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bearsbeetsbeskar · 5 months

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Sheep Days with Joel (post outbreak)

Word count: 5.9k (im so sorry i genuinely can't believe I wrote this much about an old man taking care of livestock) Rating: swearing, descriptions of an animal birth (I tried to make it not too gross or explicit), traumatic animal birth, discussions of labour and stillbirths Summary: At Tommy and Ellie's insistence of him finding a routine, Joel is appointed as the sheep caretaker in Jackson. After all, sheep are quiet, and do what they're told. How hard could it be? A/N: this is purely self indulgent, peepaw playing with animals. No romantic interest or pairing, just wholesome father daughter interactions, along with some other characters. Something about the holidays made me think about that conversation that Joel and Ellie had over the fire, and his dream of owning a sheep ranch, and before I knew it 5k was written. If you have read all of this, please know that I love you so incredibly much and you make it worth it to keep writing these silly little stories that bring me so much joy. main masterlist

Life in Jackson had a way of moving at the speed of molasses, while also propelling itself further into the future at the speed of light.

Some days were syrupy and slow, thick with palpable moments of survival, tension and freedom. Memories of what life was like before the outbreak. Other days however felt like the course of an electric current, with glitches and shocks jumping from one event to another, one threat to another in the span of a few hours in a day. Attacks from raiders during ambushes in the early morning, a group of coordinated clickers just outside patrol borders when dusk set in.

Even just the day to day events in Jackson could make one feel that life seemed to pass by at a static, yet dynamic pace, regardless of what routine you had fallen into in the modest settlement.

Joel was still getting used to it. The staticity, as well as the dynamism. Life before Jackson was nomadic. Rootless. Constantly on the run.

Endure and survive. That’s all that really mattered at the end of the day. The words bore a penultimate weight akin to the wartime motivational phrase, ‘keep calm and carry on.’

Well, that’s all Joel knew how to do.

Carry on.

Not so much the keep calm part, but he was no stranger to putting his head down and pressing forward when things got tough. Carrying on also meant being strong for others. Something which Joel is constantly reminded that he need no longer do now that he and Ellie are in Jackson. Now that they are safe.

And there is no shortage of people who tell him the same, including Tommy and Maria, and even Ellie.

“You gotta find something to do, man,” Tommy sighed and crossed his arms, leaning into the doorframe of the kitchen. “Something to help you get into a routine y’know.”

Joel glared at his younger brother. “The hell d’you mean I gotta find something, Tommy? I already have a routine.” He scowled and shifted his jaw.

This is the 3rd or 4th time the subject has been brought up and Joel’s just about had it. He doesn’t get it. He does things. He does stuff around the commune. He goes on patrol shifts, helps with the woodworking and labour jobs. He goes to some of the community events, like game nights held at the dining hall or movie nights- even though it takes a good 30 minutes of Ellie’s begging for his resolve to crumble, and he grumbles throughout the entire movie.

As if Tommy can read his mind, he responds. “Going on patrol doesn’t count as routine, Joel.”

Puffing out his chest and mirroring Tommy’s body language, Joel glares at his younger brother.

“And here we go again,” Ellie quips from her seat at the kitchen table.

There’s a smirk plastered across her face despite her gaze, focused intently on the weathered pages of an old astronomy book.

“You stay outta this.”

Joel’s clipped tone brokers no room for negotiation, Ellie’s known him long enough to recognize that. But that doesn’t stop her from pushing him, just because she can.

“You stay outta this. Rah rah rah. I’m Joel and I hate everything.” She mocks his deep southern drawl with exaggeration, continuing to look down at her book.

“Tommy’s right, Joel. Say whatever you want but you can’t just fill your days with the odd jobs around here. And going on patrol. And hanging with me.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Joel exhales, his nostrils flaring. “Ellie-”

“Look, dude,” she cuts him off, “I love you, but it wouldn’t kill you to find something else to do with your time. It’s not the end of the world. I mean, it is but c’mon. It’s like you’d rather get killed by a fucking clicker than step outside your comfort zone.”

At that, Tommy snorts and shakes his head.

“It’d be a hell of a lot less painful than this conversation, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” Joel huffs and puts his hands on his hips.

“There’s lots of other jobs in the commune that you could help out with. Jobs that you don’t even need skilled labour experience for.”

“Like what, Tommy? Teachers at the school? Volunteers for movie night?” His scowl deepens, as does the crease between Joel’s brows.

“Like training newcomers on patrol shifts, working at the clothing shop, working with the livestock-”

“Livestock? What kinda livestock?” Perking up in her seat, Ellie pushes the book away and turns to face Tommy.

“Just for the horses, chicken, sheep and pigs. Well, it’s really for the sheep ‘cause we came into a decent sized herd in the last couple months, and they’re a bit tricky to look after.”

Tommy runs his hands through his raven curls and chuckles. “No one’s been able to quite figure them out yet, and they don’t trust Jake- the caretaker for the horses and pigs.”

“Sheep?” Ellie’s mouth gapes open, her bright mischievous eyes finding Joel’s.

“Joel. Sheep.”

Already knowing where the conversation was headed, Joel tips his head back and looks up at the ceiling. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

__________________________________________________

And that is precisely how Joel finds himself knocked on his ass, after getting headbutted by one of the older lambs, in an attempt to get their halter on and bring them into the barn.

“You little shit, get back here!” he barks at the young sheep as it trots away from him towards the food trough.

Rubbing the right side of his jaw and grimacing, he sits back on his hands, looking at the rest of the herd a few feet away from him. “I’ve a right mind to tell them to serve lamb for the rest of the month at the dining hall. How’s that sound?”

A few sheep at the hay bale turn to look his way, chewing absentmindedly before ignoring him again. It had been about ten days since Tommy enlisted Joel as the sheep caretaker, or as Ellie had so lovingly called him, Jackson’s resident shepherd, and Joel had to admit, the job wasn’t half of what he expected.

It turns out sheep weren’t quiet, and they certainly didn’t do what they were told. Sheep were actually a pain in the ass to keep. A royal pain in the ass. Much different than cows and horses, despite being herd animals.

Not to mention that they were creative, escape artists, always jumping over the fence of the pen or squeezing in between the slats of the fence. It was a regular occurrence to hear the phrase ‘loose sheep’ or ‘the sheep are out again’ being hollered across the main street, as a handful of them skittered across the main road, Joel out of breath as he jogged after them, the stitch in his side burning through his abdomen, while he knees ached incessantly.

His first week was spent just getting close enough to them so that he could tag their ears for the breeding records. Not that he could manage to even get a hand on any, especially the young lambs. As soon as he got within 8 feet of the herd they would scurry away, kicking and bucking into the air, or run right past him, as he keeled over trying to catch them. Needless to say, Joel didn’t manage to avoid getting headbutted and kicked a handful of times during those days.

Cursing, he dusted off his pants and leaned against the fence of the pen.

“How’s it coming?” Tommy’s voice called out to him from the opposite end of the pen.

Narrowing his eyes in response, Joel hunched over to rest his hands on his knees.

“Easy my fuckin’ ass you liar. These little shits are demons.”

Stifling a chuckle, Tommy rests his arms over the fence and looks down. “Like I said, it takes some time to get to know ‘em.

It was wrong to laugh at his brother’s misfortunes but he couldn’t help it as he watched Joel’s hulking figure tentatively approach the herd again before pausing as they all scattered around him.

“S’that why you haven’t been able to recruit any other unfortunate souls for this torture?” Placing his hands on his hips, he shifts his weight from one leg, appraising the herd.

“No,” Tommy huffs out an exhale, “most folks don’t have the time to commit or they don’t have an affinity for animals.”

He looks out at the horizon, scanning the snow covered peaks of the mountain range bordering the settlement, before his gaze returns to Joel. He smirks as that familiar scowl settles onto Joel’s face.

“I do not have an affinity for animals.”

Snorting, Tommy looks down at his feet again, nudging the toe of his boot into the hardened ground. “Is that so? That why no one else has been able to ride Callus out on patrol?”

Joel grunts. “That’s different. I wasn’t taking care of him, I was only riding him cause everyone else had their designated mounts.”

Lying through his teeth was easier than admitting that Joel actually loved having a special bond with the chestnut gelding that seemed to hate everyone else.

It took time.

Lots of hushed murmurs and praise for the gelding to learn to trust again. Not to mention that Joel seemed to have endless patience for the imposing gelding, never getting frustrated with him or upset when their progress seemed to regress. Plus, he had that quiet commanding authority that seemed to ease Callus’ nerves whenever he became frantic and anxious.

Before he knew it, Callus was following him around the paddock, poking his head out of his stall and nickering whenever Joel stepped foot in the barn.

“Whatever you say, Joel. Whatever you say.” The younger Miller shook his head and stepped back from the fence. “I’ll let you get back to it, since you got your hands full,” Tommy squinted and peered around Joel’s figure, “or, rather, your pockets full, I should say.”

Before he can even glance behind him, Joel feels a harsh tug on his back pocket, stumbling backwards as one of the young lambs tears a shred of the bandana in his pocket.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Gimme that back you piece of-” he bellows as the lamb prances away with the scrap of faded red cloth in its mouth, echoes of Tommy’s laugh fading into the background as he walks away.

_____________________________________________

A couple months later …

It had been roughly over a month since Joel started taking care of the sheep. Their upkeep became somewhat easier as Joel figured out their quirks and tricks to working with them, but the real difference was that Joel did indeed fall into a routine with them.

Everyday he got up before Ellie had to be up for school, and headed over to the barn to give them their morning feed. Then, he’d come home, eat breakfast, and walk Ellie to school, shortly before returning to clean their pen and stack hay bales in the barn loft. Sometimes he would even shear some of them when their coats became too thick. At the end of the day, he’d pick Ellie up from school and they’d have dinner together in the evening, then he would pop out again to feed them dinner and do a final night check before lights out.

They were surprisingly curious creatures, and smart. While he would mill about his different chores, they would follow him as he walked around the outskirts of the pen. When he was cleaning up the pen, they would nudge the wheelbarrow, knocking it over in the process.

Eventually, they stopped running from him and would eagerly approach as he walked through the barn into the outside pen, carrying a heavy hay bale for their breakfast or dinner.

When he’d get lost in his aimless thoughts, or stuck on paralyzing flashbacks, a panic attack brewing under the surface, he’d feel a tug on his sleeve or the back of his jacket.

Pairs of deep brown eyes surrounded by a halo of soft cloud like wool would simply stare back at him. Calmly grounding him back to reality. Not that he encountered those very often. What was even more surprising to Joel was that he had panic attacks way less often these days, his brain seeming to allow him some rest and solace from its usual fight or flight status. Even Ellie and Tommy noticed too, with Ellie pointing out that he was ‘less of a grumpy motherfucker than usual.’

He never named them, though. He wouldn’t allow himself that liberty.

They were just animals. Creatures.

Creatures, who in the beginning were ‘little shits with crack for brains and body padding like the Michelin man,’ according to Joel. Soon, however, ‘little shits’ turned into ‘little devils,’ which eventually turned into ‘little buggers,’ with an affectionate lilt behind the nickname.

It was Thursday today and the vet was coming by to look after the horses and give them their seasonal shots, along with the sheep, too. With temperatures dropping, the animals had to be prepared for the harsh onslaught of cold weather that was native to Jackson winters. Although the commune was prosperous and there was no shortage of food and supply, or need to ration, the animals were always of high concern.

“How much are you feeding them nowadays?” Dr. Joyce, the local vet, asked as she placed her stethoscope to the belly of one of the mature ewe’s.

“‘Bout 25 pounds of hay a day, and 15-20 pounds of grain on top of that.”

She hummed contemplatively as she shifted the stethoscope knob throughout the mass of wool covering the sheeps’ belly. “That’s quite a bit considering the size of the herd you have here.”

She nods to the rest of the herd munching away at their breakfast in the pen.

Joel shrugs in response. “That’s what Jake was feeding them beforehand but he suggested I up it as we come into winter, to help ‘em keep weight on.”

“Well, he’s certainly not wrong.” She reaches into her kit to pull out a packaged syringe, ripping open the wrapping and flicking the end of the needle two times. Small droplets of liquid ricochet out as she pinches the skin of the ewe’s neck, not covered in wool, and gently inserts the syringe.

“Is there anything else I should be doing? Or anything else I could do to help them more when winter hits?”

While Joel would admit that he still really has no idea what he’s doing taking care of these animals, it doesn’t mean that he won’t give his all in providing care to them. He’s come to realize he actually likes learning about the sheep, aspects of their care, behaviour and physiology. It scratches parts of his brain that were only really activated when he was contracting, woodworking, or other technical jobs. And he doesn’t half ass jobs, no matter the nature of them.

Dr. Joyce swiftly removes the needle within seconds, and smiles warmly at him.

“Nothing in particular, Joel. You’ve done a great job taking care of these guys so far, I know they’re not easy to look after.”

At that he chuckles and shoves his hands in his pockets as he leans against the stall door. “You could say that. There’s been a deep learning curve with ‘em that’s for sure.”

She nods and opens the back stall door that leads out to the pen, the ewe trots out to return to the herd. “Well, like I said, you’ve done a good job so far. Aside from keeping up with shearing them, although you won’t have to worry about that too much come winter, they’re pretty low maintenance. Keep them on lots of hay throughout the winter, and give them more grain to supplement for the colder weather. And some of them may need more than others, especially the pregnant ones.”

He nods along, running through the mental checklist of things he’s already been doing to increase their food supply, when he looks up at the vet.

“Pregnant?” His brows furrow and he frowns.

“Oh boy. I guess Jake left that part out when you took over?” The vet chuckles again as she takes in the dazed look on his face and scans the herd briefly.

“You do have a couple pregnant ewe’s here, probably at least 3 or 4. But that one,” she points to a particularly large sheep under the shelter that’s lying down, unkempt wool and hay covering half her face. “That one, 1633, she’s the furthest along. Probably another week or two before she pops.”

“A week?” Joel repeats it, disbelief still laced in his tone. “Shit, I thought she was just really fat. And lazy.” He narrows his gaze at the ewe, tilting his head slightly as he takes in the obvious rising and falling of her midsection, her legs barely tucked underneath her.

“Don’t worry, Joel, I know easier said than done,” she reassures him after clocking the worry etched into his features. “But sheep births are often fairly quick and easy, not as intense as horse or cow births due to their smaller size. I’ll be on call over the next week in case anything happens but just put more bedding in the stall here during the evenings for her, and keep her feed the same. She will handle the rest.”

Inhaling sharply, Joel nods, processing it all. She tells him what signs to look out for that indicate early labour, and gives him a brief list of things he can do to prepare, as well as supplies that could be helpful during the birth and afterwards. At least the doc will be there to help out so that he’s not completely on his own, despite being very out of his league.

“Sounds good, doc, I’ll call ya if I notice any changes in her or when she does drop.”

“Please, do. And I’ll see if Jake can come in for an hour or two during your off hours in the event she does go into labour then.”

__________________________________________

Three days after Dr. Joyce’s visit, 1633 goes into labour. Nearly 10pm, just as the settlement tucks in for bed and night shift patrols begin. Dr. Joyce was busy with another animal emergency, of course. Just his luck.

So, he recruits the next best thing, and gently wakes Ellie up after rushing back to the house after a night check. He hands Ellie the list of supplies that Dr. Joyce gave him and she blitzes throughout the house, gathering the different things in a box.

Of course, the curiosity, fear and excitement over an animal being born was not lost on his teenage daughter. She fired off a barrage of endless questions as she was right on his heels, following him throughout the house.

“Has her water broken? Is she in pain? What direction is the baby gonna be facing when it comes out? Did you call Dr. Joyce?”

“You bleat more than the damn sheep these days, y’know that? C’mon just get that stuff together for me.”

Joel huffs as he grabs a bucket from under the kitchen sink, thinking of what else he could grab. It had to be the night when Tommy and Maria were both out on patrol as well, leaving just him and Ellie.

God help him.

When they returned to the barn, the ewe was in the stall, lying on her side, bleating out her obvious discomfort. He quickly takes his thick jacket off, hanging it on a nearby post before stepping into the stall.

“Alright, honey, alright, it’s okay.” The low murmurs of his voice only seem to agitate the ewe more, as she bleats repeatedly while he approaches and crouches down beside her. His eyes never leave the ewe’s body.

“Ellie, hand me a couple big towels.” She reaches into the box of supplies and hands him two fluffy towels, crouching down beside Joel slowly. The ewe continues to let out loud long bleating groans, huffing as her body starts preparing for labour and her water breaks with an audible slosh.

“Shit. Well, there goes her water.” He huffs, his mouth pressed into a straight line as he tries to peek and see any signs of a muzzle or cloven hooves coming out.

Gagging and turning away slightly, Ellie groans.

“Ugh, okay that’s fucking gross!”

He gives her a disapproving frown. “You’ve seen worse before, calm down.”

“A clicker brain and exploding guts is not nearly as gross as this. How are you not freaking out?

Suddenly, the ewe lets out a long bleating groan again and thrashes her hind legs, in an attempt to get up frantically.

“Shit. Whoa, whoa, whoa, mama. Easy there. Y’can’t get up just yet.” He hovers over the sheep and tries to coax her back on the ground.

“Ellie, come around here, help me keep her on her side.”

She shuffles around to Joel’s other side and buries her hand into the soft thick wool, gently pressing down. “Have you ever done this before?”

Joel grunts while he tries to contain its flailing legs, preventing the ewe from rolling over or getting up.

“Nope,” he strains. “I’ve seen one or two cow births, long time ago when I was growing up in Texas.”

“Shouldn’t be too different,” he says breathlessly, saying a silent prayer as he pulls the sheep away from kicking at the stone wall of the barn. “As long as she stays on the ground like this, she should be okay, she can’t get up or roll over though ‘cause it could hurt or suffocate the baby.”

“Okay, okay,” Ellie exhales shakily, wincing as the sheep bleats loudly.

“Hey,” he turns to gaze down at the teenager, his voice quiet but authoritative. “It’s gonna be okay, look at me.” Her dazed gaze snaps from the ewe up to meet Joel’s big brown eyes. Anxious. Focused. “It’s gonna be okay alright? She’s gonna be okay?”

Ellie nods her head, the hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she looks down at the ewe again. “It’s okay, momma, you’re okay, just breathe.”

No later than 5 minutes after do a pair of hooves and a muzzle appear. Ten minutes of pushing after that, the tiny lamb is lying sprawled out on the ground, Joel rubbing the remnants of placenta off its body and face.

“Joel.”

It’s barely above a whisper as Ellie hovers over the baby, crouched on the balls of her toes.

“Joel. It’s - it’s not breathing.”

She inhales sharply and leans her head over the mouth, trying to feel or hear for a puff of air.

He’s silent for a moment, and leans back looking at the tiny body covered in bodily fluids, and realizes there’s no movement coming from the lifeless body. No rising of its stomach, and its eyes are barely opened.

All of a sudden the vastness of the chilly barn shrinks to the size of a shoebox. The air suffocating, as if all the oxygen was sucked out of it.

“Fuck. Fuck. Get me another towel.”

Rushing over to the box of supplies, Ellie hands him a smaller towel, as Joel leans down and wipes at the lamb's eyes, and around its nostrils. He tries to open its mouth to see if there’s any fluid trapped there but he can’t see.

“Get the baster. Hurry.” His clipped tone betrays his panic as Ellie places their turkey baster in his hand.

It’s a poor substitution for an actual proper bulb syringe that is used to remove mucus and fluid from newborns’ mouths. He opens the lamb's mouth and inserts the baster roughly, pressing down on the bulb, as murky liquid is drawn through the clear pipette. He squirts the remnants of the baster out onto the ground and reinserts it into the lambs mouth, drawing more mucus and crap out a few more times until it’s empty.

They both wait a beat, panting heavily to see any sign of life on the little sheep.

“She’s still not breathing. Fuck.” Ellie’s voice trembles. “She’s not breathing, Joel!”

“Okay, go into the feedroom and fill up the hot water bottle with warm water okay? Warm water, not hot, I’ll try to swaddle it in more towels, get some heat going.”

Immediately, she races to the feedroom with the rubber water bottle. As Joel hears the water running in the background, he wraps the lamb in two big towels. The ewe is now up and pacing frantically around Joel, sensing something is wrong.

“C’mon baby, c’mon,” he rubs the covered lamb firmly, pressing his palm down slightly against the ribs and chest of the baby and shaking slightly. Nothing though, no sounds, no movement.

The ewe is now crying and bleating repeatedly as she paces circles around Joel, wanting to get to her baby. “I know, momma, I know. I’m trying. Fucking hell.”

The edges of his restraint and control start to fray. His heart is racing, chest tightening under the crushing realization that the lamb is a stillborn. He cradles the lamb, swaddled in a mountain of towels now, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the tiny limp weight against his body.

Moments later Ellie reappears at his side, sinking to her knees with the water bottle in both hands, the sloshing sound of the water drowning out the ewe’s crying.

Joel opens the folds of towels up so that she can place the flimsy warm pouch over top of the lambs side. Wrapping it up like a burrito again, he holds it up against his chest as if he was holding a baby, firmly patting and rubbing the little lump in his arms. Ellie fruitlessly tries to calm down the mother ewe but it’s no use as she continues to trot circles around Joel, weaving back and forth and trying to nose the little lump in his arms.

He places the swaddled lamb on the ground, into the cushioned nest of shavings and straw bedding. Hovering over it on all fours, he places his palm over the swaddle again, applying pressure to the lambs back and rubbing circles, while opening its mouth with his other hand.

“C’mon, little one, c’mon. Gimme something, c’mon. Please.” Joel leans down, his lips pressing against the towel as he murmurs. The sound of his warm, deep voice breaking is barely muffled by the damp fabric as he squeezes his eyes shut. Another set of warm, small, clammy hands overlap his, as Ellie kneels beside him.

They huddle together over the lamb for another minute or two, the soft swishing of straw and shavings strewn about as the ewe continues pacing is the only audibly sound. Her cries for help softened to brief bleating.

Ellie intertwines her fingers with Joel, squeezing tight as she let’s out a quiet sniffle.

Then, a muffled sound. The smallest hiccup.

“Joel.” She whispers and squeezes his hand again.

“Joel, look.”

He raises his head slowly, holding his breath as he hears the small noise again, before he carefully unwraps the swaddled material. He cautiously rubs the lambs back again, as they watch as its bleary eyes blink open, slowly but surely. It raises its head ever so slightly, dazed, before letting out the smallest bleat.

Choking out the breath that he had been holding in, Joel rushes to wipe around the lamb’s eyes and mouth again. “There she is. Hey little one,” he coos at the small animal, afraid to speak above a hushed tone.

“Holy shit.” Ellie huffs in disbelief with tears in her eyes. “Dude, you fucking did it! Oh my god, look at her!”

She clutches the sleeve of Joel’s shirt, exhilarated and bouncing with adrenaline. “Do you think it’s a girl?”

Smiling to himself, he shakes his head, “not sure, but it doesn’t matter, s’long as it’s healthy. Right, little one?” He slowly strokes the lamb as it starts bleating with more fervor, when he feels a bigger muzzle shoving his hand out of the way .

“There ya go momma, there she is.”

He gets up, ignoring the groaning protest from his knees and steps back so that the ewe can see her baby, gesturing for Ellie to follow.

“Here, Let’s give ‘em some space to breathe. Go grab the space heater and we’ll get ‘em nice and warm.”

Shooting to her feet, she scurries back to the supply room to retrieve the heater. Joel sits back against one of the stall walls, his head tipping back till it hits the wooden slats with a dull thunk as he takes the deepest breath he’s taken all day. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins but he feels fucking exhausted all the same. Defeated but elated, he watches the mom lick and nudge the little lamb, before a voice rings out from behind him.

“Well, well, well, looks like we got a full house in here tonight!”

Joel turns to see Dr. Joyce striding through the aisle, a bright twinkle in her eye as she stops in front of the large stall, already stretching a pair of latex gloves over her hands.

The corners of his mouth pull up into a small smile as he nods in her direction. “Hey doc, how’s it going?”

“I should be the one asking you that,” she chuckles with warmth, shimmying around the stall door slowly. “You’ve had quite the night from what I can tell. I saw the lights on at this hour and I could only assume it had finally happened.”

Snorting, he crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s one way of putting it.” He nods his chin as Ellie returns with the space heater in hand, “couldn’t have done it without this one’s help of course.”

Ellie grins and hands the space heater to Joel. “If I’m being honest, it was probably one of the coolest and scariest things I’ve ever seen in my life. Especially when she wasn’t breathing. But it was all Joel, really. He brought her back, I just tried not to get in his way.”

Rounding Joel’s other side, Dr. Joyce crosses the stall and crouches down and pulls out her stethoscope, winking at Ellie. “Is that so? Do I sense a future vet tech assistant that can help me with house calls?”

“Shit. Are you serious?” The teenager’s eyes nearly bug out of her head as a massive smile stretches across her face. “That would be fucking awesome!”

Joel doesn’t even have the energy to reprimand her for swearing, his mind and body drained as he snorts and shakes his head.

“Hey! Is there room for two more at this welcoming party?!” Another booming voice echoes throughout the large stone barn, similar in its Southern drawl to Joel’s but not as deep.

Tommy and Maria round the corner with huge smiles, still in their riding clothes, fresh off the night patrol.

“Just so long as y’all can keep quiet.” Joel grumbles, still sat leaning against the stall wall with his arms crossed, legs kicked out from underneath him. He looks over at the scene in front of him, warmth etched into his features as he watches Dr. Joyce check the lambs vitals while the ewe finally starts to munch on hay again.

“We couldn’t believe it, we had to come right away. Hell, I had half a mind to cut the patrol short when we found out.” Maria nods at Joel with a smirk. She glances over to the little sheep who has started to stand on all fours and nurse from its mom, wobbling on its nimble legs.

“What’s the verdict Dr. Joyce?” Tommy sidles over to Joel, crouching down beside him and grinning. “All working organs? All ten fingers and ten toes?”

Joel sighs gruffly. “They’re hooves, not toes, genius. Jeez, you sure you’re expecting soon?”

Maria only smirks in response as Tommy mumbles and shoves his older brother in response.

“Everything’s in order Joel, don’t worry.” Dr. Joyce smiles, taking one ear bud out of her ear as she continues to check the lambs pulse. “Her oxygen levels seem good, despite the rocky start and her lungs are clear of fluids, and she’s warm. You couldn’t have done a better job, really, you should be proud of yourself.”

He tries to hide his beaming smile he really does, but Joel grins. His bright eyes crinkle and his dimple pokes through his right cheek. “Thanks doc. I appreciate ya comin’ over here as soon as you could.”

“Her?” Ellie’s eyes widen as she clasps her hands together. “So it is a girl?!”

“Yup, definitely a girl.”

“Think she deserves a name, don’t you?” Tommy nudges Joel in the arm again.

Joel’s smile falters immediately. He shakes his head and looks down. “No. I don’t name ‘em, besides it’ll only be a couple of days before she’s gotta get tagged and registered in the breeding books too.”

“Oh come on Joel, please? She deserves one. After everything she’s been through…” Ellie’s voice trails off.

Everything they had been through. She doesn’t need to say it for him to know.

When she doesn’t keep going he looks up at her. Her eyes pleading, welling up with fragments of the pain and haunted memories that they endured over the last year.

He looks at Tommy and Maria, his eyes then falling on Dr. Joyce as she tends to the lamb.

“Ellie’s right Joel. I know y’all don’t normally give them names, especially the young ones, but given the circumstances, this little lady oughta have a name.” The vets eyes are soft as she gives Joel a sympathetic smile.

He’s silent for a moment, shifting his jaw. His gaze drops to the tiny lamb, white as snow, now that she’s been towel dried and cleaned, listening to her tiny bleats as she headbuts her mom for more milk. Instantly, his gaze softens, his big eyes rounding at the newborn.

New life.

A breath of fresh air into the looming hollowness of the barn. A pulse. An electric current, melding into a comfortable, viscous, energy as Jackson’s population, well four-legged population, increases for another day.

Sighing, he tilts his head in adoration. Filtering through the vestiges of his memory, he thinks back to the conversation that prompted this whole sheep herding fiasco. Him, Ellie, their tiny fire amongst the vast expanse of snow covered country, with nothing but the moon overhead. The comforting solace provided by its glowing illumination, letting them know they weren’t alone in their travels.

“Well, she is a bright light, figuratively and literally,” he peeks his head out of the stall to find the moon, beaming down on the tiny settlement, before glancing down at the lamb again.

“How does Luna sound?”

In that moment, the lamb trots over to Joel on its spindly legs, getting braver by the minutes after its birth. She bleats in his face loudly and headbutts his arm affectionately before circling back to her mom, stumbling over herself in the process.

“Well I’ll be damned, I think she likes it.” Tommy chuckles as Maria comes to stand beside him.

Ellie snuggles up to Joel, her eyes starting to close as the evening's events catch up to her. “It’s perfect,” she yawns and nuzzles into his broad shoulder, “our little Luna.”

Luna approaches Joel with more curiosity again, as he stretches his hand out towards her, letting her sniff and lick him.

Despite everything that happened, the chaos, the panic, and near crisis with his first lamb birth, for the first time in a while, Joel feels whole. Fulfilled. Right where he's supposed to be, in this new world, this new life.

Rooted.

A lopsided smile stretches across his face, as his dimple pokes through his cheek. “Yeah, I suppose it is. Our little light, Luna.”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff

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wishingstarinajar · 2 months

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I know, I know I'm a scratched record

But I'm dying to hear your thoughts on the Wakfu finale when you get to it!

I just finished watching it and it's uuh... hmm. I read people saying the finale was "satisfactory" but I am not fully on board with that sentiment.

Too much left unanswered, not enough wrapped up, too rushed to get to the end.

I know the Waven game is a continuation of sorts, it takes place decades after Wakfu's conclusion so that game might hold some answers or closure, buuuuttt... I'm not interested enough in the game to play and find out. I guess I've grown a bit tired of the whole cross-media info/lore some franchises love to do (like Blizzard and covering important info across the Warcraft games, books and short stories).

Wakfu season 4 obviously has an open ending, no matter that it is the final season, so who knows what might follow. I'm just a little saddened that the story picked up a little too late this season but the animation, particularly during action scenes, was pretty great... when not using the same static images of characters xDD They loved that a little too much but I understand the budget wasn't that big so I can't really fault Ankama for it.

Did I like this season? Mmmyyeeaaah, it's a mixed bag. Better than season 3 but not better than the first two seasons or even the OVA episodes. Glad it exists but I don't feel super satisfied with its conclusion.

HEAVY SPOILERS ahead, so be mindful but gonna share some thoughts:

Seeing Joris play a bigger part in the second half of the 4th season, and him vibing with Adamaï made me very giddy and happy. Love that for them, hope they become good friends. And thank fek neither of them died. RIP, Qilby, Armand and Brakmar (maybe?). The guys who needed to redeem themselves got their chance, at least.

Goddess Eliatrope was a big disappointment and an unlikeable character but I guess that was kind of the point...? Angry that she totally ignored Chibi and Grougal, like what the fuck even? Didn't even show a hint of acknowledgment towards them. What if they wanted to meet mom, huh?? And what even happened to Baltazar and Glip, who were in Emrub with the same kids that were asleep in Goddess Eliatrope's belly? What did she do with them?

But hey, at least my headcanon that the Sadida and Eliatropes will combine into a single kingdom/people (which I also wrote about in my Rebirth fic) actually happening was pretty satisfying x'D It even has Wakfu-infused trees, om nom nom.

A little frustrated with Necroworld (not the same Necroworld from the Transformers: Lost Light comics) because it's supposed to be a different planet in some other universe but it had dofus (dragon eggs) and races of the Twelve like Sadida, Sram and Sacrier. It was pretty confusing... Imo, it should have been something similar to The Upside Down (Stranger Things), or an alternate version of the world of Twelve rather than a completely separate place. But eh...

Why did nobody care about the state Inglorium was in, or that the Gods have disappeared? That bothered me so so so soooo much during the first two episodes; nobody non-Eliatrope or non-demigod cared that their God/Goddess was... well... gone. Aside from God Iop, where are they?? Hated the disinterest, hated the silence around it. Guess that's a mystery that will be unraveled in some other media.

Yugo grew tall and handsome and I'm not afraid to say it. Happy for him, though him suddenly growing so quickly was a bit silly. I figured there would be a time skip to justify his 'growth' that we saw in promotional images and teasers. Won't complain though, he deserved to finally be in a body that reflects his actual age, it took him long enough!

"Bootleg Alys" from the Dofus movie made a cameo in episode 11 which made me snerk. (I noticed a few more background characters from the movie that were re-used in episode 11.)

And that's all I have to say, at least here on Tumblr. It was quite a ride.

A big thanks Ankama and all the Kickbackers that made it possible; this show had its ups and downs over the past decade but it was enjoyable and loved. It still holds a special place in my heart and I will keep a tiny eye out for more Krozmos stuff in the future (like Welsh & Shedar, gimme!!).

#wakfu #wakfu season 4 #spoilers #q and a

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loki-who-remains · 7 months

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The soundtrack for season 2 is unbelievable. I thought nothing could beat season 1 music, but Natalie Holt did it again. I’m in awe. I can't wait for Vol.2.

I’m not a musician, I don’t really distinguish different instruments apart from general terms, but for myself I summarised that strings mainly belong to Loki and Sylvie, the theremin to TVA and Mobius, chorus/voices to HWR and Victor Timely. And again, it comes in three.

Burden of Wisdom

This is the first track for season 2 and it actually starts with the same whispery voices that can be heard in He Who Remains, which is the last track for season 1! I recommend listening to both in chronological order. The contrast between them, the character and gravity they convey. Ugh!

Theremin, chorus and strings are intertwined in a heartbeat-like sound. In this track you can actually hear a bit of the TVA theme but performed on Loki’s strings, as if he's accepted his fate paved for him and Sylvie by HWR. It does sound like a burden.

One Shot

It’s complex music with a lot of drama, hope and despair but also a happy ending. And it is a complicated sequence when Loki time slips to the future, is pruned and gets back to the present. The harp and chorus sound almost asgardian. It’s very stringy, and there are Sylvie’s strings this time too, and an epic, heroic build-up and Loki’s iconic fanfares when he is pulled from the time and soft lands on Mobius. To me personally this is very Sylkius somehow

Temporal Loom

It is the hard of the TVA, so the music sounds like a heartbeat, slightly irregular, quickening by the end. The whispers, and then the epic chorus. You can clearly see a small fragile man on the gangway against this monstrous merciless machine.

Zaniac

This is a banger. 70s disco beat, something from a James Bond movie. But if you listen closely, you can hear strings from Loki Green Theme in the background. They sound ominous but not loud enough for Brad to take it seriously just like he underestimates his opponents just a moment later. Loki’s strings and TVA’s theremin make pretty damn good combo, I love it I love it I love it so much.

Delivery

Such hopeful, pensive music. You know the history was altered that very moment and can’t be undone, this boy will change everything for better or for worse. In the end, the ultimate power in the universe are books in right (or wrong) hands. Chorus is there and is very prominent, not a whisper but almost angelic choir.

Time to Go

I looooove how this one starts so non-HWRy! Very playful, funny and slightly chaotic which suits Victor’s luminary persona that he puts on to hide his vulnerable soft self. It also has Loki’s iconic fanfares, performed by a woodwind this time. It doesn’t match with Loki’s appearance like in One Shot, but still is a really nice touch. And then it’s calm, pensive and somehow lonely. And that’s how Victor is, really.

O. B.

OB’s theme sounds like something from the future. His main notes are simple, optimistic tones arranged with electronic background. It stands out from all other TVA personnel related music. Just like him: a genius unstoppable engineer, alone in his department who won’t hold a grudge for this, always busy, always happy to see his colleagues and work in a team

Your Girl

Hauntingly beautiful and tragically romantic, but with undertones of static, Jaws and a villain theme from a horror movie.

I don’t wanna stop but I will because I feel like I’m starting to repeat myself and don’t have enough words to describe music. No, no, okay, one more

Tricks

The thrill of the chase. Brad's personality aside, it's terrifying to be chased by someone you can neither outrun nor outtrick. Makes you think what would happen if Loki suddenly changed his mind and turned into a full mode villain. Q&A has a similar vibe but with far more dark undertone.

okay I really need to stop here

All I wanna say is, Natalie Holt knows how to convey the essence of a character through music

#loki season 2 #loki series #natalie holt #loki soundtrack #Spotify

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killiked · 4 months

Text

Book one: SUPERNOVA

Nasir Jones (nas) fanfic

CAST SECTION

Description,

In which nova grace falls

For her sister's boyfriend

Not knowing the boundaries

or limits that will come

This story is inspired by the movie: poison ivy, I really feel in love with ivy's character. I can't say much but it's a really good movie, I of course didn't copy anything, the storyline is made up but ivy's and nova's character are similar in a way.

NOVA'S BACKSTORY;

She was born in queensbridge, so her and nas have a little connection there, being from queensbridge her sister was fund of a lot of underground artist, nas in fact, her sister is the reason for nas career being his manager and the person who risk her every day life for to provide for her little sister nova, nova and celeste parents are alive and well but they kicked nova at a younger age due to an accident, now Nova is at least 19 in my story going on 20, she's not in college as she wasn't supposed to drop out but she wanted to do her own thing without the whole school thing, that's all I can give out.

Anyways let's get into the cast;

Shola ama; Nova grace

Age 19-20

Baby of the family

AA. 8: hostile, bratty, and spoiled

❛being the baby and being spoiled all her life gives her the advantage to think she can have anything she wants but she would soon learn enough that getting something you want doesn't mean you achieve anything ❜

Melanie thornton; celeste grace

Age: 24-25

Oldest sister

AB. 8: selfish, loudmouth, caring

❛ working hard to provide for her family but getting too caught in her work, she has a obsession over nas, very possessive, she'll learn that turning your back on someone you viewed as a product was the best thing she could ever do ❜

Nasir Jones ; as himself

Age 21-22

Father of one

AC. 8: annoying, passionate, hardstrong

❛ if only he knew he didn't need anyone to get him where he was, his pain and sorrow was enough to bless him in many ways as possible, but what's stopping him from making the right choices? ❜

Bizzy Bourne: Jeremiah Wright

Static major: Neil young

Big meech: Jaquan brown

#late 2000s #2000s #1990s #poc #stories #wattpad #wattpad story #wattpad stuff #wattpad fanfiction #fanfic #urbanfanfic #90stories #sholaama #nasirjones #nas #Nasir

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egons-twinkie · 2 years

Text

prologue & chapter one!

PROLOGUE

---

"Guys, get a load of this!"

The entire car rocked with the force of Ray Stantz jumping into the driver's seat, so full of enthusiasm that he had quite literally hopped in.

"Easy, killer," Winston Zeddemore quipped from beside him in shotgun, clutching at the door's handle grip, "she's sensitive you know."

Ray waved a hand, too occupied with what was in the other to concern with anything much else.

"Look what they gave us as a little thank you gift," Stantz beamed, holding it up for the others to see.

Egon Spengler and Peter Venkman in the backseat leaned closer to peer at the curious item; anything an actually haunted occult shop could offer as an appreciative token was bound to be intriguing.

It was a small, polished albino turtle shell, just slightly bigger than Ray's hand, etched with hundreds of tiny symbols in neat concentric lines.

"Those symbols look familiar," Egon muttered; Ray handed the shell to his cohort, letting the brainiac study it closely.

"Looks like chicken scratch," Peter commented loosely from the back, "I would know. I minored in poor penmanship."

Egon gave him a pointed look, silent as stone.

"Winston, you've got the ancient linguistics degree. Any ideas?" Ray chipped in, staying focused.

Winston took the shell delicately in his large hands and turned it over with curiosity. He stroked the carved underside of the shell, squinting slightly to examine every detail.

"Looks like ancient Mesopotamian, maybe Sumerian even. I can't make out much," he replied a few moments later, absently.

"What's it say?" Ray inquired eagerly.

Winston turned it over again, starting at what looked like a beginning at the head of the shell, and slowly began to recite the text in its original language. It was rhythmic, almost hypnotic, low and steady. It was Egon who noticed the fault lines of the shell begin to emit a low magenta glow. It was eerie.

"Winston, I think maybe you shouldn't finish that," he wanted to say, but when he went to speak, he found his mouth dry as ashes.

He looked at Ray, but Ray was transfixed deeply on the artifact in Winston's hands, getting brighter as he continued very robotically, unable to cease; Peter's mouth hung open slightly as he too stared unblinkingly at the object.

Egon breathed in; suddenly Winston ceased and the air in his lungs turned to ice. They all got that same sensation at once; a synchronous gasp in, a blinding flash, and suddenly all at once, the quartet blacked out.

---

CHAPTER ONE

Oh shit, oh shit–

Lightning flashed and the booming thunder followed suit as you made your way, speeding, down the road toward home. Another terrible, boring day, one of many consecutive terrible, boring days at work. Home wasn’t much better; every day you would arrive home to no one but your darling black cat, Egon, provide him with a tin of Friskies, make something small for yourself to eat, watch a movie or read a book or browse the internet endlessly, and go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

You felt your eyes fighting to stay open. You clicked on the radio to try and keep yourself awake. It crackled back at you with static: an unusual occurrence even on this back road. It really didn’t look good outside at all though…black skies that menaced and thundered and boomed; it was only 4:30 in the afternoon and it looked like the middle of the night. The wind that blew was vicious in itself; traffic signs and lights rattled and shook like leaves despite their weight and foundations. Trees shook and waved like nothing. You felt your Jeep creak and adjusted the wheel to account for the terrible gust. ‘People Are Strange’ by The Doors crackled through over the speaker at moments, barely audible over the angry static and warbling of the radio. Only a few more miles and you'd be home safe. You zipped down the road, as careful as a lead foot like yours could be, anxious to get out of this awful weather.

An absolutely bone-shaking roll of thunder cracked across the valley you drove through, waking you right up. Everything in you tensed; it was also due to the alarm caused by the car radio sparking and crackling like it itself had been the conduit for that mighty blast. The music warbled out; an eerie distortion came from the speakers now, so you clicked it off, heart racing. Wild. You stared for a moment too long, and when you looked up, you didn’t have time to stop. The car, a white vintage 1930s model Hearse-looking deal with a bunch of extra accessories, sirens, decals, a gunner seat up top…oh shit. You know that car. Your foot slammed on the brake and you swerved, braced for the impact that seemed inevitable.

–you felt nothing.

Your eyes, which until then you hadn’t realized were screwed shut, opened slightly, cautiously, only to see the empty road before you. Shocked, you stared into the rearview mirror; there was nothing. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

Holy hell, I need some rest.

You found yourself laughing out loud to nothing and no one save for the assembly of coffee cups in your never-occupied passenger seat as you steadied your course. Something about hallucinating yourself into a near-death experience does that to a person. It was that or tears, and you didn't feel like crying at that moment. Your heart was still racing when you pulled into the tiny asphalt driveway of your home, a single-wide mobile home, faced in white and terra cotta red siding, edged nicely with plants you placed there yourself over your time here. Little trinkets lined the front of the unit, wind chimes, pinwheels, little flags and garden creature knick knacks, you name it, you probably had it. Gardening like an old lady was a weakness of yours. It wasn’t like you didn’t have the free time. You sighed and braced yourself for the ten long strides it would take to get you from your vehicle through the front door. Maybe if you sat for a moment, the rain would let up…so you sat for a good several minutes, rubbing hard at your eyes, realizing you had indeed been involuntarily crying, if only by the wetness on your cheeks. You guess you were more shaken up than you thought. Without noticing, you laughed out loud again. The rain only came down harder. Another nutty giggle. You didn’t give yourself time to dawdle and simply yanked the door open, jumping into the torrential downpour assaulting your place of existence. You cursed out loud and ran, making ten long strides in five bounding leaps. Your hand already tightly gripped your house key and expertly found its partner lock, making short work of throwing the door open and stepping inside, already soaked to the skin. Dripping. Immediately, a large, fuzzy black blur found your soaked legs, knitting itself through and up your leg with a long stretch, resting its paws on your thigh. Orange eyes stared owlishly at you against an abyssal surface, especially there in the darkened living room.

Egon didn’t squirm when you lifted all 15 pounds of him into your tired arms, carefully and securely holding him tightly. He did meow quite loudly though, once he realized you'd more or less drowned out there in the outside world. It was then that he leapt instantly from your embrace, landing gracefully on the end table by the front door; he gave a mighty shake to rid himself of your offensive humidity. You shut and locked the door behind you.

“Hey, Egie, handsome baby,” you cooed, forgetting everything else for those precious few moments with your cat.

He was your familiar, you liked to joke. A beautiful and very large, sleek black cat with a tail that was fluffier than the rest of his body, with the most beautiful pumpkin orange eyes you had ever seen. It was the hair that inspired the name though: it harkened to your most favorite mad scientist in fiction, one Dr. Egon Spengler from one of your favorite films of all time, Ghostbusters—simply because there was so much of it. Even your boy’s whiskers seemed to be a foot long each, and pure white, stark against his void-black coat. One singular bright white patch shone on his chest fur, shaped vaguely like an inverted triangle, only about an inch across. It makes him look very distinguished, you think. You’ve had him for five years, and he’s been your rock through all your hardest times since then.

“You know I love you,” you sighed, turning to the feline now gracefully perched like a gargoyle on the wooden surface, “but you have to wait. I have to get out of this.”

“I’m losin’ it, my boy,” you softly informed him. “You’re gonna have to pick up a few shifts for me at work okay? Just wear a hairnet and no one will know the difference. No eye contact.”

He chirped at you softly in response, rubbing against your outstretched hand. You gave him a good scritching behind the ears and wandered into the bedroom, through the dark, knowing your path like you were rutted into it. You honestly kind of are, but you try not to think about that, you see.

It took you a minute to fight your clothes off of your soaked body. Everything was cold and sopping wet and clinging to your equally cold, goosebumped skin, which only seemed to get worse once you'd stripped down. You tossed your soaked t-shirt, work apron and jeans over into the corner of the room you kept the laundry basket in, and tried to rub some heat into your arms and chest, careful with the more painfully sensitive areas; your whole body shuddered. A warmth circled your ankles and another dulcet meow broke the pseudo-silence; it was only considered silence if you didn’t include the heavy drum of rain on tin and thunder. To you, it was a recipe for a sleep so deep it could probably be classified as a comatose state. You yawned and stretched, feeling a fresh wave of goosebumps come over you, but this time you froze with them; the lightning briefly illuminated your room and you could swear, just swear that you saw a pair of wide leering eyes focused on you keenly. You scrambled to the lamp on your nightstand and turned it on, but no one was in the room with you, save for your Egie.

Egon licked his chops and blinked at you, flicking his tail, and obviously didn’t respond. If nothing else, despite the visual hallucinations you seem to have developed suddenly, at least the cat didn’t talk to you.

Despite that small semblance of relief, you still felt shaken. It wasn’t a near-death experience per se, but when you see yourself clearly on the verge of a mental break, it kind of makes you take a step back and consider things. You stepped into the adjacent bathroom and opened the shower, turning it on hot. You turned the light on and jumped at your own reflection in the mirror; it was so bizarre, you swore for a second you saw a man. A tall one, with glasses, staring grimly at you. Once you rubbed your eyes again and blinked the stars away, you were relieved to find your own form staring back at you. Soft feathered hair, tired skin, heavy eyebags, smudged eyeliner from three days ago. You'd been so depressed and overworked recently that you hadn’t bothered to take care of yourself in the slightest. Now was the time.

You put a playlist on over your waterproof speaker and got to work, brushing out your hair. As quickly as it became hot, you clambered into the running shower.

“Ma’am?”

Every tense muscle began to melt and relax under the heat and water pressure. You breathed in the steam and groaned softly, just taking a minute to process the physical sensation of the water streaming down your skin. After a moment you began your cleansing ritual, using your favorite shampoo, singing into your loofah on a stick, the whole nine yards. Something even possessed you to shave your legs. You don’t for sure know what. Sometimes you just liked to be soft and rub your freshly smooth legs together like a cricket under clean sheets.

Before you judge me, try it for yourself.

It was an easy 30 minutes before you emerged from the chamber of steam, fresh and clean. It seemed to be a strange coincidence considering earlier events when the Ghostbusters theme had come on your shuffled playlist; you tried not to pay too much mind to the odd timing of things and dried yourself off with a soft green towel. You stepped back into the bedroom and, humming along with the theme song on the speaker, continued your ritual. Toner, eye cream, moisturizer, hand lotion, brush out your hair, apply lip balm.

It was a comfortable thing, routine.

You stretched out on your unmade bed, sprawling across the black sheets, feeling much better now.

Your eyes closed. It felt like a long-awaited reunion between lovers as top eyelid met bottom and you once again made a point to simply enjoy the moment. A long, slow breath in, a longer, slower exhale. It was pure bliss.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

Holy shit.

Your own voice tore from your throat in a deep scream as you scrambled up, clawing the nearby knotted-up sheet and wrapping it around your bare form.

You fell out of bed but jumped instantly to your feet with a bit of effort, holding the sheet, peering around. Was it auditory now??? Oh god! What in the hell brought this on?!

In your doorway stood Egon, looming upon the threshold with his delicate paws and ears en pointe. He meowed at you again, in the exact same tone as the strange voice you thought you had heard.

“Can you hear me? Hello? Miss??”

You collapsed back onto the bed, ruined by shot nerves again.

After a few moments to collect yourself you stood slowly and rubbed your face to try and rid yourself of the deer-in-headlights expression you maintained, and got into the basket full of clean laundry set to the side of the foot of the bed. You tugged out a loose gray Woodstock festival t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, slipping into just those articles, feeling very exposed until the warmth and clean scent of the fabrics engulfed your senses.

You reconnected your playlist to the speaker in the living room and wandered out into the dark chamber, shutting the lights off behind you. You paused in the kitchen, waylaid by the now-irritated miniature panther that less-than-silently insisted you give him the Friskies he so fervently desired, and succumbed to his demands. Once he was happily snacking on the pile of tuna on a small raised dish, you were able to pass his realm unharmed. You got on all fours in front of your sofa and pulled a small metal box from underneath it. The earthy, skunky smell danced around your olfactory senses before you even opened the lid of the box. From amongst the miscellany inside, you extracted a neatly rolled paper joint and a violet Bic lighter. Settling down on the couch then, you opened the window behind you and sparked up. Superstition by Stevie Wonder began to play softly over the speaker as you inhaled that first smooth toke, letting the heat of it settle in your lungs before exhaling slowly, watching the smoke slowly trail out from your nose and mouth. You closed your eyes again in bliss.

“Shit,” you grunted, shaking your head and rubbing your tired eyes hard.

You jumped out of your skin for what had to be the millionth time that day. But you didn’t drop the joint.

This time, fully expecting it to be some auditory glitch with the speaker or you just going nuts again, this time you now also stared into an all too familiar face.

“Please, if you can hear me, give me a sign,” the vision spoke softly and patiently, gloved hands raised in a gesture of peace.

You blinked the stars away again, but this time, the mirage stayed. You looked at the joint in your hand and extinguished it in a glass ashtray adjacent to where you sat, looking at it like an evil thing; you pocketed it though. For later. Back to the hallucinations.

There were four of them specifically. Four very realistic visions; the one staring you dead in the eyes from a distance of maybe a foot away from your face looked rather concerned, though confused, himself.

Short but voluminous and unruly dark hair on a high forehead with rounded cheeks and kind eyes: I'd never noticed before, but one was brown and the other was blue. Cute, slightly upturned nose, soft pouty-looking lips upturned in a nonthreatening smile. Thick eyebrows arched in concern, creasing his forehead; one of the few signs of aging on him yet.

“Dan fuckin’ Aykroyd is in my living room,” you breathed, stunned by your own words.

The concern turned immediately to confusion.

“I think she’s confused, Spengs,” the hallucination spoke to the taller one hovering behind him.

Your heart caught in your chest when your eyes met his. This vision, so akin to Harold Ramis circa the 1980s it was terrifying, pulled a calculator from a pocket and began tapping rapidly at it; the third mirage slapped it out of his hands a la Bill Murray in-film, bearing as striking a resemblance to Mr. Murray as he acted like him. You jumped when a small black calculator actually slid across the rug and came to an abrupt stop at your foot. But suddenly, the rug under your feet wasn’t there: instead you found yourself standing on concrete. Everything around you had changed, and you didn’t even notice.

You weren't in your living room at all.

You shot up like a rocket to your feet. The four men jumped back suddenly, startled.

“You’re not real. This isn’t happening,” you told them, much more calm than you felt.

They all exchanged glances of disbelief and skepticism as if you were the crazy one. To be fair, it seemed absolutely and inarguably 100% true.

“If I’m real, you can touch my hand,” the Aykroyd vision said, simply enough but gravely serious, holding up his right hand; he even removed the thick black rubber glove, exposing a large, somewhat sweaty hand.

Real.

You swallowed hard.

Your hand crept forth and before you could convince yourself not to give in, you felt warmth and pressure against your palm, and your heart dropped into your guts.

Before you could think of something devastatingly witty to tell the hallucination, your knees buckled, and for a moment you lost control of yourself. Ray caught you.

“I know this is a hard situation to cope with, trust me, we’re all as confused as you are, but please, stay with me. I’m Dr. Raymond Stantz, I’m a Ghostbuster, and we can help you.”

You laughed out loud. You couldn’t help it—it just burst forth from you like something hideous hatching from the guts of a corpse. The four looked mildly offended at this, but when they realized it seemed to be out of sheer hysterics, the young Bill Murray lookalike stepped forward, nearly bowling the Aykroyd doppelganger out of the way to stoop down in front of you once he’d set you down on the chair you'd presumably occupied before.

“Hey now,” he soothed, “hey, shh. Deep breaths.”

He continued to shush and grabbed your hand, squeezing tightly. It was a grounding tactic. He kneaded at your hand somewhat, as if trying to bring circulation there, maybe just trying to keep you focused on the present, or verify for himself that you were real. Funny.

“Look at me, look into my eyes. Hi. Dr. Peter Venkman. How are you feeling?”

That charming grin was the last thing you remembered before you blinked out of consciousness.

---

“No, no, she’s sweating, don’t put the blanket on her–”

“Make sure to keep an eye on her pulse, she’s breathing hard–”

You shot up off the couch, eyes snapping open, bloodshot. You immediately went blind, brief as it may have been, and down you went again; the room spun, in and out of focus.

“Easy, killer,” a large hand found your shoulder as its owner’s deep voice spoke softly, “give yourself a minute.”

So you did. Slowly you let yourself come-to, and when your vision focused and you could form rational thought and intake information, you saw the same four men in the surrounding room, with brick and wood paneling, a dining table, the sofa you had previously laid upon; it all looked too familiar, but so foreign to you…'Egon' and ‘Winston’ were the ones hovering over you, checking your vitals, making sure you were alright. You found ‘Winston’s’ eyes first. It was fucking uncanny, the resemblance.

“How are you feeling?” The alleged Egon Spengler inquired from beside him; your eyes flicked to his but you found it hard to keep his gaze.

You paused and considered his question carefully. It was hard to consider much of anything, considering your head was throbbing like it was being used as a subwoofer.

“I’m feeling okay. I’m just…really confused, and I’m still not sure if I’ve lost my shit,” you replied, fairly calm considering the circumstance now.

It was like a bad trip: panicking would only make things worse. It seemed best to just roll with it for the time being.

“I know the feeling,” Peter Venkman quipped from the kitchenette nearby, brewing coffee.

He and Ray returned to investigate further as you slowly sat back down on the couch someone had carefully placed you on. There had indeed been a blanket over your legs. You were, though, also sweating, as mentioned prior. You rubbed your eyes and dragged your hand down your face.

“So what’s the deal?” you asked, looking at them now for answers, “this some kind of stunt? You guys look phenomenal, almost totally real…but…you…”

You couldn’t help but stare wistfully at Egon. He didn’t seem to understand what you were getting at or why you looked so sad, and adjusted his glasses awkwardly.

“Let’s go over this together, and slowly,” Winston redirected your attention to him, looking as exasperated as you felt.

In his hand he held what appeared to be an ancient shell of some kind. It looked at first like it was covered in chipped paint, but when you looked closer, it seemed to be symbolic markings raised with centuries of age. You had just bought something very similar at the flea market recently, actually…

“My name is Winston Zeddemore. These are my coworkers, Drs. Ray Stantz, Egon Spengler and Peter Venkman. We’re Ghostbusters. We had just finished a job when Ray here brought this into the company car, and I started to translate these markings on it, and that’s when things got fuzzy. We came-to back here at our headquarters like nothin’ happened. We were just trying to figure out some answers for the last…well, however long it was we blacked out for, when the damn thing started floating and you started phasing into existence like somethin’ out of a sci-fi flick. Kinda in and out, like bad radio signal. Ray started trying to ask questions as fast as Egon could start scanning you. At first I thought I was losing my shit until you started talking back. Who’s Dan Aykroyd?”

“I’m sorry if I went too fast too soon, I think we're all equally lost on this at least. Let’s start easier. May I ask your name?” Winston urged, bringing you back to the situation at hand.

You balked at him. Nothing came to mind. Your mouth hung slightly agape in search of words to offer in response, but nothing came forth.

There was no possible way this could have really been happening. You think you might have really been in a car wreck induced coma. Maybe even dead. What a dream though… hell, you may as well roll with it. If it’s the last thing your consciousness will experience, you may as well make it worth every moment.

You stared stupidly at him. You forgot your own name for a few moments.

“Y/N,” you answered finally, hesitating, "Y/N L/N."

“When did you get this?” Spengler inquired, having stooped down beside Winston, and gingerly reached for your neck: you noticed the new weight there and glanced down as he lifted the trinket to view.

It was an identical shell to the one in Winston’s hand, but about half the size.

“Just the other…day…”

It was the thing you'd got at the flea market. Only, you had left it on your dresser, so how did it get there with you, on your person?

“How did I get here? Where am I? I was just on my couch, I–”

Despite all the logic in the world and twice the skepticism, something gnawed at your gut, something telling you that there was more to this than just you going insane. This was too weird, even for a total mental break. They looked and sounded too real. They even smelled real. The air did smell entirely different than it had before you blacked out, now that you were paying attention. Something was just…off. Completely off.

Spengler produced a device, which you immediately recognized as a PKE meter, and you watched as he waved it over the shell; the arms on the device rose to their maximum spread and the LEDs on them flashed and blinked aggressively. He put the device away and turned back, straightening to his full height. They all towered over you, frankly. You feel very small for multiple reasons indeed, especially there on the couch. Winston sat beside you as you buried your face in your hands.

You sputtered yourself into silence, mind racing faster than your mouth could keep up with. Your single brain cell had come back to you, and it was busting overtime.

“I suspect it has to do with this artifact,” Spengler replied, “these exactly identical shells are inscribed with the same cuneiform writing. Can you tell us about yourself? What do you remember? Where are you from?”

“I’m, uh…from the future.” you told them. “...Kind of.”

He had a stethoscope and a pair of sticky telemetry pads now and returned to inspect you further; the pads were stuck to your temples, and you can’t say you weren't extremely tense under his touch. His hands were icy cold, but gentle.

You hesitated to tell them, but after a few long moments of consideration, you exhaled and steadied yourself.

Egon kept a close eye on the now-running monitor, watching the readings; they didn’t shift.

“Specifically, from the year 2022.”

Ray gasped. Peter slumped slightly in disbelief. Winston dug for his cigarettes and lit one rather briskly.

“What did you mean, ‘kind of’?” Egon inquired, focused.

“Well, I am. But there's more: I also come from a place where you guys don’t exist,” you replied meekly.

“Like another state? We could branch out one day. I’m sure there’s spooks to catch all over the country,” Ray babbled excitedly.

“No, like…you four. And ghosts, generally speaking... Dana Barrett, Louis Tully, Walter Peck–” they all tightened at the mention of the last name; “–Janine Melnitz, you’re all not real...”

They’d blanched at your seemingly impossible precognition. If it had just been them you'd named, it’d have been no big surprise–they were nationally famous, of course–but the others…

“How do you know us like that then?” Peter furrowed his brow.

“You may want to sit down for this…” you informed them; so they did.

What felt like an eternity went by. You told them about yourself, your universe, and about them, awkwardly skipping over the personal history of obsessive fixation you'd harbored for them for years. They seemed to take it fairly well, all things considered, but you supposed that came with the nature of the job.

Oh god, listen to me, I’m starting to think like it’s all real.

“...So now here I am in New York, presumably sometime in the late 1980s or early 1990s, I guess. And I don’t know how to get home, if there’s even a way to…”

You were just waiting to wake up at this point. But you kept on, and they kept listening, Egon and Ray taking notes. Peter just seemed transfixed on your lips’ movement. Winston seemed most focused on watching you for signs of distress or fatigue, his dark brown eyes flickering occasionally toward Venkman with slight suspicion.

By the time you talked yourself out, you could tell Ray was about to explode with excitement over all the astounding information. You knew he meant nothing by it, so the fact he was grinning didn’t bother you. You found it endearing, in fact.

That only really hit you as you said it. But boy, when the realization struck, it hit like an eighteen wheeler t-boning a gas tanker. Everything stopped for a moment. Heart, lungs, brain. All froze, tense as piano wire, and you found yourself full of anxiety again.

“Wow, this is incredible!” Ray beamed, “a real, pinpointed interdimensional space-time crossrip! Right in our living room!!”

It did sound pretty cool when he put it that way, but you had only one thought.

“Oh, fuck, Egon,” you gasped suddenly; everyone’s attention snapped to you, and you felt your cheeks go red, realizing they had no context; “I, uh…have a cat back home. Named Egon. Respectfully.”

Egon, the real one (it’s blowing your mind to have to differentiate), didn’t verbally respond, but looked away bashfully with a slight smile.

“I just realized no one will know I’m gone…I hope he’ll be alright…” you sniffled a little, thinking about your poor boy all alone.

Ray’s expression turned from delight to something like pity, and you immediately felt your stomach flip. Whether it was concern for your Egon at home, or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell for sure. Either way you hated it.

“Do you have anything to drink? Something strong?” you asked.

Unsurprisingly, Peter was the first to produce a small leather-bound flask from a pocket on his person. You accepted and took a swig. Ironically you found these moments very sobering: the burn of the whiskey was very real, and the warmth in your throat and gut that came from it provided very little comfort. Some, but not enough. You handed the flask back to Venkman anyway, not trying to overstay your shell-shocked welcome.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Any time, kitten.”

Truthfully, you didn’t mind the familiarity with which he spoke; it didn’t feel predatory, just charismatic. You coughed a bit at the lingering burn in your throat, but you couldn’t help noticing the way your heart fluttered slightly. You are a simple person at the base of things, and this group of men here in their prime (and beyond, but especially now) was very, very attractive. You wouldn’t go so far as to say you were attention starved either, but it had certainly been a while since someone looked at you like Peter was looking at you right now.

“You’re making her uncomfortable, Pete,” Ray glowered at his colleague, who only gave a wink in your direction in reply; he took a sip from the flask himself before tucking it back in his pocket.

You squirmed in your seat somewhat but said nothing for a moment.

“So what do you think, Egon?”

You and Ray looked at each other with mild surprise after speaking in unison.

“Look at you, like the twins from The Shining,” Peter grinned mischievously.

Ray blushed and looked away, focusing on Egon quite seriously then. You turned to the taller man as well, only to feel your own face heat up when you discovered him already gazing very intently at you, mere inches away from your face, with a small flashlight. He shined it directly into your eyes and briefly you forgot all else, animal instinct taking over, and you pawed it out of his hand. It clattered to the ground.

“Sorry,” you quickly apologized.

He only quirked an eyebrow up at you and bent over to retrieve the little device.

“Anything come to mind in terms of research?” He asked.

“Don’t worry, I can tell you’re highly stressed,” he responded before clicking the flashlight off, and turning to speak to you on a general scale:

“It’s hard to tell. Ray, your theory sounded the most likely. Some sort of rift with a parallel universe through time and space. Maybe a wormhole if not instantaneous particle re-dispersal. It’s not unthinkable—in fact, after what we’ve dealt with in the past, particularly in the sense of Gozer the Traveler…well, it’s as likely as anything else.” He turned to Ray again, who nodded eagerly, soaking up Spengler’s dissertation like a sponge.

“One or two. Nothing quite like this though in any of the regular literature.”

You cleared your throat.

“It seemed like our universes were intersecting for a bit. I’d guess it’s just as likely you could have ended up in my world, given the fact I swore I almost crashed into you guys on the road home an hour before, uh…everything, I guess.” you cut in; the men balked at you for a moment, but after a brief moment of shock at your sense, began to consider.

“That’d be interesting. I’d like to learn more about the future. We should go to dinner and discuss it, you and I,” Venkman cut in.

You laughed despite yourself as he took your hand in his; it was warm, and a nice grounding to the reality of things ever still. Ray’s lips pursed slightly.

“Dana was right, you know. You do give off game show host vibes,” you chuckled.

Peter’s sly grin immediately vanished. Most of the color in his face did as well. He even let go of your hand. Ray, still intently staring between Peter and you, furrowed his brow.

“What, Pete?”

“There’s no way you could know that.”

You faltered.

Peter stood to his full height, startled but ever intrigued. You hadn’t really noticed how tall he was in the movies, but with him standing before you now, he towered over you.

“No need for electric shocks here,” you quipped.

You already dug yourself in. Might as well finish the burial, right?

“I know that's your sort of thing."

“What a shame,” he fired right back, raising his eyebrows; his eyes glimmered with something beyond mirth, “I bet it’d be a good time.”

You rolled your eyes. The others didn’t seem to follow what was happening. You shook your head to clear your thoughts of Bill Murray playing professor in the basement of Columbia University.

“I’d like to run some more tests, if you don’t object,” Spengler caught your attention now, offering an elbow to aid you in standing; you gingerly accepted and noted how he clutched the end of his sleeve. Once you were on your feet, you tugged at the hem of the bottom of your shirt and tried not to mind how much you had to crane your neck to look up at the guys. You took a step forward and stumbled slightly; you felt a lot lighter than you had before. Literally–there seemed to be a slight bounce to your step, like gravity had shifted. You were not graceful in your movements, and Winston jumped up to catch you before you could actually properly fall.

“I think you need to rest some more,” he commented with a hint of concern, “what are you feeling right now?”

“At this moment?”

“Yeah, right now.”

You looked into his earth-colored eyes and they searched yours just as deeply. You swallowed hard, willing your cheeks not to burn, though they still did.

“I plead the fifth, your honor.”

The others snortled. Winston couldn’t help but smirk. You blushed deeper despite your best efforts and looked away. Even Egon was grinning. You had never noticed before how he bit his lower lip when he grinned. This place, whatever was happening, was gonna be the death of you, you swear it.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by a deafening alarm–the alarm–and they sprang into action instantly. Winston seemed reluctant to leave you behind, but Ray dragged him along, forcing him to release you as they went; you were just glad you were still upright without support.

“Venkman, looks like you get your dinner after all. We’ll handle this. You stay and learn what you can, and keep an eye on her vitals and state of psyche,” Ray directed, making his way toward the poles as he spoke.

Peter beamed like he’d just won the lottery and jumped up, delighted. You blinked up at him; the others were gone now, and there was a span of about thirty seconds between the cacophonous ringing of the alarm’s beginning and its end, briefly overlapping with the unearthly discordant wail of the Ecto-1, before all was deadly silent. You didn’t notice how hard you'd been breathing until then.

“I still feel like I’m tripping,” you moaned, rubbing at your temples.

“I’ve been told I have that effect on beautiful women,” Peter replied slyly.

You looked at him blankly for a moment. He faltered, but bounced back, offering his hand to you in a display of chivalry. You accepted, not reluctant, and he led you downstairs. You tried so hard not to stare at him, but he was so close. He kept his eyes forward.

“Are you hungry, though? Really?” He asked suddenly, looking over at you; he blinked a couple times and raised his eyebrows, surprised to find you already looking.

Damn–caught.

You hadn’t considered it at all until he said something, but when he did it was game over; your stomach suddenly felt as shrunken as a raisin. You gripped at your torso and frowned.

“Now that you mention it, kinda…”

“How about Thai?”

“I-it’s a little too spicy for me.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You and Ray both. Mexican?”

“How about Italian?” you rebutted; the tension you felt began to ease slightly.

He nodded with approval.

“We can get a cab. Oh, that brings to mind–if you have any cash on you, I’d hang onto it. Might get flagged if it was minted twenty years from now.”

“Damn, true,” you grunted, digging into your pockets; the only things you had on you were your lighter, that barely-smoked joint, and your phone. Your phone. Oh shit, your phone! You clawed at it, desperate to see if it would function.

Life! But alas, no service. Of course not. But you didn’t have much time to mourn that before Peter spoke.

“What is that?” he asked, curiosity riddling him.

“It’s called a smartphone,” you replied; he stared owlishly at you and then the phone and then you again, silently urging you forth so you continued. “It can make calls, send and receive instant messages and emails, take and send pictures, play music, record audio and video, and surf the internet, among many other things.”

You let him hold it. He did, like it was a fragile thing that would disappear if he touched it too eagerly. He held it inches from his face and turned it over multiple times, inspecting every angle. He pressed the power button.

“Use your fingertip to swipe across the screen,” you demonstrated for him, and his brows furrowed in enchantment as the image dissolved from lock screen to home screen; your background picture was of your Egon back home. You missed him.

“That your famous Dr. Spengler in the fur?” He asked.

You nodded, smiling weakly, wishing you could hold your boy again.

“What are these little circles?” you were grateful for him continuing, breaking through your thoughts.

“They’re icons for applications installed onto the phone. Games, tools, other odds and ends. It’s just a shame I can’t connect it to the internet, but…I don’t think I’ll be able to for a few decades at least.”

Peter reluctantly handed your phone back when he saw how that particular realization sat with you: not well, I assure you.

“Come on,” Venkman urged, nudging you slightly.

Once outside, you managed to hail a cab fairly quickly. You felt so out of place. You were out of place, to be fair. Very much so. But even just being in the backseat of the cab with Peter, you felt wrong.

“How you holding up?” He asked after a few moments of silence.

You frowned and continued to stare out the window at the city passing by. It wasn’t raining here, but it was dark now, though that didn’t matter much given the illumination of the streets and buildings.

“C’mon, you can talk to me. Is it me? Do I come on too strong?” Peter pouted.

You shook your head.

“I just…I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. It all happened by sheer coincidence and I…what are the odds? I’m sitting here talking to a man I thought wasn’t real, thirtyish years in the past in another universe. I don’t know anyone or have anything here. I don’t even have a place to stay.”

You were trying so hard not to cry. Peter looked at you, but now it was with a sort of understanding; it was surprising, but there was no pity, just empathy.

“I promise we’ll get this figured out,” he told you after a few moments, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “me and the guys, and you can stay with us until then. We’ll make space for you. Ray can sleep on the couch. Or maybe you can have Egon’s bed–he doesn’t use it much anyway. But, Y/N, I promise: we’ll get you home. Guaranteed or your money back.”

You laughed despite the tears threatening to spill over, and wiped at your eyes with your knuckles. Peter’s smile was something different now: genuine.

“There it is. You really do have a beautiful smile, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he informed you.

You finally looked at him then; his hooded, deep-set ocean eyes were trained on you, taking in every detail before him. You felt a slight regret that you hadn’t dressed properly. Janine, who was the same height as you, roughly, and therefore very nearly the same foot size, had an extra pair of flats in her desk, which Peter had purloined upon notice of your previously bare feet; he figured she wouldn’t miss them, seeing as she was off that evening, for once. You felt quite excited to meet her when you could.

The rest of the cab ride was spent in small talk, about life and music and little things, and you ended up at a quaint little Italian hole-in-the-wall type place. The walls were either brick faced or painted a deep red, the lighting was all warm but dim between low-hanging green shaded lamps and candles on the tables, and the walls were decorated with fake greenery and different pieces of art with a vaguely Italiano theme.

“Table for…two?”

You couldn’t help but notice the way the hostess looked you up and down; Peter noticed it too. He put a hand on the small of your back.

“Please,” he responded with an air of authority and a stiff upper lip.

She raised her eyebrows briefly before gathering two menus and sets of silverware.

“Smoking or no?”

“Surprise us."

Peter let you go behind the hostess and in front of him, never taking that hand off you. You didn’t mind it, per se, but you did wonder why he was persistent with it. Was it to make you feel better about being underdressed for a nice place like this? You felt like a fool, now, sure, but you were in it for the promised ‘best garlic bread in the city’ and little else.

The hostess sat you in a corner booth in the designated smoking area. Soft piano music played over the speakers. It was a very nice place, truly. There was even a water feature nearby.

“Sorry I’m not dressed for the occasion,” you finally said, addressing it for your own sake.

Peter waved a hand dismissively.

“Hey, Woodstock was great. You should have been there.”

“You were?” you gasped, looking at him with widened eyes.

“There’s a lot to Dr. Venkman you don’t know, darling,” he smiled, “Spengs was there too. I dragged him along on the road trip. I’ve never seen someone smoke so much dope.”

You grinned at the thought of the serious Dr. Spengler stoned out of his mind. Maybe, you mused, you’d share your stash with him. It’s a wonder how he’d feel about 21st century potency increase…

As you approached the four-story hook & ladder station, Peter began to walk with a bit of a melody in his step; he skip-jumped over to a nearby city planter, laden with chrysanthemums in varying color, and plucked a few. He sauntered back to you and presented the small flowers.

Conversation continued over the course of the meal. The garlic bread was absolutely delicious; they melted cheese on it till it was crispy. Ooh, it was sinful. The fettuccine alfredo you got for a main course was incredible too. It’s like everything was more decadent here, from the air to the food. It certainly didn’t make it harder to adjust. You found yourself taking pictures sneakily with your phone: one shot of Venkman, using spaghetti noodles to mime an impressive mustache, one of the food…just mementos. Proof for yourself, for when, or if, you ever get home.

By the time you were on your way back to the firehouse it was quite late; Peter had insisted on showing you some sights on the way, so the pair of you walked, he bought you coffee, pointed out places he and the guys had previously busted at. At one point he even insisted you wear his coat, noting you were shivering there in a t-shirt in New York in the autumn chill. You showed him how to take a picture with your device, and he had you modeling his coat for him in just a minute, snapping pictures of you like you were the hottest model on the runway. It was the best date you’d been on in a long time.

“Well, I hope you had fun. I know I did. Maybe we can do this again…unless you’d like to come inside…?” His tone was wanton and mischievous, but no more than was his trademark.

“I don’t normally stay the night on the first date,” you replied flippantly, looking like you were debating heavily.

He beamed as you finally accepted the flowers from his hand.

“I normally don’t either,” Peter said quickly, shaking his head slightly in emphasis.

You stood on the tips of your toes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. He raised his fingers to the spot as you retreated by a few steps, and he felt at it tenderly, looking as though he’d been blessed by the holy chorus of God Herself.

“Keep that up and you might make a dirty whore out of me yet,” he said with a tone of light warning.

You laughed, and the two of you entered the firehouse; he, of course, let you go first. It was more or less surprising that he had been a perfect gentleman.

Upon entering the garage bay, you found the Ecto-1 was back as well; that hopefully meant good news. It was quiet though.

“Hello?” Peter hollered out, pausing to wait for a response.

Peter came back after a few moments.

He didn’t get one.

He blinked a few times and made his way further into the building. You waited by the door for the time being; you didn’t want to intrude. You looked around. It was so familiar to you, but to actually be in the firehouse…it was like a dream. Nothing about any of this didn’t feel like a dream. It’s the best dream you’ve had in decades, if it is. If not…well, we’ll figure that out as you go.

“They’re already sleeping. Egon’s not though. Probably in the lab, that egghead,” he reported. “Speaking of sleepin’, you can have my bed tonight since the others are spoken for already. I’ll take the couch. Unless you wanna cuddle?” He shot a pouting look at you, only mostly kidding.

You smiled at him.

“Thank you, genuinely. For everything. I’d probably still be flipping shit if it weren’t for you.”

“Funny, most people would tell you I drive them crazy. It’s nice to have the opposite effect for a change.”

You only noticed then how close he was standing; less than an arm’s length apart from you, looking down as you gazed up. It wasn’t until Egon came through, clad in polka-dot pajamas, clutching a hoard of junk food on his way back to the lab, presumably, that you separated–he didn’t give much choice, as he’d cut directly between you.

Wow, Venkman was not the one you expected to get attached to this quickly. You suppose he has that reputation for a reason. He really can be charming, and there’s much to be said for someone who can make you laugh.

“C’mon, I’ll show you where to go,” Peter spoke, waving to you to follow after him as he started toward the stairwell.

It was dark in the communal bedroom, the curtains were drawn closed, and Ray was snoring softly from his bed. Peter pointed out the bed in the far corner. The blankets were just neat enough to call the bed haphazardly made, which led you to wonder if he hadn’t run up here to do it just now.

“That’s my bed,” he whispered, “you should get some rest. I’m sure Spengie will have you working like a lab rat in the morning.”

You nodded.

“Thank you, Peter,” you whispered back.

For a brief instant, there was a palpable tension in the air. He stood close, very close, and even in the dark you could see him looking down into your eyes, seeming to be at internal war.

He ruffled your hair, then, of all the things to do. You stared up at him indignantly. He chuckled quietly.

“Get some sleep, kitten,” he instructed, wandering away then.

You stared after him for a moment even once he was gone. Damn.

With a sigh, you wandered over to the unoccupied bed, removing Janine’s flats at its edge and nudging them just slightly under the frame. You slid under the thin topsheet and fatigue-green cover. The mattress wasn’t thick, but it wasn’t uncomfortable either, and it was well broken-in; it smelled like Peter, whom smelled like dollar store cologne and Irish Spring soap, cigarettes, and something else that you couldn’t quite identify: without anything better to describe it with, you could only explain it like the smell of electricity. Ozone? Maybe. It was unique and unlike any other smell you’d ever smelled, that was all you knew. You laid quietly on your side, peering through the darkness at the slowly rising and falling shapes of Ray and Winston’s sleeping bodies. You noted the plush stuffed Stay Puft Ray clutched to him as he dreamed. Precious. This was all so crazy, so hard to take in…

You must not have realized how tired you truly were. Once you’d gotten comfortable, you were out like a broken Christmas light.

------

A/N: hope you guys like this! there’s more in the works! also if theres any points where the pov swaps from reader to first its all error, i wrote first person pov first and then switched it later ;w; if u have any title suggestions lmk!!! <3

@boneless07 <3

CH. 2

222 notes · View notes

gch1995 · 2 years

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Dude, I don't usually spoil people, but since you have shown nothing but disdain for the project, I feel free to share. (If you post this, spoiling others is on you. ) Just because I can't take it anymore. The show isn't actually set much on Tatooine, Obi-Wan leaves early on due to the arrival of inquisitors who have followed another surviving Jedi there. So, not much Luke. The most prominent darksider will be actually young and ambitious Third Sister who senses Obi-Wan's presence, not Vader.

That completely contradicts previously established canon, too, though, nonny. There is nothing to suggest that Obi-Wan and Yoda stopped hiding out on Tatooine and Dagobah after Order 66 in those 23 years. They hid and ran away from the problems they inadvertently helped create with Anakin Skywalker and the Empire because they were too afraid to face the consequences of their bad choices and mistakes.

Why else would they try to use Luke and/or Leia as weapons to kill off Vader, rather than doing anything about him themselves in those 23 years? They were too afraid to face the Empire themselves. They were determined to use one of Skywalker’s children to kill off the monster they helped turn their father into from the moment Luke and Leia were born after Anakin went dark to try and see if the “chosen one to destroy the Sith” prophecy would come true with one of them instead.

Even one of those Obi-Wan Disney Wars comic book issues shows Obi-Wan trying to recruit a child Luke to train as a Jedi, only to be rightfully rejected by his adoptive guardian Owen Lars.

Moreover, while the spoilers may say the Obi-Wan show is not largely set on Tatooine, what we’re seeing in ads is Obi-Wan camping out on Tatooine. The only enemy that Ewan McGregor has talked about Obi-Wan facing is Darth Vader, which doesn’t make any sense until Luke was recruited by them since he went to Tatooine to hide out, and even after finding out Anakin survived the fire on the news, he decided to stay in hiding.

Also, I don’t get why you’re getting so pissed off about my criticisms of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s character, nonny. I always tag them as Obi-Wan critical to try to avoid the kenobists I know will be up my ass for pointing out that I think he’s a boring, static, and overrated character that Disney and his stans in this fandom keep trying to build up as being more heroic, tragic, and interesting than he actually was. It’s not just that I don’t think he was a particularly good friend, guardian, or mentor to Luke and Anakin Skywalker. I also just don’t find him interesting enough to get invested in because the writers behind him couldn’t write a story about him without involving the far more complex, dynamic, and relatable Skywalker boys from the OT and PT movies, and he was also supposed to be a sympathetic flawed character. Yet, he never really grows or regresses in any sort of major way, in spite of all the shit he’s been through and seen. He’s always the same perfect Jedi™️

#star wars anon #anti kenobi series #anti kenobists #obi wan critical

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romeulusroy · 3 years

Text

Instinct (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

((TFATWS SPOILERS))

Character/s: Bucky

Word Count: 1,110

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: I haven't written in over a month and I'm scared it shows 💔 I'm really unsure with writing lately, I thought about not posting this, but I feel like I owe it big time. This was supposed to be something different, but I can't say I hate the direction it took. There aren't any major spoilers, it just follows the general plot, but I figured better to be safe than sorry. I hope you like it, and that I'm not too "out of the game" or bad at this lol. Feedback is always appreciated.Thank you for being so patient with my break my loves, it means the world 💜💖💜

Summary: He wants to move on, you don't 💕

Gif Credit: @captain-james / link :)

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

There is a static between you. One that is ruthless, hostile, sharp. It makes your gums bleed to describe it, tasting nothing but iron, bitterness, a resentment that is otherwise untouchable by any other creature. A hatred towards the mirror, towards your own skin and bone, your entire fucking existence. Catching his eyes, even for a second, is staring into the sun. Blinding. Aggressive. Burning, until every inch of you is set aflame, itching to turn and run, to tear apart, to scream. Scream until there is nothing of you left. A reminder of what was, what is, and what will never be. What neither of you can go back to, as fitting as the mold may seem, as secure as that title may be, as comforting as that role used to be, he refuses, and you follow along. Bury the body, he thinks that will make him someone new, someone worth everyone else's time. Do not flinch when they say your name, when they whisper every awful thing you did, when they tease you, leaving the door open, enough so for the light to peak through. An escape plan, you think. You hope. A way back to the life before, where your mind was someone else's, when the world was cruel and you were allowed to be cruel back. He does not see it that way, slamming that door shut, locking it from the outside, and swallowing the key.

One word, an invitation, that's all you need. The risk is great, but the urge is greater. Split yourself open. Self destruct. Skip the steps, skip what they insist is healing when all they do is rip open old wounds. Skip the apologies, the sob story, the introduction. The look in their eyes never flinches, no matter how many times you beg. Why bother? Return to what they wanted, needed, feel a certain belonging you could never get back walking into the civilian world.

Your footprints made of blood, a sticky red trail left wherever you go. That's what they see, and they don't bother hiding it. The disgust. The references you don't understand, too old to laugh, to sigh, to roll your eyes. The world moved on without you, spinning faster than you remember, and you are left to catch up. They have their lists, their paper and pencil, all the recommendations one could offer. It would be endearing, maybe, but you have nothing to offer. None of the energy to play catch up. None of the want. Time slips through your fingers, wasted, growing spoiled, mocking you. You have better things to do than watch a movie, more important things, things that filled you with purpose, no matter how sick.

You would have been disgusted. Horrified. Speechless. You would have hated yourself more than you already do. But you are older now, far more experienced, hardened by a life you never could have expected. Learned to want it, though. An animal secured by captivity does not know how to survive in the wild. You were never equipped to live like this: free. The knives, the guns, the special ways in which you read even the smallest of actions, turning people into pages, an open book for you to skim, before placing back on the shelf.

You adapted, grew to fit what they wanted, who they wanted, until you too loved what you were. Dangerous, powerful, unfeeling. The numb became a high to chase, unsatisfied by anything else. Where he mirrored a version of yourself you left in the past, you embraced this role. The damage was done. The bodies put to rest. None of which you could take back, nor make up for. He sought redemption. You wouldn't dare. It wasn't by your choice, that much you could admit, but you could feel it, from the fits bullet to the last, you were never meant to be anything else. As gruesome as you had been, uncaring, quick, but painful, you would be nothing else. Assassin. Killer. Murderer.

They say it like it's a bad thing.

The guilt eats you alive, chews you up and spits you out, shattering your very being as you wake, each night, from another nightmare. The aggression, the shame, all of it you share as fairly as you can, and yet, you wear it so differently, making you more distinct than you could ever explain. The only other person in the world who has seen you at your lowest, your highest, faced what you have, seen what you've seen, and you can't stand to look at him. Not for the wounds he sewed up, his eyes falling on your broken body, nor is the sobs, the pleas, the prayers he heard escape you in moments of desperation. Not because he knows the way you scream, your body used for their own gain, enveloped in a pain only the Devil can inflict, or because he has seen you shoot without a second of hesitation, moving forward before their body hits the ground. None of it, not even the things you care not to mention, to think about, nit even now. It's that he has become resistant, soft even.

He fights a fight he knows he cannot win. He draws the line between good and bad, hero and villain, as if there even is one, as if they are not the same in moments of desperation, of selfishness, or of great selflessness. That he thinks he can stop being what they made him, resisting the instincts they worked so hard to ingrain. You feel it, too. Turning off everything around you, picking apart the situation before it plays out. Footsteps, whispers, how many there are, where, how quickly they can get to you. A dance you know each step to, the two of you in sync. This time, no leader, no follower, but two soldiers taking orders. Without them, he thinks himself above who he used to be, who you used to be, what you were, but you know better.

You want nothing more than to slip back into old habits. That look, that stare, the wince he hides when they bring up his crimes, he wants the same. Step back, fall into old ways, let go until there is no one left to scorn you for what they put into your head.

Where they see Bucky, a man escaped, in remorse, righting his wrongs, you see The Winter Soldier, a friend, a weapon, an old accomplice. One of them, you respect, trusting with your life. The other, nothing more than a facade, a mask, a weakness, an act even he has tricked himself into believing.

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natvrefairy · 3 years

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Friendship Anniversary (Red x Reader)

Requested: Nope, just thought I should give you all a taste of my writing first.

Reader Pronouns: She/her

Word Count: 1,390

A/N: So, I've recently started a new playthrough of Pokémon Blue, and I just love Red's character, so here we go. :)

C/W: Selective mutism, mainly fluff

Context: Set about six years after Pokémon Red and Blue. Red has been up on Mt. Silver for about three years, only coming down when necessary, or when (Y/N) has convinced him to fly down to her house with her (very rare). She visits him up there regularly to check on him and his team, and bring supplies. He's still got his selective mutism, but she learned sign language to communicate with him.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Six years. It had been six years since (Y/N) had left her home in Pallet Town to set off on her Pokémon journey. Although it was so long ago, sometimes it felt like only yesterday.

She was never as competitive as her childhood friends, Red and Blue, but she did love Pokémon just as much as them. It was a bit disappointing when her dream ended at the Pokémon League, but she was happy for Red, and they moved on quickly.

Red. He hasn't been the same for a while. It's hard to pinpoint when exactly it started, but as time went on throughout their journey, he started talking less and less, before suddenly, he just never spoke again. (Y/N) never found out why, but then again, she didn't want to be rude by asking. Instead, she poured all her efforts into learning sign language, desperate to show support for her best friend in any way she could. It was sometimes weird not physically talking like they used to as young children, but they never needed to talk constantly before anyway. They always had other ways to communicate, so maybe it wasn't too different after all.

For Blue on the other hand, it drove him mad. He never understood how (Y/N) and Red could spend hours just spending time together without uttering a single word. For him, it was a lot harder to understand Red's sudden silence. (Y/N) could tell Blue was trying his best to be there for support, but it was draining him as well. He wanted to support his friend, but didn't know how. Blue was never good at showing real emotions anyway. And now, he's so busy as a gym leader, he barely ever gets the time to go up to Mt. Silver. He's just grateful for (Y/N) for sticking around.

They're all 17 now, and today marks the day when Red and (Y/N) first became friends. Twelve years, it's been. Time really does just fly by.

Humming a soft tune, (Y/N) walks around her house, making sure everything is in place for her to leave. Considering it's their friend anniversary, she was planning on going up to Mt. Silver to visit Red. She even bought him a little present. It wasn't anything big; just a book on Pokémon. She didn’t feel the need to get anything too big, because she knows it just makes him feel bad. But she wanted to get him something, and anything on Pokémon, he'd definitely appreciate.

She looks down in confusion as her pokéball shakes, her trusty Jolteon popping out on his own accord. Shaking her head, she gives him an amused smile.

"What's wrong Jolteon? I only just sent you back. It won't be for long; we're just going to fly to Mt. Silver."

Her Jolteon is very similar to Red's Pikachu, in that he hates his pokéball. Although he does still reluctantly go into his ball when told, (Y/N) prefers to keep him out. She doesn't like seeing him upset, but sometimes it's necessary for him to be in his ball. Like to keep him safe when they're flying.

Jolteon shakes his head, his fur pricking up like static as he runs to the door. Running after him, she hesitates before opening the door, curious as to what he can sense.

"Pika! Pikachu!"

'Hello.'

"Red, Pikachu, what are you guys doing here?" (Y/N) asks, clearly in shock as Pikachu jumps off Red's shoulder and runs inside to play with Jolteon.

'It's our friend anniversary. We wanted to see you.' Red signs, smiling softly.

(Y/N)'s face lights up at the sight of that smile; the one he only ever shows around her or his Pokémon. Stepping to the side to let him in, she closes the door, freezing as she suddenly remembers his present.

Grabbing the messily wrapped present, she hands it to him, her face flushed in embarrassment.

'I got you something. Sorry about the wrapping.' She apologises, averting her gaze awkwardly, before leading him to the couch to unwrap it.

There was something almost terrifying about watching him open it. She knew there was nothing to worry about; she knew him better than anyone, after all. Except Pickachu, obviously. She knows what Red likes, and she knows he'll appreciate the gift, but for some reason, she can't help being nervous.

Feeling his hand being placed on top of her own, (Y/N) jumps slightly, looking up to meet Red's warm gaze. Looking into those perfect ruby eyes of his let loose a swarm of Butterfree in her stomach. Her mouth goes dry, so she just smiles back at him, understanding his gesture of thanks.

Confused when he suddenly grabs his bag, her eyes widen as he pulls out a perfectly wrapped present, handing it to her.

"Red... You shouldn't have."

He just shakes his head, gesturing for the girl to open it. Carefully unwrapping it, hands shaking slightly, she furrows her eyebrows to see a black box. Lifting the lid, her jaw drops to see the beautiful ruby necklace she'd been wanting for months. Tears welling in her eyes, she looks at him in confusion. She never mentioned it to him.

"How did you...?"

Red's cheeks heat up slightly as he signs a response, 'I may have asked Blue if there was anything you had your eye on.'

Gently taking it from her, he clasps it around her neck, grinning happily at the beauty in front of him. (Y/N) shakes her head in disbelief, a small chuckle escaping her lips.

'You really went above and beyond,' She signs to him, gently kissing him on the cheek before getting up, 'tell you what, how about we just have a movie day?'

----

Hours had passed, and Red and (Y/N) were still snuggled up on the sofa-bed watching movies, a blanket draped over them. They had stopped earlier for dinner, and Pikachu and Jolteon had already fallen asleep, so there was nothing stopping them from watching movies for the rest of the night.

Except, unfortunately, the tiredness slowly creeping its way in to (Y/N)'s body. Her eyes keep drifting shut, until Red grabs the remote, switching the TV off.

"What did you do that for?" (Y/N) asks, glancing up at him with half-shut eyes, earning a soft glare in response. She knew that look all too well. "But I don't want to sleep yet."

Red places a finger against her lip, silencing her and shaking his head. Planting a soft kiss on her temple, he pulls her closer; a sign that he's not taking no for an answer.

Sighing, (Y/N) moves closer to him, reluctantly closing her eyes. She knows how stubborn he can get, and just decided to leave it at that.

She had almost drifted off to sleep, when she felt a soft pair of lips against her head, and a quiet, hoarse voice break the silence.

"I love you."

(Y/N) freezes, slowly opening her tired eyes to look up at him. Those were the first words he had spoken in five and a half years.

"Red, did you just-?"

"I love you," he whispers again. It looked like a bit of a struggle to speak, but his face showed nothing but pure love and adoration for the girl in his arms.

(Y/N) leans up, pressing her lips against his in a gentle kiss. They were both still very tired, so it didn't last long, but they still had enough time to pour show the love they had held back for years. In those few short moments, it was like a spark rushing through their bodies. All those years of loving each other, all that time they held back, finally expressing their feelings.

When they pull away, (Y/N) buries her head in Red's chest, too embarrassed and tired to actually look him in the eyes. But before she falls asleep, Red does hear her mumble a response.

"I love you too."

Those were the last words she spoke that night. As Red gazes down at the girl sleeping peacefully in his arms; the one he loves with all his heart; he can't help but think about how lucky he is to have her in his life.

(Y/N) is the best thing that ever happened to him, and now they can finally celebrate the start of a beautiful relationship.

#pokemon #pokemon red #pokemon blue #trainer red #champion red #x reader #oneshot #pokemon oneshot #red x reader #red (pokemon)#blue (pokemon)#fluff #selective mutism #kanto

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thevindicativevordan · 3 years

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DC Fandome 2021

Finally arrived! My thoughts:

Disappointed that there was no real news on S2 of Superman & Lois but I get that they've only just started filming. Hope we get news soon.

Holy shit we're finally getting another animated Green Lantern movie? I'm assuming that will be set in the Tomorrowverse shared continuity they established and John Stewart will be the main protagonist. That's fine with me, wonder how much longer until we get a JL movie set in the Tomorrowverse however?

Super-Sons is finally getting a movie! Jon's making waves and hopefully Damian will be less insufferable here than he's been everywhere else outside of comics

Still can't see Ezra as Barry, and holy shit wearing a choker really? Really hoping the Internet forgot about the video huh. I am getting more and more interested in checking the Flash movie out for Keaton Batman. Surprised to see Sasha Supergirl in the promo this early, guess she'll have a big role to play

Speaking of Batman, holy shit does The Batman look good! Seeing a lot of people compare it to Nolan and that's definitely part of the DNA, but it's also clearly less obsessed with realism than Nolan was. Odd that my most anticipated DC movie is a Batman movie considering how fatigued I am of him everywhere else but at least Batman is the one DC IP they don't usually fuck up.

Martians and magic for the focus of S4? I'm ready for the return of a more pissed off and violent Conner. Can he please get a new fucking outfit? It's not even tacticool, just basic and boring. Theorized that the "Phantoms" title referred to the season being connected to the Phantom Zone in some way, but I wonder if instead it is related to the Martians. Maybe there will be a White Martian Invasion in S4? Animation looks ok but still choppy, and the trailer voiceover was awful, no clue what they were thinking there.

Speaking of animation, My Adventures With Superman looks soooo fucking good! Think this is going to be the best Superman product we will get this decade besides S&L. Know it's too early to be saying that but the concept art of the trio looks so goddamn good, and that small promo image of Lois and Jimmy rushing to Clark has me excited! Can't wait for a proper trailer, really excited to see their take on Metropolis. Doesn't look like they're going retrofuture with the aesthetic. Sucks it got pushed back to 2023 but at least that will be a good fit for Superman's 85th

Meanwhile the more popular sibling show, The Caped Crusader fills me with equal parts fear and interest. Timm "without restrictions" is going to be either amazing or godawful. What new crack ship will he unleash upon us I wonder? Happy to hear there won't be any other heroes in TCC, keep Timm the fuck away from Superman and Wonder Woman please.

Speaking of WW, this is her 80th and she's getting jack shit for it. No WW: TAS, no video game, not even an animated movie. Piss poor showing from DC there. Least she's getting her first event since Amazons Attack! (no I don't give a shit that Snyder hyped Death Metal up as a WW event, that was bullshit) in Trial of the Amazons. Hope it's good! Still a really lousy showing for Wondy at this Fandome

Gotham Knights and Suicide Squad got trailers!... with no gameplay. Still don't really care about either but I do think I'll get Knights to play as Nightwing so I can enjoy a media product with him in it where he's not completely incompetent. None of the humor for SS landed for me and I really, really fucking hate Harley at this point. Expecting Batman to show up and save the day with the Squad because how else would this plot end? Will he also end up saving the day in Knights after he escapes the Court or shakes off the brainwashing (come on you don't REALLY think he's dead do you?) is the real question mark.

Happy Yang has another DC project coming, sad it's not Superman related

Glad to hear all the Milestone books are getting another season, I'm only reading Static and Icon & Rocket right now. Really happy to hear there is an animated movie coming! McDuffie's creations deserve to reach a wider audience and Brandon Thomas writing the script should mean it's written well

Aquaman, Shazam 2, and Black Adam all look solid

Krypto looks fun! Hope it's good, Bolt was one of my favorite animated movies as a kid, so Superman meets Bolt is right up my alley.

New motto for Clark as well as Jon! May go more in-depth with my thoughts about this later but the short version is I like it.

Lol at Titans getting renewed, that show will never die, your hatred only strengthens it

All in all I'd give it a 7/10. Was fine but aside from The Batman nothing really blew me away. Kinda wish they had spent more time talking about the comics, this was the biggest audience they ever could have gotten, why not talk a bit more about what they have planned for Flash, Superman, the JL, etc? Least they did hype up a WW event, but I think they could have done more honestly.

#dc fandome #dc comics #my adventures with superman #batman the caped crusader #dceu #young justice #gotham knights #suicide squad

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sadclowngorl · 5 years

Text

Video Games!

Very very self indulgent fic i wrote of my and the boys being put in a video game and i drew (horribly) the outfits

“Josuke, I need healing!” Okuyasu leaned forward over his controller as his character was low on health. “Busy man!” Josuke said back and raised his controller trying to fight off the enemy horde. Elizabeth listened to her boys play the game, never really interested in video games.

“Okuyasu, you have a healing potion.” Elizabeth pointed out not looking up from her sketchbook. “What?” He asked raising a brow “You found like three in that chest from the village.” Elizabeth mumbled and Okuyasu was quick to check his inventory, gasping he quickly used his last potion. “Thanks babe!” Okuyasu said and Josuke finally freed himself of the hoard. “Gimme a hand bro!” He said and the two teamed up to fight the horde

The only sounds from the Higashikata living room was grunts and the movements of the controller's. “Okuyasu, what are you doing?” Josuke asked as Okuyasu's character was suddenly attacking Josuke. “I-I don't know man, I can't stop. Why are you fighting back?!” Okuyasu panicked as his controller started to move on its own. Josuke threw his controller down as it still moved “Unplug the controllers!” Elizabeth said and Okuyasu pulled them out, only for the controllers to plug themselves back in.

Elizabeth grabbed the controller, “Let me try” she pressed play only for a flash of light to blind everyone and she was gone. “Call, Viola!” Josuke gasped and Okuyasu called Elizabeth’s older sister.

“Moon residence. Viola speaking.”

“Elizabeth was sucked into a video game!”

“Mario or Legend of Zelda?”

“Get over here!” Josuke could be heard from over the phone and another flash of light happened.

Okuyasu opened the door as soon as he heard a knock, Viola Moon stood at the door. Koichi and Rohan were behind her “I met these two guys on the way and they followed me here.” She said as she walked in. “Where's Josuke and Elizabeth?” Koichi asked and Okuyasu pointed at the TV which showed two characters that look exactly like said people.

Dialogue appeared on the screen “Okuyasu! Have you seen the stand user?” Elizabeth appeared on the screen. “What the hell is my sister wearing, did you guys put her in that?” Viola growled at Okuyasu who sweated. “No we didn't! We promise!”, He grabbed the controller and another flash of light appeared.

“Okuyasu!” Koichi yelled and went to grab the controller only for Viola to hold him back. “Don't touch the controller!” She said and suddenly video game music came from the TV. “Play 3 has entered the game! Game full!” A voice said

Rohan huffed and grabbed the remote, nothing happened to him, Viola raised a brow and grabbed the second controller. “Koichi plug the other controller in.” Rohan said and Koichi hesitantly did as said.

“Welcome to the game, players! Here are the rules!” Dialogue appeared and voice read it;

“Play fair!

No cheating!

If your character dies then they die in real life!"

“What!?” the three yelled in unison.

Viola clicked a button and the voice continued.

“How to play;

Defeat at least six hordes of enemies and still have three hearts. If you do not defeat six hordes or loose three hearts then you will die!” Koichi shivered at the last word.

“Choose your character.”

Viola looked at the screen and choose Elizabeth, she wears a black leotard with a wide cleavage window. A moon belt with thigh high socks and a black cape that covers the crescent moon on her face. She holds a staff that has a carved Moon. “The Moon is my mother! I will fight in her honor!” Viola chuckled at her sister's dedication.

Koichi choose Okuyasu,a barbarian with a pelt cape and loin cloth, and a pair of gauntlets. “I may not be the brainiest but I sure as hell am the buffest!” Koichi smiled “That's Okuyasu.”

Rohan groaned. “You two planned this didn't you? Giving me this bird nest buffoon!” Rohan clicked on Josuke, a healer who wears a long sleeved collared coat with multiple accessories, the coat covers his entire body. “I'm a healer and a lover!” Rohan scoffed at Josuke's quote.

“Ready?

Set

Play!” The announcer cheered and suddenly hoards came for the trio.

Elizabeth's eyes widened “I have to fight in this!?” she yelled looking down at her outfit.

“Hot” Josuke gave her thumbs up and was sent off to hold back the hordes. Elizabeth groaned and raised her staff, the moon shined down onto the hordes, Two hordes started to float into the air. Some members of the hoard started to attack her.

“Gah!” Her offense was weak and she quickly lost a heart.

Viola huffed and pressed harder onto the buttons.

Elizabeth raised her staff weakly and the moon shined onto her. Her eyes glowed, the moon only gave her back half a heart.

Koichi leaned closer to the screen, biting his cheek.

“I'm gonna beat you until you disappear!” Okuyasu yelled and headed straight towards another horde, fists clenched and up front. He punched his way through the group and knocked them all into the ground, each of them disappeared. Okuyasu let out a cheer and punched his fists together.

Koichi cheered with Okuyasu “Yes!”

Okuyasu was quickly jumped by two enemies. “What the-!?” Okuyasu yelled as he fell onto the ground, he was dog piled by more.

“Help!” Both Okuyasu and Koichi said.

Rohan smirked and sent Josuke towards Okuyasu, “Do something you sack of shit!” Rohan yelled as Josuke stood there. “Rohan, you have to actually press the buttons.” Viola grumbled as she pressed a button for Elizabeth to send another enemy in the air.

Rohan grumbled and pressed random buttons, Josuke randomly kicked the dog pile of enemies. Two enemies flew off and were knocked out, Rohan scoffed and pressed another button.

“Cleansing thoughts!” Josuke said and raised his hand, his large book opened and the pages turned. The pile dispersed and the group bowed towards Josuke, officially being cleansed of evil they left into the woods.

“Not bad, bird nest” Rohan smirked and healed Okuyasu.

Elizabeth joined the two already putting another horde into the air. “Damn babe, you're good at this.” Okuyasu smiled and Elizabeth shrugged “It's like dungeons and dragons but real life.”

Quickly the last two hordes were defeated by the trio and they cheered. “I wonder if there's another level.” Josuke laughed as he pulled the two into a hug.

The announcer spoke “Final Level. Video Killed The Radio Star!”

The trio's hearts show, Josuke has 2, Elizabeth 2, and a half abd Okuyasu 1 and a half.

“Healing!” Koichi yelled and Rohan glared at the screen, healing Okuyasu to have 2 and a half hearts. In the game the ground shook, the controllers vibrated in the other trios hands.

“Boss Level.” Viola frowned “I hate boss levels.”

Josuke held tight onto the two as the ground started to fall apart, a large figure rose from the breaking ground. “It's the boss!” Elizabeth said as she hid in Josuke's chest.

The figure was unrecognisable until it stood up straight to show it had a TV for a head. The TV screen was rapidly changing channels, from old 50s comedies to politics news it couldn't decided. It swiped at the trio but they ducked.

“I think that's the stand!” Josuke said as he let the two go. Okuyasu nodded and quickly started to run towards it, it swiped at him again but he jumped out the way and landed onto its arm.

Quickly Okuyasu lost balance and fell backwards, he grabbed onto the Stands arm and pulled himself back up, the stand swiped again this time aiming for Elizabeth.

She raised her staff and rocks shot towards the Stand. Crashing into the screen, it cracked. Okuyasu ran up to the screen and punched it with his right gauntlet.

The giant stand stumbled, the screen started to turn to static. Okuyasu lost his balance again this time not able to catch himself he screamed.

“Need a hand?” A voice said as he floated to the ground. Okuyasu laughed as he saw Elizabeth standing over him.

Josuke was inspecting the fallen stand “That was too easy.” he hummed as the TV screen was flickering.

The screen changed to the classic movie, the terminator.

“I'll be back.”

Josuke shivered as the screen turned off and the stand disappeared. He joined the two who were catching their breath. “Why aren't we out?” Okuyasu asked and looked up at the ‘sky.’

“Heavens Door!” Rohan yelled. “Bee Gees!” Viola called out her stand who buzzed loudly. The two adults were standing in front of a unconscious Koichi who was attacked by the stand user who broke into the home.

Quickly the stand user passed out, his face turned into pages. Rohan wrote the usual ‘I am not able to cause any harm to Rohan Kishibe’

“He works at the arcade and is sick of kids not coming to the arcade, instead going to play video games at home. Stand user of Radio killed the video star. Josuke Higashikata game console was the first console his stand has entered.” Rohan mumbled more unimportant information about the stranger “The only way for the person in the console to come out is to destroy the console itself.” Rohan smirked and stood closing the mans open face, happy to destroy one of Josuke's favorite things.

He unplugged the game console from the wall and with a laugh he threw it on the ground, repeatedly stepping on it. Not noticing that after the first stomp the trio was free, still in their new outfits.

Josuke’s eyes widened “Rohan, what the hell are you doing to my stuff!?” he yelled and Rohan laughed “What? It was rotting your brain more than that hair is.” He said over confidently.

“ah shit” Elizabeth mumbled as Josuke went off again, demolishing Rohan and everything in sight.

“You're dating that guy?” Viola asked with a raised brow, both Okuyasu and Elizabeth nodded. Viola rolled her eyes “I'll see you at the house later, by the way your friend is unconscious.” Viola said and left.

After calming down Josuke and fixing all the damages, Koichi and Rohan left taking the stand user that was caught in Josuke's wrath with them. The trio of teens decided resting is the best way to end the day, grabbing a couple of blankets and a pillow the three bundled up on the couch and enjoyed their video game free night.

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