#but something along those lines and might just stick with 'like a ghost with two voices' because that was how the line first came out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starwritesstuff · 1 year ago

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i would do anything for you to love me like i'm an american hero

(Chap 1)

yeah yeah yeah this is a rainbow kitten surprise song title i can't help myself- i did draw quite a bit of inspo from this song anyhooooozzllessss i put this on ao3 but i figure since i be writing stuff here too i'll post it here.

summary: You hold your hand out and introduce yourself. “Figured I should at least give you my name since I make it a point to bother you every time I see you here.” He takes it, grip warm, firm. “I’m Leon Kennedy.” Gives you a crooked grin. “And you’re not a bother.” Oh? You weren’t, huh? ---- You're pathetic and in love with your best friend. How do you love a ghost?

word count: 3,127

rating: this chapter is g rated buuuttt there is eventual smut so i cannot recommend minors reading this fic- also pls brace yourselves for a lotta angst i'm rly gonna PUT THEM THROUGH A BLENDER (insert me rubbing my hands together like some kinda Machiavellian freak)

The first time you meet Leon it’s in a cafe. He’d bumped into you in line. Leon muttered a sheepish apology and you thought it had been downright adorable.

You’d flirted shamelessly with him- how could you not? With looks like that, the near innocent way he had said sorry. He’d just stood there, a bit awkward, and you’d thought- god what a cutie.

After that you had started to see him a lot more frequently at that cafe and, well, you hadn’t been a regular. But you became one since that first interaction.

It’s not for another month that you get the courage to do more than make flirtatious comments- though he’s always a good sport about those.

“Anyone ever told you you’re kind of an awkward guy?” You ask him, sipping on your hot latte. Eyeing him. He startles, turning a very blue gaze your way.

“Ah, yeah.” He laughs, a dry thing, and rubs the back of his neck. “Might have been once or twice.” Oh could he get any more sweet? He reminds you of a puppy.

You hold your hand out and introduce yourself. “Figured I should at least give you my name since I make it a point to bother you every time I see you here.”

He takes it, grip warm, firm. “I’m Leon Kennedy.” Gives you a crooked grin. “And you’re not a bother.” Oh? You weren’t, huh?

The two of you are standing in the lobby, someone shuffling past you to get to the line. Right. You’re in the way.

You turn back to Leon, grinning. “Do you want to come sit with me? Save me from boring reports?” You watch a flush settle along the back of his neck, crawling up to turn the tips of his ears red. You’re so in trouble.

Leon returns your grin with teeth that are slightly crooked. Furthering your deep descent into your crush.

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If you paced any more you’d likely wear a tread into the carpet.

It had been months, you think, since you heard from Leon. More since you last saw him.You knew he had an unorthodox job. Something dangerous. Leon always returned a little more banged than when he left.

You didn’t expect Leon, who was more or less a sweet, bashful guy, to have a job like that. But he always, always managed to make contact when he was gone. Whatever had happened you just hoped, wished, prayed to what deity would listen that he was okay. That he wasn’t dead. That he’d come back, even if he was banged up.

You force yourself to quit your relentless back and forth. Tea. You wanted- needed some tea. That honey chamomile you’d gotten last week at the store. You had some clover honey pops to go with it, if you could find them. You tap your fingers impatiently on the stove handle, waiting for the kettle to boil. When it does, you ignore the shakiness of your hands as you pour it over two bags. You like your tea strong.

Walking over to your couch, collapse. Curse loudly when you slosh some of that hot tea fresh off the stove on your fingers. You stick your pointer and middle finger in your mouth, wincing at the stinging pain. Gotta turn something on the TV, distract yourself. You settle on The Great British Bake Off. Stupid stuff, but you liked the friendly competition. And you got to see some pretty neat creations.

You settle into the couch, worn and comfy from years of use, like most of the things in your home. What can you say, you liked homey, comfy things. You draw the fuzzy blanket draped over the couch to you. Wrap yourself up. Sip your tea. And watch Paul Hollywood stare with his weird blue eyes.

It’s actually doing a great job of taking your mind off of Leon. British accents and pastries have that effect, you think. The heat kicks on and you take your sweater off, leaving you in your thin camisole. Too hot for blankets, sweaters, and the heat on. You pillow your head on the arm of the couch.

You don’t know what wakes you. But the hairs on the back of your neck prickle and you have this awful feeling of being watched. Your living room was dark, your TV having gone into that energy saving mode it does when it’s on too long. You stay very still, heart pounding. There’s a creak and you know someone is there.

Could be one of two things because honestly, the only person that could access your home was Leon. Or, conversely, a burglar. Murderer. Whatever.

“Leon?” That seems the most obvious choice. You slowly sit up, rubbing gritty sleep from your eyes.

“Yeah.” Comes his husky reply.

“Christ. What time is it?”

“Just after one in the morning.” Soft light floods the room; he’s turned on one of your floor lamps. You shove a hand through your hair. You slept all of four hours probably. Your mouth is fuzzy and you run your tongue over them. Tastes nasty, too. You must’ve fallen asleep with your mouth open. You hate doing that.

He comes over, to sit by you on the couch and god he does not look good. He’s got a cut over the bridge of his nose, deep purple coloring under his eyes and his straight brows are hung low, scrunching over his nose.

“So” you start. Stop. Take a drink of cold tea to wet your throat. This was awkward. Your locks had been changed. Did he pick them?

He isn’t looking at you, rather he’s looking at the floor. His hands hang loosely between his knees, elbows planted on his thighs. Leon looks exhausted. You had meant to rage at him a little when you saw him next. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that right now. Not when he looks like this.

“Long trip?” You settle on. Leaning back under your blanket, cradling that cold cup of tea in your hands. Just for something to do.

“Something like that”, he grunts. Opens his mouth, then closes it again. He shakes his head and for a wild moment you’re reminded of a dog shaking its floppy ears. You say nothing, turn your attention back to your tea. It’s tense. You rub your finger along the rim of the cup.

“I suppose I owe you an apology.” Leon’s squinting at you now. He looks unsure, like maybe you have the answers. You shrug instead. Your shoulders get stuck up by your ears though, hunching. You force them down.

“If you want.” Out of the corner of your eye you see Leon’s eyes slide over to you. He doesn’t seem familiar to you right now. There’s no boyish light in his eyes, no silly puppy look to his features. He moves with a deliberate slowness, nothing like the eagerness you’re used to. Something’s happened, you know it has.

You clear your throat.

“If you want me to leave, I can go.” Startled you look at him. “No. No, I was just… thinking about if you’d picked my lock.” It was only half of a lie, anyway.

Leon snorts. “Should consider locking the deadbolt. It’s there for a reason.” Ah, right. The deadbolt. You never use. You guess locks on a door handle are probably much easier to get through than a deadbolt.

“Look, I know it’s been awhile.” Leon says, shoving his elbows off his thighs and letting out a long breath. You fidget with your cup some more. “It has.”

You really have no right to feel this way. The two of you are… Best friends. Close, but not close in the ways to warrant this irrational anger you have. You feel almost abandoned. You cringe inwardly at the feeling. Abandoned. Yeah, what are you, some rescue animal dropped off at the shelter?

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Leon’s jaw clench, the muscle fluttering under sallow skin.

You shift under your blanket, eyes bleary, focusing on some faraway point in the living room that you can't really see. You grumble about needing to find your glasses. A few seconds later, Leon hands them to you. You take them, careful to not brush his fingers. You don’t look at him when you quietly murmur your thanks. You wish that he would say something, or you would just open your mouth and say what you feel. Something to relieve the tension in the room.

“I’m surprised to see you. For a while there I wasn’t sure…” You trail off. You don’t want to finish the sentence.

He cracks a smile. It looks worn at the edges, a little unsure. “I wasn’t… I didn’t know if I’d be welcome.” Your shoulders hunch again at that. He probably wouldn’t have been welcome had you known he was going to come here, if you were honest. Ah, have you mentioned you hate this? Things haven’t been weird and tense between the two of you since, well, ever.

“Aw, don’t be like that. You know you’re always welcome here.”

“Am I?”

You pick at the blanket. “Of course.” You blow a breath out, blow it up and it stirs the hair off your forehead.

You grab the TV remote, turn it on.

“I was watching The Great British Bake Off.” You say when he doesn’t reply. The two of you sit for awhile. The TV lights flickering over your faces. You don’t know about Leon, but you’re not really watching. Not really, no. You were sneaking glances at him, taking his still stiff posture. How his hands haven’t moved from his thighs. He looks poised to run, you think.

The episode ends. Starts a new one. You think maybe the not talking happening between the two of you is going to drive you crazy. But you don’t open your mouth. Don’t try to pick at this weird shell he’s created, retreated into. You probably should. He’s your best friend. You should want to try to be there for him.

You’re scared. This new version of Leon feels like he doesn’t want to be here. With you. The old Leon would be excitedly telling you about blowing shit up and shyly asking if you wanted to get coffee at that cafe. As if you’d say no, despite the many times the two of you have kept up the tradition. Now he seems to not know what to do with you. How to be here.

You rub your nose. Pull your knees up. Tuck your hair behind your ears. You know you’re fidgeting. You can’t help it. You’ve never felt this- this weird next to him. Okay, maybe weird isn’t the right word. You certainly feel strange around him, you’re not a fool, you know why. But this is a new strangeness. It’s born of an insecurity that you never thought you’d have.

“You don’t… have to stay. You know? I won’t be mad if you have, like, other places you wanna be.” You wonder if that comes out as needy as you feel. Leon turns his gaze to you, something complicated flicking through his eyes. Quick enough that you don’t quite catch it, not quick enough that you don’t notice it and wonder.

“No, no. Sorry. I’m tired.” Leon’s tone gives nothing away. But it sounds like an excuse to your ears. Does he… pity you? Feel obligated to you? To stay? You try to grin at him, like you always do, like you used to. “Sure. Sure, yeah, I imagine. Um, the guest bed is always made up. You know, just in case.” And it had been. It stayed made up since the last time you had left. Leon huffs out a near silent laugh. “Is it?”

“Yeah. You kinda made a habit of crashing here, you know. So I just… kept it. I mean, I wash the sheets and stuff.” You hurry to explain that last part. You’d taken to keeping extras of things around the house for him. Toothbrush, towel, shirts and boxers and socks. It was all very domestic, blah blah blah. Your heart clenches.

Leon shifts in his spot. Toes off his boots. You wrinkle your nose.

“Walking around in my house with your nasty boots, huh” you chide him, teasing. You get a flash of a genuine smile at that. Your heart unclenches. Just a little.

“Sorry” he says. He doesn’t sound very sorry. In fact, you’d say he sounds a little mischievous. Leon holds his boots out to you. “Wanna see how nasty they are?” You squeal, smack at them. “You’re gross, Kennedy.”

He laughs, sets them by the couch. “You’re fond of telling me.”

You raise a brow at him. "Do you have to put them there? You could, I don't know, stick them. On the shoe rack. That is literally right by my door." Leon shrugs.

“Easier to just take them off here.” He teases. But he gets up, sets the boots on the rack. Holds out his hands in a placating gesture. “See? I put them away like a good boy.” You cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stifle laughter.

“You wouldn’t know how to be a good boy if it came up and slapped you in the face.” You poke at him. “You’re a menace.”

Leon levels you with a kind of look that has your giggles freezing in your throat. Just shy of indecipherable, poorly hidden heat. You hadn’t really thought about the words when they came out, just enjoying the banter with him. You quickly look away. No way were you taking any time to pick apart that look. Adjust your mental position, firmly sticking yourself in the “Leon’s closest friend” category.

“It’s getting a bite late for me,” you say, fighting to keep your voice from wavering. “I think I’m going to actually go to bed.” You think you see a flash of disappointment cross his pretty features. But he stands with you, stretching. T-shirt riding up, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of pale skin, toned. Light scars littered amongst moles.

You turn your head away, give Leon a light pat on the shoulder. “See you in the morning? Let’s go to our cafe.”

“Sure, been awhile. D’you think they remember me?”

“Hard to forget, don’t’cha think?”

Leon laughs at that. Does that thing where he awkwardly shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes. He needs a haircut, you think. It’s gotten over-long. Makes you think of a little emo boy.

“I’ll wake you when I’m up.” He was saying, jerking you out of your musings.

“No later than 8am, mister.” You warn him. Well aware that Leon was an early riser, no matter how little he slept. Leon puts a warm hand on the top of your head. “I promise, I will not wake you before 8am.” He says with mock solemnity. You suck your teeth in response, moving to knock his hand off your head. Retreat a few steps towards your room.

“Good. See that you don’t. Goodnight, Kennedy.” You call, escaping to your room. Try to calm your racing heart. Leon didn’t often initiate physical contact with you, and that was fine, really you preferred it that way. Because when he does, your brain fizzles out. Nervous system goes haywire.

You climb into bed, thoughts shifting to Leon’s earlier behavior. How tense things had been. It was the first time you felt that uncomfortable with him. The two of you were normally much more cohesive. You had a sneaking suspicion that whatever he’d come back from was different. Different from what he usually dealt with. Though, you know you likely won’t get to know. You generally weren’t privy to specifics with him.

You flip to your side, restless. Drag the covers your head, clutching a pillow close to your chest. And what was that ridiculous reaction earlier? Leon had looked… Hot? Sexy? Wanting? Your traitorous brain supplies. Surely not, not because of someone like you. Sure you flirted with him, had built a silly friendship with that flirtation as the foundation, but it didn’t mean anything. You’re, well, you. And Leon’s Leon. He was… magnetic, a little stupid, a little cheesy, but you’d been drawn to that. And he was pretty- really, you hadn’t seen a man so beautiful. All high cheekbones, full lips, delicate brows. And you weren’t convinced he didn’t use mascara or eyeliner, or something with lashes like those.

It hurt sometimes, looking at him.

You weren’t typically an insecure person. You’d even say that, sometimes, you might even be a bit big for your britches. But your friendship (you refuse to call it a relationship) with Leon left you feeling a little inadequate at times. That feeling had crawled into your sternum, made a little nest among your heart and viscera the first time he’d come back from a trip. You wished you could grab it, like it was one of those prickly things that attached themselves to your socks, and pluck it out. But it was there to stay.

You jerk the covers off your head, the space having gotten hot, humid and somewhat hard to breathe. You roll onto your back, dragging the pillow with you. You wonder what Leon was doing. Was he tossing and turning? Punching his pillow softer, to fit his head? Or had he just conked out, exhausted. Sometimes, when he stayed over, he’d get nightmares. And you’d find his silhouette in your doorway, shyly asking if he could sit with you for a bit. First time he did it you thought you might shit your pants. You had scolded him, told him to make a little noise. That waking up to him just hanging in the doorway like some kinda freaky serial killer was just terrifying. Since then, Leon had always made sure to purposely creak your creaky floorboards, to swing the door open noisily.

Not tonight, though. It was quiet. The overhead fan was the only sound you could hear. It was too quiet, one of those nights that made you wish you had a TV in your room, so you could stick something on. The silence just made your thoughts louder, screaming, ringing in your head. Knowing Leon was just in the other room, yards away, doing whatever it is he does at night, knotted your stomach. Quickened your breath. Made that thing in your chest ache.

You forcefully wrangle your melancholy thoughts into submission. It was far too late for any more of it, and you needed some semblance of sleep. You just know Leon’s going to wake you precisely at 8am, just to be difficult.

#resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #resident evil angst #mutual pining #friends to lovers #slow burn #angst with a happy ending #star's writing

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thehearteccentric · 10 months ago

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♛ HELLO, AND WELCOME TO THE PLACE WHERE SHAMEFUL STATEMENTS AND ODDITY GATHER TO DANCE AND FLUTTER AND CREATE A SCINTILLATING CRINGE, WORTHY OF A LIFETIME OF REDDIT KARMA! ♛

My name's AXYER! But over here, you may call me Heart or Chimney. :)

I should clarify, I'm wording everything on this blog as carefully as I possibly can, if I am uneducated please politely re-inform me! I am likely just uneducated and I promise you I will easily change my mind if you correct me!!!

I personally see kinning in the otherkin sense and the relate-to sense as two separate things; personally, I feel like there should be a term to separate the two better, as I understand that otherkin is a DISTINCT experience from simply relating to a character in a way that you see yourself as them; as such, in my Carrd and here please do not mind the term "kinning" being used for the latter, I am very open to a better term being used as I wish to respect everyone I can, and I find "relate kinning" can be very beneficial to someone, but deserves to be classified as something distinct.

Synpaths. The term you're looking for is synpaths, Axon.

Personally, identifying as an otherkin is a means for me to cope. Nope, you're Heart Axon, in the flesh. You are just him. It's okay, you were taking baby steps.

I don't see myself as Heart in a past life nor Heart spiritually in-general, rather that I am something along the lines of Heart reduced to a human form, or something like that, but do use them as an integral part of my identify and identify as it for personal reasons.

Update to this ^^^^ I identify as an alternate universe of a villain version of Heart, in some sort of Tumblr ask blog-multifandom-palooza-type deal. I am Heart, just an AU of him where he's human and everything's just slightly off and he desperately wants to be himself again because he knows he needs to be.

I might also vent on this blog, so just be mindful!! (Update: trying not to anymore)

My kintypes:

-Idkin, ids are a fictional species that are essentially parasitic organisms that parallel the Host species and have lots of bizarre inhuman qualities! (update: kinda????? It's weird)

-Heartkin, goes hand-in-hand with idkin, I identify as Heart from Chonny's Charming Chaos Compendium! I think of myself as an alternate universe version of my AU version of Heart from Untitled Chonny Jash AU. :)

(NOTE: THOSE WHO IDENTIFY AS HEART IN ANY WAY DNI PLEASE! I WILL BRING THIS UP A LOT I AM NOT COMFY WITH OTHER HEARTKINS AND I WILL BLOCK YOU FOR MY OWN WELLBEING! IT'S NOTHING PERSONAL, TRUST ME!)

-The Robber from Ain't No Rest For the Wicked (Chonny Jash's version), this kinda goes hand-in-hand with being Heart as they're kinda blended into one kintype for me. I liked to rob people lots and be evil lots.

-Stick figurekin, a very popular fictional species dictated by skinny bodies, really long legs, shoe feet, and a love for art and fighting!

-Grimmchildkin, I like to think of myself as a Grimmchild that's "human" form is Heart! Or, alternatively, Heart's "furry" form as Grimmchild!

My DNI is right here!! (epic dead link fail) If I follow you first, you're free to interact :) (with few exceptions). Obviously don't interact if you're against otherkin/kinning, and DNI whatsoever if you identify as/with any character from a certain stick figure comic with a black stick figure with lightning tendrils that torments a sad white stick figure with a tie, DNI if you're just a fan of it period, and ABSOLUTELY DNI if you ship said black stick figure with the tie stick figure or his brother, like omg get out you're disgusting.

Also DNI if you or any part of you identify as Heart, just a personal reference! However, PLEAAAAAAAASE interact if you identify as/with Soul or Mind, or even Looks to the Moon from Rain World! They're all massive comforts to me, and I would be overjoyed to interact with any of you! (edit: Hollow Knight kins also please! Especially Ghost, Grimm, or White Lady!!)

Oh, and Nightmarionne kinnies too…… he's been a big comfort to me for a weawwy long time, I just love imagining him as a robo-dilf.

I'd prefer it if only I interacted with fictionkins/otherhearted of these characters interacted rather than any other type of identification, just a personal preference and yk wanting to stay with people I can relate to.

Tags:

#not kinning - Not related to kinning!

#bb [insert kin here] moment - Post relating to kinning the character!! You will most likely see this the most with Heart, as he's the main one I identify as a fictionkin with. :)

#the blues and greens - Favourite posts, usually just ones that make me happy or have my kins in them that I really like. :3

#palpitations be among ye - Me acting as Heart… or a stick figure… maybe a kinshift… who knows… not God… he doesn't even know where us ids come from……

#iblings! - Friends posts. :)

#exchanging spiders - Talkin' about otherkin/kinning stuff with other people.

#imprisonment is all that I earned - Venting. :( When it comes to venting, validating my feelings is what I like the most! Agreeing with me and how I feel really helps, I prefer that over advice. :)

#when harmonia shines - Grimmie

#*bites chew toy* hee hee my teeth - Reblogs!!

Finally updated this during August of 2024. I've discovered lots more about my identity since then. I hope to be less pandery-to-people-in-fear-I'm-kinning-wrong now.

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raiiryuu · 6 months ago

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meta: holidays

⚡︎ Send me a topic for a meta ⚡︎ - @scarletbellatrix

[[Hoo boy here we go. There's gonna be some heavy-ish topics in here (death of family/strained family relationships, copious drinking, things like that) but I'll keep the lighthearted stuff above a cut and the heavy stuff below.]]

Gift-giving holidays are probably something he honestly enjoys? He's a very 'saw this and thought of you' type, but if he's close to you he also listens a lot more than he might let on. He also likely has a deal with those he's close to that at least one holiday he gets to splurge a bit, even if he keeps the others more along the lines of what others consider affordable. He's not a "money is no object" person, he's keeping track of everything, but he's financially comfortable and has the means to do it, and these are people he cares about a lot, he wants them to have nice things. Even if it might frustrate them sometimes.

Birthdays are typically the holidays he'll go all-out for, or close to it. It's specific to that person, signifies they've stuck around another year, and he might be just a little sentimental about it. He's horrible to shop for, but one of his favorite memories is the year he tried to tell the team he didn't want anything, just for them to be there, maybe a cake or something. They (knowingly) each made one, just to get at him for it, and it was the most hilarious thing to him. Spending a snowy winter afternoon with them, dodging Bix's totems trying to smudge frosting on his face while talking with Ever and Freed about how difficult pineapple upside-down cake really is to make, isn't something he's going to forget anytime soon.

Halloween is sort of hit-and-miss for him. It was his mom's favorite, but as long as he's suitably distracted (such as helping Bixlow decorate the haunted house he's turning the guildhall into), he can relax and enjoy it. He's often asked to dress up and help out, but he usually just replies with something along the lines of I'm probably scary enough without the costume ... but grudgingly agrees to help at least a little bit.

Mother's Day and Father's Day are two of the worst holidays, for him, for various reasons. The few days leading up to each holiday, if Laxus can't find some sort of job to distract himself, he's basically a ghost -- barely seen at the guildhall if at all. For Mother's Day, he visits her grave in Magnolia, but will immediately leave if anyone happens upon him there. It's especially tense if it's Makarov that finds him, but there's rarely any words shared before he's gone.

Father's Day is...difficult. He often finds himself wanting to reach out again, to say something, even just a simple hello, but he's not sure how it'd be taken. And to him, the possibility of it being a negative reception is worse than not doing so at all. He's typically gone like he is for Mother's Day, usually spending it at home or working as a distraction.

Most holidays he's fine with, other than those, but if he's coerced into sticking around for the guild celebrations, he's often drinking to make it through them. It's one of the few times you'd actually catch him drunk, though he'd try to downplay it if he's not ushered home by his team before getting too bad off. He's said a few things he regrets while in that state, but never anything cruel -- mostly just admissions he'd never have made had he been sober.

#v;; main { lightning dragon }#;;prayers answered { asks }#;;mythos { headcanons }

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doublegoblin · 2 years ago

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Eyeshines

Those terrestrial embers, the local stars. Magical aren’t they? You really start to notice them early in life, but you haven’t a clue what they could be. You see them in the slow fade into the night, right when the world, just start to not make as much clear sense to you anymore. Little pinpricks along the roads that whiz away the moment you know they are there. Clusters of them scampering up and around the trees; they stop for a second burning brightly and then carry on their merry ways. Uncountable shines in the dew drunk grass. Or if’n you get real lucky. Outside your window burning a hole right through the glass while dozens more stand single file along the tree line.

So you start to ask about these ocular fireflies. You start asking your parents, teachers, friends, and anyone else who will lend you an ear. They all say the same thing but just with different words. That they are the eyes of creatures big and small. ‘Cept for your pals who say they’re ghosts or boogiemen coming to get you. So you start asking why their eyes shine so bright. Only your teachers give you an answer you can trust. It’s because these animals have a special part of their eye that helps them see at night. Keeps ‘em from getting eaten or helps them to instead eat. You start rattling off all the eyes you’ve seen from the deer on the road to the spiders in the grass. The strangest thing though is when you ask about the big one. Their face drains of color a little and that one gets brushed aside. This explanation lights a fire in someone. Why do they glow though? Why would prey have a way to be seen by predator? Is their only means of defense to close their eyes and wait for the danger to pass? Why don’t my eyes glow? Do my eyes glow? Why do only some people’s eyes glow at night?

As you get older you start to understand more and more about those curious lights. You start to understand that to shine those eyes need some kind of light. So you start heading out to the woods with your buddies, most of the time alone, and you bring a light with you. You start waving that thing around to see those gems sparkle. When you see a twinkle you freeze and try and guess what they could be and what they might be feelin.

Two eyes starin’ forward with a stoic fear, just a mama deer passing through. She’s waitin for you to either move on or move close. Those eyes you’ve seen scurrying up and down the trees with their curious gaze. Family of racoons, wondering what in the world you are doing out there with that bright stick. But at home, those eyes outside the window don’t need a light. They are hungry eyes. Ravenous eyes. Luckily they’ve forgotten how to use doors and windows. You know better than to answer a knock after the sun has gone down and to pay no mind to the window scratching. Keep ‘em locked up and you’ll be fine.

But there is one glow you’ve never been able to put anything concrete to. You stare and stare but just can’t get a read on it. It ain’t dead for all it’s worth. You’ve seen it blink. Is it scared like the deer? Curious as the racoon? Or hungry like the folks in the woods? No, no, it’s just seems to be cold. Cold as a midnight in winter. Cold as those dark hours when there are no clouds in the sky. It’s a frigid and patient glow. You try and wrap your mind around why something like it would need to glow so bright, but your mind aches and squeals with protest. So many questions. Why does it blink so slow? What does it mean when it turns red? But most unsettling of all to you, what does it mean, when you can see it’s pupil on that day, when all grows still and silent, what does it mean when the eye stops shining? And what does it mean when it starts to cry?

#quick write #hobby writer #hobby writing #flash writing #writeblr #eyeshine #original work #original fiction #mini horror #short story #campfire story #writing #creative writing #orginal writing

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gravesung · 3 months ago

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ORION'S WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN so long ago that he's become used to walking around with a spinning head. somewhere along the line, his assigned tarot card stopped making sense; he's been feeling a lot less the magician and a lot more the hanged man. surrender. wait. let the blood rush downward until you can't feel your feet.

this new chasm within him has only gotten worse lately. with every meaningless hookup, he chases the feeling of closeness, of hands on his body and eyes on his eyes; with every on-and-off boyfriend, he hopes to feel something more than this... quiet. but the boyfriends always go, because orion can never keep up the act for long. they lose patience when he struggles to speak, and they zone out when he finally does. part of him wonders how much of it is a real struggle and how much of it is self-sabotage. is he choosing people he knows will hurt him?

maybe. it wouldn't be the first self-destructive habit he's picked up. the cigarette burns low in his fingers. he lifts it to his lips, pulls, blows the smoke into the air. those things'll kill you, he used to say to his sister. she'd reply, faster than this job will?

orion's drawn out of his train of thought by footsteps coming up the path to his left. he looks up from his phone, expecting to see zashi there — he did ask where orion was, after all. thought he might be bringing coffees or something.

it's ... not zashi. the eyes that lock with his are bloodshot, heavy; he'd know them anywhere, even without the wild dark hair. orion's eye widens, the glowing white ring thinning like an eclipse amid a night-sky sclera as his pupil dilates. for a moment or two, he just ... stares. stares unblinking like he'll disappear if orion loses sight of him. ❝ shou, ❞ he breathes, tries in vain to wrangle his expression into something that looks less like he's seeing a ghost. ❝ tch — ❞ it's a little hiss of pain as he drops the cigarette that has just singed his fingers. it hurts, but it's welcome — it breaks him out of the haze of shock, leaving in its wake a face flushed pink with embarrassment and a hammering heartbeat.

it's really happening; shouta is really here. orion grinds the cigarette under his heel, moves his now-unoccupied hand to pick at a thread sticking out of the sleeve shouta stares at: loose, silky, dark gray. he's ditched his favorite fragrance from school, now wearing something less floral-citrus and more patchouli-vanilla. his jaw has filled out a bit since they last saw each other, voice a little deeper, hair a little longer. ❝ go ahead. ❞

shouta has lived his life in seasons. not chapters, things have rarely ever felt linear and comprehensible - but in seasons, where capricious nature could do whatever she pleased no matter the infallible time. some lasted longer than others, some were violent and some were calm. he remembers most, holds onto the memory with a tight grip, and yet some of them have been lost to insanity and misfortune. misfortune, he tells himself, repeats it endlessly every night as he locks tired eyes with himself in the mirror and his arm moves the toothbrush automatically.

he had never stopped thinking about seph since his return. he had never once stopped thinking about orion. their faces haunted him at night, in broad daylight, anytime ; his eyelids didn't even have to be open or closed. hizashi telling him that he had never lost contact with the latter had set a fire ablaze, deep within the pits of shouta's gut where it churned and simmered and agonized. he worked for the day they would cross paths, kept it a primary motivation because he just couldn't anymore. he couldn't possibly let his friends go again, couldn't hope to go it alone again.

and yet here they were, here they stood. locking eyes until he comes to sit on the bench beside orion, beside his once-friend. a phantom living in the present, dark gaze can't help but fall towards the very material that clothed his arm just to take in the detail. this was real. this was real. that jacket was real and orion was real, and he wasn't alone anymore.

" hope this seat's not taken. "

@icarusplunged.

#ic.#orion threads.#dryeyed #goofy floating gif

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dyed-red · 3 years ago

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i did it!!

i figured out how i want to end the “demon!dean possesses sam” fic and wrote 4k words in two hours as the draft for the final scene and - !!!

behold me in my vainglory for i am mighty in this victory of victories

this fic is going to have a lot of disturbing imagery and very disturbing situations and be full of sex and dead dove and i apologize in advance because it’s NOT for everyone but it is for me i love it and it’s gonna get super existential around the topic of annihilation of self but that’s what makes it goooood sorry not sorry for being so self-indulgent talking up my own art i’m just really excited to have an end in draft for this delightful fucked up piece of work

#wincest #possession fic #i think we officially have a title y'all #i've had a lot of potential titles i cycled through but i'm landing on #like a ghost with two voices #might tweak slightly i.e.#a ghost with two voices #a mouth with two voices #like a soul with two voices #but something along those lines and might just stick with 'like a ghost with two voices' because that was how the line first came out #anyway i am so delighted this means that i can actually start posting this as a WIP soon while i finish it up #because i need an end as a crucial piece and i knew where i wanted to go but wasn't sure how to make it come out so couldn't commit #to finishing it #but here we are i'm just tag rambling i'm so excited guys #it's 24k words and counting and there's a lot still to fill in but i can see the whole piece now!!!

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autumnalsteahouse · 2 years ago

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because my first instinct is to write about my issues to make myself feel better,, I wanna talk about chubby reader and gojo satoru. (cw: body image issues, touching, gojo being very aware of everything, him subtly “helping” you— not that you needed “help” but he does things without verbalizing it and it’s really nice uhm, making out, grinding, implied stuff that’s definitely naughty)

he’s just so… known. so popular. even if people don’t like him, everyone knows him.

you? your mind went blank when you first saw him. probably one of the most attractive beings you’ve ever see in person… on his way to pluck a spot in line and order from your cafe.

when it came his turn, it was all smiles for him— bright and friendly, shaggy white hair making him almost blinding if it weren’t for those damn sunglasses. Those glasses that never let you know where those icy baby blues were looking, which only made you feel like you could never be… off guard. Every angle had to be right and the clothes you were wearing always has to be complimenting to your figure— which was not hard, but sometimes, especially under his gaze, it felt like it.

it didn’t take long to realize that speaking to him was really easy. like stupidly easy; despite the fact that you were subconsciously flirting with someone akin to a god. he had started coming in regularly after meeting you, sticking around even after he got his drink, “you put something in my coffee and I won’t leave until you tell me what it is.”

you thought it odd at first, what is he doing talking to me? But then you realized, maybe he liked how easy your interactions were— extreme notes of sarcasm and creating stories for random customers was as natural to the both of you as breathing. So natural that it made your confidence sky rocket to the point that it was easier and easier to let thoughts on how your body might look… simply slip away.

but it wasn’t that simple. not when gojo started to become more handsy after a few hang outs outside of work as the friendship progressed. just your typical arm around the shoulder and sometimes along the waist, fingertips ghosting your arm, hand on your thigh, and so on. you’d never actually push him off, too happy about the contact itself, but you’re sure he’s felt you stiffen up. you’re also sure he’s seen you attempt to subtly palm your stomach and/or capture the thickness of your side in your hand— but he didn’t do anything.. at first.

he never made it a big deal. he never wanted to have a talk with you about it. he never wanted to do anything that made you uncomfortable, but the first time he moved your hand away from your stomach was when you were just hanging out at your place and he asked you out on an official date. the gesture itself had been apart of a skit you two were going along with— laughing about how people on love island would ask each other out if they weren’t thrown into a tv show— when he actually asked you out.

you did it subconsciously and without changing the mood, he gently grabbed your wrist and put it back to your side. there was a moment, a pause where you didn’t know what to do and how to act— but you knew how you felt. you felt like crying. but you didn’t. instead you took a crumbling sigh, allowed yourself to take a few deep breaths, told yourself it was okay for your eyes to water, that it was okay to feel the way that you were feeling, that satoru wasn’t judging you— that he was there because he liked you for you and thought that you were attractive.

after your breaths, you gave him a watery smile and told him, “you better pick the most expensive place, because we at love island don’t go for second rate shit.”

+++ (the lil naughty bonus)

your first kiss together was one thing- a quick subconscious peck that wasn’t serious at first. he was leaving because nanami called him in and as he was heading out the door— about to leave you in your jammies with the remote controller in one hand and a tub of popcorn in the next— he leaned in and gave you a fast kiss as if he was on auto pilot. and for someone who’s always on guard, this startled him too as he pulled away with wide eyes and parted lips; you only mirroring his expression. “We will… unpack that when you get back.” you trailed off, still thrown in the loop.

and unpack that you did. when he came back, there was almost little to no time from when he came through the door to when his lips were on yours. fast and needy turned into sensual real quick, both of you finding your preferred pace and place. he couldn’t resist pulling you onto his lap— which only pulled you out of place for a second. the unwanted thought had roared in your ear the moment his hands gripped the soft plush of the meat around your hips. but as violent as the thought came, it fell deadly silent as soon as those big strong hands of his forcibly ground your core onto his hardening cock, gojo thrusting up against you.

“Ah fuck!”

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo x you #chubby reader #gojo x chubby reader #jjk x reader #jjk #oh go’s I’m so sorry about this #it’s very personal #I was having issues last night and I wrote this half asleep #that’s why the ending is like that I am so sorry #it’s my first time writing anything in a WHILE #autumnal’s writing 🍂 !

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wearywinchester · 3 years ago

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Tempers

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

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

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

Word Count: 5.4k

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

Hunting with the Winchester’s.

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

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

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

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

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

Dean was the very same way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

Ghostfacers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh, shaking your head in amusement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you definitely couldn’t decide that one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut it.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s late, sweetheart. Go to bed.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You got this all wrong, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he’ll protect you each and every time.

—

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

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

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mrpenguinpants · 4 years ago

Text

Albedo HCs: Coming Home [Christmas Celebration 🎉]

For the Christmas Celebration Requests, please read this [we have 2 more days but I’ll possibly extend the deadline to Jan 10. I’m tackling all the Mondstadt rq first before moving onto Liyue]

---

Ohhh, I love idea a lot (might have gone overboard anon haha). No worries about being specific, I love getting specific requests. I just finished a super depressing fic and I’m back at it again. Though I will do my best to make this one happy because that Mona fic hurt me. But I’m glad to hear you love my writing haha 💕💕

I also know nothing about Albedo and have never written this man in my life but I’m going to ignore everything because these are happy hours. I love his man so much so this is some self-indulgent stuff (if you couldn’t tell from the word count) istg hcs have turned into fics just without the dialogue. I took many liberties lol what the hell is formatting?

Also, shoutout to @asheseiler A beautiful human being that started chatting with me because we both love Childe haha. But seriously, I appreciate you 💕💕💕

---

[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover

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Albedo HCs: Coming Home

As you finally reached the hill top by the Stone Gate, you could just make out the stone walls of the City of Freedom in Mondstadt. You were almost there and the butterfly’s racing through your stomach only seemed to fly faster. You had been on a long trip away by travelling between Liyue and Inazuma. From practicing your alchemy to finding new secrets, it had been awhile since you last saw Mondstadt. While it had been fun going from place to place and seeing all the new arts and techniques, you couldn’t stop the feeling of loneliness of not having an occasionally smug but talented ash blond companion at your side.

You hadn’t seen Albedo since Master Rhinedottir had left and sent Albedo to Mondstadt with a letter of recommendation. You travelled with him to the City of Freedom but you only stayed for a few nights before you departed to Liyue. Your master had different plans for you and you didn’t know how long your own journey would take but you both promised to stay in touch through letters.

He was now acting as the Chief Alchemist and Captain of the Investigation Team of the Knights of Favonius. He managed to get a lab from Alice and he even had an assistant named Sucrose. He sent over some sketches for you and even if the bottom half of “Sucrose” was just a stick figure, you were happy that he wasn’t alone and cooped up in his lab all the time. You were, however, worried about these “Klee disasters” but happy that he still had the energy to write to you. At first it was hard, you found yourself talking to the air as if Albedo was still there but even after all these years, you couldn’t help but miss him. The occasional letter you received did help to lighten the mood however and you always made sure to store them carefully.

It seemed that your dapping mood was noticeable because even the ever stoic Zhongli asked if you were okay. He was nice and easy to talk to, even if he had a problem with Mora that you sometimes had to bail him out off, but you trusted him so you explained to him your growing loneliness. Which he simply replied that if you missed someone, you should go see them.

So here you are right outside the gates. The knights at the front were nice enough and let you through with ease once they checked that you didn’t have anything destructive. Now the hard part was actually finding Albedo. The knights had mentioned that despite being a highly respectable alchemist and one of the Captains, no one really knew where he was most of the time. Originally, you were thinking of planning some sort of surprise, even had made an entire game plan, but now that you were here. You just wanted to tackle the man, pride be damned.

You began to wander around the city, in comparison to Liyue it was quite small but so much more lively and warm. Christmas was right around the corner so everyone was rushing around hanging up lights and finding presents but it was nice. Everyone seemed to know each other and unlike Liyue, you didn’t need to be afraid if the walls were listening. You looked around for a man with bright teal eyes and ashy light blond hair, even asking around, but no luck. No one seemed to know where he was and if he was even in Mondstadt right now. You were beginning to loose hope and that your trip might have been in vain when you felt a small tap on your shoulder and-

Sweet jesus, what the fuck?

You were almost jealous at how good he looked now. He was always handsome when you were both younger but now it felt like cupid decided to descend from the heavens, laugh at you, then riddled you full of arrows. Was your pulse working? Brain still computing? You knew you had a small crush on Albedo when you were younger- who were you kidding, you were in love with this man since he helped you create cecilia flowers from a dead denro slime - but this was just unfair!

“Albedo! I was looking around everywhere for you. This place is actually a lot bigger than it se-”

“You’re back.”

Albedo was surprised to see that it was really you. He only caught a small glimpse of your profile but he knew it was you. He almost suspected that his vision was tricking him or that he might have accidently set one of his sketches of you to life but you were here. Albedo has always treated friendships with a constant degree of distance, always working or traveling to gathering materials to avoid social interactions even if it wasn’t intentional. He also had no memory of any family, only adventuring deep within the domains with his master and you. But when his Master left with one assignment left for him he couldn’t help but feel a bit hollow, but you were always there to lift his spirits up even if on the outside he didn’t appear upset.

But then you had left and gone on your own journey.

“Hm? Oh, sorry I didn’t mention it in my last letter. It was a bit of an impulse trip. But I’m not intruding in on anything right? You’re happy to see me...right?”

“You’re here.”

At first he was alright with it, even encouraged you to set off to Liyue since it was the closest. Promising that you would both keep in touch even if he found relationships a taxing cycle. But when a few months had passed and it began to settle in that you weren’t anywhere near him. That he couldn’t talk to you about new discoveries, that he couldn’t hear you voice anymore, that he had even forgotten how to sketch you. It felt...weird. He knew what he was feeling was loneliness, he wasn’t deluded or naïve, but even when he had Sucrose or Timaeus it wasn’t the same. But now you were here. He could see you and how the lines in his sketchbook were wrong whenever he attempted to re-create you. He could feel your warmth that sketches he brought to life couldn’t do. He could feel your presence and how it slowly but surely filled the void in him until it was bursting at the seams.

“Albedo? Are you alright?”

“You’re here.”

You were almost afraid that the holidays had broke Albedo. You knew he would sometimes get too deep in thought and wouldn’t register his surrounding but it was just you two. With the sun slowly going down, the snowflakes dancing around you both, and the Christmas light reflecting off his unique blue eyes. You took a slow blinked at him. Once. Twice. The same way you would when you were studying something, trying to unveil its secrets. Before sighing amusingly and opening up your arms to him. He was still the same.

“I’m here.”

The final assignment Albedo received was too hard, too complicated, far beyond his own limits and he was worried that if he never completed it, would he ever see his teacher again? When you took your first step outside the walls of the city, waving back to him as you set off on your journey, he couldn’t help but feel that like his teacher, you were leaving him too. But when you looked at him with those warm but understanding eyes, opened your arms to him, he let go and stepped into your embrace. He was sure he was borderline crushing your frame but you hugged him back just as tightly.

“My apologies. I got overwhelmed. Come with me, let’s get out of the cold first.”

You tried to hold it in but you laughed at his statement. He didn’t seem to mind as you felt him smile into your neck. Even with those words he hadn’t let go or slackened his grip in the slightest. So you both stayed there outside in the cold, the christmas lights reflected off snow, the sounds of laughter and singing playing in the background as you both embraced each other.

I’m home

You’re home

---

Although Albedo was happy to see you again, he was wondering why out of all the years you had been away, all the other holidays you had missed, you decided to come to Mondstadt today. You were at his lab and marveling at all his new devices when he popped the question. You flushed a bit but quickly brushed it off, saying that after all the letters he sent you were finally curious as to what Mondstadt was like and the people he met. Plus, Liyue and Inazuma didn’t celebrate Christmas as much as Mondstadt so it would be nice to finally celebrate the holiday again.

He simply smiled smugly and nodded along before you eventually caved, because that look could steal your heart away, and revealed that honestly, you just really missed him and wanted to spend Christmas together. There wasn’t anything wrong with that was there? So what if you missed him? It was natural. It wasn’t like you were wondering what he was doing on slow days in Liyue. It wasn’t like you we-

“You can stop laughing at me. I know you’re doing it even if I can’t hear it Albedo.”

“I’m sorry you must be mistaken. Perhaps your observational skills have rusted?”

You huffed at him before turning your attention to a small but worn sketching book. It was different from the ones he had showed you and much smaller compared to the ripped out sketches he sent you. Albedo noticed your curiosity and almost flushed before striding over and showing you what was inside. It was either he do it now or you would constantly eye ball it until he finally let you see what was inside.

He took out the old sketchbook and flipped all the way to the first page. They had been sketches of you. When it had just been you, Albedo, and your teacher he would often ask to draw you but he never showed you the finished product. What was surprising was they were all full sketches. No simple lines or unfinished colours. His interest in things, especially when he draws, were fleeting leading him to always create unfinished or basic lines.

“Wow, was this your first sketchbook? Did you draw anything else? Oh, like your assistant perhaps?”

“No. I only drew one thing here. It’s been sitting here ever since but I tend to make sure it’s in good condition. Should I ever need to draw in it again.”

Albedo almost reached for his pencil to sketch your smug but bright smile. But set his hand down. While he wants to capture moments so they remain forever with him, he felt that perhaps, it would be nice to live in them. Just for a moment.

---

I never write at the bottom of my fics but I wrote too much at the start haha (plus tagging my screaming doesn’t work anymore). Not gonna lie, this was going to be different and you and Albedo would have role reversed AND I WAS GOING TO WRITE MONA IN but that didn’t happen. I made it so disgustingly sappy at the end that I want to throw up but when do I not?

But I kind of like this version more. He’s super out of character but I don’t care and you’re gonna have to take this hcs out of my COLD DEAD HANDS. But I hope you enjoyed this and I’m using this as my Albedo catalyst so come home elevator boy. (cough celebration hcs are still open if you wanna feed me 👀 this )

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin albedo #genshin impact albedo #genshin impact albedo x reader #albedo x reader #albedo x lumine #albedo x aether #albedo #albedo headcanons #albedo imagines

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pocketramblr · 3 years ago

Note

Idk if you've talked about this before, but how closely tied do you think the stockpiling nature of OfA is to the "passing down" nature of it? I was thinking about how Midoriya has access to the quirks of the previous holders, and I was wondering how much of that is due to the stockpiling quirk vs First's quirk. Like, if AFO had given and taken the stockpiling quirk multiple times to people with different quirks, would it have "collected" those quirks too, since it's a stockpiler? Or was it purely First's quirk that allowed the other holders' quirks to be passed on as well? Because if it's the latter, then what exactly is the original quirk stockpiling? Before realizing Midoriya could access the previous holders' quirks, All Might said OFA gets stronger each time it's passed on. Would that mean it only accumulates the holders' physical abilities unrelated to their quirks? But that can't be right because OFA has supposedly made all the quirks it contains stronger. So if it's the former, then since AfO held the stockpiling quirk at one point, did it also "collect" a copy of AFO and Midoriya will be able to access it eventually?

i did once answer an ask with a mathematical breakdown of OfA multiplying x amount of average human strength as an example to show the difference between periodic compound interest and continuous compound interest. um, because i teach economics and i always thought that making it entertaining was the best way to get it to stick. that one had showed that izuku should have a truly ridiculous amount of strength, though i dont remember the exact numbers rn. you can try to find it on this blog... good luck.

anyway, thats not really the question you're asking, so lets get into ofa and try to science a quirk that probably is just magic.

I have answered the question below the cut in three parts, plus a lightning round to try and make sure i answered all the parts of your question.

1- stockpiling quirk vs First's quirk: For this, i am going to say that i quite like the theory that First was actually quirkless, and the stockpile quirk just took a little bit of AfOQuirk with it and thats why it could be passed on afterwards. In this situation, i think what OfA does is that the Stockpile Quirk makes a copy of everything in it's holder- their memories, their dna, their energy and vitality. It does not boost any of those until it's passed on- the Stockpile was very small and could only copy AfO's genes that had the AfOQuirk, but at tenth generation would probably copy more than that if passed to someone with AfO and with a hoard of other quirks. On being passed, it then adds to the new holders strength, while working to copy their base traits. So, First got a little stronger with a boost from AfO, and his quirk though he didn't know it, while OfA ran him through a copy machine to make a vestige to paste into the next body. Second has the strength and dna of first and afo, plus some ghosts, and could use his own while it was being copied. And so on. But that's just the "First was actually quirkless theory", so lets work on the assumption that First did have a pass-along quirk

2- First's original quirk. Which doesn't even get a name, thanks guys. We know it should have something to do with passing on quirks, and on relying on consent of the giver and dna transfer, which makes it different than AfOQuirk. AfO can steal and give, but doesn't require dna. There are even some panels in the manga that imply AfO doesn't even need physical touch to take a quirk, as it appears he steals many quirks at once by jumping over a crowd of people. unfortunately, Bones decided to just cut that scene out of season five for some reason, so it's still a mystery and maybe he's using some other method. thanks, bones. hope those last two movies you had to shove painfully into quasi-canon were worth it. Anyway, different activation methods. Now, given that ofa requires on consent of the given, it does make me wonder: if someone knew about ofa, and wanted to give an ofa holder their quirk, and provided dna for it, would it stick? Can ofa both take and give, but only based on willingness? Seems like a possibility that would have never been tested. BUT i am getting super off topic bc i am writing this answer late at night, sorry. Right, so how much of this is First's quirk? Given that it's described as the ability to "Pass on his quirk(s)", i think all of the quirk-stockpiling, including the vestiges, are from First's quirk. On his own, his quirk would collect dna, which includes quirks, and quirks are just straight up haunted. On his own, without the stockpile, he could have passed on his quirk to second, and started the line like normally, but the holders would not have gotten any boost of strength, just possibly the ability to use previous quirks. Maybe only access them if they were originally quirkless? maybe not, without the 'stress' of the stockpiled they'd all be fine with multiple quirks? Who knows. Point is, thats what i think the options are. Either 1, the quirk-vestige stuff comes from afo, first was actually quirkless, and the strength is stockpile, or 2- the quirk-vestige stuff comes from first, and the strength is stockpile.

3- So what is the stockpile doing? Ok so the stockpile is like soup. bear with me. the longer you keep your ingredients in to flavor a broth or stock, the stronger the flavor will be, right? A chicken bone and some carrots in some stock for ten minutes wont' be as flavorful as a chicken bone and some carrots that have been cooking in a stock for an hour. Basically, the stock liquid is the stockpile, and the ingredients are the user's quirks. because of this, i think that it makes sense that Second's Quirk, whatever it is, has received a larger boost from OfA than, say, Black Whip has. It's been in the soup longer. That doesn't mean it's necessarily going to be stronger than black whip when izuku accesses it, because BW probably got to start off stronger, but it will have gotten more of a boost. You can also think of it as a loan- OfA took a quirk loan out from Second way before it took a quirk loan out from Banjo, so Second will have accrued more interest than Banjo, but the total sums also depend on how much was there to start with. Man i hope these metaphors make sense. BUT, but, but, but. The stockpile only has access to these quirks to boost them because of First's original quirk (or the copy of afoquirk it took) On its own, it would have just stockpiled up strength and energy- i think of it more like interest on a checking account with a bank (you get a boost just by having money in there, and it slowly grows over time.) than like a feruchy metalmind (where you would store 'strength' to use later, at the cost of being physically weaker now). While the metalmind concept does technically fit the definition of 'stockpile' to me, i don't think thats how it worked bc it doesn't sound like what AfO meant when he talked about giving it to First. and i mean, AfO has been wrong about quirks before, but still. Interest from a bank is probably how it works. On its own, the only thing the stockpile has in its bank account is physical strength. the AfOquirk copy or First's original quirk let it open up its bank account to more, including the quirks.

lightning round-

Before realizing Midoriya could access the previous holders' quirks, All Might said OFA gets stronger each time it's passed on.

Yes but AM doesn't know a lot of things about OfA. I do think it gets stronger as its passed on, either though Option One of the past user's being pasted onto the next one when it's passed, or through Option Two of it getting stronger as its used, and more passes means more holders means more use.

Would that mean it only accumulates the holders' physical abilities unrelated to their quirks? But that can't be right because OFA has supposedly made all the quirks it contains stronger.

While OFA does make the quirks stronger, i'm not sure if it did much in a user's lifespan or only after it was passed on- Banjo talks about Black Whip being much stronger for Izuku than it was in his time, but i don't remember him mentioning anything about it being enhanced significantly during his time holding ofa.

So if it's the former, then since AfO held the stockpiling quirk at one point, did it also "collect" a copy of AFO and Midoriya will be able to access it eventually?

IMO, possible- but only in Option One where First was originally quirkless. there, he'd have both a vestige and an afoquirk to deal with. In Option Two, he would have neither- except whenever tomura stops by his headspace with an afoquirk and vestige sticking out of his shoulder.

#personally i think the more likely option is the:#first was quirkless and ofa only gives a boost as its passed down between holders not during a hold tho it does amass strength #as it is making a copy of the quirk and vestige and memories and power and everything else #its just that that extra oomph is saved for the next holder #but the other option of continous growth and no afoquirk in the ofaspace and quirked first is also super possible yeah #woo it is super late and i have other asks to answer but might wait till the morning #anyway thanks for the ask i love nerding out about these stupid superpowers #they're absolute bs BUT ofa is a fun one at least not like hawkss which is. infuriating lowkey #tho i think i did go on a bit of an angry tanget here too #bones my beloathed how could you betray me so constantly after s3 #soulmate scene? cut. ofa memory scene? huge chunks ripped out #horrible. horrible #didn't even have the guts to do an anime-only girls episode with the rykyuu team fighting like they did for tsu's workweek and momo's exam #ummmm back to quirks now sorry #yeah good luck finding the econ lesson with ofa as an example it had so many numbers #i spent so long on that one kjhjkkj #anon #pocket talks to people #quirk science #quirk meta #which tag do i use for these #probably both im a disorganinced mess

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allronix · 3 years ago

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Carth and Force Sensitivity (crossposted from Reddit r/kotor)

This is for @k-she-rambles:

Okay, so while we're shooting the bantha crap over on KOTOR fan theories, u/134340Goat mentioned my all time favorite "Have you been chewing spice?!" fan theory when it comes to KOTOR: Is Carth Force Sensitive?

So this one starts with a story. I mentioned my brother in law, who is pretty much Keeper of the Jedi Archives. Seriously, he's an English teacher and my sister is a librarian. They met at a sci fi convention and their first date was Phantom Menace. We're taking not just geeks, but geeks who can throw the damn bookshelf at you. Brother in law bought KOTOR on the day it launched and turned it into a week long binge watch at his house. And because brother in law is that kind of geek, he's translating the characters into the West End D6 system. I'm watching him do a playthrough, and he's got Canderous and Zaalbar at Ajunta Pal's tomb.

Allronix: Huh. That's odd. Why aren't commenting on anything when Ajunta is speaking?

Bro in law: Oh. They can't even see Ajunta. You have to be Force Sensitive to see a Force Ghost The stronger your Sensitivity, the better you can see it.

Allronix: Really? Then how come Carth can see it?

Bro in law (gets the "holy shit, I gotta confirm this" look): Really?! He just sees something out the corner of his eye or something?

Allronix: No, he sees Ajunta just fine. Understands what the dude's saying too.

Bro in law instantly rolls back to his last save, swaps Zaalbar for Carth, and sees the bit in question.

Bro in law: Oh. Dear. (Goes over to make some quick scribbles on Carth's character sheet)

Okay, so maybe that was a lore fail. I didn't really think about it too much until I hit that False Level Up glitch and ran around with Carth and Mission as Sentinels. Now, while I couldn't really see Mission as a Sensitive, that little bit with my bro in law nagged at me. And became a "once you see it you can't unsee it." Apologies to TV Tropes, where some of these were my additions to the Wild Mass Guess entry on this topic.

Any one of these on its own is pretty easy to blow off. After all, man is career military, and knows All this Shit is Weird. I also like to think of Sensitivity as a spectrum and not a switch. If all life is connected by the Force, then all life would be Sensitive to some degree or another. It’s just a matter of to what degree. It’s only as the list gets longer and longer does the case start looking damning...

What are the odds of surviving that attack on the Endar Spire, getting to the escape pods, sharing the last escape pod with the mindwiped Sith Lord, piloting through the chaos, landing in what passes for the "good" part of town, remaining uninjured, pulling the badly injured mindwiped Sith Lord from the wreck, evading Sith detection while all this is going on, and just happening to find a dump of an apartment where the landlord's not asking questions? That is one amazing string of coincidences and good luck. Get that many in Star Wars, and it's definitely The Force sticking its nose in things.

Piloting the escape pod to land in the Upper City, piloting the Hawk through the Sith Blockade of Taris, the random Sith patrols, the escape from the Leviathan, and the fleet around Lehon along with the crash landing that left the ship easily repairable. Now, compare to Atton who we know to be an excellent pilot and drawing on The Force who still manages to crash the ship at least three times.

He's a scary good judge of character if you're interacting with other NPCs. If you watch him with other NPC characters, he's got a pretty good compass as to which characters are being helpful and which ones are full of shit. The only one he calls incorrectly is Rukil, who is probably also an untrained Sensitive (the age, the "marked" comments) and half senile, which is probably throwing him.

Related to that, his distrust and wariness about something not adding up with the PC, the Jedi Council feeding the party a line of bull, that things just aren't adding up. And on all of it? Dead on. He's 100% right about the Player Character, he just expected something a little less crazy than "that's Darth freaking Revan."

If you play Female Revan, then Carth's the one who gets fried in the torture cages on the Leviathan. Saul comments how strange it is that Carth takes so much punishment and still remains conscious. Now, this is a low level thing, but in lore, Force Sensitives have drawn on it to keep them alive or conscious under duress. Explicitly, the first sign we got that Leia was a Sensitive when she withstood the Imperial torture droid.

Another of his scary ass judge of character feats? In the comics, Zayne (who is on the run from the Jedi, who framed him for the murder of his classmates) has a vision that Mandalorians are coming for Serroco. Saul? Laughs it off, throws Zayne in the brig. Zayne's own friends don't even believe him. Carth gets one of those creepy hunches and starts calling in "duck and cover" sirens as far as he can broadcast, which sends seventeen cities and millions of people heading for shelter. It saves their lives and Carth is called a hero for it. Armed with another hunch, he disobeys Saul (remember this is before Saul nukes Telos) and lets Zayne "escape" from custody. Mind you, not even the Jedi or his party members believed Zayne. Carth did.

Carth makes a lot of creepy weird offhand predictions about the future. He says he knows on some level he'll be there when Saul dies. That certainly pans out. He makes an offhand prediction that the Jedi have set the party up to take a fall. Right again. He tells a female PC that she'll have to make a choice soon, one she can't walk away from. And then we get the temple top. He even blurts out that "I sensed you would have to make a choice soon, and that was it*, I can feel it!"* If you specify a LS Female Revan, his recording for T3-M4 says he's had a hunch Revan would leave without warning. Again, spot on.

Specify a LS male Revan, and Carth will remark to Bastila that seeing the Exile reminds him "there are worse things to lose." The only other people who can see just how screwed up the Exile is are the Jedi Masters, Chodo Habat, and the Force Sensitive party members.

Specify a LS female Revan, and Carth will insist that he would know if Revan were dead (again, scary ass intuition) and that there's an "emptiness" where she used to be. Now, remember one of the things about a broken Force Bond? It would simply be "empty, a wound."

You know how your party members in KOTOR 2 feel upset or even horrified as they realize they feel compelled to protect Exile and can't being themselves to leave, even when said actions are kicking puppies? And how they swing wildly from being crazy, almost stalker level possessive of them to being scared out of their wits and clamming up when you try to pry anything out of them? And the more potent (and untapped) their Force Sensitivity, the more they get hammered with the effect? (Mira and Atton in particular) Yeah. Now, Carth's "I don't wanna talk" looks a bit different, doesn't it? It could also account for that romance arc, especially if you roll a DSF Revan and go for that "everyone dies" ending.

Again, Ajunta Pal. Seeing a Force Ghost? Yeah. Some degree of Sensitivity needed. Understanding what he's saying? Yeah. Takes a bit more than that. And Carth makes a weirdly insightful comment about the Dark Side on top of it.

Notice that this a wall o text argument already, and I'm now just getting to the "Yeah, his kid is able to throw around mid-level Dark Side powers and packing a red lightsaber." Given the jawline and the muleheaded attitude, no way Morgana was fooling around with the pizza delivery boy. That's definitely Carth's kid, and that's definitely Force Sensitivity. Now, while it can skip a generation (see Theron Shan), it tends to run pretty heavy in families.

Lastly? Gee. He comes from a planet settled by and heavily populated by descendants of Force Sensitives who failed their training. I'm also willing to bet some bastard children of Jedi get passed off as "foundlings" and "orphans" and dumped there, too. Jedi are forbidden attachments, but not sworn to celibacy, so...yeah, bastard kids are gonna happen. There's probably a Jedi or two in that family tree. It's circumstantial evidence at best, but it still supports the case.

Now, any arguments I missed? Counterarguments?

And the million credit question: If there's a character who gets to break this news to poor Flyboy, who do you think would actually take that on? How do you think Carth would take that kind of news? And what, if anything, would come of it?

I kinda figure Jolee might be the only one nuts enough to poke that with a stick...I also kinda figure "Sentinel" would fit best. Consular? Hell no. He hired Mical for that. Guardian works with the feats, but the whole "ferreting out deceit and injustice?" Yeah. That's Carth.

#KOTOR #Carth #fandom meta #Carth Onasi

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goldeneyedgirl · 3 years ago

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TwiFicMas: Christmas Eve Edition is here!

Today we have an STL AU one-shot (it's complete!) about what would have happened if Mary-Alice had left with the Major.

I'm so sorry that I haven't been able to post many of the requests, but December was a bit of a disaster and I fell way behind. I plan on finding something from every one of those requests in January to make it up to everyone <3

Onwards to FicMasEve ;)

And I never wanted anything from you,

Except everything you had, and what was left after that too.

Florence and the Machine, Dog Days Are Over.

—

How long have they been away from the South? From Maria and the wars?

She’s lost track entirely.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She never saw any of it coming.

She watched carefully, she planned and practiced, watched and worried, and she still never saw it coming. Not the Major taking her hand and dragging her out of Mexico and Texas in the dust of Charlotte and Peter’s flight. She never even considered that he’d think to take her with them.

So she does her best, her gaze focused on the future, focused on Maria and their desertion to make sure they see the end of the day, the end of the week, the end of the year. Her head feels tight, so full of what could-might-will happen that she’s glad that the Major doesn’t let go of her hand the entire time, just drags her along behind him.

And that’s how they escape the south.

—

They travel with Peter and Charlotte for many years, a little trio and the shadow. He watches her, the blankness of her face and her emotions as they move past the Mason-Dixon line to peace and safety.

She has no strong opinions about anything, never offers thoughts or ideas about their little trek across the country.

He doesn’t know how to help her. Not at all. He makes sure she’s fed, and that she’s decently clothed. He makes sure she’s not left behind, or alone too often (he knows something about the terror of being alone, and he doesn’t want anyone to feel that way.)

So they continue on. He waits, she watches, eyes empty but all-seeing. They part ways from Charlotte and Peter (there are a hundred little tiny reasons why, and Mary-Alice is one of them. She doesn’t feel safe, doesn’t trust Peter or Charlotte and he’d like to know why, but that’s not the kind of question he can ask her. Especially not now.) They wanted into the north, into wet and damp and green and empty, where the emotions of the cities are long behind them and he can finally breathe a little.

Mary-Alice doesn’t breathe, doesn’t relax or doesn’t seem any less broken. She simply is, still - a shadow, a ghost, his personal spectre of the horror of the wars.

This is not how he imagined freedom would be.

—

The little house had been half-swallowed up by the forest, one half of the building having collapsed under the weight of debris from the trees crowding it, and the smell of mould and rotting vegetation was overwhelming.

The rain had continued for two and a half days unabated, and whilst they ran no risk of getting sick or cold from it, but when it was raining this heavily and for this long, it was unpleasant - their clothes were sticking like a second skin, with rivulets of dirt and old blood running from the fabric onto their skin.

Wiping mud off her face with an equally filthy hand, she followed the Major towards the house; they were both covered in a combination of blood, mud, and ash from the fight. Mary-Alice’s dress was in a far worse state than the Major’s pants and shirt, but neither were particularly salvageable.

The house is a little time capsule of the past, having sat untouched for forty or fifty years, just resting and rotting. The dust that covers the floor is more of a sludge thanks to the dampness and the nearby river, with veins of mould and fungus running up the walls, and vivid green vines twisting and blooming up the door frames and around the ceiling. There might have been wallpaper once, but it’s little more than stained, rotten pulp right now.

(Two fat little frogs have nestled in a hole in the wall, luminous green and content. Mary-Alice watches them for a moment, fascinated. He likes that.)

They move through the house slowly; everything has been abandoned - it was not the home of wealthy people, but there is evidence of a few modest creature comforts - some books, discarded embroidery, painting supplies.

It feels like the other side of the Monterrey mansion; like they’ve stepped through the looking glass to another world. No one would argue that Maria’s home was cleaner - more bodies moving around to prevent dust settling - but the air of disrepair, of abandonment, of a liminal space is the same.

For a moment, he thinks he would prefer dirt and sand and the dry heat. But he’d take the rainiest days, the mouldiest shelter, before he’d go back to the hell of being a soldier in an unwinnable war.

—

The little washroom was covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, with lacy spiderwebs strung in the ceiling corners. The tub matches up with his hazy human memories, bringing the smell of castile soap, and the heat of the boiled water sloshing into the the tin tub to the front of his memory.

(It is bittersweet in its simplicity. That once upon a time, he was a boy who washed in a bath like this, with homemade soap and rough rags. That he was a person, a human, a brother and son. A child. Jasper. Those memories sting and feel heavy but at least he has them. There is something amusing but also dreadful at Mary-Alice’s fascination with something as simple as frogs, as folding paper into animals, at how stricken she is out in a brand-new world.)

They are absolutely filthy; it’s been weeks since they washed, in a river somewhere in Virginia. They’ve relied upon the rain, upon the remoteness of their path, but maybe a bath would help. Would make them feel better. Even back with Maria, getting the opportunity to wash, and to claim new clothes made things seem a little less grim.

If nothing else, they’ve both got blood in their hair they need to wash out.

(The first time he had her after their escape, was in the lake somewhere in South Carolina when they stopped to wash the dirt and sand from the south off them. It was rough and hard, because he felt stripped raw, and she had held on to him tightly, her face pressed against him and it wasn’t exactly the cleansing baptism he had hoped for, he realised afterwards. Not for either of them. Maybe this bath will be better.)

—

There’s an old bucket in the corner, rusted tin housing a fascinating colony of something unidentifiable that he takes down to the river when Mary-Alice is exploring the narrow second floor.

It takes a few trips to the river to fill the tub enough for the both of them, and by then, Mary-Alice has crept back downstairs to watch his progress with obvious curiosity.

(A piece of ragged ribbon is clutched in one of her hands, and he wonders why she would want such a thing.)

“Wash yourself,” he says gently, motioning to the bath. The water is off-colour, but it is river water, from an ancient bucket, and it is still cleaner than the two of them.

Mary-Alice nods and strips out of her rag of a dress; there was something utterly pathetic in the wet slap it made when she dropped it on the stone floor amongst the dust and dirt. She’d drag it back on when she was finished in the tub, he knew that - but it looked like nothing. Black and brown and red, the fabric worn thin and frayed. It was barely fit for bandages or as a cleaning rag, let alone as someone’s clothing.

She picks up the dress and rings it out - bloody-muddy water dribbled out of it. And she folds it over the half-broken chair in the corner, as if it is going to be dry or cleaner when she reaches for it again.

The whole thing just feels sad to him. But then, he knows how wrong this is; he vaguely remembers what it was like to have new, clean clothes as a human. Even as a vampire, he got to replace his garments more often than Mary-Alice ever did - so few of their victims were small enough for their clothing to fit her.

He couldn’t remember ever seeing Mary-Alice in clothing that fit her right. Not the ragged hospital gown he found her in, nor any of the dresses she was provided with afterwards. Always swallowing her up, leaving her shoulder bare.

That’s why she had so many scars there, overlapping indiscriminately. It had been like a beacon to others, a vulnerability. Because her clothes never fit right.

(He thinks of homemade sweaters, of crisp afternoon dresses, of pristine petticoats and neat lace. He thinks of rancid dresses and torn hospital gowns and thin, pale limbs unguarded.)

—

It’s been awhile since he saw her bare like this, as she steps towards the tub. (Normally when he does, he doesn’t see her back.)

His fingers have grazed over the narrow plane of her back, but he’s never really just looked at it. At the scars dotting her shoulders and arms, at the long scar that runs from her shoulder blades to her hip raggedly. He wonders how it happened, how old it is.

(Not that old. He knows the small scars under his fingers as well as his own; in comparison, her skin dips into it… how burns on his tongue but he says nothing.)

She turns to him, her head tilted in curiosity some, and she just… stands there. Thin and pale and scarred and completely naked without shame or thought. And that tastes like regret, that she’s been raised up like this, that she doesn’t expect privacy, doesn’t bother with modesty, because she never had a reason to. The Wars take their pound of flesh, and left this girl without the idea that she should-could cover herself. Could turn away, refuse, say no.

Her lack of modesty is something that shames him more than it shames her. It is not enduring, not an ideal. Just another red mark against him.

He turns away and she finally climbs into the bath, a cloud of filth spreading out from her as weeks of dirt and grime and dried blood peel away from her skin. She sits in one end, still watching him as he moves around the little wash room, tugging open cupboard doors and watching the rotten, water-logged door crumple in his hand. Vermin and insects have eaten away at any linens left behind, and water and time finished the job.

They don’t speak as he slips from the room, leaving her in the cold water, waiting for… whatever it is that she’s always waiting for.

—

She sinks into the water when the Major leaves her to wash, and scrubs at her arm with her hand, eyeing the cake of forgotten soap in its dirty little dish. The soap has been left behind and broken down into some mould-riddled pulp that looks almost organic in its curdled decay - it fascinates her, honestly. It’s so innocent, yet so repulsive, a mundane little reminder that nothing last forever. At least, nothing should.

(It’s easy to focus on little things, like rotten soap or the blood dried pink in the Major’s hair, than bigger things. Like her visions. Like the fact that this was never supposed to be their fate. That she hasn’t seen anything in weeks, since they fled. She has no idea what will become of them, truly, and it is ice-cold, hard knowledge that she cannot outrun, that she will not acknowledge.)

Stretching out in the tub, she smiles at the idle thought the she cannot even reach the other end with her toes - unless she submerges herself and stretches right out. Maybe then.

She has to wash her hair, pick out tiny leaves and sticks and crumbs of dirt and matted blood. Will have to wash out her dress, too; it was gingham once. Now it’s just brown. Brown like mud, brown like the bathwater, brown like the dried rivulets of old blood running down her neck. If she ever gets to choose, she thinks she’d like a blue dress. A blue dress with a yellow ribbon around the waist.

(Why can’t she see?)

—

He prowls through the rooms of the house that are still accessible, peeling off things that might be useful - he finds an old wooden comb; a mouldy bedsheet that he rips in half to salvage; and a long-sleeved dress, decades out of style, but perhaps small enough to suit Mary-Alice. It was grey once, and now has water marks and ragged moth holes, but it’s far and away better than what she was wearing.

(He finds himself a cleaner shirt, a little mouldy but certainly wearable. His pants will last until their next hunt - Mary-Alice is a quick study in which human’s clothing will fit him. She might even be convinced into stealing some clothing from a forgotten washing line, so that she finally has something that covers her properly, something that doesn’t leave her vulnerable and exposed.)

Back in the washroom, Mary-Alice looks somewhat cleaner, but not entirely. She straightens up in the bath as he walks back in, curiosity in her eyes at the items that he’s carrying. She always liked getting new clothes back in the South, always inspected each dress she was issued, as if she had to make a choice and didn’t just have to settle for the closest fit, for whatever colour and fabric and style was in the mixed-up pile.

(She always did a little twirl when she tried them on, a little spin as she looked down at her new prize. It was… endearing. Sweet. Hopeful. He didn’t know if she realised that she did it, or that he noticed. He never said anything, but he was always sorry when she came back from a battle with a new tear or stain - she always appreciated her clothes so damn much.)

He nods at her, and she rests her chin on the edge of the tub, her gaze following him as he walked around the room.

The new dress and shirt are folded carefully on top of the bedsheet, so damn obvious in their surroundings like offerings to a pagan god.

(Perhaps prayers for a rebirth, for a revolution and a revelation. New clothes for a new age.

He’s already getting sentimental over a few lengths of moth-eaten fabric.)

When he turns back around, she’s still watching him with that vacant, but half-starved look, grime still streaked on her face.

“Has it helped?” he asks, sitting down by the tub. They are nearly face-to-face this way, neither looking up nor down. Her eyes are darkening, to a deep rose-red. They still have another few days, maybe a week, before they have to hunt again.

“Has what helped?” she asks, confused.

“The bath.” He looks at the stone floor, at the little veins of dirt running through it. “I thought it might help.”

She shifts in the tub, so he can only see the top of her nose and her eyes above the rim, shadows rippling over her face.

“Help?”

He swallows and looks at her. Really looks at her. At the dark circles under her eyes that seem deeper because of the fear. At the way she shrinks back but never breaks her gaze.

(A slim hand gripping his shirt sleeve when the nomads approached them, tucking herself behind him. That had surprised him; he’d never seen Mary-Alice back away from a threat before.)

“I know…” he begins, and he wants to reach out and hold her. But they aren’t there, they don’t casually touch in that way. This was his choice, and he dragged her along for it with little consideration for her, just laser focus on getting them both away.

“I know you didn’t see this coming…” he tries again and he doesn’t finish that sentence before Mary-Alice shudders and folds in on herself, burying her face in her hands.

And crying.

—

He reaches for her, instinctually; her tiny frame shaking as she tries to contain whatever she’s feeling.

(She cries like a little child; little wobbly sobs into her hands with shiny red eyes that will never produce tears but secrete venom down her face, more viscous than the venom from their mouth. It burns white stains on clothing, their faux tears do. Venom from their mouths and limbs eats through most fabrics and papers quickly. But that’s not why he wants to mop up her face and hold her tight.

He wants to because she’s scared and worried and feels like she’s alone. And he never, ever wants anyone else to feel that way, not when he can make a difference.)

The water sloshes in the tub as he climbs in, fully clothed. If the water was cloudy when it was first tipped into the tub, now it’s completely opaque - they would get a better wash, in cleaner water, if they just waded out into the rain-swollen river. She looks up at him with a breath that almost sounds like a gasp, as he sinks into the water, and pulls her into his arms.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, her thin arms wrapping around his neck, and she pushes her face against the rough, reeking fabric of his shirt and maybe there’s a corner of his mind that is a little embarrassed at the state of him when she’s this close, but she’s naked and looking so very broken that she takes priority, not some half-forgotten lessons on gentlemanly behaviour in the back of his head. It’s not like he’s ever been a particular gentleman to her before.

“I can’t see,” she says, and she shudders with misery and sobs. “I can’t see anything, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next.”

Gently rocking her, he ran his hands through her hair, freeing a few small tangles and some debris gently.

“It’s alright,” he says again, because he really is lost at what to say to fix this. To apologise and soothe and heal and repent.

“No. It’s not,” she leans back, and he’s enchanted by her. By her mussed hair, and her big red eyes, and the sheen of venom clinging to the fan of her eyelashes. She really is truly lovely - he thought that the day he found her, with a wide smile and emotions that leapt out at him in their strength and purity. He could have led her anywhere, and she wouldn’t have questioned him. Or rather, she would have, but in excitement and trust. Not in fear or suspicion.

(He aches to go back and make it right. He’s watched her since they left; the blank, cold way she has moved around. Just utterly dull and uncomfortable. Peter had voiced the suspicion that it was him and Charlotte that had been making her so unhappy, that perhaps she hadn’t wanted to leave but had needed to follow the Major’s orders above all else. But even now, weeks after leaving Peter and Charlotte in New York, she was still so miserable, a shadow of all that she had been before - gone was that happy girl he found abandoned in Mississippi; as was the solemn but confident little shadow of the Wars. She was like a marionette with the strings cut away, like an abused animal limping into freedom reluctantly, scared of another set of tests and traumas.

And all of that is his fault.)

“It is. None of us know what’s going to happen next. That’s how it is,” he tries but she scowls.

“We never would have gotten this far if I hadn’t seen,” she murmurs, ducking her head. “I need… it protects all of us.”

It takes him a minute to comprehend what she’s saying - the scope and scale of her gift; of her efforts to protect and guide and manipulate. Of the fact that she was never just looking after herself; that she had stretched and warped herself into the shield that protected him and his.

(‘All of us’ is not just them. It is him, and her, and Peter and Charlotte. And he’s seen the way she and Peter stare at each other, at the way Charlotte inches away from Mary-Alice with varying degrees of subtlety. The only reason for her to have guarded them is because they were his friends. His people. And that is a layer of devotion, of kindness, and of power that he’s not sure how to compute, how to articulate.)

“…You did that for us?” he finally manages, pushing a soggy lock of hair out of her eyes, ignoring the rust-coloured stain it leaves on his fingers. They’ve both been hunting a little more viciously in this part of the country, where easy prey is harder to come by. Bloody hair is hardly their biggest problem.

She blinks and frowns. “Of course. We were meant to…” And she trails off, and for once, he feels something from her. Sadness, disappointment, and grief all tangled up. Something that was lost, then; something that couldn’t be retrieved.

His hand slips to cradle her cheek and he has a million things to say and he doesn’t know what to say first.

(I’m sorry, let me protect you, let me fix this, let me fix you. Let me stay with you, let me touch you, let me make you smile again.)

“How does it work?” he asked. “Your gift?” She’s leaning into his touch and he wonders if she notices. He wonders if it’s just wishful thinking on his part.

“Decisions. The outcomes of choices. Things can change,” she says quietly, “but I’d see that as well.”

(She smells like flowers and salt, even now.)

“Does that mean you haven’t made a choice yet?” he asked, his thumb stroking her cheek.

Mary-Alice shrugged. “I don’t know what choice to make,” she said.

It’s such a simple answer, such an easy problem, and he marvels at it for a moment. The idea that she’s been guided by her visions for so long - a hand pulling her along in the dark - that she can’t bring herself to move forward on an unknown path… it indicates so much power, so much discipline, and such a burden. That, to her, any wrong step on the tight-rope could ruin everything.

“What about a small decision?” he asked, and watched as her hands fell to his shirt, to the few buttons that still clung onto the fabric. “What’s something that you want?”

He can see the thoughts turn over in her head, watches her bite her lip and she looks at him like she can see right through him, see every thought and dream and regret he’s ever had before she breaks her gaze and looks back down at his chest.

“I want…” she begins, and another hint of emotion brushes by him, half gone before he can identify it - embarrassment.

“What do you want?” he asks again, covering her hands with his and she looks at him again with a desperate, starving look.

“I want us to stay together.” Her voice is soft and sad but hopeful. “Please.”

(He wasn’t expecting that.

Not at all.)

“I want that too,” he manages hoarsely.

And she looks at him, her face a portrait of unfiltered surprise. He doesn’t ever want to lose her, to let her go. To let her down. He wants… he wants to find her somewhere safe and peaceful, where her dresses fit properly and she smiles. He’s spent so many years using her as a crutch, as a way to keep himself functioning and alive, with no knowledge that she was already protecting him the very best she could, that he wants to repay her, desperately.

“Okay.” She nods and curls against his shoulder, threading the buttons through each buttonhole of his shirt. Pushing the sides of his shirt aside until he sits up long enough to peel it off and fling it onto the floor, she lies half-sprawled across him, occasionally wiping dirt and blood off him.

(For a moment, he feels her - skin to skin, in the dirty bathwater. They are fragile, her emotions, ephemeral and easily missed. But it is more that he ever felt from her before - little flutters of hope and reassurance, relief and a deep well of devotion; devotion to him.)

They sit there, tangled up in each other, for awhile - until she goes rigid for a few moments and then blinks up at him.

“We’ll be together,” she says, shifting against him, and he wishes they could sleep, just so they could do so curled in each other’s arms. “I can see that.”

He doesn’t know why (or won’t admit it) but he presses his lips to her forehead; despite the amount of times they’ve been together (on his terms, always), this gesture is strangely intimate, oddly binding.

They’ll be together.

That’s a future that will never change.

—

He finally strips off and they sink into the dirty water entangled, sponging off dirt with the use of his shirt, when he insists he found a cleaner one. She drags the comb through his curls so gently; her fingers teasing out each piece of debris, each snarl and knot. He attempts to salvage some of the soap for their hair, but it is a disgusting and futile endeavour.

(And maybe it’s worth it because she almost laughs; the mirth bubbling faintly as they both eye the mess.)

He wants to ask her questions about what she has seen, what was lost, and what comes next. But he doesn’t want to, not yet. There’s something more tangible between them now; soft and almost new, unlike what they’ve had in the past. He already likes this little bubble they’ve found themselves in - the way she wraps her arms around his neck and clings to him like she’s going to be torn away from him. The way she presses her face against his neck, he can feel her inhaling, nuzzling closer. He loves that already, that she wants to get closer, that despite everything, she’s so open about taking her comforts from him.

(He wants to press kisses to her cheeks, and cradle her in his arms properly. He wants to watch her spin in new dresses and memorise every mark and every scar on her skin. He wants this peace, this conviction that they’ve both finally found each other in the right place at the right time - a new certainty that has settled into him out of nowhere - to stay forever.)

Her lips quirk against his skin, and he thinks she might have smiled, and he tightens his arms around her.

(The next kiss he gives her will be one she asks for. He promises himself that.)

#twilight books #alice cullen #jasper hale #twilight fic #jalice #my fic: shadow to light #stl AU #untitled #romance #angst #how many AUs have i written for stl? four at last count #ficmas #ficmas21 #twificmas21

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yourlocalfictionalenthusiast · 3 years ago

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IN LIFE, IN DEATH...

PART FIVE

:Masterlist:

Warnings: Swearing and angst, baby!

A/N: I just realized that the tags on Part Four got messed up so i'm sorry for everyone that didn't get tagged! <3

---

June 1994

“I can do this.”

You mumbled to yourself as you paced in the sand, rubbing your sweaty palms against the leg of your jeans.

From your spot ‘backstage’ area, you could see the crowd as they waited for the next band, and it was huge. Huge enough to where any other day, you would’ve been buzzing with excitement, unable to sit still until you got behind your microphone. You would’ve been nauseous for a whole different reason.

But today was different.

Today you were singing a new song that you had spent weeks writing. The boys helped with the melody here and there, but it was the first whole song you had written in years, and at the end of it was the highest note you’ve ever hit.

And you had gotten through it perfectly every time you practiced it and you knew there was no way for you to be prepared, but there was still a nagging voice in the back of your head that you couldn’t shake.

“Hey.” Alex appeared at your side with a sympathetic smile on his face, instantly recognizing your pacing as a cry for help; considering it was a habit he picked up from you. “You need anything? Water? Aspirin?”

“A puppy?” Reggie chimed in.

“To punch Luke?” Bobby asked.

“Dude!” Luke protested, shoving Bobby’s arm before stepping in front of you and resting his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs tracing slow circles on your collarbones in a way that was supposed to be soothing but only added to the mosh pit in your stomach. “(Y/n), you know this song inside and out. I’ve seen you kill it dozens of times with my own eyes.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Luke cut you off with an insistent look and a shake of his head. “No. No more doubting yourself, okay?”

“You kids are up next.” A gruff voice announced from backstage, and you took a deep breath as you nodded, looking up at Luke with a weak smile.

“You’ll be there to take over if I hurl everywhere, right?” You joked.

“You’re not gonna hurl.” Luke laughed, dropping his hands from your shoulders and wrapping one around your wrist. “But, of course I will. Now, ‘c’mon!”

He started walking towards the stage, dragging you with him. When you passed Alex’s drum set, his eyes drifted down to Luke’s grip on your wrist and he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. You barely had time to flip him off before you arrived at Luke’s microphone.

He smiled as he dropped his hand to tug his guitar strap over his head. “I’m serious. You got this.”

“Thanks, Luke.” You mouthed to him as you walked to the center of the stage, positioning yourself behind your mic.

“How are we doing tonight?” The announcer asked over the speakers and the crowd cheered. “Hey everybody! Welcome to our annual ‘Sunshine Showcase’ where we hit you with the hottest new music in L.A. Everybody give it up for our next band: ‘Sunset Curve’!”

The bright lights at the edge of the stage switched from a dim white to bright red and yellow, casting a faint orange glow across the stage, mixing with the color of the disappearing sun. Alex started a steady rhythm, catching the crowd’s attention. Luke and Bobby joined in, then Reggie.

Then it was time for you to sing.

Your voice started out a little shaky as you sang the first few lines, but it slowly got steadier as you approached the chorus and by the second verse, you got completely lost in the music, bouncing and bobbing your head.

As the second chorus came around, you felt yourself getting nervous again. So you whipped around and met Alex’s eyes. He smiled reassuringly and twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. Then faster than you could blink, Reggie was at your side, giving you his signature goofy smile as he played along.

You threw your arm over his shoulder and bump him with your hip, sending him back to his spot and making a few people in the front row laugh.

Then Alex’s drumming quieted as the bridge came up. You willed yourself not to throw up as you pull your microphone off its stand and crouched down to sing to the crowd.

1...

You kept your voice as steady as you could, giving them your best confident smile as you slowly picked yourself back up.

2...

The music got louder as it neared the end of the bridge and you took a deep breath to prepare for the high note, but it disappeared from your lungs when you realized that Luke had started walking towards you.

3...

Just as he stopped in front of you, the buildup stopped and you could feel everyone’s eyes on you as you closed yours and poured all your energy into the music.

You hit the note perfectly, even surprising yourself a little when you held it longer than you ever had in practice. The crowd erupted in cheers after the note ended, but you kept your eyes closed as you soaked up the moment.

When you finally opened them again, Luke was right next to you, an amazed look on his face. Suddenly, you were grateful for the bright lights covering your face because you were definitely blushing.

The backup for the chorus started up again, but everyone else stopped singing, leaving it up to you and Luke. You held your microphone out so you could both be heard over the cheering. Usually, you all tried to interact with the crowd as much as possible, especially Luke. But his eyes never left yours, not even to look down as he played.

They were so bright and filled with so much intensity that it was hard not to get caught up in moments like this. It wasn’t unusual for you and Luke to sing together and pretend to flirt. The crowd always ate it up and it was pretty fun in the moment. But it always crushed you when the music stopped and you were reminded that it was all for show.

The last note rang out and you let out something between a shaky breath and a relieved laugh. While the boys grabbed their instruments, you walked through the backstage curtain and jumped onto the ground, the adrenaline still racing through you.

“That was awesome!” Reggie said enthusiastically as he tackled you in a hug.

“Yeah, you killed it, (Y/n)!” Alex raised his hand to give you a high five, but his eyes were focused on something behind you. You turned to see what he was looking at, but all you saw was a blur of shaggy brown hair and a grin before a pair of hands lifted you into the air.

“You did it, Squeaks!” Luke cheered as he spun you around, making your head spin. “I told you that you weren’t gonna hurl.”

“I still might if you don’t put me down!” You managed to say through a fit of laughter, holding on to his shoulders to secure yourself as he gently set you down.

You had expected him to pull away once you were back on the ground, but his hands stayed firmly on your waist and he tilted his head forward slightly so his forehead rested against yours.

The world around you slowed down, and you had to put effort into catching your breath again.

“Get a room, guys.” Bobby called as he put his guitar back in it’s case, making Alex and Reggie laugh. You chuckled awkwardly as you pulled away, glaring at Bobby. Luke just smirked and leaned over to stick his finger in Bobby’s ear. “Gross! Dude, stop doing that.”

“Well, I’m starving.” Alex said suddenly, sending you a quick look over his shoulder and you knew he was trying to give you some time to freak out in peace. “Anyone want some pizza?”

The boys all nodded in agreement and started walking towards the parking lot towards Bobby’s car with their instruments in hand, but your feet stayed frozen in place. Your heart was racing as you stared down at the sand between your feet, one question filling up every corner of your mind.

Was it possible that Luke liked you back?

2020

If there was one thing you’ve learned from being a ghost: it’s that everything is unpredictable.

You had just started to accept that this was your ‘life’. That you would never tour the world, and perform in front of a crowd ever again. But then you sang with Julie in that gym, and everything in your world changed.

Again.

Your mind was overloaded with questions. Why can people see us now? And why do we only show up while playing with Julie? Why is the afterlife so confusing?

And one more question, that was less serious but equally as important.

Does Luke like Julie?

It had been plaguing you since last night, when Luke had disappeared into the Molina house and didn’t come out for an hour. He had taken his songbook with him, which you didn’t think anything of at the time. But now you know that he gave her ‘Bright’, one of the first songs you and Luke had ever written together.

And then again today, when she sang, Luke looked just as excited as he was when the two of you wrote it. You scolded yourself for thinking about this now when there were bigger things happening. But you couldn’t help but feel like the universe was hanging a giant sign in your face telling you to give up on Luke.

Across the room, Alex started pacing and you shook those thoughts from your head. You knew that if you were freaking out, then Alex was probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“I think he’s practicing his model strut.” Reggie whispered.

“He’s so nervous that it's making me nervous.” Luke agreed.

“Al?” You asked softly. “Are you okay?”

Alex sighed. “Okay. You guys know I don’t handle change well. Death? That was a change. Okay, then we became ghosts. Another change. And now we can be seen whenever we play with Julie. Big freaking change!”

“Yeah, but it was a good change.” Luke said. “With Julie, we can play on stage again and be the band we never got to be.”

Luke’s words felt like a punch to the stomach. Sure, maybe you guys never got famous when you were alive, but you were still a band. You still poured all your time, energy and ability into every song you made together. You knew that Luke was just excited and not thinking about his words. But it felt like another sign hitting you in the face.

“I just-” Alex let out a defeated sigh. “I just want to know why.”

“Forget why.” Luke shot up from the couch. “I think we should ask Julie to join Sunset Curve.”

“Yeah!” Reggie agreed. “I mean, with a new lead singer, this band would be legendary.”

And there was another punch.

“Dude.” You said, trying not to show how much that comment stung. You loved Reggie like a brother but sometimes you wished he thought things through a little more before he spoke.

“Hey! We’re the lead singers.” Luke crossed his arms petulantly.

Reggie raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. She can make us visible! Without her, we’d just be like elevator music.”

Luke pouted. “Well, you don’t gotta be so mean about it.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alex starting to pace again.

“Al.” You said, walking up to him and stopping him in his tracks.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Alex pushed his hair out of his face. his breathing was a little heavy. “I just…”

There was a moment of careful silence, like everyone was holding their breath, too scared of saying the wrong thing. You all knew how bad Alex’s anxiety could be, and while this wasn’t the most freaked out you had ever seen him, it was getting close.

“Hey,” You intertwined Alex’s arm in yours. “Let’s go for a walk, yeah? Clear our heads?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You sent one last look over your shoulder to Reggie and Luke before you closed your eyes and concentrated on one of your favorite spots in the city. It was one of the first places you went to on your first night back.

Back in the 90's, it was one of your go-to spots when you just needed a place to breathe and sort through your thoughts.

The Walk of Fame.

The noise of the street filled your ears and opened your eyes, finding yourself in the middle of the sidewalk. Alex was right beside you, staring down at all the stars.

"Here? Really?"

You rolled your eyes. "Duh. It's where you and I had our first heart to heart, remember?"

Alex smiled as the memory played through your heads. It was a week after he came out to his parents and the tension in his house had slowly been building up until it was too much for him to handle. So you dragged him here.

"And I think it's time we had another one." You nudged him. "So, come on."

As the two of you walked through the streets of Hollywood arm in arm, it was like an invisible dam burst open and all the questions came pouring out.

After an hour, your head felt like it was going to explode if you kept thinking about all the crazy things that had happened since you got back. But there was still one question you needed to ask.

"Hey, Al?" You asked, making Alex hum in response. "Do you think that Luke likes Julie?"

"Yeah, I mean, I thought he was going to propose when he realized she can make us visible.” Alex said, his face dropping when he felt your arm tense in his. “No! Not like that. Shit, sorry. I-”

“It’s okay, Alex.” You said. You could see him cringing out of the corner of your eye and you knew he was probably beating himself up. “Maybe it’s a good thing, you know? Maybe it’ll be the push I need to finally move on.”

“But you can’t move on until you know how he feels.” Alex stopped abruptly, making you stop too.

“I think he’s been pretty clear."

“Has he?” Alex asked. “In case I missed it, you and Luke haven’t been talking much lately.”

You started to argue but then suddenly, a guy on a skateboard came barreling around the corner and ran right into Alex, making his arm fall out of yours as they both went crashing to the ground.

Alex slowly got back on his feet, groaning painfully. The other guy followed, sighing as he inspected his skateboard.

“Aw, man. You dinged my board.”

“I dinged your board? You almost ran me over! You’re lucky I didn’t-” The realization flashed in his eyes. “You ran me over.”

The skater looked just as confused as both of you when you asked, “You’re a ghost?”

“Yeah.” He took off his helmet, showing off his long hair. “Ever since I learned that skating in traffic was bad.”

Alex took in a sharp breath next to you and you smiled, knowing from the way his jaw dropped and he tripped over his words when the other guy tried to apologize that he was having a ‘gay panic’ moment.

“You guys are new to this whole ghost thing, huh?”

Alex was still a blushing mess but he seemed to find his voice. “Is it that obvious?”

“Totally.” The skater extended his hand out to Alex. “I’m Willie.”

“Alex.”

You introduced yourself quickly, then turned to Alex with a grin. Of course, you wanted to keep hanging with Alex, but it was time to be a good wing-woman. “Hey, I think I’m gonna go back to Cece’s for a while, but you should stay and get some information.”

Alex blushed again, clearly picking up on your intentions but he nodded.

“It was nice meeting you, Willie.” You said, waving goodbye but not before you raised your eyebrows at Alex to let him know that you were definitely going to be grilling him about his afternoon later.

Just like every other time you walked into the diner, you were hit with a wave of painful nostalgia.

On a day like this, you would’ve walked right through the kitchen door and straight into Cece’s arms, rambling on while she made you her special hot chocolate and talked it all out with you until it made sense.

But now, you’re stuck trying to figure everything out alone.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite waitress.” Teddy called out from behind the counter, dog-earing his book and setting it aside to give you his full attention.

“Dude, we just met.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t it a little too early for shameless flirting?”

Teddy scoffed playfully. “It’s never too early for shameless flirting.”

You weren’t super inexperienced when it came to flirting, but it felt like you were in this moment. Sure, you and Luke flirted on stage all the time, but it wasn’t real. At least not for him. But you had gotten so used to it that someone being open about their feelings with you short-circuited your brain a little.

“So.” You said, looking down at this book on the counter. “The Great Gatsby?”

Teddy laughed. “Yeah, it’s kinda on my bucket list.”

“But you’re already dead.”

“Touché, Gorgeous.”

You sat there, talking about your lives, and deaths. Reluctantly, you told him that you died from a hotdog, which led to him declaring it to be the funniest death in history. The more you talked to Teddy, the better you felt. And before you knew it, it had been hours.

By the time you finally decided to leave, there was still a gaping, Luke-shaped hole in your heart. But you decided that maybe it was time to listen to the signs the universe- that Luke- was giving you and try to move on with your life.

Even if it meant letting go of your best friend.

In Life, In Death Taglist:

@ifilwtmfc @instabull @wanniiieeee @tenaciousperfectionunknown @nieauou @merceret @itismeasmolpotato @lilostif16 @dangerouslyclose @iainttakingshitfromnobody @givemebooksorgivemedeath @sunsetcurvedotmp3 @askgeoff

JATP Taglist:

@caitsymichelle13

(The strikethough means I can’t tag you)

Let me know if you want to be added!

#luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson imagine #julie molina #Reggie Peters #Alex Mercer #willie jatp #jatp fanfic

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years ago

Text

Misread Details: Robert

CW: Dehumanizing language, BBU blanket warning, serial killer/death talk, descriptions of death/abduction/murder, blood, whumper death, some real vague implied noncon references, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Dark Discovery in Robert Weber’s Basement: Box Boy Killer, Part 3

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

3 days ago

After Part One, where we learned about the mysterious, but possibly entirely natural, death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, and Part Two, where we saw Henry “Brute” Hanlon’s double life lead to his untimely gruesome murder, you see the single thread that connects these two men who otherwise never met, interacted, or even shared a single person in common… a nameless Box Boy, present at the death of Nanda even if he isn’t responsible for it, and the proven killer of Brute.

It’s my theory that this Box Boy may have accidentally killed his legal owner, Nanda, and then picked up a taste for the act and moved on to taking shelter with those he turns into his victims.

With Brute, he simply didn’t know the man had a wife and children and entire other life, and may have assumed no one would come looking for him or recognize his death. With our third individual, Robert Weber, it seems like our Box Boy Serial Killer got in over his head.

I give you… the Accidental Vigilante death of Robert Weber.

You decide if our unknown killer is simply the unluckiest guy in the world or a killer who even now may be somewhere living with - and earning the trust of - his next victim.

One bright and sunny day in the quaint, old-fashioned California town of Rancher’s Rest, Robert Weber was late for work.

Weber worked in a vehicle repair business owned by lifelong “RR” resident Randy Niles, who had known Weber since his childhood and had been his boss since Weber was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school.

Niles, who is now nearly seventy-five and still spends his days in the shop with an Australian Shepherd named Cody and a blind pit bull named Sue keeping him company everywhere he goes, stated that Weber had no living family he knew of beyond his sister in Vermont, and he was just about the closest thing Weber had to a relative just from having known him so long.

“He didn’t have too much to do with his sister,” Randy said in an interview with Unsolved Mysteries. (You can see the interview on the new Netflix reboot of the show! It’s a really good episode, definitely recommend. It’s how I got into this case in the first place.) “Or nobody, really. Just us at work, the guys at the bar, that kinda thing. He was quiet, kept to himself really. You’d never just strike up a chat around town or anything. But he got on just fine with the boys here in the shop. He was a bit of an egghead, too, always going on about this thing or that he’d seen on the news. Little… odd. Little bit off, you might say. But really, who isn’t? In any case, you know, I’d known him since he was a little boy, so he was just Bobby Weber to me.”

Then, of course, one day Robert Weber didn’t show up to work. Randy Niles immediately felt that something was very wrong.

“When nine, nine-thirty came and went and he wasn’t there,” Niles said, “I knew someone needed to go check on him. Bobby showed up for work right on time or ten minutes early, rain or shine, for twenty years. My first thought was maybe he’d had an accident at home, or some kind of, you know, health thing. Almost never called in sick, took one vacation a year, that kinda thing. So I drove right on over there. This would’ve been, oh, probably ten or ten-fifteen when I got to the house. Had my dogs with me, and they never did like Bobby much, but as soon as I opened my door and got out of my truck they just lost their damn minds. Barking, growling, Cody’s hackles were up like you wouldn’t believe. I know it sounds damn crazy, but I’m sure those dogs could smell that evil had been done in that house.”

On camera, Niles goes quiet, here, his gaze slipping away from the interviewer as he scratches at the side of his nose. When he looks back, the hint of good humor that seems to be an eternal part of his expression is gone.

“I didn’t know what Bobby had been up to all this time. None of us knew. I’ve known Bobby Weber his whole life, and I… I had no idea.”

Randy Niles was unable to convince his two dogs to exit the truck, and eventually rolled down the windows to give them some air and a way out if they chose (he is insistent on this point in the Unsolved Mysteries episode - “don’t you dare say I left my dogs locked up in a truck on a sunny day, I sure didn’t - Cody even knows how to pull a door handle if it’s the right kind”) and got out to knock on Robert Weber’s front door.

No one answered.

Niles knocked again. Still no response.

The front door was locked, but Niles was able to locate an unlocked back door into the garage, where he found Weber’s car neatly parked and nothing out of place. However, once he used an interior door in the garage to enter Weber’s home, what he found was so shocking he still struggles to describe it today.

“The, uh. The first thing I saw,” Niles says in the Unsolved Mysteries episode, wiping at his mouth with a handkerchief, “was a cage. Big old cage in the living room. Like a kennel for a big dog, Great Dane or something, except… except, you know, kennels’re usually mostly wire, not that heavy. You can fold ‘em up, put ‘em away. This was… geez. This was pure metal. Bunch of blankets all piled at the bottom, too. Here’s the-... you know, my mind just didn’t want to even make the thought, but I just, I looked at it and-”

In the episode, Niles has to take another moment, here. His eyes grow wet, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks again. “People cage. Bobby had a damn man-sized cage in his living room. That’s when my stomach just fell out. Even then, though, I couldn’t-... I just thought, oh, well, what people get up to in their own homes is their business. But still, I just. I just decided, find Bobby, figure the rest out later. So I kept walking around looking for him.”

Randy Niles continued to call out, hoping to hear Weber’s response, but received none… at first. The radio in the kitchen was playing a local public radio station (“Bobby always hated the country western and classic rock we played at work, he was a big news man, big into classical, jazz, you know.”)

Niles noticed, he says, that the cage next to the couch had a wooden top, as though it were meant to act as a side table, and on that table was a small woven basket. Inside the basket appeared to be several State IDs and Driver’s licenses. Niles took note of this but his first assumption was maybe that Robert Weber had stolen some IDs or something.

Which was technically true, just… not quite the way he thought.

The kitchen, hallway, and all three bedrooms were equally empty of life. Every room was clean, everything neatly in place. Empty bottles of Jameson whiskey, Weber’s favorite brand, were lined up like décor along the mantel, and one half-full bottle was next to two clean, empty glasses on the kitchen table.

Even the beds were perfectly made.

The only thing missing was any sign of Robert Weber himself.

The question of Weber’s whereabouts was answered when Randy Niles heard a sound coming from the open door to Weber’s unfinished dirt basement.

“Like a ghost,” Niles said in his interview. “Just this low moaning sound. Hardly even thought of it as human, you know. But I just-... I called out, ‘Bobby? That you?’ and the moaning got a little louder, like whoever it was was tryin’ to answer. I could still hear my girls in the truck just going nuts, probably worried about me knowing what they maybe could smell even out there. I figured… I figured I’d best call the cops and get them out here. Seemed like a plan. So I picked up my phone and dialed, and then I headed down those basement steps.”

What Randy Niles discovered in Robert Weber’s basement was a dying man, battered and stabbed eight times, lying in a half-dug grave.

Robert Weber had been beaten with the very shovel that had done the digging. The shovel lay off to the side, caked in dirt and blood. Police would find some of Robert Weber’s hair on it, too. Then, the individual who had beaten him had gone back upstairs - blood smears were found on the railing to the stairs - and taken a kitchen knife out of the knife block on the countertop. A bloody fingerprint was found on the side of the knife block. They had then returned to the basement where Weber was stabbed, almost entirely through the stomach and chest, twenty-six times, until the cheap knife simply broke from the force.

Randy Niles admitted in his interview that he became very ill at this time. “From the shock,” He elaborated. “I haven’t been able to smell much since I was in a car wreck when I was young, so I didn’t smell what-... what my girls prob’ly smelled from outside, and what the cops smelled. To me, it was just… just a little off, is all. It was the sight of it that got to me, not the smell. The sight of the-... the hand.”

Behind Robert Weber’s body, the hand of another person was sticking up out of the loose dirt, as though someone was trying to dig their way out.

“I remember… I remember her nail polish was pink. That’s when I got sick, actually, was when I saw that hand with the painted nails. That’s when it just hit me all at once what Bobby had done.”

Randy Niles went back up the stairs and waited for the cops to arrive. Rancher’s Rest is a small town where everybody knows just about everybody else, and Niles was on a first-name basis with every single police officer he spoke to that day and in the days after. He would learn alongside the investigation that Robert Weber was not simply the quiet, intellectual car mechanic he had always seemed.

Instead, Robert Weber was a serial killer whose potential final victim had managed a miraculous, deadly escape.

Robert Weber never answered a single question about his own murder - he never fully regained consciousness and died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. His injuries were simply too severe. His autopsy showed that the cause of death was a stab wound that went deep into his chest and that he was first stabbed only after the beating with the shovel had taken place. Like Brute, most of his stab wounds were applied post-mortem in a rage rather than as part of the killing itself.

Medical examiners also found scratches on Weber’s face and arms, indicating that he had attempted to defend himself - or someone else had attempted to defend themself from him.

So why was Robert Weber killed, and why was there already a body in his basement? Investigators would piece together the story over the following days and weeks from a crime scene that only seemed to become darker and more baffling as time went on.

Excavating the basement was originally thought to be something that would be brief, but after the first body was removed, another one was found beneath it. Then another off to the side of that. And another, although this was simply bones.

Every time the forensics team thought they’d found the last human bone, they dug a little deeper or in a new spot and found more.

Eventually, the remains of twenty-two individuals would be removed from the basement of Robert Weber’s home, not including Weber himself. The oldest located victim was identified as Melinda Traxson, an Iowa woman reported missing by her family after she ran away in March of 1996… more than two decades before Robert Weber didn’t come to work one day.

Investigators are still working to match up every body with a missing persons’ case. For nearly all of them, the cause of death could not be easily ascertained due to the deterioration of the remains, but some showed signs of skull fractures. Identified individuals so far include:

Melinda Traxson, 19, from Iowa, ran away from home in 1996.

Billie Mortimer, 21, disappeared from a day out with friends at Lake Tahoe one year later in the summer of 1997. Her friends went to get lunch from the car after a swim and when they returned, she was gone.

Matthew Ranger, 22, went missing during a road trip to Yellowstone National Park in 1997 (only five months after Billie). His car was found abandoned by the side of the road with a flat tire.

Karl Janssen, 24, a tourist from the Netherlands who was also visiting Yellowstone, disappeared a month after Matthew. Last seen by an employee of the park who witnessed him speaking with another young man and getting into the man’s car. The employee said that the two seemed to be friendly with one another and did not seem like strangers.

Hannah Pointer, 26. She was reported missing in 1999 by her mother after failing to return home from work in Reno, Nevada. This disappearance occurred more than a year after Karl Janssen’s. Investigators would later discover that during this time period, Robert Weber dated a young woman from his hometown and he may not have wanted to risk her finding out what he was doing.

Isaac Jackson, 26, a Rancher’s Rest resident who disappeared after going out to a local bar to see his friend’s band play in 2000. His car was found submerged in a small pond two years later. This is the first time Weber apparently killed anyone close to home. He was actually briefly suspected in Jackson’s death, as he was the last person noted to see Jackson alive, but was cleared of suspicion at the time.

Dustin Swill, 21, who was driving from Colorado to California to visit his sister who had moved to Berras to work for WRU in 2001. He was last seen in a gas station near Yellowstone, where employees noted he spoke to a man who was smoking outside, who gave him a cigarette. When Swill left, employees saw the man put out his cigarette and leave shortly after. They did not find this unusual or noteworthy at the time.

Maria Vargas, 25, a Rancher’s Rest resident who was reported missing in 2002. Her family is intensely private and have shared few details about her, but it is known that her boyfriend at the time suspected Weber, who had attempted to convince her to leave the boyfriend for him and had apparently threatened her. He remained a suspect but there was never enough evidence to charge him.

Jennifer Striker, 28, from who never arrived for an appointment with a realtor in 2011. The long pause between Maria Vargas’s murder and Jennifer’s appeared to be due to Weber keeping a man named Finn Schneider within his home for more than a year after abducting him, as well as Weber serving five years in prison for a violent assault on a man he believed had sold him a defective vehicle. (Schneider was no longer in the home before the assault and prison time.)

Riley Nievelt, 25, was staying at the Big Meadow Campground with six friends during a weeklong vacation in 2012. She vanished while on a trip to purchase supplies. Her cell phone was found on the ground in the parking lot of the Food Lion in Rancher’s Rest, a short and easy drive away. At this time, with multiple individuals vanishing after being seen in Rancher’s Rest or being residents of the town, police begin to suspect and start hunting for a possible serial killer.

Alexander Peterson, 29, was a long-haul driver who vanished while working. He was last seen at a rest stop in 2014 on the California/Nevada state line, and would likely have passed right through Rancher’s Rest on his journey. He was reported missing by his ex-wife in South Dakota when he did not return as scheduled for a custodial visit.

The most recent victim, and owner of the hand that Randy Niles saw sticking up out of the dirt, was Yolanda Pierce, 26. She was a Rancher’s Rest resident with a troubled relationship with her husband, who had stormed out after an argument and was never seen again. She is believed to have died the same day as Robert Weber.

More remains exist but have not yet been identified. If you or anyone you know has a friend or family member who went missing during this time period in or near Rancher’s Rest, Yellowstone National Park, or Death Valley, it may be worth looking into, as those appear to be Robert Weber’s “hunting grounds”.

Disappearances in Yellowstone and Death Valley almost always matched up with Robert taking one of his rare weeklong vacations from work.

When investigators located three large diaries hidden inside a locked box in Weber’s closet, the first two fully filled up and the third nearly two-thirds finished, they found an exhaustively detailed record of Robert Weber’s crimes.

In these records, they discovered Weber’s first three victims were killed within 24 hours of abduction, with the rest being kept alive for longer and longer time periods. It is believed all of them met their end in Robert Weber’s basement.

Diary entries included records of two victims who were not a part of the bodies buried in Weber’s basement, both of whom may still be alive:

Finn Schneider, 19, a German tourist who disappeared in 2003 during a visit to Death Valley. Until Weber’s journals were found, it was believed he had perished in the park and had simply never been found. Robert Weber also visited Death Valley during this time. No one linked the two together. Evidence found in Weber’s home after his death, including the aforementioned diary entries and photographs, shows that Schneider was alive in Weber’s home for nearly sixteen months. It is believed Weber purchased the “human cage” that Randy Niles noticed around this time. The last diary entry that mentions Schneider states that he was “traded” on June 16th, 2005, to an individual only referred to as “Mouse.” What Weber received in exchange is unclear, but he was seen driving a new, custom-painted truck around this time, which he said he bought “from a personal ad” when asked by Niles about it. Schneider has never been found. However, his mother did receive a phone call in 2013 from an individual she believes to be her son, telling her that “Finn” was okay and to stop looking for him.

Our Box Boy, 334235, purchased by Nathaniel Benson years prior, whose whereabouts had been unknown since he murdered Brute Hanlon. Weber believed the Box Boy to be in his early twenties, according to his diary entries, and mentioned that he had picked the Boxie up hitchhiking and had intended to kill him before seeing the barcode on the inside of his left wrist and changing his mind. His diary suggests the Box Boy remained in his possession for roughly a fourteen months prior to Weber’s murder. Police have not released the details of what the Boxie was subjected to during this time, stating only that it is not the public’s interest for this information to be known, and they would like to locate the missing Boxie and interview him about certain details.

Four murders occurred during the time the Boxie was kept by Robert Weber. Weber noted that “the dog helped” with either murder or burial, suggesting that he may have worked as Weber’s accomplice in his terrible crimes.

Is it possible that they bonded over a shared urge to kill? Did the Boxie start a captive and become a companion?

Weber’s diary contained other disturbing facts, as well:

Weber also noted three failed abduction attempts in detail, in 1998, 2004, and 2017. In each he described with incredible precision of memory the appearances and descriptions of each person he failed to capture. He also appeared to do intensive research using their license plates and other information to find out where they lived and who they were. The names of these individuals have been kept quiet for privacy reasons.

Other failed abductions were noted, about one per year, without much detail. Or at least not enough for police officers to know who they were. Nearly all these failures were in one of three locations: Yellowstone National Park, Stanislaus National Forest and nearby campgrounds, and in or near Death Valley.

The last entry in Robert Weber’s diary was penned the day of his death.

NOTE: Weber referred to the Boxie as “the dog” in nearly all his journal entries. His last entry went:

May 6th, 20XX: The dog is pissed about something again. He’s always pissed about something. I think the thing in the basement probably kept him up all night with her caterwauling. He never gets used to the noises they make. God knows I can’t sleep either, at least not well. I’ll handle her tonight, have a drink with the dog after, see if that shuts up his nonsense for a while. Note: missed NPR interview with Senator Carlotta Grant on new leg. about the bb prohibition act. Find that on website later.

Found in Weber’s home, in boxes under his bed, were a series of restraints made of leather, high-quality items that appear to be custom-ordered to specific measurements. These included “gloves” intended to keep someone from being able to claw or scratch in their own defense, five sets of cuffs, a body harness, a leather half-face-mask that police referred to as a “muzzle”, several gags, some of which were deemed to be “designed to cause injury to the inside of the mouth”, and “other assorted items for use in torture and torment”.

You can find some leaked police docs online that go into more detail, but suffice to say they pretty much match the kinds of “toys” found in Nathaniel Benson and Brute Hanlon’s homes, too. And apparently, if you really know where to look, you can find some blurry low-quality photos Weber took, too.

While the items are a bit salacious, they aren’t entirely uncommon in consensual relationships, too, so it’s really not clear if they’re evidence of the Boxie being held against his will or not.

The investigation of the crime scene suggests that at some point after writing his final diary entry, Robert Weber made himself a pizza, which he ate half of and put the rest away in the fridge. His shaving cream and razor were found out on his sink, and Weber’s body was clean-shaven, suggesting he shaved shortly before his death.

He then watched three episodes of Law & Order: SVU. We know this because he texted during this time with his only living relative, the sister in Vermont. Little is known about Weber’s family and childhood, beyond his sister’s recounting of a quiet, strained home life with an overbearing mother and her mention that Robert endured several head injuries as a child and adolescent, including one that hospitalized him for days.

After he finished watching TV, Weber entered the basement and murdered Yolanda Pierce. It is believed he took the Box Boy downstairs with him, either as accomplice or witness. At some point while he was disposing of Yolanda Pierce’s remains, the Boxie became enraged for one reason or another, beat him with a shovel, got the kitchen knife from upstairs and stabbed him to death, and then left the house.

A neighbor remembers hearing odd noises around 3:30 AM and looking out their window to see a shadowy figure walking quickly down the road, but they weren’t able to see well enough to say whether or not the individual matches the description and WRU-provided photos of the Boxie. It does seem reasonable, though, to assume that the neighbor witnessed the Boxie fleeing the scene of the crime.

The Box Boy has never been seen again.

Police are pretty mum about the active investigation into the Box Boy’s whereabouts. I was able to get ahold of one source closely related to a member of the investigative team who said that there’s just not a lot of urgency. “Weber killed nearly two dozen people, just that we know of,” The source said. “The cops are a little bit ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’ about the situation. Unless the Boxie comes back to RR, they’re just inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.”

The sense of “let it be someone else’s problem” would be understandable… if this Box Boy weren’t responsible for one other direct murder, possibly two.

Police believe the Boxie has not left California, and is likely to be continuing to survive by engaging in prostitution or perhaps panhandling or some other hidden way of making money. Unconfirmed sightings have been located in three cities in central California, but all of these are unverified and should be taken with a grain of salt.

It’s also possible he hooked up with a pet liberation movement group, in which case he may be hiding out in a safehouse, protected from the consequences of his actions by the pet lib movement’s understandable insistence on total secrecy and anonymity for the Boxies they take in.

If he’s an innocent victim of circumstance, that’s fair.

If he’s a burgeoning serial killer with three victims under his belt and a taste for inflicting terrible violence on those who take him in… well… anyone who gives him shelter may be next.

Is our Boxie a purposeful killer or just supremely, almost incomprehensibly unlucky? Will he kill again? Was he Robert Weber’s accomplice or his victim?

Will he strike again?

Should there be an audit of WRU’s psychological testing on potential sign-ups to see if, perhaps, a Box Boy-wannabe with an urge to kill slipped through the cracks?

What do you think?

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary

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cobaincreates · 4 years ago

Text

smart decisions

warnings: drinking, angst, smut, fingering, nsfw, 18+

count: 10k+

hiiiiiiiii so i’m a horndog & i can’t get enough of rafe cameron (or drew) or college rafe & i also wanna cry over them so here you go. let me know whatcha thinkin’. please i’m begging you.

also the photo isn’t mine i got it from here!

songs i imagined - this one & this one

— — —

transferring colleges had to have been your smartest decision to date. going from putting your strengths into a place that was not willing to acknowledge them to, now, receiving credit where credit was most deservingly due. your first choice for school had been some place close to home, you figured why not opt for the cheaper option to save yourself, and your parents, a little money. you spent a few months getting into the swing of things, heading to class each day with a fresh mind and hopeful thoughts. it wasn’t until six months in that you realized you deserved so much better, and at a better school.

it took time, figuring out your best bet and where to go and all the finances. you definitely grew impatient a year in, trying to stick it out at home to receive your credits. but once the moment arrived, you packed all your things and moved states away. you loved it; you loved the classes, you loved your friends, you loved your professors. you were completely happy with your choice to go. your parents might not have been, but the weekly calls home for your progress report were substitute enough.

wednesday, 5 p.m.

you scribbled a doodle you had been going over and over, darkening the lines so much you saw it behind your eyelids now. you snapped out of it and looked back at your textbook.

the library was so quiet, you heard pages being turned from every corner, the chewing of gum from a tense jaw, and the soft snores of someone passed out in one of the private cubicles across the way. none of those things distracted you really since you had come to the study session with a couple of your friends, all three of you making a pact to get shit done.

melly was able to listen to music while she studied and was more of a typer as her fingers moved fast along the keys of her laptop. she came dressed in her comfiest clothes, sporting a knit sweater and joggers. lina had snacks across the table to keep her sustained. she was a strong believer that she learned better while being fed. it made you laugh still. she was a writer like you, very organized in her notes with highlighters and different colored pens. she even drew headers for each page for the hell of it. you wondered where she got the drive. then there was you, black ink, the main topic underlined, things to remember written repeatedly. you learned better after writing things down, you couldn’t just read a book and have the information implanted in your brain. as much as you wished it were that easy.

you were studying for an upcoming psychology test, one that you were sure would be a piece of cake given how well you did in the class itself. it was one you didn’t plan on taking, but you needed another course to get enough credits for the year.

lina was munching on some almonds, turning a page in her notebook, and picking up a blue pen. you were in the middle of writing a definition down and filling up the last of the page, your hand starting to cramp with how much pressure you were using. you flexed it once you put your pen down and squeezed an imaginary ball.

both yours and lina’s eyes flicked up to melly across the table who let out a low moan. she was pulling her headphones off and looking in the completely opposite direction of her computer.

“why is he so fine?” she asked, low enough for the two of you to hear.

you looked over your shoulder at the same time lina did and searched in the general area melly was focused on. all you saw was a guy walking through the library, sporting a backpack and a lacrosse sweatshirt, the hood pulled over his head.

“he really knows what he’s doing, huh?” lina said dreamily.

you furrowed your eyebrows as you watched him turn into a row of books and you glanced at melly as you faced the other way, planning on getting back to your work. melly was dazed as she still looked in his direction.

“who is that?” you asked after a moment of both of them still ogling.

lina turned toward you as melly closed her laptop a little to lean over it. “what did you just say?”

you looked between the two identical shocked expressions and laughed helplessly. “who is that?”

“oh, i forgot. you’re still new.” melly nodded in semi-acceptance then became serious. “that’s rafe cameron. he’s on the lacrosse team and we’re kind of obsessed with him.”

“it’s alarming,” lina said. she gave a quick glance over her shoulder then looked back at her notebook. “i love making myself sad over him not noticing me, but it’s fine. what’s even more alarming is how he’s still single.”

“i cannot express to you, y/n, how good,” melly emphasized, squeezing her eyes shut, “he looks with a little sweat.”

“you guys sound like stalkers.” you pointed out, smiling a little at their explanations.

“i’m not denying it. i said it was alarming.” lina shrugged as she looked from her textbook to her writing. “we’ve talked to him a couple of times at some parties, he’s a super nice guy but we just find him attractive. i think if i were a freshman, i’d be pathetically pining after him.”

melly hummed in agreement, her chin now propped in her palm. she wore a doe-like look, gazing between yours and lina’s heads and into the bookshelves. “don’t they have a game tomorrow? we should go.”

“it’s away.” lina said, but you had already lost interest in the topic and started reading a new chapter. you picked your pen back up, the muscles in your hand now relaxed, and the boy in the bookshelves out of your mind.

monday, 9 a.m.

you were going to be late and you hated the thought. there was no way you could miss this test when you had done nothing but study every last page for it. you even lost track of how many pages of notes you wrote for the test alone. it would be such a waste to miss it and it wasn’t worth getting a negative grade.

being late was not at all your fault. you had set your alarm early, eaten breakfast and read a few more chapters to get ahead, and packed your bag up so you’d be ready after a quick shower. turned out that all the showers on your floor were broken, the yellow “do not cross” tape like a bad omen. you started muttering to yourself as you carried along your shower caddy, going down to the next floor and finding a line to wait in. you knew it was probably your best bet instead of racing to another floor to check if there were more lines, plus you didn’t know how much time you had. you probably annoyed some people with the fidgeting, but all you could think about was the test.

it was ridiculous how long the showers took and how you had to leave your hair damp as you ran back up physical stairs. you burst through your door, threw your bathroom things on your bed, grabbed your bag and the few books you couldn’t stuff in. while leaving, the door shutting behind you, you made do with damp hair, twisting it up and out of your face. as you checked the time, you figured out that you had eight minutes exactly to get across campus and in your seat with a writing utensil ready.

even though you were late, you still held doors open for people, and you dodged others walking the opposite direction instead of the other way around. you kept checking the time as if the minutes would stop moving.

just as you were looking into your bag, your legs moving fast and assuredly, you ran right into something hard. you dropped the textbooks that you had been clutching, even with a death grip on them, and your bag slipped from your shoulder. a notebook poked out along with a pen rolling away on the walkway.

“woah,” the hard surface said.

“i’m so sorry, i was not looking.” you said quickly and bent down to get your things. of course, this would happen while you were in a rush. you supposed you were lucky it didn’t involve cars. god, that would’ve been so much worse.

“nah, it’s alright.” they said easily and bent down beside you, retrieving your things.

you scrambled for everything and shoved the notebook back into your bag. you spotted your keychain near their foot, their fingers closing around it before you could reach for it. you finally looked up as they held the key out to you, the ring hanging from their finger.

rafe cameron.

he looked different now that you could see his face better. and also, because he was so close this time. it was odd to know now that he had blue eyes and a light ghosting of stubble along his jaw and cheeks. it felt too personal being this close to someone you only knew the name of.

you felt a little silly for bumping into him, but you didn’t let it show. “thank you,” you said as you took the key from him and stood quickly to walk away. lina and melly surely wouldn’t give this up when you told them.

rafe had watched after you for a moment before turning back to his friend topper, raising his eyebrows in reference to what happened, and continuing their conversation.

you made it to class about three minutes late and sat in your seat, finally taking a breath. you settled in, putting your things at your feet, and digging around for a pen. all thoughts of bumping into rafe cameron left your mind.

8 p.m.

“you what?” melly coughed violently as she composed herself. lina was clutching her stomach, nearly dying of hysterics when the drink came out of melly’s nose a second earlier.

you held your head in your hands and inwardly groaned at having to tell the story. you were out to dinner with the two girls, munching on french fries and milkshakes. it was typical for you three to hang out on mondays since melly usually had a bad case of them each week. you had innocently slipped in that you just so happened to run into rafe cameron this morning and well, you hadn’t expected that to be melly’s reaction.

“i ran into him. i was late this morning and i wasn’t looking.” you could feel the embarrassment settle in as you recounted the minor event, at least to you.

“did he say anything?” her eyes were blown wide as she leaned across the table.

“i didn’t try to have a conversation with him.” you shrugged and picked at the plate of fries at the center of the table. melly gave you a look of mild bewilderment, the shock of it wearing off.

“missed opportunity.” lina joked, taking a long sip of her shake. “i wouldn’t know what to say either if i ran into him.”

you felt your shoulders loosen as the topic was slowly changing. melly laughed at lina’s remark, teasing her that she would’ve frozen up from bumping into anybody. you smiled and were glad that both of them didn’t take the story too seriously.

minutes later you were laughing loudly, head thrown back as melly was telling a story about her family and a public mishap with a tire. it was interesting to you to hear about what it was like growing up in a completely different environment than the one you did. you supposed that’s something you loved about college; getting to meet people from so many other states and cities.

you were smiling to yourself as you dipped a fry into your shake. just as you put it into your mouth and looked across the table at melly, her composure changed.

“oh, fuck.” she whispered and noticeably tried to look away. “don’t look.”

both you and lina turned around to look toward the front door. a dense group of bodies was coming in through the door, the atmosphere’s volume increasing with their chatter. toward the back you recognized rafe cameron. you weren’t sure at all what it was that made your heart clench in your chest.

“i said don’t look!” melly whispered louder. “oh, god. okay. act normal.” melly straightened up, trying not to be obvious with looking in their direction. you laughed and sat back in the seat. lina practically sunk into hers.

you didn’t watch as they approached, but you did look up once rafe entered your peripheral vision. he was with the guy from this morning, even if you hadn’t noticed him before. you just remembered rafe crouched in front of you while someone just as tall stood behind him, waiting. both of them were sporting lacrosse sweatshirts, along with some others in the group.

“hey, rafe.” melly said easily like she hadn’t just been freaking out over him a second ago.

you watched rafe lift his chin, smiling genuinely at her. you didn’t think anything of it when he glanced at you, the recognition so obvious as his face changed. he continued to walk to his table though, eyes steady on you for what felt like too long.

melly turned around and sank over the table, her mouth open in shock. “oh my god,” she said above the surface.

“oh my god,” lina said, turning to you in bafflement. “i feel like i’m in an alternate universe. did that just happen?”

“he just recognized me.” you brushed it off.

“no, y/n, he knew you. that was longer than five seconds.”

“why are you guys so obsessed with him anyways?” you laughed, trying to take the attention off you.

lina shrugged, seeming taken aback with the question. “i don’t really know.”

“because he’s gorgeous, that’s why.” melly intervened, dipping a fry into her shake.

you looked over melly’s shoulder, wondering what it was exactly that was so intriguing about the lacrosse player. you had had your fair share of athletes and could agree on some being drop dead gorgeous. maybe rafe cameron was just a nice guy all around and melly and lina just had pleasant interactions with him. maybe he was the type of college boy that looked out for everyone’s wellbeing and that’s what made your friends obsess over him. it could be a number of things.

thursday, 8 p.m.

you rubbed your eyes, yawning in the middle of it, and lay back on your bed. you had just closed your computer after typing up a 10-page essay. it was nine when you started it this morning. you were just glad your one class of the day was canceled and that you had time to write the paper before next week. plus, there were no classes tomorrow, and you could have a whole day of doing nothing. you were stoked, to say the least.

feeling a vibration beside you, you reached for your phone and opened a text from lina. incoming in 5, it said, followed by a rattling of knocks on your door. you rolled off the bed and shuffled over, finding her and melly with wide smiles. it was infectious as you felt your own smile appearing on your face.

“what are you guys doing here?” you asked curiously, stepping aside to let them in. the door clicked softly shut as you followed melly to your bed where she went to sit. lina leaned against the wall across from you, careful of your roommate’s things.

“we were invited to a party and we were wondering if you wanted to come with.” lina said, sharing a quick look with melly.

you glanced between them, eyes narrowing. “what’s so special about this party?”

“god, how can you even tell that?” melly asked, slightly rolling her eyes.

“you guys have known each other longer than i've known either of you, but you’re easy to read.” you laughed.

“i don’t like that.” melly said quietly to herself.

you grinned at her, noting her curls springing around her face. melly usually had her hair pulled back out of the way and it was very rare to see her with a different hairstyle. there had been some days where she had braids and you enjoyed seeing the change of pace. lina on the other hand always let her hair down. tonight though, she had straightened it and thrown it into a high ponytail. you hadn’t really gone to a lot of parties with the girls, so seeing them all done-up was always fascinating.

“seriously, what’s the deal?” you asked again, looking to lina since she was the one who had proposed the idea.

she shared another look with melly again before finally coming out with it. “it’s at rafe cameron’s apartment.”

you felt that clenching again in your chest, in that same spot from last night. you swallowed, feeling how dry your mouth was in the span of three seconds.

“well, it’s his and topper’s apartment, so not technically just his.” lina said, waving her hand in enunciation. she crossed her arms. “i have this study group with topper and he invited me and mel and anyone else really.”

“come on, it’ll be fun.” melly said, nudging your arm.

you looked at the girl beside you, ready to say no mostly in panic of seeing rafe. you had nothing to worry about or freak out over, but it was a scary thought. so many things happened at parties. so many things could happen.

“okay,” you said easily.

the prior fears dissipated quickly as lina and melly gave a small cheer and encouraged you to get ready, and to take your time. you spent the next ten minutes asking them what you should wear, going through your side of the closet. all three of you agreed on a plaid skirt you had bought a few weeks before on a spontaneous shopping trip. you only wore it once since then and had been meaning to pull it out again. you paired it with a sweater, something easy to keep you warm through the night instead of bringing a jacket along. lina and melly agreed excitedly when you changed and raised your eyebrows, searching for approval.

9 p.m.

holding on tightly to lina’s hand, you laughed hysterically to the point of tears and a clear indicator in the nether region that you had to pee, badly. a connie bailey rae cover was playing from a speaker near you, your laughter probably not as loud as you thought it to be as you calmed down. melly stopped her ridiculous reenactment and pulled an exaggerated disgusted face as she dodged someone trying to dance with her. you shook with laughter and took a long sip of your drink, tilting your head back to finish it in one gulp.

the party had been way more fun than you thought it would be, especially when you walked the four blocks to get there. lucky for you, you had been smart and worn flat boots. the apartment was a good size for the event and had plenty of space to gather, enough left over for those that wanted a break from either dancing or just to relax. some people you didn’t recognize had the large tv on, a video game on the bright screen. there was plenty of shouting coming from their general direction, a wave of arms and pointing of rigid fingers.

you had seen rafe in passing, but never made the initial eye contact as if to let each other know that you were near. stepping into the apartment and being greeted with his friend topper, you felt like you were intruding or trespassing by being in rafe’s space. you didn’t know him, or topper for that matter, and it felt odd to you to be in their physical home.

“where’s the bathroom?” you asked lina as melly went to get more snacks.

lina stood up on her toes and pointed at a closed door. “i'm pretty positive it’s over there.”

you gave her a nod and walked in the direction she pointed you in, finding a couple people waiting against the wall. you took a place there and acted as a fly on the wall for a total of five minutes since the line went fast. once inside, you took a deep breath, feeling refreshed at the open window and the cool air coming in.

you dried your hands and placed the towel back where it was on the counter and opened the door. the next person waiting rushed in rather quickly, making you stumble against the doorway. you laughed to yourself and felt the rush of sudden wind as the door slammed.

excusing yourself past a small group, you headed toward the refreshments. you were already thirsty after having emptied your bladder seconds before, but you were aware it was just the addictive alcohol buzzing through your system. it was crowded closer to the drinks, rightfully so, and it only took one person to move for you to see rafe acting as a stand-in bartender.

part of you wanted to run right back out of the kitchen and find lina and melly, but the other part of you wanted to give a swift kick to your rear. you chose the latter and walked over to where he was at the counter. he was in the middle of pouring someone else’s drink and you stood on his other side, taking in his appearance while you still could. the blue hat on his head read “obx”, turned backwards. he wore an off-white t-shirt, the graphic design on the back drawing you in. you were too busy staring at his shoulders molded with the fabric to realize he had turned around and you were now staring at his chest. you blinked up at his face, smiling lightly.

“hi.” he said, a small lilt to his voice as he recognized you once again.

“hi.”

“can i get you something?” he asked, and you felt your shoulders falter a little, thinking that was all he was going to say to you. stick to his image of drink tender and have you go on your way. but his body told you differently as he turned fully to face you.

“um, i can get it.” you said, the instant flight taking effect at the very prospect of being shot down.

rafe nodded and stepped out of the way, moving further into the corner of the counter. you smiled at him and poured your own drink, mixing up your favorite. rafe still stood there and you could feel the strong vice his eyes had on you. it made you a little self-conscious, but you relaxed with a deep breath.

“i never got your name.” rafe said just as you took a sip and turned to leave the kitchen. “you know, from the other day.”

“that’s because i was too busy bumping into you.” you let out a small laugh and stepped closer to him, out of the way if someone wanted a drink. you turned your back to the fridge and tried to find a spot to lean on as rafe looked down at you, a smile playing at his lips. “i am sorry about that again. i was in a rush for a class.”

“it’s no problem. i’m just glad you’re okay, we hit pretty hard.”

“y/n.” you said and held out a hand respectfully.

“rafe,” he slipped his hand into yours, warm and strong, and smiled widely.

“i think i’ve heard your name only a million times in the past week.” you admitted, knowing that lina and melly would kill for brownie points. “my friends are a bit obsessed with you and fully willing to educate the newbie.”

“obsessed, huh? lina and mel, right?”

you nodded and took another sip. rafe reached on the counter and grabbed a handful of pretzels. he held some out to you. “they’re nice girls,” rafe said easily. “i’ve hung out with them a couple times, but i didn’t know they were obsessed.” he laughed to himself.

you munched on a pretzel and froze at an idea. “you’re not going to tell them i told you, are you?”

“not unless you want me to.”

you stared at him for a bit longer than you planned, then let out a breath and took another pretzel from his hand. it was odd to be sharing food with him when just the other day you felt like your heart was tearing in your chest. at the moment, you could only feel a dull ache.

“so, how do you like it?” rafe asked.

“like what?”

“campus, the college.”

you nodded and swallowed some of your drink to wash the pretzels down. “things have been really great. i enjoy it here. it’s an immense difference than my first college back home, so i’m happy.”

rafe smiled. “and the party?”

you followed his nod to the people around you, glancing to your original spot where you left lina. you didn’t see her anywhere until some people moved and you found her and melly sat on the couch. they were playing the video game with a whole mess of guys. you grinned.

“the party is great.” you commended, looking back at him. he had finished the rest of the pretzels in his hand.

“good.” he nodded. “i always get nervous when top and i invite people over. we’ve done it a bunch of times, but there’s always the possibility of something going wrong.”

“well, you’re doing great. both of you. hopefully, nothing horrible happens.”

11 p.m.

you would be lying if you said that your conversation with rafe from hours ago wasn’t still running through your head. it was difficult not to think about it when you kept seeing him more often throughout the party. most of the time you’d catch his eye, or vice versa, and instantly smile. you’d then recall the sound of his laugh and would even hear it from feet away. the clenching in your chest was now accompanied by a swirling in your stomach.

you were pacing yourself with your drinks, but by now you were on your fifth of the night. you were completely aware of everything around you and you were enjoying the ongoing buzz. lina and melly were a bit more inebriated than you were, which only added to the fun.

the two girls in front of you were swaying to a song together, not even close to being slow tempo. it was very upbeat, the bass pumping through the walls. the front door to the apartment was now open since it had begun to get warmer with the more and more people that were joining. a few windows were thrown open as well.

“you remember how in freshman year you fell down that flight of stairs and twisted your ankle and practically bashed your head in and then your mom yelled at you and then your sister called to tell you she was pregnant and then your dad! oh my god, and then your dad was like ‘hey i’m thinking of leaving your mom so uh, yeah’ and then your mom was so pissed but then she was fine because she found a total hunk of a man to replace your dad like that,” melly snapped her fingers as your body started to shake with laughter. lina was laughing too, not at all bothered with a quick recap of her, very shitty, first year.

“yes, thank you for reminding me mel. i love when we have tantalizing conversation like this.” lina leaned her head against the others’.

mel giggled, a few hiccups escaping. “i think i need to pee.”

“god, you’re like a peeing machine.” lina sighed and tightened her arm around melly.

“that’s what drinking will do to you.”

lina rolled her eyes and looked at you as she brought melly to the bathroom. you asked quickly if she needed help, but she shook her head and promised they’d be back soon. you watched them go then turned back to the party, turning too fast and not feeling the presence behind you in the moment. a cool liquid pooled over and down your chest, soaking the fabric of your sweater. you gasped at the contact, your mouth dropping open and looking down at the dark stain.

“i— “ you looked up to tell the person it was fine before an apology came out, finding that off-white t-shirt on a very familiar blue-eyed person. “we have to stop meeting like this.”

rafe looked horrified at having spilled his drink all over your sweater, his eyes wide as they stared at your chest.

“that’s the most cliché thing to say.” you said, laughing lightly to ease the tension so obvious in his features.

he let out a laugh too. “you can borrow something of mine. come on,” he held out his hand and you took it willingly, realizing some people were staring at the accident way too curiously. you let rafe lead you up the stairs, the complete darkness on the landing causing you to focus solely on his hand in yours.

rafe opened a door and flipped a light on, your eyes adjusting to the brightness. he led you further in and closed the door behind you before rushing to his dresser, a whole display of cologne bottles on top. as he rummaged through the drawers, you stood just in front of the door, a little timid to step further in. you were holding your sweater away from your chest, already feeling the stickiness of liquid on your skin.

“how’s this one?” he asked, holding out a simple white one.

“you don’t have to give me a shirt.”

“it’s the least i can do. the bathroom is right there.” he handed the shirt to you and nodded just behind your shoulder. you thanked him and went in, closing the door with a click. you pulled the sweater off and dampened a washcloth, wiping the dried drink from your skin. pulling the shirt on, you relished in how soft it was and styled the piece of fabric so it looked better with your skirt.

rafe was sitting on a couch next to his bed, more like a futon, his hands in his pockets and hat off his head. he looked up as you came out, straightening his posture and looking you up and down.

“i’m sorry.” he smiled guiltily.

you smiled and walked over, moving around the small circular coffee table and sitting next to him. “guess it was payback for the other day,” you teased as you folded your sweater and set it next to you.

rafe rolled his eyes with a knowing smile. you glanced at him as you leaned back, feeling the softness and rigidness of the futon. “you look good in my shirt.”

“i feel better in a less damp one.” you said, easing the fluttering in your stomach. your chest clenched again as you crossed your legs.

glancing around rafe’s room, you admired the movie posters on the walls and the multiple lacrosse paraphernalia. one of his jerseys lay crumpled at the end of his bed, the comforter pulled over the pillows to look made. it was better than you did with your bed, you were pretty sure yours was unmade and messy.

it was a decent sized room, plus the bathroom was nice to have. you’d kill for your own bathroom again. it would be nice not to wait in a line. you told yourself that you just had to figure out an earlier schedule so you could beat the crowd.

after a once-over of rafe’s room, you looked over at him to find him already looking at you. he was fully analyzing your face, you could see his eyes flickering to different parts.

you swallowed and licked your lips. “what?”

“nothing.” he said quickly and sighed, laying his head back on the couch.

you squinted at him, now tracing over his features. he looked nervous from what you could tell, his hands moving in his pockets. you stared at his chest moving up and down slowly, the intake of breath coming as it grew bigger. his adam’s apple protruded, bobbing slightly as he swallowed. your chest clenched once again as you looked at his face, watching him look up at the ceiling. he really was handsome. you shifted in your seat, switching your leg over the other.

“that look wasn’t nothing.” you commented, breathing in.

“what look?” he turned his head toward you, eyebrows slightly pushing together. you watched every change in his face, from his eyebrows to his eyes blinking then to his tongue peeking out to lick his lips.

“the look of ‘i want to eat you up’.”

he laughed, the couch shaking with him. “what does that entail?”

“major gazing and bedroom eyes.”

“bedroom eyes, huh?” he hummed and lifted his head. his lips tugged at a smirk.

“am i imagining things?” you asked seriously, slightly doubting if you made the right call. maybe he wasn’t thinking what you thought he had been. maybe you were imagining things.

rafe didn’t answer, instead looking down at the floor. the smirk alone told you that you had been right. his hands flexed in his pockets, hard for you to miss. a few silent minutes passed, the both of you listening to the party still going on downstairs.

“if you want to kiss me, all you have to do is ask.” you said quietly. after a moment you figured he hadn’t heard you, that he had lost himself in staring at the carpet.

“can i?”

“yes,” you nodded.

rafe sat up and met your eyes, moving closer until his thigh was touching yours. you shifted your upper half closer to him, feeling a wave of shivers run through you the second his hand touched your cheek. you instinctively pressed your legs tighter together as your heartbeat picked up and rafe lowered over you, licking his lips once more. they were soft and firm, just as they needed to be. he tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing just beside your mouth as you kissed.

seconds later, you brought your own hands to his face. you were eager to touch him, to feel the solidness of him against you. it was mostly a reassurance that this was in fact happening and that you weren’t dreaming. you pushed a hand into his hair just behind his ear and mirrored the last few pecks he was leaving you before he fully pulled away. you felt a pinch of disappointment, the small taste for him now growing bigger. you had to stop your hands from pulling him back.

he pulled away only a little and you opened your eyes to see him still so close and looking over your face. your breaths mingled together.

“what?” you huffed, letting your head fall back for a second in slight irritation. you just wanted to kiss him again. you let your hand slide down from his hair, resting near his shoulder. you wanted to squeeze the muscle under your hand.

“nothing.” he said again, eyes flickering down to your lips once more. he smiled, holding himself up on the back of the couch. his thumb brushed the same spot on your cheek. “don’t tell anyone, but i’ve been imagining this since you showed up tonight.”

you returned your hand to his hair, slightly scratching with a smile. “i knew you spilled your drink on purpose.”

rafe grinned widely and moved back into you. this kiss was deeper, your lips opening for him when you felt his tongue. his hand left your cheek and appeared on your hip, ever so slightly pushing your shirt up so he could touch your skin at your waist. you smiled against him as you felt his hand slowly creep up the shirt. you were reminded again that it was his and you pulled him closer by the back of the neck, hearing a soft moan leave his lips. your thighs squeezed, your excitement starting to rise.

“you just gave it to me and now you want to take it off?” you teased as rafe’s hand covered one of your breasts, the cool air of the room reaching your skin. rafe smiled and kissed you again.

his hand disappeared, apparently changing his mind, and reappeared on your thigh. you breathed in sharply at the warmth coming from his palm, resting just above your knee. your brain started to spaz for a moment and you imagined a bunch of smaller yous, running in circles like their heads were cut off.

rafe’s hand stayed steady as you uncrossed your legs, a silent invitation. he moved to kiss the corner of your mouth. “is this okay?”

the fact that he was pulling away multiple times to check in on you had to be evidence enough of why lina and melly liked him so much. you hadn’t met many guys that were so in tune with consent or caring about what you wanted. it turned you on seeing it coming from him.

“yes.” you nodded as you touched his forearm, not wanting to seem too eager.

you anticipated his hand moving and when it did, you held back the moan. you were much too eager for teasing and he was showing no signs of not giving you want you wanted. as he got closer to you, you placed your hand over his. he pulled you back for a kiss and you decided to focus on that for a moment to lessen your nerves.

his touch was soft once he met your underwear. his fingers pressed over you and you shivered from how wet you had become because of him. he hummed into your mouth, only adding to the pooling between your legs. his hand reached back and pushed your skirt further up so he could get to you more easily.

you let out a satisfied sigh against his lips as he ran a finger through your folds, collecting your wetness. your underwear had been pushed to the side, out of the way, finally feeling his touch.

“are you this wet for me?” he asked. you nodded against his forehead and pulled him back, letting out a moan as he brushed over your clit. it was only for a second, but you were about ready to burst.

you opened your legs wider for rafe, his fingers moving over you and exploring the new area. you gripped his hand to silently ask him for more along with an impatient moan. you wanted his fingers so badly in places you weren’t ready to admit yet. he wanted the opposite.

“talk to me.” he said, nudging the side of your face with his nose, planting a kiss to your jaw. you opened your eyes that had fallen shut, your breath getting heavier. your chest felt like it was going to cave in.

“please,” you said, adjusting your hips. “please, touch me.”

“i am.” he pulled away, a menacing smirk on his face just to gauge your reaction.

you huffed out and pulled his hand closer. “you know what i mean, rafe.”

“i like when you say my name.” he pressed a kiss to your lips sweetly.

“i might like when you touch me, so get on with it already.”

rafe laughed huskily, his breath blowing over your face. “you want my fingers?”

you wanted to roll your eyes at how badly he wanted you to beg, but you wanted his fingers more. “yes, please. i want your fingers. give me something.”

you let go of his hand as he finally pushed a finger into you. you adjusted around him for a moment and felt the need to close your legs to keep him there. he pulled your lips back to his, his tongue quick to lick into you. you held his face again as his finger started to move inside of you.

“you want another, pretty girl?” he asked after a few moments passed. you nodded again, breathing hoarsely, too intoxicated in him to speak. a second finger pushed into you then, stretching you ever so slightly. you sighed, letting your head fall back to the couch.

“you’re so wet.” he said as he moved his fingers, delighting in the sounds he was making with you in the palm of his hand. “you’re taking my fingers so well, y/n. do they feel good?”

you moaned as he said your name for the first time. it was something you didn’t think you’d like so much, but with the current situation, it was wonderful.

rafe’s lips appeared on your neck. you held the back of his head as he pressed a few kisses then closed his lips over a spot closer to your collarbone. if your breath had been short then, it was even shorter now as he worked to leave a mark on you. with all the attention you were getting, it only brought you closer to your release, and you started to move your hips. he freed your skin, startled at your movements, then amazed as he watched you chase his fingers. the spot he left throbbed now, all your blood rushing to two places at once.

“are you going to come?” he asked as you heard the start of song you had been replaying for the past few weeks. it was muffled and you could barely hear the words, but you knew it by heart.

“yes, fuck.” you looked up at him, taking in the sight. he was breathing over you, his eyes never straying too far from yours as your mouth opened in pleasure. “rafe, make me come.”

you squeezed your eyes shut as he kissed you hard, breathing deeply into your mouth. he reached his thumb to your clit and began to draw circles at a normal pace with his fingers. your stomach started to twist, the familiar feeling forming fast as he picked up the pace. he could tell you were close by the sheer dig of your fingertips on the back of his neck. it only edged him on more to bring you to your climax.

“come on my fingers.” he said, eyes half closed as he looked at you, lips brushing over yours as he spoke. you whimpered and felt your hips twitch before stilling completely, trapping rafe’s hand between your legs, as you came undone. his thumb continued to move to help you through it. your jaw went slack, eyes rolling under your eyelids, as you moaned loudly. you felt an overwhelming sense of content, the adrenaline rush coming and going quickly.

your blood pumped in your ears and it took you a few moments to register rafe giving you subtle kisses all over the underside of your jaw. you breathed in shakily and let your head fall back on the couch, your knees separating. rafe took his hand away and you winced as he did. you already missed the contact.

the moment was completely ruined as his name was called up the stairs. rafe’s lips disappeared from you as he looked toward the door. you didn’t know what came over you as you pulled your skirt down over your thighs, the footsteps heavy outside his door before a couple of his friends burst in.

“guys, come on. get the fuck out!” he shouted in annoyance, sitting up completely, his leg still touching yours.

“woah, sorry.” they said as they took in your presence. you shifted and knew that they could probably tell what you and rafe had been doing. they evidently didn’t care as they went into a whole spiel of something that had taken place downstairs. rafe tried to stop them and their alcohol-induced exuberance.

he looked at you over his shoulder, touching you lightly on the knee. “i'm sorry.” he said, his friends not hearing as they talked to one another. “i'll see you downstairs?”

part of you felt completely stupid when he said it, like everything that had happened moments ago was just an imagination. you felt your shoulders slump, but you nodded and got up anyways. the door was quick to close behind you and you were left in the dark landing, leaning against the wall to catch your breath. you smoothed your hair, took a deep breath, and fixed your underwear and skirt again.

your eyes adjusted gradually as you went down the stairs back into the swing of things. you swallowed, your mouth still dry post-climax. you went into the kitchen and filled up a cup with water, downing it slowly and stepping out of the way of some people. you couldn’t help but feel drained as you watched the people around you, laughing, dancing, and drinking. you had just spent the last 30 minutes in rafe cameron’s room and now you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

“y/n!” you looked up at melly coming toward you, her makeup slightly smudged, but that didn’t change how great she looked. “there you are!”

you gave her an assured smile and finished the water in your cup. “hey.” you tried not to let anything show.

“lina and i are ready to go if you want to come with. i think we’re going to get some food somewhere in town. i was thinking curly fries or a veggie burger. lina is dying for— wait, where did you go? we looked everywhere.” her expression suddenly changed to one of concern as she stepped closer to you.

“i— uh, well clearly not everywhere.” you said shamelessly, feeling your neck grow warm.

melly opened her mouth to say something then stopped. “oh my god, why are you so flushed? what happened to your sweater?” she looked at the shirt, her eyes catching on something near your collarbone. her eyes went wide as you tried to hide the mark. “oh my god!”

monday, 4 p.m.

“i was thinking that it could go more like this,” your friend said as she pressed a few buttons on her laptop. a new beat started from the computer, the screen following along with the track. you bobbed your head along with the beat.

the campus coffeeshop was somewhere you liked to go, mostly to meet your friends, but you also enjoyed the coffee. sometimes before class you’d make it just in time to get an extra scone before they were all gone. it was a cozy place too, filled with older antiques and an endless display of guitars on every wall. sometimes they’d have an open mic for students, letting anyone with any sort of musical or comical talent perform. most of the acts were later in the week though so no one had to worry about coursework.

after your classes today, you had met up with a friend you hadn’t seen in a while. she was eager to show you what she had been working on for her musical composition classes and you had expressed that you were willing to listen.

the past weekend had been spent mulling over a certain party and a certain someone you couldn’t seem to forget. not that you tried to, to be fair. you’d hadn’t seen him since, which was nothing new given the amount of times you had encountered the boy since that day on campus or seen him for the first time in the library. you didn’t find things weird, but things were left upspoken and it had been bothering you. you knew that melly or lina could’ve easily gotten his number for you, had you asked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to, nor did you know what you would say. all you could do was hope that he was doing well and maybe, perhaps, thinking of you too.

it was inevitable to escape having to talk about what happened in rafe’s room with melly and lina. you weren’t willing to share all of the details right down to what he smelled like, but you didn’t deny that nothing occurred. they seemed satisfied when you recounted having to change your sweater and rafe being kind enough to offer you one of his shirts.

speaking of the shirt, you had gone to your dorm that night and taken it off, seeing that “cameron” was written on the back, along with a large number. no doubt it was for lacrosse. the prospect of it made you shiver before folding it up to leave on your desk. you hadn’t touched it since.

“christ, i've got a meeting with my advisor soon.” your friend said, quickly exiting the program on her screen and closing her computer. “thank you again so much for listening. i can’t express how relieving it is to have someone do this.”

you waved her off with a sweet smile and packed up your own things. “i'm always around if you need a first-time listener.”

both of you stood and pushed the metal chairs in. you followed her to the exit, listening to her as she explained the reasoning for her upcoming meeting. both doors opened, the one from her pushing and the other from rafe coming in. you looked up as he met your eyes, and you couldn’t deny how good it was to see him.

“hey,” he smiled at you as all three of you paused.

before you could say anything, the words sticking to your tongue, you looked back to your friend. she was looking between the both of you, unsure of what was going on. you swallowed and acknowledged her. “i’ll see you later?”

a small smile came onto her face as she looked at rafe then back to you and nodded. the door closed softly behind her. you looked back at rafe as you felt his hand ghosting over your forearm.

“hi,” you said finally.

“it’s good to see you. come up with me?” he gestured to the register and you nodded, letting him take your hand. you didn’t think too much of it as you stood alongside him as he ordered. when the cashier asked if there would be anything else, rafe looked at you expectantly. you blanked for a second, remembering that you didn’t get a drink earlier when you first arrived. you had immediately gone for a sandwich, satisfied that that would be your dinner.

rafe pulled out his wallet and paid for the two drinks. he then led you toward the pick-up counter and faced you with a soft smile. “how have you been?”

“okay,” you breathed in deeply. you weren’t exactly sure how to answer. were you supposed to tell him how freaked out you had been? no, you decided, best not to. “the weekend was busy.”

“mine too. i've got practice tonight so i thought i’d stop by for some energy. i’m glad i ran into you.”

you refrained from asking him if he was serious. you could see on his face that he was with the way he looked at you. “rafe—”

before you could say much of anything else, rafe’s hands appeared on your cheeks and his lips pressed to yours. you kissed him back just as gently even though you wanted to do more now that you felt him again. he pulled away as his order was called, turning to thank the barista as he took the two cups.

“come to my place to study? after practice, i mean.” he said as he held your cup out to you. you looked at it then back up at his questioning eyes, a sliver of hope in them. you pushed down the question at the tip of your tongue and accepted the coffee.

“we’re just studying?”

rafe beamed and nodded. “i have a huge test tomorrow that i can’t fail, so yes.”

7 p.m.

before parting ways with rafe earlier he had finally taken your phone and put his number in it, but not before taking an odd photo of himself. it made you laugh watching it happen though. he promised that he would be done with practice around now and you left your dorm a little earlier than you planned to. it was out of pure thrill really.

knocking on the front door, you waited patiently for it to be answered. you shifted the books in your arms as you heard soft footsteps behind the door. rafe opened it, standing in loose-fitting clothes with damp hair. he smiled instantly and welcomed you in.

it was a drastic difference compared to the party. the house was eerily quiet, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. rafe turned to you from the door.

“how many books did you bring?” he asked seriously, glancing at them against your chest.

“just two,” you said defensively only until you saw the grin. you rolled your eyes and turned away from him to kick your shoes off.

he was chuckling to himself as he went into the kitchen and pulled out snacks to have. “do you want anything to drink?”

“water would be great.”

“smart choice. less sticky.” he said, his back to you, but you could hear the satisfied tone of his voice at his remark.

once he gathered drinks and a plate of snacks, he led you upstairs. it was brighter this time with his door already open and lights already on. you glanced at the other closed one down the short hall, finding the sliver underneath completely dark. maybe topper wasn’t home.

“how was practice?” you asked, setting your things down. he placed the plate on the coffee table and took a seat on the floor. you brushed your hair away from your face and sat down beside him.

“good. just ran some drills, normal practice stuff.” he shrugged, munching on a chip.

“is topper not home?” you set your books on the table and opened them up to where you had marked. rafe moved to grab his things from his bag sitting on the couch. he copied your actions and pulled out a pencil and a notebook.

“no, he went out with some of the guys for food.” he said easily, opening to a blank page. you watched curiously as he wrote down the topic he was studying for.

both of you fell into a silence as you started to read from your books. you were worried about it being a strange silence, knowing what happened the last time you were in this room. it was fairly difficult to push it out of your mind and to focus when rafe was right next to you, so close, along with the thoughts and memory of his touch. you pushed everything out of your head and concentrated back on the page you were reading from.

it wasn’t long when rafe’s hand appeared on your bent leg. they were crossed under you and he had placed his hand like it belonged over the side of your knee. you looked at him in your peripheral but didn’t see him look up once to acknowledge that he had in fact done that. instead you let it happen, ignoring the way it warmed up your skin. you swallowed in anticipation of him interrupting your studying session to turn it into a quick make out session, but the longer the minutes passed the longer his hand stayed where it was. after a while, you forgot about it.

if you had taken one look at rafe, with no prior knowledge of him or of the way his hands felt on you, you would have never guessed that he becomes so engrossed in studying. for the whole two hours that you both spent together with your noses in textbooks, he hadn’t once started a conversation. he kept at reading and writing, jotting things down in his notebook, while you held your head above your own book and soaked up every last word. it was comforting knowing that. the plate had even emptied, mostly due to rafe’s insatiable appetite after practice. you weren’t that hungry from your sandwich earlier.

“okay, that’s it.” rafe said abruptly, causing you to look up as his hand left your knee. “my eyes are going to bleed if i read anymore.”

you laughed lightly and looked back at your book. “are you sure you studied enough?”

“i wrote a whole ten pages worth of notes.” he flipped through them, the pages brushing together.

you hummed, still engrossed in your text. rafe shuffled next to you, dropping his notebook over the open pages along with his pencil. he let out a long sigh which turned into a yawn.

“are you done?” he asked innocently, his head appearing on your shoulder.

you glanced at him and shrugged him off with a smile. “maybe.”

“come on,” he groaned and reached for your textbook. you automatically smacked his hand away. he laughed and quickly flipped it closed and took ahold of your chin to face him.

“that was a dick move.” you said, punching him softly on the arm.

“pay attention to me.” he whined, letting go of your chin only to touch your cheek.

you eyed him as he came closer, finally kissing you when you didn’t punch him again or push him away. you kissed him back as best you could with the speculation seeping into your brain then. rafe seemed to be able to tell.

“what is it?” he asked when he pulled away, running his thumb lightly along your cheekbone. it was reassuring almost.

you looked at him, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. you also thought about how badly it could go given the answer you were dreading. “i'm just— it’s nothing.” you shook your head quickly and leaned in to distract him with another kiss.

he reciprocated for only a moment. “what is it? you can tell me.”

“i guess i'm just wondering what we’re doing.” you rolled your shoulder as if you had a knot, pulling away from rafe in case he didn’t want to touch you. his hand fell from your face and he leaned his side against the couch.

“what do you want to do?”

you gave him a serious glare. “don’t make this a game, rafe. i'm just…wondering what your intentions are.”

rafe adjusted his posture and sat up straighter, all his attention on you. his eyebrows creased and you bit the inside of your lip self-consciously, knowing this wasn’t going to go how you wanted it.

“well, i'm enjoying spending time with you.”

“studying?” you asked with a monotone.

rafe glanced away from you as if he were wondering if he said the wrong thing. “yeah. is that so hard to believe?”

you wanted to huff again, but you held the breath in. your shoulders started to tense as you became frustrated. not because of him, mostly because of yourself for not being able to communicate. you felt stupid for asking it, but you did. “do you like kissing me?”

“of course i do.”

“is that all you want to do?” you finally asked, quickly looking away from him. you reached toward your textbook, fiddling with the pages.

“no,” rafe said. “i want to get to know you.”

it was hard for you not to roll your eyes. rafe noticed and a second later his hand touched your shoulder, gently shaking it.

“i'm serious. hey, look at me.” he pleaded, and you did. “i want to get to know you, but only if you’ll let me. i know the other night was weird and i don’t know— spontaneous, but i enjoyed it and i enjoy being around you. you’re not the only one who’s been thinking about it.”

“i’ve probably been thinking about it more than you.” you chided in a quiet voice, trying to tease him. you were pleased by the answer he gave you and you felt a little silly for being so stubborn at first.

rafe smiled slightly, eyes soft. “let’s just keep doing what we’re doing and see where it goes, okay?”

you took a deep breath in, pushing your book away and nodding. “okay.”

rafe’s hand rubbed your shoulder comfortingly before he pulled you in for an awkwardly placed hug. the side of your body fell into his chest, but he hugged you, nonetheless, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of your head. you turned into him and smiled widely, your cheeks strained to hold it, and hugged him around the shoulders.

all the time spent worrying about whether he reciprocated your feelings or thoughts were so obviously wasted as you spent the rest of the night together. you took it slow, never straying from innocent kisses as you curled up together to watch a movie. you couldn’t help grinning multiple times throughout the night, knowing that things wouldn’t be difficult like you thought. it was easy when you expressed yourself and talked things over, even mentioning small things made a difference. maybe this would turn out to be another smart decision. you had a feeling there were plenty of possibilities with rafe cameron, but only time would tell.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #college!rafe cameron x reader #college!rafe cameron #college!rafe #rafe cameron au #outer banks #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron smut #college au #writing dirty talk kinda makes me cringe because im so bad at it but i think i did okay ???#rafe cameron x fem!reader

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