#And the answer isn’t to run people out of town on a rail every time they make a mistake

[thetriumphantpanda]

pining & desperately waiting | javier peña

take the weight off his shoulders - chapter two

Chapter Summary | As much as he’s trying to keep his distance there is just something about you that Javier cannot stay away from. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame, so to speak. He's worried about you too, putting yourself in harms way for your work.

Chapter Warnings | Mutual pining, slow burn, sexual tension, flirting, mention of smoking and drinking alcohol, mention of drugs, drug deaths and the drug trade, explicit smut - masturbation (F)

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Word Count | 3.2k

Authors Note | When I tell you I love this (specific) man, I am telling you I love him. He consumes me. Thank you to @hellishjoel for letting me scream about these two with her and helping me figure this chapter out! If you like this I would love for you to join me in my ask box for screaming and please consider reblogging to support me! If you enjoyed this, you can make a donation to my Ko-Fi if you'd like to support me that way.

I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.

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You dream of him every night for a week after that night at the bar. They’re filthy, depraved sometimes, and you always wake up, slick pooling between your thighs, fingers working furiously before your alarm goes off to try a satiate you, or at least tide you over until you can climb back into bed that night and really take your time to imagine all the ways Javier would take you apart with his fingers, with his mouth, with his…. 

“Are you even listening to me?” 

You want to answer honestly and say no, you were busy daydreaming about getting railed by your dad’s buddy, but when you look across the table and see your boss practically glaring at you, you realise it’s probably for the best to lie a little. 

“Sorry,” You mumble, picking up your pen, “Didn’t sleep well, what were you saying?” 

“The fundraiser tomorrow,” She speaks, “For Dylan’s foundation, would you be okay to cover it?” 

You nod, because it makes sense for it to be you. Dylan had overdosed just over a year ago – seemingly on top of things, doing well in school and incredibly bright, found slouched over on a street corner, dead from an overdose before he’d been able to leave the small town for whatever bright lights he was destined for. He was just one of a string of drug-related deaths over the past twelve months – an ‘epidemic’ as they had coined it – the town too close to Mexico to escape the trade that Javier himself had worked so hard to quell. Dylan’s parent’s had set up a small foundation after his death, hoping to help other young kids who could be lured into this stuff to have other opportunities in their lives. 

“What kinda thing are you thinking?” You ask, starting to jot down notes as she speaks. 

“Just some reaction from people there, why they’ve decided to come out and support, maybe try and grab one of his parents, just the usual really, and we can run a story in the following days, might help drum up some more support for them if nothing else.” 

You nod, doing your usual with your notes of underlining the important parts, making notes on the kind of questions you’ll ask when you speak to people, “How many words have I got to work with?” 

“I think we can give them a page,” She says, looking to her boss who nods in agreement, “So whatever you produced for last month’s story, that should be good.” 

You nod, making a note of that too, and then continue to zone out for the rest of the meeting as everyone talks amongst themselves, mind going right back to Javi and what he would feel like putting his weight on you, settling between your thighs. You really needed to get a grip. 

“Oh, isn’t it so nice to see such a good turn out today?” Your mom gushes, looking around at what feels like the whole of Laredo milling about a number of stalls that are selling all sorts of different things. 

“Sure is good to see,” Your dad agrees, putting his hands on your shoulders to give them a squeeze, “You want us to leave you to your reporting, pumpkin?” 

The nickname makes you wince a little, a moniker from your early days, before you’d filled out into your body. It was cute, but at twenty-five years of age, you do sometimes wish he’d find something else to call you. 

“I shouldn’t be too long,” You turn around and smile at him, “I can come and find you in a little while.” 

You wander around, introducing yourself to a few people asking them questions and jotting down notes. You’ve just finished speaking to Martina, famous throughout town for owning her own candle business, about why she’s supporting the foundation, when you step back and feel two sturdy hands holding onto your waist. You’re about to turn around and slap whoever it is for touching you, when that deep voice hits your ears.

“Careful, querida,” Javier fucking Peña, “Almost stood on my foot.” 

You whip around, mainly to put a bit of distance between the two of you, because it felt like his lips had been inches from your ear. He drops one of his hands, but keeps the other ghosting at your side, maybe to keep you steady more than anything as you wobble from the speed at which you’ve turned around. 

“Maybe you shouldn’t stand too close then?” You offer, making sure it comes out more playful than anything, because actually, all you really want is for his body to press against you more often. 

“Fair point,” He shrugs, “Thought I recognized you so I wanted to say hi,” He finally lets that other hand drop from your waist, “So hi.” Is... Is he nervous? 

You chuckle a little, “Hi,” you respond simply with a smile, “I didn’t expect to see you here,” You say honestly, this wasn’t his kind of scene before, you can’t imagine it’s any more appealing to him now, “Didn’t think it was your kind of scene.” 

He rubs a hand nervously over the back of his neck, “It’s not, I’ve been made to come,” He nods his head behind him where Chucho is talking to a group of other ranchers, “Apparently I’ve got to start showing my face more.” 

“Well, it’s a nice face,” your mouth speaks before your brain can catch up with what it’s saying, you inwardly cringe when you realise what you’ve said, “I mean, I’m sure people are happy to see you around.” Is all you can think to say to try and get him to forget the weird compliment. 

He seems to smile, but like it had been across the table almost two weeks ago, his smile seems forced, “Just wish I could skip the bullshit about everyone being proud of me.” 

“But it’s true,” You shrug, moving away from the stall with him so other people can in front of you to look, “You did really good things out there.” 

He scoffs now, shaking his head a little, “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers, querida,” He speaks, “Surely you should know that more than anyone.” 

You don’t know what he’s actually trying to say, but you decide to play it light, “Are you accusing me of lying in my stories, Peña?” You say with a smirk. 

“Perhaps not you,” He offers, “But I know plenty of journalists who know how to twist a story to get what they want,” He looks down at his shoes, kicking at the gravel a little, “Just don’t want you thinking I’m something I’m not.” 

“Been gone a long time,” You muse, “You might have to spend some time reminding me who you are.” 

It’s flirting the lines of maybe being too much you think, but you’ve not said anything that’s not true. He has been gone a long time, and if what he’s said is anything to go by, he will have to remind you of who he is or show you how he’s changed. 

“Not sure you’d like who I am now very much, querida.” He says simply. 

You’re about to open your mouth to respond, tell him you’re pretty sure that wouldn’t be true and that there isn’t a thing he could do on this earth that would make you think he was a bad person, but before you can, Chucho is coming up behind him, a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Ah, mija,” He smiles at you, “You here alone?” 

“Hey Chucho,” You greet with a smile, “Mom and dad are around somewhere, I’m just here working on a story.” You hold up your notepad and pen.

“Let’s see if we can’t find them, huh Javi?” Chucho muses to his son, “Get you a nice cold lemonade for when you’re finished?” He motions to the blazing sun and then back to you. 

“Sounds lovely, thank you,” You motion over their shoulder to where Dylan’s parents are stood, “I just need to speak to them, and I’ll come and find you.” 

Javi doesn’t say goodbye, just follows closely behind Chucho as they disappear into the crowds, leaving you to wander over to Dylan’s parents. They’re not strangers to the paper, your boss had written a story with them not long after Dylan’s funeral, trying to spread awareness as to just how deep the drug problem ran in town. The Laredo Morning Times had always been supportive to them, so you didn’t feel the same anxiety you normally did when gathering information for stories, cold calling or knocking on doors trying to introduce yourself before doors are swiftly shut in your face or phones are hung up with a ‘no comment’. 

They’re warm with you as you speak to them, thanking you for coming, thanking the paper for agreeing to cover the event, they even smile, which for a pair who lost their only son in such a horrible way still shocks you for some reason. Their loss hasn’t defined them, only made them stronger, made them determined to stop their pain from happening to anyone else. You make a note to write something equally as poetic in your article. 

The crowds are thinning out a little as the midday sun does its worst. You can feel beads of sweat gathering behind our knees and you curse the fact you hadn’t remembered your hat. You can feel the heat prickling your skin as you spot your parents, sitting on a picnic bench with Javi and Chucho sat opposite them. When you’re close enough to the table, you can see everyone has plastic cups full of lemonade, but there’s one, put in front of the spare spot on the bench next to Javi, that is pink in colour instead of the cloudy yellow of everyone else’s. 

“You get everything you need?” Your dad asks, as you try and fight your legs over the bench in the most graceful way possible. 

“Yeah,” You nod, “Think it’ll make a great piece, Dylan’s parents seem really positive about it all,” You pick up the cup and take a sip, pink lemonade, your favourite, “Thanks for this.” You nod in the direction of your dad. 

“Don’t thank me, Javi got these,” He smiles, “Remembered you preferred pink lemonade and everything.” 

It actually makes your heart swell in your chest. He was always thoughtful, even before he left. Observant almost to a fault. But even after all these years, all of his stress, everything he’s seen, he still knows you well enough to know you prefer the sweeter pink lemonade. You turn your head to him to find him already looking at you with a little smile on his face. 

“Thank you.” You say quietly, sipping through the straw. 

“You’re welcome, dulzura.” 

Javier Peña is doing a piss poor job of staying away from you, even by his standards. He lasted less than a week before he was waltzing over to you, hands on your waist, buying you pink lemonade because he knows you prefer it. There hasn’t been a night where he hasn’t wrapped his fist around his cock and made himself cum over the thought of you. He finds it easier to drop off to sleep once he’s done it, but his nights are still fitful, full of nightmares, tossing and turning, waking up to sweat soaked sheets and a heaving chest. He wonders briefly, when he lies awake watching the dawn arrive through his curtains, whether your body next to him would ease his nightmares? But then he thinks what if it doesn’t. What if you have to wake up, look at him with those innocent doe eyes and see him for what he really is?  No, he can’t let his darkness cloud you, you don’t deserve that, you deserve someone that going to be gentle with you, someone softer, not him with all his jagged edges. 

He's currently sitting in his truck, just outside of the liquor store, contemplating how badly he wants that packet of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey he’d driven out to buy. He’d done alright so far, chewing on his Nicorette gum, but his fingers are itching for the familiarity of a cigarette between his fingers, and he’d finished the bottle of whiskey last night. 

Then, almost like he’s being punished by God, which would make sense really, all things considered, you’re in his eyeline, walking down the street with a woman who is a little older than you, with your notepad and pen clutched in your hand. It’s late and he wonders where you must be going to report at such a late hour, and then he worries, because in his experience, nothing good happens after dark that worth making the newspapers. As the two of you approach him, he leans further out of his open window, holding his arm out to catch your attention. 

“Hey Javi,” You smile, coming to a stop in front of his window, “What are you doing in town?”

“Just picking a few things up,” He answers simply, because this isn’t about him, he needs to know where you’re going, “Where are you going this late?” 

You turn to the older woman you’re with, tell her to go on ahead and you’ll catch her up, “There’s been some kind of drugs bust a few streets over,” You explain, “Sounds like it might be quite big so we’re just going down to see what’s happening.” 

“Your dad working it?” He asks, because if he is, he knows you’ll be okay. 

You shake your head, “Nah, he’s not on nights right now,” You’re shifting back and forth on your feet, clearly itching to get going, “I’ll be alright though, sounds like plenty of dad’s officers are down there.” 

He turns his head back to the steering wheel and then back to you, “Be careful, alright?”

You smile at him again and if he’s not careful, he really could get used to being the person who draws that from you more often, “I know what I’m doing,” You chuckle slightly, and he doesn’t doubt it, not really, “Been covering this kinda shit for a while.” 

Without really thinking about it, he leans over, roots around in the glovebox and pulls out the little card he knows that’s in there. He passes it over to you, letting you take it, “It’s got my number on it,” He explains, “I’ve been in this shit and I just…” He trails off with a sigh, “Just, call me before you write something that might get you in trouble, okay?” 

“Worried about me, Peña?” You smirk, and he thinks above your smile, he’d like to make you smirk more too. 

“I’ve just seen too many good journalists write things that ruin their careers,” He shrugs, trying to play it off but probably doing a terrible job of it, “Don’t want you to make the same mistake.” 

He watches as you turn the card over in your fingers a few times, before smiling at him one last time, “I’ll call you if need you.” And he really hopes you do. 

In that moment, he gives up on trying to resist the call of the liquor store, pulling out his keys from the ignition and opening his door, climbing down onto the pavement. He stalls a little, before he puts a hand on your shoulder and gives it a squeeze, “Go and get your story, reporter.” And then motions his head for you to go. 

He buys a bottle of whiskey and two packs of cigarettes, smokes two of them before he gets home. He thinks if he were a stronger man he’d have managed to quit, but he’s not, especially when it comes to you. Sure, he knew you before, but this new you? He’s known less than a month and he’s already struggling to stick to his own rules. He steps down from his truck back on the ranch, walks in and pours himself a healthy double, trying to convince himself it’ll be okay, he just needs to keep to himself, but when he’s led in bed at night, thinking of your sweet smile, he thinks this might just be another thing he fails at. 

It’s late. Too late for you to be awake when you have to be at the office in the morning, but you can’t stop looking at the series of numbers, printed on the little card, underneath the words ‘Javier Peña, DEA.’ It’s out of date, clearly, the DEA nothing more than a memory to him. But it’s the principle of it that matters most. He’s worried about you, and he would only worry if he cared right? 

You set it on your nightstand, switch off the little lamp and plunge yourself into darkness, right at the same time as you plunge your hand under your sleep shorts and through your folds. You’re soaked, because you always are when you think about him, it’s actually sort of pathetic. You sink two fingers into yourself, only briefly, letting out a satisfied breath, dragging your slick fingers back you to slowly circle your clit. 

It's new, the way you always need to take care of yourself. The brief relationship you’d had in college with James hadn’t given you much to work with, you hadn’t really felt desperation to get yourself off like this before. 

Your other hand, currently running over your peaked nipples through your tank top, is itching to reach across to your nightstand, pick up the phone and dial that number. You want to breathe down the phone at him, tell him you’re being so bad, that you need him to help, need that deep voice to guide you through it. As you press your fingers harder into your clit, speeding up your circles and bucking your hips, you wonder what he’d actually do if you did call him. Would he tell you to get lost? You don’t think he would, you think he’d do exactly as you asked, talk you through it. 

You imagine his voice in your ear, telling you how good you’re being for him. You imagine his hand replacing your own, sinking his fingers into you, using his thumb to work your clit, the rough of his moustache running over the skin of your neck as he kisses you there. It’s the image of him looking down at you, smiling as he makes you cum that tips you over the edge. That flood of relief that rushes through you as you bite down on your bottom lip to keep you from whispering his name as your body shakes through your orgasm. 

You wipe your slick fingers on the skin of your thigh, roll over in bed so your back is to the phone, trying to get your breathing under control. You drag the covers up under your chin, closing your eyes and trying to sleep without imagining his strong arm around your waist, his broad chest against your back. Does he snore? You wonder as you try and fall asleep. Would he keep you warm? It’s all running through your head as you sleep, conjuring up dreams that come morning have you realizing something has to give, you have to know, you have to have him. You needed Javier Peña more than the air you breathe, no matter how bad it was to admit that, no matter what it meant, no matter what it would cost, you needed him and you think to yourself as you drive to work, that he might just need you as much as you need him. 

[azazelflare]

Freddy Krueger X Reader: It’s You

Minors DNI 

CW: dream sex, claiming, cum swallowing, hard fucking

AO3

You knew Freddy as a teen, you would babysit his daughter before the fiasco. You fell asleep one night after finishing your book. When you opened your eyes, you were in a boiler room. You could feel the heat against your skin. You touched the pipe experimentally and you felt your skin burning. You quickly pulled your arm back, you turn your head and you see a man standing in front of you. He had a red and green striped sweater and a brown fedora on. He walked closer to you with his hand, which you quickly realized were knives on a glove, scraping against the pipes. You start to feel scared seeing him walk toward you. He makes it about a foot from you, you are unable to move from your spot. He reaches toward you with his knife hand and you flinch back when he scratched your cheek. You tried to speak but he just shushed you, his unclawed hand holding your chin. You feel his textured skin against you and he smirks at you. “Hey doll. Been a while, hasn’t it?” your eyes widen at the nickname. “Freddy? What the fuck? How’d this happen?” he looked at you, a large smile on his lips. “Well, I made a deal with a demon, now I’m a dream demon.” you looked confused, wondering if this was a dream. “Of course, this is a dream! How else am I supposed to visit you?” You must have said that out loud. He chuckled at you. He pulls you closer to him, his claws digging into your arm. His mouth catches yours and you moan into the kiss. You wrap your arms around him and his eyes widen as you deepen the kiss. He releases the kiss “You have no idea how long I've waited to do that. Ever since I heard you and Loretta fighting that one day, I’ve wanted to kiss you.” His jaw drops at that statement. You just turned 18 that day and you were babysitting Kate and heard them fighting. You continued to play with her till they were done, being a much-needed distraction for her. When he was caught, you kept Kate with you. She stayed with you until CPS took her. When he was found innocent and burnt, you saw the parents kill him. His screams echo in your ears from time to time. Unknown to you, he heard your screams through the fire. He heard you trying to put out the fire with anything close by. When you were dragged back by the cops, you screamed bloody murder. He heard your screams and thought they did something to you as well. When the demons came and made a deal, you were on his mind. He not only made the deal for revenge for himself but also for you. He was not going to make the same mistake again. When he felt you were dreaming he made himself known, in all honesty, he missed you. He was happy when he saw your face again, ten years have really done wonders for you. Your face had lost the acne, and your hair has a little gray streak from the stress of that night. He runs his fingers through your hair, he holds the strip softly. “This is from them, isn’t it?” you nod and you have tears gathered in your eyes. The trauma from that night caused more problems than it solved. You are the town outcast, you couldn’t even buy groceries from the store because every time you went, the other people would glare and sneer at you. Kids would even whisper that you were the devil's bride and you shouldn’t get close. You resorted to buying groceries in another town. Freddy grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a hug. Whispering sweet nothings into your ear. You see his ear close to your mouth and you nip and lick at it. He lets out a moan at your antics. He pushes you up against the railing and bends you over it. Your shirt bunches up and he sees the tattoo on your lower back. He smirks seeing the red butterfly, “I see you’ve gotten around, butterfly huh?” you blush and answer him. You were in mourning for a while, and you used sex to heal. His smirk grew larger at your words. You hear his belt unbuckle and a zipper, you wiggle your hips at him and he laughs. “Fucking slut, you need this, don’t you?” a gag appears in your mouth and you nod, whimpering at him. His hand cups your core and his fingers start to play with your clit. You moan through the gag. When he feels like he prepared you enough he runs his dick up and down your folds. He pushes into you slowly, your walls stretching around him. You moan loudly and he pulls your hair, bending your back. He starts to thrust into you slowly and you feel his textured cock rubbing all the right places. He starts to pump faster and faster. The knot in your stomach growing tighter. He pulls your hair tighter and bends down moving your hair out of the way. He licks and sucks your neck and he bites down, drawing blood. You whimper and scream when he did this. He licks the blood off your neck and moans at the taste. “You taste as good as you smell doll. Maybe I should make you my new slut. Would you like that?” you nod your head and he smiles. His thrusts get erratic and you feel a pulsing sensation. He hits your cervix and you feel him cum inside you. He rubs your clit till you release. He pulls out of you and turns you around and makes you kneel. “Clean me up slut.” the gag disappears and you start to lick and suck his dick. You taste yourself on him and you clean him up. He starts to harden in your mouth and you moan around him. He lets out a loud moan and he grips your hair. He starts to fuck your mouth, and you gag and choke on him. He jolts forward and pushes his entire length into your throat. You have tears in your eyes and he lets out a sigh, cumming down your throat. He lets go of you and you cough trying to get breath into your lungs. You look up at him and smile, opening your mouth to show him the rest of his load. “Swallow.” you do as he says and he pets your cheek. “Doll, you're mine now. No one gets to touch you but me. Got it?” you nod and feel yourself waking up. “See ya tomorrow night doll.”

[blazingstar29]

boys broncs and bull dogging

top gun maverick, hangman/bob preview

Of all the places in the world to hide, rural Wyoming seemed like a pretty good place to Bob. Though, if he’d known who else was a closeted bronc rider, maybe it wasn’t his smartest decision. 

“Hey, Bobby.”

His head swung to the ground below the chute, eyes blowing wide. What the fuck?

“Hangman,” he says hollowly, just minutes away from climbing on a bronc and his most recent pest has a front row seat. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, waving the cage helmet aloft. “Same reason as you.” Swiftly, he clambers up beside Bob and starts fussing with the tack on the horse. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Making sure they tied it right. Don’t need Phee’s wizzo taking extra time out for injuries,” he mutters. Bob is taken aback. There’s too many things running through his head at once and now he’s seconds away from getting aboard. Hangman turns to him, standing with one foot on the rails, the other dangling in the air. “Hang on, Bobby.” 

He scoffs. “Is that why they call you Hangman?” There’s a twinkle in the other cowboy-slash-aviator's eyes. “Oh my god, it is, isn’t it?” 

“All-round cowboy two years running in college,” he says slyly. “Third year was my first in flight school in the Navy. Helmet got caught on the rope when I went to bail, kept me there thirty seconds until someone broke it off.” 

Bob whistles. “Hell of a ride.” 

“Yeah, don’t go having one of those, alright?”

“I ain’t here to break any records,” he assures. The gate hand signals him up, Bob moves to straddle the chute from above, horse eye balling him from below. 

“Then why are you here?” Hangman calls. 

“Same reason you fly singles,” he says before closing it all out. 

The horse is warm beneath him. More than once he’s been told he has a death wish when riding bareback broncs. Men don’t just hand over all control to their pilot unless they’re a little crook in the head. Bob knows his wild and western tendencies are carefully hidden. An unruly youth is better kept in the past. To show up to work every day and have people see what they want, someone unassuming and gentle is the way he likes it. He likes it because he can keep a secret.

Secrets have been clawed out of him for as long as he can remember. People struggle to take him at face value. They look at him as if to say, is this it? Is this all there is to you? They don’t like that the answer is yes.

“He’s a regular at off season rodeos. His full time job is flying at supersonic speeds in the United States Navy, rider 189  is born and bred in this town, ladies and gentleman , Robert Floyd riding Freight Train!” 

The crowd always loves the fact he’s born in this town, and the fact he’s in the Navy makes him a crowd favourite, even if they have no idea who he is. The commentator is a friend of his fathers, meaning that information is common knowledge and frequently trotted out. 

He nodes, peripheral vision blocked by the cage around his face. The gate rattles open and the horse leaps out from underneath him. 

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang. 

Three bucks, rapid fire. Like flares dropping over a demolished Uranium site. 

Bang. 

Bang. 

Strong broncs, left arm high, eyes to the ceiling. 

Not even five seconds have passed and he’ll be in for some money. At least, he might have been. If it weren’t for the next trick Freight Train tries, it is throwing himself into the panels of the arena and then into the floor. 

—

Jake doesn’t know why the first person he tries contacting is Maverick, as if he’s their emergency contact to a bunch of school kids. But for a rare time in his adult life, he feels the need of an adult. An actual adult. A supervisor, not a peer. 

He’s on his third call, the first two ringing out when he finally picks up. 

“Ice-”

Maverick’s voice is muffled and Jake wonders what the hell he’s just interrupted. 

“You seem to not get the message, if someone does not pick up, it’s because they’re–”

“Bob Floyd’s in the hospital. There’s been an accident. Please tell Maverick.”

Wait, shit– 

He just cut off the COMPACFLT. 

“Jake.” That’s Maverick’s voice. “Jake, you’re on speaker with me and Ice. Talk to me. What happened?” 

He stares at the stall of Bob’s horse. Seemed he had a jam packed night. Bulldogging and bronc riding. “We’re in Wyoming. Ran into Bob at a rodeo.” It feels like a betrayal to tell them this unknown side of the wizzo. “There was an accident.” 

“What happened?” The Iceman’s voice is slow and deliberate. 

Jake forces air in and out of his lungs. “Bob was riding. He drew a rank horse. I knew this horse’s trick. I should have told– It threw itself against the arena railings, then onto the floor. It’s bad, sir. It’s bad.” 

Half a day's drive away, two senior officers feel their hearts stop. 

Maverick clears his throat. “Where are you?”

“At the rodeo grounds. They air lifted him to the hospital. His dad’s friend went with him.”

“Do you want me to fly out there, tell the others? What do you need me to do, Jake?”

He doesn’t know, only that he thought that Maverick would know. “I don’t know.” Then after a pause. “I’ll call Phoenix. If you could contact the Admiral. We’re due to report in a week. We all are.” 

There’s an implication in his words. 

What happened is bad enough that Bob won’t see the outside of a hospital for a while. 

[anne-i-write]

moriarty the patriot headcannons

| requested by anon: can you write headcanons for moriarty brothers meeting and having dinner with s/o's parents for the first time? and s/o's father is overprotective. thanks 🤍🙆🏻 |

william x reader; louis x reader; albert x reader

word count: 1857

tw: mentions of toxic behavior in albert’s hcs

a/n: IM BACK AND THRIVING BBS!!! it’s so good to be back again to writing!!! hhh i’m so sorry if this is far from what you wanted but i hope you all enjoy it nonetheless!!!! lowkey went off the railings w this one so 👀 also if i missed any tags, please let me know!!!!!

william: 803 words

it had been you and your father since you were younger bc your mom was the “lucky” choice of some noble

but you wouldn’t have it any other way

you two are very close and everyone in the town knows

that, and that you both hate nobles

so it’s no surprise when the moriartys move into town, you’re both less than pleased

you always try your best to avoid them whenever they come into your town and your father always begs his friends to take the nobles as customers, despite the fact it could be good for business

but the town you lived in was particularly small and you did end up bumping into william

literally

some stupid man didn’t see you crossing the road and you were nearly crushed by the carriage if it hadn’t been for the hand that pulled at your wrist

“i swear people these days don’t know how to drive carriages.”

you don’t know who you were expecting

BUT ANYONE BUT A NOBLE

“are you alright?”

“i’m fine thank you���“

you’re absolutely flustered

how did i not know that this was a noble??? he smells so clean!

“i’ve got to be on my way now!” and you left william there with no explanation

but lil did you know he actually knew who you were

or to an extent, you weren’t as sneaky as you’d hoped you’d be

he saw you hiding in corners and alleyways every time you two accidentally made eye contact

and some of the townsfolk actually told him a little about you and your father so he understood why you weren’t too welcoming

but to take great lengths to avoid him??? he is very intrigued

so he starts off small, trying to send you a kind smile before you dart off behind a fruit stall

he really tries his best to get close to you and after a few weeks (and a few persuasive friends), he finally gets to hold a conversation with you

and boy does he fall FAST

it takes a while but you finally reciprocate his feelings and he thinks its smooth sailing from there right???

lmao everyone knows your father is literally the most intimidating looking man that could ever walk the earth

if they didn’t know him personally, they would be afraid of getting curb stomped 🤠

i mean,, he’s a big softie but god forbid anyone even DARES to look at you in a romantic light

you warn william of this and he’s like “don’t worry love, it shouldn’t be too bad”

it is bad

even william has cold hands bc your father is giving him the dirtiest look

dinner isn’t even dinner it’s a grill with how much questions your father is asking him

it does NOT help that he’s a noble

“so,,, you’re a noble”

“your cooking is amazing sir”

your father leaves the table for a little bit and you can hear the quiet sigh of relief from william

“i’m sorry for my father”

“no, no,,, i just,,, your father’s really intimidating, isn’t he?”

you let out a chuckle and william relaxed, a soft smile gracing his lips

“he can be, but it’s just something he does.” you threw a wistful gaze at the door your father disappeared before.

“he’s just worried about you, i can see it. he doesn’t want you around people like me.” you grabbed his hand over the table and he gently squeezed your hand.

“if anything, if he’d give you a chance, he’d want me to be with you. noble or not”

you both continue to have a delightful conversation, your sweet laughs filling the room

however, you didn’t know your father was listening in on your conversation and he couldn’t agree more with william

your mother left with more than just a curt goodbye and unshed tears

she left you with a tear stained letter filled with sorrowful regrets and sincere apologies

he knew you would eventually grow up to be critical of the world and if you were to find out that your mother had left unwillingly, he was afraid that you would be too bitter towards the world

but as he hears your laugh and his worries are dulled down a little

he sees you smiling so happily at william and when he chances a glance at the noble beside you, his worries are completely erased

william’s looking at you the same way everyone swore he looked at your mother

it’s a gentle gaze filled with love and kindness, one that he knew could protect you and take care of you

your father hated nobles and hovered over you when it came to love

but he couldn’t help but hold back on questions when he came back and you instantly noticed that your father took a liking william

louis: 508 words

everyone knew you as “Little Noble” in your town

the sole reason being your father literally treating you like a noble lmao

he gave you the best of everything he could afford and tried his best to not let you do any work

tried

of course, you were a little angel and you HAD to help otherwise you’d cry about making someone else tired when you could’ve easily helped

you’ve carried this trait until your early twenties and there were no signs that you would stop

hence why you were bringing home some fresh fruits from the stall clerk before a man bumps into you

you were so caught off guard that your knee buckled and you fell on your butt

everyone was stunned into silence as you fell but louis was so apologetic

so when he helped you back up, he felt the chilling stares of the town burning into his back

and then you apologize for bumping into him when he was the one who bumped into you and you fell??????

“please, let me make you something! i feel so bad!”

he tries to decline but there was this odd pressure to say yes to you

he ends up going home with you

you’re both in front of the door before your father opens it, his eyes wide

“who is this boy?”

“oh, i didn’t get his name on the way here. what is your name?”

your poor father’s heart is pounding way too fast for his liking

“oh! look at that, thank you so much for bringing my child home! you should be going home now”

he tries to shut the door on louis but you hold it open and beckon louis inside

“i invited him here! i accidentally bumped into him earlier so i offered to make him something!”

louis is so awkward pls

your father reluctantly lets him in but gives him a side eye the whole time he’s in the house

“does your child do this often?”

“why? do you find it strange?”

YOUR FATHER IS SO PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE PLEASE SAVE LOUIS

anyways, you finish making your treat and give it to louis, your father glaring at your interaction

louis is still a little stiff but the more you talk to him, his guard is let down a little

soon enough he has to leave and you wish him well

he leaves with a wave and a kind smile and you look over at your father who had been scowling since you appeared at the front door

“he is a bit cute, don’t you think father?”

your father sputters, stunned by your bold claim

“y-you’re still too young to think about men like that!”

you laugh and shut the front door, teasing your poor father about finding love while also wondering if you would meet louis again

as you talk with your father behind closed doors, louis smiles to himself as he thinks about the unusual encounter today

surely, if i met them again tomorrow, it would make for a pleasant day

albert: 546 words

he meets your father before he meets you

it was during a ball your parents organized in order to connect with the more prestigious nobles around you

your parents were obsessed with the way your family was viewed and apparently being an earl wasn’t enough

so albert hears about you when your father boasts about how you’re the perfect child who answered to his every beck and call

in all honesty, albert was disgusted

no one deserved to be brought up like that

he casually makes his way into the conversation and your father is seething

“my child is your age, it’s a shame you act like this, i would have thought of you as a prime husband for them”

who is this earl to tell him what to do?

needless to say your father crosses him off of the guest list for the next ball

days go by and your father doesn’t know that you’re currently in town, doing what you can to help the working class as best as you can

it is on one particular day of visiting an orphanage do you run into the eldest moriarty brother

you two exchange polite greetings and you both pause

“your father is the earl, is he not?”

“you are a general of the army, are you not?”

a brief mention of your father and your mood dulls slightly

“yes, but i’m here on my own accord”

he would kill you if he found out you were amongst the “filth” as he called them

“well, i’ve brought books for the children, would you like to help me read some to them?”

he seemed sincere enough to not want anything more from you, so you agreed

he was actually very pleasant to be around and you find yourself enjoying his company

the meetups continued to happen and soon enough, albert finds himself standing in front of the doors to your family estate

your father is not pleased at all

“it’s nice to meet you again, sir”

“i didn’t forget about what you said to me at our first meeting”

and you’re sitting there like,, ????? they’ve met??? and your father doesn’t like albert???????

of course, inviting albert to your home would have repercussions but you didn’t expect your father to be so hostile

he was always hostile towards other nobles unless they were of higher importance than him

but for him to hate albert so quickly and openly??? this was quite new

you had mentioned that your father has always been one for power so it was clear to albert that you obviously grew up in a home that was more,,, toxic than protective

it was at dinner that this behavior reached its peak and albert despised the atmosphere and the way your father treated you

“i’ve come here to ask for your child’s hand in marriage”

your father rejects the idea without any hesitation

“i refuse to have them live the rest of their life in your household when they could do so much better”

when you invited albert that night, you knew there would be repercussions with your father

but what you didn’t expect was that you would leave your father and adopt the moriarty name as your own, the family welcoming you with open arms

moriarty the patriot taglist: @zoehanji

[datleggy]

Missing Scene 4x08 9-1-1 fox

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT FOR “BREAKING POINT”

By the time he manages to grab his keys, jump into his truck, drive halfway across town and find parking in Buck’s neighborhood, Eddie is a mess of nerves as he makes his way across the threshold and into the loft. “Buck, where’s--” 

Buck shushes him immediately, pointing upstairs to where his bedroom is. “He’s exhausted. He ate one of those oven ready mac n’ cheese meals in my fridge and practically fell asleep on my couch; I carried him up to bed a few minutes ago. He’s knocked out up there.” 

Eddie sighs, the relief he feels is staggering. 

He quietly makes his way upstairs and lingers at the top step, watching his kid sleep soundly, his chest moving up and down rhythmically with every breath he takes. Eddie stands there and simply takes in the sight for a handful of minutes before slowly making his way back down and to the kitchen, where Buck is leaning back against his counter sipping on a beer. 

There’s another one on the table waiting for him and he gratefully grabs it, taking a long gulp before sitting it back down and letting out a deep sigh. 

“So uh, what exactly happened?” Buck asks, and there’s something about his tone Eddie can’t decipher, but he knows it’s not good. 

“I told you already, he found out I started dating someone and clearly he didn’t take it so well.” Eddie takes another swig of his beer, huffing in frustration. 

Buck places his drink down on the counter and folds his arms, “Yeah, I know that part, what I don’t get is how Christopher managed to literally run away from home with you in the house? What were you doing when he took your phone, used it to call an Uber and had some stranger drive him here in the middle of the night?” 

Accusatory. That’s what that tone is, Eddie finally identifies. “Are you serious right now?” he slams his beer bottle down with unnecessary force and Buck gives him a warning look. 

He half whispers, half yells, when he says, “No shit I’m serious. Answer the question.” 

Eddie blinks, surprised and equal parts irritated by the ire he’s receiving from Buck of all people. Lawsuit aside, Buck has never not been on Eddie’s side; this entire confrontation feels wrong and foreign to him. “I was on a video call with Ana, I had my headphones in, I knew Christopher was upset about the news, but I didn’t think he would--” 

“This? What happened tonight? This was the best case scenario, and I know damn well you know that. Christopher got into some strangers car tonight. Eddie, what if I hadn’t been home? He didn’t have a phone with him or anything, he didn’t even take your copy of my key with him, just in case Albert and I weren’t here. What the hell would he have done then? Hung out in the hallway or God forbid roamed the streets and waited for someone to notice an unattended nine year old?” Buck’s been angry before, but nothing compares to the wrath brewing somewhere deep in the pit of his belly right now.

Eddie goes on the defense, glaring at Buck from across the table in the half light. “It’s so easy for you to stand there and judge me when you’re not a parent yourself, Buck. What do you expect from me? I can’t keep an eye on Christopher twenty four seven--how the hell was I supposed to know he’d leave like that?!” 

Buck glares at him right back, matching his intensity, times ten. “First of all, keep your voice down--he’s sleeping.” Buck plows on, even as Eddie tries to talk over him. “And secondly, I don’t need to be a parent to know you fucked up tonight the same way I don’t need to be a pilot to know that if the plane went down something’s wrong. How could you not hear him leaving? Were you two watching a goddamn movie over skype, is that why you didn’t hear the damn door open and shut? Christopher’s a lot of things, but stealthy isn’t one of ‘em Eddie.” 

“What the fuck is your problem right now? What? You think I don’t feel shitty enough already? You wanna add insult to injury on top of everything?” Eddie scoffs, aggravated and hurt and on the attack. “I don’t need you to lecture me on how to take care of my kid. He’s mine, not yours, in case you forgot.” 

Buck takes a step back, like he’s been dealt a harsh blow. “That’s not--I’m not saying--” he stammers, his face crumpling into despair. “I was scared.” he hides his face in his palms, exhaling fully. “Jesus Christ Eddie, I saw him standing outside my building in the cold, trying to work the handle, and he was alone and when I brought him inside and he told me everything, about the phone and the Uber ride I instantly thought about every single little thing that could have gone so horribly wrong, how it was a miracle he made it all the way here and that he was safe--” his voice cracks on the last word and he turns his back to Eddie, his shoulders shaking. 

Fear. Fear is what Eddie had felt. Instant hot white fear and an overwhelming panic, for those few brief awful moments wherein he’d had no idea where Christopher had run off to. 

“Shit.” Eddie lets out an audible breath. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that--you’re a good dad, I just--all I can think about right now is the tsunami, about how I lost Christopher, about how I couldn’t breathe until--” 

“You found him.” Eddie finishes softly. He makes his way to Buck and settles a hand on his shoulder, his thumb brushing the nape of his neck. “I know the feeling. Trust me. Every parents worst nightmare.” 

Buck turns around, his eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. “I know I’m not Christopher’s dad, I swear that’s not what I was trying to--” 

Eddie shakes his head. “That wasn’t fair, what I said. I know everyone sees me and thinks, ‘single dad’, but I don’t know if I would have survived this whole parenting thing without you by my side, Buck. And that’s the hard truth. I mean, hell, we get into an argument and the first person Christopher turns to is you. You know that’s gotta count for something, don’t you?” 

Buck swipes at his face when a stray tear rolls down his cheek. “Sorry...about what I said. I think I was just projecting.” 

Eddie gulps, “No. You weren’t.” he admits, pressing his lips together. “I did fuck up tonight. Big time. I should have been in Christopher’s room, talking to him about everything, trying to explain to him that nothing about our relationship is going to change, just because I’m dating, and that no one could replace his mother, I should have been in there, making sure he understood--especially after how volatile his reaction was and then the whole storming off after. Instead I decided to spend an hour on skype talking to Ana about it.” He sighs. “Christopher’s been my first and main priority for so long, I guess I’m not used to splitting my attention between two people. I uh, I need to work on that...” 

“Bucky?” 

Eddie and Buck both whip their heads up to where Christopher is leaning against the railing, peeking down at the both of them. 

“Hey bud, you ok?” Buck hastily tries to turn his expression into something more neutral. 

“Had a bad dream.” Christopher looks at the two men pleadingly. “Can you guys come sleep with me?” 

Eddie turns to Buck and they communicate silently, with only a couple of looks, ultimately deciding that it is, in fact, bedtime. 

“We’ll be right up.” Eddie tells him. 

[markosmate]

running down

Pairing; Marko x Emerson!Reader

Summary; Moving to a different state with your younger brothers and mother just to live with your grandfather was hard enough, but falling in love with a vampire and then watching your brother do the same thing? Much different story.

Warnings; Strong language, filler chapter no boys here

au:// Second part, I write these notes before I write the chapter so I’m kinda scared to see where this story’s gonna go but I’m also really excited for y’all to read it hehe :))

Part 1   -   Part 3

The next morning I slept in well past the time I usually did. It was only 11, but that was still a well comparison to the time I’d usually wake up. Sun was peaking around the corners of the curtains and I groaned as I sat up on the mattress. I could hear talking from the kitchen downstairs, so I threw my legs over the side of the bed and padded across the hardwood floor. I jogged down the stairs, hand gripped tightly onto the side railing, and strained my ears to try and hear what was going on in the other room. It sounded like Sam and Michael talking, and once I knew that it wasn’t an important conversation going on I made my way into the room as well.

They didn’t falter when I walked in, instead just each sent me a small welcoming smile and continued on with whatever they were talking about. I pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and made my way onto the back porch where I knew Grandpa would be sitting and reading the TV Guide, just like he’d told us about. 

I pulled the door open, and realized I was right, he was there. “Good morning, Grandpa.” I greeted with a smile.

He glanced up at the sound of my voice and sent me a small smile. “Morning, Ivory. Nice morning, ain’t it?”

I laughed gently. “Very nice. I’m loving it here so far.”

“That’s good,” He nodded in appreciation. “Sam and I are gonna take the old girl out for a trip to town. Wanna join?”

I laughed a bit and shook my head. “Sounds fun, but I’ll have to pass. I wanna talk to Mom for a bit about her job search last night.”

He nodded before standing and dusting off his pants. “Well, have fun then.” He turned and made his way into the kitchen, most likely collecting Sam and then heading off to the back garage where his unused car was waiting for them. I stood from my spot on one of the porch chairs and made my way back inside. I was planning on making my way to the living room, where I knew Mom was bound to be sitting and working on one of her new blankets, when my attention was called by Michael.

He was leaning against the counter, wrapped in his red robe, and drinking what might have been either coffee or an energy shake out of a thick mug. He looked to be deep in thought about something, and for a second I thought he was calling my attention for something really serious. That is, until he actually spoke to me what was on his mind.

“You know that girl from last night?” I internally groaned at this, but tried to look serious on the outside, not wanting to make him more upset than he already was.

“What about her?” I questioned, putting the unopened water bottle I had grabbed back in the fridge.

He took a few large gulps of his drink before sliding it back onto the counter next to the sink. “Do you think she’s actually with any of those dudes?”

I stopped to think for a moment. She looked reluctant to leave with them, and hadn’t been the happiest accepting help from the platinum blond who’s bike she’d mounted. But, she did leave with them. I hoped she wasn’t with any of them, especially not the curly-haired one, Marko. That sure would be one brick in the chest, to find out I was doing all this worrying and thinking about him only to find out he was with the same girl Michael had been pining after. But no, that didn’t make any sense, if she was with Marko than she would’ve gotten on the back of Marko’s bike, not the mullet man’s. 

“Listen, Mike, she did leave with them. So I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but if she’s showing that she’s not interested - it’s probably just best for you to move on from that.” I tried to be as honest as possible, I really didn’t want to crush his hopes but at the same time I didn’t want him to chase something that possibly wouldn’t ever end up going anywhere.

He nodded, a solemn look taking over his face as he tightened the belt tie on his robe. “Yeah, I get what you mean. I’m gonna go shower, you coming to the boardwalk with? Sammy’s going with Mom earlier in the night.”

I nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, I’ll come along. I’ve been craving those carnival pretzels ever since I saw the stand last night.”

“Cool, we’ll leave at like 8, yeah?” I nodded along to what he said and turned on my heel to finally make my way to talk to Mom. When I walked through the doorway she was sitting on the couch with her yarn and needles in her lap, working on the thick comforter she had been crocheting since the beginning of January. She looked up when I sat down on the couch parallel to her and sent me a soft smile.

“Hey, babe. Whatcha up to?” She questioned softly, continuing to crochet while simultaneously looking up at me for a few split seconds every so often.

“Nothing, just figured I’d check in and see how the job search went last night?” I pried a little, smiling hopefully as a beautiful smile lit up her face and she dropped the half-done blanket to her lap.

“Oh, wonderful, sweetheart! Did you see Max’s Video Shop last night while you were looking around? I went in there last night and he offered me a job there, he even asked me on a date for tomorrow night after my first shift! Isn’t that amazing?”

“Ah!” I gushed with her, extremely excited to see her so happy over going on a date for the first time in a long while. “Mom that’s amazing! You found a job and a man!” She laughed at my words, throwing her head back the tiniest bit.

“Well, we’ll see how it goes. Did you make any friends last night?” I thought about my answer before it came out of my mouth. Did I tell her about the boy? About the girl Michael had been after or about the friends of them both? I shouldn’t, I needed to pretend like those boys didn’t exist. I could find friends here, just not those ones. So, I lied.

I shook my head but kept the smile pulling at my lips. “Not last night, I was too busy checking everything out to actually stop and talk to any new people. But Mike and I are going again tonight, maybe I’ll make some friends then.”

She nodded in approval before picking up her work and continuing on the comforter. “Good, I’m glad you’re enjoying it here so far.”

“I am.” I confirmed, but I couldn’t shake the anxiety from my stomach.

[harfanfare]

Aether x Reader || Glaze Lilies

"This one is delicious too," you said, swallowing another piece of the dish. “Paimon would probably create another stomach for these miracles.”

Aether chuckled softly as he bites off another piece of hot roll filled with traditional Liyue-rich stuffing. “I guess even that is not enough when the competition is the Sticky Honey Roast that Amber offered her.”

You smiled in response.

Late fall in Liyue was a beautiful time of the year.

The city was always full of red and gold colours like towns straight from fairy tales, but in this time, when the leaves have already turned dark orange and the air was carrying an aroma of seasonal seed cookies, Liyue looked even more breathtaking.

You were sure that it was Amber who made it possible for you to go somewhere on Aether's day off from doing… everything. Normally, you would be sitting in some restaurant watching Paimon heartlessly ordering all the dishes from a menu without looking at the number of zeros of each price.

But when Amber heard you mention dates accompanied by beautiful, falling leaves, she blushed as the flame of pure determination appeared in her eyes. In the evening she appeared in front of Paimon and offered her to go out to the city for one day.

Oh, if she only knew how much it will cost her...

"[Name], stay close to me, or I will lose you in this crowd." Aether gripped your hand tighter.

"Getting lost in such a big city would be romantic, wouldn't it?" you giggled.

"Getting lost and being found in the wrong place and time wouldn’t be," he replied. “Every city is much more dangerous when the night comes.”

You turned into another street to finally reach the viewpoint in Liyue.

You could see a lot more from there, but less people could see you. Who would twist their neck to see two little dots on top of a mountain?

"It's going to rain soon," Aether nodded at the clouds, which were moving quickly toward the city. He clicked his tongue. “If we don't want to get wet, we should be getting ready.”

"Oh, isn't that Aether?"

You turned around to see a girl approaching you two.

She was gorgeous—her long blonde hair waved in the breeze as if it existed only to be an effect for them. She had every girl's dream figure, bright, sparkling eyes, and rosy cheeks.

Perfect girl.

And the perfect person to compare yourself with to create a trillion complexes about your body.

She had a very charismatic, attractive aura around her, but the way she behaved towards Aether was slowly starting to bother you. Of course, it might just be some kind of funny, totally wrong prejudice against her, but ...

“[Girl's name]?” Aether muttered, not noticing your pleading gaze saying: ‘let's get out of here.’ “—What are you doing here?”

"I was just passing by," she laughed, her voice soft, pearl-like. “I couldn't go without saying hi, haha!” Then she looked at you and fixed you with a stare. It wasn't a cold look, but it wasn't friendly either. “And who is that?”

"Ah," Aether shook his head, as if only now remembering that he had not come here alone. He put his hand around your waist. “This is my girlfriend, [Name]”

“I didn't know you had a girlfriend! You always have to be so mysterious?” Aether rolled his eyes at her words, even if he smiled slightly. Then she turned to you. “Could I kidnap him for a moment? I need help moving my luggage to my new apartment.”

She grabbed his hand without waiting for your answer, as if it were a rhetorical question. As Aether released his hand from your waist, you felt as if you were left alone in a foreign land.

“I'll be back in a minute!” After these words, he turned to the blonde and at an equal pace, they turned around the corner of some house, behind the wall of which you could see an extremely high pile of boxes.

"It probably won't be a minute," you sighed.

You leaned against the railing and stared at the toes of your shoes, telling yourself that you should have opposed her. Would that be selfish? You've been dreaming about a date with Aether for so long, without third parties, and now that the moment has come, it turns out that someone will take from you your boyfriend anyway.

Five minutes passed... eight minutes... ten... thirteen...

After fourteen minutes, you got up and decided to check how much was already packed. Some of the super-heavy boxes seemed to be gone, but that was up for discussion since there were dozens of them here.

You couldn't find a familiar face in sight. Did... they just leave you here? More likely, they were just carrying some luggage into one of the nearby houses, but you couldn't knock on every door to find them—it would take hours.

You felt yourself slowly breaking down.

You knew you were a little (a little very much) jealous of this girl, but more depressing was the fact that this was going to be yours and Aether’s day. COMMON. Now you thought you were the loneliest person in the universe.

"I'm not going to get upset," you repeated aloud, trying to motivate yourself to leave this place. "I'll go... I’ll go somewhere and have a good time... alone."

With a quick step, as if you didn't want to think about this anymore, you turned back and followed the alleys you and Aether had previously travelled. You came to the food stores that you had only glanced at before, but you didn't have time to taste anything else because you were in a hurry to get to the viewpoint.

It is true that you ordered take-out rolls, but the whole range of different types of food seemed very tempting despite the filling bread.

And the smell of such highly seasoned dishes was tempting—very much.

"Sorry," a young girl approached you after you shoved a piece of meat into your mouth. You swallowed it quickly, almost choking on it. “Would you like to buy some flowers?”

“…Why not?” you replied.

The girl put the money in the pocket of her dress. Instead of putting a flower on your hand, she came closer and gently braided a glaze lily into your hair near right ear.

"Here you are," she replied and looked at you. A smile beamed across her face. “You look really pretty!”

"Thank you," you replied. You noticed that this was the last flower in her basket, and because of that, the ten-year-old girl seemed proud of herself. She walked away, thanking again for the purchase.

I think that one more on the other side and all would be perfect...

You glanced at the setting sun and concluded that you could give Aether a similar lily. Wouldn't that look cute on him? There was still some time before it will get completely dark. Even the rain clouds that had previously seemed to be crossing the sky at an alarming pace now seem to have stopped.

You finished eating and walked briskly towards the Danyu Ruins, hoping to find some pretty lilies on your way.

The silence, or rather the sound of the wind and the leaves rustling against each other, were the only thing that accompanied your footsteps since you left Liyue. It seemed relaxing at first, but now that the skies were a deeper blue than orange, you concluded that a travelling companion would not be a bad idea.

“They're here!” you finally found two lilies that glistened slightly in the dark. You collected them quickly and turned to head back into town.

…You were surprised when you encountered many, many roads, each of them unfamiliar.

"I should have left a trail of breadcrumbs," you joked, though panic had already paralyzed your legs.

Your problems were not diminished by the fact that you heard mad laughter near you. You felt your heart leap into your throat, tears welling up in your eyes as a figure emerged from behind the bushes.

Abyss mage.

You have heard about them from the stories of Aether, who sometimes told you about his adventures when you tried to bandage his wounds with a bandage, herbs, or other medicines.

As soon as your heart was beating, so quickly the magician saw you. He teleported a meter away from you and you started running.

Faster, faster, faster.

Before you ran a hundred meters, a mage appeared before you. You didn't even have time to stop when he waved his hand, and a large ice crystal formed in front of him. Huge and pointed towards you.

Almost as soon as it was launched, a certain force pushed both of you backwards. You felt pain in your left leg, but somehow you didn't fall. Strong arms held you and made you be in a comforting, familiar embrace.

You looked up to see Aether running towards the cliff to finally jump, open his gliding set and take you two away from the icy monster.

You didn't say a word to each other all this time.

As soon as you touched the ground, you stepped out of his embrace, as if feeling that you had abused his closeness too much. Instead, he grabbed your wrist, turned to face him, and initiated a long, passionate kiss.

He didn't pull away until you both were breathless, and your cheeks were burning like hot coals. You couldn't say you were cold anymore.

“Why?” He took a deep breath. However, his voice still trembled. “Why didn't you wait for me? If I did not make it on time—"

“I was waiting for you!” You interrupted him. You bit your lower lip as you tried to contain the tide of frustration. “It's you who disappeared somewhere. You went somewhere with that girl. I already thought you weren't coming back.”

Aether, an intelligent boy, immediately paraphrased your words "I was maybe jealous". At the thought, he smiled apologetically.

"Sorry," he said, scratching his neck. “I accidentally dropped a box on her leg and, oh, it was hard to treat someone who screams in pain before even a finger touches them…”

"Oh," you felt a deep flush of embarrassment coming up to your cheeks. Indeed, the previous redness of the cheeks did not disappear, but now it only preserved their shade for the next minutes. “I'm really sorry. I left you, put you and myself in danger, just to find some stupid flowers...”

For the third time since finding you, Aether hugged you tightly. He planted a kiss on the top of your head. You stood for a few minutes in pleasant silence, cuddling tightly to each other, and finally, you both relaxed completely.

You took the tangled lilies out of your pocket; one was practically worn out, but the other seemed to be in good condition. You dropped the massacred one, and you tried to straighten the petals with your fingers.

"Turn around," you told him.

He did it without batting an eye. You ran your fingers through his hair and braided his plant into a braid.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought yours, still artfully arranged, flashed a pleasant blue light as Aether examined his looks.

"It suits you," you said. You both decided to go back to Liyue and spend the rest of the night there. You held hands all the way back.

"You too," he replied. "We are complementing each other very nicely now with these flowers ...and also without them," he added with a smile.

"So, you still think getting lost isn't romantic?" You looked at him from under your lashes.

“Still. I wish I could have you with me without any excuse that you will get lost.”

[emmy-writes-sometimes]

They'd Bring You Back

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader 

Summary: You’re an unsub’s latest target, but your personality is way more than he bargained for. 

Warnings: Blood/descriptions of stabbing and cutting, typical CM drama, fluffy dad!hotch 

-

“And what about me?” You’d asked with a puffy lip, arms crossed, pouting as you sat on your father’s lap. He’d just laughed. 

“What about you?”

“If I got kidnapped.” He rolled his eyes.

“You’re so annoying, they would bring you back. And that-” He said as he stood up, taking you with him before setting you on the floor. “Is a promise.” 

Things had changed since you had that conversation. Drastically - back then you were only eight and your dad was a prosecutor for the DA. Your mom was alive. Your brother wasn’t even a thought in their minds at that point. And nobody could fathom what would happen when you were a little older. 

You went off the rails when your mother died. The trauma was enough that you ended up living with Rossi for a few months while your dad figured out how to juggle Jack and the job and all of your issues. That further fractured your relationship when you felt like he forgot about you. But since you moved back in with him, you had started to feel like things could be normal again. Like things could be good again. You were getting into a routine - Jack would stay with your aunt while your dad was on a case since he went to a school on the other side of town from yours, you would watch Rossi’s house while he was gone since you were old enough to stay by yourself, and you’d go pick up your dad when he got back from a case. 

They’d spent a week in Reno and really just wanted to get back to the house after mountains of paperwork. The holidays were coming up and your dad wanted to spend as much time with you as he possibly could, promising to take off some time to go on a day trip with you and Jack. You had made his favorite snack and walked out of Rossi’s front door, locking it and making sure it was locked, before going over to your car. 

You held the covered bowl of food in one hand, trying to get the right key in the other hand. You got as far as unlocking the car before you heard a shuffling noise behind you. You turned, seeing nothing alarming, but when you turned back there was an unfamiliar person in front of you. 

“Hotch, I think you need to accept that she was taken because...” Rossi started the next morning as they walked into the briefing room. The worst part of it was that they were being briefed on you. The police had determined that you’d been kidnapped, obviously, because there was no way in hell you’d start running away when things had just started to get better between you and your dad. 

“How could they have known?” Hotch asked. “How could this unsub have known it was my daughter walking out of your house?” Rossi shrugged, not quite having an answer, and the two sat down. 

“I’ve been thinking that the unsub must have been watching for a while. Long enough to know that she stays at Rossi’s when you’re both gone. They have to know who she is, Hotch. It doesn’t make sense for this to just be a random kidnapping,” Morgan said. 

“And if anyone can get through it, it’s her,” JJ offered. “She’s a strong-ass kid. She just needs to hold on until we can find her.” 

“Uh, guys?” Garcia walked in the room with a remote in hand, switching the large TV in the room over to what looked like a livestream. Of you. 

“Holy-” Morgan started. Hotch’s eyes widened in shock, and as if he couldn’t see he walked up to the screen. “It’s a snuff film.” 

You were tied up in a chair, a rope around your throat and your body so you were forced to sit up with your spine to the back of the chair. Your mascara was running down your face in silent tears.

“My dad’s going to find me!” You yelled to the unsub, looking around the room. They were watching the same camera that your dad was, but you didn’t know that. You didn’t know that you were the star of your very own snuff film. Suddenly the unsub’s voice came over the loud speaker in the dark, cold room. A cellar - you had to be in a basement or a cellar or something. You came to that conclusion at the same time as your father did, and you also came to the conclusion that he was watching you. This unsub was using you to get to your father, and somehow that pissed you off more than the idea of someone kidnapping you just for kicks. 

“He’s using her to get to me,” Hotch determined. “We need to find out how to contact this unsub. Get what he wants. Garcia, do everything you can to track them down. We need to figure out what he wants before he hurts her.” 

“My dad’s going to find me!” You yelled again. “I bet he’s already profiled how small your dick is!” 

“Okay, sweetheart, now’s not the time,” your dad mumbled as if he was speaking directly to you. He rubbed his pointer finger against a scar on his thumb, one you’d given him shortly after your mom died. 

“Although impotent might not actually be that bad of an observation,” Rossi suggested. You struggled against the hard ropes that were holding you down, only getting angrier and angrier at the unsub for not at least facing you. 

You finally huffed and looked at the camera in front of you, then around the room. You were definitely in a cellar or a basement of some kind - maybe even an old nuclear bunker or something. The walls were metal, but they looked home-made almost. The white paint was peeling off of said metal walls, revealing a rusty red color that looked like dried blood. Then you were there, in an antique-looking wooden chair. So it was probably an estate of some kind, you thought. Who else would just have this kind of shit sitting around unless they were older, and it had definitely been a younger guy that kidnapped you. You could only hope your dad made the same observation as he watched you on the other side of the camera. Because who else would that camera be for, right? 

“You know, your walls give off a lot of information about where I am!” You called throughout the room, looking at the green door. Just then, someone walked in. The same guy who kidnapped you, or at least the same body. But he was wearing a ski mask so you couldn’t identify him.

“Really?” The man asked. He actually seemed curious. 

“This chair is antique. So is this room. So you’re keeping me in some kind of family home or estate. I’d guess your grandma’s or your mom’s house because you don’t seem like the type of guy who would ever make it out. And because you’re leaving the mask on, you’re probably not going to kill me. Only people who plan to kill show their faces because they’re scared of being visually identified,” you rattled off. “And we were only in the car for about fifteen minutes, three minutes off of the highway, so there’s no way you took me too far. I take back the impotent thing, at least so far, because you haven’t tried to assault me yet. Anyone who was impotent or had that issue probably would have already.” The man stood there, his arms crossed over a black hoodie. You could vaguely see a shape within the hoodie pocket to know that it was a knife of some kind. 

“Good job, kid. Maybe you are your daddy’s kid. I’ve been watching you, you know.” You spit onto the floor out of pure disgust. How long had this creep been watching you? And how? 

“Yeah, and if you know who I am then you’re planning to ask for ransom money. Which, you should know, you’ll get. If the FBI won’t pay it, my dad will. But if you’re streaming this to him like I think you are, then you’re planning to do something to me until you get that money.”

“You are smart. I don’t have the letter ready yet, so I figured I’d come have a little fun.” The unsub noticed how calm you were and it kind of scared him a little bit - like who the fuck was calm in this kind of situation? He figured you would be scared, beg your dad to save you, but you were actually holding your own. Huh. 

Your dad noticed that, too, and his chest swelled with pride at the same time his stomach ached with fear for you. He kept asking himself why the unsub was sharing it, but he realized. He wanted your father to see what he was doing to you, he wanted your dad to see that everything that happened to you was a reflection of him. 

“He’s not a sexual sadist,” your dad said. “The motive isn’t sexual. At all.” 

“Good,” Morgan muttered. “But what do you think he wants, then?”

“He wants me to see my actions as a reflection of what happens to her,” he concluded. “He’s going to hurt her. Every time I give him something, it’s going to stop. And then he’s going to start again until I give him what he wants. I’m going to assume it’s money. She’s right about the location, at least from what I can see, so I would assume that money is the main motivation for this.” 

“Maybe bail money?” Rossi suggested. “It would make sense. If we put someone away, he would want to see them out. And bail would be a large amount of money.” 

“I’ll go tell Garcia to look for people we’ve put away who would be eligible for bail,” Reid said as he stood up. He shuffled away from the table toward Garcia’s office, leaving them to watch the live stream. 

“I’ll go make sure SWAT is ready when we have our guy,” Morgan said. “I’ll lead. You don’t need to go in there, Hotch, because for all we know he wants to actually hurt you as well as her.” 

“I’ll watch some of the initial footage back. See if we can figure anything about the location,” Prentiss volunteered. Everyone left the table except for your dad, Rossi, and JJ. Your dad had barely even paid attention, too busy looking at the screen as the unsub creeped around you. He had since drawn a knife, twirling it between leather-gloved fingers. 

“If you’re going to hurt me, there’s literally no reason to wait,” you pointed out to the unsub.

“You’re annoying. No wonder your dad doesn’t love you.” That hit a nerve in both you and your father, but you didn’t show it. You just sat up a little bit, adjusting your cold, frozen ass on the seat. 

“If you’re trying to turn him against me, it’s not going to work. I know he loves me, even in his own twisted way. So stop trying to make it seem like he doesn’t. Psychological torture isn’t going to work on someone who watched their mom die right in front of them.” Your dad’s heart fell thinking about all of the trauma you’d already been through, and how little of it you’d even discussed. After your mom died you just shut down to everyone, including the therapists who tried to help you get through it. You had just pretended like nothing was real and nothing was wrong. This, though? This was fucking real. And you couldn’t block it out no matter how badly you wanted to. 

Your father watched as the conversation shifted from just that to actual events that had happened, indicating just how long this guy had been watching. He talked about the fight you had three weeks ago about you accusing your dad of being too overprotective. Then he brought up a fight that was so bad that Jack literally ran down the street to get away from you two. And by then you were crying, begging your dad to just come get you and prove that he loved you. You had been effectively broken by the time the unsub left and he hadn’t even used the knife that he had. 

Your father watched absolutely helplessly as the man hurled abusive, and untrue, thoughts at your brain. He watched as the unsub untied you before leaving, allowing you to curl your legs up to your chest and cry on your own. You were doing so well a few minutes ago, so well that you thought maybe your dad might even be proud of you. But now? 

“Okay, I have a list of everyone eligible for bail that had anything to do with us. Cases we’ve consulted on, ones we’ve actually worked, all that jazz,” Garcia said over the phone speaker. 

“Can you cross reference that with men?” JJ asked.

“Honey, that takes one off the list of fifty,” Garcia answered. JJ sighed. 

“What about family issues? Garcia, check any cases that revolved around families. Where they were the target, the motivation, anything,” Rossi said. Everyone could hear Garcia typing, the sound fading out as everyone watched the screen to see what was going to happen next. Reid came back in the room carrying what could only be a ransom note. 

“It’s addressed to you, not the BAU,” Reid said as he handed it to your dad. He sighed, taking the letter, and sat down. 

Aaron Hotchner: 

You can see I have your daughter. You will deliver two installments of fifty thousand dollars. I will be live streaming to your organization as well as a chatroom. Until I receive funds, from this moment on, your daughter will be the star of her very own film. When you can acquire the funds, deliver them to the P.O. Box below. The installments must be in full, or I will not hesitate to kill her. The installments must be delivered over the course of twenty-four hours. For example, you may not deliver one hundred thousand dollars at once. Thank you for your cooperation. 

- X

“So he’s trying to get money in two different ways. On the chatroom and from you. This is serving more than one purpose,” Rossi said. He took the note. “Garcia, look and see if any of the bail amounts total one hundred thousand dollars. And look to see if any of them are cash only.” 

“Nothing. I’m sorry,” Garcia said after a moment of silence. 

“We’ll give them the first fifty thousand,” JJ determined. Everyone in the room turned to look at her as if she was crazy except for your dad. He was visibly shaken, eyes glued to the camera. 

“What?” Rossi asked. 

“We’ll give them the first fifty thousand as soon as we can get it. We can go ahead and trace the P.O. box, find any connections, and hopefully get our guy before it even gets delivered.”

“And if not?” Your dad asked. 

“If not, then we sincerely hope he’s bluffing about hurting her before he gets the second one. Twenty-four hours is a long time.”

Hotch turned back to the screen to see that you were sleeping until the unsub came into the room again. He slammed the door open, carrying a knife in his hand, and walked toward you. You jumped, but didn’t move. You had nowhere to go. You couldn’t leave, so you just sat there with nervous eyes. 

“I sent them the ransom note,” the unsub said casually. You swallowed. 

“Okay, and? We don’t have that kind of money, and federal funds aren’t going to be...” 

“I don’t care about federal funds. Someone better give me my fucking money. Isn’t it taxpayer dollars anyway?”

“You’re a fucking idiot.” 

“Oh, I’m so hurt,” the unsub said, “boo hoo. You’ll be the one crying before too long. Sit back in the chair.” You didn’t try to run as he tied you up. You didn’t cry. You didn’t say anything. You just looked at the camera, eyes pleading for someone to fucking do something. If you knew your dad as well as you thought, he’d already made the connections about where you were, hopefully why the guy needed money, and they were already going through the ransom note. 

But, no. Your dad was watching as the unsub started by lifting your chin with the silver knife. Then he brushed your hair behind your ears. And then, out of nowhere, he dug the knife into your skin and dragged it down your arm. 

“Dad, please,” you said, knowing fully well that he was watching. You didn’t want to seem like you couldn’t handle yourself, but you were getting scared that maybe this guy was actually going to kill you if he didn’t get what he wanted. 

“Your daddy’s due to give me some money in a few hours. I figured I’d let you bleed until then.” The unsub was casual as he wiped both sides of the knife on your jeans and then walked out of the room, leaving you tied up. 

Garcia tried to had into the livestream and say something, but it didn’t work - there was no way to get a message to you. Your dad just had to sit there and call the bank, telling them that he needed to withdraw everything from his savings. He felt helpless as he watched you cry and bleed. 

The P.O. box turned to nothing. The guy had paid in cash and given them a fake name. Garcia’s search came up with four possible matches. Then she looked at property records, and then it was time to give the profile of the unsub. Your dad’s eyes were glued to the screen in the conference room, not even listening to the profile that he would usually be concerned about. He just sat there and watched, hoping that you knew he wouldn’t leave your side even then. 

The bank came through and let him withdraw the money, but not before the unsub came back and cut another gash into the same arm. Your dad went to the P.O. box and peeled his eyes away from the screen long enough to deposit the money. They had cops waiting to see who collected it, but nobody did. Nobody even tried to get anything from those boxes. 

“You should get some rest,” Rossi said later that night. Your dad shook his head, refusing to leave the screen. “He got his money.”

“And he said he’s going to hurt her still,” your dad insisted. “I’m not leaving her, even if it’s just a screen.” Rossi sighed. The rest of the team agreed not to leave you, either, and they sat there for most of the night, watching as the unsub cut you like a piece of paper. 

You had told the unsub numerous times that your dad was coming to get you, and those words haunted the entire BAU as they watched you on the screen. They weren’t coming because they didn’t know where to go. And then the unsub talked you up again, mentioning that he knew you were quiet enough that you wouldn’t scream. 

“Garcia, check for neighborhoods. Widen the search again, maybe it’s not bail after all,” Morgan instructed. Garcia started typing again. 

“There’s a Joshua Robinson, he lives twenty minutes from Rossi’s house. It looks like his father was one of our unsubs who didn’t make it four years ago. And it looks like he’s over that amount of time in missing mortgage payments. I think this could be our guy,” she said. 

“I’ll get SWAT ready again,” Morgan said. He stood up and left the room. Everyone went their separate ways except for your dad, who sat there and watched as the unsub full on stabbed you. Fucking stabbed you - you actually screamed at him instead of starting to cry. You called him impotent. A bitch. You called him slimy. You called him everything in the book and it only aggravated him more. 

Morgan drove as fast as he ever had over to the house. They raided it and found nothing - no basement, no nothing. And then they found the reason why the guy was so behind on house payments. They owned the land next to the house, too. It was only a matter of time before they found the bunker and the unsub trying to get away. 

Garcia had stopped the stream as soon as she could and called EMT’s to the scene, knowing how hurt you were and how much blood you’d lost. But it was up to your dad to go down to the creepy bunker and get you. He sighed as he descended the stairs and opened the now familiar green door, seeing you, untied but still in the chair. You were so bloody that he barely even recognized you. 

“Dad?” You asked as he walked in. He nodded, kneeling in front of you. 

“You’re safe, sweetheart, come with me,” he said softly. He threw the ropes off of you and reached underneath you, picking you up and being careful not to hurt you any more than you were already hurt. He took you up to the surface, holding your hand as the EMT’s worked their magic on your arm to try and keep you from bleeding any more than you already were.

They figured out that the unsub had been living at his father’s property, so behind in mortgage payments that he needed almost a hundred thousand dollars to pay for that and for property upkeep so he could sell the place and get a fresh start after attempted murder and kidnapping. You were right about almost every observation you’d made, down to the chair, and when your father looked around the room after loading you into the ambulance he realized just how smart you actually were. And how he hadn’t been paying attention to it. 

The next few hours were a blur - they wouldn’t let your dad come with you for anything at the hospital so he just sat there, waiting, with the rest of the team. The unsub had done quite a bit of nerve damage to your arm, leaving you unable to feel any pain in it for what may be forever, but at least you still had your arm. Rossi bought you a guilt gift of a new phone, too, since you’d dropped yours on the concrete, and said he was adding extra extra security to his house if you ever wanted to go there again. 

“You were watching the whole time, weren’t you?” You finally said to your dad, shutting your new phone off and putting it in your lap. He was going through some folder before he turned to you, nodding. 

“I wouldn’t leave you if I was there. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

“I’m sorry that anyone thinks I’m worth a hundred thousand dollars.” That made him laugh, if only a little bit. “You always said that they’d bring me back if I was kidnapped.”

“Because you were so annoying!” He laughed. “I think the guy almost did. He was getting pretty fed up with you.” Joking about it, it seemed, was the only way to not cry about it. At least in your family. 

“Yeah, I think telling him he had a small dick was a lot for him.” 

“I’m really proud of the way you handled that.”

“I had nowhere to go if I tried to run,” you shrugged. “You always taught me that if I’m in a bad situation, stay in it unless I have a way out. You said that’s how you always get through things. Because you don’t just walk out on them.” 

“You don’t feel like I walked out on you, do you? And you don’t think that’s why we are the way we are?” You looked down, thinking about it for a minute, before you shook your head. 

“No. But-” Your eyes lit up when Rossi walked Jack into the room. He was holding another guilt gift, too, and ran up to you. You picked up your brother and put him in your lap, making him laugh.

“What happened to your arm?” Jack asked, poking at a bandage. You tried not to wince, smiling instead. 

“Just a bad guy. But I worked the case,” you told him. He smiled.

“Just like Daddy?”

“Yeah,” your dad said with a smile as he walked over to the two of you. “Just like me.” 

A/N: Just some good ole classic Dad!Hotch for y’all... I hope you like it as much as I do!! 

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception: Chapter 1

Author’s Note:  Welcome everyone to my Childe x Reader fanfiction! Decided to post the first (and only so far) chapter since I’m happy with it.  Hope you enjoy this sneak peek!!!

Now where did Mr. Zhongli run off to?  Wherever you'd end up, you'd miss the man by a hair.  Running errands for Hu Tao was practically the equivalent to a wild goose chase.  "Wait a second!"  A sudden realization stopped you in your tracks, and a few customers that were buying kites held startled expressions from your yelp.  "She's pranking me again, isn't she?!"

Zhongli was inspecting noticulous jade samples behind you when he heard a female voice yell to no one in particular.  He turned to see you, completely deflated for reasons unknown to him.  Shouldn't you be at the parlor overseeing your duties in the presence of Hu Tao?  What were you doing out here?  "What seems to be the matter, Reed?"

"ZHONGLI!"  Another yelp, and this time the customers nearby became more annoyed.  You spun on your heel and meet your coworker's gaze.  "I've been looking everywhere for you! Um, Hu Tao wanted me to give you these," you promptly handed a small stack of slightly crumpled documents to him.  "She said they were really important...?"

"Let me see..." Golden eyes turned their attention to the script with the utmost focus before he heaved a tiresome sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Is...something the matter?"  You could've sworn everything was in order...maybe it was possible that in your rush to find him, you had lost a paper or two without noticing?

"What is it exactly that Hu Tao instructed you to do?"  His voice held a tinge of exhaustion, but it went unnoticed by you.

"She just told me to find you and give you the documents, and that you'd know what to do with them.  And she also told me not to look at them.  Why?"

Another sigh, and the documents were handed back to you.  "I apologize, but it appears that you've fallen victim to her...childish antics yet again."  

He was right.  The documents were nothing more than a bunch of gibberish and what looked like to be a horrible attempt to draw Zhongli on one of the papers next to one scribble that was labelled 'doodoo.'  "You've got to be joking."  The scowl on your face was enough to get Zhongli to clear his throat in an effort to dissuade you from your anger.  You were an incredibly nice and patient person, but Zhongli's seen you angry once before.  It was not something he'd like to see again, and with every passing prank, you got closer and closer to snapping at your boss.

"My apologies," he sympathized.  He couldn't exactly keep up with the parlor director's childish ways either, after all.

That was three hours of my day.  You crumpled the papers in your hands before tossing them in the trash.  "Sorry to bother you Zhongli, I'll be heading back to the parlor now."

You took the long way back to the funeral parlor, making a point to walk across the docs that shouldered the sea.  It was well-deserved, you thought, since Hu Tao was constantly testing your patience and you had yet to snap.  If she really needed you today, she wouldn't have sent you on a needless hunt to deliver unnecessary documents.  So what if you showed up a little late now? It was her doing!

The docks were quiet with the occasional pigeons and seagulls cooing as they searched for their next meal--or their next pooping target.  A few pigeons scattered into the wind once you reached a railing that overlooked one of the merchant ships.  

It had been quite some time since your mother brought you across the sea to escape the influences of the Fatui in Snezhnaya--it had to be at least a decade by now, actually.  The Fatui that were stationed near your hometown were a reckless, malicious bunch, and weren't even kind to their own people despite their cohort existing to serve the people.

'To serve the people' was more like 'to serve the Tsaritsa.'  Neglect against her own people soon became a mutual feeling in your town.  She let her Fatui rats run about with no punishment for falling out of line...the audacity! A god is supposed to protect and nurture their people, not toss them aside or save them to be used.

The glimmering of the ocean below the deck only briefly dragged out out of your memories before you fell into them much like a wave washes over the beach.

You still remembered the day when your best friend went missing, and when he finally turned up ragged and dirty a few days later.  He never spoke of what happened, but it wouldn't surprise you if it had anything to do with the agents in your town.  He changed from a hesitant boy to a rambunctious, feisty kid--and the arrogance was insanely annoying.  But just as you tried to get closer to him, your mom decided his mysterious circumstances were what she needed to get herself and you out of Snezhnaya.

"I don't know what happened to you, Ajax, but I hope you're okay."

...........................................

Today's such a beautiful day!  You stretched your arms with content to get the aches of walking all morning out of your shoulders.  Slouching was a horrible habit of yours.  But no matter, it was time to celebrate! Hu Tao finally cut you loose from her list of unfortunate victims of her shenanigans, instead setting her sights on some exorcist that went by the name 'Chongyun.'  Since he wasn't related to the parlor's services--at least, not that you were aware--you didn't know him personally.

That poor soul has no idea what's coming to him, you think as you absently scan the papers in your hands that the parlor director had given you to give to Zhongli before the day's end--you had learned your lesson from last time, and inspected each stack she'd give you.  But as bad as I feel for him, I can't complain since I'm finally scot-free of her.

You made your way toward Liuli Pavilion, where Zhongli had informed you earlier this morning that he'd be conducting a meeting with one of the parlor's biggest funders.  There he is now! And...sitting alone?

"Mr. Zhongli?"  Your quiet interruption shifted his attention from the vivid storytelling of the storyteller to you.  "Did you have your meeting yet?"

"No, he should be arriving shortly," the consultant answered and placed his teacup down.  "What did you need me for?"

"Hu Tao sent me on another errand, er, a valid one this time.  I guess one of our customers was wondering what recommendations you had regarding these?"  A quick hand-off of the documents pertaining the names of precious stones, and Zhongli shut out the story of the ventures of Rex Lapis and his former companion, Azhdaha.

Your eyes left Zhongli for a moment and watched the storyteller's movements.  I've heard this one before.  Azhdaha was reprimanded for turning against humanity, wasn't he?  I wonder what that was like for our god.  To be betrayed by a close friend-

"I see.  Noticulous jade would be the best option considering it's vibrant purple tones, but the beauty of cor lapis when significantly refined to its utmost potential is a valid approach for the ceremony as well.  Why don't we purchase both?  You and I can inspect the nearby stores tomorrow morning."

Honestly, I don't know why I bother asking if his answer is always 'We'll take them all,' your lips twitched from restraining a laugh and you returned your sights on the consultant.  "Alright, let's do that."

"Mr. Zhongli! It's great to see you," an unfamiliar man approached the table with a friendly smile.  "I hope I didn't keep you waiting long."  The confidence that radiated from his stride was enough to make you shrivel up on yourself.  That, and the afternoon light that bounced off of his bright gray clothes half-blinded you.

"Not at all.  Please take a seat.  Reed, why don't you join us?"  Zhongli was aware of your intense opinions of the Fatui, but then again, who in Liyue didn't have a problem with the organization at the moment? Especially after their most recent incident with Osial...and the issue himself was sitting right across the table.  Perhaps meeting such a dangerous individual would dissuade you from pursuing that nighttime hobby of yours...

"Oh, I don't want to intrude.  Isn't this a private meeting?"

"I don't mind," said the red-headed stranger.

Zhongli gestured toward the third chair at the table, and you hesitantly obeyed.  A few minutes couldn't hurt.  You used the moment to get you situated and check out the guy to your left.  He didn't seem familiar, but he had this air about him that was...distinct, if that made any sense.  Familiar yet unfamiliar.  For someone being labelled as one of the most prominent sponsors of the funeral parlor, he didn't button his jacket properly, and a portion of his abdomen was visible while a hydro vision sat comfortably attached to his beltloop.  Or perhaps that was the way the jacket was designed?

Why am I even contemplating this? You peeled your eyes away from his torso in a hurry, and they settled on your hands in your lap.  Way to make a first impression.

"Reed, I would like to introduce you to Ma-"

"Ajax!"  Childe's voice overtook Zhongli's introduction.  "I go by Ajax, it's nice to meet you."  He held out a gloved hand for you to shake.  He didn't think it would be possible to ever see you again, not after your mom took you across the sea, so he spat out a lie without thinking.  Then again, even as a child you hated the Fatui--rightfully so-- so it wouldn't have been a good idea to introduce himself as the very harbinger that almost drowned Liyue.  Childe thought he had recognized you by your hair and the way you walked, but it was so long ago, and the memory of you had long since faded into a blurry image.  But 'Reed'...It couldn't be some coincidence that he met you here.

And by your reaction, he could say his intuition served him right.  "A-Ajax?"  You sat up taller than before, not quite comprehending the situation at first.  The name, the face, those blue eyes--it had to be him.  "Ajax from Snezhnaya?"

"I would hope I'm the only Ajax you know."  Childe shot you a friendly smile, but some smidge of jealousy lie in the depths of his otherwise vacant gaze. Perhaps it could even be considered threatening, or possessive.  He was the only Ajax you knew, right?

"Oh thank the archons you're alright," you released the breath you didn't know you were holding in.  It was all you managed to get out before remembering that a certain party was sitting to your right.  "O-Oh! Zhongli! We knew each other before I emigrated to Liyue-"

"Childhood friends," the harbinger grinned slightly as he met the consultant's confused yet stern gaze.  Something deadly flashed in his eyes, daring Zhongli to speak up and correct his own introduction.

Zhongli wasn't anywhere near afraid or intimidated by Childe, but despite this he did not reveal Childe's true identity.  Perhaps there was a reason the harbinger was posing as his younger self, like he was protecting the image of the perfect older brother for you just as he did with Teucer.

That, and Zhongli had vowed not to meddle in these types of matters just as he neglected to tell Childe he was the geo archon.  It was not his business if Childe chose to deceive you just as he deceived Childe, but if the harbinger posed a threat to you or anyone in Liyue again...Let's just say the passive Zhongli would put his foot down.

"I see," said Zhongli with a thoughtful gaze as he picked up his half-full cup of tea.  "May I inquire as how you two met?"

"Well," you leaned back in your seat and stared at one of the passing clouds as you attempted to recollect old memories.  "I don't remember exactly, but we ran into each other at one of the local markets that stood between our hometowns.  You should've seen him back then Zhongli, he was a nervous reck!"

Childe visibly grimaced at your bluntness, but Zhongli let out a low chuckle.  "Is that so?"  This earned a glare from the harbinger.

"Yes!  He was always second-guessing himself.  I was always the one wearing the pants in the friendship whenever we got to see each other!  And then..."  Your expression darkened as you remembered his disappearance, and his concerning change of attitude when he returned.  But just as quickly as the distasteful memory showed on your face, it was tossed away with a shake of the head.  "You know, there was one time where he had gotten in trouble with one of the local fisherman because he--"

"Now, now!"  Childe interrupted with a slightly aggressive--no, embarrassed--tone.  "I don't think Mr. Zhongli would be interested in--"

"On the contrary, I would be more than delighted to hear of Ajax's childhood stories," Zhongli sipped away at his tea, making a point to emphasize the new name while staring straight Childe.

"Aw, you embarrassed?"  Childe wanted to wipe that smug grin off your face for noticing.  He thought he was great at hiding his emotions, but with your surprise appearance, he was a bit more than caught off guard.  You covered your mouth and leaned toward Zhongli while whispering, "I'll tell you later, promise!"

Childe let out something of a strangled chuckle that made the corner of Zhongli's lips twitch upward.  "So, what have you been up to all this time?"

"Well, I've been working at the funeral parlor with Zhongli for the past year or so," you leaned back with a thoughtful gaze.  "I live by myself now; mom died a few years ago.  Oh, I've been training since I got here, too.  You can't trust the Fatui anywhere in Teyvat.  That, and anyone that roams around late at night.  Better safe than sorry."

"So you fight?"  Childe's eyes lit up like a fire was lit, and you smile turned into a frown.

"Don't tell me you're still..."  But with his slightly oblivious tilt of the head, you couldn't bring yourself to bring up that portion of your history.  Not yet.  "If need be, yes."  The best option was to change the subject, especially to spare Zhongli of what could possibly turn into an argument.  "How did you find yourself in Liyue?"

"I..."  A glance was sent briefly in Zhongli's direction, but he purposely ignored it.  "I'm a toy seller these days."

"Augh--"  A sputtered cough came from Zhongli, and he dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief.  "Ahem...Apologies, it appears I choked on a bit of tea."

After an awkward laugh escaped Childe, you turned back to him.  "A toy seller?  You?"  Was it relief you felt, or a feeling of on-edge?  Perhaps it'd be better if he turned out nice enough to become a toy seller, but with the way you two left things in Snezhnaya, you'd thought it be more likely that he'd end up arrested.  Or join the Fatui.  Or just anything involving violence.  Not sure of what to make of his words, you snapped to Zhongli.  "Wait, I thought you had a meeting with one of the benefactors of the funeral parlor?  Why would a toy seller be involved with us?"

"Yes, I've wondered that myself," Zhongli set his empty teacup aside and faced Childe directly to bait him.  "You've never told me the story.  How did you find yourself involved with the parlor, Ajax?"

The hint of a smirk on the consultant's lips made the harbinger's blood boil even though he managed to keep his façade of a smile plastered on his face.  "Well, I wouldn't want to bore you with the details, it's an uninteresting story!"

"Tell me," you begged, eyes sparkling in anticipation.  "It might not be boring to us!"

"Yes, do tell," Zhongli encouraged.

You're enjoying this too much, Mr. Zhongli.  Childe did his best to hide his annoyance under his signature grin.

........................................

The sigh that escaped the harbinger once you left to finish your duties at the parlor prompted Zhongli to raise a brow at him.  "Shut up," Childe muttered without sparing a glance his way.  He knew you were hateful of the Fatui; that's most likely why he lied without a second thought, but as to why he'd bother doing so since you weren't close anymore was unknown.

At least, to Childe it was.  Zhongli had already figured it out by the lengthy conversation of Childe's extensive toy seller lie.  "You two were more than 'close' back in Snezhnaya, were you not?"  

"Don't overthink it Zhongli, we were only friends."

"And yet you wear your Harbinger status proudly on your sleeve."

"What're you implying?"  Childe, growing impatient and bored of the conversation, shifted in his seat.  You had left as their meals were served, so to his utmost horror, he now realized he was given chopsticks to use for his dish.  

"You also don't like deceiving others unlike your fellow harbingers."

A disgusted scoff left his lips as he lifted his chopsticks.  "...You think I, Tartaglia, am in love with a childhood friend?  My my my, Mr. Zhongli, it seems you've finally lost your marbles after living six thousand years. Perhaps living among humans has taken a toll on your wisdom."

"There are several reasons for which a person would lie."  Zhongli lowered his voice as the storyteller finished his monologue.  "The only one that would make sense after observing you for so long would be infatuation."

Childe had tuned him out by now, concentrating with furrowed brows on holding his dumplings correctly in-between his chopsticks.  But they were too heavy, what with his hand shaking the utensils, and they fell back on the plate with a wet plop.  Curse these stupid-  Childe nearly threw them at the building to his left, but restrained himself before he could lose to his frustrations.  Instead he used one chopstick to stab the dumpling and in an exasperated huff, shoved it into his mouth.

"So, what is the real reason you're back in Liyue?"  Zhongli set his third cup of tea aside after watching the pitiful struggle before him.  "It had sounded like you'd be in Snezhnaya for quite some time before returning, yet here you are only months after Osial."

"Oh," Childe sat up, only now remembering that what he had told you earlier was a drastic lie.  "I've been meaning to ask you about the matters I'm dealing with.  The Fatui here are fed-up with some...vigilante that interferes with their work here.  Whoever's at fault is clearly an amateur, but my subordinates here are apparently too incompetent to catch them.  They're stealing important documents from the Northland Bank, setting traps on the roadsides, and even breaking into our apartments to steal the agents' uniforms."

Zhongli cradled his chin in his hand while in deep thought.  He's heard of such a person; they often came to the parlor in the early morning hours to avoid getting caught since their living quarters were on the opposite side of town--he caught them more than once, out of breath, and dressed in black.

"--Basically the men are agitated at this point and threatening to leave their posts, and everyone's on edge because of another matter that may be related.  A few of our agents have gone missing with no trace, so I am here to locate them.  Whoever this vigilante is might know something; both occurrences started approximately three months ago."  Childe grabbed his last dumpling and ate it before leaning back in his seat.  "So, given that you are the wisest man in Liyue, I decided to come to you for advice.  Would you happen to know of anyone or anything involved?"

"Yes," Zhongli hummed, eyes downcast and settled on his folded hands.  "It's possible I hold information valuable to your search."

Childe's pupils lit up in delight.  "Oh?  Do enlighten me."

"But first, the vigilante is not related to your missing men," he took another sip of tea, lost in thought.  "And they are more or less an amateur seeking to disrupt Fatui operations, but they don't usually harm your agents--"

"That's inaccurate to say, Zhongli.  Last week three of my guys came back with broken noses or fractured arms."

--that I know of."  A pointed glare just made the harbinger lean forward against the table.

"You know who I'm searching for."

"Perhaps."

"Then spill."

"Am I really obligated to tell you based on your earlier behavior?"

"Mr. Zhongli, this person poses a serious threat to the health of my men, and potentially their lives.  Do you not care that human lives are at stake because of this...this...killer?"

Says the man who tried to drown my country.  "As usual, you are making brash assumptions.  They are not a killer, and they are not dangerous unless backed into a corner."

Childe was growing sick of beating around the bush, so he deadpanned.  "Zhongli."

The former archon let out a low sigh before meeting his gaze.  "As long as you remember what I just said, then I suppose I'll let you know.  The person you're searching for is the same person you lied to at this table."

[mortimer-writes-sometimes]

Alrighty, so this is an idea I've been having about the bartender for a while: if you remember sans' workshop, I actually thought about the idea of sans being gone, and grillby finding the key and beginning to explore the skeletons' past.

Just a random idea, and I also love how you write your stories, I can literally imagine the scenario happening❤.

Oh, I really like this one! I hope you don’t mind that I went in the angst direction with this. It turned out to be a little long and might not have been exactly what you were looking for, but I hope you like it anyway! Also thank you so much for the compliment, I’m thrilled that you can enjoy it.

I Never Knew You. I Never Will.

Word count: 2951 Warnings: Genocide route and all that entails Summary: Grillby can’t find Sans after the evacuation. When he finds himself in Sans’s lab, his world comes crashing down around him.

Preface: This takes place near the end of a genocide run. The remaining monsters have been evacuated to the True Lab by Dr. Alphys. Determined to avenge his brother, Sans left the safety of the lab to judge Frisk.

Grillby felt like he was floating as he made his way through the crowd of monsters around him. This had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be real. He watched from outside himself as he searched the crowd for familiar faces, stumbling as he was pushed aside by a monster rushing to greet their spouse. People were calling out for each other, sobbing as they found their family members or wailing as they realized their children hadn’t made it. It couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be.

He couldn’t see any of the Snowdin guards. Where were they?

No, he couldn’t understand, this wasn’t real.

He couldn’t find his niece. He heard someone screaming her name above the crowd and realized it was him. Where was she? Where were Grillby’s brothers, his parents? He hadn’t seen them in so long. They had to be okay.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

It was.

Reality came crashing down. Grillby snapped back into awareness and choked, sickened by the lingering smell of dust as sheer panic gripped him. His friends were dead. His family was dead. They’d been fine just yesterday, how could they be dead? What kind of monster- no, what thing could do this? He struggled to breathe as he felt his whole body seizing up. It was all he could do not to puke, head spinning as he leaned against the nearest wall. He couldn’t breathe, his vision was spotty, was he dying? Was this what it felt like, for your soul to break apart?

Grillby sank to his knees, trails of steam pouring from the corners of his eyes as he sobbed. Everyone he loved was dead.

No. Wait. He was forgetting someone.

Where was Sans?

The fire elemental jerked his head up, frantically scanning the crowd. Sans had been the one to come for him and tell him to evacuate to Hotland. He’d taken Grillby’s hand and told him there was no time to explain. They’d taken a shortcut to Alphys’s lab, skipping Waterfall to be sure Grillby wouldn’t get hurt by the rivers and rain. Sans told him a human was attacking every monster in sight. He told him to stay put, then left to help with the rest of the evacuation. It had only been after the fact that Grillby realized Sans had been wearing Papyrus’s scarf, and it was covered in dust.

Alphys’s underground lab had quickly filled with frightened monsters. The remaining members of the royal guard had spread the word and were getting people out as fast as they could. Sans could only take one person at a time using his shortcuts, but he still managed to get dozens of people out. Despite it all, they weren’t fast enough. The human was destroying everything in its path. They got to Waterfall, Hotland, and the Core faster than everyone could get out. Survivors started showing up covered in lingering dust.

Grillby forced himself to his feet. Sans had to be nearby. All the survivors had been moved to safety, hidden underground. There was no reason for Sans to still be searching. There was no reason for him to be anywhere but by Grillby’s side, safe and sound. Where was he?

The bartender spotted Alphys handing out blankets and walked over, desperation gripping his soul as he stepped in front of her. “Dr. Alphys, have you seen Sans anywhere? He was helping with the evacuation. He should be back by now.”

Alphys stopped in her tracks. “H-he isn’t here?” She looked around, nearly as worried by the news as Grillby. “He s-said he was taking a- a shortcut home. He was o-o-only going to grab some- some more blankets and food.”

Dread enveloped Grillby’s soul, threatening to break it. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. “Why would you let him go back out there?!”

“The h-human is, um, in New Home,” Alphys stuttered out in her defense. “Sans c-c-can teleport. He doesn’t h-have to get, um, anywhere n-near the human. It should b-b-be safe by now. I’m sure, um, h-he’s probably safe. He’ll be back any moment now! I’m s-sure of it!”

She didn’t sound sure enough for Grillby’s taste. He pushed past her, continuing his search as he went from room to room. Sans should have been back. What if he’d exhausted himself and couldn’t teleport again? What if the human doubled back, searching for survivors, and found Sans?

A flash of red caught Grillby’s eye. A long piece of red fabric was left draped on one of the medical beds. Papyrus’s scarf.

Grillby pulled out his phone, shakily picking the dusty scarf up. Surely Sans had his phone on him, right? The phone rang… and rang… and rang… 

“Congrats, you’ve reached the voicemail of Sans the skeleton. Picking up the phone is too much work right now, so I probably won’t answer if you call me back. You can leave a message, but I probably won’t check my voicemail either. Just text me. Or call Papyrus. See ya.”

The fire monster wanted to cry. He called again and again and again. It went to voicemail every time. He tried texting him, begging Sans to answer…

But nobody came.

Grillby was moving towards the elevator of the lab before he truly comprehended what he was doing. Alphys saw him and rushed after him, grabbing his sleeve. “W-wait! Where are you going?”

“You said Sans was at home, didn’t you?” Grillby answered quietly. “I’m going to find him.”

“You c-can’t! It’s not safe-!”

Grillby turned around, his flames burning hotter as he snapped at her. “But it was safe for Sans to leave, was it?! Don’t be so hypocritical! If you’re truly concerned about the safety of monsters, let me go!”

Alphys fell quiet, trembling a bit. She let go of Grillby’s sleeve and hunched over. She hated being yelled at. Grillby immediately felt guilty, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I just-”

“N-no.” Alphys wiped at her eyes and adjusted her glasses. “You’re right. I sh-shouldn’t have let Sans go. Let, um, let me find a r-rain jacket for you. It will be dangerous for y-you to get through- through Waterfall on your own.”

Grillby was quiet for a moment, then just nodded, letting her leave. She came back moments later with a rain jacket, rubber boots, and an umbrella. The fire monster took them and thanked the scientist, heading towards the elevator. He didn’t say goodbye. In the situation they’d found themselves in, a farewell felt like a curse.

Grillby managed to make it through Waterfall mostly unscathed, folding his umbrella as he walked into Snowdin. The place felt like a ghost town, every window dark and every home abandoned. He tried not to think about it as he approached the skeleton brothers’ house. The door was standing open, filling Grillby with dread. He choked down another wave of panic as he stepped inside the dark living room. “Sans?” Grillby called out, voice feeling muffled by the oppressive, eerie silence. “Sans, are you here? ...god, please be here.” He pulled out his phone again as he walked up the stairs, dialing Sans’s number and waiting.

A default ringtone went off in Sans’s room.

The bartender should’ve felt relieved, but if anything, the sound scared him more than the silence. If Sans was here, why didn’t he answer the phone? Respond to the texts? Grillby tried the door and found it locked, struggling with the knob despite knowing it was useless. “Sans! Are you there?! Please, answer me!”

But nobody came.

The panic Grillby had been holding back consumed him. The fire that made up his body grew as he stepped back, leaning against the railing before moving forward and kicking down the door. 

The room was empty. Sans’s phone was ringing on the bed, abandoned.

For the second time that day, Grillby found himself sobbing, kneeling on the floor as he desperately tried to force himself to breathe. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have lost Sans, too. He didn’t even say goodbye. He didn’t even get to tell him…

Dizzy with exhaustion, Grillby looked up at the phone again. On the bed next to it was a piece of paper, folded around something. Dragging himself to his feet, the bartender stumbled over, sinking to the ground again as he picked it up. A key fell into his lap. It was small and silver, and it looked old. The note it had been wrapped in had a drawing of the house, with an arrow pointing to something in the back. As Grillby’s gaze drifted down to the base of the drawing, he choked on another sob.

Hey Grillbz,

If you’re reading this, you probably did something stupid like go to my house by yourself with a homicidal psychopath on the loose. Don’t worry, I get it. You did this last time, too. Anyway, this go around, I’m not gonna be here when you show up. 

That key you’ve got goes to a basement behind the house. Go in there. You’ll figure out for yourself where I’ve gone.

When you do, please don’t follow me.

I love you, Grillby. I’m sorry.

~Sans

Grillby read the note over and over, crying as the implications sank in. Whatever Sans was doing, it didn’t sound like he planned to come back. Well, if he thought that Grillby wasn’t going to go after him, he was dead wrong. But first… the bartender had to figure out where Sans was going.

It had taken a minute to get the door behind the house to open. The lock was old, and it stuck for a moment while Grillby jiggled the key to get it in. It finally swung open with an echoing creak, light from outside barely able to illuminate the inside of what looked to be a small home lab of some kind.

Grillby stepped inside, drawn to the large machine in the back. The damage to the odd machine and the char marks on the floor did nothing for Grillby’s anxiety, but the lack of dust around it at least assured him that it probably wasn’t the dangerous thing Sans had been alluding to. The fire monster stepped away from it, moving towards the desk and the piles of paper there. The first thing that caught his eye was a drawer slightly ajar, something inside reflecting the light that Grillby gave off. He opened it the rest of the way, immediately recognizing the badge inside as he picked it up. “This… This is the insignia of the royal scientist. Why would he have this?” Grillby mumbled out loud. Now that he was thinking about it, why would Sans have any of this? It didn’t make any sense. Sans was a sentry, and he had been the entire time Grillby knew him. The skeleton had never mentioned living in Hotland or having a scientific career. The bartender was starting to question how well he knew his best friend, setting the badge back in the drawer and turning to the papers.

The first page was written in some sort of font that Grillby couldn’t understand. Looking at it made his hurt, so he moved it to the side, skipping over it. The next page was thankfully readable. It described something called ‘DT’, and the effects it could have on a monster’s magic if infused properly. The records of the experiments had been partially burned, but most of what Grillby could read was too complicated for him to understand. He never thought Sans was dumb, but the complicated equations were far beyond anything Grillby had seen before. He hadn’t guessed Sans had that level of intelligence, or put that level of work into any one project.

The last few pages had the most burns out of all of them. Some sections were written in that headache-inducing language, with a lot of the notes Grillby could read seemingly added later. It looked like a comparison between the effectiveness of multiple attacks before and after the use of DT. The last few notes made Grillby burn lower, nearly going cold.

In conclusion, DT can be used to temporarily increase stamina and allow a monster to use their magic more effectively, summoning attacks and creating patterns like nothing seen before. However, drawing that level of magic from a monster’s soul can cause their soul to become unstable, tearing it apart. A monster could not withstand the effects of DT long-term without turning to dust.

I could handle it, just for a little while. If it came down to it, I could use the machine on myself and keep the kid from hurting anyone else.

Papyrus… Alphys… Grillby… 🕈︎✋︎☠︎☝︎👎︎✋︎☠︎☝︎💧︎… I’m so sorry.

“No,” Grillby whispered, his eyes widening in panic. “No, no no no no please tell me you didn’t- Sans-”

Sans was going to fight the human.

No matter the outcome, Sans was going to turn to dust.

Grillby ignored the sting of the rain as he sprinted through Waterfall. He didn’t have time to worry about his HP. Sans used that machine on himself. He’d managed to build it, surely he could reverse it if Grillby just reached him in time. His mind was reeling, trying to catch up with everything he learned. Sans had once been involved with the royal scientist. Was that how he knew Alphys? And what was with that strange handwriting? Why would Sans hide it from him? The rain didn’t bother Grillby this time, but he felt a sting in his soul as he realized just how little he knew about Sans. Everything he learned about him throughout their friendship… was it all a lie? Just a cover-up for whatever Sans had done in the past? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

Grillby’s footsteps echoed in the corridors of New Home as he sprinted down the main path. Alphys had said that the human was in New Home somewhere, undoubtedly heading towards the castle. If Sans were to face them, it would be there. He only hoped he could reach him in time.

Sans fell backward as he felt the human’s blade slice through his ribcage. Looking down, he watched in distant shock as blood started to seep from the wound. He knew the whole battle had been pointless… Frisk would just load their save file each time they died, coming back over and over until they killed him… but it still felt so surreal. The fight was over. Sans lost.

“Heh… heh heh…” The skeleton laughed breathlessly to himself as he looked up. The human was expressionless, uncaring. How? How could they have so much apathy, after everyone they hurt?

It didn’t matter. Sans forced himself to his feet, coughing as blood dripped from his mouth. It would be fine. Frisk would reset, everyone would come back, and then they’d die again. The warm golds and oranges of the hall began to blur together as the bloodloss made Sans woozy and he stumbled, leaning against one of the pillars. If he closed his eyes…

He could almost pretend he was sitting at a familiar bar, the bartender smiling at him as he cracked jokes and drank from a ketchup bottle.

“Welp. I’m going to Grillby’s,” Sans said weakly, tears filling his eyes.

“Papyrus… do you want anything?”

Footsteps echoed in the final hallway as Grillby ran, desperation gripping his soul. He almost ran right past it. He skidded to a stop as his mind processed what he’d seen. His mind went empty and numb, and he turned around, walking a few paces back the way he’d come.

At the base of one of the pillars was a blue jacket, sitting in a pile of dust.

Grillby screamed.

No. No, it couldn’t end like this. The fire elemental fell to his knees and picked up Sans’s jacket, wailing as he held it to his chest. When he did- God, he was covered in dust. Sans’s dust. The thought made him drop the jacket and turn away, gagging and throwing up until there was nothing left.

Grillby wrapped his arms around himself, the humidity in the room increasing as he sobbed. He thought of Sans’s smile, his jokes and laughter, the way he always winked at the end of a bad pun. Was any of that even real? Did Sans enjoy being around Grillby, or was it all a façade? Grief and betrayal settled heavily over the bartender, threatening to drown him. He dry-heaved again, choking as he desperately fought for air.

I love you, Grillby.

Grillby... I’m so sorry.

The words washed over him, pushing those feelings away. It didn’t matter. Whoever Sans had been before, it didn’t change what the two of them had. Grillby wouldn’t let it.

Grillby picked up Sans’s jacket as he stood, shaking the dust off and putting it on. The heat in the room became sweltering as the fire monster was filled with rage. That human... that human had taken so much from him. His friends, his family... the skeleton he loved. They couldn’t get away with it. He wouldn’t let them.

The fire monster walked towards the end of the hall, eyes burning with murderous rage. That human was going to pay for what they-

The world stuttered.

Grillby hummed to himself as he wiped down his bar, getting ready to open for the day. Hm, that was strange. Lifting the cloth, he noticed that it had quickly gotten fairly dirty. There was dust all over Grillby’s hands, coming off on the towel. He shrugged to himself as he wiped them off and got another towel.

It was probably nothing.

Thanks for reading! This one accidentally turned out kind of long. It’s pretty stream-of-consciousness, but I’m too busy to edit it today and I’m too eager to post it to wait.

Reblog or leave me a comment telling me what you think! Asks are open if you would like to leave a prompt for me, and let me know if you want to be on my Undertale fic taglist!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The future is symmetrical

When Mitch Kapor articulated the principle that “architecture is politics” at the founding of EFF, he was charging technologists with the moral duty to contemplate the kinds of social interactions their technological decisions would facilitate — and prohibit.

At question was nothing less than the character of the networked society. Would the vast, pluripotent, general purpose, interconnected network serve as a glorified video-on-demand service, the world’s greatest pornography distribution system, a giant high-tech mall?

Or could it be a public square, and if so, who would have the loudest voices in that square, who would be excluded from it, who will set its rules, and how will they be enforced?

As with its technical architecture, the political architecture of the net is a stack, encompassing everything from antitrust enforcement to spectrum allocation, protocol design to search-and-seizure laws, standards to top-level domain governance.

Among those many considerations is the absolutely vital question of service delivery itself. What kinds of wires or radio waves will carry your packets, who will own them, and how will they be configured?

For decades, a quiet war has been fought on this front, with two sides: the side that sees internet users as “mouse potatoes,” destined to passively absorb information feeds compiled by their betters; and the “netizen” side that envisions a truly participatory network design.

This deep division has been with us since the internet’s prehistory, at least since the fight over Usenet’s alt.* hierarchy, flaring up again during the P2P wars, with ISPs insisting that users were violating their “agreements” by running “servers.”

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/11/altinteroperabilityadversarial

Above all, this fight was waged in the deployment of home internet service. The decision turn the already-monopolistic cable and phone operators into ISPs cast a long shadow. Both of these industries think of their customers as passive information consumers, not participants.

As an entertainment exec in William Gibson’s 1992 novel Idoru describes her audience: “Best visualized as a vicious, lazy, profoundly ignorant, perpetually hungry organism craving the warm god-flesh of the anointed. Personally I like to imagine something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It’s covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth…no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.”

Contrast this with the other cyberpunk archetype, the console cowboy who doesn’t merely surf the digital, but steers it — the active participant in the technological/media environment who is more than a recipient of others’ crafted messages.

For a long time, Big Tech and Big Telco tried to have it both ways. AT&T promoted teleconferencing and remote family life conducted by videophones in its 1993 “You Will” marketing campaign. Youtube exhorted you to “broadcast yourself.”

But AT&T also set data-caps, kicked users off for running servers, and engaged in every legal, semi-legal and outright illegal tactic imaginable to block high-speed fiber networks.

Youtube, meanwhile, blocked interoperability, leveraged vertical integration with Google search to exclude and starve competitors, and conspired with Big Content to create a “content moderation” system that’s two parts Kafka, one part Keystone Kops.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/12/fairy-use-tale/#content-id

While the questions raised by broad participation in networked society are thorny and complex, one question actually has a very simple and factual answer: “How should we connect our homes to the internet?” The answer: “Fiber.”

There is no wireless that can substitute for fiber. Wireless — 5G, Starlink, whatever — shares the same spectrum. We can make spectrum use more efficient (by tightly transmitting the wireless signals so they don’t interfere), but physics sets hard limits on wireless speeds.

Each strand of wire in a wired network, by contrast, is its own pocket universe, insulated from the next wire, with its own smaller, but exclusive, electromagnetic spectrum to use without interfering with any other wire on the other side of its insulation.

<img src=”https://craphound.com/images/broadband_comparison.jpeg" alt=”EFF’s broadband comparison chart, showing the maximum speeds of 4G (100mb), DSL (170mb), 5G (10gb), cable (50gb) and fiber (100tb).”>

But copper wire also has hard limits that are set by physics. The fastest theoretical copper data throughput is an infinitesimal fraction of the fastest fiber speeds. Fiber is millions-to-hundreds-of-millions times faster than copper.

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

We should never run copper under another city street or along another pole. Any savings from maintaining 20th century network infrastructure will be eradicated by the cost of having to do twice the work to replace it with 21st century fiber in the foreseeable future.

Trying to wring performance gains out of copper in the age of fiber is like trying to improve the design of whale-oil lamps to stave off the expense of electrification. Sure, you don’t want anyone sitting in the dark but even the very best whale-oil lamp is already obsolete.

But besides future-proofing, there’s another reason to demand fiber over copper or wireless: symmetry. Our copper and (especially) wireless infrastructure is optimized for sending data to end-points, not getting data back. It’s mouse-potato broadband.

(this is especially true of any satellite broadband, which typically relies upon copper lines for its “return path,” and even when it doesn’t, has much slower uplinks that downlinks)

By contrast, fiber tends to be symmetrical — providing the same download and upload speeds. It is participatory broadband, suited for a world of distance ed, remote work, telemedicine, and cultural and political participation for all.

Fiber is so obviously better than copper or wireless that America paltry fiber rollouts needed to be engineered — they never would have happened on their own. The most critical piece of anti-fiber engineering is US regulators’ definition of broadband itself.

Since the dawn FCC interest in universal broadband, it adopted a technical definition of broadband that is asymmetrical, with far lower upload than download speeds. Despite lockdown and broadband-only connections to the outside world, Congress is set to continue this.

The latest iteration of the Democrats’ broadband bill defines “broadband” as any connection that is 100mb down and 20mb up (“100/20”). Both of these speeds paltry to the point of uselessness, but the upload speed is genuinely terrible.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/07/future-symmetrical-high-speed-internet-speeds

US broadband usage has grown 21%/year since the 1980s. 100/20 broadband is inadequate for today’s applications — let alone tomorrow’s (by contrast, fiber is fast enough to last through the entire 21st century’s projected broadband demand and beyond, well into the 2100s).

Any wireless applications will also depend on fiber — your 5G devices have to be connected to something, and if that something is copper, your wireless speeds will never exceed copper’s maximum speeds. Innovation in spectrum management requires fiber — it doesn’t obviate it.

Today, the highest growth in broadband demand is in uploads, not downloads. People need fast uploads speeds to videoconference, to stream their games, to do remote work. The only way a 100/20 copper network’s upload speeds can be improved is by connecting it with fiber.

Every dollar spent on copper rollout is a dollar we’ll forfeit in a few years. It’s true that cable monopolists will wring a few billions out of us if we keep making do with their old copper, but upgrading copper just makes the inevitable fiber transition costlier.

China is nearing its goal of connecting 1 billion people to fiber. In America, millions are stuck with copper infrastructure literally consisting of century-old wires wrapped in newspaper, dipped in tar, and draped over tree-banches.

https://mn.gov/commerce-stat/pdfs/frontier-service-quality-report-final.pdf

Indeed, when it comes to America, monopoly carriers are slowing upload speeds — take Altice, the US’s fourth-largest ISP, which slashed its upload speeds by 89% “in line with competitors’ offerings.”

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/27/immortan-altice/#broadband-is-a-human-right

America desperately needs a high-fiber diet:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/30/fight-for-44/#slowpokes

But it has a major blockage: the American right, who have conducted history’s greatest self-own by carrying water for telecoms monopolists, blocking municipal fiber:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/17/turner-diaries-fanfic/#1a-fiber

It’s darkly funny to see the people who demanded that “government stay out of my internet” now rail against monopoly social media’s censorship, given that a government ISP would be bound by the First Amendment, unlike Facebook or Twitter.

Luckily, Congress isn’t the only place where this debate is taking place. In California, Governor Newsom has unveiled an ambitious plan to connect every city and town to blazing-fast fiber, then help cities and counties get it to every home.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/15/how-to-rob-a-bank/#fiber-now

In tech circles, we use the term “read-only” to refer to blowhards who won’t let you get a word-in edgewise (this being one of the more prominent and unfortunate technical archetypes).

The “consumer” envisioned by asymmetrical broadband futures is write*-only — someone designed to have other peoples’ ideas crammed into their eyeballs, for their passive absorption. A consumer, not a citizen.

As Gibson put it, it’s a person who “can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote.”

Cyberpunk is a warning, not a suggestion.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Comte AU Event

Aight because I have Comte brainworms (is this a surprise to anybody I sure hope not), there’s something I’ve just been thinking about a lot ever since completing one of the story events a month ago:

The cover art being very sexy aside, I naturally did Comte’s story event and I have yet to move on. Namely because of one specific line. (Disclaimer: Keep in mind I don’t mean to say I’m an expert, I just translate for fun--I don’t have the same prowess as an official linguist. That being said starts the circus music let the show go on)

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

This is the line I want to dive into, but before I can really talk about it, we need proper context. 

Event spoilers below:

This event is a little different since it’s an AU, so the mansion and its residents don’t exist. (Comte lives in the mansion on his own, but it’s not the same one we know.) Instead Comte, Leo, and Arthur are stand alone suitors who have turned MC into a vampire. Because MC has no clear memory of how and/or why it happened, MC is seeking vengeance against her paired hottie--and fully intends to end their life one way or another.

Aside from how sexy revenge is and how much I love the enemies to lovers trope, Comte’s entire storyline gave me more life than I can humanly convey. Here goes nothing!

So it begins with MC knocking on his door and Comte answers it and literally just stares at her silently like some kind of Furby. MC starts out by saying she’s been trying to narrow down the bastard that ruined her life and her search has finally brought her to his doorstep. She basically demands the truth from him and he just keeps. Staring owlishly (lmao). He eventually relents and tells her that a conversation is much better held inside, and invites her into his home to talk. 

She's sus as hell but enters the house, and he asks if she's had blood. This stops her in her tracks, shook, and her monologue drifts to explain a few things. When she woke up years ago, a new vampire, she had instructions to approach the Rouge/Blanc dispensary for what she needed. The staff there told her that everything was paid for, and she continued to receive support from an unnamed benefactor. She asked them for the identity of this person, but they were beholden to customer confidentiality. As such, she's been searching for information to narrow down her target for years until she finally found him tonight.

Despite the years it doesn't mean she's any more comfortable with her new existence. She notes that she still tends to stick to drinking Blanc--only drinking Rouge (in other words, blood) when she has no other choice. When Comte puts the Rouge on the table, she becomes notably unsettled. She's thirsty, but she won't concede to his request that she drink it; she refuses.

(I feel like he can probably tell because he's her sire/because of his experience with vampires). Comte--naturally--refuses to let her go hungry, so he knocks it back and kisses her to get her to drink it. He lets go as soon as she's swallowed it, and doesn't resist when she shoves him off. She rails at him about how awful he is for doing that, he agrees. She asks if he was the one that killed her parents, he confirms with blasé indifference. She's fuming quietly, but she notes that he doesn't really look happy or triumphant about it. What he's saying isn't reaching his eyes; his gaze is distant and sad. And it's confusing her. Isn't he supposed to be the enemy?

She's lost in her thoughts and unresponsive until there's a loud cry from outside the house, the shriek of a nearby owl. She snaps out of her daze to see that she still has his hand in a vice grip from when she shoved him off, and his skin is blanched--she cut off his circulation from the pressure. She releases him, startled, but he says nothing. 

She's trying to sort out what's going on, and doesn't have enough information to really piece anything together. She wants to hate him but things aren't making sense. Why did her parents have to die in the first place? Why does he bother keeping her alive at his own expense? Even just now, what he did felt more like an attempt to get her to eat than anything else. Why isn’t he more malicious? This MC is desperate for answers, and she says as much: "What are you hiding…?" 

Comte doesn't answer her, just averts his gaze and remains silent. MC decides she won't do anything until she learns the full extent of what happened the night she was turned. Furthermore, she's well aware of Comte’s status being a problem. If she goes too far without proper motive, the aristocracy could come back to bite her in the ass. (The implication here is that she's more concerned about being wrong and living with that regret, rather than any necessity to protect herself. The state of his gaze--the melancholy there--keeps eating at her. Until she knows why, she won't move forward.) 

Comte is shocked that she demands to live alongside him in the mansion, but he doesn't take any issue with it. He says the mansion is pointlessly huge for one person anyway--she's welcome to stay. Either way she wins with this arrangement: either she gets the truth or she finds an effective way to destroy him by the end. And so their little cohabitation begins!

After a timeskip, MC recounts how she's been spending her days in the mansion. She's been tidying around the house, both in the hopes of finding evidence and/or in the hopes of repaying all the years of living on his assistance. He doesn't stop her, letting her do as she pleases and keeping his distance.

One day, she's about to step out into town to grab some groceries. Comte approaches at the front door, cautioning her to be safe--there have been many reports of scuffles/dangerous encounters. MC brushes him off, unsurprised he knows what's going on in town. He's very well connected to the aristocracy, and she notes that he's often at dinner gatherings and parties when he's not home. She insists she can't let her guard down, that he can't be trusted; no matter how kind he is to her face.

Another day, he asks her to attend a ball later in the week. He tells her she's under no obligation to stay with him while they're there, just that he wants her to take some time and relax--to have fun. She tries to insist that going to something like that would be more stressful than fun but he won’t hear of any protest, walking away before she can fully reject the outing. (Comte, an idiot, speed-walking out of the room: and that is what we call finessed). She sighs, thinking she'll be nothing but a burden to him given her lack of knowledge about events like that. She doesn't really know the proper etiquette or how to dance, it’s completely out of her depth.

Surprising no one at all Comte buys MC a dress and accessories to match regardless, and when she comes down the staircase leading to the front door he's awestruck. He tells her she's beautiful and she's miffed by the raw sincerity, trying to remind herself that he is eeeeevil. He knows how to talk to women given his status, he's just smooth talking... (She's trying to convince herself, essentially.)

And so they go, and she's a bit of a wallflower. He leaves her alone--doesn't want to bother her--while she sticks close to one wall. Several men ask her to dance, but she politely declines. Her monologue explains that, given what she is and the fact that she’s only living for revenge, she sees no merit in trying to court human men. She sees it as irresponsible and inevitably disastrous, and…

[Given the nature of what I am I just can't. I can't fall in love with a human man. Besides, the only person I really want to dance with is...as much as I hate it, my line of sight keeps drifting to Comte. Suddenly he looks up and meets my gaze, but I hurriedly look away--my heart pounding in my chest. Why. In a room full to the brim with people, why do my eyes keep looking for him. Whatever, time to go cool off for a bit.]

She leaves the ballroom--mortified at herself--to get some fresh air. Not five minutes into trying to figure out whatever the hell is going on with her shitshow of a life, a man appears asking what she’s doing alone. And da da da d a Zelda treasure chest sound effect he whips out a knife covered in blood and tries to stab MC. Naturally, because I’m an idiot, my first thought was:

TW: knife attack

TW: homicides by serial killer

But it turns out our local serial killer remains nameless in this event, so I can point no fingers. MC is panicking about needing to run and frozen in place from the shock, but Comte appears to pull her out of range--knife sinking into his back. He doesn’t react much to the violence as the attacker runs away, yanking out the knife and focused on checking her for any wounds. She’s still reeling from how quickly he reacted, and he reassures her (probably at the sight of her bewildered/worried look) that law enforcement is on alert in the area. They’ll find him, they’ll arrest him. 

She tries to ask him why. Why would he protect her like that? His first instinct was to take the hit and ensure her safety first, and it doesn’t make sense. Comte reassures her again, joking that purebloods are sturdy. See? The wound’s already healed c:

[Even though I've been spending all this time trying to get my revenge on him, my heart stopped when he was attacked. As if to reassure me, frozen and speechless, Comte smiles gently. This person.......I can't do it. I can't kill him without meaning, without being sure of the truth.]

"...Comte, I can tell you're a good person. What happened that night, so many years ago?" Because even now, he's still protecting me. "Please...tell me the truth. I want to know." 

[I know this isn't the time or place, but if I don't know I can't worry about him with a clear head.]

TW: human trafficking and drugging unconscious

Comte concedes and goes into what happened that night so many years ago. Apparently he was acquainted with her parents long before the incident, and they fell into debt as a result of gambling. He approached their home in the hopes of paying them a visit, checking up on them, only to encounter tragedy. They intended to sell their daughter off and the man they ended up making a deal with more or less slaughtered them all in cold blood. The reason MC doesn’t remember any of this was because her parents drugged her the night it happened. No consciousness, no resistance.

"In that room suffused in the odor of blood and despair, I found you, MC." Her pained, struggling cry is what led him into that room--and seeing how desperately she was fighting to survive, he turned her against all his better judgement. Feeling certain she would hate him forever for the choice he made compounded by her terrible circumstance, he bailed, leaving her instructions and resources to survive on her own. 

"Sold off by your own parents, attacked by a serial killer, seconds from death. I thought....I thought telling you about it would only bring you pain, that it would leave you numb from the shock and despair. That's why I kept it from you.”

"...After turning you, I was consumed by regret. I felt certain you would hate me for the choice I made. So I left." [When I don't know what to say, he keeps talking.] "But I was worried about you even so. I tailed you quietly, making sure you were getting along okay. I was fully aware you wanted to kill me for what I'd done. Even so, I wanted to check on you." 

And that is where the line comes in.

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

He admits that he fell in love with her after a point. And she’s baffled, considering she’s been looking for every reason to tear him apart--assuming he was the perpetrator when he actually saved her life. She protests immediately, asking how he could possibly feel that way after the level of vitriol and judgement she’s levied against him when he was only trying to help.

"That's not true at all. At heart, you're a very kind young lady. You haven't raised a hand against me all this time. And even when you considered me to be a repulsive presence, you were worried about me." 

At this MC is conflicted--because his words are a further extension of his equanimity. He’s well aware that he brought about all the confusion by not being honest, but it’s also clear there was no ill intent involved in that decision. He was concerned; hitting her with that level of misfortune and senseless terror all at once could have been incredibly destructive to her health. (This isn’t to say he made the ‘right’ decision; I don’t think there is any right decision in the face of such a complex situation. Given he takes full responsibility for what happened and does his best to help her, I think that’s a fair response.)

This is essentially where the common rt ends. But because I’m feral for Comte and enjoy talking about him, I’ll finish up the summary and then go on to do my analysis.

After that riveting assault, MC is feeling very lost about how to move forward. Her fury at Comte’s injustice has all but evaporated, which means a complete re-evaluation of how she’s going to move forward from now on. Does she continue with her revenge anyway, still angry for the dishonesty? Or does she try something new?

If you do the premium end that means choosing to forgive Comte and climb him (as he deserves). Therefore I, being an intellectual, chose to ride him into the sunset.

The premium end begins with Comte taking her to another ball because the first one kind of went to shit and he feels bad about it (retraumatization was not in the plan...). And so MC basically does the same thing as the first time, just vibin and taking in the scenery, thinking things over. Comte’s concerned about her not having fun, so he approaches her to ask if she’s feeling okay. He makes it clear that he really doesn’t mind if she dances with someone else--even if he admitted his feelings for her. She doesn’t owe him anything, and he has no intention of imposing on her future.

"Whatever it is you choose to do, I don't mind. I just want you to be happy"

[This person is so, so gentle...His words penetrate deep and settle with warmth over my heart, my chest light.] "Comte I.......I don't want to dance with anyone but you." [I still don't know what to do about the future, but for now I think following what my heart is telling me is the best move] 

"!!!....well then, if you insist..."

Comte’s just:

He’s beyond shocked, but accepts her invitation when she confirms it’s what she wants to do. Leading her in all his infinite grace, MC marvels at his ability to dance so elegantly--even with a partner who’s deadweight, like her. She also finds it astounding how easily he makes her forget what they are, how easily she just enjoys the moment; no turmoil, no lingering in the worst of her miseries. She’s just...having fun? For the first time in so very long.

[Comte murmurs in the short distance, clear remorse on his face--as though he can't help it.] 

"MC, it's kind of you, honestly. That you'd give me the time of day, that you'd agree to dance with me. But I...I'm the one that turned you. There's no denying or escaping that fact. If it's you, I'm ready to accept any consequence. If you want me gone, you're free to attack me. If you just want to be as far away from me as possible--to live your life in peace and solitude--I will do everything in my power to help you." 

[He said it as if he was trying to convince himself. Like he was trying to remember why he couldn't assume more of this single dance together, why he couldn't let hope emerge from this single shared moment.] 

[.....I'm not that kind, Comte. I asked because it's you.....Feeling his warmth beneath my hands, I come to a decision.]

There’s a timeskip, and then MC--being the badass that she is--knocks on Comte’s door the night of the crescent moon. He lets her inside more than ready to accept her judgement, whatever it may be. MC asks about his feelings, seeks to confirm that he still loves her before she confesses herself. 

"Comte. Comte you said--that you loved me right?" 

"Yes that's correct...no matter how much you might hate me, these feelings won't change. I love you." 

[Hearing those words again sets my chest on fire. And I decide to tell him my honest feelings.] 

"I love you too. But......I've held a misguided grudge against you for so long, is it okay for me to love you now?" 

[Can that misunderstanding really be forgiven? Am I allowed to love you? Comte's eyes widen, and the breathtaking gold of his eyes shimmer/waver.] 

"...shouldn't that be my line? I mean even despite the circumstances, I still made the choice to turn you :o Can you really forgive me?" 

"...If I'm honest, I still have a hard time drinking blood and I'm a little scared of an immortal life. But......I think if I could spend that eternity at your side, I could find the means to smile again. And....the thing is....I also want to see you smile, to make sure you remember how to smile." 

".................." [Le Comte stared at me, before extending his hand. And he hugged me so, so tightly.] "MC......." 

[In that single word all the raw emotion of ten years can be heard. It was an indescribable sound--one that spoke of an unimaginable, impossible love. This person loves me so very dearly.]

The event ends with them biting each other as proof of their bond, essentially a vow to stay together moving forward. It felt very much like the shared act of biting was a promise of love, how vampires might get married or commit to each other romantically. The summary essentially ends here.

Here’s where the semi-meta comes in, because I literally just can’t stop thinking about the implications of this event. 

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

I just...I just don’t even know where to begin with how hard this line hits. Comte’s MS conveys this sentiment powerfully too, but there’s just something about them choosing to emphasize it yet again. The reason Comte falls in love every time has to do with his MC’s strength, her ability to surmount remarkable obstacles with so much poise. She’s deeply in tune with her reality, but no less relentlessly positive. She won’t burden others with her problems, and she’ll do everything in her power to move forward in constructive ways.

Even when every day was a living hell. Both Comte and Leonardo perceive eternity to be something of a curse; an endless sentence. Whether it means suffering boredom, reliving tragedy, or going nigh numb from the loneliness--being an immortal creature isn’t always sunshine and rainbows. 

And that’s exactly why I think he fell in love with this MC? I don’t think his feelings would have run half as deep if it was just anyone. He doesn’t strike me as the type to get attached easily. Because if he’s going to have a life partner, he needs someone who's going to be able to roll with whatever life throws their way for conceivable lifetimes. Somebody that loses heart quickly or is easily prone to delusion would suffer eternally, and the last thing he wants is to subject a person to that. MC gives him hope certainly, but she’s also emblematic of a kind of fortitude he both needs on a personal level and she would need to be beside him. It’s interesting because it’s a responsible choice on his part, but also just very befitting of his nature. He’s somebody that staunchly believes in the ability of good to prevail, but he’s also realistic about it. He knows doing the right thing isn’t necessarily easy; he does it because he could never live with himself if he did otherwise. 

(Think about Comte’s approach with Jeanne. It meant years of being on the receiving end of hatred he didn’t deserve, but he didn’t mind if it meant Jeanne could find a way to heal. It’s not the most practical or immediate solution, but it is the most restorative option. Comte doesn’t care that he spends years living alongside Jeanne’s outspoken displeasure and even violent outbursts. Why? Because it’s all a means to a greater, better end. If he has to suffer a little discomfort, he’s willing to make that sacrifice. That’s the thing with Comte; intentionality is everything. Comte’s intention is to help. Whether that’s a short or long process, a smooth or rough process, he’s going to do what he can within his means.)

That dynamic is reflected in his respect for this MC who is filled with fury on behalf of all the life that she lost unfairly, her relentless pursuit for the truth of what happened to her. Notice, she’s more interested in truth than retaliation. She refuses to lay an intentionally violent hand on Comte until she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was worthy of being on the receiving end of that retribution. Who does that sound like? If you guessed Comte himself, then you see where I’m going with this. What MC and Comte have in common is that they have a sharp emotional fortitude that they keep under tight, rational control. They will react with sizable passion or hurt or warmth--but their externalized reaction will vary depending on the situation. If it’s a minor annoyance, they have the patience to diffuse and try to alleviate the problem. If it’s on a larger scale or it’s an egregious violation of their personhood, then they up the ante accordingly.

Think about it. MC appears on Comte’s doorstep full of righteous rage and even when he confirms what he’s “done,” she hesitates. Her emotional intelligence is telling her something isn’t aligning properly; something isn’t quite right. She forgoes immediate revenge for proper answers instead. MC and Comte have this kind of balance, where they are more than happy to hear people out--but there is a limit to that propensity. Push them too far? They’ll bust your head. I guess I’m particularly interested in the way Comte seems to yearn for that kind of identification with a partner. Somebody who has similar values: not merciless, but also won’t bend when a situation requires confrontation.

All that being said, there was one more aspect of the story that I was endlessly interested in. I’m going to link the post here, in that it’s tangentially related to this meta; it really made me better able to articulate what I mean to say. 

“Never let generosity hold hostages; courtesy is an essential tool, but a cruel master.”

I’m gonna let that sink in for a moment.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, because it’s very rare that I read something once and I’m forced to read it several more times before I begin to understand it. My interpretation of that line is to say that benevolence can showcase your good will to others; it can be a reliable proof of good character, and a way to help someone. But the problem comes when people do conventionally/perceived generous things with the explicit intent of repayment by some measure. While it is only responsible to care for others as they care for you, you shouldn’t make impossible sacrifices with the expectation that the other person is indebted to you--especially if the other party had no ability to consent to that sacrifice.

How does this apply to Comte in this event story? Er, in almost every way humanly (vampirely?) possible, in my view. Comte turns MC into a vampire after seeing her plight, largely because he gets the impression that she was fighting for her life--had impossibly survived against all odds. The situation is complicated though. MC wasn’t fully conscious when it happened, so she doesn’t have a proper understanding of how everything went down. So what does Comte do? If he can’t bear to face her or reveal the truth of how horribly she died, he at least gives her every means to survive and makes sure she’s doing okay since she’s technically an orphan now. He doesn’t interfere with her life, or demand recognition for the life he gave her. He fully understands that she wasn’t able to properly consent to his decision in that split second moment, and even if she had he doesn’t see it as a debt she owes him now. He was able to help save her life for at least a little while longer, and so he did. It was as simple as that. He had the ability, she had the need. That’s the end.

But Comte’s emotional acuity doesn’t just end here. Even when she comes after him to kill him, he doesn’t respond with anger because he knows full well he hasn’t explained. Sure he’s sacrificing their relationship (the ability to get along on half-decent terms) but if it means she can find a reason to live, then so be it. He doesn’t lord that sacrifice over her head by any extension; he’s just sad about it because he thinks she’s a wonderful person, and he doesn’t want to be estranged from her. But in his view, her needs supercede his wants.

He doesn’t force her to do chores around the house during her stay, she does it to keep herself busy and search for the truth about his intentions. He even asks her to take breaks and look after herself first, more concerned with her well-being than the state of the mansion. At the ball, he doesn’t force her to linger around him or dance with him despite inviting her there and giving her the dress/jewelry to attend. He leaves her alone as she wishes, only glancing at her to make sure she’s doing okay. When he takes the hit from the violent stranger--a knife straight to the back--he jokes about being s t r o n k, never once blaming her for the wound he sustains no matter how brief.

He explains that he didn’t tell her the truth because it was incredibly traumatic, and it’s only in the safety of the moment--after years of having conceived of her own selfhood beyond the event--that she’s able to take the weight of what happened without falling apart. The premium end just keeps hammering this shit home. He openly tells her she doesn’t have to dance with him at all, that she doesn’t owe him anything just because he likes her. He’s aware it’s unrequited (he thinks) and he doesn’t go on and on about all the sacrifices he made for her with the expectation she’ll reciprocate. He just did what he wanted to do, nothing more. If she feels the same way by some miracle, that’s amazing! If she doesn’t, as it would be valid if not, that’s fair too; no hard feelings.

She has to be the one to invite him to dance and insist. She’s the one that smiles fondly when he’s telling her that she can choose whatever outcome she pleases, even if it means wanting to live as far as possible from him. There is no guilt trip, no expectation, and no pressure. She has the freedom to leave or stay. It is entirely dependent on her own will. For the first time in a lifetime of loss, her agency is restored to her. That’s huge.

She even admits that she feels bad about being so angry when he really was just trying to help, now that she can understand what he’s doing. And he’s openly shocked to hear it. He had no intention of expecting or asking for an apology. He understands it was his own imposition, both biting her and obscuring the truth, that led to her setting her mind on vengeance. 

I’ve probably hit it home harder than necessary, but Comte just feels like the epitome of good will in the best way possible. One can argue he’s a little selfish for keeping the truth from her for so long, but honestly? Given the horrific trauma of her situation--and his personal fear of making her miserable for an eternity when all he wanted was to give her a second chance away from all that hurt--I feel like his reaction was closer to considerate and reasonable. Comte doesn’t sacrifice anything he isn’t unwilling to give, or anything that would cripple him to give. Furthermore, he doesn’t make love out to be a kind of 1:1. He recognizes that while he might know her well, she doesn’t know squat about him. And, as such, he doesn’t expect her to trust his intentions or reciprocate his feelings in any capacity. It’s just a delightful surprise when she does. When he tells her that he loves her that first time, it’s an explanation. Not a guilt trip. He knows she won’t be satisfied years of protecting her simply because “he wanted to” and he promised her the truth, so he tells her. Not only that, in the aftermath he repeatedly reminds her she isn’t bound to him. She commits to him before he relies on any kind of active bond between both of them.

I don’t know, maybe I think too hard about it, but I feel like the older I get the more I see a shortage of this kind of fine-tuned caring about the other person in a relationship. I guess I just enjoy seeing a man give a woman her health and agency without treating her wellness/happiness like it’s a burden to his life? First and foremost Comte really is concerned with her self-actualization before his feelings can have any place in their relationship. And even when he does confess his love, it isn’t a way to force her to feel indebted to him; it’s an attempt to erase any false pretenses. MC loves him, not because she has nowhere else to go, but because he’s proven himself time and again a worthy companion. Always putting her first, always worried about her feelings, paying such close attention that he sees her to the core of who she is despite her iron front--kind, beneath all that hurt. They spend so much of this event really listening to each other despite such difficult circumstances, and it leads to a deep and abiding love against all odds. And I find that incredibly moving...

Oh and, before I forget? Let me circle back for a moment:

"...it amazed me. You never stopped trying, never stopped helping others or gave up on them--even while every day was a living hell for you."

The best part about this event is that--while Comte says this about MC--this is also precisely the reason MC falls in love with Comte too, even if it’s never stated outright. Because despite how lonely and tired he may be of eternity, no matter how many troubles he’s facing himself, he never stops trying to help and support others (namely MC) in any way he can.

Drops mic

[sweetcathedral]

Note: Finally revamped this story I had in my docs for a couple of months! I had to buy up all the mangas to fully understand the use of cursed energy & techniques since they contain detailed explanations from Akutami. Also had to take out ‘fillers’ since my intention was to keep it a short story that can either stand alone or could turn into a mini series later on, if I wanted to. My intention with this piece was more about story telling than nsfw, so skip to the last segment for nsfw. Hope y’all enjoy!

⚠️: 18+, backstory, plot, light bondage, fingering, raw, breeding

It was a bright and early morning for you to be running errands, but you were too excited to keep still, since Nanami was able to book a day off for you. You decided to pass the time grocery shopping for the ingredients you needed for lunch and dinner later on. Should I make macarons for dessert this time?

“Are . . . are you, o—okay? . . .” an eerie voice stops you in your tracks.

A cursed spirit hovers over the rails on the bridge ahead of you. You pass through this bridge often and the cursed spirits you encounter were usually no more than grade 3 at most, but this one was a grade 1. Nanami never let you anywhere near a curse that was more than a grade 3, probably because he didn’t want to risk the chance. Although you weren’t a Jujutsu sorcerer like he is, he trained you as if you were one.

You look to see if there was anyone around. No one. Carefully, you approach the curse, who’s taking no interest in you,

“I’m sorry,” you softly muttered. Upon absorbing the spirit through the brush of your finger, a series of feelings and memories flood your mind. Sadness, anger, jealousy, regret, anxiety, depression, mourning, resent. A funeral, a woman jumping off the bridge, failed tests, a child being burnt by cigarettes. The feelings and memories were never this vivid to you. Ah, I should’ve ignored it, you thought to yourself as your vision began to blur. But the last time you ignored one was back home—when your ex decided to take their own life. Everything went black.

It was only a fly head, but as time passed by it slowly grew on your ex, taking a toll on their physical health, then their mental health. After finishing their university degree, the job they finally landed was at a black company. The more hours they racked up at work, the less time you spent with each other.

“Sorry, I’ll be coming home late again.”

“Can we reschedule?”

“I’m afraid I can’t make it today.”

“How about another time?”

“Sorry, I need to take this call. It’s for work.”

Day by day they became distant and unresponsive to you. You were probably just as frustrated as they were. A feeling you’ll regret when the company calls to inform you of your ex’s body being found outside of work. They had jumped off the roof of the building. When you arrived at the morgue, a cursed spirit you haven’t seen before was latched to their lifeless body. The fly head you last saw had grown into a curse during the time they were away from you. Without hesitation, you absorbed it through the palm of your hand and all of their emotions and memories clouded your mind. Pain, stress, pressure, anxiety, depression, resentment, jealousy, anger, frustration.

“We’re on a tight schedule this week. I need this done by the end of the day.”

“You don’t have the luxury of a break right now.”

“What do you mean you can’t get it done? Do you know how important this is?”

“The meeting wasn’t a success. I’m gonna have to demote you.”

“Better than being fired.”

“Hey, if you do this for me I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Thanks to your hard work I was able to get promoted.”

All of their darkest memories played through your head, all the way until they walked to the roof of the building and jumped off. When you got back home, you broke down and cried in guilt and shame. You should’ve dealt with it before all of their feelings accumulated past the point of saving. The company.

After your emotions calmed down, you changed into a simple black outfit: a baseball cap, tee, jeans and your leather boots. That same night, you decided to break into the company and out of pure anger and regret, you take on every curse you saw in your path.

“Emerge from darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure,” Nanami chanted.

The veil spills over the building, where a numerous amount of employees committed suicide. Branding it as stigmatized.

“There was a recent suicide report this morning,” Ino looks over to the stained silhouette on the pavement before following Nanami.

The duo entered the building and scanned through each floor up until the roof.

“Hey, isn't the building supposed to be crawling with curses? Cause there wasn’t any on my way here,”

“Something’s not right,” Nanami thought for a moment, “Ino, did you bump into anyone on your floors?”

“Nope. They emailed the president to make sure that the building was empty,”

“Are you sure?”

“You wanna double check with me?”

Nanami and Ino make their way back down, this time examining every single room and closed door. There was no trace of residuals either. Usually there would be a few fly heads here and there, but it was spotless—a complete ghost town. Nothing?

“NANAMI!”

Without hesitation, Nanami sprinted to where Ino shouted. When he flung the door open, Ino was being engulfed by a large curse, similar to that of a human centipede. This must be the one that ate all the other curses.

“Ino! Hold still!”

Just as Nanami aimed his technique, you absorbed the curse from behind, freeing Ino and pushing him out of the way. Resulting in you being hit by Nanami’s cursed energy across your upper body. They quickly rushed to your side,

“We have to get her to a hospital!” Ino panics as he puts pressure on your wound. You were out cold and unresponsive, but you still had a faint pulse. Nanami immediately takes off his blazer and bundles it up, applying it to your wound.

“It’ll be too late when she reaches the hospital,” he closes his eyes to think for a quick moment. Shit! “Tell Gojo to get Ieiri here!” he tosses his phone to Ino, already dialing Gojo’s phone. Please, don’t die. Your pulse started to fade and your body went cold. Please . . .

Before Gojo was able to answer, your eyes flutter open and you look around to see Nanami and Ino hovering over you in shock.

“Huh? Who are you people?” you slowly get up and notice your ripped top covered in blood, “eh? EH?!”

You patted yourself in a panic. You’ve seen blood before in movies, but never this much blood in real life. There was no sense of pain and the gash was gone, leaving no scar behind. Nanami swings his blazer over you,

“You stained it, but it’s better than nothing,”

“Stained? I stained it?” his blazer was soaked in blood. “Wait, this is my blood?!”

“Um, yeah, . . . you kinda died,” Ino responded from behind him.

“Hellllloooooooo! I picked up, you should be grateful!” Gojo’s voice shouts from the phone.

Nanami takes his phone back from Ino and hangs up.

“Can you stand?” he averts his eyes back to you.

“Um,” you look down and wiggle your toes to see if your legs were injured before standing. No sign of pain, but they were trembling so you kneeled instead.

“What are you doing here? ‘Cause I doubt you work here.”

Feeling caught, you frantically try to make up a quick excuse.

“. . . revenge,” there wasn’t an excuse good enough to hide what you were doing, so you told the truth. The whole truth: from when you first saw the fly head to how you ended up at the company on personal terms.

“You know, you have talent for someone who’s not familiar with curses. Your body unconsciously healed itself,” Ino pointed out. He was comfortablely laying on his stomach, his hands propping his head up and his legs sprawled out on the floor. Nanami was intently listening to you, leaning against the wall.

“Is anyone else in your family able to do that?” Nanami asked.

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve always lived with my grandparents, so I don’t know much about my birth parents,”

Cursed spirits were an everyday thing to you. For as long as you could remember you’ve always been able to see them, it was only until you pointed one out to your grandmother that not everyone could see them. As for your supposed talent, you only learned that you were able to absorb curses a couple years ago. You paid no mind to it, but now that you’ve met Ino and Nanami it’s different now, and confusing.

Ino talked to you about their Jujutsu world. The meaning of curses, cursed techniques, cursed energy, him, Nanami, Gojo, the higher ups, the students, the school, and more. Nanami stood there in silence, listening to your conversation between you and Ino, only interacting when prompted.

“HEY!” a shout echoed through the building, startling the three of you.

“What the—”

“Ino, get her out of here.”

“But isn’t that just Gojo?”

“Leave. Gojo can’t know about you.”

Nanami quickly helped you and Ino up, pushing you through the door before closing them.

“Hey! Who said you could hang up on me like that!” you can hear Gojo through the doors.

“You came here ‘cause I hung up on you?” Nanami asked, not hiding his annoyance.

Ino holds his finger up to his lips, telling you to keep silent as the two of you quietly walk out the building, the sound of Gojo and Nanami’s bickering fading away.

“Man, we’re finally out,” Ino sighs.

“Oh, I still have Nanami’s blazer,” you start to take it off, but Ino stops you.

“It’s fine. Keep it as an excuse for you to see him again. Here,” he pulls his phone out, “if you’re comfortable, I can type out our infos in your phone.”

Without thinking much about it, you hand him your phone. He adds both their contact info before waving his goodbyes and heading back into the building. The whole night felt like a fever dream, but the feeling of Nanami’s blazer around you reassured you that what happened that night was real and that you’ll live to see another day.

“NA~NA~MIN~CHAN~!” Gojou shouts from the door of the lounge. Tch. Nanami sighs from his seat, casually reading the business and stock section of the newspaper.

“What are you doing on your day off? Cause if you—,”

“Nothing.”

“Boo, why don’t—,”

“No.”

“I didn’t even finish what I was saying yet!”

“Declined.”

“. . .” Gojo stares at him in silence before punching his middle finger through Nanami’s newspaper. For fuck sakes. At this point, Nanami’s patience has run out and he rips the newspaper in half, exposing the rest of Gojo’s arm. He kept up with Gojo’s antics for far too long, that even Gojo was surprised he lost his composure.

A series of bickering and material noises can be heard coming from the lounge. As Yaga was about to open the door to see what all the yelling was about, Gojo ran into him, trying to escape from Nanami’s beating.

“Principal Yaga! Perfect timing ‘cause I think you should reconsider my proposal to put that man on a leash!” Gojo points to an exhausted Nanami in overtime mode.

“. . . Get off of me,” instinctively, Yaga had his arms out when Gojo comfortably jumped into them.

“Principal Yaga, apologizes. I’ll clean up right away,” Nanami collected himself and bowed.

“Don’t bother. Satoru will clean this mess,”

“HUH?!”

In the end, Yaga had produced several cursed corpses to monitor Gojo so that he finishes cleaning up and repairing the damages.

“It’s my first time hearing you book a day off. Never took you as someone who lets themselves rest,”

“Working alongside Gojo has made me rethink my decisions,” Nanami doesn’t know why, but ever since he helped you that day Gojo’s been especially clingy to him. Like a little sibling asking to be babied and given attention 24/7, it was annoying and drained his energy every day. Did he find out? The reason Nanami had been keeping you a secret from Gojo and everyone else (except for Ino) was to keep you free from their restrictions and expectations. Knowing Gojo, he would immediately use you against the higher ups, so Nanami chose to stay quiet about you. Keeping you as far away from their world as possible, but conversing with you regularly wasn’t helping nor making it easier for him. He should’ve cut all ties with you the moment you messaged him about his blazer, trying to return it. He had more than enough money to easily replace it, but . . . in all honesty, he just wanted to see you again. Don’t bring personal feelings into work, don’t bring personal feelings into work, don’t bring personal feelings into work, he repeated to himself over and over again.

It’s been a little over a year since you first met, but even if that was enough time for you to move on he still felt guilty falling for you. To Nanami, it felt wrong liking someone who had just lost a loved one, but overtime the temptation of taking a step forward kept growing on him. Suddenly, the vibration of his phone goes off. Ino?

“Hello?”

“Nanami! She won’t wake up, the idiot went and took care of a grade 1,” Ino panicked.

Tch.

“I thought I told you to keep the area free of curses,”

“I did. I don’t know where this one came from, though,”

“I’m on my way,” Nanami hangs up and excuses himself for the day.

Please be okay.

The sound of quick shuffling and frantic mumblings start to get louder as you come closer to waking up. Someone’s here? Nanami? You open your eyes and look around to see Ino pacing back and forth beside you,

“Ino? What are you doing—?” a flood of memories rush back to you: your unfinished errands, the ingredients, the bridge, the curse, collapsing, an unfamiliar figure. Could that be . . . “Hey, how’d you know where I was?”

“Hm? Oh, your neighbour called me and told me that you collapsed at the bridge. He said that he helped carry you home, but to come check up on you just in case,”

You think back to your neighbours, but no one comes to mind who’d be willing to help you. The neighbours you’re surrounded by are the types to call an ambulance, if they ever came across a situation like that. You don’t even converse with them much, since Nanami wanted your interactions to be kept to a minimum. So over protective. As you get up from your couch a wave of dizziness falls over you, making it hard for you to stand.

“Are you okay?” Ino rushes to assist you and settles you back down on the couch.

“Yeah, just a head rush,”

“I’ll go get you some water,” he runs to the kitchen (not that it’s far).

Ino was like a little brother to you and Nanami, he always kept an eye on you because in his words “if something bad were to happen to you, I just know Nanami would break inside”. You look down at your hands, still trembling from the curse you dealt with earlier, but feeling nothing out of the ordinary. The first time you absorbed a curse that strong was when you first met Ino and Nanami, but there were no signs of repercussions. The amount of energy that cursed spirit held was reversed to heal your wound and bring you back to life. You hear the front door being opened and see Nanami rush into the room, he sighs a breath of relief upon seeing you.

“Welcome back,” Ino says from the kitchen.

You try to welcome him too, but you were scared he was going to lecture you about safety and all that, so you kept quiet. Even though you’re avoiding his eyes, you can still feel them boring into you. He walks over and lowers himself at your eye level, taking your trembling hands into his.

“. . . I was about to lecture you, again, but I’m happy enough to see you alive,”

You finally look up to meet his eyes. Although he’s holding a stern face now, you can tell that he was just worried. Is he still hung up about that accident?

“I’m fine, you know it’s not like last time,” you softly reassure him.

“I know . . . I was still worried, though,” his thumbs brush over your hands.

Ino comes from around the corner with a glass of water, taking a seat beside you on the couch. After both of you fill Nanami in about what happened to you, Ino says his goodbyes, leaving just the two of you alone.

“Man, must be nice coming home to a girl after a long day at work. Good for Nanami,” he says to himself, whistling out the door. He deserves it.

All of a sudden, something latches tightly over his mouth and throat, dragging him into an empty ally. Ino manages to loosen himself out of the grip and turns to see,

“Gojo?!”

“Ya-ho!”

Gojo waves his hand with a stupid grin plastered across his (pretty) face. After finishing (cheating) his duties at the lounge room, he changed out of his usual uniform and made his way back here. His all black outfit consisting of sunglasses, a loose tee, jeans, and oxfords.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I didn’t know you were the one that’d come check up on her, what a surprise.”

“Wait, how’d you—!” the call flashed in Ino’s mind. “You were the neighbour that called me?”

“Ding, ding, ding!”

Nanami’s already stressed enough. How long has he known?

“If you’re thinking about how long I’ve known, then it’d be ever since the day he hung up on me when you guys were at that black company mission.”

How immature. “Then were you also the one that set up the grade 1 curse?”

“I mean, duh.”

Ugh, crazy. “Just so you know I plead the fifth,”

“Is that an American joke you learned from her? Anyways,” Gojo crosses his fingers and pulls his sunglasses down. “Domain expansion: Unlimited Void.”

“Nanami, wait,” you pull away from him for a moment to catch your breath, but he pulls you back in for a deeper kiss.

Once Ino left and the door clicked closed, Nanami threw himself at you in a heated flash. At first, it was the feeling of his hands tracing your body and now it’s his soft lips leaving marks along your neck and collarbones. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch while you’re facing him, prettily settled on his hips. You slip out of your top and bra, since it was already half way off from Nanami fondling you underneath your clothes. You can feel his bulge as you teasingly grind your hips. His hand grips your hips,

“Keep doing that and I won’t be able to hold back.”

“Then don’t hold back,” you whisper in his ear before taking his hand and guiding it to the wet spot underneath the slit of your satin skirt. Without wasting his chance, he twists his fingers in you, holding you down on his hips and watching you melt into lewd expressions, burying your face in his chest as your hand clenches his shirt. Only gasps and moans were able to tumble off your wet lips as your body twitches from ecstasy.

“That’s a good girl,” his voice reverberates down the nape of your neck. He loosens his tie to bind your arms behind you, switching your position so that your back is facing him now. Knowing what he’s about to do makes your stomach flutter. You raise your trembling hips a little, feeling him brush the tip of his cock along your slick folds before pushing you down on him.

“Haa!” the force of it sends a shuddering wave through your body.

“You told me not to hold back, so don’t you start complaining now,” Nanami grips your face and turns it slightly towards him, kissing your tears away. The feeling of his rough hands slowly drags down to your throat and tightly grips at the sides. He thrusts into you hard as you beg for him to fill you up inside. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix stroking every inch deeper into you.

“Fuck,” he groans. A warm feeling fills you up in your lower abdomen and gushes out onto the couch. You and Nanami fall back, panting to catch your breaths.

“Are you okay? I hope that wa—,” you shut him up with a kiss. Slowly lifting your hips back up, you feel his cum dripping down your thighs. You slip his cock back inside you, his hands embracing you once again as he gets bigger. Unable to focus, you fall into a drunken daze getting lost in his pleasure.

[vanillann]

‘tis the damn season (reggie peters x f.reader)

yes i’m 16 and obsessed with a children’s show, what about it?

inspires by “‘tis the damn season” by taylor swift

also i have no clue if i’m going to start writing for jatp or not so...

waring: bad angst and the word damn

word count: 1.6k

“‘tis the season,” Reggie fell back on the couch with the bright red cheeks and little giggles.

Luke looked to Alex, begging with his eyes to smack him but Alex shook his head. The three were waiting for Bobby to grab the sandwiches from the deli and they’d be working on another song, but Reggie had other plans.

“She’ll be here in two days,” Reggie felt the need to give a visible representation, putting up two fingers for all to see.

“Yeah we know, you’ve been reminding us since September,” Luke bite back, looking at Reggie with dangerous eyes.

“Oh Luke, you’re just not in the headspace to understand,” Reggie brushed off, starting at the ceiling above him, laughing to himself as he imagined her face.

“I can’t do this again,” Luke whispered to Alex, looking over. Alex shrugged, the drumstick banging against his leg with a nice little beat that Luke would have to ask him about later.

“It makes Reg happy,” Alex shrugged, looking to the boy in question quickly. He had a dopey look on his face, a little hum of a song on the tip of his tongue.

“Until she leaves to go back home,” Luke mumbled, worried for his friend.

Luke liked (Y/N), I mean he truly believed Reggie and her were soulmates, but every year she came for the holiday and she left a week later.

While Reggie used that week to his advantage, treating others as if they’ve been together for years, they were just two friends as she got back in her car to ride back to the Midwest.

Then Reggie was a heartbroken wreck, mumbling sad songs at practice and missing chords. It happened every time, every year, and Luke didn’t want to watch him wreck himself again.

Alex and Luke both slowly stood up, leaving the boy to look dreamily into the sky. They wander to the other side of the garage, looking over their shoulder every so often.

“Look I get it, she’s great but it’s this holiday fling that Reggie can’t handle.”

Alex understood Luke’s outburst, everyone was thinking it but it wasn’t going to end well if they tried to talk Reggie out of his infatuation. She was perfect for him and it was enough for Reggie to see her once a year.

“I’m back,” Bobby slid in through the garage door, holding bags of sandwiches in his hand as he dropped them to the table.

“Careful with mine,” Luke yelped out, running over to the table and forgot the topic of Reggie's little hometown girl as a whole.

*

Reggie bounced up and down, sitting on the bench by her parent’s house, the cold wind that blew across Reggie's face was odd for California but Reggie didn’t care about that now.

She was coming home for the holidays, that’s all that mattered.

He spotted the red car pulled around the corner of the small street, the one Reggie skated minutes ago with a joyous laugh.

As the car passed by, he spotted her little wave through the window. Her smile was as bright as the sun against a coastline.

Reggie would have to remember that line, Luke would like it.

Once the car was completely parked, the large door swung open. The sound of high heel boots slammed against the pavement with little giggles in-between.

“Reggie!”

“(Y/N)!”

Reggie stood from the bench, laughing as the girl launched herself into Reggie’s leather jacket-clad arms as if it was home. The familiar scent of one another was comforting and perfect, to say the least.

“I’ve missed you,” Reggie whispered into the nape of the poor girl's neck, the goofiest smile sketch across his face as if he was that thing Alex talked about.

Some painted ceiling?

In Rome or something?

“Not as much as I missed you.”

Those words made Reggie forget the question he had, just happy to hear her.

“That’s so not possible.”

*

“When did you learn to ice skate?”

(Y/N) shrugged, her skates leaving little marks in the giant ice. Reggie was thankful when Bobby found this place the other week, the boy enjoyed the people watching and the holiday vibes they got for it.

“I’m just a natural,” Reggie appreciated the way she smiled with her tongue between her teeth, a little goofy shrug as she moved closer to Reggie.

“I’ll teach you,” her hand slipped into his with ease, as if they were made to fit. If you asked Reggie, he’d respond with a “well duh” and continue talking about the girl in front of him.

She pulled him off the rail, smiling as she watched his ankle wobble as soon as she did.

“I got you jeez,” she laughed, reaching over to grab Reggie’s other hand for extra support.

He didn’t even think to look at his skate, too caught up in the girl in front of him. Reggie was watching the way she watched both their skate carefully, worried to let him collapse if she didn’t.

Reggie knew he would write all of Sunset Curves' love songs about her.

Who wouldn’t write love songs about someone who smiled like that?

“You’re staring,” (Y/N) smirks, looking back at their skates as soon as she spoke.

“Well duh.”

*

“How is fashion going?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, obviously not happy with how the dream of hers is going.

“I hate it, it doesn’t feel like what I thought it was,” she let her feet rest in Reggie's lap, laying back on the couch as they both waited for the rest of the band.

Reggie was excited to show her how much better he’s gotten at bass, but now he was worried. He never once felt like that about his dream.

“Are you sure you wanna do fashion?”

“Not anymore,” she spoke gently, pulling at the sweater sleeve with a sad little smile.

“I might just give up.”

“That doesn’t sound like you,” Reggie spoke, waiting for the words he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

If she quit fashion she’d come home.

“I don’t know, I just need to figure it out.”

She didn’t say anything, just looking at her shoes that sat in Reggie’s lap.

“You could always take a break, stay here for a while.”

Reggie didn’t want to hold her back, no he would never, but she didn’t seem happy and he couldn’t help think maybe she’d be happy here with him.

“You know I can’t Reg, my parents can’t afford another mouth to feed,” she reached out to brush a piece of the hair that had fallen in his eyes.

“I know,” he wanted to tell her to move in with him, but she didn’t deserve to hear the fighting and he could sell Bobby's garage to her.

“Maybe one day,” she spoke gently, the sound of the doors whipping open didn’t make Reggie feel any better.

“(Y/N)!” Alex pranced to the girl, a goofy smile as he wrapped his long arms around her.

“Alex,” she smiled gently, doing her best to brush the conversation to the side.

She would have stayed, she felt home here with Reggie and his band. Her friends in the city were cold and rude, ready to backstab you when their time was coming. Reggie would be good for her, a new setting and one she needed.

But she couldn’t have it.

So he’d have to stick with calling her babe for a weekend.

*

“Last one,” Reggie stuffed the last bag in the trunk of the car, watching it closely as he thought of what was about to happen.

“Thank you for helping.”

(Y/N) had just finished saying goodbye to her family, slowly walking out to find Reggie had backed every bag that sat outside the car.

“With all your bags you’d think you’d stay longer,” Reggie spoke absentmindedly, looking at the sticker covering it. He smiled when he saw his band logo drawn on the side.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, right?”

Reggie nodded, the emotions already hitting him as he waited. He was going to regret this, but he couldn’t keep doing this.

“Don’t leave,” his voice cracked, which made (Y/N) more nervous to answer.

“I have to Reg-”

“But you hate it there,” Reggie turned to look at her, his boyish charm gone as fast as it would have normally come.

“I can’t stay Reg, this town isn’t for me anymore.”

She knew he meant well, she didn’t want to leave him anymore but her life wasn’t made for this city.

“But I’m in this town,” she could just barely make out his words with how many emotions were in them.

She slowly walked closer, wrapping her arms around his center. He let his hands rub circles on her back, wondering where to go from here.

“We’re going to have to stop, aren’t we?”

Reggie only nodded, knowing neither of them could do this “friends that weren’t friend” thing anymore, not when it only lasted a week a year.

“I’m sorry Reg, I don’t wanna leave-”

“I understand,” Reggie gave his last light-hearted smile, moving from behind the car, opening the driver side door for her.

She said nothing, nodding as slowly sitting in her seat for the next few hours of her drive.

“’tis the season, right?”

Reggie nodded, trying his best not to be broken the last time she saw him.

“’tis the season,” he muttered under his breath, nodding as she started the car when he closed the door. She backed out the driveway with ease, her eyes trained on the road.

“’tis the damn season,” Reggie spoke under his breath.

He knew at that moment, he’d write all of Sunset Curves heartbreak songs about her.

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 20

------------

Stiles and I sat outside the ruins of the Hale House in his Jeep. It was the early morning before school, practically the crack of dawn. Derek thought it would be safer there and they could do more research in the family archives that had survived the fire. It had been a few days since the attack at the police station and to say we were both shaken up was an understatement. We had both been so helpless. He had been paralyzed and forced to watch his father be beaten and I was under control of the person who had hurt him. They had put Stiles in counseling at the school. He said it helped but I’m not sure how much I believed him. 

“Dad’s asking about you. Why haven’t you answered him?” He asked, staring straight out the windshield. Uncle Noah had called me multiple times, a least a hundred text messages, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

“Because I’m afraid.” I answered honestly, “You didn’t see the look on his face when he saw me with-with the claws and fangs. He looked at me like I was a monster.” 

“He’s worried about you.” 

“He’s worried about what I am, Stiles.” I looked at him, trying to hold back tears, “I’m the monster from the movies he took us to watch when we were kids. I can’t see him. Not now.” I have been crying a lot lately, but how could I not? None of this was fair? Why couldn't everything just stop? As soon as we stopped Peter and Kate a new and worse threat appeared.

Stiles sighed, “Alright, I get it.” He looked towards the house, “Derek... He treats you well, right?” 

I smiled slightly, “Yeah, he does. He tries to be protective but I’m too stubborn for that.” 

“I just...” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, “I just wish that none of this would have happened. All this supernatural stuff.” 

“I know.” I said softly, “I’ll try to talk to your dad soon, maybe he’ll let me come home.” 

“He will, (Y/N). He loves you. I love you too.” He avoided eye contact which is something he did when he was vulnerable. I leaned forward, hugging him tightly, blinking back tears. He wrapped his arms around me, breathing in deeply. 

“I love you.” I pulled away, grabbed my bag that he had packed for me of my clothes from home and hopped out of the Jeep. After waving him off, I made my way into the house. 

Derek was in the middle of the room, looking through boxes, his back turned towards the door. 

“Man,” I said, dropping my bag off on the floor next to him, “I haven’t been here since I threw your uncle through that wall.” I smiled, leaning against his arm. He seemed off, his movements sharp and rigid. 

“What’s wrong? Where's the rest of them?” Talking about the betas in the pack.

“They want to leave the pack.” He said, flipping through another book. 

“What?” I asked, shocked. 

“I can sense that they’re making a decision. All of them.” He let out a deep breath through his nose. I took his hand in mine slowly, hoping to ease his nerves. 

“And what happens then? Is it just us?” 

His anger spiked, “Well, we don’t have any other allies. Seeing that McCall is working with the hunters. All for some girl.” He grumbled. 

“Wars have been fought for less.” I sighed, “I understand your anger. He betrayed us. He... Betrayed me. I mean they want to kill you for what happened to Argent’s wife. All for Allison who has been a little two sided of late.” Scott was my friend, and had been for a long time. I thought I knew the kid inside and out. But I guess I was still surprised by this town. Surprised by people I thought I knew.  

“He’s not Chris anymore?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Not when he wants to kill you. Besides, I don’t think the treaty he had with my father stands anymore.”

I caught their scent before they came into the room. Erica smelled like flowers and Boyd was like the deep woods. Derek closed the book he had been looking in, turning in their direction. They stood by the stairs, hardly meeting our gaze. 

“You've decided.” Derek said like he was resigned to it, “When?”

“Tonight.” Erica said timidly. 

“Everyone's gonna be at the game. We figured it was the best time.” Boyd said. I had completely forgotten about the game.

“It's not like we want to-”

Derek took a few steps forward, “What do you want?”

“Since I just turned sixteen a month ago, I wouldn't mind getting my license... I can't do that if I'm dead, you know.” Erica said.

“Well, I told you there was a price. We both did.” 

“Yeah, but you didn't say it would be like this!” Boyd said, defending their actions.

“Yeah, but I told you how to survive-- you do it as a pack. And you're not a pack without an Alpha.” Derek turned back towards the stack of books.

“We know.” Boyd said, causing Derek to turn back around quickly. They both seemed anxious.

“You wanna look for another pack? How are you even gonna find one?” Derek asked. Erica looked up at Boyd to speak.

“We think we already did...” They explained how they were running through the woods and stopped. How they heard howling. 

“Like, all of a sudden, we heard all this howling. It was unbelievable.” Erica said.

“There must have been a dozen of them-”

“Maybe more!” Erica interjected. 

“Yeah, or maybe only two.” Derek scoffed, “You know what the Beau Geste effect is? If they modulate their howls with a rapid shift in tone, two wolves can sound like twenty.”

“Look, that doesn't matter, okay?” Erica said quickly, “There's another pack out there. There's got to be. We've made up our minds.” She looked at me, “You understand, don’t you? You never wanted this for us.” 

“No one forced you to take the bite.” I looked at the both of them, they seemed shocked at how cold my voice sounded, “Sure, he changed two impressionable kids, but you could have taken the time to think it over. You heard what you wanted to hear and took it blindly.” Whatever sympathy they thought they would get from me was not something I was willing to give.

“We lost. And it's over. We're leaving.” Boyd finished. Derek didn’t feel anger, more sorrow, guilt, and betrayal. A familiar feeling. 

“No. No, you're running. And once you start, you don't stop. You'll always be running.” After he spoke, both of them scurried away. We turned back towards the books, Derek deep in thought.

That’s when I picked up a new scent. A dangerous one. 

“No...” My internal voice rang, “It can’t-” Derek grabbed a shard of glass from the table, throwing it back towards the intruder. The sly bastard caught it with one hand, the tip of the shape edge against his throat. We both turned, glaring at the man who was supposed to be dead.

“...I expected a slightly warmer welcome. But, point taken.” Peter said, almost amused. I stayed close to Derek, my eyes never seeming to find a distraction from the monster before us. Peter Hale was like a car wreck: no matter how much you want to look away, you can’t, you don’t want to miss a single movement. Derek kept an arm in front of me to shield me from any incoming attack. 

“It's quite a situation you've gotten yourself in here, you two...” Peter said, “I mean, I'm out of commission for a few weeks, and suddenly there's lizard-people, geriatric psychopaths, and Derek's cooking up werewolves from every self-esteem-deprived adolescent in town.” He looked pointedly at Derek.

“What do you want?” Derek asked irritably. 

“Well, I want to help.” Peter said innocently, “You're my nephew-- the only relative I have left. And (Y/N), I owe you an apology and I can show you how to be a true matriarch. You know, there's still a lot that I can teach you...Both of you.” He walked closer to us, Derek’s anger growing more and more. “Can we just talk?” He put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. The shoulder closest to me. 

Very bad choice. 

Derek looked at Peter’s hand, “Sure. Let's talk.” Peter was then thrown across the room into the staircase. He landed to a thud and groan, some wood from the railing falling on top of him. 

-

A few hours went by and I had received a couple messages, namely from Coach and Stiles, both wondering where I was. I looked at the time, the game would start soon, meaning I was missing Coach’s speech. It was the same speech he made every year... It was the speech from Independence Day, but I don’t think he knew any sports movies. 

Derek had been beating Peter for a couple of hours, running off his rage and mine. A groan made me look down, Peter was at my feet, panting heavily. 

"Ya know, groveling isn't gonna make me forgive you." I stepped to the side, letting Derek grab Peter by the collar and punching him in that smug face of his. I needed to figure out how I could get to the game safely. If I went, that meant Gerard or any other hunter could grab me and use me as leverage to get to Derek. That would kill us both.  

Derek growled and kicked Peter, sending him back towards the house. It was a side of the house I had only seen once or twice, when I had to run from the what turned out to be Peter all those months ago. 

“You don't actu-actually think that I want to be the Alpha again, do you?” Peter chuckled nervously, panting hard, “That wasn't my finest performance, considering it ended in my death. I mean, I'm usually more-” He sat up. Derek grabbed his collar, rearing his fist back. 

“Okay, go ahead! Come on, do it! Hit me. Hit me. I can see that it's cathartic for you!” Peter shouted, causing Derek to hesitate, “You're letting go of all the anger, self-loathing, and hatred that comes with total and complete failure.”

“Hey!” I shouted, coming around and slapping Peter hard across the face, "Watch your tongue."

Peter’s head snapped in the direction of my blow. Slowly bringing it back towards Derek, “I may be the one taking the beating, Derek, but you've already been beaten. So, go ahead. Hit me if that will make you feel better. After all, I did say that I wanted to help.”

Derek shoved his uncle back to the ground, “You can't help me.” He walked towards the main living area. I started to follow.

“You’re wearing the ring.” Peter panted, causing me to pause. I look down at the silver triskele ring, “That was my sister’s wedding ring.” This was Talia’s.... I left the room quickly, following Derek back to the main room of the house. I touched the ring softly.

Talia’s face was close to mine, a sweet smile on her lips. In the reflection of her eyes I saw myself, no older than two or three. Looking down I saw small hands playing with the many rings on her fingers, including the silver triskele. 

“You like my rings, don’t you?” She said, her voice higher and more animated, the usual tone someone had when speaking to a young child, “Someday you can have pretty rings like this.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I was brought out of my memory by a text. 

UNCLE NOAH:

Stiles is playing... You should be here to see this. For him.

-

Derek sat on the steps of the stairs, looking over his bloody knuckles. I sat beside him, running my fingers softly over his back. Peter managed to stumble into the room, leaning against a doorway.

“See? Prime example right here-” He began yet another monologue, “I’m not healing as fast. Coming back from the dead isn't easy, you know. I'm not as strong as I used to be. I need a pack. I need an Alpha. An Alpha like you. I need you as much as you need me.” He spoke only to Derek, knowing how vulnerable he could be.

Derek scoffed, “Why would I want help from a total psychopath?”

“First of all, I'm not a total psycho.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” I glared.

He titled his head to the side, speaking defensively, “And, by the way, you're the one that slashed my throat wide open. But, we're all works in progress, right? So, we need each other. Sometimes, when you need help, you turn to people you'd never expect.”

"I killed you for a reason.” Derek glared, “You used mind control to kill people, you killed Laura, you tried to kill me, and you tried to force her into creating a new bloodline. 

"All for a good reason."

"And that is?"

Peter looked like Stiles when he hadn't come up with a clever comeback, "Come back to me about that." He tried a different approach, “You tried to build your pack. You tried to prepare for the worst. You weren't ready. Because of it, Gerard is winning. He's taking his time. He's toying with Scott. He's going after your wolves, one by one. He's relishing in his victory.”

“How about you tell me something I don't know?” Derek said, getting more and more irritated. 

“Oh, I'm going to, and it's gonna prove why you should trust me-- why you need to trust me. Because I'm going to tell you how to stop Jackson.” Both of our heads perked up.

“What do you mean? You know how to kill him?”

“Actually, how to save him.” He licked his lips, “There's a myth that you can cure a werewolf simply by calling out its christian name.”

Derek scoffed, “It's just a myth.”

“Sometimes myths and legends bear a hint of truth. Our name is a symbol of who we are. The Kanima has no identity-- that's why it doesn't seek a pack.”

“...It seeks a master.”

“And who else grows up with no pack? No identity?”

“An orphan.”

“Like Jackson. And right now, his identity is disappearing beneath a reptilian skin, and you need to bring him back.”

“How?”

“Through his heart-- how else?” Peter said as if it had always been the obvious answer.

“You know, in case you hadn't noticed, Jackson doesn't really have much of a heart to begin with...”

“He’s a spoiled prick.” I added.

“Not true.” Peter said, “He'd never admit it, but there is one person-- one person with whom Jackson shared a real bond. One person who can reach him. Who can save him.”

“...Lydia." We both said. 

Peter leaned down close, “Your best ally has always been anger, Derek, but what you lack most is heart.” I jerked forward, Derek grabbed my arm, bringing me back to my seat. 

“That’s why you’ve always known that you need Scott more than anyone. And even somebody as burned and dead on the inside as me knows better than to underestimate the simple yet undeniable power of human love. Perhaps that’s why you were drawn to our lovely (Y/N). She knew our secrets, yet still human.” 

“I’ll show you human-” I growled, my claws sharp and ready to swing.

“Feisty.” He smirked. My phone started ringing and I cursed. 

“Shit. I missed the game.” I slipped off the stairs, shoving by Peter on my way into the other room. Scott. 

I pressed my phone to my ear: “I know, I’m sorry I missed it. Is Stiles mad?” 

“That’s the problem.” Scott said, his voice full of dread. 

“What is it?” I asked, gripping onto the doorway. 

What he said next practically made my heart stop, “Stiles is missing.” 

”I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone, rushing back into the room. Derek was already on his feet, catching me before I ran into him. 

”Stiles’ is missing, we need to find him. Now.” I said hurriedly. He looked me in the eye. 

“We’re gonna find him. He’s going to be okay.” 

“But what if he isn’t? What if he’s not okay and it’s because I wasn’t there to protect him.” There was a tight ball of emotions in my chest, ready to burst. 

“We’ll find him.” He said calmly, leading me out to the car. 

-

The three of us made our way into the school, avoiding Gerard and whoever else he had patrolling the halls. There were a few deputies, we passed one who almost made me gag. I could smell that beef jerky spice rub. He was one to avoid. 

We got into the locker room with ease thanks to my keys. We found Isaac and Scott in front of Stiles’ locker. Isaac was holding up a shoe.

"How come you get a shirt and I get a shoe?"  Isaac grimaced, his eyes shooting up to look at his two alphas. Scott noticed his expression, turning quickly. 

"We need to talk." Derek said. Peter walked up behind us, making a dramatic entrance. As usual.

 “All of us.” 

“Holy shit.” Scott whispered, “What the hell is this?”

“You know, I thought the same thing when we saw you talking to Gerard at the Sheriff's station...” Derek looked at him pointedly.

Scott’s eyes widened, “Okay, hold on! He-he threatened to kill my mom! And I had to get close to him. What was I supposed to do?”

“I'm gonna go with Scott on this one.” Peter said, causing us all to look back, “Have you seen his mom? She's gorgeous!”

“Shut up!” We all said. 

Isaac leaned over to Scott, “...Who is he?”

“That's Peter, Derek's uncle. A little while back, he tried to kill us all, and then we set him on fire, and Derek slashed his throat.” Scott glared.

“Hi.” Peter smiled. 

“...That's good to know.”

“How is he alive?” Scott asked. I was curious myself. 

“Look, the short version is he knows how to stop Jackson... and maybe how to save him.” Derek said, getting more and more irritated.

“Well, that's very helpful... except Jackson's dead.” Isaac dropped the bomb shell. 

“What?” Derek and I asked.

“Yeah, Jackson's dead. It just happened on the field.” Scott motioned back to the direction of the lacrosse field.

“Okay, why is no one taking this as good news?” Isaac asked, so incredibly confused. 

“Because if Jackson is dead, it didn't just happen-- Gerard wanted it to happen.” Peter said slowly. 

“But why?” I looked back at Peter.

“Well, that's exactly what we need to figure out.” He sighed, “And something tells me the window of opportunity is closing. Quickly.”

-   

Back at the Hale house, Peter and Derek were looking around for something that could help us. Scott finished getting off the phone. 

“Oh. Oh, they found Stiles.’ He sighed in relief. I let out the breath I had been holding in since he had been on the phone. 

“That kid is gonna kill me.” I leaned against the wall, a smile on my face. 

“I told you, I looked everywhere.” Derek shouted. 

Peter smirked and got down at the ground, looking under the staircase where Derek usually sat, “You didn't look here.” He removed a plank of wood and pulled out a thin rectangle. Has that always been there? Or had it been since the fire?

“What is that, a book?” Derek asked. 

“No,” Peter scoffed, “It's a laptop. What century are you living in?” He opened the dinosaur looking laptop, “A few days after I got out of the coma, I transferred everything that we had.” He closed the laptop, seeing that it was still working, “Fortunately, the Argents aren't the only ones who keep records.” He stood up with the laptop, moving into the living room area, Derek and I following behind. Scott was in the corner of the room, talking to his mother. Melissa had gone with the EMT taking Jackson to the hospital for an official autopsy. 

“Hey, Mom. I can't talk right now-What's wrong?”

“Something... Definitely something... I don't know what, but I think you're gonna want to see this for yourself.” He looked over at us. 

“Go.” I said, motioning my head towards the door, “We’ll stay here.” Scott nodded, rushing out the door. 

-

After a while, Scott called us and explained that Jackson wasn’t as dead as we thought he had been. Derek had the phone on speaker.

“They say he's in some kind of transparent casing made from the venom coming out of his claws...” He said. I grimaced at the thought of it. 

“That sounds sufficiently terrifying.” Peter said, not looking up from the laptop screen.

“They also say he's starting to move.” Derek said grimly. 

“Okay, look- I think I found something.” We both looked over Peter’s shoulders. “Looks like what we've seen from Jackson is just the Kanima's Beta shape...” Beta shape. That’s definitely not good.

“Well, meaning what? It can turn into something bigger?”

“Bigger and badder.” His voice wavered, meaning that it was definitely worse. My eyes widened as I saw the kanima’s next evolution. It was bigger and it had wings which and longer claws and would be in my nightmares. 

“He's turning into that? That has wings!” Derek shouted, looking just as terrified as I did. 

“I can see that.” Peter said curtly. 

“Are those... more tails?” I asked, really hoping they weren’t what I originally thought.

“No, those are claws.” 

���...Great.”

“Scott, bring him to us.” Derek spoke into the phone. 

“I'm not sure if we have time for that...”

“Look! Somebody actually made an animation of it. Maybe it's less frightening if we-” He played the video. A loud shriek played over the screen. Peter closed the laptop quickly. 

“Nope. Not at all.” He looked back at Derek, “We should probably meet them halfway.”

“Scott, get him out of there now. Go now!” Derek shouted into the phone, sounding more urgent than ever. Derek grabbed my hand, starting to rush with Peter through the house. Peter stopped in front of the door, stopping us from moving forward. 

“Derek, we need Lydia.”

Derek growled impatiently, “There's no time for-”

“That's the problem.” Peter interrupted, “We're rushing. We're moving too fast. And, while everyone knows that a moving target is harder to hit, here we are, racing right into Gerard's crosshairs.”

I looked up at Derek, gnawing on the inside of my cheek, “I wouldn’t usually agree with him, you know that. But he’s right.” Satisfied, Peter opened the front door and we all came out. Peter reached for the door handle on the passenger side. I grabbed his hand, pulling it off.

“I don’t think so.” I chuckled and opened the door. 

“I’m taller than you.” 

“Get in the back, Peter.” Derek shouted, glaring. Peter hummed, getting into the back of the car. 

-

As we drove, I looked over, seeing that Derek hadn’t put his seat belt on. I leaned over, trying to grab it. He swatted my hand away. 

“It's not really that important." He grumbled. I raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Not important? Tell that to the seat belt that kept me from being thrown through my car window and killing me.”

“You would have healed.”

"Derek Hale-" 

"I am a little busy worrying about a reptilian demon out for blood!" Derek said, glancing at me. Huffing, I sat back in my seat with my arms crossed over my chest. After a moment, Derek sighed loudly, followed by the familiar metal lock of a seatbelt clicking into place. Peter blew out air, followed by the sound of a whip cracking. 

Derek looked back in the rear view mirror, eyes red. 

-

We parked in the alley next to the railway depot, waiting for Scott and Isaac to arrive with Jackson. Soon after they pulled up, dragging Jackson’s body bag behind them. And after Scott and Isaac appeared Chris Argent behind them. We got out of the car, waiting around the corner and listening. 

“I think he stopped moving...” Isaac panted. 

“Where's Derek?” Chris asked. That’s when Derek ran around the corner on all four. Peter and I looked around the corner, seeing him do a flip, then land in a  crouching position. Probably flashing his red eyes. 

“Someone certainly enjoys making an entrance...” Peter mumbled. 

“Must run in the family.” I said casually, smirking a little when he looked down at me. 

“I'm here for Jackson, not you.” Chris said.

“Somehow, I don't find that very comforting.” He looked to Scott and Isaac, “Get him inside.” I stepped out to follow behind them when Peter grabbed my arm. I looked down at his hand, then him. 

“Taking my hand off.” He removed his hand quickly, “But you need to stay out of this.” 

“Why-” 

“Because you don’t remember how to fight.” 

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Don’t remember how to fight?”

“Yes, You don’t remember. You were trained by your parents and my sister. You were an excellent fighter.” He looked over my clenched fists, “But when they took your memories, you forgot.” 

“I know how to fight.” I glared. 

“No, Derek taught you how to defend yourself. You swing your claws and hope to land a blow. That’s not fighting, you’re leaving yourself too open.” 

“Look, we don’t have time for this.” I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath. My attention was brought to the voices inside the warehouse. We looked in through a nearby window. They surrounded Jackson’s body bag. 

“Where are they?” Scott asked, looking around. 

“Who?” Derek had his eyes trained on Jackson. 

“Peter, (Y/N), and Lydia!” Scott shouted. Derek shook his head, kneeling down and unzipping the body bag. 

“Whoa! Hold on a second-” Scott stepped forward, “You said you knew how to save him.”

“We're past that.” Goddamit, Derek. I’m about sick of him doing this. He knew that killing Jackson when there was a possibility to save him wouldn’t go down well with anyone. 

“What about-”

“Think about it, Scott!” Derek shouted, “Gerard controls him now. He's turned Jackson into his own personal guard dog, and he set all of this in motion so that Jackson could get even bigger and more powerful.”

Chris stepped forward, “No. No, he wouldn't do that.” He said defensively, “If Jackson's a dog, he's turning rabid, and my father wouldn't let a rabid dog live.”

“Of course not...” Gerard’s brogue echoed through the depot. “Anything that dangerous, that out of control... is better off dead.” I inhaled sharply, my whole body wanted to run into the warehouse to be by Derek’s side but Peter was keeping me back. 

“Pay attention to Gerard.” He whispered, “Look at him.” 

“I can see him-”

“Look closer. Get his scent.” He whispered. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. I could smell metal and gun smoke, but there was something else, something foul. 

“He’s dying.” I whispered, opening my eyes. I looked back at the group, watching Derek lift a claws hand to slash Jackson’s throat. That was Jackson beat him to it, stabbing his hand through Derek’s chest and throwing him across the room. 

“DEREK!” I screamed, getting out of Peter’s grip and running into the back entrance into the main room of the depot. A cocking gun made he stop abruptly, Gerard had a gun trained on me. 

“Please.” I begged, my voice shaking. Not only from watching the man I love be skewered and thrown through the room, but from the pain we shared. He only chuckled, motioning for me to join Scott and Isaac on the other side of Jackson’s body bag. I slowly stood besides them, watching Gerard and the area Derek was thrown in.

"Please get up... Please don't die on me."

“Well done to the last, Scott.” Gerard said smugly, “Like the concerned friend you are, you brought Jackson to Derek to save him. You just didn't realize that you were also bringing Derek to me.” A whistle shot through the air, and the next thing we knew, Isaac had an arrow in his shoulder. Isaac fell back, grunting. 

“Allison?” Scott sounded shocked, as if there were any other people we knew who worked exclusively with crossbows. Scott and I rushed over to Isaac, moving to get him away from her line of fire. A shot rang out, Jackson’s reptilian hiss echoed. More gunfire followed. We got Isaac behind a cement pillar. He was grunting in pain, gritting his teeth together. 

“This is gonna hurt.” I said, pulling the arrow from his shoulder. Isaac yelled through his teeth. A roar cut through the air, making us all look back. 

“Derek.” I smiled. We walked back, growing claws and fangs, ready to fight Jackson before he fully transformed. Scott and Isaac walked forward and as I stepped up, I felt a sharp pain in the back of my neck, followed by darkness. 

---------------

Read part 21 here!

And there is where the story takes a turn, see I told you we'd get there.

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[ectolights]

Haunting Questions

Happy Holiday Truce @rebel-skull! Sorry I’m skating right up against the deadline. This holiday season got busier than I expected.

Thank you for letting me change the prompt a little! This is a DP/Buzzfeed Unsolved crossover fic with a side of Demon Shane. (Read it on AO3 | FFN)

Thanks also to the ever wonderful @oboenotclarinet for your help when I got stuck. I’d be a mess with out you <3

~~~

Maddie attacked the living room with the rare intention of making it look somewhat presentable, for the equally rare occasion of guests coming over. The scorch marks on the wall from the ectopus incident last month she could, unfortunately, do nothing about, but maybe the lime green stains on the couch could still be scrubbed out.

“Danny! Come help me clean up! Our guests will be here soon!”

“Why can’t Jazz do it?” Danny’s automatic response to housework rang out from upstairs, in the direction of his room. Maddie eyed the stain on the couch critically. It’d probably take more than Incredible and elbow grease to get this one out.

“Also, what guests? We literally never have anyone over. Are you actually cleaning?” Danny plodded down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step with his arms draped over the railing. He quirked his eyebrow at his mother in inquiry.

Maddie walked over to the closet with the cleaning supplies, responding over her shoulder, “Jazz is out with her friends, she’ll be back just before the guests arrive—yes, she does have friends, don’t give me that, young man—and I need you to help me tidy up because we were contacted by a team of professional ghost hunters, to be interviewed for their show. Isn’t that exciting! We’ll have the opportunity to share our knowledge about ghosts and ghost hunting with viewers all across the country!” She rifled through the haphazard piles in the closet, searching for the Fenton Foaming Cleaner that would surely (hopefully) remove the sickly splotch on the couch.

Danny moved from the base of the stairs to flop down on the armchair, helpful as ever. The raised eyebrow never faltered as Maddie made her way back to the offending couch, spray bottle prize in hand. “They don’t sound all that professional if they have a tv show. Most of those shows are just a bunch of fancy tricks, you know. Are you sure these guys are for real?”

Maddie spared a glance in her son’s direction, to where he lay sprawled across the chair, one leg carelessly thrown over an arm. She turned back to the stain and spritzed it with the cleaner. “They’re from a company in Los Angeles, called Buzzfeed. They were nothing but professional when I spoke to the representative on the phone.” The stain began to bubble green, an acrid aroma piercing the air. She hummed in concern. It wasn’t supposed to do that. Hopefully that meant it was working.

“Oh wow, that’s a real vote of confidence. Mom, Buzzfeed is like, ‘what pizza you are based on your favorite color,’ or ‘we tried being hipsters for a day,’ they’re an entertainment company. The last thing they are is professional ghost hunters.” Of course, this would probably work in Danny’s favor more than if they were actual ghost hunters, but, well. No one needed to know that.

Maddie paused from her observation of the science experiment that was the couch and met Danny’s raised eyebrow with one of her own. “Even so, sweetie, they’ve offered to pay for this interview and they’re already on their way here. Besides, even if they are a little… new, to the ghost hunting world, then it’s just an even better opportunity to get the word out there! We can outfit them with proper ghost hunting equipment and make sure they’re equipped to handle all the standard ghostly threats. Your father will certainly be excited to show them all his latest inventions!” Her trademark optimism could rival even Pamela Manson’s, and at times Danny questioned how anyone could have that positive of an outlook, even about things like phony ghost hunters coming for a flipping tv show. Still, there was clearly nothing to be done about it now, so Danny figured he might as well brace himself for the inevitable catastrophe.

As Maddie returned her attention to the couch, concerned frown deepening at what she finally decided was a lost cause, she opted to wipe away what was left of the “cleaner” and cover the whole couch with a long, wide throw blanket. That would at least hide the hole that the Fenton Foaming Cleaner had eaten into the cushion. Better than nothing, she supposed. “Now then, Danny, if you’re done griping about people sharing our passion, then you can get your dirty shoes off the arm of the chair and help me dust the living room. They’ll be here soon, and I want the house to be somewhat presentable. Once Jazz comes home we’ll get your father out of the lab and we can all be here for the interview. It’ll be so exciting!”

Danny huffed and reluctantly got to work. “Still think this is a dumb idea,” he mumbled under his breath. His mother rolled her eyes and didn’t comment.

When Jazz came home a little while later she revealed to Danny she had known about this interview for a few days, but after having looked up the show she’d deemed it a non-threat. She explained she was under the assumption Danny knew about the upcoming interview as well, so she didn’t think to tell him. They both supposed their parents had simply had it slip their minds—not an unusual occurrence. Besides, it was a moot point now; the tv people would be here any minute.

“Alright, kids, I’ll make sure your father has kept the lab in one piece and get him to join us before they arrive. Danny, you’re on door duty. Don’t let your father get close enough to threaten them with the Fenton Bazooka. We don’t need a repeat of last time,” this last part was said under Maddie’s breath as she headed to the lab door in the kitchen. Jazz and Danny exchanged a knowing look.

When the doorbell finally did ring, Jazz perched neatly on the chair, Jack and Maddie came running into the room (“Ghost!” “No, Jack, ghosts don’t use the front door, we’ve talked about this Sweetie.”) and Danny opened the front door, pained smile already in place. He was met by two young-ish guys—or, more accurately, a guy and a tree with legs—who both looked very out of place in a town where ghost attacks came on the news as often as the weather. The shorter, more average looking of the two had a bright smile on his face, and the guy with trees for legs (Seriously, how was he so tall?) had his hands in his pockets and a laidback grin.

As soon as Danny laid eyes on the taller one, his smile fell from his face.

There was no way this guy was human.

“Hi! I’m Ryan Bergara, and this is my co-host, Shane Madej. Our cameraman Mark is grabbing the equipment out of the car. We’re the guys from Buzzfeed Unsolved; we’re supposed to interview the local ghost hunters. This is the Fenton residence, correct?” The shorter guy—Ryan, apparently—bounced a little on his toes.

“Well I should hope so Ryan, they have a giant neon sign,” Shane grinned, earning him a lighthearted jab to the ribs from Ryan. Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Yes, of course, welcome!” Maddie came up behind Danny, and he stepped to the side grudgingly as his mother continued, “Please come in and sit down, we’re very excited to have you here. I’m Maddie, and this is my husband Jack and our kids Jazz and Danny. We’ve been looking forward to this ever since you contacted us! It’s a thrilling opportunity.” She led them into the living room, not noticing Danny’s sudden change in attitude. As soon as Shane stepped over the threshold, the electric ice that usually accompanied Danny’s ghost sense washed down his spine—but his ghost sense hadn’t actually gone off. He’d know if it had. This guy was giving him major danger vibes, but he clearly wasn’t a ghost. Danny swallowed the growl that was building in his chest.

Maddie continued welcoming them, unperturbed.

“I always love meeting fellow ghost hunters!” Jack announced in his usual booming fashion. “Always good to see more folks interested in this perilous profession! You can never have too many people fighting back against the threat of those putrid ectoplasmic post-human manifestations.”

Ryan faltered, his smile wavering. “What? I don’t… Fighting? What do you mean, fighting?”

Maddie’s brows creased. “Well, you’re ghost hunters, right? Surely you know that all ghosts are the evil incarnations of human imprints, driven by obsessions to violence and chaos. They have to be dealt with to protect people.”

Based on the gobsmacked expressions on the two purported ghost hunter’s faces, they hadn’t exactly expected this answer.

“So I take it you definitely believe in ghosts, then.”

A brief moment of stunned silence followed Shane’s statement, even Jack temporarily lost for words. “Well of course ghosts are real, that’s ridiculous!” Jack exclaimed once he recovered. “They attack the city practically every week! We Fentons have developed the most advanced ecto-technology capable of harming and containing ghosts. We’ve been studying ghosts for years!”

In what to Danny was a clear effort to ward off one of their father’s ghost rants, Jazz asked, “You’ve been doing this show for a while, correct? You must have fought a ghost before, or at least encountered one?”

“Well, no, we’ve never seen a ghost, or any paranormal creature. We always look for evidence, but we almost never find anything that counts as compelling.”

Ryan, still stunned, held up his hands. “O-okay. Hold on. This is… this is a lot. Why don’t we uh, why don’t we set up for the interview, and then we can continue this conversation while we’re recording, so we don’t have to repeat anything? It’ll be more genuine that way.”

While the Buzzfeed guys, now including their cameraman, set up for the interview, the Fenton parents whispered to each other in heated sounding tones, presumably still baffled by the lack of proper hunting knowledge. Jazz came over to stand by Danny, who (despite the strange turn the afternoon had already taken) hadn’t taken his eyes off Shane. The longer he was in his house the more Danny felt the urge to fight. Jazz didn’t seem to notice her brother’s weird mood, instead commenting, “Well I guess they’re just yet more phonies, huh?”

“No.”

“What?” She sounded taken aback.

“The taller one. Shane. He’s not human. I don’t think he’s a ghost either, he didn’t set my ghost sense of properly, but he’s definitely something. And he’s powerful, too. He gives me a really bad feeling.”

Okay, Jazz was definitely worried now. “Well what are we going to do about it? Is he a threat? Should I call Sam and Tucker?”

“No, I don’t think they’ll be able to help. I don’t think I could take him. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can just sense that he’s too much for me, even with help. I don’t like it.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Besides, he hasn’t actively made any threats yet. For now, we just keep an eye out. If it goes bad, I’ll deal with it while you get Mom and Dad out. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Jazz glanced between Shane and Danny, pensive. “Okay, but… please be careful.”

Danny spared his sister a brief look. “I’ll try.”

There wasn’t much they could do but act normal and hope for the best, so once everything was set up and the cameras were ready to roll, Shane and Ryan sat on the recently-blanket-covered couch across from Jack and Maddie, who were each in an armchair. Jazz and Danny perched on the loveseat, out of frame and on edge.

Ryan worked quickly through his usual introduction and explanation, eager to get to the meat of the situation.

“So Drs. Fenton, what can you tell us about Amity Park as a haunted location?”

“Well,” Maddie began, “The ghosts started appearing frequently about a year and a half ago, coming from the Ghost Zone into our world and attacking people. They generally cause havoc a couple times a week, destroying property and attempting to injure people. They fight amongst themselves as often as they terrorize average citizens, being the violence-driven creatures they are.”

“Wow, there’s… a lot to unpack there. What is the Ghost Zone?”

“That’s where the ghosts come from!” Jack chimed in. “They need ectoplasm to survive, since that’s what they’re made up of, so they go back to the Ghost Zone when they get weak.”

“So I take it ghosts can be seen to the average eye, then?” Ryan asked.

“Well of course they can! All ghosts can make themselves invisible, but their default state is in the human field of vision. All ghosts are typically tangible, unless actively using their powers of intangibility, and they seem to stay hovering or flying unless deliberately doing otherwise. Most ghosts have offensive powers as well, such as ectoplasmic blasts and elemental attacks, but the weakest ones don’t maintain a consistent form and don’t display anything beyond the basic capabilities,” Maddie explained.

“Wow,” Ryan said, “I had no idea ghosts were so… present. I thought they were, like, barely able to move pencils or turn on flashlights.”

“Nonsense,” Jack declared, “Ghosts are a very serious threat and can cause a lot more harm than turning on the lights!”

Shane leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees. “So ghosts can hurt people? And they do it actively? So much for Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

Maddie waved a hand, nonchalant. “Oh yes, all ghosts are driven by malice; their base instinct is to turn to violence. They’ll just as soon attack each other as they will a human. That’s why it’s crucial to make sure you always have the proper weaponry to defend yourself.”

“What kind of weapons? Like salt and holy water?” Ryan asked, hopeful to at least have gotten one thing right about ghosts.

“Of course not! A little saltwater isn’t going to do anything against a grisly ghoul! That’s why we have these bad boys,” Jack sprung up from his seat, pulling out an ectogun from seemingly nowhere and brandishing it in front of the two guests. They leaned back quickly in response, startled. Mark, from behind the camera, watched nervously, and Jazz put her head in her palm. Danny grimaced.

“This here is a state-of-the-art Fenton brand ectogun, designed and built by yours truly. It uses ecto energy to fight ghost fire with ghost fire. Nothing on Earth is more effective at takin’ down those scary spooks!”

“Alright, Dear, let’s maybe put the gun down; I think it’s making our guests just a little uncomfortable. I’m sure they can admire it just fine from the coffee table.” Maddie stood and placed her hand gently on Jack’s arm, lowering it and deftly taking the gun from his hands. She set it on the table and smiled apologetically at the men on the couch. “I’m sorry, Jack can get a little… enthusiastic. But it’s not to worry, ectoguns can’t hurt humans. They’re designed specifically to target the unique energy that constitutes ghosts; the most even our larger guns would do to humans is knock the wind out briefly.” She encouraged Jack to sit back down, and returned to her own seat.

It may have been Danny’s imagination, but he could have sworn Shane slid further away from where the gun rested innocently between them.

“…Okay, so you use actual weapons to fight ghosts. Cool. Uh… where do you find ghosts? You said something about them going to and from the—Ghost Zone, correct?—so I assume they aren’t bound to one place like in most tales about them,” Ryan said, attempting to brush off any lingering awkwardness from Jack’s well-meaning outburst.

At this, Jack brightened up considerably and said, “We use the Fenton Finder! Ghosts all have an ectosignature, so we use those to detect when they’re nearby, like radar! Even if they’re invisible, this puppy can find a ghost on the other side of the city.” He beamed proudly, and Maddie gave her husband an endearing smile.

Shane perked up once again, absently picking at the threads on the edge of the hole Maddie had attempted to conceal. “So you’re saying this finder-thing makes it impossible for ghosts to hide?”

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

“That’s right! We’d know a ghost was near long before it had the chance to get the drop on us.”

Ryan asked, “Does it work on other creatures, too? Like demons, for instance?”

Maddie laughed, “Don’t be silly! Demons don’t exist. Everything that people think they see is usually some form of ghost. There’s a vast spectrum of forms a ghost can take.”

Shane nudged Ryan. “See Ry, I told you demons weren’t real! You’ve been getting so worked up about nothing. Annabelle’s got nothing on these ghosts we’re learning about.”

Danny tuned out Ryan’s spluttered denials and defenses as he came to a worrying suspicion. Shane wasn’t a ghost—even if he had been a half-ghost, Danny would have been able to tell. But he wasn’t human either; the moment he first saw him he just knew. But if he wasn’t a ghost and he wasn’t human… then he had to be something else entirely. Danny had never encountered anything else, but if his own existence proved anything, it was that he couldn’t jump to conclusions about what did and did not exist.

Shane didn’t seem to believe in any of this stuff, even if he was currently going along with the ghost thing (Danny felt pretty sure that was just out of politeness to his parents, based on the faces Shane had been making and the near-constant laughter he appeared to be fighting). But Danny knew from experience how helpful putting on a persona could be. He couldn’t assume anything about this guy.

(Ryan seemed pretty safe. He didn’t seem to share any hidden glances or take any second meaning from his friend’s actions. He was probably in the dark.)

So if Shane was something else…

Danny was suddenly very worried he perhaps knew what that ‘else’ might truly be.

“…so ghosts have different power levels,” His mother was saying as Danny brought himself back to the events at hand, “and that determines how difficult it is to defeat.”

“So you can’t purposefully antagonize anything while we’re here, Shane,” Ryan said, giving his friend a stern eye. “I am not going to be the one to tell Sara you got yourself murked by the undead.”

“I don’t know,” Shane replied, “Could be fun to fistfight a ghost. A good old-fashioned brawl.” He turned with a Cheshire grin and stared straight at Danny, too-dark eyes glittering.

Yeah, this definitely wasn’t good.