and the Yuletide Waltz by LakeWitch Rated: General Words: 3042 Tags: Yule Ball, Dancing, Hogwarts Fourth Year, six years later, Awkwardness, Meddling, Oblivious!Harry, more dancing, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Christmas, Holiday Season, Canon Divergence Summary: At the fourth year Yule Ball, Draco Malfoy asked Harry Potter to dance. Six years later, Harry Potter just might ask him why. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 When It's All Over by Erebeus Rated: Mature Words: 9292 Tags: Rape/Non-con, Unhealthy Relationships, Self-Hatred, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (not between main pairing), suicidal/death idolization, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Non-Graphic Violence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Loneliness, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Betrayal, Attempted Murder, Brief flashbacks and moments of panic mentioned, non graphic torture, Azkaban (brief), Off screen therapy Summary: If killing you makes Harry happy, you really don't mind. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Catch 22 by jad Rated: Explicit Words: 49895 Tags: Romance, Fluff, Humor, Complete, Letter!fic, Sexual Content Summary: As if NEWTS weren't enough, Dumbledore's gone and had another one of his 'bright ideas.' If all ends well, the Houses will be getting along in no time. Or according to Harry's correspondent, an Apocalypse will be in order. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 (I don't know) what's right and what's real anymore by Ladderofyears Rated: Mature Words: 2101 Tags: Harry Potter and the half blood prince, canon divergence, no septumsempra, guilty Draco, pov Draco, ghostly Myrtle, attracted Draco, pre-slash, pre-relationship, Harry is a hero Summary: An alternative sectumsempra scene from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Kiss by xErised Rated: Teen and Up Words: 10764 Tags: Hogwarts Era, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship, Getting Together, Kissing in the Rain Summary: For the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, it's not Ron that Harry rescues from the Great Lake, but Draco Malfoy. Hogwarts-era. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 It’s Not Christmas (without you) by LittleBozSheep Rated: Explicit Words: 79213 Tags: Fluff, Family Feels, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Getting Together, Christmas, Slow Burn, Serious Slow Burn, Everyone ships Drarry, Apart from Drarry, Divorced Draco Malfoy, Divorced Harry Potter, Kid Albus, kid scorpius, Everyone makes a camo, side wolfstar, Besides the last chapter it's rated G, Christmas Fluff, 25 Days of Harry and Draco, Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Drunkenness, Drunken Shenanigans Summary: Maybe agreeing to host everyone for Christmas wasn’t Harry’s best idea. Luckily Albus’s best friend’s dad is an events planner who agreed to help, only issue, turns out the dad is Draco Malfoy. Sarcastic and grumpy to everyone but his son. Will Harry managed to catch him and keep Christmas from being a complete disaster? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Leaves by TheLostLibran Rated: Teen and Up Words: 1190 Tags: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff without Plot, Healing, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-War, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary: A lot of work goes on underground, invisible to the naked eye. Though it doesn't mean that no development is occuring, the hopes of a huge, fully grown tree standing strong in the near or distant future only start sprouting when the leaves do. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Okay But That’s Hot by Fuschaslime Rated: Explicit Words: 3640 Tags: Anal Sex, Riding, Dirty Talk, Frottage, Lapdance, Slut Shaming, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Teasing, Begging, Safe Sane and Consensual, Bets & Wagers, Poker, theyre both over 18, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Perverted Harry, Slight fluff, Shameless Smut, AU where Lily Potter defeated Voldemort for good, and now everyone at hogwarts is kinda cool with eachother, apart from house tensions, Verbal Humiliation, Kinda Summary: Draco immediately regrets agreeing to a certain bet made at poker night when he realises he’ll actually have to hold up his end of the deal. Harry is ecstatic. OR Draco Malfoy bets Harry Potter a lapdance. He loses. ❤️ Read on AO3

#canon divergent au #canon divergence #drarry #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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chloelucia13 · 4 years

Text

Part 3: Eye of the Hurricane

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Prompt: After your breakup with Spencer, you tried everything in your power to forget him, to grow from what happened. However, life (especially yours) doesn’t work that way

Warnings: a lot more angst, language, violence, gore, kidnapping, mentions of death, it’s a doozy

Word Count: 6406

A/N: And here’s part 3! This one is by far the darkest, so I would advise not reading if you’re sensitive to anything mentioned in the warnings. This part involves the kidnapping of Maeve, but if you noticed, I didn’t put death in the warnings because (unlike literally everyone in television and movies) I won’t be using any woman’s death to further a man’s character arc.

Tags: @sojournmichael

Part one, part two

It had been a month.

A month of pain, of heartache so unbelievably miserable that at one point you thought you were having a heart attack.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking of him, thinking of every detail about him.

His laugh echoed in your mind, the sound that was once so sweet but now left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Each night, as you tried to lull yourself to sleep, you retraced the steps up to his apartment. Through the double doors, past the second pair of doors that separated the mailboxes from the rest of the apartments, into the entryway, up the flight of fifteen wooden steps, turn to the right, second door on the left.

You wondered if this was how Spencer felt, able to recall any memory at will with great detail.

You wondered if he had even thought of you at all.

Stop.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet to get another cup of tea, your blanket wrapped snugly around your shoulders. The warmth of the water radiating through the ceramic and caressing your fingers was the only thing that kept you aware, in the moment.

You tossed your old tea bag in the trash and retrieved a new one, plopping it in the water before carrying the mug back over to your perch, the place in your apartment that you rarely left these days.

After he left, the apartment felt so... big. So vast and empty and haunting that you confined yourself to a small area and didn’t stray away from it.

You felt like Ed Gein, boarding yourself up into one area of your home and living like a hermit.

But instead of the memories of your parents haunting you, confining you into a small area, it was Spencer.

You couldn’t make yourself clean up his things that were scattered about your apartment. His razor on your bathroom sink, his mug in your kitchen cabinet, his clothes in the top two drawers of the dresser in your bedroom. That wasn’t to mention the dozens of pictures of the two of you hung up on the walls, tucked into the corners of the vanity in your room, placed on your bedside table.

He had made his home inside your apartment to the point that it no longer felt like your apartment.

So there you sat, perched on your couch that sat against your wall, your legs pulled up to your chest as your body was turned to look out the open window behind the couch, a mug cupped in your hands and permanent bags under your eyes.

The smell of rain wafted into your apartment. Petrichor.

That was the only word you had said in the past three days. Your voice was hoarse from disuse, and it felt alien on your tongue.

Every word felt alien on your tongue, as if you were speaking a language you didn’t know. As if you were possessed, spewing out a dead dialect that you spat from your mouth like venom.

For the first few weeks, people bombarded you with calls. Penelope, JJ, Alex, even Derek. Even Emily. It seemed like everyone knew, and everyone wanted to help you in any way you can. However, you just pushed them away, assuring them that you were fine.

It seems that they got the hint, for the most part, as you now only received the stray text from Penelope, asking if you wanted her to come over or if you needed her to go grocery shopping for you.

No matter how much you let yourself wallow and suffer at night and on weekends, you knew that you still had a responsibility and hundreds of patients who relied on you.

Going to work seemed to be the only thing you did nowadays (well, outside of your house, that is). And as strange as it sounds, talking to the patients you knew so well seemed to help pull you out of that rut, at least for the moment.

Helping people was your pride and joy, even though you weren’t able to help yourself.

Before you knew it, you had already drained your second cup of tea. With a sigh, you placed the mug on the coffee table and rose to your feet to draw the window closed.

This was your least favorite time of night. Once the window was closed, the hustle and bustle of Washington D.C. immediately faded away to static silence, making you feel like you were in a soundproof room with all of your thoughts screaming at you.

And screaming was never easy to sleep through.

***

Your cheeks were warm when you woke up.

Tonight was one of the “better” nights, one where you dreamt of kisses being exchanged and holding one another being held in safe, comforting arms. Though it did nothing to help you move on, it was much preferred to the nightmares you were used to. Nightmares that held screaming and venomous words and one final gunshot that rang in your ears when you woke up in a cold sweat.

You pressed “stop” on your alarm before reluctantly rising from your couch and wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, feeling a strange chill flow through the room. With a palm pressed to your closed eye, you wandered into your kitchen and grabbed a bagel, placing it between your teeth as you filled up a glass of water.

A small creak in your bedroom made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You spat the bagel out of your mouth and pulled a knife from your knife block with quivering hands, the familiar feeling of panic settling in your chest. “Hello?” you shouted, knuckles flooding white.

There was silence, and after a moment of waiting, you let out a sigh and placed the knife back down on the counter. God, why am I being so paranoid?

You chugged down the glass of water before clutching onto your blanket with both hands, holding it securely around your shoulders as you glanced around the room.

The window was open.

“God, I’m such an idiot,” you whispered, shuffling your feet over to the window and pushing it shut, listening to the nearly-silent sealing sound that the window breathed out before flipping the latch, locking it in place.

And then your back collided with your hardwood floor, all the air leaving your lungs and a stinging sensation beginning to burn along your scalp.

A gasp fell from your lips as a foot stood on your stomach, pinning you in place as a hand clutched the neck of a full wine bottle, swinging it down and having it connect against your temple before your vision faded to black.

***

With a sputtering cough, you came to, eyes darting around the room with panic. “Good, you’re both awake!” a woman’s voice hummed, stepping in front of you and staring you in the eye. “Now we just need one more.”

“What are you doing?” you hissed, not daring to break eye contact. “What’s going on?”

She scoffed. “Y/N, for having a doctorate in psychology, you’re not that bright.” She stepped out of your viewpoint, revealing another woman who seemed to be in the same predicament as you. Your eyes glanced her over before you turned your head to look at the other woman. “I’ll be back. You two behave now.”

With a smirk, she stepped stepped out the door.

You waited for her footsteps to fade away before scooting your chair over to the other woman, examining her bindings and her face. “We’re gonna get out of here,” you immediately reassured her. “Did she say why you’re here?”

She searched your face, a crease in her brow and water in her eyes. “She-she said I took something from her,” she whispered, biting down on her lower lip.

You nodded, tugging your wrists against your binds for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Maeve.”

Oh my god.

The puzzle pieces started to fit together in your mind as you examined her once more.

Pretty dark brown hair tied up into a ponytail with bangs and strands of hair to frame her face. A pretty cardigan and shirt with jeans. A pretty face. A pretty body.

Pretty.

“What?” she urged, taking note of the look that settled upon your face. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, quickly blinking the tears away. “Oh, it’s nothing. That name, I-it’s just... familiar.” You gulped, forcing a smile on your face. “We’re gonna get out of here, Maeve. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Her lower lip trembled, but she nodded. “Okay.”

You nodded with her, glancing around the room. “What do you do for work, Maeve?”

She gulped, letting out a shuddering breath. “I’m a geneticist.”

Pretty and smart. Good going, Spence.

“Your name is Y/N?” she asked, pulling you from your spiral.

You nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“What do you do for work, Y/N?” A small smile sat on your lips. “I’m a psychologist.”

She gave you a smile in return. “That sounds like an amazing job.”

“Well, it’s not as cool as being a geneticist, but it’s pretty nice.”

That earned a chuckle from her before her lips pressed together, forming a thin line.

The rest of the time that you two were alone, you were both silent.

***

It had been about an hour before the woman returned, now with a limp body in her arms. You could hear the thump of the body as she dragged it up the flight of stairs and into the room you and Maeve were tucked away in.

It was a man’s body, and by the way Maeve’s breath audibly fled from her lungs, it was one that she knew.

The woman situated the man in another rolling chair, binding his wrists with zip ties in the same way that yours were bound.

you could assume by the blood on his temple that he was also knocked out like you were, and you knew that if either of you didn’t get help for the definite concussions both of you sported, things would be going downhill fairly quickly.

He woke up within moments, a groan falling from his lips. This alerted the woman of his new awareness, as she walked over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You know,” she sighed, “I couldn’t understand it, Bobby. I really couldn’t.” She stopped in front of him, crouching down and whispering in his ear, “You could have had me. Instead you wanted that.”

She grabbed the arms of Bobby’s chair and spun him around, forcing him to face Maeve, who was only feet from him. Tears were dripping down her face, the look that mirrored that of a kicked puppy on her face.

“Maeve?” he whispered, to which she nodded.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, casting her gaze to the ground.

“Why are you doing this! Why!”

“Let’s just say, Maeve here has a habit of taking things from people,” the woman hissed before snapping her gaze to you, holding the barrel of a gun against Bobby’s temple. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Your heart dropped to your shoes and bile rose in your esophagus. You shook your head fervently. “No,” you choked out.

“No? Are you sure? Because from what I know, I think she has.”

“Y/N, what is she talking about?” Maeve urged, and you looked over at her with tear-blurred vision.

“Maeve already took Bobby from me, but she also took someone from both of us.”

“Shut up!” you screamed, clenching your teeth.

She just chuckled, walking away from Bobby and stepping over to you, her gun now trained on you. “Oh come on, Y/N. Tell me, how long were you and Spencer together? How much did she take away from you?”

“What?” Maeve gasped out, her eyes growing wide as she examined your profile.

“We were together for almost a year,” you finally breathed out, tilting your head up to the ceiling to try and keep the tears at bay.

“See, Y/N? She took him from you, and then me. It’s all her fault.”

“You never had him, you sick bitch.” You shook your head before directing your gaze on the woman. “None of this is her fault. She didn’t know. But this...” With your limited range of hand movements, you circled your hand around the room. “This is all your fault.”

“No, don’t you dare turn this on me!” she shrieked. “This is all her fault! She took my life from me!” Her demeanor instantly changed, becoming calm and collected, though her voice wavered slightly. “So, I decided, if I can’t have my life, I’m gonna take hers.”

The woman cocked her gun, and your brain worked a mile a moment to try and distract her.

“What are you talking about? She did nothing to you! We did nothing to you!” Bobby shouted out. “Maeve, what is she talking about?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t know who she is,” she stuttered out, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“After hunting her for ten months, after stealing her man-” she gestured to Bobby- “After her stealing your man-” she pointed at you- “I had to stop and say, what is so freaking special about her? I couldn’t see it. Until I saw him.”

“Him who?” Bobby huffed.

“The night you followed her, I followed you. And I saw him.” You worked quickly to try and connect the puzzle that was lying in front of you, your jaw dropping when you finally realized.

“I want what they have,” she concluded. “What Y/N and him had. I want him.”

“That’s why you’re doing this?” Bobby scoffed, challenging her. “Because of this stupid FBI agent?”

“That stupid FBI agent is the reason you’re still alive!”

As she directed her attention back to Bobby, Maeve turned to face you. “I’m so sorry,” she mouthed, guilt-ridden. You just shook your head and gave her a pained smile.

“You’re gonna get them to tell me about him,” the woman continued, jamming her gun into Bobby’s neck.

“I don’t want to hear what she has to say,” he shouted back as his resolve began to crumble, his lower lip quivering.

“I know. But it wasn’t a request.”

He just clenched his jaw, unwilling to speak. She let out a huff before stomping over to a table behind you, shuffling through a few papers before walking back over to Maeve, crouching between you and her with a stack of papers in her hand.

“So, let’s talk about this, hmm?” She grinned at Maeve. “Because this I didn’t expect.” She glanced between you and Bobby. “Oh, I’m sorry. let me catch you two up. I found these letters in Maeve’s loft. And I guess she didn’t get around to sending this one, and... It’s really good.” She cleared her throat before speaking. “’I bought the blindfold today. I can’t wait to use it.’ Blindfold.”

At this point, your teeth were so tightly clenched together that you were sure your teeth were going to shatter.

“You know, I thought I knew your fiancee. But I guess she’s kinkier than we thought.” “It’s not what you think,” Maeve’s voice hummed, and you noticed how her eyes flashed over to you for a moment.

“’It’s not what you think’ is girl code for ‘it’s exactly what you think.’”

“No, it’s not what you think.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“I never even saw him.”

“Why risk your life to meet him?” “I’ve been alone for so long, I just wanted to be with somebody. But if I knew about...”

“You could’ve been with Bobby.”

“It was different with him.”

“Different how?”

“He was just...”

“he was just what Maeve?” Bobby pushed, his fuse growing shorter by the second.

“When we would talk, I would... It was effortless,” Maeve breathed out, and you couldn't help but notice the glimmer in her eye when she thought of Spencer.

“That is so interesting,” the woman deadpanned, pushing herself to her feet and rushing over to Bobby, waving her gun around erratically. “You see, when men cheat, it’s below the belt. But when women cheat, it’s above the neck.”

“No, we were broken up. I never cheated on you.”

“But someone cheated on someone.” The woman stared between you and Maeve as she spoke.

“I told you it wasn’t her fault!” you hissed, thrashing your arms in your binds.

“You never really loved me, did you?” Bobby spoke up. “Not like you loved him, anyways.”

The woman feigned an empathetic look, sinking to her knees in front of Bobby. “Now you know how I felt, to be ignored, cast aside. It’s not fun, is it?”

As she spoke, bile rose in your throat. You hated how much you understood exactly what she was saying. You were like her, in a loveless relationship with a man who was too focused on another woman.

No, don’t think like that.

“Let us go, goddammit!” Bobby shouted, startling you out of your thoughts. “What else do you want?”

“Oh, so, so much more,” she hummed sweetly, walking back over to Maeve and standing behind her. “You had him eating out of the palm of your hand every Sunday, and he never even saw your face. I have to admit, that takes skill. That takes finesse.” She turned to look at you. “how does it feel, Y/N? Knowing Spencer was in love with a woman he had never met, ever even seen, when he still had you?”

“Shut up,” you spat through your teeth.

She just chuckled, pushing Maeve’s chair forward so her and Bobby were facing each other, so close that her knees were touching his. “How’d you do it, Maeve? I think your audience would like to know.”

Maeve stayed silent, her lips pressed together tightly.

“Hello!” the woman shouted. “Doctor, are you in there? Seriously? Ok, fine.” With a jerk of her hand, she fired a round into the ground, the gun settled between Maeve and Bobby. You all flinched from the noise, and adrenaline coursed through your veins. You tugged harder at your binds.

“Just tell her,” Bobby demanded.

“There was a moment when you had him. When you knew you had him. What was it?”

“Euclidean geometry,” Maeve breathed out finally, her voice trembling, but you couldn’t tell if it was from terror or from sadness. “There’s this thing called the Penrose triangle. He told me a story about how he tried to build one when he was 8.”

“This better get sexy quick. I’m getting bored,” the woman hummed, her hip jutted out.

“You can’t build it. It’s an impossible physical structure. It only exists in conceptual geometry. But I said every Penrose triangle has its thorns. he laughed. It was a stupid pun, but he laughed.”

“That’s it.” She huffed, grabbing the arms of Maeve’s chair and turning Maeve so her back was facing Bobby. “I finally sees what he sees. He sees you as an equal. That’s it, isn’t it?” The woman turned to face you. “How do you feel about that.”

You gulped, thinking for a moment. You decided that if you played her game, you’d gain more time, so with a sigh, you spoke the words that had plagued your mind when Maeve spoke: “I don’t think I can remember the last time I heard him laugh.”

The woman’s lips pursed, clearly satisfied, and she rose to her feet. “Well, I know his secret now. As long as he can see me as his equal, he can love me. Like he loved you two.”

“Great, you figured it out,” Bobby deadpanned. “Now, please, will you let us go?”

“No.” She walked over to him, glaring down at him. “I have to show her that I can take everything she has. Then she’s going to remember me. And I can get what she took from me. You, however, are superfluous.” She grabbed Bobby’s chair and wheeled him back, pushing the back of his chair against the back of Maeve’s. “Sorry, Bobby. You’ve always been runner up in this beauty pageant.”

“Wait, Wait, wait, wait,” Bobby begged, and you watched in horror as the woman solidly pressed the barrel of the gun against Bobby’s temple. “Please, Maeve...”

“Don’t hurt him,” Maeve urged. “Please! Please don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him.”

But it was to no avail.

You squeezed your eyes shut as a gunshot rang through the empty warehouse, biting your tongue so hard to keep from screaming that the bitter taste of iron flooded your mouth.

You were all silent as the woman pulled the chair that held Bobby’s lifeless body, dragging it into a room that branched off from the main room that you were being held in.

“You still don’t know who I am, do you?” the woman sighed, leaning against a desk.

“No,” Maeve stated simply, though her voice revealed that she was still shaken. “I’ve tried and tried to remember and I can’t. But whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. Forgive me. Tell me what it is you want me to say to you and I’ll say it.”

“Why am I here?” you spoke up, your breath nearly hitching when you felt the zipties give a little.

“Because I needed Maeve to see everyone she ruined,” the woman said, not even sparing a glance at you. “And because Spencer still loves you, and if Maeve wouldn’t lead him here, you definitely would.”

“What makes you think he still loves me? I don’t know if you remember, but he left me. He doesn’t want me.”

“Oh honey, don’t be so naive.”

“I just want this to be over,” Maeve breathed out, which clearly caught the woman’s attention.

“I can do that.” Slowly, the woman grabbed a pair of wire cutters and rushed over to Maeve, clipping the zipties around Maeve’s wrists. “You just have to do something for me first.”

Maeve could barely nod before the woman yanked Maeve out of her chair, pushing her out of the room and out of your sight.

A bad feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, and you scooted over to the table where the woman laid all of her gear. Your eyes searched through the items as you tried your hardest to yank just one hand free from its binds.

Finally, after a minute or so of pulling, you pulled so hard that your hand slipped out. You let out a small cry of pain, tears welling in your eyes as your hand throbbed. It was definitely dislocated, but you pushed on, grabbing onto the wire cutters with all the strength you could muster and cutting your other hand free.

The echoing of footsteps coming from the stairwell startled you slightly, rushing to put the wire cutters back into place before moving back to your original spot, acting as if your hands were still bound.

The woman yanked Maeve into the room, tossing her into her chair and strapping her wrists down with one hand while the other held her phone. You shot Maeve a quizzical look, wondering what happened to her while she was gone. She just shook her head, biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out.

Meanwhile, the woman typed on her phone before holding it next to Maeve’s mouth.

“Hello?”

You thought you were about to vomit.

What did Spencer get himself into?

“Hey, it’s me,” Maeve spoke, her face ridden with guilt as she risked a glance at you.

“Are you okay?”

“She killed Bobby.” “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. We’ve both got concussions and some bruising, but we’re okay.”

“We?”

He didn’t even know you were there. He didn’t care.

You couldn’t help but notice the twisted smile on the woman’s face at Spencer’s words. Meanwhile, Maeve looked at if she was about to burst at any moment, so filled with guilt and misery that she could barely handle it.

“Y/N’s here with me,” Maeve sobbed out.

He was silent, but you could practically hear all of the thoughts running through his mind. “Can... Can I talk to her?” he spoke finally.

The woman smirked, stepping away from Maeve and going over to you. You silently prayed that she wouldn’t notice your freed wrists, holding your breath as she finally put the receiver near your mouth.

“Hi Spencer,” you choked out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I... I’m so sorry.”

You sniffled, but stayed silent, not knowing what else to say.

“You’re going to be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“I know.”

He sighed. “Can I talk to Diane?”

You looked back at the woman, at Diane. “No. She’s listening.”

“Good. But I want to meet her. I need to see her face to face.”

Diane hurried back over to Maeve, jamming the gun into the back of her neck to urge her to talk. “She has a message she wants me to give to you,” Maeve rushed out.

“What is it?” Spence spoke.

“The message is, she left you a present. And if you want to find it, it’s easy as pie.”

“What does that mean? I don’t understand what that means.”

“Neither do I.”

“Spencer, it’s a trap,” you shouted out. “If you come here, she’s gonna kill you or us-” Your words fell short as Diane ran over to you and connected her fist with your jaw. You gripped onto the armrests of the chair and bit back a hiss.

She hung up the phone.

***

Police sirens wailed through the empty night, a small sob bubbling up in your throat as the red and blue lights shone through the large window.

Diane was giddy with excitement, hurrying over to the intercom and holding the button down. “Take your gun and vest off,” she instructed, glancing back at you and Maeve. “Now come in alone.” She pressed another button before going over to your two, arranging your chairs so you were sat side-by-side, facing a singular chair that laid about ten feet from you both.

The creak of the old door echoed into the room and you extended your pinky out until it brushed over Maeve’s. She gripped onto your pinky with hers as you both exchanged a look, tears swimming in both of your eyes.

You counted his footsteps, heart rate increasing as they grew nearer and nearer. Diane stepped out of the room, just out of your sight, and you wound your jaw tightly shut.

“Put it on,” she demanded.

A moment later, two pairs of footsteps stepped into the room, and your eyes lingered on Spencer’s form as he appeared from behind a shelf, his eyes covered with a strip of fabric. Diane led him into the room with a gun to his back.

“Can I take off the blindfold?” Spencer asked.

“No,” she grumbled, shoving him down into the chair that faced you and Maeve.

He was silent for a moment, his lips parted. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Maeve whispered, tightening her grip on your pinky.

You were silent, your lips pursed.

“I was hoping you’d figure out my riddle,” Diane hummed, one hand deftly unbuttoning his shirt.

The shirt you bought him for your six month anniversary.

“I mean, I knew you would,” she continued. “The fun was just how fast you’d do it.” Her hand slid down his chest, gliding underneath his shirt. “All this, and brains too.”

“It took me a long time,” Spencer hummed, humoring her. “To be honest, I was distracted by your thesis.” She pulled away, stepping back to look at him. “You read my thesis?” She was beaming.

“I did. You know, I think your writing can put you on the same plane as Jonas Salk. I’ve already sent it in to the NIH.”

She stomped away. “Flattery is not gonna get you out of this. I know what’s waiting for me outside.”

“I’ve arranged for your freedom.”

The federal government doesn’t make deals with people like me.”

“Not true. Nazi scientists were recruited for the Manhattan Project. Mafia bosses are regularly put into Witness Protection. If what you have is valuable enough, the federal government will work with you. And what you have is very valuable.”

She rose the gun to his throat. “And what do I have, doctor?”

“You have a brain that doesn’t play by normal societal rules. And I know that all your life, the people you care about the most keep leaving. There’s a part of you that thinks it’s because of that brain. Well, I’m here because I’m not going to leave you. I’m here because... I just hope that I get the chance.” “Chance at what?”

“To be with you.”

As he spoke, you knew he wasn’t telling the truth to Diane. But you did know, however, that he was speaking to someone in the room.

And that someone wasn’t you.

“Me for her, that was the deal, right?” Spencer spoke up. “Me for them.”

“You’re choosing me over them?” Diane questioned.

“Diane, how could it be anyone else?”

“Prove it.”

“Alright. How?”

“Say it again.” She stepped behind him. “This time say it to their faces.” She yanked the blindfold off, revealing both of you to him.

His eyes flickered between you two, letting out a breath. You dropped your gaze to the floor, too scared to look him in the eye. Slowly, your grip fell from Maeve’s.

“I don’t love you,” his voice rang through your ears, sounding too familiar to you. Sounding so similar to the nightmares that plagued your mind nearly every night. “Sorry.”

“I understand,” Maeve choked out, though her voice didn't waver.

Diane let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t need her anymore,” she breathed out, rushing over to Maeve, pointing the gun to her head.

“Kill her and she won’t have to live with the fact that you’re smarter,” he shouted, distracting Diane. “Let her live with her irrelevancy.”

Diane squatted down next to Maeve, clipping one of her zipties. She rose back up a moment later, aiming the gun back at Maeve’s head. “I just want her to see one more thing. And Y/N, you should watch too.”

You gritted your teeth but looked up, following her movements with your eyes as she knelt down next to Spencer and pressed her lips to his. He seemed disgusted, but didn’t pull away, taking deep breaths to stay on task.

She pulled away from him a few moment later, searching his eyes. “Liar,” she hissed. She shot up to her feet, aiming the gun at his chest. “Liar!”

He grabbed her hands and aimed the gun above his head as she fired, the shot ringing through the building. As they wrestled for the gun, you turned and worked to help Maeve out of the other zip tie.

Stomping boots neared the second floor where you were held, and another gunshot rung out. Spencer stumbled to the ground, and you yanked Maeve’s zip tie with all the strength you had left in your body.

“Stay back! Stay back! Stay back!” Spencer shouted, and you looked up to see Hotch aiming his gun directly at Diane.

Diane grabbed Maeve from her chair and held Maeve against her chest, pressing the gun against Maeve’s temple.

“Diane, there’s still a way out of this!” Spencer begged.

“You never wanted me,” Diane cried. “Never!”

She was growing angry rapidly, and you knew this was your last chance to keep Maeve safe.

“Kill me instead.”

Everyone grew silent at your words, their gazes directed at you. “What?” Diane whispered.

“Kill me instead,” you urged. “Let Maeve live with her pain. Killing Maeve might hurt Spencer, but it’ll wreck him if you kill me.”

She kept her eyes on you as you slowly rose from your chair, making your way over to her and Maeve. “Don’t-”

“Spencer won’t be able to live with the fact that he ruined my life. He hurt me while I was living, and I’ll take that pain to my deathbed. He couldn’t live with himself.”

You watched her contemplate her options for a moment before shoving Maeve forward and replacing her with you, shoving the barrel of the gun sharply against your neck. Spencer grabbed Maeve and directed her to run before he turned his gaze back to you.

“Y/N-” he started, only for you to shake your head.

“I hate you, Spencer,” you choked out, letting the tears finally stream down your face. “You broke me.”

You flinched slightly as she cocked her gun, letting all of your inhibitions flow out with a deep breath before you grabbed onto the gun and yanked it from her grip.

She shouldered you to the ground, but you kept your grip tight on the gun as she tried to wrestle it out of your hands.

But with one jab to the nose, your grip loosened enough for her to fire a bullet straight into your lower abdomen.

A moment later, another shot rang out, and her body slid off of you.

Everything moved in a slow haze as you tried to focus on anything but the blood gushing out of your stomach. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, eyes slowly beginning to fall shut.

“Hey, hey, stay awake for me.” With a wince, you forced your eyes open to stare straight into a pair of hazel ones. “Is Maeve okay?” you coughed out, searching his face.

“Why did you do that? I had her,” Spencer questioned, brushing your hair away from your face.

“I’m not the one you need, Spence. Not the one you want.”

His lower lip trembled, eyes dripping with tears. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so sorry.”

A gasp stumbled past your lips when you felt an immense pressure on your wound, tears spilling over your face when you squeezed your eyes shut. “Is she okay?”

“What?”

“Is Maeve okay?” Another surge of pain coursed through your body and you let out a cry.

“Hey, it’s okay. The medics are supposed to be here any moment now. Just hold on for me.”

“Spencer, is she okay?”

You heard him breathe out a shuddering sigh. “Yeah, she’s okay. You saved her.”

***

A tickling in your nose made your eyes flutter open, wincing slightly from the bright lights. One hand reached up to soothe the itch, only for your hand to be pulled away.

“Hey, don’t mess with that,” a voice cooed. You turned your head towards the sound, seeing Spencer search your face, worry marring his features.

“How long was I out?” you breathed, voice rough with disuse.

“About 12 hours.” He reluctantly let go of your hand, instead resting his hands on the side of your bed. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just got shot.” You let out a chuckle, but Spencer didn’t find very funny. “I’m okay, Spencer. Really.”

“If the bullet was 3 millimeters to the right it would’ve hit your spine. You could’ve been paralyzed from the waist down. Do you understand how reckless you were?”

“Well, everyone’s safe and Diane’s dead. That sounds like a pretty good outcome to me.”

“You could’ve died!” “Maybe I wanted to fucking die!” You stared him in the eye for a moment before leaning back into the bed, closing your eyes.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

“It seems you don’t really know me at all. Too busy spending ten out of the eleven months we were together talking to another woman.” You sniffled, adjusting the blanket on your bed. “Shouldn’t you be with her anyways? She probably needs someone with her more than I do.”

He was silent, and you watched his hands retreat off of your bed. “Why did you risk your life for her?”

“Because she didn’t deserve to die.”

“But that’s not the only reason.”

“Because...” You pursed your lips, tilted your head up to look up at the ceiling. The words ebbed and flowed in your mind, but none of them were right. “Because I still want you to be happy. Because I’m a fucking masochist, I guess. I hurt myself to help the ones I love, even if they don’t love me back.”

For what seemed like the first time in his life, he had no clue what to say.

Finally, with a sigh, he buried his head in his hands.

“Maeve is gone,” he choked out.

You shifted your gaze back to him. “What?”

“She left. She just... disappeared. She left me a note telling me not to find her.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, chewing on your lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.” He pulled his head from his hands, looking into your damp eyes with his red-rimmed ones. “I ruined everything for us. For you. I hurt you more than I could even imagine. I’m so sorry.” He sniffled, rubbing at his cheeks. “I still love you. I-I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I do. I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.”

You nodded. “I love you too. I just... I don’t know if I can.”

He let his eyes close. “I ruined everything for us, didn’t I?”

You extended your hand, palm facing up. Hesitantly, Spencer placed his hand in yours, entwining his fingers with yours. “I don’t know yet. Maybe, maybe not.”

He dropped his head, pulling your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His eyes fluttered closed once more, his lips lingering on your skin as he huffed out a breath. “I’m so sorry.”

You lifted your hand from his to run your fingers through his hair. “Go home, Spence. Get some sleep. I’ll have JJ come and get me in the morning.”

His fingers tangled into the blanket on your bed for a moment before he nodded, releasing his grip and rising to his feet. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. I... I need some time to process everything.”

You watched as he mentally argued with himself before he slouched, defeated. He made his way to the door of your room, stopping in the doorway and turning to you. “Just know I’m a phone call away if you need me.”

You nodded. “I know, thank you. Goodnight, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

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