#Stephen strange wallpapers

[rainismdata]

Stephen Strange/Doctor Strange and Tony Stark/Iron-Man

wallpaper/lockscreen of this picture in 9:20 ratio.

[xvivinx]

Dormammu, I've come to bargain!

[heylolita00]

Benedict Cumberbatch

[peachy-ash]

lockscreens

what if...?

[xia0ming56]

Exams!!! End on!!! Monday!!! And then i hav a levels n life will b better after o(｀ω´ )o

[strangelockd]

Sinister Strange Inspired Cabinet Card Photos

Edits Made By Me.

[Sinister Strange Spotify Playlist]

[Fan Fiction Masterlist]

[wherethewisheslive]

speak now ✨

[loreyasully]

Love him 💓

doctor strange

like or reblog if u save

follow me on twitter: @wondrbatman

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Read Me to Sleep, Let Me Drift Away

Kidnapper!König is a monster but I love him. I love how evil he is, I love how intelligent he is, I love I love I love. He's perfect. I adore him. Now, about this fic, I've read both Jane Eyre and Wide Sargasso Sea. If you've ever read Jane Eyre, read Wide Sargasso Sea with caution. It completely changes the novel.

Anyways, have fun with Kidnapper!König!

Tws: kidnapping, toxic relationships, stockholm syndrome

Wordcount: 1.6k

Art from This Post

Story Below the Cut

Read Me to Sleep, Let Me Drift Away

You’d never seen König so frantic before. Your calm, collected and menacing… fiance (?) was hurriedly puttering around the house, moving ornaments aside to dust under them before hurrying back to pick up the vacuum and go over the room again. If his anxiety weren’t so infectious, you might have thought the scene to be rather amusing.

“König, you already vacuumed this room three times,” you nervously whispered.

“But what if there’s still some left?” he muttered under his breath as he went over the persian carpet once more, “it needs to be clean.”

“Isn’t it clean enough?” you asked as you shifted from side to side, over and over as you watched him fret over nothing.

König turned off the vacuum and cracked his back with a good stretch, “It won’t ever be clean enough. Not for Mama…”

“Is your mom really going to be that upset?” you stepped aside to let him crouch down and dust the outlets.

König paused, considered your words for a moment, then turned back to cleaning and said, “She won’t. But I don’t want to be the messiest one of us. I want to at least be as good as Klara.”

“Klara?”

“My youngest sister,” König explained, “Friedrich is the eldest, than Stephen and Lisa. I was the fourth born, and Klara was the last.”

“Sounds like a full house,” you mused.

König laughed as he walked out to the kitchen, “It was! It was always busy. Stephen used to like doing ‘science experiments’ and Friedrich got into a heavy metal band. Mama used to say she’d go deaf before she hit menopause.”

“What did your dad think about it?” you leaned against the doorway.

König glanced at you briefly, “Papa’s opinions didn’t matter very much.”

You watched him silently. He wiped down the polished rosewood table again and again, ignoring the heavy questions that hung heavy on the tip of your tongue.

“So,” you grunted as you pushed off the doorway to step to König’s side, “are they coming soon?”

“Tomorrow,” König grunted as he worked a stubborn spot, “I’m cleaning today so I won’t have to do much tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to help?” you asked as you glanced over to the spotless kitchen.

König shook his head, “No, I can do this. You just relax. There’s some good books in the living room.”

You nodded and padded away. You walked through the sprawling manor before you managed to find the living room. The entire room was wallpapered in bookshelves, each one nearly scraping the top of the tall ceilings. You walked to the nearest shelf and looked at the ancient tomes. Books of old, some with spines cracked like white crested waves and others with leather bindings that had been peeled off through the ages. When you pulled some out as carefully as you could, you’d find their covers in different language.s You saw some in German, of course, but others were in Spanish, French, Italian too. You came across a couple that looked like they were written in latin. Some had strange writings in sitting curiously on the pages that looked like Cyrilic, others looking like kangi or hanzi, you couldn’t tell. You wondered if König could actually read all these books. By the plentiful appearances of bookmarks and dog ears, maybe he could. You might have suspected they were for show had you not seen the notes in German in the margins. They all had the same handwriting, all matching your König’s carefully crafted calligraphy.

You managed to find a book in English that you could take over to the window bench to curl up into the bohemian pillows and blankets. You managed to find a lightswitch overhead to provide a warm light to read by, a stark contrast to the cool, drizzly weather outside. You liked the rain sometimes, but you noted that your energy was always a bit low when it came by. You hated to admit it, but you’d missed the sun.

Lately, König had been lax about putting you in the basement. He’d only just let you have free reign of the home the other day, actually. You hoped it was because he was in a merciful mood, but knowing König everything was carefully crafted. It always was, wasn’t it? He always had plans, always carefully crafting his web to keep his puppets strung along to his desires. You were just another doll in his hands, carved from wood to his shape of perfection. You only hoped he saw to it that a smile was drawn on your face by the end.

You tucked a stray bookmark into the bindings of your book and looked out the window. You’d never actually seen the front of the house. You had seen the back, seen his sprawling gardens and his great shed on the back corner of the property, hidden behind some straggly pines like some perching cat. You’d asked to see it once, but König had refused you flatly. He said it was best to stay in the gardens, stay where it was comfortable and safe. What would you want with an old workshed, anyways? You had glanced over his shoulder at the dilapidated building. A part of you wondered if you stared long enough into the dark windows, would you see something staring back? You looked away as soon as the thought crossed your mind.

Sitting on the window bench, it was perfectly comfortable and warm inside. König kept the fireplace running now that autumn had crept over the land. You watched the yellow and orange leaves flutter in the light wind outside before flowing away in the wind. In the distance, a great red maple tree curled over one side of the driveway, hiding the rest of the route from view. You wondered how long it was, how far back it stretched. If you followed it, how long would it take until you found some other traveller? How long until you found another home? Something told you that anyone you came across out here would have different intentions than König. You suspected far, far worse.

You put the bok in your lap and sighed. It had been so long since you’d lived your old life. A part of you wondered if your parents ever called after you. Your friends certainly didn’t notice your absences. In fact, the person who cared most was probably your boss, furious that you’d up and left without a word. You could imagine her snapping and snarling into your voicemail only to slam down the phone and wonder what had happened to their faithful employee. You knew that despite how cruel and heartless your boss could seem, they approved of you and valued you in your position. You wondered if they ever hoped you were alright, wherever you went.

You heard heavy footsteps before you saw König turning around the doorway. He clucked his tongue as he swaggered over to your side.

“I told you to go to the living room, not the library,” König hummed.

“This isn’t the living room?” you asked.

“No,” König shook his head, “the living room is on the other side of the hall.”

“The one with the fireplace?” you asked.

König nodded and put a hand on your shoulder. He peered down at your lap and nodded approvingly, “I didn’t take you for much of a reader.”

“Well, there’s not much else to do,” you explained as you turned the cover from his sight.

“Why did you choose this book?” he asked as he plucked it from your reluctant fingers.

“I heard it’s a good sequel,” you said nervously.

König fluttered through the paperback pages with an amused chuff, “Not an official sequel. Charlotte Bronte was dead for over a hundred years before Jean Rhys published this.”

You watched him smile as he flicked through the book.

“I didn’t know it was that long,” you admitted.

“It’s an interesting book, this one,” König mused, “you got a decent ways in. What are your thoughts about the moths?”

“The moths?” you asked.

“The moths and the flame,” König repeated, “it’s a symbol that repeats throughout the novel.”

You rubbed your forefinger and thumb together over the hem of your sleeve, “I liked it. Two lovers fated to be, but by being together it ends in mutual destruction.”

“Is it mutual?” König raised an eyebrow behind his hood, “Mr. Rochester goes on to live a good life with Jane Eyre, doesn’t he?”

“I…” you thinned your lips to a line, “he did, didn’t he.”

“I’dHe was harmed, no doubt, but do you really think that Mr. Rochester was as ruined as his late wife? I’d argue otherwise,” König flicked the book shut, “fire is a prominent symbol in and of itself. Fitting considering her end, isn’t it?”

You shivered, “I try not to think about that too much.”

“But you must, my dear,” König crooned, “the end is what makes the novel a tragedy, don’t you think?”

You turned to look up into König’s eyes. He stared back, unwavering in his declarations towards you. He tilted his head to the side, glanced at the book one final time, the tossed it back into your lap.

“It’s a beautiful book,” he said as he turned to leave the room, “I think you’ll like it.”

“Do you?” you asked as he turned to leave.

He looked back at you. His eyes crinkled mirthfully briefly, “I think you will.”

When König left, you put the book to your side and shivered. You didn’t think you would be finishing this one.

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[xenocorner]

Here's some little christmas gifts for some amazing mutuals that have made this year a whole lot more bearable with their amazing content and their amazing interactions and just being amazing in general :']

Long post ahead so divider here to spare your scrolling. (I am also probably gonna get a bit sappy so if that makes you cringe: you've been warned lol)

@lilbitofmac Thank you for being my introduction to the fandom here on tumblr :'''D I really think I wouldn't have stuck around if it weren't for your initial warmth and encouragement. Your Tony remains my fave Tony I go feral over your art orz I may or may not have the clingy ironstrange drawing as a phone wallpaper-

Hope next year is kinder on you man! I know we don't really talk outside of tags/replies, but if you ever need smthn I can help with my inbox is always there.

@strxngetimes I'm just tagging this one blog because I don't want to spam all your other blogs lmao. Thank you for sharing your interpretations of the characters with us, not only the rps with other muses but also the headcanons and brainrot. It's always such a pleasure both to see you on the timeline writing with other muses and on the inbox with the disaster man.

I specially like how you include his Cloak in the mix and give it a personality- I absolutely adore the Cloak :'') So here's it being all clingy to the disaster man. Hope to see more of you having fun with all ur muses in the coming year :D

@starkkawajiri Pretty art!! Hilarious and heart wrenching character interactions!!! I love your designs and lore building so much. Fanboying over the same disaster man and making him suffer always brings a smile to my face. I've wanted to draw your Strange for a while now, so this was also the perfect excuse, I love him so much you have no idea-

Can't wait to see more of your amazing designs and lore stuff for this AU! (and anything else you create next year :])

@nekojetto I think your Strange is the purest Strange there is and the fact that it's based off Supreme makes that so much more impressive. Your animatics are simply breath taking, and whenever I go back to check your concepts and sketches for character interactions I always get a smile on my face :D

I'm sorry I haven't gotten to the collab just yet :'') Plz know I still have it in mind, haven't forgotten about it and am still just as excited to finally get to it as I was the first day!

@infiniteeight8 Your words make me cry and laugh so much all the time :'') You write the disaster men so beautifully both in serious, fluffy, angsty and funny situations. Reading ur stuff keeps the creative juices flowing!

I remember you liked the vampire Stephen prompt you were sent, so here's some of that, even if it's more halloween-y than christmas-y.

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

do u have any horror recs for other mediums? tv, podcasts, books, youtube shorts, etc

I'm really gonna show my ass in this regard because most of my recommendations are going to be TV shows or short stories because I haven't branched out much beyond that if I'm honest.

I love The Haunting of Hill House (Nell Crain is my favourite horror character full stop) and The Fall of the House of Usher from Mike Flanagan (most of his shows are incredible but these two are my favourite).

THOHH: Flashing between past and present, a fractured family confronts haunting memories of their old home and the terrifying events that drove them from it.

TFOTHOU: To secure their fortune (and future) two ruthless siblings build a family dynasty that begins to crumble when their heirs mysteriously die, one by one.

The Exorcist (2016) was great!

The Exorcist follows two very different priests tackling one family's case of horrifying demonic possession. Father Tomas Ortega is the new face of the Catholic Church: progressive, ambitious and compassionate. He runs a small, but loyal, parish in the suburbs of Chicago. Father Marcus Keane is an orphan raised since childhood by the Vatican to wage war against its enemies. He is everything Father Tomas is not: relentless, abrasive and utterly consumed by his mission.

I really liked American Horror Story: Asylum, can't say the same for the other seasons.

AHS: Asylum takes place in 1964 and follows the stories of the staff and inmates who occupy the fictional mental institution Briarcliff Manor, and intercuts with events in the past and present.

I also liked a few South Korean shows I saw on Netflix.

Kingdom (2019): While strange rumors about their ill King grip a kingdom, the crown prince becomes their only hope against a mysterious plague overtaking the land.

All of Us Are Dead (2022): A high school becomes ground zero for a zombie virus outbreak. Trapped students must fight their way out or turn into one of the rabid infected.

Hellbound (2021): People hear predictions on when they will die. When that time comes, a death angel appears in front of them and kills them.

I loved Interview with a Vampire (especially because it does everything the movie didn't, which is why I didn't like the movie). it's very gay, it plays heavily into the themes of vampirism and sexuality, and I love Sam Reid and Jacob Anderson as Lestat and Louis.

In terms of other media, I really like the Dead Meat channel (if I haven't said it enough already), I also like the Scream Dreams Podcast with Catherine Corcoran (from Terrifier), James A. Janisse (from Dead Meat) and Barbara Crampton (prolific and stunning horror actor).

I know it's a little over done now, but that original series of 'The Backrooms' by KanePixels was great.

Some other horror channels/channels that explore horror as well as other topics are SpookyRice, MistaGG, Wendigoon, ElvisTheAlien, BionicPIG, Trin Lovell, KennieJD, MertKayKay, and AmandaTheJedi.

With books, I'm such a basic bitch, so I've really only read Stephen King's horror books. I'm not sure of this is horror or just very bleak and depressing but I'm Thinking of Ending Things was an incredible reading experience. And at this point it goes without saying House of Leaves is so fucking mindblowing!

H.P. Lovecraft and Edgar Allan Poe were terrible people, but their short stories are truly so dark and well-written, the cosmic horror Lovecraft is known translates best in his writing. Ambrose Bierce is the father of psychological horror as we know it, his short stories are great. My favourite short horror story is The Yellow Wallpaper. If you are interested in an audio version of it, listen to Chelsea from the Dead Meat channel with headphones (headphones are vital to that experience).

That's all I can think of off the top of my head for now! I'm sure others will give their own recommendations.

[peachy-ash]

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

[skyalent]

Witches Can Be Good | Supernatural x Scarlet Witch! Reader - Part 1

This is intended to be a short story/one shot. I wrote this when I had a sudden idea of a crossover between Supernatural and the Scarlet Witch. Also available on my Wattpad and Quotev! Enjoy!

This inspired by a tumblr post: The Sweet Old Lady is a Witch by Thera. I really love her Wanda/Y/n OC and the story! Here's her story: https://thera-daydreams.tumblr.com/post/658041636626022400/

Supernatural x Scarlet Witch! Reader

I do not own Marvel or Supernatural.

Part 1 (You are here) *~* Part 2 *~* Part 3 *~* Part 4???

.

.

.

.

.

Part 1: Into the World of Supernatural

Wanda was done and tired.

After going through the multiverse with Dr. Strange and Loki, after Westview, after sacrificing everything over and over and over again Wanda was done and tired.

She looked tiredly towards the two friends that had grown on her. The two friends that had become brothers to her. Sensing her stare they turned to her, silence questioning in their eyes as she smiled tiredly at them.

"I think I'm done."

...

"... you're done...?" Dr. Strange repeated, not fully understanding what Wanda was implying.

"I'm tired, Stephen. I want to relax, sit down for a while... maybe watch the flowers grow."

Loki looked at her with a contemplative look before nodding, "Where will you go?"

"Anywhere but here." Wanda automatically responded, "I don't care if there's heroes there or anything really. As long as the world is somewhat normal and similar and they leave me alone, anywhere is fine."

Both Strange and Loki looked at each other before carefully taking Wanda's hands in theirs, a gesture that they had come up with to comfort each other. They had all gotten close together after all they had went through.

"We'll call you if we need you." Strange commented.

"And we'll keep in touch." Loki added, elbowing Strange who lightly glared back at him, "We won't bother you too often. Go live your 'normal' life."

"You deserve it." Strange tried to redeem himself, gaining a small grin from Wanda. "Just try not to cause any trouble. Or rather, trouble we'll have to intercept in." Loki elbowed him again.

"I'll try my best." Wanda only smiled, squeezing her hands that held theirs before letting go. "I better get going now."

"See you around Wanda."

"I think a fresh start needs a new name, doesn't it?" Strange said suddenly.

"Strange I think that's the first good idea I've heard come from your mouth." Loki scoffed, grinning as Strange looked at him offended. "I've always been partial to the name Y/n."

"Y/n L/n it is." Strange proudly smiled ignoring the look Loki gave him as he looked at Wanda- at Y/n.

"Really? L/n?"

"I think it sounds nice, Loki." Y/n reassured the god. At those words he automatically changed his mind.

"Yes, Y/n L/n surely fits you."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Y/n sighed as she finally finished conjuring up all of the new items for her new home. She had already put a spell around it, ensuring that those who entered her new home would feel safe, warm, and comfortable. She wanted the exact opposite of Westview. She carefully hid the runes, making them small and they camouflaged well with the decorative wallpaper.

She had bought a small store, her home right above it. The store, Y/n decided, was going to sell things that she took comfort in. Books, plants, and a couple assorted goods if she felt like baking in the kitchen. There was even a section for artists to paint and for others to just sit in the bean bags and relax or read a good book.

Speaking of books, the town she moved into was awfully generous. After hearing she was going to open a bookstore, the resident librarian, who was an old, dying man, came up to her. He loved his books as if they were his own children. But his grandchildren didn't want to take over the library and he didn't want to see all of his books get tossed away.

And so, the old man generously gave Y/n most of the books from his library. He kept some and donated the rest to charity. Y/n's little shop was going well. Y/n didn't mind much about the slow business, she just wanted to relax and take in every moment. Something that she never would have done before.

But as each day passed, Y/n couldn't help herself but to find out the secret of this world. The supernatural existed.

It didn't come as much of a shock for Y/n, considering she was partly supernatural, but to hear the benevolent spirits and ghosts gossiping about ghosts who had fallen into rage and anger confused her. It baffled her so much to hear about ghosts actually having the ability to kill people, so she separated ghosts into two categories.

Astral ghosts. Ghosts of the dead who wandered in the astral plane, patiently waiting for something to occur before accepting their death. These were the ghosts that never went angry or fell into a random rage. Like the poor old librarian. He was waiting for his grandchildren to visit either his grave, the shut down library, or Y/n's bookstore before passing on. In the meantime, he continued his daily routines as if he were alive.

Then there were the angry ghosts. Not a very original name, Y/n knew, but it was simple enough for her to understand. They were the ghosts that fell into darkness and killed others, overwhelmed with rage to even see reason.

She didn't worry much about those ghosts, because the ones that were in her small town were given free therapy by her, and easily lost their anger and passed on to the afterlife with the reaper guiding them.

The other supernatural things? Y/n read up on them with the books given to her in the library, but other than that, she didn't care about them. If they were to ever show up at her town, she would make sure to deal with it so that everyone would be safe. But as she settled in and let her guard down for the next couple months, a little shapeshifter decided that her small town would be the perfect place to stir some trouble.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I'm Agent Adam Clayton, and this is my partner Agent Larry Mullen. We're with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a couple questions about a couple customers you've had."

Y/n stared wearily at the two men who had entered her shop. Just by reading their minds she could tell their names were false, especially since they were the same names as the band members from U2. However, she didn't comment on it, considering they were partially telling the truth about asking questions of her customers.

"What have my customers done to get attention from the FBI?" Y/n asked curiously, although she continuously kept reading their minds for answers.

"Just a couple of them have gone missing ma'am. We're hoping you could give us any clues as to where they've gone."

Getting enough answers from reading the tall one's mind (he thought a lot and his thoughts were practically screaming at her) she nodded at them. Hunters that hunt and kill the supernatural? Y/n guessed they were the hero equivalent in this world. The only question left would be if they would kill her if they found out she was also a 'witch.' "So, which customers?"

"Robert Dunn, Todd Alexander, and Philip Navarro." the shorter one answered her. They watched her as she continued to walk around her shop, watering her plants.

Y/n took her time to recall them, "Well, the three of them were all from out of town. We've never had that many visitors before so it was easy to remember them. They all liked to talk too." Y/n frowned at the thought of those conversations she had with them. But now that she actually thought about it, the thoughts of the 3 customers were somewhat similar.

The taller one, catching Y/n's frown, continued to question her. "What did they talk about?"

"You know, simple 'What's your name?' or 'Could I get your number?' They were all particularly flirty."

"So would you say no if I asked for your number?" 'Adam Clayton' couldn't help but comment, getting elbowed by 'Larry Mullen.' Wow, these boys really reminded Y/n of Stephen and Loki.

"I'd tell you the same response I told those men. I'm not interested in a relationship right now. Taking a break from that." Y/n handed 'Adam' a yellow tulip. At the questioning look, Y/n answered him, "So you don't feel too bad. Yellow tulips mean joy and a whole lot of other things."

"Do you give every man you reject a yellow tulip?" 'Adam' pouted causing Y/n to grin slightly.

"Well, any type of yellow flowers work. Yellow flowers in general symbolize spreading happiness and joy."

"Sorry- about the men? What happened after that?" 'Larry' steered them back on track.

"Oh, they all left the store looking somewhat upset but also giddy. Philip said he'd be back to try again though he hasn't been back in a week already."

'Larry' nodded, seemingly getting all the information he wanted and thanking Y/n politely before taking 'Adam' with him to stop him from flirting any further with Y/n.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So the only connection right now is Y/n, but why?" Sam questioned, going through a book he had borrowed at Y/n's store earlier.

"She's a hot chick. Who wouldn't go and take a chance to ask her out?" Dean replied, happily munching on a burger as he sat on the couch of their motel room.

"You think she's the one who's been killing them?" Sam asked, "It's a possibility."

"Remember what Philip told her?" Dean reminded Sam, "He'd be back to try again. Pretty creepy if you ask me."

"So a shapeshifter?"

"Bingo!"

"That seems a little far fetched, Dean."

"Hey, all we gotta do is watch the chick and then we'll figure out if it's her or if it's a shapeshifter. Easy solution! Or we could get access to her security cameras."

Sam grunted as he closed the book, flopping onto his bed. "She doesn't have any. I checked. Please tell me you at least find that suspicious."

"Hey, maybe she can't afford them! Town's pretty small, her shop's pretty small, she might not get a lot of income, you know?" Dean stood up, walking to the door, "I'm gonna get a drink, wanna come?"

Sam didn't respond and Dean took that as a no, leaving for the nearest bar. He kept walking to the bar he saw close-by, but just as he turned the corner, a fist hit his face and he blacked out.

.

.

.

As Dean came back into consciousness, he was greeted by the sight of Philip shedding his skin and forming into himself. Damn, he was right. It was a shapeshifter. The shapeshifter merely glanced at the tied up Dean, glaring deadly holes into him. "She's mine..!" he hissed at Dean, leaving the cold room.

Looking around the room, he saw the bodies of the other men, too late to save them. Philip however, laid unconscious on the floor. Dean could see however that the Shapeshifter had injured Philip greatly and that if he did not get any help right away, he could die. Frantically working at the ropes, Dean could only hope that Sam would get to Y/n on time. (However, Sam was fast asleep, blissfully unaware of what had happened).

.

.

.

Y/n didn't think it was normal of 'Adam' to come knocking at her door, especially at the middle of the night when the store was most definitely closed. She peaked from the safety of her window, using her magic to be invisible just in case she were to be spotted.

'Adam' was filled with possessive thoughts that automatically told Y/n something was wrong. As she shuffled through 'Adam's' memories, she found that most were not there, some floating around, the most recent one being tied up in some kind of basement.

"Hey Miss Y/n...? Are you here?" a shy astral ghost of a child appeared behind her. It was a ghost Y/n had met recently a few weeks ago. At the voice, Y/n moved away from the window and reappeared. "Yes, dear?"

The child stumbled back a bit in surprise but quickly calmed down, looking at her. "Remember how I said what I wanted most was for my dad to visit my grave at least once?"

"Yes?" Y/n whispered quietly back to the child, motherly instincts taking over as she looked at the child gently.

"I changed my mind. He needs help right now. That's what I want most. For dad to live." The ghost child looked at Y/n with determination and Y/n couldn't help but answer their plea.

"Lead the way."

Sneaking out of the house via the backdoor, Y/n followed the ghost child to the other side of town, going into the forest near their town and was led to a cabin. Inside the cabin was a simple bunk bed and a large chest. Nothing inside the cabin seemed to have been used in a while. The only thing that indicated someone- something lived here was the vase filled with yellow flowers at the window sill.

"Here. He's down there." The ghost pointed at the chest, before floating through it and disappearing. Using her magic, Y/n easily pulled the chest out of the way and revealed a passageway with a ladder heading straight down into the darkness. Not seeing her ghost friend, Y/n continued heading down, deeper and deeper until she reached the floor.

It was cold down here. The lights were dim and flickered occasionally, but it was clear that it was being powered by electricity somehow. "This way, this way." The ghost child urged, pointing down the hallway.

Quickly, Y/n rushed, her footsteps echoing as she ran. As she made it to the end of the hallway she saw two corpses, an unconscious Philip and Dean who was looking at her in shock.

"So I'm guessing you're the real 'Adam'?" Y/n asked, although already knowing the answer. She went towards him, untying the ropes as fast as she could. Before Dean could suspect her or say anything Y/n continued to speak, "There was someone who looked like you at my door, but when I zoomed in with my phone to check who it was from the window, your eyes were white." Y/n lied, using the information she knew about shapeshifters to her advantage, "I'm pretty sure that's not exactly normal."

Dean grinned, "Sweetheart, there's a lot of things that aren't normal."

Picking up Philip, the two rushed out of the cabin, not willing to stay any longer to face the shapeshifter. Dean didn't have any gear, and he couldn't risk the lives of two innocent people. However, they didn't make it very far as the Dean clone confronted them in the forest, staring intensely at Y/n.

"Ma'am, back away from the shapeshifter, right now! Don't let it trick you!" the Dean clone shouted at Y/n. If Y/n couldn't read minds, she surely would have felt conflicted right now as Dean also told her,

"He's trying to trick you. Trust me, I'm the real deal. I- I know that sounds bad- but I promise. I'm a hunter. My real name is Dean."

The Dean clone took a step closer causing Y/n to turn to him. "Don't come closer. Mr. Philip needs help right now. I don't care whoever you are as long as he gets help."

Dean, taking advantage of the standstill, grabbed Y/n's hand and started to run, carrying Philip. The motel was nearby, hopefully they could make it and grab Sam's attention somehow.

But the clone was fast. Y/n's eyes narrowed as her other arm was grabbed and she decided that she's had enough. Using her magic she blasted the shapeshifter back. Dean looked at her in shock and fear, but Y/n didn't mind. Those kinds of looks weren't new to her.

"Dean you're a hunter. Do I have to kill the guy or no?" Y/n asked, snapping Dean out of it.

"You're a witch-"

"It's a yes or no question Dean." Y/n snapped, watching blankly as the shapeshifter stood up and began to approach them again, angered.

Taking a step, it jumped at Dean, causing Dean to blurt out a quick "yes!" before the shapeshifter was stopped, floating mid-jump at Dean. The shapeshifter turned to ashes in front of his eyes and Dean turned to look at Y/n with an impassive look.

"I've heard that hunters usually kill witches or anything supernatural, but please get Mr. Philip help first before you decide to kill me."

And with that, Y/n left to her small store, packing up her things in a dimensional pocket. She trusted that Dean would get Philip the help he needed. She just needed to get out of here. If she couldn't convince Dean to not kill her, she would go to another world before he could.

As she quickly finished packing up, the small ghost child appeared before her.

"Thank you for saving dad." the shy ghost looked at the ground, as if blushing from embarrassment.

"It's no problem dear. He was important to you, right? It's important to always care and look out for family." Y/n looked at the ghost kindly, recalling her own family. Reaching out her hand to hold the young ghost's, Y/n gently whispered to them. "I believe it's time for you to rest now, dear."

A reaper appeared next to them, patiently waiting.

"...Will it hurt?"

Y/n smiled at the ghost, reassuring them, "It won't. It'll feel like waking up from a dream."

The shy ghost hugged her tightly, thanking her, before taking the hand of the reaper and disappearing with it. Y/n sighed, relieved that the child was finally at peace. At least they could have the peace Y/n longed for. A gun clicked behind her head. Y/n didn't turn around.

"Explain."

From the voice, Y/n could tell it was the taller brother. 'Larry,' or Sam, had seen, or rather heard the whole interaction. From what he could tell, Y/n was talking to an invisible ghost or spirit and helped it move on to the afterlife. A much different tactic to their usual salt and burn.

"About who I am or what I just did?" Y/n asked.

"Both." Dean came in behind Sam, staring at the witch.

"Hm, well... I'm from a different universe..."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It wasn't easy, but Sam and Dean believed her story. But even after that they didn't completely trust her, which was understandable. But at least they liked her enough to keep calling to use her books for research, to get extra information for hunts, or for Dean to just get a pie (he would never admit it but Y/n's pies were the best he's ever had).

Y/n was allowed to live in her small town, as long as she promised not to kill anyone or the brothers swore to come back to kill her. But as they kept calling her over and over again to help with more and more hunts, she found herself being invited to live in the Bunker with them.

Some days were odd.

Some days the brothers seemed like they hated her and everything witches.

But most days they enjoyed her company. They enjoyed that there was something out there that was supposed to be bad, but was actually good.

And ever so slowly they got used to her magic.

One time Dean had walked in on her using magic in the kitchen. Tools and ingredients were flying places, a bowl was stirring itself. Y/n was at the oven taste testing some sort of soup. Dean felt like he was having a Harry Potter moment. At Dean's awkward cough, Y/n jumped back slightly and lifted her head.

"Oh! Sorry, were you hungry? Um... the kitchen is kinda occupied right now, but you could have this pie!"

At her words, a pie found itself in a very happy Dean's hands. "What are you making?"

"Some miso soup. I was craving it so I decided to make it. I didn't want to go out."

"So then where'd you get this pie?"

"Oh, I had a feeling you were going to want one later, so I made it earlier!"

Touched by her kindness, Dean nodded, grateful, but he didn't want to be sappy so he happily left with his pie. Y/n chuckled to herself as she heard Dean's thoughts praising her and her pie.

Sam had come to enjoy their conversations on the supernatural. As he had found out, despite being a witch, Y/n had very basic knowledge on the supernatural world and mostly got her information from her books. So, Sam had taken it upon himself to teach Y/n about the most common and dangerous, and most importantly how to kill it.

Sam had been very careful to teach Y/n about the witch-killing spell and bullets. He had nearly freaked when Y/n went and held a bullet, observing it closely before taking it apart with her magic.

"-so these are the bullets and- WAIT NO Y/N IT'LL KILL YOU!" Sam panicked, lunging towards her as Y/n took the bullet apart. Hearing the yell, Dean came running.

"What's happening!?"

At that moment Sam crashed into the couch Y/n was sitting on as she dodged him.

Y/n chuckled, "I'm fine, this won't hurt me. You told me the ingredients, remember? When combined together, yes, they do kill witches. But they won't kill witches like me."

Y/n poked at the bullet before putting it back together and placing the bullet in the case, which Sam immediately closed and put away. "Let's not do that again. E-Even if it won't- I just, I don't want to risk it."

Seeing how much she had made Sam worry, Y/n put her hand gently on Sam's. "I'm sorry Sam. I didn't mean to worry you."

Sam sighed, gently clasping Y/n's hands, "It's alright... you're good. I just... don't want..."

"I know... thank you..." Y/n smiled.

"Aww, look at the two love birds~ get a room already!"

"DEAN SHUT UP!"

However there was a day that Y/n truly treasured. It was the day that both brothers finally put their complete trust in Y/n. This happened during a hunt.

They had quickly figured out it was a ghost and brought Y/n with them so they could finish up quick, but the ghost was more tricky to deal with than they had originally thought.

The ghost was a woman who had been cremated, so there were no remains they could burn. They still had to identify what object the ghost was attached to. It had moved from city to city, so it must have been an object easy to bring along.

Quite easily they could tell it was a vengeful spirit as there was a pattern going on. Mothers were the target, whether they still had kids or not didn't matter apparently. As long as you were a mother at one point (or pregnant), the ghost would come and attack. From what they could get as pretending to be the FBI, the children had seen the ghost that attacked their moms, but the description of the ghost varied from child to child. One thing stayed consistent however, the ghost never touched the kids. At times the ghost had reassured them that everything was okay, that she would take care of them.

As they researched (Sam and Y/n researched, Dean ate on the motel bed), Y/n couldn't help but feel... worried? Sympathetic?

Just from looking at the ghost's targets, Y/n could tell the ghost was a mother at one point in their lives. The ghost was like her, desperate to find and keep her family. Her children. But unlike the ghost, Y/n had learned how to grow from the pain. She had reached the acceptance part in the 5 stages of grief. Yes, she missed her husband and children, but she continued on, knowing that they would be loved and would continue to be loved.

Noticing Y/n spacing out, Dean called out to her. "Hey witchy, you doing okay?"

Y/n looked up at him, "I think I need a break. I'm gonna go for a walk. Wanna come? Sam?"

Dean leaned further into the pillows, "Nah, I'm just gonna relax here."

Sam scowled, "Or you could be helpful and come over here!" to which Dean let out another "nope!" before turning his music up even louder. Sam groaned, "I'm good Y/n, I want to keep researching."

Nodding Y/n left the motel room, taking in the fresh air as she walked.

What she didn't know was that the object the ghost was attached to was in their motel room, and Y/n had left the brothers just before chaos happened.

.

.

.

.

.

Not sure if I want to keep writing this because it was just a quick thought I had. Let me know if you'd like a part 2! 

Edit: Part 2 has been posted!

Next >

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 30

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best, Borrowing Characters

_______

Chapter 30

_______

They didn't go to Grand Orleans due to forecasts of bad weather, but they did drive the three hours to Upper Manhattan for an extended weekend.

Thursday afternoon found them checking into a fancy hotel. Stephen suggested they rest for a few hours in their room before going down to the Grand Salon for dinner. It didn't surprise Peter in the slightest that "resting" really meant sex and he enjoyed the novelty of being thoroughly debauched in a hotel room with a king bed and a stunning view of the city.

The Grand Salon was a marvel of crystal-like curtains and glowing chandeliers that complemented the rich wallpaper, lush velvet and silk seating. He'd never been in such an elegant, refined place. Everyone was dressed in fine clothes and for once, Peter felt like he belonged thanks to his tailored suit and the reading he'd done on etiquette and fine dining.

"Do you want to see the prices on the menu or would you like me to order for you?" Stephen asked once they were seated and he was handed the day's menu. "I think I have a fairly good idea of what you'll enjoy."

"Please," Peter said, relieved. There was no way their dinner would be anything other than outrageously expensive and he'd rather not have to worry about the cost.

Stephen ordered them both a Cardini salad, baked salmon with squash, spinach, and scallions in a rich beurre blanc, and glazed roasted carrots. He even ordered panna cotta for dessert. Everything was delicious and it was the most exquisite meal Peter had ever had.

"Well?" Stephen prompted as Peter finished his last bite of the vanilla custard topped with a blueberry compote and side of lavender ice cream.

"Rich people might be on to something, food-wise," he admitted. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure."

Stephen replaced Peter's battered luggage with a new set during a trip to Gimbels the next morning.

"I already have luggage!" Peter protested.

"Yes, and it's falling apart," Stephen said, unimpressed. "You might keep in mind that the set you arrived with is, by your own admission, older than you. It was well used and has served its purpose."

Peter couldn't argue with that. Stephen's gift was a nice set and would no doubt last him for a decade or two.

Gimbels was only the tip of the ice burg. Stephen guided him into L.S. Ayres and he spent a few hours being measured and and given a selection of clothing better suited to warmer temperatures to try on. There was little point in protesting; he needed clothes for spring and summer and he'd put on a few inches of muscle in addition to a few pounds since the previous August - one of the benefits of having steady, nutritious meals for months on end.

And, he had to admit, Stephen's taste was impeccable. Peter looked so far removed from the gangly, underfed boy hailing from Midtown... but he also looked like himself.

"Thanks for all the clothes," Peter said while they ate lunch at the L.S. Ayres tea room. It was a nice place, clearly designed to keep shoppers from leaving the department store for lunch. He enjoyed watching the small group of men and women walking around modeling the latest fashions.

"You're welcome," Stephen said. "You can't exactly be running around Malibu in long-sleeves."

That evening, Stephen surprised him with attending a show in Upper Manhattan's famed theatre district. Peter had never seen such a spectacle but he thoroughly enjoyed the music, dancing, and clever humor of The Music Man.

"I've seen community plays before," Peter told Stephen that night after they returned to their hotel room. "But nothing like that! I think I liked it more than the movies I've seen!"

Saturday morning they decided to spend the day out. He enjoyed exploring a city he'd only been to as a young child and even when they passed near Columbia University, Peter's mood didn't drop. That wasn't his life anymore and the one he had now was turning out to be a good one.

They didn't go to another show on Saturday evening, but Stephen took him to see a movie where they ate hot buttered popcorn and washed it down with fountain sodas.

"You said you've seen movies before?" He asked as the taxi drove them back to their hotel.

Peter nodded. "There was a dollar theater at the very edge of Midtown - the farthest the street trolley would travel. Every movie they showed was a few years old and I only managed to see a few, but I liked them." He considered for a moment. "I prefer radio shows, though. I like having pictures of what everything looks like in my mind and not shown."

"I feel the same way," Stephen agreed.

On Sunday they lazed in bed and barely made the cut-off to order in-room breakfast. They took their time packing and checking out before Stephen drove them back home.

"Have you done this often?" Peter asked as they drove. "Just take off for a long weekend?"

"Maybe once or twice every other year," Stephen said. "I have the amount of vacation time I have banked for a reason. The few times I've been asked to assist in a surgery like the one last autumn I would stay and enjoy a day or two if the city was interesting."

"But you didn't last time. You came home as soon as you could."

Stephen briefly looked over at him. "I had a reason to want to be home."

Work was more or less peaceful now that everyone on the hospital's board had met Peter and observed the two of them together. They'd hosted another dinner for an important pair of donors to the hospital and Peter had them charmed before the appetizers (his famous walnut date bites with coconut whip and sweet potato stacks) were even touched. It almost seemed too good to be true.

It was.

One Wednesday morning a week before his trip with Peter to California, Reed Richards came to his office and asked to speak with him.

"How may I help you?" Stephen asked.

Reed sat. "I very much enjoyed meeting your husband."

He said nothing.

"He's a fine young man and so gifted. I don't want to sound as though I'm bragging but there aren't many people I can talk about oncology, feature scoring, and bio-markers with. Peter kept up without a pause."

"He's a smart young man," Stephen agreed.

"And I can't help but wonder if his potential is being squandered. He was chosen to write for Van Dyne," Reed continued. "If his theories proved true, he could have revolutionized wound care. Stephen, he needs to be in college, not playing house husband."

"What are you really getting at?" Stephen asked. He had an idea, of course, and he could feel his temper rising.

"Your year with the BCSS is up in August. Stephen, I really think the right thing for you to do would be to annul the marriage. Peter had such a bright future ahead of him and keeping him chained to you isn't fair to him. Like I've said, a young man like him should be in college and making his mark on the world."

"Get out."

"Stephen-"

"No. All this song and dance about how you and the others just want me to be happy and now that you've seen I am, you want it destroyed. I'm so sorry I didn't follow your groupthink and ignore a fellow doctor's egregious malpractice, but just because I actually have a code of ethics I follow doesn't mean you get to make my life miserable to assuage your own guilt. Get out."

Reluctantly, Reed left with a parting "At least consider it."

Stephen managed to keep from throwing something, but only just.

The rest of his day passed in a haze and worst of all was the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Richards, damn the man, was probably right.

Peter could tell something was wrong when Stephen came home.

Stephen didn't acknowledge his greeting but went upstairs to change. When he came down it was as if he were going through the motions of a pleasant meal and evening in. It stung a little, considering the effort Peter had put into making the beef Wellington. It was a new attempt, and he'd hoped for even a small amount of praise.

"Did something happen at work?" Peter asked after Stephen bit into a lemon bar.

"Just a colleague speaking out of turn," Stephen said finally. "I'm sorry I'm such poor company at the moment."

"Was it anyone I know?"

"Yes, but what that person said hardly merits repeating," Stephen said. "Don't trouble yourself with it."

"If you say so," Peter said.

"I do say so," Stephen said sharply. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry. Just... don't worry about it."

"Stephen... if I've done something wrong, you can tell me."

"Not everything is about you, Peter," Stephen said.

Peter could only stare as Stephen got up and went upstairs. He listened carefully and heard the door to Stephen's office close.

What on earth was going on?

Stephen hadn't been this much of an asshole in months.

Talking with Tony and Sharon helped, at least.

He finalized plans to visit along with Peter and after Tony had to leave for an important SI meeting, Sharon assured Stephen that he'd be able to meet with two of her former colleagues who had a stake in the Quentin Beck case.

"It's kind of funny, though, isn't?" she wondered aloud while they were nailing down details.

"What is?"

"That Peter grew up so poor but somehow had an inheritance to be swindled out of."

He'd wondered about that himself, but there never seemed to be a reason to confront Peter over it. As far as Peter was aware, Stephen knew nothing about Quentin Beck or what had driven him to sign his life over to the BCSS. He'd hoped that Peter would trust him enough to talk to him about it, but apparently Peter didn't think it was necessary.

"A question for the ages," Stephen said.

"Johnson sent me some details and it looks like Beck deposited a hundred and fifty thousand around the time he vanished from Midtown, New Amsterdam."

All things considered, it wasn't exactly a glowing inheritance. Enough to let Peter keep his house and attend college for four years, but after that? Hardly anything to write home about.

Stephen made more than that in a quarter.

It was no wonder Peter thought Stephen's habits were wasteful and still preferred to save money when buying food and household items.

"Is something else going on?" Sharon asked. "You sound different."

He sighed. One of the problems with having friends was that even if those friends weren't former spies and trained interrogators, eventually they'd know someone well enough to know when something was off.

"It's something better discussed in person," he hedged.

"You'd better plan on discussing it when you two get here, then," she warned. "Bottling things up isn't going to help anyone."

"Says the woman who kept secrets for a living," he shot back.

Sharon laughed. "Oh, that wasn't even the half of it! Listen, Tony's spawn is playing football with my internal organs so I'm going to go lie down. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Take care of yourself," he urged.

Peter was withdrawn that night and everything about his body language - and the fact that he was wearing pajamas - said "back off."

Hating that he'd hurt Peter, Stephen did back off and dressed for bed himself.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier this evening," Stephen said after he'd joined Peter in bed. "You didn't deserve to be spoken to that way."

"No, I didn't," Peter said finally, still not looking at him. "I'm your spouse, not your verbal whipping boy."

"I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

"I don't ask about your day or what's bothering you to be nosy. I ask because you shouldn't have to deal with it alone."

"That's something I'm still coming to terms with," Stephen said. "I've been alone for a very long time."

"You're not, now. I know I'm not much-"

Stephen pulled him close and kissed him. "You're everything. I'm sorry I haven't made you feel that way. I'm... I'm glad that I have you."

Peter returned the kiss, pushing Stephen onto his back. "You have me." He kissed him again, started unbuttoning Stephen's pajama shirt, and then began to kiss down. And down.

"Peter, you don't-"

Peter looked up, amused. "I know." He continued his attentions downward and Stephen lifted his hips so Peter could pull clothing off.

Few things could make his mind go blissfully blank. Peter's mouth around his cock was one of them.

After he'd cleaned them up and before he fell asleep, Stephen vaguely wondered if Peter had any notion of the amount of power he could wield over him.

Peter took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

The woman who answered smiled delightedly when she saw him. "Peter! How wonderful to see you!"

"I'm sorry to bother you on your day off, Sue," he said.

"Oh, not at all! I was just using the quiet to do some cleaning. Franklin and Valeria will just mess it up again when they return from day care, but needs must. What brings you by?"

"I was hoping you could pass on a message to Dr. Richards for me."

Sue nodded, still smiling. "Of course! What would you like for me to tell him?"

"I'd like for for him to keep his opinions on my marriage to himself. He might not approve of how I'm living my life but it's my life. Stephen is my selecting spouse and I don't like seeing him upset."

Her smile faltered just a bit and she closed her eyes, mouthing something that sounded like "that man". She didn't look surprised at all. "Of course, I'll tell him."

"I would really appreciate it," Peter said. "I'm sorry to have to even ask, but like I said, I don't like seeing Stephen upset."

She nodded. "I'm so sorry you've had to deal with this. Reed so often has very good intentions but his execution and inability to let things go can cause problems."

They exchanged a few minutes of small talk and then Peter returned home.

Hopefully, that would be the last of it.

_______

[wherethewisheslive]

[m0us3rat]

“are you really sure about this place?” stephen asked skeptically, looking at the sign from inside the car. rex sat at the wheel, lydia in the passenger’s seat. matthew and stephen sat in the back, leaning to the middle to look at the motel.

CLOWN MOTEL, with multiple letters dark

“i mean, sure. there’s nothing else around,” rex replied, shrugging a little.

“rex, babe, i love you, but surely there’s another place,” lydia said, trying to make sense of the barely illuminated sign.

“do you want to drive?”

everyone in the car deflected the responsibility.

“it’s past midnight, let’s just stay here. rex is paying, though,” matthew decided, getting his bag from the floorboard.

everyone in the car agreed tiredly. rex stuck their middle fingers at their passengers as they got out and got their bag from lydia. “fuck all y’all!” they yelled.

at the front stand, the woman booking their rooms was clearly in her 50’s and a seasoned smoker. her blonde hair was fading under the flickering lights.

“we only got one room in this place with two beds. y’all okay with bunking up?” she asked in a croaky voice.

rex looked at stephen and matthew. they raised their eyebrows.

stephen and matthew looked at each other. they shrugged at each other and nodded.

“we’ll take it,” they said, voice worn from the drive. they handed their card to the woman and the quartet went to the room.

in the pathetic room, there were two beds and a small bathroom. the wallpaper was once pink and purple stripes, now just yellowed with age and grey from dust. the group agreed silently to keep their shoes on when they walked on the carpet. the two beds had yellow bedsheets on them with two pillows each. the room contained a multitude of clown pictures and paintings, all framed on the walls or on the nightstand between the two beds.

rex and lydia set their bags down on one of the beds, claiming it as theirs. “you two sure you want to bed together?” lydia asked as she took down her low pigtails.

“yeah, yeah, it’s no problem,” stephen said, waving his hand as he set down the bag. “if y’all are okay with it, i’m gonna head to the latrine and get changed.”

the trio bid him farewell as he went into the small room.

“rex, you’ve gotten us into some strange situations, but this is next level,” matthew said, looking at the large clown painting above his bed.

rex ran a tired hand through their curls. they clicked their tongue and nodded. “this one is a lot more…original than expected,” they agreed.

“i’ll say,” matthew replied, turning his gaze to yet another clown painting.

stephen walked out of the bathroom with a metallica shirt on with basketball shorts. his low-top converse remained on his feet. “y’all just guess what’s in that bathroom.”

“a clown painting?” the whole room replied.

“damn right! this place is givin’ me bad energy,” he said as he sat down on the bed.

matthew gestured for lydia to go on to the bathroom. lydia nodded and carried her backpack into the small room and clicked the lock.

“so, when are we thinking we’ll head out tomorrow?” rex asked, trying to make conversation.

“what time is it now?” matthew asked as he worked on unbuttoning his overshirt.

“12:47,” rex replied, holding their phone screen up for matthew.

matthew and stephen groaned. “when do we have to be gone?” matthew followed up.

“10.”

“so…9?” stephen asked, untying his shoes once he sat on the bed.

rex rubbed their face. “i guess. we all cool with traveling in our sleep clothes?”

matthew and stephen nodded.

“good. we can leave at 8 and grab breakfast some place,” rex said as their head darted to where lydia was walking out of the bathroom. her hair was down and her makeup was taken off. she wore the same paramore shirt with a pair of blue leggings with her hi-top converse.

“rex, i got a bone to pick with you,” she said. “this motherfucking place doesn’t have hot water,” she vented as she sat on the bed. “the bathroom is green. neon green with purple trim.” her nose was crinkled.

matthew walked in the bathroom.

“jesus,” they said, smiling a little. “this place is batshit.”

“you can say that again,” lydia said as she laid on the bed. “i hope g-d knows he is my only god because i am not getting in this carpet and saying the shema.”

“i’m gonna say it on the bed,” rex said with a shrug.

“want a kosher cookie?” she replied jokingly.

rex shrugged again. matthew came out of the bathroom in a blue shirt with matching plaid pajama bottoms. of course, he had a pair of slip-on sneakers on with the outfit.

rex walked into the bathroom last while the rest of the party got settled into their beds.

“rex’ll get the lights,” stephen said as he got into his bed. matthew got in beside him.

“you sure this is fine?”

stephen shrugged. “why wouldn’t it be? i don’t care.”

matthew shrugged and pulled the cover over himself. lydia sat up when rex walked into the room, wearing their radiohead shirt with black sweatpants. they turned out the bright light and got into bed, taking off their combat boots.

the two got on their knees and said the shema before getting in the covers.

“i hate this place and i’m considering leaving you over this,” lydia whispered.

“don’t blame you. have a nice life,” rex replied, kissing lydia on the end of her nose.

the next morning, the party of four was more than happy to rush out of the room. once they all had on their shoes and checked that they had all their clothes and phones and chargers, they checked out and piled back into stephen’s ford explorer.

lydia was brushing through her hair while rex was pulling out of the parking lot. rex was muttering the morning shema as they drove, yawning when they were done. the car was silent otherwise.

“what did we think of the clown motel?” rex asked, knowing the answer.

“i’m just impressed i didn’t get killed. it’s touch and go for a black gay man,” matthew replied, not looking up from his phone.

a look of realization washed over stephen’s face. “that’s why you kept asking if it was fine for you to share a bed with me! i completely forgot about that. whatever, it doesn’t matter, i’m bi,” he said.

“you’re WHAT?” the entire car yelled as rex stopped abruptly at a red light.

@outcastkingdom