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wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

Tempers

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, anger flares and feelings come out.

Requested by Anonymous: This is sooo ''let's pretend they're all alive' but I think we all need something nice now, could you do one where reader is bobby's daughter and she's your typical I like makeup, short skirts and heels girl and they're all (reluctantly) working with the ghost facers for a case, dean gets protective around her bc she's bobby's daughter and not at all bc he likes her no no what gave you that idea hehehe

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: little bit of jealousy, injuries, mentions of blood, swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, fluff, kissing

Hunting with the Winchester’s.

No matter the case, hunting with those two never failed to be interesting. You’d like to think you were a good hunter, in fact you knew you were. You might not have been the best there is but there’s not one hunter out there that hasn’t made a handful of mistakes on the job. It was bound to happen sometime. But you’ve had a pretty good hunter to learn from—your dad.

He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of you hunting, not in the slightest and he tried his hardest to get you to go another direction with your life. But Bobby Singer was as stubborn as they come, so he should’ve expected his daughter to be just the same as himself. With all of the reluctance in the world, he taught you to be the hunter you are today, and that’s something he can feel confident in even though he might not admit it.

Dean hadn’t taken you too seriously the first time you’d accompanied them on a hunt for a vamp nest, treating you as if you were a child despite the mere one year age difference the two of you held. That quickly changed when you saved him from a great deal of danger that night; three vamps against a disarmed Dean surely wouldn’t have gone very well.

That was something you very much held over his head, giving it a good long while before you finally let him live it down save for a few mentions here and there.

Even then Dean was just as protective as he’d been since you were teens nearly ten years ago, you were Bobby’s daughter. That was always his reasoning for insisting you stay close to him on hunts, for losing his temper should the smallest of things happen to you. That was his reasoning for being adamant that you stay back on hunts he deemed too dangerous, trying his hardest to convince Bobby to stick with him on it. Bobby never disagrees with his reasoning, but he also knows you’re too stubborn for your own good.

Dean was the very same way.

The old house looked like something straight out of a movie, the stereotypical haunted house as boards stick haphazardly over broken windows and the grass is far too overgrown. Nearly every corner was littered with spiderwebs, the siding on the house covered in years of neglected dirt and moss. It was only perfectly fitting that it’d be haunted, otherwise that’d be a waste of an abandoned house.

You squinted up at it as you got out of the backseat of the Impala, turning back to look at the long driveway you’d just driven up, lined with old trees on either side before glancing back at the house. Your gaze shifts to Dean as you smooth out your jacket, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowed as you look up at the older Winchester.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a pair of those ridiculously tall heels on. I have to say I’m shocked.”

You roll your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek as he nudges the toe of your tattered old boots, his smile still remaining as he looks down at you in amusement.

“Well I guess I’m full of surprises then, aren’t I?” You say as you rub your gloss in with a smack of your lips and brush past him to get to catch up to Sam, the smile you’d tried to stifle now tugging at your lips once your back was to him. But he knew it was there just as much as you saw his was when you turned back around to catch his expression.

He chuckled, brows soon furrowing as he shook his head. “Wait—what’s that supposed to mean?”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and quickened his pace, grumbling to himself about what your words could have meant as his brows furrowed. In a matter of moments you nearly smack into Sam, stopping just in time.

“What is it?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean mutters, and when you look at him that crease between his brows deepens and his jaw tenses, eyes rolling and you follow his gaze to the ever familiar van that sat parked on the other side of the trees. “Looks like the ghostbusters beat us to it.”

Ghostfacers.

You were more than surprised when Dean had caved on working the hunt with them, not without a couple of eye rolls and a few choice words for the pair mumbled not so discreetly under his breath. But all things considered, after what happened the last time, you were surprised he’d gone through with it. Although, Harry and Ed weren’t planning on leaving anyway. They may have been more than just a little intimidated by that ever famous Dean Winchester glare, one that never worked on you, but they weren’t scared enough to back down much to Dean’s dismay.

The more people there were, the better, but that didn’t stop the older Winchester from being protective over you. In fact, you were certain he was even more so.

“Stay with me,” Dean said, his words serious as he put his arm out in front of you, his gaze over at the two less than desired guests and their cameras having been less than pleased. Especially with the way they smiled at you and acted like a couple of fools with a crush.

“What am I five, Dean?” You say, pushing his arm down as you quicken your pace to walk with him rather than behind him.

He narrows his eyes down at you as his lips purse till those dimples appeared that you’ve come to know oh so well, and rarely were they not from discontentment.

“Would you slow down?” He huffs, a smile tugging at your lips.

You sigh, shaking your head in amusement.

You failed to miss the way the back of his hand had brushed over your knuckles as you walked along the shadowed hallway, thick with cobwebs and rubble scattering across the scratched wood floors. You were starting to wonder if the action was a simple accident or if he’d felt the same spark of something you couldn’t quite pinpoint in his chest as you felt in yours.

It could have been nothing, probably was, but you shook it off when you turned around the corner and tried not to think about it again.

The hunt was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn, and it was one spirit against five people. Harry and Ed weren’t the best of help, not really, but it was more than you walked in with and it should have been better. But it wasn’t.

The spirit turned out to be far more vengeful than she let on, and as Dean suspected, it wasn’t a good idea to split up. Not in a house that was three times bigger than it seemed with a more than violent spirit on the loose. It most certainly didn’t help that the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the house dark enough to begin with even in daylight, it’s boarded up windows and burnt out lightbulbs working against you.

Had you not been there, Dean would more than readily have split up to cover more ground with the extra set of hands accompanying you this time, it only made sense to do so. But you were. You were there and you were just as stubborn as ever as you stood there in favor of the very idea that was just the opposite of what Dean wanted. What was a good idea to you and one to most was the worst thing he could possibly think of. He didn’t want you to stray far from him for reasons he’d never admit, not to you or himself, instead reasoning with a simple ‘because I said so’.

But that phrase didn’t work on you. It never did.

He knew. From the moment those two barreled down the stairs looking paler than the spirit you were after, holding all the hesitancy in the world in their body language he knew. The apologetic look Sam had given him wasn’t one that helped either, anger quick to spark within him as he closed his eyes for a moment. He should have known better than to believe they’d offer you any form of protection even though he knows you can hold your own. He should have known better than to quit arguing with you on the matter because maybe, just maybe you’d have given in and split up with him instead. Maybe you would still be with the group and not who knows where in this maze of a run down mansion.

It was a mess of maybe’s and what if’s that clouded his every thought.

But he didn’t argue and you were gone. You were swept away by Casper the not so friendly ghost and he was to blame. Bobby would be livid if he knew, he gets that, but Dean himself didn’t know what he’d do if something happened. He could deal with the wrath of Bobby Singer any day but he couldn’t deal with even just the thought of something happening to you and he couldn’t find it in him to grasp just why it was he felt that way. Maybe he could, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

“You what?” Dean asked, anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. His question was low and the two words were more than venomous, more than telling of just how angry he’d been. He heard exactly what Ed had told him not thirty seconds before, he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He could believe it actually, because it was Ed of all people, but that wasn’t the point.

Ed swallowed thickly and offered a nervous laugh in an attempt to stave off the tension that’d been building the moment they came back to Dean without you, backing up from the green eyed Winchester who’d been staring him down with a narrowed gaze. It wasn’t hard to see that his patience was wearing thin, and he knew he was pushing it the more he stalled. “She—she went ahead! It’s not like we could talk her out of it!”

His fists clenched and relaxed at his sides at the reasoning he just heard, crescent shaped imprints of his nails left behind on his palms in the wake of his increasing anger.

“You let her out of your sight?” He said, far louder than before. He grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pushed him against the dilapidated old wall, the wood creaking under the newfound pressure against it and a cloud of dust forming. He’s more than tense as Dean crinkles his shirt between his fists, knuckles ivory white and jaw clenched tightly. He could see every freckle and every ounce of emotion in Dean’s eyes, that’s how close he was. He could see the angry quiver in his bottom lip and the flare of his nostrils, could feel his breath hitting his face as he stood pinned to the wall and his glasses even fogged up.

“What, you thought you’d play ‘Mr. Tough Guy’, try and protect her? Huh? Cause you sure as hell didn’t do a good job,” Dean grits out frustratedly.

“She said she’d kick my ass if I didn’t let her go ahead!” He splutters, nearly nose to nose with him.

Dean nodded, the smile on his face bitter as he slid his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he says, sweating bullets by that point as he buckled under the pressure of Dean’s distress. He let out a noise when he shook him slightly and he knows that’s not the answer Dean needs to hear right now. “We were on the second floor when a door slammed around the corner!”

“Actually, they all closed so it’s kinda hard to tell which one,” Harry chimed in, growing timid the more he spoke as he stepped closer to Sam as some form of protection. He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously when Dean’s stare fell on him.

“Dean, we’ll find her, okay? Right now we’re just wasting time,” Sam says, noting Ed was two seconds from fainting from the anger radiating off the older Winchester.

Dean pushed him back once more before releasing his grip on his shirt, wrinkled and disheveled from the tightness of his fists. It was becoming increasingly more apparent that this was about more than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter. It was about more than just his annoyance with anything and everything that has to do with Ghostfacers. It was you.

He was angry, livid, as he snagged the flashlight from the table, storming off on his own. Not without his anger getting the better of him, a nearby chair taking the brunt of his frustration as it hits the wall. He remembers just what happened the last time he got stuck working a hunt with them, and he tried his hardest not to think about it.

Meanwhile, you found yourself stuck locked in a room you knew you weren’t in before you were taken. A room you didn’t even know existed in this house to begin with. For being a run down old building, the flimsy doors were stronger than they looked, but you suppose the powers of the supernatural didn’t really care about things like that.

Your knuckles were an angry shade of red, fists sore and throbbing from having pounded them against the door for the better part of what had to be ten minutes in an attempt to escape or at least grab someone’s attention. You were tired as you slumped back against the wall, tucked within the sparse circle of salt you managed to make. Your phone was dead and your flashlight was gone, your energy seemingly just as drained as everything else.

You could feel the I told you so’s coming from Dean, you knew they’d be there ready and waiting if you get out of this. It’s not like it had been completely undeserved, but you didn’t want to hear it. You knew you more than likely looked worse for wear as you sat within that circle, knew by the way you saw smears of crimson on your fingers when you wiped your cheek. It was no secret that you messed up big time with this one, you’d admit that, but admitting it to yourself didn’t help you in that moment and you certainly wouldn’t say it to Dean.

You found there were a lot of things you were hesitant on admitting to Dean, and in the current moment you weren’t so sure if you’d have the chance to bring any of them to light. Maybe it was for the best anyway, could save yourself the embarrassment of having feelings for the older Winchester in the first place. Though you can’t tell what was scarier, the thought of his inevitable discontent with you and your hunting capabilities should you make it out alive, or the very real possibility that you wouldn’t make it out alive.

Yeah, you definitely couldn’t decide that one.

You weren’t sure how or when you found yourself pining over green eyes; the two of you bickered more often than not each and every time you saw one another. If it wasn’t over the smell of your perfume filling up the Impala, it was the way his cologne hung on you after he gave you a hug just to make that happen, just to ruffle your hair after you’d just done it. It was the softer smiles you shared with each other without even realizing it.

But it didn’t really matter, not now it didn’t.

You were caught up with the sting of embarrassment coursing through you from having gotten lost in the first place—you were so adamant that you could do it on your own. It happens to Sam all the time, it happens to Dean all the time, but you couldn’t stop the heat burning in your cheeks or the frustration building in your stomach.

You didn’t know how much time had passed nor did you have a second to think on it before she appeared in front of you in a matter of seconds. The look on her face had you sitting a little straighter, back pressing to the wall behind you as you eyed the pitiful salt ring around you. She laughed tauntingly and you were beginning to think even that wouldn’t protect you, you knew it wouldn’t judging by the way each and every granule began to sift away and break apart it’s protective ring.

You swallow thickly as your eyes widened, both your gaze and hers shifting to the door briefly as it rattled. “Y/n?”

Your breath hitched, only the smallest bit of relief washing over you as her attention returned to you almost immediately. “Dean!”

She didn’t seem to mind his attempts at busting the door down, nor the axe that split through the wood. She knew full well she could send him across the room with a simple twitch of her finger should he break through, watching as you scramble to your feet.

In a matter of seconds she’d appeared mere inches from you, her hand grabbing your face, cold and unforgiving. You didn’t know just what it was she’d been doing, but you were more than aware of the pain beginning to lance through you the moment she touched your skin.

It was near unbearable, a sharp burn radiating through you as a pressure squeezed in on you, intense and unwavering. You were quite sure you’d never felt something so intensely, the feeling nearly taking your breath away. Of all the hunts you’d been on, of all the injuries you walked away with, they’ve got nothing on this.

One thing she didn’t count on was the handful of salt you gathered in your palm, too caught up in your demise to see you’d snagged it from the protective ring she broke. You pressed your hand to her wrist and watched her face twist and contort in discomfort, the action searing her arm where you’d touched it and releasing her grip on you in an instant as if you were venomous.

She pushed you to the wall in retaliation with a simple move of her hand, and if you thought she’d been angry now, you surely were mistaken. You groaned as the fragile old wall behind you cracked and crumbled around you, slumping on the ground once more in exhaustion. You caught sight of Dean’s face as the door began to give way, livid yet holding something you couldn’t quite place as your heart hammered in your chest.

But luck seemed to be on your side just this once, fear flashing across her face as she stood mere inches from you. Her yelp was shrill as she stumbled backwards, having burned up in a blaze of misery and screams. Your chest heaved as your shoulders slumped in relief, the heat of her disappearance having fanned over you and the door breaking loose in a heap of shards and splinters.

The pain she’d caused had begun to ebb away and subside, leaving the ache to remain and the fatigue you felt to rest heavier in your body as you stood to your feet with a bit of unbalance.

Dean had crossed the room in a matter of a few strides, the axe clattering to the floor as his hand settled on your cheek. You looked miserable, mascara smudged and a frown on your busted lip.

“You okay?” He asked, the furrow deep between his brows.

“Do not say ‘I told you so’,” you grumble, half humorous as you look up at him.

His lips purse, his thumb swiping over the cut running along your cheek that he was less than pleased about. Any other time he might’ve laughed, but not this time. The worried crease between his brows and the way his lips pointed downward at the corners had been telling enough that he wasn’t happy with the predicament you’d gotten yourself into, that he was the complete opposite of thrilled at the close call that had his heart pounding and his stress in overdrive. But right now he was relieved. You were here and you were okay, attitude and all.

Sam was first to rush in, Harry next and Ed hot on his heels as they stepped over the rubble and splinters of the broken door.

Ed’s own relief washed over him, happy to not be on the receiving end of an angry Dean Winchester’s punch. “You found her—”

“Shut it.”

It’d been quiet the whole car ride home, no music on the radio, no conversation, no quick witted jokes or typical conversation. It was quiet and it was tense, near uncomfortable as Sam was stuck in the tension between two people he knows have something brewing between them. But he said nothing, pretending he didn’t see the way his brother’s gaze flickers to the rear view every other minute to see if you’re okay, his jaw tense and his grip on the wheel nearly too tight.

Bobby wasn’t thrilled to see the way that spirit roughed you up, more than a few choice words thrown Dean’s way with anger in his tone. He expected that much, having braced for it the whole ride back. He didn’t argue, didn’t do much more than nod and clench his jaw, and he didn’t say just how it was that it happened in the first place either.

Now you were wandering through your dad’s house, quiet unlike it had been just two hours earlier. Your dad and Sam had both been asleep, the early hours of dawn beginning to roll around as dawn approached. You knew better than to believe Dean would be sleeping too, your thoughts confirmed when the door to the bedroom he’d been crashing in was still open, bed empty and still untouched from when he’d haphazardly made it the morning before.

You sighed when you saw him, sitting by himself on the back porch swing and the moment you stepped outside you saw the half-drunk bottle of beer in his hand. His gaze lifted to you when he heard the creak of the door, averting his stare moments later.

“It’s late, sweetheart. Go to bed.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

“Not tired,” he says, tipping his bottle against his lips as he takes another sip of his beer.

You huff out a soft sigh, arms crossing over your chest. That’s when he looks at you again, the dimness of the porch light having illuminated the jagged scratch on your cheek, freshly cleaned as well as the mascara that smudged under your eyes earlier. The tension in his jaw had yet to go away, obvious as ever.

“Are you going to be mad at me forever then?”

“‘M not mad anymore,” he says, and you knew for a fact that’d been a lie.

“You’re not that good a liar, Dean,” you say, watching him set his drink down and stand to his feet, leaning his weight on the wooden railing. “I had it handled, you know,” you say, watching his expression sour at your words.

You heard his scoff as you brushed past him, a sigh leaving your lips because you knew he’d react just the way he’d been acting. You were right with him, you were always right.

“Had it handled, my ass,” he said, quick to follow after you. “I told you not to do that.”

“Yeah, well I did it,” you said, and he turned in front of you and spun around, keeping you from walking any further.

“Would you quit it with the tough guy act? You’re hurt and you damn well know it, I know it. Hell, anyone can see that. So do yourself a favor and stop pretending like you had everything under control because I know you better than to believe that.”

Your brows furrow as you look up at him with a squinted gaze, watching as his chest rises and falls, at the way there was something more than anger pooling in his eyes as he looked at you. You’ve never seen him quite this upset over you before, not really, never seen him look at you that way before. He was angry, sure he was, but it was different.

He wasn’t wrong, you were hurting, it’s not everyday you’re on the receiving end of a vengeful spirits’ wrath. You went off on your own when you shouldn’t have been so bold and daring. But you were here. You were here and you were okay and you knew you were bound to do it again on another case. It was what being a hunter is about. You didn’t get this far by sitting back and letting the monsters out there come to you, you had to go out and look for them and if you got a few bumps and bruises then so be it.

“Why are you so mad, Dean?” You ask, watching his eyes roll. “You go out and do the same reckless things on a hunt, you’ve come out on the other side way worse than I did. But since it’s me, suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Exactly, it’s because it’s you!” He repeats, frustrated as ever as he throws his hands up. “And yeah I’m mad. I’m freakin’ pissed. You come in here thinking you’re invincible and you’re not Y/n. I’m mad because…” he paused, letting out a breath as he rubbed his face, hands running through his hair.

He looked at you then, expression softening as he calmed down a fraction. “Forget it.”

“No, not forget it,” you say, grabbing his wrist as he starts to walk away. His jaw was clenched as he looked down at you, swallowing thickly as the heaving of his chest slowed and his grip on the doorknob was tighter than ever.

This was the first time since you’d gotten back that he’d looked in your eyes for longer than a mere second or two. You knew he was on the brink of storming off to sulk in his own anger and guilt because that’s what he always did. You knew there was something more to it than just what he’d told you. He’d like to think that you’d believe that he wasn’t angry anymore, that he was over it. But Sam told you what happened back there, how upset he got with Ed and just how worried he’d been. It was growing increasingly obvious that there was more to it than that.

It was then that you noticed you’d still been holding onto his wrist and he didn’t pull away from you, didn’t make a move to.

You tilted your head to the side when you mulled things over, and that was when the sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that thing where you try and ‘read’ me,” he says, quoting the word.

“You were scared,” you said, smile widening a bit and he huffs, pulling his arm from your loose grip. You hit the nail right on the head.

“I was just doing what Bobby asked me to do,” he says, adamant that that was his reason for being as upset as he was. Definitely not over the feelings bubbling away in the pit of his stomach, just waiting to go ahead and boil over.

“No, you were scared, De,” you say as he starts to turn away from you in an attempt to hide the smile threatening to show. “You were scared that I got lost.”

You always did that. You always took his anger and made it something else entirely and he’d try his hardest to keep that wall up. He was mad at you, mad at you for putting yourself in the same kind of danger he allows himself to be in with every hunt he does. But if you keep poking and prodding him and calling him out on his true feelings with that smile that makes him weak in the knees he does know how long he’ll last.

“You got this all wrong, sweetheart.”

“Sam told me what happened with Ed back there.”

His expression changed, softened a bit before he played it off with that familiar smirk. “Yeah, Ed’s an idiot and he pushed my buttons.”

You nodded then, your smile more than telling that you didn’t believe a word he said. You heaved a sigh, a bit of disappointment burning in your chest at his words. Because maybe you did have it all wrong, maybe his stubborn reluctance to be honest was just him telling the truth. Maybe he was just doing what your dad asked him to do. Being protective was in his nature, you knew that for a fact.

You brushed past him on the porch and headed to the door, the chirping of the early morning birds sounding and giving you enough of a reminder that maybe you should go to bed. That maybe you’ll feel better with a few hours of sleep. That maybe they would be gone, Dean would be gone by the time you woke up and you wouldn’t have to face the fluttery feeling and the ache in your heart until the next time you see him.

You spin on your heel to find him already looking, your smile soft. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Without so much as a reply you twist the old brass doorknob, pushing the back door open before his hand grips your wrist. You turned back to look at him, brows furrowed as you gazed up at him. He swallows thickly as he looks at you, lips parting to speak but the very words he’d been thinking of so vividly were stuck on the top of his tongue.

His hand loosens around your wrist and the tips of his fingers slide down to your hand to envelope yours, calloused and warm and hesitant. He takes all but a few seconds of your curious gaze, of the questions sitting on your tongue before he dips down and presses his lips on yours. It’s soft, featherlight almost as he pulls away just as quickly.

He doesn’t stray too far, his nose brushing against yours as he swallows nervously, but the sight of your smile put him at ease. Had him kissing you with just a little more vigor as his hand drops yours in favor of pressing to your cheek, your own having settled in his arm. Your smiles mingle and press into each other, the kiss soft and languid as your cheeks burned under his touch.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” You murmur, and the way he hummed softly, the way he stole another kiss in favor of admitting you were was telling enough.

He pulls back to look at you, his lips kiss swollen and pink as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. His eyes bounce between yours and down to your lips, looking at you once more before he kisses you again. The anger he held is quick to melt when you look at him the way you do and he hates it, he loves it but he hates it because he really should be mad. You nearly got yourself killed and here he was weak in the knees and he knows you’ll be just as brave on the next hunt. He knows you’ll do just the same thing.

“Your dad’s gonna kill me,” he mumbles, smiling against your lips.

“Probably,” you say with a grin, his quiet laughter immediate as he pulls you closer.

But you were right. There was more to it than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter, there always was. As stubborn as Dean Winchester could be, you knew him better than that, and he knew you better than to believe you won’t make his heart race and his worry spike on every hunt after that. It’s just in your nature to be braver than ever.

But he’ll protect you each and every time.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @lanea-1 @campingmonkey

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you

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just-antithings · 2 years

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novel-length ask warning! also a lot of discussion of sex negativity and sex in general fyi, plus some homophobia/transphobia. i have an anti-adjacent horrifying story the vestiges of my brain spat out that i just totally forgot, please buckle in...some details might be off but i'm certain most of this is accurate. how could i forget such a trainwreck?

so i was in this fandom some years ago, like 7-8 years i think, and there was a popular blog. it was run by a few people iirc and they would accept submissions of fanworks to show off. pretty typical. but they created a nsfw blog to keep stuff separate for people who didn't want to see nsfw content of this fandom.

all good so far, right? but then came trouble. at first the nsfw blog was just featuring saucy art and fics. then people started coming to the blog with sex questions. and that's a little odd to ask a fandom based blog but nothing inherently harmful since it was on topic, and i feel there may have been some younger people trying to anonymously get resources from a familiar space. it started out pretty innocuous, like how do you be safe while with a partner, how do you learn what you like, body safe materials etc. the responses by the mods were pretty standard, and they'd give a link or two to some useful info.

then it started getting fuckin weird. their responses were pretty much devolving into all fearmongering sex negative bullshit. off my head they argued (paraphrasing): anal is disgusting and it will cause you to get sick and die so if you're not a cis gay man don't do it and even if you are don't do it you nasty demon. you shouldn't need a sex toy to get off, you're just poisoned by porn if you can't experience enough pleasure by using your imagination and a hand. (nevermind anorgasmia right) don't look at porn if you're in a relationship but don't have sex with your partner either because that's what society wants from you and it's bad. they said you should 'explore your body' but also masturbation was horrible and sinful and having desire means there's something wrong with you.

maybe the blog switched mods? i have no fucking idea. i'm like, you guys were doing okay before then the vengeful spirit of a puritan ghost fucking possessed the blog???

they had an anon write in and she was asking about tips for dealing with dysphoria as a trans woman and not being able to shave. these absolute idiots were like shaving is a construct forced onto women to get rid of natural body hair, so 'just don't be dysphoric dummy!!' as if it's that simple! it was so cruel and dismissive. and they were kind of insinuating she was less of a woman bc of her discomfort with body hair. it made me so fucking pissed at the time.

but they continued to reblog nsfw fanart of characters and guess what? some of em were having sex in the pics, just what the mods said you shouldn't do!! holy fuck!!

and even more, on the main blog they fucking publicly shamed this person for creating a fanwork inspired by their headcanons, saying it was disgusting torture porn and they should be locked up. best part of all--it was extremely mild gore. pg-13 movies have more violence. like the fic had one character stab the other in the shoulder iirc and they tussled a little. that's all. wowie. the canon for this fandom HAD MORE VIOLENCE.

i hope that person kept writing, but i doubt it after being so summarily rejected and having their name shared around...fucking hell man.

so for anyone reading this please do not get sex ed from fandom blogs unless they're really competent but i have never seen such a thing so yeah no. try scarleteen i think they're good?

but like these mods had to have been radfems right? right???

i will step down from my podium of horrors now but whoever posts this i would love to hear your thoughts on my batshit little tale.

my thoughts are that was a wild ride from start to finish

also yeah you should never get your sex ed from fandom, get it from somewhere reliable like scarletteen

#mod erin #just anti things #ask #torture mention #gore mention #nsft mention

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

Text

Dreams, Chapter 11

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 11

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2616

Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.

“They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.

“Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”

The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.

“I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.

She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”

Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”

“I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”

He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”

“Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”

Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”

You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”

“Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”

“Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”

He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”

You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.

“It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”

That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”

“I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”

Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.

A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”

“But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”

His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”

The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”

He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”

It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.

A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”

And you woke up.

The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.

But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.

When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”

And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”

Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.

“How long have you been talking to Dean?”

He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.

You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”

“Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”

Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.

“He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”

He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”

You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”

“It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”

You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.

“I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.

He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.

“The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”

“Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”

“Can I help?”

After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.

You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”

Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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silverisbestboy · 4 years

Text

Sonic Boom x Reader

Requested by @blackace1993: Conversation was accidentally deleted but from what I remeber of it, they wanted hc for the Sonic Boom characters who has a partner who frequently gets into trouble and/or captured by Eggman. They didn't specify which character they wanted so I just did all of them minus Tails. Hope you enjoy!

Sonic:

There's no denying it

Sonic was smitten

The moment you set foot on the island Sonic was taken aback by you

To him, you were drop dead gorgeous with a great personality so I guess you could say it was love at first sight for him

This boy is a fool for you

It's actually quite funny watching him zip across the island at the slightest remark that you need something

"Man, you what? I'm feeling kind of hungry"

"Say no more!" He'll say as he zooms away and reappears seconds later with a chili dog in hand

"Uhhhh"

But, unfortunately for you, being in any sort of relationship with Sonic is not wothout complication

Eggman sees you as a new oppurtunity to best Sonic and ends up taking you hostage on a regular basis

The first time it happens, Sonic all but destroys Eggman's fortress looking for you

But after it continuously happening, it starts getting kinda old

"Greeting Sonic! I see you've come to rescue your little girlfriend"

"Yeah, yeah. Can we just we just get to the part where I clobber you?"

It gets to the point where Sonic starts teaching you how to defend yourself so you can hold your own against Eggman

Not that he doesn't mind rescuing, it's just he can't always be there to protect

With the amount of times they've had to save you, the team are already very familiar with you and consider you apart of their friend group

But as you get better is self-defence, Sonic officially announces you as part of the team and you start joining them on missions

While Sonic does tend to stick to your side more than his other teammates during battle, he's glad to have you fighting alongside them

After all, he's happy to spend as much time with you as possible, even if that means having to bash Eggman's robots to do so

Knuckles:

You're not a bad person

So what if you have anger issues

So what if you get into fights from time to time

So what if you've been in trouble with the cops before

Doesn't mean you're a bad person, it just means you've.... got some issues

One day you're not in the best mood and have already had a pretty shitty day, and you're just a ticking time bomb waiting to explode

So it's no wonder that when a big guy bumps into you and causes you to drop the tray of food you're holding, you go off on him

Unfortunately for you, this guy is huge, a tall red echidna with bulking arms that looks like he could punch you into next week

But you're not one to back down from a fight, you've beaten up guys twice your size before and you're not afraid to do it again

"Woah, hey, sorry about that, didn't see you there."

What, is he dense?! Who does this guy think he is barrelling into anyone he pleases just because he's big? You bet he was just gonna walk off without even helping you. Well, you'd show him!

Without warning, you lunged at the echidna with the intent of knocking him over the same way he almost did to you

But you underestimated his initial strength and reflexes and he caught you midair with your legs kicking and your hands clawing for his face

"Woah, dude chill! I said I was sorry!"

He just kinda holds you up in air at arms length with you kicking and screaming until you eventually tire yourself out

The echidna stares at you cautiously

"Are you good now?"

After a moment, you reluctantly nod, and he gently sets you back on your feet

He then carefully leans down without takong his eyes off you and grabs your burger which is still wrapped in foil and reaches it out to you

"How about we start over? I'm Knuckles."

You thought after that encounter, that was the last you'd see of him

But one day, you've gotten yourself into another fight, and to say you're losing would be an understatement

It's once again, a guy twice your size and he's absolutely beating the crap out of you

But by some miracle, Knuckles happens to be walking by and immediately notices you

He steps in to save you, and the guy you're fighting knows about Knuckles being part of Sonic's team and doesn't even bother attempting to fight him

Knuckles takes your half conscious body to Tails's work shop where they fix you up

After that, Knuckles refuses to leave you alone

Even if you try to leave, he always ends finding you to make sure you don't get into more trouble

He helps you find outlets for your anger by sparring and working out with him

You grow a soft spot for Knuckles that you'd never thought you'd have for anyone

He's your big goofball that somehow always manages to calm you down and get you out of whatever trouble your in

Though it's beyond you why anyone would want to put up with you, eespecially a lovable ray of sunshine like Knuckles, you're so grateful that you have someone like himin your life to keep you in check

A/N: Might make more hcs for that because I absolutely love the idea of big, strong goofball Knuckles having a little ball of pure rage as a partner.

Amy Rose:

Some would say you're a pacifist

Some would say you care too much

Some would say you're too nice

But you like to think that you're just trying to do good in the world

You're definitely the type of person that hates conflict and wants everyone to get along, and you're more often than not a bit of a pushover

You like to give people benefit of the doubt and prefer to see the good in people, although sometimes, this affects you negatively

A kindly looking (or at least in your opinion) wolf with a showman's top hat and a certain glint his eyes one day stops you in your tracks and asks you ever so politely if you would kindly lend him some money to help feed his family

Of course, you're quick to help, but little do you know that this is none other than T.W. Barker himself, and he's been watching you carefully for some time

He notices the way you jump at the oppurtunity to help someone in need, and he being a con man at heart, decides to take advantage of that

But before you can lend the man all the money you have in your pocket, a certain pink hedgehog decides to interfere

"Hey, you leave her alone Barker! Go find your own ATM machine!"

Amy Rose herself stands not far behind you, hammer in hand and ready for trouble

"N-now, now, let's not be too hasty. I was simply accepting a generous donation from this unsuspecting-- I mean self-less young lady."

"Yeah right. Beat it before I hammer you into next Tuesday, punk!"

You're in utter shock as the seeming wolf in sheep's clothing (pun intended) makes his escape

"Gotta look out for scumbags. Seems this village is getting more and more of them everyday. Anyways, I'm Amy, what's your name?"

Since then, Amy keeps a close eye on you to make sure you don't become prey to anymore scam artists

Now Amy will never admit she has anger issues, but she does get... irritated from time to time

On more than one occasion, you're there to help her calm down and have a sleepover planned or a spa day for when things get particularly rough for her

Whenever she needs help choosing which paint to redo her wall with, or which dress she should wear to a party, she calls you up, because no matter what you're interests are or how inconvenient the timing might seem, you're ready to help a friend, even with mundane things

Amy has you become a part of the Sonic family, and while you never do join them in battles, you help keep the peace between the team whenever there's an argument

And Amy always makes sure your overly caring attitude isn't being taken advantage of

No matter the time or the place, Amy knows she can always count on you, and you know she's always got your back

Sticks:

Well this is quite the predicament you've gotten yourself into

A lot of people would descibe you as clumsy, but you knew you just bad luck

And to prove just that, here you were dangling upside from a rope trap after deciding to take a liesure stroll through the forest

What are we, nomads? Who sets out traps in the middle of the woods anymore?!

After about 20 minutes, the blood is rushing to your head and you're starting to feel faint

But just as you think that your bad luck will finally be the end of you, figure bursts from the bushes with a fierce battle cry

It's a badger girl with a boomerang clutched in her paw, ready for a fight

But after a moment she realizes just who's gotten caught up in her trap

"Hey, what's the big idea?! Why're you in my snare?"

"Why am I in your snare? Why did you put out a snare you loon?!"

After about 5 minutes of arguing, Sticks reluctantly cuts you down, begrudgingly explaining that she set out a trap for any woodland monsters

You run into her again on another walk, crossing a small stream before tripping on one of the stepping stones and almost falling in before a furry arm wraps around your waist

"You outta be more careful out here. The wilderness is no place to be a klutz."

"Hey, I'm not a klutz. I just have bad luck is all."

And what more to gain the attention of a superstitious badger than the possibility of supernatural forces at play

"You could've been hexed by a witch. Or worse, there could be a vengeful spirit after you! We gotta get you an exorcist!"

"I'm fine, I'm just unlucky. Always have been always will be."

"We should still burn some sage in your home just to be sure."

You let Sticks do what she wants with you, after all, her superstitious perspective is a nice change from everyone just thinking your clumsy

You think her attempts to "cleanse" you are endearing, she tries something new everyday, and you end up learning a thing or two about survival and the corruptedness of politics from her

Weeks later, her attempts slowly dwindle down, and she just comes to accept she's just gonna have to keep an extra close eye on you, especially when she sets out booby traps

The time y'all have spent together, although it was somewhat motivated by Sticks not wanting to get whatever curse you exposed her to, lead to y'all having a close bond

Everyone has their quirks, she's paranoid and you're clumsy, but you two always manage to work things out

And that's the beauty of a relationship

A/N: Sorry I haven't been that active lately, so take this as an apology. Four hcs for the price of one!

#sonic headcanons #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #sonic boom #amy rose x reader #sticks the badger x reader #knuckles the echidna x reader

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chayacat · 3 years

Text

Devil’s Sweet Star (44)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

When you work the next day... it’s better to avoid spending an entire evening having fun. I'm not saying you don't have the right! but only... avoid returning home at 2am. You were already sleeping in the van, Danny had to hold on until he reached his bed. And it only took him 5 seconds to fall asleep. He wasn't drunk, just exhausted. And the awakening... was not the most pleasant. Between the rays of the sun that came to heat his skull and the phone that vibrated, his heart swayed as best he could towards the most bearable.

Surprisingly, he wasn't late. But it wasn't going to take long if he didn't rush a little. He still sent a message to Melina so that she could warn the boss. He got up, took a shower, and then took medication to calm the onset of a headache that hit him. Then he went to the kitchen where he found a note from you next to a plate where breakfast was resting. Danny smiled as he took the piece of paper in his hand.

“To help you get back on your feet for the day. Thank you again for last night I had a lot of fun. See you tonight. I love you. (Y/n)”

“Wow... it's an adorable message. That's the base, but coming from her it makes it even cuter.” said a main voice which Danny knows very well. He raised his head to see Jed, his alter ego, leaning against the kitchen worktop. “It's even amazing that she reacts like this by knowing who you are.”

“Better that it happens like this between the two of us rather than reluctantly sticking my knife in her throat, don't you think?” Danny responds, sipping his coffee.

“I hope you had a great time last night. And that you thought about finding an excuse for Hembrook in case we were potentially late. Because don't count on me to blow you one.”

“I warned Melina and don't worry, I have a valid excuse. And in a way, since you're in my head, you had fun too.”

“It's true.” replied Jed putting his glasses back on his nose.

As he took another sip of coffee, Danny suddenly heard whispers... whispers that he has already heard. that very night. And obviously, Jed hears them too. Actually... he has been hearing these whispers for a little while. Since McKellan's murder to be more precise. And it never stopped, quite the contrary.

“I've heard these noises before... that night in my dreams.” said Danny looking at Jed.

“You quickly forget that I’m part of your mind. What you hear, live or dream, I feel it too. But I confess that compared to you it’s less.... precise. Blurrier. So let the mental psychologist that I am... help you analyse what you saw. Tell me about this dream.” responds Jed.

“Tsk. Fine. I was... in a kind of... mist. I could barely see the trees around me. I walked, for a long time, but the more I walked the more I felt like I was standing still. Suddenly I hear screams. (Y/N’)’s screams. And when I turn back to her screams, I see like... giant spider legs grab me and take me into the mist. Then nothing.”

“Mist... giant spider legs... If I remember correctly, you don't have arachnophobia? Because I don't see how she can appear and see in a mist. Less how she could catch you.”

“Thank you very much it helps me a lot nerd. Don't you have something more interesting to say? You're supposed to be as smart as I am.” Replied Danny annoyed.

“Well in this case... I would say that you may have attracted a mystical entity to you. And that she is looking for different way to reach you. And Only God knows what she wants from you.” responds Jed.

“Don't tell me you believe in all this mystical stuff. it's just bullshit to attract people and take their money.”

“I remind you, Danny, that I’m the opposite of you. What you don't believe, I believe. We don’t know if hell and paradise exist, if there is an infinity of dimensions... or if our world... isn’t connected to another. Mystical things are not to be taken lightly. Be careful. Your dream may be a sign, a proof.”

Danny sighed before doing the dishes, taking his belongings and leaving the apartment, while Jed shrugged his shoulders shaking his head and sighing before disappearing. It has always been very difficult for these two opposites to get along, and when that happens, it’s to be noted with a white cross. Danny got into his van and set off for the newspaper. Despite the way he got up a little late, he arrived at work with only 2 minutes late. Without depressing the accelerator, just driving normally. Either there was no one on the road, or he wasn't that late.

He climbed the steps, arrived at the offices, greeted his colleagues, and settled down to begin writing his article. As soon as he starts writing, Danny is unstoppable. A bomb could explode, he would not move an inch. After 2 hours, he stopped, stretched his arms and back, and then got up for coffee. And a part of Neptune's pie that you had delivered with other pastries.

While he was in the break room, drinking a sip of coffee, Danny heard whispers again, the same as those in the apartment. He turned his head to the door at the back of the room, leading to the stock of coffee and other food. What surprised Danny wasn’t the whispers, but a kind of black mist that looked like it was escaping from the door. There are no electrical appliances in this room, nor are there any flammable products. So where does this mist come from? The whispers became clearer, becoming voices. voices... distorted, impossible to say if it was a man or a woman who spoke.

“Danny... Danny... Come with us. Come and join me in the mist... Soothe my hunger... for eternity.” Said the voice.

“What? How do you know my name?” responds Danny approaching the door.

“Come with us. You will be able to extinguish your thirst for blood... and mine.” replied the voice as the door slightly open letting the tip of a giant spider's leg come out of it. The same as that of his dream.

“Jed? Is everything alright?” said suddenly a woman voice.

Danny turned to see Melina in front of the coffee machine, raising an eyebrow at his colleague's strange action. The latter nodded, pretending to have heard noise, but that it may have just been a lack of sleep. Melina nodded, she was obviously aware of the little evening you both had, before having her coffee and leaving the room. Danny glanced again at the door that seemed normal again. No more mist. No more whispers. Maybe it was just his imagination.

Danny returned to his desk and resumed writing his article until he finished it. He took it out and went to his boss's office to show it. As usual, nothing to complain about. Then, Mattew came to present another article he was writing on his own. He and Danny left the room to return to their posts. Melina joins them a few minutes after.

“Tell me both. I know it's going to sound a little weird, but do you believe in mystical stuff? You know premonitory dreams and all that stuff.” asks Danny suddenly.

“No, not really.” said Mattew.

“My grandmother believed in it; besides she had a gift of Shamanism and communication with the dead. As far as I'm concerned, I believe in it a little, but let's say that I will look for a more rational explanation before going into the supernatural. Why?” said Melina.

“I thought it was just bullshit...have you changed your mind?" Said Jed with a smile in Danny’s mind.

“Shut you’re f*ck up.” responds Danny mentally before looking at Melina: “Well let's say I've been having a pretty weird dream lately. And I'm looking for someone who could explain to me what that means.”

“Tell me more. Maybe I could enlighten your lantern.” said Melina.

Danny recounted his dream in detail. Mattew listened without understanding too much, sometimes leaning his head to one side or the other and sometimes raising his eyebrows. Melina, didn’t move an inch, listening attentively, closing her eyes from time to time, as if to think on the meaning of all this.

“OK...the reasoned side of my brain would say that... You're worried right now about (Y/N). With everything that has happened... it wasn't easy for both of you. I think the mist and the legs of spiders... represent the dangers that can arise at any time to attack you. And the fact that you get dragged and hear (Y/N) screaming, it would mean that you're afraid of not being able to protect her. My mystic side says that you attract some...negative spirits. Negative entities which try to...get you in their sides. Something so powerful that neither you or (Y/N) could resist. Maybe the revenge of a dead man... Hoggins or McKellan... or Mike. They all had a tooth against you because you were rummaging through their businesses while others would have given up.” said Melina.

“How amazing. I've already heard that somewhere... Oh, yes! I was the one who told you that just this morning.” said Jed in Danny’s mind.

“f**k you.” responds Danny mentally. “Well, thanks Melina. I hope it’s just fear and not some mystical thing...”

The rest of the day passed not without Danny hearing the whispers again. But he ignored them. It wasn't real to him. He returned to the apartment and went to his office to observe the now striped photos of Mike, McKellan and Hoggins. Vengeful spirits huh... Ridiculous. And why not death itself while we're at it? It was your turn to enter the apartment slightly tired but happy. Danny left his office with his bag for his... second job. Ghostface is going out tonight.

“Wasn't it enough for you to kill Hoggins? do you always need more?” you said looking at him.

“Always Honey, always. Did you really believe that I was going to stop and become a model citizen? No no no... Once you dive into it, it's like a drug. You can't stop. But if it can reassure you, it will be a quick and painless death. He or she will not feel anything.” responds Danny with a sneaky smile.

On his last words, Danny sent you a kiss before leaving. He set out in an uncrowded area of Roseville, making sure he was not seen and annoyed. He put on his Ghostface’s outfit, went up to the roof of a building and with his binoculars he observed the surroundings. He thought back to Melina's word. What if she was right? after all, he had to admit that these voices he heard, manifested themselves when McKellan died. But until now, he had never paid attention to it, it was tiredness for him. That’s all.

“Tsk. I'm not going to start believing these bullshits... it will eventually pass.” said Danny to himself.

“You should believe it.” said Jed.

Danny grumbled before looking through his binoculars again. He eventually catches a glimpse of his next victim. Poor little thing who lives her life peacefully, imagining what she will do tomorrow. Unfortunately, tomorrow will never come. After all, it's not as if the inhabitants of this neighbourhood are saints. But what Danny didn't know was that he was being watched. Not by someone. But by something. A thing that, the more Danny killed, the more the desire of this thing to have him in his ranks grew.

Until the day he will take him...and you too.

***

(There you go! We are still approaching the end of DSS little by little and I saw that you were 71 people to follow me! I could never thank you enough for following me all this time! When I compare the first chapters of DSS with the latest writings, I feel like my way of writing and telling has changed. For the better, I hope. And I hope I will continue to offer you stories that you will like! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the other ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all! See ya! )

#dbd #dbd fanfic #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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thecasperanfamily · 3 years

Note

Can we get a sock monkey part two? Maybe taking place in the present?

(Link to Part One)

I am sooooo sorry about the delay on this one. First I had a solid week of ADHD Brain Doing Its Thing, then a dentist appointment, then my bedroom flooded, then a migraine...ANYWAYS I hope this was worth the wait!

~~~~~

They say that behind every great wizard, there is a great witch. Whether or not this was a universal truth or just a nice-sounding sentiment someone came up with to discourage squabbling between witches and wizards, Lin couldn’t be sure. But he did know that it was true in his father’s case, if nothing else. Hisirdoux Casperan was an immensely powerful wizard in his own right, capable of feats of magic unlike anything seen since the age of the great Merlin Ambrosius. But he was also what Lin’s mother liked to affectionately call “a mess. An absolute disaster. Gods, it’s a marvel you’ve survived this long.” To which Douxie would inevitably reply with, “The only marvel is you, my love.” And Lin would always immediately leave the room because he had no desire to witness whatever came after that. But Douxie did have a point, albeit one that felt a bit lost underneath all the sap and sentimentality. The fact of the matter was that Master Wizard Hisirdoux Casperan likely couldn’t be a Master Wizard without his wife. Archie could protect Douxie in battle, Nari could heal and encourage him, but Zoe was their last and strongest line of defense. Be it a desperate struggle against an ancient and horrifying monster or simply keeping the household running, when all others fell, she continued to stand, often pulling them back up and keeping them on their feet with her own strength. Douxie once said that he could face his own fears because he knew Zoe was standing fearless by his side.

In hindsight, he really should have chosen his words more carefully. Because when Lin handed his mother his oldest, most beloved toy from childhood and asked her to repair it, “fearless” certainly wasn’t what came to mind when beholding the look of intense discomfort on Zoe’s face as she eyed the offending object.

“...It looks normal to me,” she said stiffly.

“It....there’s a massive rip on her side?” Lin replied hesitantly. “That’s not supposed to be there. And Comet tore off one of her eyes, too.” The boy shifted awkwardly, still cradling the abomination in his hands, since Zoe had refused to touch it. “I-I mean, I know it’s stupid, but Georgina--uh, I mean, this old thing...it means a lot to me. Been with me for a long time, and all. I just--”

“Fine, fine, I’ll patch it up for you,” Zoe blurted, snatching the cursed thing from his hands. “Now go get ready for school. You’re running late as is.”

“...It’s Saturday,” Lin reminded her.

“Then go bother Archie or something. I can’t fix this thing if you’re breathing down my neck the whole time. Restorative magic requires concentration.”

“...I’ve seen you piece a broken mug back together in five seconds flat while also fighting the endgame boss of War Dudes 7.”

“Out, Lin.”

“Alright, alright!” He raised his hands placatingly and swept out of the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder “Thanks, Mom!”

The moment he was out of sight, Zoe pitched the sock monkey as hard as she could against the opposite wall. It landed on the counter with a sad little flop, looking no less abominable for its current state of disrepair.

“I hate you,” she told it quietly. “I know you know I do. I can see it in your one remaining eye. I’ve endured your mockery of me for the past seventeen years for Lin’s sake, but this...” She raked her fingers through her bangs furiously. “...Oh, get a grip, Zoe,” she muttered. “It’s just a stuffed animal. It’s only ever been a stuffed animal. It will never best me. I’m one of the greatest hedgewitches of my time. I am Zoe Casperan, I am she who remains when the masters have fallen, I am--”

“Introducing yourself to someone, are you?”

Douxie was very fortunate that he did not touch Zoe when he spoke up from behind her, because the pulse of electricity that surged through her veins would have certainly laid him flat on his back for at least a week. As it was, Zoe’s wand was pointed at his throat before he could so much as blink, a few angry pink sparks spitting from the end.

“Woah, woah, okay, nope, bad time for jokes, I got it! Take it easy, love.”

“Don’t do that!” Zoe hissed, stuffing her wand back into her belt as her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “I could have hurt you.”

“Trust me, I’m well aware,” Douxie replied, taking one of her hands and pressing an apologetic kiss to her knuckles. “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry.”

“Stop being sweet.” Zoe grumbled. “It’s distracting.”

“Distracting you from what, exactly?”

“Lin wants me to patch up that...thing that Barbara gave him all those years ago.” She flapped a hand at the sock monkey sprawled pathetically across the counter.

“I didn’t even realize he still had that,” Douxie remarked, taking in the damage with a critical eye. “Mm. She’s certainly seen better days.”

“I want it to see worse,” Zoe seethed. “...But Lin still loves it, gods only know why.”

“Bit of a moral conundrum, eh? Take your vengeance on your worst enemy and break our son’s heart, or grant her mercy for Lin’s sake.”

“This isn’t funny, Douxie.”

“It is, just a little bit.”

“You know I can’t stand even looking at that reject voodoo doll. How am I supposed to cast a restoration spell when all I want to do is douse this thing in gasoline and throw it on a bonfire?”

“Attempting a restoration spell with that mindset would likely end very badly,” Douxie agreed. “My feelings towards the lady in question are far less hostile. Perhaps I should take this one for you.”

“No! No, I-I...” Zoe sighed and ran a hand through her bangs yet again. “...I don’t want this thing to get the better of me. I’ve never backed down from a challenge before, and I definitely don’t want this to be my first time. Besides, you’re pretty sloppy when it comes to restoration magic. Lin will know right away who performed the spell just by looking at it, and I don’t want him to feel like I let him down.”

“With the utmost respect, Zoe,” Douxie replied hesitantly. “I think Lin would prefer a messy patch job over the many ways this spell could backfire if you’re the one performing it. You do understand that swallowing your pride isn’t the same as cowardice, right?”

“Pride or not, I will not let my son experience the shame of knowing his mother was defeated by an ugly stuffed animal,” Zoe countered. She stalked up to the counter and arranged the bedraggled sock monkey carefully, nose wrinkling in disgust as she ran her fingers over the material.

“Zoe, darling--” Douxie tried to protest again.

“Shush. I need to concentrate.”

“I really think you ought to let me--”

“I said shush, Douxie. I know I can do this.” She brandished her wand and, with a few quick motions, guided her aura to surround the sock monkey, which began to float a few inches off the counter. She pushed back against the wave of revulsion that crashed over her as her spirit made contact with the cursed object, and managed to spit the spell out through clenched teeth. “Refectio.”

The moment the spell was activated, Zoe knew she had made a mistake. The feeling of disgust she had tried so hard to stifle refused to detach from her aura. Her magic flowed out of her in a hot, angry rush, and the sock monkey writhed and contorted as though possessed.

“Zoe!” Douxie pulled her back from the counter, arms wrapping around her as his own aura flared defensively. The sock monkey gave one final shudder, then flopped back onto the counter.

“It’s fine!” Zoe insisted. “Look, see? It’s fixed.” Indeed, the sock monkey appeared to have been restored to mint condition. The rip had closed, the missing eye had returned from wherever Comet had hidden it, and the old stuffing had softened and puffed out again. “I told you I could do it.”

“That could have been a disaster, Zoe,” Douxie scolded.

“Any spell has the potential to be a disaster,” she argued. “But I had to try. And I feel so much better now that--”

The sock monkey twitched.

Douxie’s arms tightened around her, and Zoe instinctively brandished her wand again. The toy twitched again. Then it shuddered. Then it flopped over. And then, like a phantom from a nightmare, rose to its feet and slowly turned to face them, black button eyes cold and lifeless.

“...Okay, yeah, this is a disaster,” Zoe breathed. The sock monkey hovered in place for a moment longer.

Then suddenly, it was zooming across the kitchen. Douxie shoved Zoe to the side, but the vengeful toy didn’t seem to notice her at all. It gleefully slammed into the Master Wizard’s head and began wrapping itself around his face. He stumbled back and fell against the counter, sending a few dirty dishes crashing to the floor as he clawed at the soft little demon that was attempting to suffocate him.

“NO!” Zoe screeched, and before she could think twice, there was a blinding flash of bright pink light and the crackling snap of a thunderbolt. The sock monkey exploded into a cloud of stuffing and fibers that fluttered to the floor and dissolved into ash.

Zoe dropped to her knees, wand still outstretched in her trembling hand. Douxie leaned back against the counter, sucking in huge gulps of air.

“...Well,” he wheezed. “At least you finally got your revenge.”

“...No. Oh, no no no,” Zoe whimpered, dropping her wand and burying her face in her hands. “Oh gods, what have I... Lin is going to... Gods, Douxie I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” She emerged from her hands to see him giving her a thumbs-up and a sympathetic smile.

“The only damage done was emotional,” he assured her. “...At least where I’m concerned.” His gaze drifted across the floor, taking in the ashes scattered all over it. Silence hung between them for a few long minutes. “...What do we do now?”

“...Do you have your phone on you?” Zoe asked. Douxie nodded. “Give it here.” He pulled the item in question out of his pocket and tossed it over to her. She scrolled through his contacts list until she found the name she was looking for, then pressed call. Douxie pulled himself to his feet and began searching for a broom. There was a click on the other end of the line.

“Barbara Lake speaking.”

“Hey, Barbara? It’s Zoe. ...Yeah, I’m using Douxie’s phone. Long story short, we’ve had a bit of an accident and I need to know where you got Lin’s sock monkey from...”

*****

“Hey, Lin.” Lin looked up from his sketchbook to find his mother standing in his bedroom doorway. “Catch.” She tossed a familiar grey and white figure at him.

“Wow. She looks like new,” he observed, turning the sock monkey over in his hands. “...Very new.”

“Yeah. That’s...why it took me longer than usual to fix her. Take good care of her, alright? I don’t want to have to fix her again any time soon.”

“Yep. Thanks, Mom.” He watched her leave, then looked back down at the toy. “...Huh. I don’t remember you ever having these tags, Georgina...” The sock monkey smiled up at him benignly. “Weird.” He shrugged and sat the stuffed animal up on his desk before bending over his sketchbook once more.

Meanwhile, Zoe went to brew herself a very strong cup of herbal tea.

A very special thanks to @poetryinmotion-author and @rikalovesrice for helping me with this one, and to @dreamsarelikedragonflies for beta reading. ✨

#tales of arcadia #toa #the casperan family #douxie #toa zoe #zouxie #lin casperan #fic #niki answers

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unnuevosoltransformalarealidad · 4 years

Text

Let Me Love You

Title: Let Me Love You

Summary: Reader gets injured during a hunt bringing memories from the past.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Prompt: #11 Not everyone is going to hurt you

Warnings: Panic attack (Kind of); insecurities, injuries, past abusive relationship

Word Count: 2,909

This was written for the Make Me Feel Challenge of @katymacsupernatural .

A/N: This wasn’t proof-read, so any mistake in there is on me. English is not my mother tongue, so if you find any gross mistake, please let me know. I really appreciate it. Enjoy the reading!

You've known Sam and Dean for a long time, but you’ve been staying with them at the Bunker for a little more than two years. Dean was your best friend and protective big brother, and Sam, he was the love of your life. You’ve had a crush on the guy for Chuck knows how long, and thanks to Dean you were able to admit how you both felt and started dating. At first everything was perfect between you two.

-Argh, you two are so adorable -Dean said getting his go-to bag ready for the hunt

-Stop it! -Sam said while I hid my blushed face from him

-Oh man! I think I’m going to be sick

-What?! Dean, are you ok? -I say leaving Sam and coming closer to him to check him up

-You two are too adorable, that’s all

Sam and I rolled our eyes, and I left the war room to go packing a few things I was forgetting. Even though I was so happy with Sam, my feelings were still confused. There were parts of my past that they didn’t know. We practically grew up together, but i’ve got back to them a few years ago, first it was a phone call to Dean asking for help; some years later was running into them and catched up a little on our lives; and then, thanks Chuck for technology you were able to keep in touch a lot more, and after that you started to hung out with them and finally a permanent staying. Of course, nothing of that was perfect, they had been to hell and back, you’ve been dealing with some nasty stuff, being almost dead forever and everything. But there was a part of you that they didn’t know and you weren't sure to be ever ready to share it. At some point you will have to talk about it, mostly because you wanted to avoid having secrets to Sam.

Before getting back in touch with the Winchesters, you had the perfect life. A loving husband, hunting when and where it was really necessary, the job of your dreams, everything a good hunter always wished for, but all that perfection ended when your beloved husband found out you were still hunting and you kept contact with the Winchesters. That’s when the psychological abuse started. He made you feel useless, unloved, that you were a burden and that nobody cared about you, not even the Winchesters, no one. Then, would be the beating, from the smallest mistakes to being locked up for days for contact with any friends or family, the beating was so much severe if you talked with any of the Winchesters. You were really scared of him, you even considered making a deal with Crowley or Death to get rid of him, or just kill you because you couldn’t stand it anymore. You’ve suffered all that for almost a year and a half until you got the call of his partner giving you the news that he was dead after a wendigo hunt had gone wrong. He asked you what you wanted to do, without thinking it twice you told him you wanted to salt and burn his body, he was hunting you on your nightmares, you didn’t want him hunting you in anywhere else. Almost a year after that, you run into Sam and Dean and the rest is history.

-Babe, you ready? -Sam interrupted your thoughts

-What? -You said scared -Oh, you scared me Sam!

-Woah, babe, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is everything ok? -Sam approached you with his furrowed brows

-I think I might have zoned out -you say grabbing his waist to hug him

-Sometimes I wonder what’s going on that pretty head of yours -he says kissing your hair

-I’m pretty sure you won’t -you chuckles -Are we leaving soon?

-Yeah, in half an hour or so. It shouldn’t be a long hunt but it’s far and you know how Dean is

-Yeah, I do. I’ll finish packing in ten and I’ll meet you at the door, ok?

-You want me to help?

-Can you pack my guns and knives with yours? I don’t trust them to Dean

-Sure thing love -Sam says, he gives you a peck on your lips and then he leaves the room.

You decided to start packing your essentials and then continuing with your go-to bag with some clothing of yours and Sam’s as well.

Once in the road, Sam sat shotgun and you behind Dean as always. The hunt was two hours away and you decided to do more research on the case on the trip to keep your mind distracted.

-Does anyone else have the feeling that this can’t be too simple? -you cut the silence

-What are you suggesting Y/N? -Dean asked curious

-I don’t know, but I’ve got the feeling that this is too easy and we are not seeing it

-We will see when we get there -Dean said

-Don’t worry hun, we will be fine. Let’s enjoy the ride -Sam added

You shut the computer and decided to look through the window and try to enjoy the trip as your boyfriend said.

At some point you fell asleep and somebody was shaking you calling you by your name

-Y/N baby, wake up

-What? What’s going on?

-Sweetheart, are you ok? -Dean asked concerned

-Yeah, why? Are we there yet?

-Honey, you were struggling, like fighting -Sam said with his puppy eyes

-It looked like it was a nightmare -Dean said knowing the feeling

-Do you want to talk about it? -Sam asked -Guys, I’m fine, seriously. I don’t even remember what I was dreaming. Probably was my body trying to get comfortable in the lack of space

-If you are having nightmares you can come to talk to us Y/N. We are here to help you, ok?

-I know guys, don’t worry -I say and I got to the same position I was

-We are almost there, don’t get too comfy in there -Dean said putting Baby back on the road

Actually, I did remember what I was dreaming. It was one of the last big fights I had with my ex Brandon. I fought so hard that I was able to break his nose but I ended up with a sprained elbow, a few broken ribs, a black eye, a concussion and if it wasn’t because his partner had called, I would have ended up dead. Clearly being close to the date he died was affecting you and that your relationship with Sam was developing it affected as well. You knew the following days were going to be difficult.

The hunt took two days and actually it was just a simple salt and burn, but the spirit turned out to be a vengeful spirit and it was really angry, that spirit gave the three of you quite a fight. You three were injured by that spirit but you had the most serious one, you dislocated your elbow on the fall and probably sprained your wrist, but you were used to that kind of pain, you never got the chance to get a proper recovery for those injuries. You were being all jumpy around the boys and every time they wanted to help you due to your arm, you would snapped at them. They knew that your last boyfriend died while hunting a wendigo a few years ago. But they didn’t know the whole truth, and right now, being injured in this way brought too many bad memories back along with the anxiety and all the nightmares.

The boys noticed the change before you realized it. Your mood has changed, you weren’t over Sam, you grew distant with them, less talkative more jumpy, they notice you were getting anxious as well

-Y/N, baby, is everything alright? -Sam asked you worried during dinner

-Yes, everything is fine. -You said harshly

Sam and Dean looked at each other and Dean asked you what Sam wanted to know

-Did he hit you?

-What? -you looked at them confused

-You heard me. Answer me Y/N -He was pissed off

-Who? Brandon? No!

-Y/N... -Dean said softly and caring, changing his demeanor completely

-No Dean! Why would you think that? -You got really angry, even though it was true, they couldn't know the truth.

-Well, because… -He got upset and you left the motel room

-Dean! Enough! Look what you've done. Why would you suggest that? -Sam snapped at his brother and went after you.

-I’m sorry Sam, but you were wondering the same as well. One of us had to do it -Dean said before Sam’s reached the door

-Yeah Dean, of course I was curious about that. But I wasn’t planning on asking her just like that, It’s not even a year since I started dating her, and she doesn’t trust me enough to open up about that stuff. And now that she was starting to open up a little you just blow it.

-I’m sorry man, I didn’t know.

-Of course you didn’t Dean. It’s not something she is sharing with the world. Pack the stuff, I’ll go get her -Sam said leaving the motel room.

Sam found you sitting on the back of Baby crying. He didn’t say anything, and just put a hand around your shoulders.

-Can we go home? -you asked

-Yes love. Dean is already packing. You stay here, I’ll pack our things -Sam said and kissed your forehead before leaving.

The three of you were coming back to the bunker after the hunt and that little confrontation between you and Dean. You weren’t paying attention to them, you were kind of asleep, not paying attention to anything. Just relaxed.

-Y/N? Are you with us? -Sam asked turning around to see you

-Sweetheart -Dean called you

-I’m sorry, what? -You said, realizing you were out of your mind

-Dean asked you what do you want for dinner -Sam said

-Uhm, whatever you picked is fine for me

-Are you sure you are alright? -Sam pushed

-Yeah, i’m just tired, that’s all -I say giving them a little smile. Dean kept looking at me from the rearview mirror more than I wanted to; I had to look away because he made me feel uncomfortable.

You got back on the same position you were before Sam interrupted your mind. You were staring through the window when your mind brought back some memories of your fights with Brandon because of your fight with Dean, you wanted to apologize to him, it wasn’t his fault, he was just worried about you. Those memories made you shiver. It was a bad place going back there and clearly you wanted it to avoid it, so you put your earphones on and let Baby soothed you to sleep.

You got woken up by Sam shaking your shoulders. You were in the middle of the road not even close to the bunker.

-What’s going on? -you ask rubbing your eyes

-I could ask you the same Y/N. You were screaming. Is everything okay? You’ve been having nightmares for a while now. You know you can come to me if… -Sam says worried

-I’m fine Sam, don’t worry. Where are we?

-We did a stop so Dean could rest a little before we got to a motel. You know that he won’t let me drive, so this was the best.

-Yeah, that makes sense.

-I hope i’m not bothering you here, but I wanted..

-It’s ok Sam, really. I understand -you interrupted him

-How is your arm? -Sam asks you changing the subject

-My arm? Oh yeah! It’s pretty good, I barely have any pain -you said.

-Are you sure? Can I check it? You had a pretty bad landing

You just nodded and let him check your wrist. Every move he did with your wrist made you hiss in pain, and something you noticed was that your elbow was swollen as well, you just hoped Sam didn’t notice, which in fact he did.

-Y/N, sweetie, did you injure your elbow too?

You don’t answer immediately; you know it’s probably broken, the amount of trauma you had suffered in your arms in the past was a huge factor of getting injured pretty easily, but you had to be tough and hide it from them.

-Y/N/N? -Sam calls you again

-I don’t know. Probably not, it doesn’t hurt, maybe it was because of the fall -you said trying to avoid the talk that has to come

-I don’t think so, baby. Your wrist is definitely sprained, probably broken, and your elbow seems to be injured too. I think we should...

Before Sam continues talking you interrupted him

-Sam, babe, can we keep talking at home? I’m tired right now and to be honest, I would like you to hold me for a little.

Sam doesn’t say anything, and just hugs you until you fall asleep.

A few hours later, you woke up and Dean was parking Baby in front of a room. Clearly, you were at a motel to rest for the night, which you weren’t going to complain, sleeping on a bed sounded really good. Sam wanted to help you change your clothes to something more comfortable to sleep with but you didn’t want to.

-Sam, I can do it. I will tell you if I need help -you said frustrated

-I know, love, but I don’t want your injuries get worse

-DON’T! -You yelled at him when he touched your injured arm

You were done with hiding, with him treating you as if you were made of crystal, you were done. Sam was looking at you confused, he tried to reach for you again, but you stepped back from him like if you were scared. You didn’t know if it was Sam who was approaching you or if your mind was messing with you and you were seeing Brandon.

-Y/N, baby, it’s me, Sam -he said worried

-Don’t! Don’t come any closer, please

-Ok, ok, sweetie. I’m going to stay here. Let me help you

-You don’t want to help me! You want to beat me again -you said between sobs

-Y/N?

-I didn’t do anything, it wasn’t my fault, please forgive me

Your body was shaking, your breathing was laboured, fast and short, you were crying and sobbing. Your mind was out of place. Your mind and body were remembering your last fight with Brandon, the night you almost got killed

-Y/N/N breathe. You need to breathe, please baby -Sam said really worried taking small steps to come closer to you

Dean entered the room and saw the whole situation. He didn’t understand what was going on, but Sam made a sign to not make any noise.

-Please, hun, forgive me. I didn’t mean it

-It’s ok love. I’ll forgive you, please breathe

-Please forgive me! I didn’t mean to get hurt

You were a mess, your breathing was getting worse and you would pass out anytime soon if you didn’t take a proper breath. Sam was getting closer and your body was getting smaller of the fear you were experiencing

-I’ll forgive Y/N. It’s ok, don’t worry about your injuries, we will take care of it

-Please, don’t hit me. I was reckless, I’m sorry. I’m so. -you fainted

Sam was quickly and was able to catch you before hitting the floor. He shared an understanding look with Dean. Sam gently laid you on the floor, waiting for you to come back from unconsciousness.

After some minutes, you wake up on the floor with your head on Sam’s lap and with Dean next to him, both of them looking at you with sad eyes

-Hi sweetheart -Dean said handing you a water bottle

-How are you feeling? -Sam asked you helping you sitting up

-I’m sorry -you said not looking at any of them

-Don’t be love -Sam said -It’s ok

-No, it’s not Sam. I’ve lied to you, both of you. And now, you’ve seen the worst of it

-You weren’t ready to talk about it, and I pushed you -Dean said grabbing your hand -I should be apologizing, not you.

-I don’t know what you have been through with Brandon, but you need to know that not everyone is going to hurt you -Sam said

-And while you are with us, no one is going to do it. We are going to protect you -Dean added

-Thank you guys. I’m sorry for not trusting you sooner

-It’s ok, love; you weren’t ready and we understand it

Dean got up from Sam’s side and went to kiss your forehead

-No one is going to hurt you anymore -Dean said to you -Promise -he added

Sam grabbed your hand and gave it a little squeeze, he cupped your cheek with his other hand, never leaving your eyes

-I promise you Y/N, while you are around me, no one is going to hurt you. You’ll be safe

-Thank you Sammy. I love you

-I love you too Y/N -he said it, and kissed you on the lips

It was the first time that you felt safe. You knew that they would never hurt you, and they would never let anyone hurt you either. Now, you have your perfect family.

Tag List (If you want to be part of it let me know) (I tagged some SPN writers I love too)

@iguessweallcrazyithinktho

@void-hoechlin

@mrspeacem1nusone

@thevelvetseries

@supernatural-jackles

@luci-in-trenchcoats

@impala-dreamer

#makemefeelchallenge #sam winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #writing challenge

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sunlightdances · 4 years

Text

One Good Reason: (3/5) - Dean x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Chapter Warnings: No major warnings, a shorter chapter this time as Dean and the Reader get used to living together. Also - something strange is happening at the bunker, and it’s not just Dean and the Reader pretending they’re not attracted to each other. Series Summary: Dean never brings women back to the bunker. It figures the one time he breaks his own rule, the state issues a lockdown. Navigating the next month is an exercise in trust, patience, and falling in love. Author’s Note: I don’t own Dean or Supernatural, but the plot and writing is mine, so please don’t repost it without my permission. Also: my new page divider is by the amazing @writeyourmindaway!

Series Masterlist / Complete Masterlist

2.5 weeks later

You hiss as you get out of bed, the cool floor underneath you a shock first thing in the morning. You rifle through your suitcase, grabbing a hoodie and pulling it on, as well as a thick pair of socks. Yawning, you open your door and head down the hallway to the kitchen.

“Morning,” you say quietly to Dean, who’s already dressed at the table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. You narrow your eyes at him. Who looks that good first thing in the morning? His shirtsleeves are rolled up on his forearms, the veins there distracting you.

“Hi,” he says back, meeting your eyes briefly. It’s always like this - the two of you a little shy during the first conversation of the day. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, sighing, “I kept hearing noises. Were you and Sam up late?”

Dean looks up curiously. “I mean, we were up later than you.” He frowns, “Didn’t mean to keep you up.”

You start to get stuff together for your coffee, and scowl when you realize the almond milk you like is empty. And back in the fridge.

“It’s fine,” you tell him absently. You roll your eyes to yourself as you grab the now empty milk carton out of the fridge and set it on the counter with the rest of the empties waiting to be recycled - two empty boxes of cereal, and half a dozen beer bottles.

“Is it too much to ask for someone to not put an empty carton of milk in the fridge?”

Dean glances up from his laptop. He and Sam have been working on something for a few days, but he hasn’t mentioned details, and you haven’t asked.

“Don’t look at me,” he replies, “You and Sam are the only ones who drink that crap.” He makes a face at the carton of almond milk.

You sigh, and add the carton to the pile. “We have to go to the store again.”

“See, you say we, but you mean me.”

You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “But Dean. Think about how much you want to drive your car. Might as well run an errand, right?”

You can tell he’s trying not to smile. “You’re trouble.”

You hum, trying to figure out what else you’re going to have for breakfast now that milk is out of the question.

“Lactose intolerant?” He asks, going back to typing.

“Oh, not sure, actually. Just like the taste better.”

He hums. You stare at him for a bit, trying to figure him out. Dean is so mysterious, but still makes himself open, makes you feel comfortable and safe. It’s such a strange feeling. Still, you will not let his or his brother’s good looks make you forget why you’re a little irritated this morning.

Living with men is…. Hard. They’re constantly leaving messes everywhere (even though Dean has tendencies to clean everything when he’s bored) and the volume at which they play video games together…. Astronomical.

Your point is proven a few hours later when you’re on a call with your work team and even though you’re muted so they can’t hear Sam or Dean, you can’t hear a thing being said to you. “Can you guys excuse me just one minute?” You ask apologetically, and then take your headset off, storming down the hall.

You burst through the door and they barely even glance at you. Fuming, you walk right in front of the TV and stand there, arms crossed as they sputter.

“Hey! You make a better door than you do a window, you know.” Dean says, leaning to see around you.

“You are children.” You huff, blowing the hair that has escaped your ponytail out of your face. “I am on a work call. It’s important, and I can’t hear anything.”

Sam looks a little sheepish. “We thought with the door closed--”

“We can’t be that loud.” Dean interrupts.

You look at him like he’s grown another head. “All I’m asking is for a half hour of quiet. That’s it. I’m begging you.” You say, trying to turn on the charm. “Dean?”

He grumbles under his breath, but you can see the fight leaving him. “A half hour?”

“Maybe less,” you reason with him.

“Fine.”

You manage to finish your work call without any other disruptions, but by the time you’re finished, Sam and Dean are watching the news and you’re slipping into a worse and worse mood.

You’re more homesick than you’ve ever been. The weight of all of it is too much, and you excuse yourself from the room before you can burst into tears.

You hate this - you hate the whole state of the world and you hate that it’s forced you into the most awkward situation of your life, all because you couldn’t resist a pretty pair of eyes and a sense of humor.

You find your way to your room and curl in a ball on your bed, the unfamiliar texture of the blanket under you making your heart clench.

You start a YouTube video on your laptop, some mindless cooking videos that play on a loop until you manage to fall into a restless sleep.

Dean approaches your door hesitantly. He has no idea what he should do - if he should leave you alone, or try to apologize. Though if he’s honest, he’s not even sure what he should apologize for.

He’s just got a general guilty feeling coursing through his body. It’s his fault you’re stuck here, after all.

He notices the door isn’t shut all the way, so he pushes it open gently. The room is dark except from the light coming from your computer, and you’re curled in a ball on top of the covers.

Dean finds that he can’t stop staring at you, and wills himself to stop standing there like a creep. He pulls a throw blanket off the end of the bed and covers you with it, reaching over to push your laptop closed.

His mind has been flashing back to that first night with you, trying to understand what made you so different. He’s liked having you around, even if he won’t admit it to anyone who asks. He still feels that connection he felt the first night, but he has no idea what you’re thinking, and he doesn't want to push or pressure you, especially when you can’t leave even if you wanted to.

Leaving the room, he finds Sam and Cas in the kitchen. Cas has an armful of groceries.

“You better wipe those down,” Dean says, and Cas rolls his eyes.

“I can’t get sick, Dean.” He says it like he’s talking to a child.

“And what are you going to tell her when she wakes up?” He asks, gesturing towards the hall where you’re sleeping. “We don’t have any backup plan if things get weird.”

As if on cue, the lights above them flicker. Just once, but enough that the three of them freeze, eyes suddenly sharp.

“You’re kidding me.” Sam says.

A flutter of wings, and Cas is gone.

“What the fuck?” Dean asks, and Sam shrugs.

“Went to check it out? He’ll be back.”

“He can’t keep flying off. He’s going to slip up one of these days and appear in front of her and she’s going to pass out.”

Sam snickers. “You’re awfully protective.”

Dean ignores him, but he can’t deny it either. He feels it in his gut, to make sure you don’t find out the truth about him and Sam, and to make sure you feel comfortable while you’re here. Maybe it’s his innate need to take care of people, but the small voice in the back of his mind that he rarely listens to tells him it’s something else.

The lights flicker again, and Dean moves to the doorway, sighing. “We better figure this out, and soon.”

“You think it’s possible she brought something here with her?”

Dean stops, because he never even considered it. He just figured it was his own bad luck that while he’s trying to conceal who he really is from a girl he maybe sort of likes, a ghost would start haunting the bunker. Maybe it was Charlie here to finally give him the ass kicking he deserves for getting a girl like you stuck in this mess.

“I have no idea.”

Suddenly there are footsteps, and Dean shushes Sam before he can reply. You come into view a minute later, rubbing your fingers through your hair, and Dean finds he wants to do it for you. He shakes it off.

“Problems with the electrical in this place?” You ask.

Sam makes a choked noise that has you looking at him in alarm. “Uh-- yeah.” He recovers, “It’s an old place. You know.”

“Uh huh.” You look back at Dean for confirmation, and he shrugs.

“Slept okay?” He asks, changing the subject completely before he can put his foot in his mouth.

You nod. “Needed a nap.”

Dean looks a little closer and thinks he can see dried tear tracks on your cheeks. It has him reacting automatically, taking a step closer, but he sees you shrink back and he stops immediately, snapping back into awareness of what he’s doing.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you mumble, and then you’re gone, leaving Dean staring at his shoes, clenching his jaw and trying to figure out how you’re all get through a month more of this.

Cas appears back in the kitchen, and Dean glares.

“You have to stop doing that.”

“I think there’s a spirit in the bunker.” Cas says, ignoring Dean’s warning.

Sam groans, head tipping backwards. “Great. Good. Couldn’t be better timing.”

Dean puts his hands on his hips, sighing. “Look, tonight we’ll hunt it. Just-- we’ll wait until she’s asleep and hope it heads to the opposite end of the bunker.” He turns to Cas, “And you. Walk. You have to walk.”

Cas rolls his eyes, and Dean truly wonders if he’s going to make it through quarantine without killing his best friend or his brother, and if he can keep them all and you from being murdered by a vengeful spirit.

#dean x reader #spn reader insert #one good reason #dean winchester x reader

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janvangouden · 3 years

Text

CHRYSANTHEMUMS

a hunter investigates a ghost in the woods that has been plaguing the village & terrorizing the other local hunters, only to find it to be a long lost friend. longer short story, about 20 pages in normal format. written by jan van gouden.

The hunter Genjirou liked to fancy himself a bit of a local celebrity, as he brought in the majority of the food for the village– fat pheasants, meaty rabbits, even sometimes a wild boar. The village was one that did not so much pride itself on its inhabitants’ individualism as it did their sense of community. They didn’t care to have the claim to fame of any famous actor born there, nor any famous samurai… they cared for one another deeply, & silently agreed not to get caught up in any selfish ambition. The artists of Passions collaborated & worked on elaborate projects together, the children always played together, the hunters often hunted together.

Despite his self-assurance, Genjirou was actually quite unpopular amongst the villagers, & considered rude for hunting individually. They did not care for his talent, and while they ate his food, they did not do it with so much enjoyment, perhaps finding it soured by his individualism. Nobody in Passions liked to gossip, but if they did, there would certainly be some cruel words exchanged about the hunter behind his back, especially from the other hunters, who were deep-down jealous of the considerable stock he seemed to always bring back every time he hunted.

Genjirou did not pay these sentiments any mind, even as he was intimately aware they were abrew. He’d grown up parent-less and knew he at least had some of the village’s sympathy over at least that fact, & that they presumed he was so stand-offish because he felt he was alone in the world. Sometimes a pretty young maiden, Fuku, sought him out and offered him lilies from her garden, but he rejected her kindness. He did not do so cruelly, only smiling and asking if she didn’t have anybody more handsome to tend her attentions to, that a pretty girl like her shouldn’t worry over a guy like him…

This only spurred Fuku’s interest in him, & she’d secretly follow him on hunts sometimes, watching with intense interest as he played his game. Fish, deer, wild boar, & even a bear once! Over the course of a few weeks, her friends finally convinced her to stop following him & offering lilies, & she did, although deep in her heart she still loved him.

“Look at that Genjirou, there’s a storm brewing on his face,” a village elder murmured to her husband, fanning herself as the two sat on a bench outside a small store. “He’s probably realising he can’t stop pushing the world away, but is in denial,” her husband chuckled, as he knit away at what looked like a baby sweater. “He’s young, isn’t he, only twenty-two? He’s probably going through a phase… not too long ago, he used to be quite social.”

They chuckled quietly but averted their gaze when Genjirou stomped by, pale, rushing into the store. The store owner couldn’t help but to giggle when he walked in, propping her arm up on the counter. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she remarked, choosing to busy herself with dusting off some vases.

“Why did nobody tell me a man was murdered in the woods?” Genjirou exclaimed, staring at her like she was a monster. He had come across a corpse earlier that day, already purplish from decay, bloated beyond recognition, & on full display in the middle of the grounds where he usually hunted. “You would have known if you hunted with the others,” she scolded him, flicking her feather duster towards him. Genjirou grit his teeth. Sometimes the people of Passions worked on his nerves insatiably– he was introverted by nature, shy, & didn’t like to constantly associate with others like everyone else seemed to, & it always seemed to blow up in his face. Namely, everybody always knew “the scoop” on everything, while he was left blind as a bat on any news, & had to practically beg.

He already knew the shopkeeper knew the story behind the corpse. His demeanor suddenly grew much more meek, and sheepish, as he asked, “What is the story behind him? It’s odd a body just lies so disgracefully in the middle of a clearing like that.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the hunters; they told me not to tell you the story… as for why he was there…” A hum; she wrinkled her nose in disapproval and lowered her voice. “That was a mean prank; they were messing with you because you never hunt with them… I don’t like to gossip, but I think it was very rude, not to mention disrespectful to the deceased, that they did that… I think they’ll be lucky if they’re not haunted on their next hunts.”

A glint of curiosity shone in her eyes. “What did you do when you saw the body? I think I would have passed out, tee hee.”

“I buried it,” Genjirou said simply. He found it disgraceful already how the disfigured corpse was laid out in the middle of the grass, even if it was clothed in burial robes, but he found it even more disgraceful somebody had placed it there on purpose.

“You buried it!” she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. “That’s even more scary… what if it wants a grave? What if it haunts the whole village? Oh, oh….” She paused. “...one more thing… please don’t tell the hunters I told you about what they did when you get with them. I have a bit of a big mouth, if I’m being honest. But, you weren’t supposed to know they moved the corpse. Only ask about the corpse itself, ok?”

Genjirou felt his mood entirely ruined, but, grumbling, he agreed, then left the store to find the hunters.

He found them easily, like they were hoping to be found, outside a building exchanging words & laughing. When Genjirou approached them, they fell silent, and the humour in their eyes turned a reproachful coldness. They wore their hair in prim and trim top-knots, as was customary, while Genjirou wore his uncut & loose, only inviting more scorn from the villagers. Scorn, scorn, scorn. He sometimes just wanted to go wild, feeling like no matter what he did, it wouldn’t matter; he wouldn’t be accepted anyways!

“Good afternoon, Genjirou,” one spoke up, putting a hand up to him. “How was the hunt?”

“What was with the corpse in the woods?”

The hunters exchanged a few odd looks with one another. “Oh, you saw it, too? Wasn’t that scary? He wasn’t someone from our village, we know that for sure.”

Genjirou wanted to ask them to cut the bullshit, but he was too polite. Still, a wrinkle in his brow conveyed his frustration. “What’s his story? Who was he? Why was he just out in the open like that?”

After a long silence, one finally said, “Choyakoshi. We’re guessing that’s his name, anyways, since the characters were crudely written in ink on his kimono somewhere.” Choyakoshi had worn a slightly tattered, dirtied white kimono. It was folded right-over-left, meaning he must have been buried in it. “Why wasn’t he buried?” Genjirou repeated his question, but worded it differently.

The hunters exchanged glances with each other, & ultimately shrugged. “We don’t know, either. We’re sending one of the morticians to the mountain tomorrow to see what he can figure out.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Genjirou said hesitantly, drawing questioning glances. “I already buried him.”

“You buried him!” one of the hunters exclaimed. “What if he isn’t happy with the burial, & he haunts our village because of it?!”

“Then let him!” Genjirou spat. “I’ll be happier with that!”

He stormed off, blocking out the commotion the other hunters caused in his trail.

Did you hear that? I know Genjirou isn’t very social, but I think he totally hates us!

How dare he! We haven’t done anything to him, & now he’s practically wishing some ghost would come haunt us?

What nerve! What if this Choyakoshi is a cruel and vengeful spirit?

Genjirou didn’t let their words get to him– he knew that no matter what he did, they’d find some reason to dislike him. Same old same old.

At least, he thought their words didn’t get to him. That evening, nobody touched a lick of the considerably-smaller-than-usual bit of food he’d brought to the village dinner, and not even Fuku attempted to say a word to him, averting her gaze when he pleadingly looked over at her. She giggled instead with her friend, ignoring him as he stared emptily at his plate.

In times of good weather, the village always insisted every dinner be shared, outside, and the village leader would make a big deal about having a vast space cleared out, and every person who could cook or hunt or farm bringing something to the great potluck. Genjirou attended because he felt obligated to more than anything, but after quietly finishing his food, his sense of obligation disappeared, along with him, as he receded to his house.

It was considered very rude to leave before everybody had finished eating, and of course, there was a tiny uproar and a string of murmurs as Genjirou left. He’s so cold; what’s his problem?

It’s bad enough that he already hunts alone… does he really have to make such a point out of being an outcast?

I wish he would just be friends with us already. Can’t he see how hard we’re trying to help him fit in?

Parents or no parents, you’d think that after twenty-two years of living here, he’d know how to behave. Tsk.

Genjirou felt immensely weak and pitiful as he brushed tears from his eyes that night, silently sobbing himself to sleep. He didn’t get out of bed the following morning to hunt as he usually did, finding he couldn’t work up the energy nor the passion to. In fact, he slept until about noon, and even when he officially woke up, he just lay there, contemplating if in fact he was very rude and dislikable, and whether he should work on his personality. He self-consciously fretted, melting into a puddle of his own thoughts, and crying, for a good two hours, unable to piece together just why he was feeling so miserable.

He was fairly well-off from what money he did make selling furs & other homemade goods from the leftovers of his prey to other villages & sometimes the villagers. He was very fit, & had someone who he knew had a crush on him, even if he wasn’t interested, so he couldn’t be ugly. He didn’t feel particularly sad, so why was he still crying? If nothing else, he was very thankful no one from the village could see him in such a pitiful state.

Right as he thought this, a knock sounded at the door and he stifled a yelp, quickly wiping as much from his eyes as he could. The knock sounded again, more urgently, and he squinted as he opened the door, the sun glaring at him from up above. “Genjirou, I don’t want to sound accusatory, but–” It was the shopkeeper, Toyo, rapidly fanning herself. “–have you been hunting today?”

“I just woke up,” Genjirou said so earnestly she knew he wasn’t lying. “Oh, it’s just terrible… the hunters sent me to come get you; they want you to come to my shop…”

“Why didn’t they come get me themselves?” Genjirou asked, irritated. Toyo fanned herself, hiding the lower half of her face, eyes shifting to the side. Genjirou didn’t ask again. “Fine. May I at least know what happened?”

“They wanted to tell you themselves… don’t tell them I told you already, but the hunter Hideto died today… he’d been pierced by an arrow! Please follow me… they’re trying to blame you for it; they’re very sore right now.”

Genjirou didn’t bother cleaning up, & garnered some odd looks as he followed Toyo through town, still wearing his sleeping robes, hair disheveled and eyes heavy. It was clear that, at two o’clock in the afternoon, he had just gotten out of bed. For the villagers, who usually operated on a clock from eight A.M to nine P.M, this was very unusual. At the store, Genjirou was immediately confronted by the remaining seven of the eight hunters. “Were you out hunting today, Genjirou?” one spit accusingly, jabbing a finger against his chest. “I was not!” Genjirou immediately defended himself, covering his chest, half to protect it, and half self-consciously, as he realised it was mostly bare.

Toyo pretended to be busy in the background, feverishly organising some trinkets on a high shelf in order from small to large and then back to large to small. The hunters glared at him suspiciously, but like Toyo, they had no reason not to believe the man who looked like he’d just woken up. Good thing I wasn’t, he thought to himself, thinking back on his profound moment of sadness. As awful as it had been, it saved him from getting tangled up in these accusations. “Hideto died,” another hunter lamented, fiddling with an arrow from his satchel. “He was shot by an arrow, like this one… but it wasn’t any of ours.”

The men all suddenly seemed very sheepish, and looked downwards, realising how pointless it was to question the man. They knew he made an easy scapegoat, and they knew they were accusing him for no reason. Not all seemed to let the matter go so easily, however, as one suddenly spoke up, “It must be that Choyakoshi ghost! He’s probably furious he wasn’t given a proper burial!”

The other hunters were quick to agree with him, and again, Genjirou was put in the negative spotlight, this time blamed for the hypothetical haunting. Now he was the one hanging his head low, not having the energy to argue with them. Instead, he quietly trudged out of the store back to his house. The hunters took this as a victory and yelled behind him, but this time he truly paid them no mind, only wanting to sleep again. At least when he was asleep, he didn’t have to deal with any of the villagers’ drama. When he returned, he noticed a trampled bunch of chrysanthemums scattered in front of his house. He paid them no mind.

The following morning, he woke up with a splitting head and stomach ache, and remembered he hadn’t eaten, let alone drank, a thing the day before. He pulled on a proper robe and fixed his hair, hoping to be able to make it through the village unbothered. He left his bow and arrow and his swords at home, still not having the energy to hunt, and also not wanting to risk any more serious accusations. On his doorstep, he found a fresh bundle of pure white chrysanthemums, bound by a silk ribbon that smelled of lilac.

Smiling and suddenly feeling much better, he picked up the bouquet and carefully set it in a long-empty stone vase atop his dresser. He made a mental note to thank Fuku for the kind gesture later.

He purchased a bowl of soup, a lamb chop, and some water from Passions’s inn and restaurant. The shopkeeper had a sort of sad look in his eye as he watched Genjirou eat, and Genjirou avoided looking at him at all– he knew well what his reputation was in the village by now, and this man, like the rest of them, surely either pitied or hated him. He wanted to associate with neither sentiment. After he finished eating, he set out to find Fuku, walking a few rounds around the village in hopes of catching her outside. He found her, but when he did, she avoided his gaze and acted like she hadn’t heard him after he called out for her, instead turning to her friend and murmuring something. The two giggled and Genjirou froze, not daring to approach them anymore. He hated how timid he was sometimes, but decided it was better to be the dog with its tail between its legs than the lamb on the cutting board.

Still, it was perplexing. Why would she leave him flowers, then not even acknowledge him? Complicated feelings, maybe, or her friend didn’t like him. Whatever. He already had more than enough stressing him out as it stood; he certainly didn’t want to trifle with yet another thing.

As soon as he got home and was about to close the door behind him, a sandaled foot wedged itself in the doorway. Toyo! “Genjirou– I really hate to bother you again, but you-know-who is asking for your presence again in my humble shop.” She muttered, “Why don’t they do this stuff in one of their own places, anyways? I’m seriously about to ban them from entering more than one at a time.”

“Let me guess,” Genjirou huffed. “Someone else died?”

“Actually, yes.”

He immediately went pale, biting his lip. “Why do they keep bothering me about it?! I’m very sorry this is happening, but at the rate things are going, I might not even want to attend their funeral!”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Toyo hissed, fanning at the air as though she were combatting mini-ghosts. Her kimono was a brilliant white, decorated with koi and tangerine trees. The white reminded Genjirou of the corpse’s burial clothes, & he wondered if maybe this really was a haunting, & if he really was to blame. He suddenly blushed and apologised for his rudeness. “There’s no need to apologise; I don’t think they’re ghosts, yet… I say, you can do or say whatever you want as long as you know you won’t suffer any consequences. That’s why I’m very careful with my words.”

Right, Genjirou thought. How many secrets had she let loose in her lifetime?

“Anyways, please come with me… as you can imagine, they’re very bitter, and I’m sure it’s better you meet them in my store, which at least I know they don’t want to burn down.” She laughed nervously, looking the house in front of her up and down.

And so, Genjirou once again trudged to Toyo’s store, and he was once again chewed out. “I saw the ghost!” one hunter declared, putting up an arm high above himself. “He was this tall, but was definitely the corpse from the other day… he was armed with a bow and arrow surely laced with evil energy, and shot down poor Genta…”

Again, a finger was jabbed against Genjirou’s chest, with such force it knocked the younger man back a few steps. “...this is your doing, Genjirou!! If you hadn’t buried him… what did you do, just dig into the dirt a little and toss his body in there?!” Genjirou flushed a deep shade of crimson. That was exactly what he had done. “It’s better than letting his body rot out in the open!” he half-heartedly asserted, knowing there was no way he’d win this argument. “Tell that to Genta and Hideto!” the hunter sneered. The remaining six of the eight hunters seemed very self-assured they wouldn’t be the ones to die next, all their noses stuck in the air with a sort of pretentious air as they confronted Genjirou.

Deep in his mind, Genjirou couldn’t help but to ponder if anyone had even died at all, or if this was all just some twisted scheme to get back at him for hunting alone. The hunters didn’t seem particularly fazed beyond rage at their friends’ deaths; then again, they rarely ever showed any real emotion, and liked to poke fun at men who did, insulting them by calling them womanly. Genjirou always wondered if they were at all self-conscious of how insulting it was to find womanhood a “bad” trait, and if they were, if they cared.

Having no comeback, Genjirou dared himself to quietly retreat. Seeing that the hunters made no effort to stop him, he ran back to his house, not caring that they saw him as a total coward. Let the negatives stack up. A coward, a traitor, a bringer of evil, an asshole… what difference does it make if there is another bad thing said about me, when there is already so much? Genjirou, rolled up inside his blanket, found himself sobbing again, unable to control it. He had always felt at least tolerated in Passions, but now he felt outright disliked. The only pleasant thought he had as he drifted yet again into sleep, having nothing else to occupy himself with, came with the whiff of his chrysanthemums’ scent drifting by, evoking images of Fuku, who he felt was his only possible friend in the village.

He woke up very early in the morning, and found, yet again, by his doorstep, a fresh bundle of white chrysanthemums, tied with a silk ribbon. He managed to squeeze them next to the other bundle in the vase, and added some water. It was six in the morning; nobody in the village was awake yet. Feeling emboldened by this striking solitude, Genjirou retreated to put on his hunting clothes and grab his bow and arrow, deciding that he’d either confront the ghost or do what he enjoyed, hunting, without letting himself be dragged down by his fears & insecurities.

& so, with only the light of the barely-rising sun, he set out to go hunt, secretly hoping he wouldn’t encounter anyone in the woods, let alone this allegedly fearsome, murderous spirit. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a ruse. Genta and Hideto were probably hiding out somewhere in the village to throw a scare into Genjirou, & maybe even to keep him away from the mountains, since the hunters were always jealous of how much he brought in by himself.

The dew of the grass brushed against his sandaled feet and the air smelled crisp and fresh. He drank some water from a river to refresh himself, then hunted marvelously as ever, carrying, two hours later, four pheasants and a boar. He found the site where he’d buried the corpse and leaned by it, frowning as he dug down a foot or so, revealing the rotting face. I really did bury him poorly… I hope he isn’t actually insulted, Genjirou thought, deciding then & there to dig a deeper hole. He shuddered a bit, feeling as though somebody was watching him… he shook the feeling off.

This time, he carefully placed the body in, taking care to fold the arms over the chest and neatly adjust the burial clothing. Satisfied, he placed a pheasant atop the body, then carefully covered it in dirt again. He’d taken a chrysanthemum with him to put on top of the grave, which he hoped was this time less crude. He said a quick blessing, then found a nice spot next to the river to enjoy the spoils of his hunt alone. He knew this was an area of the woods the other hunters rarely visited, so he felt confident starting a fire to roast a pheasant there, until he heard a clamour in the distance, coming closer.

Genjirou scrambled to put out the fire and panicked when he saw the silhouettes of the hunters in the distance. Unable to find anywhere to hide, he dove into the river behind a rock, breathing only when he was certain they couldn’t see him. He cursed that his pheasants and boar had been left behind, knowing that the hunters would surely take it as their own. It was unlikely they expected him to have regained his confidence so much as to go hunting, let alone dare to to begin with given the recent events. Genjirou vigilantly listened. He heard some laughs, as they engaged in idle chatter, and some excitement as they stumbled upon what was supposed to have been his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and then some. He then heard shouting.

Looking behind the rock, his eyes locked with one of the hunters. Terrified he’d been seen, he submerged himself in the river, holding his breath for his dear life. Even through the water, he could hear the shouting on land had gotten louder, and cursed himself for being alive. Why? Why’d they just have to come out hunting so soon? Why couldn’t I have finished my meal in peace?

Unbeknownst to Genjirou, Fuku had followed him into the woods as she’d done in her lovesick days– however, her motive wasn’t as sweet as it once had been. Gento had been Fuku’s cousin, & following his death and the rumours in the village, she’d grown awfully cold and suspicious towards Genjirou, & secretly followed him to see if he was up to anything suspicious. So far, her surveillance had been futile, but that day, as she followed him into the woods, she was certain she’d catch him in the act of killing, confirming her, & the villagers’ suspicions.

She got more than she bargained for, however, as she had to put her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream when an arrow pierced through one of the hunters’ shoulders out of seemingly nowhere. Scrambling to find the source without giving away her position, her eyes went backwards from where the arrow had landed, resting upon an awful-looking creature hidden behind a tree like she was. Its aim was off; it seemed to have been distracted by something in the water. It drew another arrow from its bow and aimed steadily at the same hunter. Fuku wanted so badly to call out to the hunters, but she didn’t allow herself to, and before the next arrow could hit, the six of them had already started to run out of the woods, screaming and cussing and hollering.

Ghost!! They quickly told the villagers, running around like mad. The hunter whose shoulder had been pierced barely even paid it any mind, too thankful he was alive, and too frightened, to do so. It’s an awful, evil, vengeful ghost in the woods of the mountain... it’s going to kill anybody who enters them! Once is a coincidence, twice is revenge, but three times…. It’s evil! It’s an evil spirit that won’t rest until every one of our villagers is dead!!

In those very woods of the mountain, Fuku was still standing behind the tree, hands over her mouth, doing everything in her power not to scream as she watched the ghost emerge from behind the tree. She found it horrifying– its skin was a sickly, corpse-ish grey with tinges of purple, and it had long, wavy, unkempt black hair, which it tossed over its shoulders with its hand as it strode forth, picking up the prey the hunters had dropped. It wore a flowing, tattered white kimono, burial clothes. Moving more quickly, it waded into the river, grabbing an object… Genjirou!!

In the heat of the moment, Fuku had totally forgotten the entire reason she’d come up the mountain in the first place! She wanted to cover her eyes, terrified to watch the surely gruesome scene that was sure to come unfold, but couldn’t, hands glued to her mouth and eyes to the ghost. To her surprise, no gruesome scene came– the ghost carefully lay Genjirou upon the ground, pressing firmly on his chest. Genjirou sputtered water. Water, water, and more water… he would have surely drowned if the ghost hadn’t pulled him out.

The ghost disappeared for a minute and Fuku’s heart dropped, certain it had sensed her and was going to kill her. Maybe Genjirou was controlling this cruel mountain spirit? No… she immediately shook the thought out of her head. She was bitter over her cousin dying, certainly, but she wouldn’t so quickly assign blame now that she had no proof. Besides, this was the man who she still secretly loved… she knew him, to an extent, and she knew he was a very simple person, absolutely incapable of something as sinister as the dark arts. Revenge on the hunters for talking badly about him was so silly, anyways. She felt embarrassed for having taken part in his ostracisation, knowing that more than anything, he needed at least a friend, if not a romantic partner.

She reminded herself to be more friendly to him.

When the ghost returned, she’d expected it to come maybe with a knife, or a sword, wanting to kill Genjirou personally and watch the life drain out of his eyes… but all it returned with was a handful of chrysanthemums. It shyly placed one in his hair, and then one on his chest, scattering the rest around his body as it played with his hair, running the long black strands through its scraggly, ashen fingers. Fuku couldn’t believe her eyes.

A short while later, Genjirou’s brow furrowed and he coughed. As quickly as it had come, the ghost ran away, leaving Genjirou alone. Determining the scene was safe, Fuku ran out from behind her cover to Genjirou’s side, placing a hand on his cheek. He grabbed the hand and flared his nostrils, recognising her by the scent of lilies. “Fuku?” he mumbled, managing to pry his eyes open. “Yes, Genjirou!” Fuku breathed, beaming. “Are you alright? You almost drowned…”

Genjirou promptly sat up, wide-eyed. “The hunters! I… I saw them earlier; it’s why I…. oh, it’s a long story. Are they alright? The ghost didn’t come again, did it?”

In her gut, Fuku felt even worse for doubting Genjirou. He was stand-offish, but not a selfish person, & even after nearly dying himself, was more worried about what became of the hunters. She couldn’t help but to nervously laugh. “The hunters are alright… Genjirou, I– I’m really sorry about how the villagers have been treating you, including me. I’ll be honest, I came up here because I saw you leaving to hunt, and wanted to see if I had any basis for my suspicions… I didn’t.” She stood up, and bowed deeply. “I’m very sorry.”

Genjirou wanted to stand, as well, but didn’t have the strength to. “It’s alright; I’m sorry, too…” He also laughed a bit. “I really am too stand-offish, to be honest, I’m not good at socialising at all!” Fuku elegantly sunk to her knees again. From the crisp condition of her kimono, you would never have guessed she’d been running around in the woods. “Then let’s be friends!” she suddenly declared, holding a hand to her chest. “I saw everything… the ghost, it did appear, but… it missed; it only shot one of their shoulders.”

“That’s very good… say, Fuku. May I ask two questions?”

Fuku nodded.

“One–” Genjirou picked up a chrysanthemum, spinning it between his fingers. “Are you the one who’s been leaving these flowers at my doorstep the past few days?” Fuku bit her lip. She knew none of the women in the village grew or sold white chrysanthemums; in fact, up until that day, she had never seen anybody who had them. She hated lying, but this was too good a moment to let pass. “Yes, I am,” she said shyly.

“Two, are you the one who saved me from the river?” Fuku prayed internally the ghost wouldn’t come to her house personally and beat her upside the head. Please forgive me, ghost, but this is the man I really love!! She couldn’t even verbalise the lie, this time just nodding, blushing more. Genjirou thought it was because she was shy, but really, it was because she couldn’t stand to lie! Genjirou smiled, gently touching her hand. She allowed him to hold it. “Then may I ask you a third question, Fuku?” She nodded again.

“May I kiss you?”

Wide-eyed and blushing profusely, she turned to him. She’d been waiting to hear that question her whole twenty years of life! “Yes! You may!” Genjirou delicately pinned her to the ground, his wet, but soft, long hair falling over her kimono as he kissed her, placing a hand tenderly behind her neck. Fuku blushed even more profusely, hugging him. She wanted to kiss him forever and ever, but she eventually let go, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking up at him in awe and disbelief.

“You’re wonderful!” she felt awkward as she blurted this, and immediately put a hand over her mouth. “Have you ever had a girlfriend before?”

It was a silly question, for she’d known him his entire life, but still felt the need to ask to be sure. “I haven’t,” Genjirou affirmed her knowledge, and she embraced him again. “Could I be yours?” she asked suddenly, letting the heat of the moment spur her on. “You may!”

She kissed Genjirou again, and the two walked down the mountain to the village. Fuku braced herself, anticipating all the while that an arrow would be lodged into her back, but no such thing came, and she let herself relax as the couple strode into the village safely. “Genjirou is innocent!” she declared, attracting the attention of some people sitting outside. “He is innocent, and he is mine! The ghost haunting the woods is beyond any of our control, & is ungrateful for the beautiful burial Genjirou gave him!”

She needed to say no more. Faithful to their tradition, the people of Passions spread the news around like wildfire, and within that single day, Genjirou’s reputation was restored & renewed, & he was even met with praise, for pairing with such a fine woman as Fuku. That evening, after the village dinner, they were wished well as they went arm-in-arm to Genjirou’s house, where they engaged in passionate affairs until they fell asleep, content in one another’s embrace. While Genjirou slept peacefully and deeply, his troubles seemingly behind him, Fuku slept lightly, certain she heard a weeping outside, but not daring to look.

She took care to rise much earlier than Genjirou– at four in the morning, she crept outside, and found outside his door a bouquet of fresh white chrysanthemums, tied tightly by a silk ribbon. She snuck to a farmer’s house and discarded the flowers in a pig pen, a pang of guilt coursing through her as she did so. She shook the feeling off. What business would a ghost have with a human? It would be better for the both of them if he just passed peacefully and left him alone!

Still, as the weeks went on, her guilt only grew stronger every time she had to throw away the chrysanthemums, or pretend she’d gotten them for him, making up some tale about someone from another village who grew them just for her. One day, she couldn’t stand it anymore, and while Genjirou slept, she snuck into the mountains, surrounding herself with the most positive energy possible, hoping she wouldn’t be torn into shreds by the ghost. She hadn’t dared bring a hunter with her as the ghost seemed to carry a special vengeance for them, but as she ventured further and further, she felt dumber and dumber she hadn’t even brought some sort of a spiritual weapon.

“Ghost?” she called out, clinging onto a chrysanthemum she’d brought with her as she stood by the side of the river. Her face was painted ghost-white with crimson red eyeshadow and lipstick, and she wore her finest clothes, hoping that by putting such extra care into her appearance, she did not insult him by appearing in any way unsightly. One could mistake her for a geisha, but that she was most definitely not.

“Misses… or, erm, Mister… Ghost?” she called again, fidgeting with the chrysanthemum, pulling on a petal. She froze as she felt a firm hand over hers just as she was about to pull. “Mister Ghost,” said a voice that was too pleasant to be able to belong to that terrifying being she’d seen in the woods, and Fuku yelped, staggering forward a bit, almost falling face-first into the river. The ghost grabbed her and steadied her, and she slowly turned to face him, doe-brown eyes locking with his, bloodshot and ebony. Up-close, he was almost handsome, but the fear factor still won out in her mind, not allowing her to appreciate any aestheticism. “Have you come to return these to me?” he murmured, gently taking the chrysanthemum from her.

“Are you the one who has been leaving them at Genjirou’s doorstep?” she asked, her voice wavering even as she tried to make it as firm as possible. “I am,” the ghost admitted, staring at it distantly. “Do they smell good?” Fuku gathered all her resolve and nodded. “They’re very nice… where do you find white chrysanthemums?”

“I used to grow them,” he sighed, handing the flower back to Fuku. “I thought ghosts couldn’t touch things,” she suddenly blurted, then immediately felt embarrassed. Her fear made her speak her thoughts out loud. The ghost laughed a bit. “I can if I want to, just like I can make myself seen if I want to. As for the white chrysanthemums– I grow them in a village on the other side of the mountain, where the weather’s much better for them.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been throwing them away,” Fuku almost whispered, pulling at the petals again. “I came here to tell you that… I won’t say I’m sorry because it won’t do anything; I have been acting out of selfish desire & will accept it if you kill me like you killed those hunters if it will let you rest in peace.” She kneeled, head lowered. Fuku was very spiritual, and believed, more than anything, in the importance of a peaceful death, & felt she had disrupted this somehow.

The ghost’s expression suddenly darkened. “Get up,” he said in a voice so commanding Fuku didn’t dare object, shakily getting back up on her feet. In the background, leaves gently fell from the looming trees of the dark woods. His hair, ivory black and long, shone slightly in the moonlight, & his white burial clothes, for as dirty as they were, had an eerie glow to them. The odd, off-putting kindness from before had somewhat dissipated, and Fuku was met with a slap across the face– it wasn’t hard enough to be disrespectful, or hateful, but it was firm enough to sting slightly, and cause her to pay very close attention. “Genjirou loves you, doesn’t he?” the ghost asked coldly, glaring down at her. Fuku pondered this, then felt silly for doing so, & nodded. “I think he does, yes.”

“Then how dare you offer your life so lightly!” the ghost wailed, and Fuku noticed he was sobbing, odd, white streams of a heavy gaseous substance oozing from his eyes. “How miserable would Genjirou be not to be loved? You must cherish him more deeply! You must think more heavily before making such rash decisions! To be in love with him, you must tie your heart to his with an iron chain that will cause both to burst if it is severed! Do you understand?”

Fuku seldom considered the somewhat taboo fact that men could fall in love with other men, but she considered it deeply as the ghost spoke to her. It suddenly struck her that the chrysanthemums likely symbolised more than respect or an innocent friendship, and her face flushed a bit, hidden under the heavy makeup. She hadn’t known she’d acted so rashly she’d snatched away another person’s love, even if he was a ghost! “I understand,” she breathed, aghast.

“Then return to him– love him like no other, and remind him of how much he means to you every day… spoil him not with gifts, but with words, and raise his self esteem, so that your relationship may be meaningful like no other! Kiss him every day and linger so that he knows you do not wish to part ways, and hold his hand so that he knows he is not alone… drown him in sweet nothings that grow to be somethings, so that in old age he can look back on all these moments and say, I was a loved man!”

The guilt Fuku felt was so great she almost wished the ghost had just killed her the second he saw her, but she took his words to heart, just nodding along, still holding the chrysanthemum. She wondered why a ghost was so attached to Genjirou…. had they known one another in a different life? No, it couldn’t be; she would have surely seen him. Everybody knew everybody in Passions. Still, she ventured to ask, “Before I leave, Mister Ghost… may I ask your name?”

The ghost hesitated, before he answered, “Chikayoshi, although that name has not been spoken in years.”

She had no desire to ask how he died, nor why he killed the hunters, deciding she’d probably done enough damage, and that she should definitely head back. As she turned around to leave, the ghost implored of her one final thing, “Please do not mention this name to Genjirou… he will be tortured, & I could never forgive myself.”

She said nothing, unable to lie and say she wouldn’t, & quietly left, ultimately leaving the chrysanthemum with Chikayoshi. She couldn’t put the thought out of her mind– she never quite understood the concept of a man falling for another man, but if it were indeed true that this happened… oh, how cruel she was, how heartless she’d been, throwing away all those chrysanthemums & taking credit for the rescue, forcing Chikayoshi to watch as she did just that! She had never ventured before to think it was anything like that! She slid back into bed– it was only four in the morning, but she couldn’t sleep, haunted, quite literally, by Chikayoshi’s words & the expression he’d made when she offered herself to him.

Chikayoshi. Chikayoshi. She held onto the name like a prayer, determined not to forget it. After Genjirou woke up, things proceeded like normal– she was met with an array of kisses, the two went out to get breakfast, then lazily hung around the village. Nobody dared go into the woods for the time being, and the village leader was making arrangements with a self-proclaimed “expert of spirits and the supernatural” from another village to get rid of the ghost. Of course, this news spread around town like a wildfire, and the second it hit the couple, Fuku absolutely had to ask.

“Genjirou,” she whispered, as the two flipped lazily through texts in the library. “Could we go home? There’s something I really want to tell you.”

Genjirou raised a brow but put up no objection, and the two returned to his house. “Have you ever had any friends I haven’t known about?” she asked, biting her lip. She didn’t dare to ask boyfriend, the word not seeming right on her tongue, let alone seeming terribly informal. “Not that I can think of, no,” he replied earnestly, pouring himself a cup of tea from what remained in the teapot from that morning, placing a cup in front of Fuku as well. She ignored it, shifting uncomfortably on the mat. “Do you know the name Chikayoshi?”

Genjirou nearly spat out his tea, his eyes turning a terrible dark Kufu had never seen before. She immediately regretted the question, but it was too late now. “Why do you know this name?” His voice was calm, but some deep-rooted emotion was masked behind it, threatening to come out like a storm from a drizzle.

“It’s…..” she whispered, staring blankly down at her tea. “I– please promise you won’t be mad when I say this, Genjirou…” She also regretted saying this, knowing it was an infamously useless phrase. Genjirou only nodded. If he was going to get mad, he would get mad. She was prepared to handle the consequences. “I… I wasn’t the one who rescued you from the river, and I’m not the one who’s been leaving you chrysanthemums… that was Chikayoshi.”

“He’s back?!” Genjirou exclaimed, something wild about his expression. Fuku shook her head. “No, that’s – he's... the ghost on the mountain. Please don’t take this the wrong way, or think that our relationship is built on a lie, but I only took the credit because I thought it would be better for the dead not to interfere with the living…. I didn’t want to shock you.” And I was being selfish, she thought but did not say, leaving Genjirou to make that determination. There was a terrible period of silence, and when Fuku dared look up, she saw that Genjirou was sobbing silently, streams of tears pouring from his eyes as he wrung his hands aggressively, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

With a long sigh, he responded, “I haven’t taken it the wrong way, and I appreciate the sentiment…” He seemed to be mulling over his words, choosing each one very deliberately. “I don’t think you’re a liar, Fuku.” His eyes were filled with an indescribable sort of sadness, as he looked over at the vase of chrysanthemums. They were old, as Fuku had thrown away the ones from the past few days, and their petals fell to the surface of the dresser. “I have… I had… a friend you didn’t know about.”

THREE YEARS EARLIER

Chikayoshi struggled to catch his breath as he and Genjirou rolled and rolled and rolled in their special corner of the mountain, the exact center of the walking distance from the village of Passions to the village of Water’s Blessings. Genjirou placed kisses up and down Chikayoshi’s torso, who in return curled his toes in pleasure, wrapping his legs around the other’s hips. The two had met a year earlier during a hunt, or, in Chikayoshi’s case, a scouring-of-the-mountainside for flowers. They’d hit it off and become wonderful friends, only realising it was something more when Chikayoshi had sprained his ankle while Genjirou chased him. Once Genjirou caught up to him, he carefully tended to the wound, kissing it jokingly afterwards. When smiling at Chikayoshi, he was met by a cold, terrified gaze, & recognised it as longing. Daring himself, he moved his face closer– & closer– until he was finally met by a trepid, evolving into passionate, kiss, and the two realised their friendship was no more.

They made careful sure to not be seen by anyone else– Chikayoshi’s parents wanted so badly for their son to have a loving wife and have children, and Genjirou’s village wasn’t known as the most tolerant, infamously once having had kicked out an esteemed samurai after he flirted brashly with a male shopkeeper. Just as Chikayoshi was halfway through undoing Genjirou’s robes and the two felt daring enough to take the next “step” in their relationship, they froze as they heard the crackling of branches not too far away. Chikayoshi rapidly withdrew and Genjirou pretended to be busy with some mushroom, but it was too late; the two had been spotted by a hunter from Genjirou’s village who’d ventured further into the woods than his peers, and was met with quite the shock as he saw one of his fellow hunters arms-up with a strange man in the woods. Convinced his friend was of the female persuasion and that this was an assailant, he swooped in, throwing Genjirou as far as he could, sending him tumbling down a bit before he landed against a tree, and passed out immediately from the blunt trauma.

Unbeknownst to him, the other hunter had already drawn his bow and arrow, but too late– Chikayoshi took off like a mad dog into the woods, and the hunter chased after him, calling to his peers to help. They searched, and searched, and searched, all convinced Genjirou had been violated and that this man must die, but could not find him anywhere.

Just as how in the future, Genjirou hid from those very hunters in a river, Chikayoshi hid as well, but waded too deep into the water, and, unequipped with the ability of swimming, drowned. His corpse resurfaced soon enough that the hunters found it, and they buried it gracelessly in a ditch, leaving it to rot.

Chikayoshi’s body did rot, and his bones were taken away by wild animals. His spirit was very weak, and it took him three years of constant wishes for vengeance to manifest in a way that he could take on a physical form. He immediately sought out Genjirou, and also, his revenge, stealing a random corpse and marking it as his own– however, he was not at all well-written, & did not realise he had misspelled his name.

In the meantime in those three years, Genjirou distanced himself from his peers. The hunters agreed not to speak of what had happened to him in the mountains, finding it too shameful, and Genjirou could not stand to hunt alongside them anymore, choosing to hunt alone, hoping all along he’d encounter Chikayoshi, though he never did, & drearily presumed he’d been chased away by the others. The villagers started to grow cold towards Genjirou as they realised that he less and less interacted with them, let alone the fact that he so arrogantly hunted by himself– at least, they found it arrogant, as they did not know the true reason the hunters left him alone.

PRESENT

Fuku pursed her lips as Genjirou had only told her what he knew, personally– that he & Chikayoshi had once been involved in an affair, only to never see one another again after the incident on the mountain. Neither of the two had a clue as to how he’d died, but they didn’t want to think about it, knowing deep in their hearts it had to do with the hunters. “You must think I’m very silly,” she finally sighed, slightly laughing. “That I would so persistently chase after you even when your heart belonged to somebody else…” she blushed a bit. “I really do feel very foolish.”

“Don’t feel foolish,” Genjirou said pointedly, holding her hand in his. “Women should never feel foolish for trying to make their feelings known to a man… it shouldn’t be something to be embarrassed about, & I do appreciate you wholeheartedly for your support.” Fuku’s gaze was a bit empty, & that word was written across her brow: FOOLISH. “Please don’t think I’ve used you in any way,” he added, tightening his grip slightly. “You were not just a body for me to cling to, a soul for me to pour all that missing love into. Your friendship was always meaningful to me, and I always appreciated your reaching out to me where others wouldn’t, and our relationship was wonderful. You’re an amazing person, Fuku, and I wish nothing but the best for you.”

Fuku’s grip tightened in his. “We’re over, aren’t we?” she whispered. She had a gut feeling, even before she knew exactly how close Chikayoshi had been to Genjirou– she had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to love her anymore, knowing what he did. “Please don’t find me superficial,” Genjirou pleaded, searching her eyes. Fuku smiled wryly, reading his every facial feature. “I don’t,” she responded quietly. “I think in another life we would have paired quite nicely.”

“I think so, too,” Genjirou whispered, then stood up, taking the tea cups. He disappeared that same day, not offering Fuku a good-bye, as he knew it needed not be said. He did leave Fuku his house and possessions, and with that, she knew he would never return. She wished to have a love so powerful it could bring her back to life… she eventually got her wish, as, a couple years later, she met a beautiful, kind man from another village, who showered her every day in his affections and never failed to remind her how much she meant to him, even in the hard times, or when they argued. They never fought, making them a couple rather envied by a large sum of the villagers, who couldn’t seem to go a few days without fighting with their spouse.

The two married, and after their marriage, Fuku found a magnificent bouquet of chrysanthemums by her doorstep, wrapped in a silk ribbon….

#historical #ghosts #romance #fantasy #Japanese #shortstory #chrysanthemums #genjirou #chikayoshi

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fordanoia · 4 years

Text

I Think I Saw You [Ch 2: Interference]

Fandom: Gravity Falls || CW: - || Stan comes to Gravity Falls upon receiving a postcard from Ford, but he can’t find him and he has to figure out what’s going on. || Ao3 || Fic Tag

Prologue || Ch 1 || Ch 2 || Ch 3 || - || - || -

______(~6.3k words)______

Stan squinted up at the small ceiling light, eyes adjusting to the sudden change in light. When he could see again, he was able to make out shards of glass from the light bulb sitting at the bottom of the foggy dome.

Great.

He quietly flipped off the light switch for all the good it did and walked back to the pantry, rubbing the back of his neck.

Light bulbs going out wasn’t that out of the norm though. Even as he tried to reason that out to himself though, he knew it was bull.

Sure. Light bulbs going out was pretty common. What wasn’t ordinary was faulty lighting that followed you into a different room in a house that was working with zero problems beforehand.

That wasn’t normal. Nothing about this - any of this was normal.

Stan sighed, rifling back into the cabinet for food and making himself a can of soup.

The house could have had bad wiring, and maybe it actually did, but not one light bulb even so much as flickered yesterday when he’d had every light on in the house at the same time.

It was suspicious, and he knew it was still just a light bulb blowing out, but he wasn’t an idiot. Well, he wasn’t that much of an idiot. There was ‘weird,’ and then there was ‘something is definitely going on here.’ Heck, Ford’s house was chock full of weird stuff and half of that stuff looked supernatural so it’s not like it would be that much of a surprise.

In all honesty, he still hadn’t ruled out something supernatural for what had been going on with Ford. Not like he’d been able to rule out anything since he’d started actually thinking about how to find him though.

In a matter of days he’d gone from not caring about Ford to caring a whole lot about finding him. If Ford hadn’t written him, Stan wouldn’t have even known or worried about this. Maybe Ma would have written to him about it though.

Ma’s letters had gotten a lot shorter and started showing up a whole less often a long time ago, but Stan still got them now and then. The few times she had mentioned Ford in her letters it had been with a quick, lone sentence slipped between sentences about something else entirely. She didn’t even use his name, it was always ‘your brother.’ Shermie was Shermie, but ‘your brother’ was only ever Ford.

‘Your brother’s off at school now.’

‘Your brother’s got a research job all the way in Oregon.’

The comments always stuck out in the middle of her words like a sharp tack. No matter how she tried to slip it in casually and pretend like stuff was fine, it still stuck out like a sore thumb.

It was like some bad joke, except there wasn’t a punchline here.

Stan smiled to himself, imagining how she would have told him about this.

‘I’ve been doing tarot readings on my calls now. Your brother’s missing. Describing the card’s meaning adds up so much time.’

He tried to think about that, about how funny that part of the situation would have been, how funny it was because it was pretty much how it would go down if it happened.

His own word choice eventually sunk in though. He hadn’t really thought of Ford as ‘ missing’ before. ‘Missing’ brought with it a lot of other meanings and implied situations than just ‘not home’ or ‘gone’ did.

This whole thing with Ford may have looked bad... and it was, but if Stan could bounce back from going missing missing a dozen times then Ford could do it at least once, right?

All Ford had to do was be alive.

The thought sat heavy for a moment with half formed ideas that he immediately pushed away. He didn’t need to get caught up thinking about- about dumb stuff.

Ford was just... missing. Ford was just missing, and all Stan had to do was find him. That wasn’t too bad. It was still bad and Stan was having a hell of a time since he’d gotten that postcard, but it definitely wasn’t the worst situation Stan had ever been in.

Stan had food, a roof over his head, and so far nobody in town wanted him dead! If it wasn’t for the missing brother he was trying to find, he’d be doing great.

Even weird spirits messing with lights weren’t that bad. It just was giving him some bad ideas about what was going on here.

He wouldn’t be surprised if something in Ford's house could mess with lights though. Between all his nerdy science junk and the nerdy supernatural stuff, there was something bound to mess with electricity.

Stan had spotted more than a dozen homemade looking gadgets around the house, and he didn’t know what a single one of them did. He’d tried picking up a small remote looking thing in the kitchen and pressed a button on it. It had made a quiet hum noise, let out three angry beeps, then shot out a piece of metal into his palm and shocked him.

He stopped messing with the gadgets after that one.

So there was a good chance Ford had something hooked up that was zapping the power in the house weird. Or Stan had awakened a vengeful spirit from its resting place of some spooky vase he’d nudged.

Either one was fine by him. Honestly, he already had plenty of people that wanted revenge against him so one spirit that couldn’t even throw a knife was really low on his list of worries for his own life.

Heck, even thinking about some ancient cursed spirit or invisible wizard floating around him made him feel better. It was like having company around. Invisible, probably floating company like an annoying upstairs neighbor he never actually saw.

“Hey,” Stan spoke, his lips quirking into a lopsided smile. “If there’s a ghost here then knock over a chair or something.” He half joked. “Oh, or slam open all the cabinets at the same time. I always wanted to see something like that happen.” If he was in a haunted house he might as well make the most of it.

He didn’t hear anything though, besides the noises of the microwave. Eventually the timer went off and Stan popped open the small door.

“Eh, suit yourself.”

Once he finished eating, Stan got ready to head into town. As fun as reading barely legible notes were, he could only figure out so much from them and he wasn’t going to find Ford in that house.

Either he’d find someone suspicious in town or someone suspicious would come after him if he stirred things up enough about Ford. If they tried to get rid of Ford then chances were good they’d try to get rid of him if he just kept bothering enough people about him.

Stan picked his bag up and headed towards the front door. He hesitated at all the mismatching locks drilled into the wall beside the frame.

He’d already seen it, but it was still an unsettling reminder. A guy doing fine didn’t have seven different locks on his door.

His ears buzzed in the silence, the stagnant air at his back pressing in on him.

On a whim, he looked backwards into the dim hallway and reached for the light switch near the door, keeping his finger against it as he flicked it on.

The hallway illuminated in a soft warm light that did nothing, no changing brightness or unsteady flashing that could hint at anything else being here besides himself.

If Stan just kept his eyes on the hallway, and not down at the mess near his feet or into the shadows of any of the rooms, it looked like a cozy wooden shack. It looked like a place that could have been nice. It would have been too. If the rest of the house didn’t practically scream that something was wrong. If Ford wasn’t...

Stan scoffed at himself, and flipped the switch back down again before undoing the locks on the front door to leave.

All things considered, it looked like a pretty regular small town, and for some reason something about that pissed off a small part of Stan.

Okay, maybe... half of him...

Okay, so it pissed him off, but he didn’t know why.

Something about Ford choosing to come to a small town. He couldn’t care less to follow down the why of it though. Besides, that didn’t matter. A small town right now was great because it meant less places Ford could be holed up at and that he didn’t have to waste gas to get around.

He drove around once to get his bearings and hopefully spot something good. The snow had been plowed off of the roads and he’d seen a few people walking around on the sidewalk. No sign of Ford, of course though. The universe couldn’t make it that easy for him apparently.

The town had a pretty basic layout with everything centered around the town square and a water tower you could always see that made it easy to tell where you were in the town.

Stan parked at the nearest place to Ford’s house which turned out to be a diner on the side of the road not far from the outskirts of town called Greasy’s Diner.

The diner was in front of the woods and the building itself was shaped like a friggin’ log laying on its side. He went inside, the bell ringing as he opened the door.

It didn’t look too busy. There were a couple people scattered throughout the small diner, and only one waitress who was standing behind the counter.

She had bright blue eyeshadow and shiny earrings that caught the light when she turned towards him with a smile, cheerfully greeting him. “Hi, stranger! What can I get for you?”

“Do you have a menu?” He asked, with absolutely zero intention of buying anything as he sat down on one of the stools at the counter.

She turned to point at a chalkboard that had a small list of items on it. No big surprise when he saw the same breakfast food every diner had.

“I might need a minute.” He said.

“That’s alright, take your-” She stopped suddenly, her voice quickly and excitedly picking back up. “Wait a second, I know you!”

Shit... Shit.

Stan laughed tensely, turning his face away and pretending to look at the arm wrestling machine. “Me? Ha, no way. I just got into town, see. You must be thinking of someone else.”

He hadn’t even been to Oregon before, how did she know-?!

“No,” she insisted, “you’re that- you’re the mysterious science man from the woods, right?”

Stan’s mind stopped running through where he could have seen her before, and he looked back at her again.

She lit up at his reaction. “I knew it!” She said happily. “I knew I recognized you. I’ve got great eyes.”

His own face recovered before he did, giving a practiced, winning smile. “Close! I’m actually his brother.” He stumbled over the final word.

"Oh brother, huh?" She said with interest, and then the light just behind her began to flicker, and Stan wasn't looking at her anymore. "Well, nice to meet you, I'm Susan-!"

"Does your light always do that?" He interrupted.

Susan turned, catching sight of the flickering bulb. “Ohhh, I just replaced that one!” She took a step stool tucked away, and set it underneath the lightbulb, stepping onto it to reach the light.

As soon as she started touching it though, it stopped flickering, and she set her hands on her hips with a self-satisfied smile.

Then the next hanging light bulb started flickering.

Amidst the waitresses’ commentary that he was tuning out, Stan realized the light was flashing a pattern he recognized. He pushed himself to stand, hands on the counter, staring at the signal. It wasn’t perfect, but it was there. Three short, three long, three short, and over again.

Whatever was doing that, it was signalling S.O.S..

When Susan's hands settled on the flashing light bulb, it stopped and the next light bulb over immediately picked up the pattern.

A small cry from his right finally broke his attention from the flashing bulb, and Stan glanced over. A light bulb hanging over a booth burnt out, and Stan realized all the lights past that one had gone out already, leaving the far end of the diner dim.

The next closest light, the one hanging over the counter, fizzled out then burnt out next. Stan glanced to his left and saw the same thing happening on his other side.

One by one, it kept happening, the lights going out slowly all in a line headed right to him. Indiscreet murmurs made it hard to hear the buzzing of fluctuating electricity.

And still, still, the light bulb right in front of him was signalling S.O.S., flashing quicker, more insistent, as the lights burnt themselves out in quicker succession the closer they got to him.

Stan braced for an unseen impact that never came as the last few lights broke.

As it reached the last bulb, the one that had never stopped flashing over his head, the bulb shattered. Sharp, thin sounds of glass hit the counter and floor, punctuated by Susan shouting in surprise.

“Darn transformer!” Susan said, brushing her apron free of any glass shards.

He slowly shook his arms to throw off any glass on him and ran a hand through his hair.

“The transformer?” Stan slowly looked at her. “The transformer ? Transformers don’t do that. Lights don’t-” He cut himself off, glancing up briefly at the broken light bulb that had been flashing S.O.S. not even knowing where to begin thinking about that yet.

She looked back at him, confused before awkwardly picked out a dustpan. “Well, sure.” She thought for a second, then added on as she swept up the glass. “Well- You know, the power used to go out all the time here. All across town! It’s probably just that starting back up again, actually!”

“Why though?”

She hummed. “I dunno.” Susan said as she dumped the broken glass into a trash can then carefully wiped the counter for any glass. “Always thought that it had something to do with whatever mysterious thing your brother was working on. It stopped a few months ago though. Maybe he’s working on something again in that house! Have you been to his house yet? I bet it’s filled with all kinds of experiments.”

“Not yet. I better go see him actually. I’m shoplifting something to eat anyway.”

“Huh?” She stopped cleaning to look at him.

“Uh- I said I’m eating with him anyway.” He smiled at her. “Hey, has anyone ever told you you’re really good at wiping counters?”

She immediately brightened up at the compliment. “Oh, thanks! I wipe in zigzag patterns! ”

“...I noticed.” He backed up to leave. “Well, anyway see ya.”

“Bye! Come back soon.”

The door chimed after him once he left. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned out onto the sidewalk heading further into town.

Okay. Okay .

His thoughts just kept swirling around over and over, none of them settling long enough for any of them to go anywhere. He already didn’t know what was going on here, and now? Now there was something weird in the mix that apparently wasn’t just stuck at Ford’s house?

Maybe it had something to do with all this, maybe it didn’t. Either way it wasn’t telling him anything.

“You know I’m kinda busy right now, yeah?” He muttered to the air. “You need help? Then actually say it or- hell.”

Stan stopped walking along the strip outside of some shop front. The large glass wall showcased some antiques set up front for display and past that there were shelves lined with more knicknacks. He leaned close to the glass, taking in a deep breath of air and letting it out to fog up the window.

“Alright.” He said, writing a question mark into the fogged up glass. “Say something.”

He waited, watching the fogged spot.

Instead of messages getting written in the glass, one of the lights on the strand lining the window began to flicker. You know what, fine, that worked too.

Three short blinks, S. No- four. No. No, it wasn’t- it wasn’t morse code. It was too erratic and fast. It was just... flickering.

“That’s nothing, you’re saying nothing.”

As if angered, the light bulb burnt out in response. Then three more of the lights started flickering then quickly burnt out. Again though, it wasn’t any kind of morse code, it just looked like a light going out.

Stan turned on his heel without hesitation and walked down the sidewalk. “Yeah, yeah, I got that the first time.”

The ghost- spirit, whatever it was - he didn’t care and he didn’t pay attention to it. As he walked, lights would dim or flicker when he passed by them. If he couldn't understand it then there was nothing he could do about it anyway.

This was exactly what he needed, one more confusing layer on this whole thing, because apparently now there was a spirit involved in all of this now. This was his life now.

He couldn’t even care less if he was being haunted right now, at least up until it started throwing knives at him. What he did care about though was if it had anything to do with what was going on or if Stan really had just accidentally cursed himself when he was rifling through Ford’s junk.

He also wasn’t sure why it would need help and even less sure what he could even do to help a spirit that he couldn’t even understand. He was half thinking it was just messing with him.

Why did it signal for help, then just decide to go back to ‘spooky flickering lights’ instead of using morse code again even if it was just S.O.S. over and over? It didn’t make sense. Nothing since he’d gotten here made sense.

Stan twisted his knuckles against each other through the fabric of his pockets, ignoring the occasional flickering light. Eventually the lights stopped, taking the hint.

He might not have had any leads about where Ford was at, but he knew at least one place Ford had to have visited.

The library was a pretty small wooden building, cozy and by the looks of it empty too. Ford probably would have thought it was the perfect place.

The second Stan pushed in the front door, he heard a buzzing to his left and the light in the small foyer flickered haphazardly. He rolled his eyes, ignoring the bulb burning out and kept walking inside.

A quick glance around, he didn’t see anyone around. After looking down a couple aisles though he spotted someone glancing over a row of books. Stan was about to dismiss it as another patron before they glanced over at him and jumped.

Their hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun that looked like it was gonna fall loose when they turned their head from whatever hair tie or clips that were holding it together.

“Oh-! Uh.” They paused, looking at Stan, uncertain. “Ford?”

Fucking Bingo.

Stan walked closer so he could talk with them. “Hey, really close. I’m his brother. I was actually looking for him.”

“Oh.” They straightened up. “Sorry, uh... I haven’t seen him around here lately.”

Stan hummed. “Hey, you work here, right?”

“Yeah. Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah,” Stan said. “Yeah, could you tell me what books Ford’s got checked out right now?”

They agreed easily enough and led him back towards the circulation desk and turned to the rows of small square drawers on the back wall behind the desk.

Once they pulled out one of the drawers, the desk lamp Stan had only just really noticed started to flicker, and Stan shot a warning look at it.

It stopped flickering.

The librarian, Lee going by the name tag that was close enough for him to read now, turned back around, looking at a card in their hand. “Yeah, this is it.” They said, looking up and holding the card out to him. “Here.”

As soon as Stan grabbed it the desk light suddenly burned out into a dark grey as it went out.

The librarian paused with their hand out, looking over at the lamp before focusing back on Stan again and retracting their hand. “Uh, anyways, this card has all the books he had checked out. They're all overdue..."

"Ha, yeah, that's Ford for you." Stan said with a short smile. “Booknerds, am I right?”

Their mouth opened a couple times like they had a couple different things to say before they finally settled, frowning at him. “They’re really overdue...”

Eh, that’s on him for trying to talk about nerds to a librarian. “Yeah, yeah, right. I’ll tell him when I see him.” He looked down at the card, quickly realizing the dates on the books checked out.

"Hey, nothing's been checked out in the past few months." Stan said, looking back at them. "You got a newer card?"

"That's it." They answered simply.

Stan half smiled, feeling a laugh curdling and souring in the back of his throat. "Come on, ha, you're telling me he hasn't been here for what, weeks?"

Quietly, they looked back at him with a half concerned expression.

The silence quickly stagnated the air around them.

He cleared his throat and checked the card again, reading it all the way through this time. “Okay then...”

It looked like there were still five books checked out. Most of them had some kind of occult or supernatural title like 'Exploration of Demons & Spirits’ except for one that had a really long title about neural oscillation and electricity. His thoughts went dead in the water, trying to make sense of that one.

Who went and decided a title could go on for two or three sentences?

Even the short titles didn’t stick out to him much past them being about supernatural ghosts and fairies. No matter how he turned all the titles over in his head all he could take away from it was that Ford was reading up on ‘supernatural stuff and science junk’ which covered everything Ford studied.

Stan heard the tail end of a question, “-ng alright?”

“Huh?” Stan looked up to see Lee watching him.

“I said, is he doing alright?” They asked again, brow slightly furrowed.

Lee had only been the second person he’d talked to Ford about today, but It felt like Stan was getting asked the same annoying question for the thousandth time. This person had to know something.

“How'd he look when you last saw him?" Stan asked instead.

They paused awkwardly and glanced aside, meandering with their words. "The last time I saw him... he seemed like he was in a hurry. Maybe he had a work deadline? I think he was stressed out.”

“Did he ever mention some guy?”

They paused. “I’m... sorry, what?”

“I said, did he ever mention some guy?” Stan repeated himself. “When he was stressed out, did he ever talk about anybody. Or have any friends? Hell, did anybody ever come in here with him or seem like they were looking for him?”

Lee’s eyes widened before their whole face shut down into an even expression and they took the card back out of his hand, busying themselves with putting the card back in its place. "I actually don't know." They said in a clipped tone. "Sorry."

Stan wanted to reach over the desk to pull them back by their shirt. He knew, he knew he was asking suspicious questions and he should have been playing it cool. They were hiding something though.

“Hey, buddy.” Stan said, waiting for them to turn back around.

They tensely turned back towards him with a polite expression. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" Their fingers tucking into the edge of the check out desk.

"Cut the bull." Stan told them, well beyond irritated. “Whatever, you know, I don’t care, but whatever it is I need to hear it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Nope. Try again.”

“I don’t-” Lee put up their hands. “Look, he was getting really suspicious about people last I saw him, but I don’t know anything about- whatever all this is about.”

Stan felt something in him, some tiny thread just snap.

“You have to know more than that.” Stan said, not even looking at them now. “You talked to him.”

He started to walk around in a short circle and gestured as his voice climbed, getting gradually louder. “This was the goddamn library, he was probably here- what? Countless times. More than- more than the friggin' grocery story or any other stupid building in this whole town outside of his own house!”

Stan pulled his voice back down, straining his voice. “Someone has to know something about my brother.” He said, finally looking back at them.

If even the damn librarian barely knew anything about Ford...

Lee was watching him, fidgeting with their hands. “Alright... Uh.” They pushed their hands flat onto the desk, continuing calmly. “Look, he was here a lot, yes, but he didn’t talk about himself a lot and... and I really don’t know why he stopped showing up.”

“He never mentioned a name...?” Stan tried, hoping for something.

“No. Have you tried asking his neighbors or friends?”

Stan shut his eyes for a moment, all of his energy just leaving him all at once. “He lives out in the middle of the woods, and... and if he has friends I don’t know who they are or how to find them.”

Stan opened his eyes back up again. “I’m just trying to find him.” He said. “I know you just work here or whatever, but I don’t know anybody that knew him and I don’t know where he’s at. Just...” He breathed in, feeling his ribs pressing in on him, “gimme something here.”

They looked at him quietly and then their eyes shifted downwards in thought “He did come here once with someone a couple times... but that was- half a year ago?”

“You know who?”

Lee shook their head. "I don’t. He came every now and then, without your brother, but I haven’t seen him in a while either. He was tall and lanky though."

“Anything else?”

“Uh.” They shrugged their shoulders. "He... might have had blonde hair? It was too long ago, I’m sorry, I really couldn’t tell you.”

A guy. A guy that was maybe blonde.

“Great...” He said.

“You know- he picked out textbooks mostly. I could check through some name cards and see if maybe I can spot him.”

Stan perked up a little. “You really think you would recognize him by some books he checked out?”

“Well- maybe.” They said. “The textbooks don’t get checked out that often except by students so it’d stick out.”

Wait.

“You said textbooks? Do you remember what kind?”

Lee steepled their hands underneath their chin, squinting in thought for a long moment.

“... Math?” They finally said.

“So definitely another nerd then.”

That sounded like someone Ford could be friends with, also could be someone that was behind this. Either way if Stan could find him, he’d consider that a win.

“It’ll take me a couple days to check through the cards though.” Lee said.

“You’re actually going to do it?” Stan asked, a little surprised.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re gonna beat the guy up or nothing, right?” They half joked, smiling.

That depended on what the guy was like.

“Oh, course not.” Stan scoffing and waving his hand nonchalantly. “Ha, no. No, I’ve never even gotten into a fight.” He said casually, swinging his arms then planting his fists against his side.

A brass knuckle fell out of his coat pocket and hit the thin carpet with a dull thud.

Stan swiped down to pick it up, putting it back in his pocket before the librarian could see it. “Paperweight.”

“You carry a paperweight around with you?”

“...It’s Ford’s.”

“Ahh.” Lee nodded their head in sudden understanding. “Okay, well, anyway, try coming back here in a couple days.”

“Will do.” Stan turned to leave with a wave. “If you see him then just let him know I was looking for him.”

After long enough of poking around town, it’d turned dark and he’d gotten zero leads after asking practically half the town. Nobody besides the librarian had even seemed to know Ford’s name or anything about him. People only seemed to know him as the mysterious man who did science out in the middle of the woods.

Even the seediest looking place in town, a bar that didn’t even look bad, hadn’t given him anything. Well, he could get a job smuggling some dogs, but he’d come back around to that offer later.

He’d even wandered around the town after it turned dark and the streets had cleared out in the hopes someone would just jump him for asking too many questions. The town stayed quiet and he remained untouched even through barren streets and dimly lit alleyways though.

His faint reflection followed beside him in every darkened window he passed by as he headed back towards his car at a sluggish pace. He got so used to the accompanying shadow beside him that he didn’t even glance over when he saw it out of the corner of his eye anymore.

Which was why it took him an extra moment to realize that there was a second shadow casted onto the brick wall beside his own, moving at the same pace as him.

Stan spun on his feet to see the culprit, already pushing his fingers into the brass knuckles in his pockets.

He just turned to an empty street though. He glanced back again to the wall, only seeing his own shadow there, alone.

“Where..?” He looked down both ends of the street, not seeing or even hearing the signs of another person. Stan double checked again thinking maybe he’d missed a trashcan or something someone could have ducked behind when it finally hit him.

If there wasn’t anything physical around him, that didn’t leave a whole array of options.

“Hey.” He said. “Hey, buddy, I saw you.”

The spirit, because what the hell else could it even be now, hadn’t done anything for a long time now. The flickering lights had sometimes started as morse code that never went past two letters and the rest of the time just looked like flickering. They always ended with a burnt out light bulb no matter what though, and after the millionth time he’d figured the thing was either purposefully trying to mess with him. The lights messing up around him had been steadily lessening throughout the day, and he hadn’t seen anything for the past couple hours so he thought the thing had finally gone.

Instead, it was apparently still hanging around him. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

The low light washing over him began to flicker and Stan looked up at the lamp post responsible. It flickered (not morse code) then burnt out.

Stan lifted his hands. “Ooooh, spooky lights. Talk to me when you got something new, pal.” He turned to keep walking to his car.

He could hear buzzing lights behind him and ignored it. He was fully prepared to ignore it too until he saw a lamp post at the end of the street falter.

It only flickered once, staying on, then the next lamp post coming towards him flickered as well, before moving onto the next one.

Stan sighed heavily.

“You already did this bit before too, buddy.” Stan said, as the flicker kept heading in his direction through the lamp posts overhead.

The light flickered overhead of him, and then a light behind him flickered, going past him this time. Confused, he turned to look behind him.

The flicker of light bulbs was heading in a clear path back along the street.

After a moment, it happened again, the lamp post over his head flickering once and then the flicker went in a line down the street and back around a corner further into town.

He perked up, watching it happen again.

“You better be actually showing me something.” He warned, following the faulty lights.

There wasn’t any answer, no surprise there, but he kept following the trail anyway.

Stan was frustrated and tired of shooting in the dark all day, and right about now he was willing to check out anything out of the ordinary for some answers.

He wound up back in the middle of town again and saw the trail turning around the corner into town square. Before he could make it there, the street lamp at the corner shattered with an explosively loud buzz of energy.

Stan slowed to a stop and the flickering lights that were still trailing in the same direction picked up speed, urgently flashing in a fast line to the corner building, some dance studio.

He ran to the dance studio, trying to avoid stepping all over the glass shards on the sidewalk. The studio had large windows that made it easy to see inside, but he didn’t see anyone or anything suspicious inside.

Stan paused and checked for a door when he heard the buzz of electricity further on, and looked around the corner that led into the town square. All the lamp posts he could see from where he was at had gone dark.

He pushed against the building’s edge, running into town square, glass crunching under his feet every time he went under another dark lamp post until he went into the street.

“What the hell...?”

More than half the square was shrouded in darkness from broken lamp posts. To his left was the only side of the square that had any lamp posts left, and he could see them still breaking.

He heard the distant buzz of electricity and tinkling of glass hitting cement as the remaining lamp posts’ lights continued shattering, one after another. The first one he’d seen had bursted within a second, and it had been loud, but he swore these were quieter and taking longer to break. After a few more broken lights he was sure, with each one it was taking longer like the thing was running out of energy.

The trail of flickering lights had since stopped by this point so Stan just kept watching the breaking lamp posts.

With only a few lamp posts still shining, a lamp post weakly flickering for long enough that Stan wound up walking towards it. Even once he got to it, it was still going. Within seconds, the flickering eventually died down to nothing.

He looked at the building in front of him.

“Ice cream shop’s super important, huh?” He asked, slowly walking under the lamp posts that were still lit, no flicker from any of them.

Maybe something was here, but he also wasn’t going to break into five different shops to find it. He didn’t even know what he was supposed to be looking for though.

He continued wandering around the square. Nearly every window to every building was dark. The library, the museum, the shoe store, all of them. If there was anything or anyone suspicious around here then he wasn’t seeing it.

Stan stopped, watching one of the still shining lamp posts. “You ran out of juice, didn’t you?”

After a moment, the lamp post dimmed slightly, but so briefly Stan would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring right at it.

Alright. He rubbed his face with his hand.

“Again,” he said, starting the walk back to his car again, “this vague, ominous shit isn’t helping me understand whatever you’re trying to get across.”

He got into his car and turned on the radio, flicking through stations until he found something playing music he liked. The music station he’d picked out turned to quiet static once he was inside the woods though.

His car made its way along paths that wound around trees that took him further and further away from town. Driving to Ford’s shack was a lot easier this time, following his tire tracks still leftover in the snow from when he had left.

Stan sighed, pushing buttons for a station that was strong enough to make it through the thick trees. He eventually let it go, leaving the static on so he wouldn’t be driving in absolute silence. It filled the car with sound and made it feel less empty.

Driving through the woods was actually pretty nice when there wasn’t a blizzard threatening to push his car this way or that.

A garbled voice came through the static, a few words unintelligible through the static before it went back to silence.

He continued to drive, reaching for the knob and turning up the volume.

Sound came from the radio again, syllables half mangled. “ -t an - e y. ” It sounded like-

Stan slammed on his breaks, car sliding a few feet on the snowy path before stopping. He stared at his radio, cold needles pricking up his forearms.

The static fluctuated, then more sounds came as a distinct voice forced its way through the static.

“ S t--- ----. ---l o ? St an, s--- - a n- -- - -e-r ---? -- --- -. ”

A cold weight settled into Stan’s stomach.

“...Stanford?”

#gravity falls #my fics #stan pines #gravity falls fic #Fic: I Think I Saw You #c: stan #c: mullet stan #c: susan #atots au #this chapter wound up twice the length it was meant to be lasdfjms #also 2 conversations i waSN'T expecting to actually write out be here we are #sO READY FOR THE STANGST IN THE NEXT CHAPTER #tbd

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pastelbatfandoms · 4 years

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Tarot Readings- Peter Hale and Marianna Mccall

Deck used- Throne of Glass playing cards (OwlCrate) Web of Connection Spread ......6....... 4...........5 ......3....... 1...........2

1. Why did you meet? King of Swords 2. What were/are you suppose to learn from the relationship? King of Wands (How to be a leader,strong,authoritative,to be bold and even competitive. How to grow and mature but still be fearless. ) 3. Why are you connected to them? Knight of Cups (Aside from them having a Soul Bond...Out of love an affection,strong emotional connection) 4. What did/do you gain from being connected to them? King of Pentacles (Hard work,dedication,Financial security (which is very prevalent in the next reading I do with Peter) a loyal,protective partner.) 5. What will you loose if you remove the connection? Knight of Pentacles R (Money,Ambition,start to feel a lack of motivation and missed opportunities in a sense you've lost your good luck charm. An obvious disconnection from nature,becoming bored and unadventurous.) 6. General Advice/outcome- Page of Cups ♥ (Emotionally immature to begin with the knights indicate that Peter will help Marianna mature and become more grounded. This card also indicates engagement and or pregnancy,both that do happen down the road! They must follow their instincts and sixth sense and not let others make up their minds for them. Also yes it's obvious when Peter started liking her as it was pretty obsessive but page of Cups says to be open to his advances,but be aware that once she's committed Peter will be highly sensitive to her needs,and vice versa,therefore easily upset (comes with being a territorial Werewolf...)which will end up in moodiness,but lots of compassion and cuddles on both their parts can remedy that.)

Soulmate Past life/present spread (Using My Dragon Deck) --3------6 1--2---4--5 -----7 ----8--9 -13-15--14 --10--11 ----12 You= Peter SM=Marianna Past Life 1.aspect of you- Three of Wands (Traveler,possibly somewhere hot and sunny I’m thinking a desert to India,an exciting new adventure and letting go of the past (Which ironically he needed to do in this life as well),possibly met Marianna well traveling and immigrating to India,I view him as a Seer in that life as well.) 2.aspect of sm (soulmate)-6 of Swords (breaking away from her family,maybe she was indian royalty and wanted to get away from the turbulence and restrictions,traveled overseas,possibly where she met Peter on the way,he became her spiritual guide through these dark times and taught her how to meditate.) 3.outcome- Ace of Pentacles (Wealth,abundance,happiness,I’m thinking Peter married into her family as a Seer/advisor,where Marianna inherited a palace.) Present 4.aspect of you- King of Swords (Fearless Leader,logical,intelligent and formidable but not above coercion or bribery,an avid reader,Though there was a time when he did not think so clearly and had a troubled past (more then likely indicates the fire) 5.aspect of sm- Four of Wands (Stability,Family,protection,may indicate marriage or the soul bond) 6. Outcome (influenced by past life experience)-Ten of Wands and (Clarifier) Ten of Cups R (Connects to 6 of Swords) (The hardships they’ve both faced on their own,especially family wise,Marianna’s family left her and she was adopted,The Mccalls divorced which Mari could partially put the blame on herself by thinking she was a burden.) Meeting 7.path to meeting (what you need to do) 5 of Swords and (Clarifier) Six of Wands (Through alot of hardships that will eventually lead to success and happiness.) 8.condition of upon meeting- Two of Pentacles and (Clairfier) The Lovers (Well I feel like Peter was going through financial hardships even though he was hoarding it...then got it stolen out from under him. Maybe The Mccalls are going through the same,I mean there’s only one parent supporting them. Love at first sight,attraction,they did meet when they were teenagers.) 9.time frame (pay attention to card number; mentions of cycles...etc...)- The Hanging Man,Number is 3,looks to be Midday,Symbol is a Triangle,Sign of Neptune and a Crescent moon. (Marianna did seem to think that love was evading her and,even though she didn’t know it att,the Peter that she saw was a spirit of sorts. It was midday when they officially met,the number 3 indicates how they should embrace their destiny instead of fight it.) Relationship 10.potential problems- Three of Cups ( too much group socializing and partying or the group itself could affect the relationship) 11.solution- Eight of Swords with The Tower and (Clairfier) High Priestess 12.influences- The Moon (Clairfier) The Hierophant (Pretty obvious now that one of Marianna’s powers is prophetic dreams.This may also be when Peter turns her into a Were which definitely has an influence over her. Definitely Peter or even Derek or Scott,as Alpha’s or Omega’s really as Were Packs are all about control,territory and leading as well as listening to your Alpha (Which in Mari’s case would be Peter. Also Peter’s past life as Mari’s guide could influence this life as well.) Results & Guidance 13.message from angel/spirit- The Star (A Message to both of them that after The Tower and Moon comes the calm after the storm. A release from the past,a time to be true to themselves and for others to just accept them as themselves and a couple,A great freedom and real love for each other,a karmic link.) 14.message from Goddess/God- Eight of Cups (Soul searching,leaving behind what once she or he thought they needed,for Mari I feel like this is about any lingering feelings over Stiles or in finding her biological family,In Peter I feel like this is his family from no longer trying to be accepted,of them both leaving home together and moving on.They can find what they once needed,a family,together.) 15.final outcome- Five of Wands (This is so about them leaving for The Desert,leading their own pack,living in peace for a time and then having to deal with hierarchy issues as well as The Hunters coming for them again,trying to bend them to their will or killing them,wanting Marianna’s unborn child and them standing up and not allowing this.Fighting for their freedom and supernatural justice.)

Mother Daughter spread for Mari and Malia ..5...9...6.... <--rid of condition 1...2...3...4... <--impact ..8...10..7..... <--views 1. 1 and 2 are positive impacts. 1 is the 'what I know'- The Empress (Mari) 2. 1 and 2 are positive impacts. 2 is the 'what I don't know'- 9 of wands 3. 3 and 4 are negative impacts. 3 is the 'what I don't know'- 8 of pentacles (Malia) 4. 3 and 4 are negative impacts. 4 is the 'what I know'- 10 of pentacles 5. What to do to rid of past conditioning- 9 of cups (Mari) 6. What to do to rid of past conditioning- 3 of swords (Malia) 7. How you view entire situation- The Sun (Mari) 8. How she views entire situation- King of cups (Malia) 9. Solution/resultant of 'ridding past conditioning'. Can also be advice.- 5 of swords 10. Solution/resultant of combining views and coming to understanding. Can also be advice.- 2 of pentacles and The Tower.

Personal Destiny Spread

Card #1 describes the “present” environment or personal reality that is ripe for change. Card #2 shows the “heart of the matter,” or what the querent feels about the situation. Card #3 shows “state of mind,” or what the querent thinks about the situation. Card #4 shows “desire,” or what the querent wants from the situation. Card #5 suggests motivating challenges or opportunities that may appear in the situation. Card #6 shows how likely “getting clear of the past” is for the querent. Card #7 summarizes the outcome of the querent's efforts in creating a new personal reality. The two numerically derived “quint” cards show the influence of a higher order of understanding.

Card #1- (Marianna) The Hierophant with The Knight of Cups (Ego) (Marriage,as well as Tradition and rite of passage which makes me think of either Derek’s pack or Her and Peter’s. The Knight only confirms the marriage part as well as love and romance but also unpredictability and negotiation. Maybe the pack mentality needs to change.) Card #2- (Both) Five of Swords and The Magician (This reminds me of what happened when Alison died so this could represent the past or because I haven’t written that part yet,the future. Or since Peter wasn’t really involved in that fight,it could represent Derek and Scott setting him on fire and almost killing him.The Magician has Peter all over it!) Card #3- (Peter) The High Priestess R With Strength (Spirit) (Less aloof,seeking a relationship,more social,still vengeful but biding his time,which very much describes Peter in S2. Inner strength,needs to temper his anger,difficult for a wolf,may be facing off against an old enemy (The Argents),prideful,brave and bold on the outside,fearful on the inside,strong relationship that has weathered many storms.) Card #4- (Peter) The Fool R With Strength (Desires Freedom from convention and responsibility. Don’t we all...But Strength indicates he may very well do something foolish to get it and not let fear hold him back.) Card #5- (Marianna) Seven of Wands with The Knight of Cups (Indicates her becoming Pack leader in Arizona along with Peter which may cause conflict between them and the group but The Knight of cups indicates that Mari’s more loving and romantic nature will come out and soften things with Peter and therefore the pack.) Card #6- Ten of Cups (Family,the birth of Malia) Card #7- Four of Wands R and King of Wands (Going it alone,lack of stability,wanderer,seems likely this is after what happens with the hunters but it is only temporary. Both Peter and Mari take on leadership roles and are independent and assertive,once they come back together,and Peter forgives her for stealing his memories,they will enjoy a dynamic relationship once again.)

#teen wolf #peter hale imagine #crackship gifs #My OC #creative tarot #tarot writer #the alpha

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