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professortennant · 2 years ago

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14! Sounds very fun and cute

14. when one of them has never had a proper birthday party for whatever reason, and their lover makes it their mission to give them the best day ever, followed by “you didn’t have to do all this for me. just being with you is enough.” “i know. but i thought you deserved ?’’ and their lover smiles, a kiss is shared

i tweaked the prompt a smidge, it’s more ~inspired by

He knows she's got some hang ups about celebrations. On a teltak headed for Netu all those years ago, he'd slid down the wall to sit beside her while she worked to calm shaking hands, thoughts trapped in the past.

"Cookies," she tells him, voice quavering. "I was baking cookies for my mom's birthday that weekend when my dad told me she was gone."

"Ah." He doesn't know what to say--it doesn't feel like the right moment to share his own hangups about water pistols and grilling hamburgers some days because those are what preceded the loss of Charlie. Instead, he lets his knees fall apart just a little, just enough that it could be an accident, and rest against hers.

She presses back and he knows she understands it's all he can do right now. She rubs a hand over her face, scrubs at it like she can erase the thoughts in her head, before turning to face him. "I haven't really been able to do birthdays after that, not mine or Mark's or anyone's. Not that dad was ever--"

Sam sighs, stopping herself. "It doesn't matter now."

Jack nods, lips pursed, caught between the knowledge of what it is to be a father hurting for your own losses, your own child and his affection for the woman in front of him and the scars of childhood pain.

"I make a pretty mean chocolate cake," he says suddenly, not quite looking at her. He hasn't quite figured out how to get a hold on his changing feelings for his second-in-command and he doesn't want her to get the wrong--or right--idea. She sits up a little, eyes clearer, knee pressing back into his slightly.

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"Maybe birthdays wouldn't be so bad if I didn't do the baking."

This time he can and does face her because teasing Samantha Carter about her cooking is low-hanging fruit. She's burned water off-world and he hadn't even known that was possible. "Well, I think a lot of occasions would be better if we just left you out of the kitchen, Carter."

The half-smile she hides behind a ducked head is enough to let him know she's okay, that they'll be okay. They just need to get through this mission, rescue dad, and make cake.

Easy.

They don't make cake after Netu, though. Sam disappears to Alaska with her father for a week and he disappears to his cabin and tells himself it's pointless to do so, but he stocks his cabinets with flour, sugar, cocoa, and baking staples. Just in case.

They don't make cake after Edora (even though he really, really wants to bring her some cake after he realizes what she's done for him--gratitude cake, he'd call it). They don't make cake after they spend a week on an alien planet sleeping beside each other and staring at the stars, letting lines and boundaries fade gently away (it's for the best, he tells himself, neither of them is ready to...eat cake...together). He tosses the candles he'd bought for her after the zatarc tests. No point in those now. Cake and candles and everything else left inside a room in the SGC.

He can't even bring himself to ask her about wedding cake when he sees the engagement ring on her finger years later.

They continue to not make cake or go fishing or all of the other things they once told each other they'd do. It's all starting to feel like a metaphor, which in his book are only a step above a cliché.

And then--

And then she comes to his cabin with a bare ring finger and slings her duffel down onto the porch and stuffs her hands in her pockets like she doesn’t know what to say or where to go from here. He thinks about handing her a fishing pole and having her sit on the dock beside him, but changes his mind. He knows exactly what he wants to do.

Her birthday is three months away but he can’t wait that long. He hands her a beer, picks up her duffel bag over his shoulder, and tells her to follow.

She does (and the sight of her duffel thrown atop his beside the couch sends tiny tendrils of warmth down his spine).

“Jack--” He likes that he doesn’t have to tell her to call him that, that she knows where this is going just as much as he does. It’s never that they’ve been bad at communicating, per se. It’s just restrictions limiting how and what they communicate about that always got a little dicey.

But her questions stop when he pulls out a bowl and a whisk and baking ingredients that may or may not be out of date. It’s not the point, though. He’ll make her a spectacular, show-stopping cake in three months if that’s what she wants. This is more than birthdays; a different celebration all together.

“We are making a cake, Carter.” Then, “Well, I’ll make the cake. You’re on ingredient retrieval.”

“Cake?”

He nods sagely. “Cake.”

She tilts her head, searches his face and likes what she finds there: resolve, excitement, trepidation, meaning.

“Okay then,” she agrees softly. “Cake.”

It’s a dance after that, one they’re surprisingly good at. His kitchen isn’t small, but she makes it smaller by filling in all the empty places where he’s always imagined her to be. Where she could walk around the island, she steps in closer to him instead, her shoulder brushing his. Her fingers linger on the back of his hand when she passes him the bottle of vegetable oil she’d dug out of the pantry. She leans on the counter to watch him carefully measure and level off flour and rising agent and sugar, eyes straying to the flex of his wrist and the tendons in his forearm in a way she would have stopped herself before. She wrinkles her nose at the explosion of cocoa powder and espresso granules on the counter.

It’s a type of foreplay, he supposes--a gentle entrance into intimacy. He’s pretty sure she wouldn’t mind jumping from nothing to everything based on the way she scoops up a fingerful of batter and sucks on it thoughtfully, eyes never leave his. “It’s chalky.”

He scoffs. “It’s not cooked yet. Trust the process.”

She looks skeptical, but when he turns back around to face her after putting the cake pan into the oven, she licks the remnants of batter off her finger anyway.

They’ve got 20 minutes and he’s got nine years to catch up on. He snags her wrist in his fingers, pulls her closer and settles their joined hands against his chest, his free hand at her hip.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she whispers, voice thick with the things unexplained and unsaid. The big things, though, the big things he knows. He brushes her hair back from her face, fingertips drifting over her jawline and against her temple.

He rests his forehead against hers, breathes her in: sun and coconut and the faint aroma of cocoa powder from earlier.

“We waited a long time for this cake,” she says, pressing her forehead back against his in a playful nudge before pulling away. “It better be good.”

“I told you it would be the best,” he reminds her, hand drifting down her back. He can’t stop touching her, never ever wants to stop touching her.

“You did,” she says thoughtfully, eyes sparkling with unshed tears, voice tinged with a little sadness, a little wistfulness. “I’m sorry I doubted.”

“No, no, hey.” He crowds against her, gathers her into a hug and tucks his head into the crook of her shoulder, his lips pressing just so against her neck. She shakes in his arms and he holds her tighter, lifting his mouth to her ear: “We got here in the end. That’s all the matters.”

She nods, nuzzles her cheek against his and wraps her arms around him tighter, swaying slightly from side to side, breathing him and his assurances in.

(Later, they spend the weekend eating through the cake. He feeds it to her in bite-sized pieces while they’re tangled on the couch watching bad action movies from the 80s. She wraps her tongue around his fingers and sucks each crumb and oh god, he’s going to have a fetish by the end of their cabin stay. She brings the plate out to him one evening on the dock, barefoot and wearing one of his old, threadbare academy sweatshirts. They eat cake and watch the stars and listen to the ripple of water lapping against the shore. He draws the line at cake in bed. “No way, Sam, no crumbs in the bed.” She’s certain she’s changed his mind when she scoops a bit of frosting off the top of the cake and drags it in a line down his neck, her mouth working diligently at licking every last bit up.

Turns out, she’s pretty fond of some celebrations after all.)

#sam x jack #sg1 #jack o'neill #samantha carter #stargate sg1 #it was my birthday yesterday so this felt appropriate to write!#the cake is a METAPHOR GANG #bc they get to have their cake and eat it too #idk

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maddiviner · 4 years ago

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It’s time for some juicy cryptid gossip!

Everyone has heard of Bigfoot, but what is it, really? A flesh and blood ape, or something even weirder? Today, we’ll be looking at Bigfoot and related concepts.

I wanted to interview Bigfoot himself, but ultimately decided it would be easier and less dangerous just to interview noted Fortean author Josh Cutchin.

Cutchin’s new two-part book series, Where the Footprints End focuses on Bigfoot and some of the weirder phenomena that tend to pop up surrounding this strange and hypothetical critter. This interview features discussion of Bigfoot as well as other interesting phenomena, usually known under the collective heading of High Strangeness...

Eliza: “There’s a lot of people who read my blog and other esoteric sites who really want to experience High Strangeness. There’s running jokes about going out into the forest wearing a red coat and picking berries in mysterious areas, in an attempt to encounter something. Mostly, this is just a joke, but a few people are quite serious about wanting to experience an encounter. Do you believe it is possible (or advisable) to go looking for that kind of encounter?”

Josh Cutchin: “It’s absolutely possible to seek these things out, and probably easier than a lot of us imagine. There are a few different approaches, mostly seeking out locales or altered states of consciousness. A good week’s worth of overnight stays at any ‘haunted’ location will probably yield some good stories, at the very least… then there’re occult disciplines, which I won’t delve into, that seem to have pretty striking results. While not necessarily endorsing it, a healthy dose of psychedelics will induce an altered state of consciousness as well, one which may have residual paranormal effects beyond whatever you encounter on your ‘trip.’

Advisable? That’s another topic entirely. Jeff Ritzmann—who sadly passed away a few days ago—had a method he viewed as successful for contacting the paranormal, but also highly volatile. On its simplest level, his technique involved meditating in any semi-isolated location (you can learn more from his November 2017 interview on Greg Bishop’s Radio Misterioso). Jeff always stressed two things: one, that the contact would come in whatever form you didn’t expect; and two, that this Other, whatever it is, wants that which is stable in your life, that which you value, and you should be prepared to lose relationships, finances, even loved ones.

It’s a sobering proposition.”

Eliza: “In the book, you talk about lures for Bigfoot. You mention that some people leave out gifts for him, often with disastrous consequences. As you mention in many of your books (A Trojan Feast, Thieves in the Night), giving gifts to these sort of entities seems to have a lot of significance and unintended results. What do you think is the root of the gifting fascination with these critters, regardless of what they are?”

Josh Cutchin: “If I had to hazard a guess, it all ties back to man’s earliest attempts to appeal to divine intervention, of burnt offerings and sacrifices. Offering consumables—food, drink, tobacco, et cetera—is a universally-held means of breaching whatever barrier separates us from the gods, the dead, and the spirit world. A direct line of belief can be traced from these older practices to things all of us do, even those not involved in the paranormal… take, for example, leaving cookies out for Santa Claus, or ‘pouring one out’ for a dead friend.”

Eliza: “Do you think that the various phenomenon described in your book, from the classical Bigfoot sightings, to the strange lights, and voices heard in the wilderness could all have the same cause? Or, do you hold the view that we’re dealing with different things that coincide?”

Josh Cutchin: “Some days, I think these topics are separate but overlap in significant ways. Others, I’m convinced they’re all the same thing, wearing different masks. My coauthor Timothy Renner said it elegantly: ‘Bigfoot may be the rarest and most sophisticated version of whatever this phenomenon is.’ I might take that one step further and posit anomalous lights—which are found in every paranormal topic—are the most common, simplest version of whatever the phenomenon is. Truth be told, that may be as close to ‘an answer’ as we get.”

Eliza: “From your books, I learned the difference between the usual “flesh and blood hypothesis” (F&BH) about Bigfoot, versus other perspectives. For readers who are unaware, there’s something of a debate whether Bigfoot is a physical animal, or… something else. Throughout both book, though, I couldn’t help but feel that you believe the evidence points away from F&BH. Would that be accurate to say?”

Josh Cutchin: “I’ve often said that every other discipline of paranormal study has ‘Bigfoot Envy,’ that there is more physical evidence for the existence of bigfoot than anything else in the paranormal. We have immaculately detailed footprints, alleged hair, blood, even droppings. All of it points firmly to a large, undiscovered primate…

… until you start listening to eyewitness accounts. Not every time, but certainly a lot of times there are anomalies that cannot be accounted for from a Materialist/Physicalist perspective, no matter how hard one works backwards from their preferred conclusion. Even some cases cryptozoologists like to cite as supporting the F&BH (like the Fred Beck ‘Ape Canyon’ events) contain outliers like poltergeist activity, abruptly ending trackways, et cetera. The supernatural seems at odds with the physical evidence until one considers that things like psi effects and ghosts—two phenomena we would all agree, if they exist, are intangible—can leave physical changes on our world.

If bigfoot are indeed flesh-and-blood creatures, they are, as Timothy says, ‘masters of evolution,’ with several abilities no other creature on Earth possesses!”

Eliza: “I enjoyed reading the accounts in the second volume of Where the Footprints End, but found much of it unsettling. Do you think that fear is a normal human reaction to High Strangeness, or something more related to existing societal views? I ask this because there’s been some debate amongst my friends about this. Also, many of my readers pride themselves in being comfortable with all kinds of strange things, but that might not well be the initial reaction in many cases.”

Josh Cutchin: “I think it’s probably like swimming with sharks. It’s natural to be terrified of one. Doesn’t mean it’ll harm you (though it certainly could). It’s a natural reaction, and it exists for a reason, for self-preservation. Over time you can desensitize yourself from that fear, maybe even handle the darn things… but there’s always a risk it could hurt or kill you.

I think the shark metaphor is apt, because—while there are undoubtedly a lot of evilly-aligned forces out there—I think most paranormal things are neutral, maybe even disinterested in us, but dangerous by nature. Like sharks!”

Eliza: “Can you imagine a time, in the the future, perhaps, when these sort of things are, in fact, understood by humanity? Do you think we’ll ever figure it out, so to speak? Someday, will Bigfoot and other High Strangeness phenomenon be explainable? Or, perhaps, are these things always going to elude us in their exact nature?

Josh Cutchin: “I think there’s the chance they’ll be accepted, but never understood. I think we’re already on the road to accepting the existence of the paranormal (or, should I more accurately say, re-accepting, since we obviously respected them in our past). But I think the ‘understanding’ part is why they’ve always seemed mysterious, and I think that may well be the part. The paranormal is a birthright for every human being, and an important component of our existence… but we were never meant to understand it. Not in the plane of existence, at least.”

Thanks so much for this interview, Josh! Your work is thought-provoking and as fascinating as it is unsettling!

I think I speak for everyone when I say that this interview helped me to understand High Strangeness and how it relates to other paranormal topics. If you’ve got an interest in the paranormal or High Strangeness, I definitely recommend checking out Cutchin’s books here.

Both volumes of Where the Footprints End are now available in ebook and print. Cutchin has also written books on other, non-Bigfoot aspects of these phenomena. These include Thieves in the Night, a look at supernatural abduction legends, Trojan Feast (about food in High Strangeness encounters) and The Brimstone Deceit (focused on scents and the paranormal).

So, thoughts, everyone? Have you experienced High Strangeness in your lifetime? Do you WANT to experience it? Does it frighten you? My views are mixed...

#witchblr #cryptid #cryptidcore #bigfoot #aliens #faerie #occult #paranormal #high strangeness #eliza.txt #eliza reads #fae #fairy #fairyland #ufo #extraterrestrial #encounters

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the-bee-graveyard · 4 years ago

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The Fine Line: Chapter Three

Other Chapters

Summary: The Gladers (+Brenda, and Group B members) try to make up for the grave mistake made during their plans by throwing a party. Vince can be bribed with cookies. Brenda does not like party games. Jorge ships Newtmas. Thomas makes a not shocking realization. Everyone wants to slap Newt and Thomas.

Sorry if there are any grammatical/spelling errors I proofread but that’s quite ineffective.

I dedicate this chapter to @madmathis18, sorry about your paper Madalynne

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added): @izzymultifan

Chapter Three: The Fine Line Between Friends and Lovers

Part One: Minho’s POV

Say they screwed up would be an understatement. They didn’t screw anything up. Screwing something up implies that it can be salvaged.

And Minho had no clue how the hell they could possibly salvage this.

“How the hell can four people be so stupid?” Sonya ranted, they sat in their circle going over their failure. The four people she spoke of were Minho, Gally, Newt, and Thomas. Newt and Thomas for not realizing they were madly in love with each other, and Minho and Gally for making everything worse.

But Minho had a new plan, a new plan to replace their old plan, which now laid in metaphorically shreds scattered across the beach on the safe haven.

“Shut up Sonya, I have a plan,” Minho said. Sonya, Frypan, Harriet, and Brenda all groaned, which Minho found ridiculous since he always had flawless plans. He glared at them before he spoke again. “Phase one: Minho goes and tell’s Newt he’s absolutely not attracted to him. Phase two: we convince Vince to let us throw a party tomorrow night. Phase three-”

“Phase three of what?” A voice interrupted. Minho spun his head around to see Jorge standing there.

“Nothing,” Minho replied.

“We’re trying to get Newt and Thomas together,” Frypan said at the same time.

“May I join?” Jorge asked.

“Of course,” Minho said. Jorge sat down in between Brenda and Teresa, who weren’t sitting as far apart as they were at the last meeting but still pretty far apart. “Phase three: we start up a wild game of truth or dare-”

“Absolutely not,” Gally interjected, Frypan had opened his mouth to protest to. They used to play truth or dare in the glade, and the games always got so out of hand Alby had to shut them down. Once Gally had been dared to bathe in his own drinks, and another time Frypan had been dared to eat two sticks of butter.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Teresa said. Minho almost said something mean, but he bit his tongue. He really wanted to try to get along with Teresa for Thomas’s sake, even if he still sort of hated her guts. “We won’t give anyone else anything too extreme, just stuff to sell the game to Newt and Thomas before we attack them with dares.”

“I like the way you think Teresa,” Harriet said. “So how do we get Vince on board?”

“I have an idea for this,” Jorge spoke up. “How quickly can you whip up a batch of chocolate chip cookies Frypan?”

-Time Gap, an hour-

“Heyyyyy Vince,” Minho said cheerily, Sonya and Frypan at his sides. They were all there for a reason: Frypan because he made the cookies, Sonya because she insisted on coming and Minho was too afraid of her and her girlfriend to say no, and because they all agreed that Minho had the least shame out of all of them and could easily bribe a resistance leader with cookies.

“Oh god,” Vince muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How can I help you three?”

“We just wanted to let you know Frypan just finished making a batch of chocolate chip cookies,” Minho said, holding the plate of cookies so Vince could smell them. Their leader reached for a cookie but Sonya slapped his hand before he took one.

“They come with conditions,” Sonya snapped.

“There it is,” Vince sighed. “What?”

“We want a party tonight. On the beach. We’ll plan everything, all you have to do is sit back, relax, and eat your cookies,” Minho said. The look on Vince’s face said no, but Minho didn’t take no for an answer, escipecally not when his friend’s whole relationship rely on this party. They didn’t call Minho cupid for nothing (he could hear Sonya’s voice in his head saying no one called him that, but Sonya’s voice could shove off). He held the plate closer to Vince’s face, and he saw the mans face soften.

“Fine,” Vince grumbled, snatching a cookie from the plate. “If anyone dies it’s on you.” Sonya and Minho high fived.

Part Two: Teresa’s POV

They sat in another circle, but this time Jorge was missing and Newt and Thomas filled his place (sitting quite close to each other if Teresa did say so herself, which she did). Teresa took a sip of Minho’s special drink.

“So may I ask why we’re gathered here?” Newt asked Minho.

“We’re going to have a nice fun game of truth or dare,” Minho announced. To say Newt looked horrified would be an understatement.

“There’s no buggin’ way I’m playing, nope,” Newt said, his arms crossed and his expression firm.

“Please Newt, it’ll be fun,” Thomas pleaded, giving the blonde boy puppy dog eyes. Newt sighed, clearly giving in.

“Fine,” Newt grumbled.

“Great,” Gally said. “I’ll go first. Minho, truth or dare?” Teresa already knew how this first part would play out, they’d planned it out.

“Truth,” Minho said.

“Is it true that you’ve got a thing for Newt?” Gally asked.

“Nope, I’ve only got eyes for you babe,” Minho said, before leaning in and kissed Gally, resulting in a gagging noise from Brenda (Minho flipped her off).

“If you’re so eager to move on, Brenda, truth or dare?” Minho asked, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Teresa didn’t expect to get heated this early in the game, but then again, she should never underestimate Minho and his competitive agenda.

“Dare,” Brenda said, leaning back.

“I dare you to kiss Teresa,” Minho announced. Teresa swore the words echoed off of something. Everyone quickly turned to Brenda, waiting to see her reaction.

Brenda said nothing, grabbing Teresa and kissing her quickly before pulling away, the sudden movement shocking Teresa. Her lips immediately felt cold once Brenda pulled away.

“Thomas, truth or dare?” Brenda said as if nothing had ever happened. Teresa couldn’t tell if she wanted Brenda to act like nothing happened, or she wanted her to be mad, or what.

Teresa used to think she knew everything.

But if she knew everything then why didn’t she know why she wanted to kiss a girl who hated her so much again?

Part Three: Thomas’s POV

Thirty minutes later Thomas and Newt had swapped shirts, Aris was soaked from running in the ocean, Sonya and Harriet were “glued” to each other, and Minho had to end every sentence with “bubbles”.

“Thomas, truth or dare,” Harriet said.

“Truth,” Thomas said. His last dare was to go over to the bonfire and compliment Vince’s shoes, so he decided he’d take a break from dare’s for a little bit.

“Who’s the most attractive person in this circle?” It wasn’t a hard decision, even though it should be. They were all very attractive individuals, but Newt outshined them all with his fluffy blonde hair and deep brown eyes Thomas could and would drown in.There there was his smile and his hands and the way he never let anything get him down.

And most importantly, the way he said Tommy. He could never say the words with anything but affection, even if he was pissed, and Thomas loved it.

Then it hit him. Like a brick.

Thomas loved Newt. Like, loved loved Newt.

Shoot.

“Earth to Thomas, you gonna answer or not?”

“Oh yeah, Newt,” Thomas said. Newt grinned and patted Thomas on the back. “Minho, truth or dare?”

“Dare. Bubbles,” Minho said.

“I dare you to come up with a compliment for everyone in this circle.” Minho mumbled something under his breath and then began unenthusiastically.

“Frypan, you can cook like a saint. Brenda, you have the second best hair, besides me of course. Bubbles. Harriet, you’re absolutely terrifying. Bubbles. Sonya, you’re a great plotting buddy. Bubbles. Aris, I don’t think you’re a creepy vent-kid anymore. Bubbles. Teresa, you have nice eyes. Bubbles. Thomas, you’re not the ugliest shank I’ve ever met. Bubbles. Newt, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met. Bubbles. Gally, you’re the second hottest person here, besides me of course. Bubbles. Newt, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Newt said. He’d only did one dare, which resulted Thomas wearing a shirt too tight and Newt wearing a loose shirt that looked good on him, everything looked good on him.

“Have you ever been in love with anyone in this circle? Bubbles.” Thomas followed Newt’s gaze as it landed on every single one of them, before his eyes met Thomas’s and lingered longer than they did on everyone else.

“Yes,” Newt said, looking away from Thomas, blushing. Thomas may be going out on a limb, but maybe, just maybe, there was a one in a million chance that Newt returned a small amount of his feelings?

“Really, who is it? Bubbles.”

“No, no, no,” Newt teased. “One question per turn.” Thomas’s heart sank, he wanted to know too. But he couldn't say that, then they’d all knew Thomas wanted to know and then they'd figure out he was utterly and hopelessly in love with Newt and always had been.

#newtmas #brendresa #mingally #Thomas tmr #newt tmr #teresa agnes #Brenda tmr #minho tmr #Gally tmr #frypan tmr #soniet #Sonya tmr #harriet tmr #Aris tmr #Jorge tmr #It get's gay in this chapter guys I promise #the fine line

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youlooklikeasixtiesqueen · 4 years ago

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I made a Destiel fic rec list

Some of these are S15, some of these are a bit older. It’s not a long list, but I felt like making one.

Rated G:

If The World Was Ending by Chipper99 (set in S15, 8k)

“So,” Dean gets out once he slams his glass back down on the table. “Last night on earth. Any plans?”

Castiel smiled fondly at the familiar words, tracing random designs on the side of his glass with his fingertip. “This one right here. If I only have a short time left here before… I like quiet moments like these. With you. Whatever time is left, I’d like to share it with you. If you’ll have me.”

They both liked to play this game. Throwing out words that could have entirely different meanings. Nervous looks exchanged between the two of them, wondering if the other is going to take up the offer that’s hidden, no, intertwined within words that are balancing on the line between “brothers” or “lovers”.

Rated T:

Hell Or High Water by SwingGirlAtHeart (post 15x20, 20k)

Dean keeps his gaze on the shadows. “He told me he loved me.”

Sam makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat, but says nothing, waiting for Dean to continue. Dean turns around, confused by Sam’s lack of response. Sam is watching him sympathetically, expecting more details, and there’s no trace of surprise on his face.

“You knew?”

At this, Sam does look surprised. “You didn’t?”

Dean lets out a long breath, trying to stave off the ache in his chest, and looks back up at the sky. “I guess not.”

build me a city and call it jerusalem by starsandgutters (15x19 coda, 5k)

They win. The heroes save the day, and ride off into the literal sunset on their metaphorical horses. They win. They win. They win. Then why does Dean feel like he’s lost everything?

A coda to 15x19, featuring Dean coming to terms with a few truths he's known all along.

Apple Pie by Anythingtoasted (post S8, 7k)

“So, uh. What now?” He asked them both, and whereas Sam’s face was blank, and the word ‘Amelia’ was clearly just behind his teeth, Castiel spoke up immediately.

“I think we should revisit your ‘Charming B&B’ idea.”

Rated M:

miracles by foolondahill17 (15x20 fix-it, 20k)

Before Jack fades into a glowing light in the middle of the crowded street, Dean has one last demand. The kid owes them, dammit.

“You’re bringing him back, right? Cas?”

Cleansed by tlakht (15x19 coda, 1k)

A ficlet/coda for 15x19, set after Dean gets Cas back from the Empty. Now that Dean knows how Cas feels about him, Dean deals with his own feelings while he's in the shower. With Cas.

That Red Skirt by angelofthequeers (S14, 5k)

When Jack realises on a shopping trip that he's non-binary, leading to a confrontation with a stranger who can't mind their own business, Dean starts to have a few realisations of his own. And his angel is there to save the day and provide answers and comfort as Dean ends up knee-deep in working out stuff he's repressed to be John Winchester's Perfect Son. Sam's just a little shit, but then, when isn't he? At least the overgrown moose is accepting as well.

Rated E:

Four Letter Word For Intercourse by bendingsignpost (AU, 195k)

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.

What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right?

(It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

We’ll pretend until we won’t by flyingsolo_flyingfree (post S9, 15k)

There's a vengeful spirit, so Cas drops in to play the role of Dean's fiancé. Then there are Girl Scout cookies, and dusters, and Sam makes lots of friends while Dean and Cas earn themselves the reputation of the obnoxious bickering couple.

Reality in Dreamscapes by anastiel (S15, 22k)

When Castiel wakes up in a strange world married to Dean, he thinks it may be Chuck showing him a version of the future. As days pass he quickly learns he's trapped there with a version of Dean similar to the real one, but jarringly different at the same time. Once he escapes, Cas grapples with the consequences of keeping what he saw a secret or telling Dean the truth.

Too Many Lovers (Not Enough Love) by tlakht (unspecified, 5k)

When a cocktail waitress propositions Dean and wants Cas to watch, it's the beginning of what will become a habit involving several other people - and maybe something more?

Excerpt: They don’t talk about it during the walk back to the motel, which isn’t far away. Dean is making sure to keep at least a few inches between them as they walk, but he can’t help but glance at Cas every now and then to make sure things didn’t get weird between them. He can’t stand the thought of losing over a decade of friendship over… whatever the hell it was that just happened. Cas seems perfectly fine, however, meeting Dean’s gaze with ease; Dean would even say there’s an almost secretive smile on his face that Dean could swear wasn’t there before, and it’s… good to see.

So Very by Sass_Master (unspecified, 12k, Human!Cas)

“I’ve never seen you wear these,” Cas says slowly, glancing down at the delicate garment he’s holding. Dean feels his pulse ratchet up a notch when Cas looks at him again, holds his gaze with magnetic intensity. “I would remember.”

“Well, y’know, it’s usually—” He struggles to find the appropriate word for it, for when he slips on a pair when he’s by himself, choking on shame and arousal, barely gets a hand on himself before he’s coming hard, gasping and staining the fabric. “…Private,” he decides. He’s officially flustered at this point, and Cas’s doubt and confusion are being rapidly overtaken by an interest so sharp that it feels dangerous. “Just… for fun,” he adds.

Cas eyes the panties in his hand again, eyes Dean, understanding dawning on his face. “Wearing these excites you.”

Home, At Last by tlakht (post canon, 18k)

Dean and Cas spend the holidays in Vermont with Sam and Eileen, who retired from hunting years ago and now have two adorable kids who are too curious about the exact nature of the relationship between their Uncle Dean and Uncle Cas for Dean's taste.

But then again... Dean's kinda curious too, and, well. It's about time he came out to his family, right?

#destiel #spn #supernatural #destiel fic

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

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Welllp This Is...Holiday Fic, Version 3.0

Hello, internet! It is December, and that means it is also time to regain our festive feelings through holiday-type fic. Of which I have written just...an absurd amount of. So, before we start slamming on some more keys with inevitable cliches and kissing (and the list of prompts I’m going to post later and maybe start writing tomorrow) here is a wholly self-indulgent, self-promotional list of the copious number of holiday stories I’ve written. Under the cut, because honestly it’s ridiculous.

Multi Chapters

To Make the Season Bright Rating: M Words: 49,683 Chapters: 5

It's just one weekend. At Christmas. In New York. With everyone there. With Killian there. It's fine. Emma doesn't mind – he's always there and she wants him to be there and it'll be good. Great, even. Festive. She's looking forward to it. She just hopes she doesn't do something stupid. Like shout feelings in his face. That probably wouldn't be very festive.

The Gift Receipt Rating: M Words: 46,244 Chapters: 5

It genuinely makes sense in her head. After all, Mary Margaret is being Mary Margaret and Emma just needs five seconds to herself and for her friends to get off her back and saying she can’t talk to Killian Jones because she and Killian Jones once went on a very bad date is the perfect excuse. It’s also not true, but whatever. It works. Until Emma needs to bring someone home for Christmas. To get the entire town off her back. So, she comes up with another plan and another lie and pretending to get back together with a guy she was never actually with will make their inevitable break-up incredibly easy. It makes sense. Seriously. That is, of course, until Killian agrees and there’s far too much pie and radio hits of the 70s and opinions on animated Christmas classics. It gets a little more complicated after that.

Older Now, But Not Done Hoping Rating: T Words: 25,577 Chapters: 3

Killian Jones has lost his festive spirit. It's been forcibly removed by corporate America and private developers and how much alcohol the customers at his bar drink every night. Although, he supposes, that means he's making a profit, but that also feels a little Scrooge-esque and he doesn't have time for visits from ghosts. Because he's suddenly got a whole schedule in front of him, written out and planned by his roommate. To reclaim their mutual and collective festivity. Together. Oh, and he's in love with her. At Christmas. And all the time, really. This is going to be great.

It’s the Thought That Counts Rating: M Words: 27, 178 Chapters: 3

It was, in theory, a good idea. It was, in theory, an absolutely fantastic idea. Because there was still, sometimes, a crisis or two in Storybrooke and nothing would be more chaotic than trying to find a Christmas present on Main Street, while also trying to keep said Christmas present a secret. Ordering gifts on the internet makes sense. It's just a few clicks and online sales and the presents will be there in plenty of time for Christmas to be perfect. Emma and Killian are positive. Except then the presents don't show up and it's Christmas Eve and plan B isn't so much a plan as it is just a bit of pre-holiday desperation and the entire town knows what they're up to.

One Shots

The Best Laid Plains Rating: T Words: 4,040

Emma knows what she wants. And she remembers what the qualifications are. She just needs some help with them. Or: She and Killian once decided they'd only get married if one of them came out with an outlandish proposal.

Following the Recipe Rating: T Words: 3,802

Emma can't bake cookies. That doesn't stop her from engaging in cookie-baking competitions. At Christmas. And Killian is more than happy to help.

Grounded Rating: T Words: 6,064

Being stuck at the airport is the worst at normal times. At Christmas, it's at least ten-thousand times worse. Unless you manage to make friends with the vaguely attractive, frustratingly charming guy sitting next to you in the terminal.

Carol of the [Wedding] Bells Rating: T Words: 7,926

Going to Vegas with your friends for Christmas? Totally normal. Getting married to one of your friends while in Vegas at Christmas? Might take a bit more explaining. Especially when neither one of you can remember it.

More Than You Could Ever Know Rating: T Words: 5,040

It’s the perfect plan. So, she told the new guy at work that she was already married and couldn’t date him. Fine, no big deal. Emma has someone more than wiling to pretend to be her husband and a friend more than willing to do her pre-party hair. She’s certain everything will work out. The very last thing she expects is for Killian to be jealous. Because she might have picked the wrong Jones brother to play doting husband.

Once Again As in Olden Days Rating: T Words: 6,462

She’s absolutely freezing cold. It’s a dumb metaphor, one that only serves to make Emma even more pissed off than she already is. Because two hours ago it was summer. But a few more hours before that, she was also locked in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. And now she’s outside. With her kid. And a pirate that isn’t hers, explicitly, but keeps staring at her like he wouldn’t mind if he was. So maybe it’s not the worst. Maybe she’ll be able to get warm eventually.

Want Something That Will Last Forever Rating: T Words: 5,093

The weight in his jacket pocket is getting heavier. Burning a hole. A metaphorical one. Because a literal one would probably freak David out and David is already worried enough and Killian is a very good friend. Who is willing to help David plan his proposal to Mary Margaret. Even if it messes everything else up in the process.

A Fair, Even-Handed, Noble Adjustment of Things Rating: T Words: 9,267

Emma just wants to do something good. Give back. Maybe get a few bonus points. Metaphorically speaking. Not the last one. That defeats the purpose of all of this. But she can’t really think straight because he keeps humming and using nicknames and stealing all the flour. And she’d give up all the bonus points she’s, maybe, accumulated by, possibly, doing good if she could just remember what his name is. This is not going the way she planned. At all.

Heart to Heart and Hand in Hand Rating: T Words: 7,052

She was cold. She was tired. She did not want to be ice skating. She wasn’t really ice skating. She was just…kind of standing there – while getting yelled at by security guards and stared at by her boyfriend and they were being pushed off the ice. Not literally. And Emma knew she was being a Grinch or, maybe, just Max the Dog because she wasn’t in control enough to be a Grinch, but Killian wanted to go ice skating and well…fake it ‘til you make it festivity, right?

Kiss Her Once [For Me] Rating: T Words: 9,500

To say that the last year has been hectic would be the greatest understatement in the history of the modern world. Or, like, libel. In print, it’s libel. Because the last year has been filled with political promises and campaigns and far more press conferences than Emma realized were possible. And now, with Washington D.C. ahead of them, the only thing Emma really wants is to figure out how many boxes she’ll need to move all her stuff. That is, of course, until Killian finds her sitting in the middle of Regina’s hallway, a distinct lack of alcohol in her system, and the guarantee that he’s got a plan. For fun. Of the festive variety. It includes mistletoe.

Prompt: Santa!Con Rating: T Words: 2,444

Killian is very drunk. There are people dressed like Santa everywhere. And Emma isn't sure she heard the question correctly. She might be a little drunk too, honestly.

Prompt: Killian Wakes Up Without Any Blankets Rating: T Words: 2,444

He's freezing. Presumably because his wife — who he loves very much — has once again stolen all the blankets.

Tripping Over the Blue Line

A Few Days Off for Christmas Rating: T Words: 11,903

Matt's first Christmas at the brownstone means several things. Chinese food. Bad bread pudding. And unexpected guests.

A Chance of Snow Showers Rating: T Words: 3,372

Everything's a competition on this team. So no one is all that surprised when Killian agrees to race during family skate. Even with a baby strapped to his chest.

Dropping Gloves...In the Name of Festive Fashion Rating: T Words: 3,038

It’s probably one of the more ridiculous things any of them have ever done. It’s also one of the better ideas any of them has ever had – it’s festive and in the spirit and the fans will love it. And maybe it’s kind of fun because it ends with another win and some positive press before the break and Phillip’s jacket is really just…a work of fashion art.

All Knotted Up Rating: T Words: 2,188

He’s never actually done anything like this – brought a girl home for Christmas. No, not just a girl – Emma. Emma was coming to the brownstone for Christmas and the entire Vankald family would be there with traditions and bread pudding and there had to be gifts.

He needed to buy a gift. Or, at least, get a gift. And the list of people who wouldn’t laugh right in his face at the idea of Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, freaking out about that was growing more and more slim by the minute.

We’ll Take a Cup [Defense] Of Kindness Rating: M Words: 19,204 Chapters: 2

It's one night. New Year's Eve. And a whole list of rules. Because Regina might have actually lost her mind. Or maybe that's just Emma. Because they've played a million games in two days, or it's at least felt that way, and planning an outdoor practice a few weeks before the Olympics seemed like a good idea at one point. Now it just seems insane. So she's going to wear this dress and kiss her boyfriend. A lot. He's good. Better than good. Great. The greatest. It's New Year's Day and, yeah, sure it's freezing, but Killian hasn't actually tried to push Scarlet on the Subway tracks yet so that seems like a step in the right direction. So he's a little distracted a few weeks before the Olympics, but that's fine. It's good. Or it'll be good. Eventually. Soon. In the meantime he's probably just going to kiss his girlfriend. A lot.

First Line Center Rating: T Words: 9,508 Chapters: 2

She hadn’t read the invitation. It hadn’t changed in years, after all - a set of rules and expectations for a New Year’s party that they were all going to break anyway because the most traditional thing about this team was flouting tradition. So, Emma had mostly ignored it. Until. A shout and Killian refusing to wear a tie and something crashing in her kitchen, one kid worried about another and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. There was a joke about fresh ice to be made, she was sure.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #there are a lot of words here #and somehow the full week of writing i had got away from me very quickly #so we're going back to the same prompt list as last year to try and regain some sense of productivity #anyway that's coming later #for now here's all the holiday-type kissing i've written already #more blue line than i remembered honestly

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

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Only the Light Ch. 14

As the new year beckons Scully to put her life back together, she and Mulder share a Valentine's 'anti-date' on the Hoover Building rooftop.

TW for brief discussion of disordered eating.

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The new year struck Scully with a particular melancholy. 1994 was, to put it plainly, one of the worst--if not the worst--year of her life. Even without her disappearance, it would earn that title. Her father’s untimely passing and the brief but brutal closure of the X-Files wrenched the few good things left from her fingers. Factor in the four weeks in late summer that she has no memory nor knowledge of, and you’ll understand why Scully has taken to calling it her year on the dark side of the moon.

Of course, the aftershocks of her abduction are still felt every day. Flipping the calendar does nothing to remedy that. At her last appointment, Dr. Zapolsky noticed that Scully’s weight had decreased rather sharply from previous visits and made the point that “rapid weight loss can stop ovulation,” which Scully interpreted as kicking her while she was down. That’s not exactly fair, after all. Technically, her period stopped well before she decided to restrict herself.

It’s odd how it happened. Her weight was fine before her abduction; slender but within the healthy range for her height. Even when she was returned, it had only dropped a couple pounds, as if they fed her...as if they cared. She found that hard to believe. In the months afterward, she sought a physical representation of her mental anguish, and since she and food were never on the best terms to begin with, the choice was simple.

The other day, she had to punch an extra hole in all her belts to hold them steady on her hips. She knows the consequences of this; she’ll live them and accept it.

There has been some beneficial progress. Dr. Zapolsky started Scully on low-dose birth control around Thanksgiving, hoping that it would balance her hormones and regulate her periods. It has, in fact, brought back her cycle, something that Scully did not expect. She gave Melissa her leftover tampons in October. Now Melissa buys enough for the two of them and insists that Scully doesn’t owe her a dime. Scully is too grateful for this to speak about it.

Her downward spiral reached a snag when she realized that smoking would make her birth control ineffective, shortly after her and Mulder’s Christmas Eve smoke break. She ditched the cigarettes, mad at herself for taking a month to read the disclaimer (she’s a doctor for god’s sake, she should know better!), yet glad to have an out. Smoking was a habit she exercised because she could. It won’t hurt her anytime soon, and millions of others do it, so where’s the harm? That was her thinking. As soon as she had a reason to stop, she did, and it felt a bit like jumping from a runaway train just before it skids off the tracks.

So she is better, and she is worse. Which really means she is the same as she was. That is the conclusion she carries into 1995’s frosts and thaws.

There is one thing she is certain of, something that she hadn’t given much thought to until the one year anniversary of her father’s death. She needs her faith back. She’s always practiced in a cyclical pattern, her devoutness orbiting in and out like the moon around the Earth. Sometimes closer and brighter, sometimes farther away, sometimes nowhere to be found.

She has to believe it will come back; it always does. She was made in God’s image, and her father’s. This is both a blessing and a curse.

But no one can be God, and she can’t be her father either. His faith never wavered. If hers was the moon--fickle and subject to doubt--his was the sun, steady and warming everything around it. This was a quality she was envious of, and then guilty in her blasphemy. She has never managed to feel completely content inside the bounds of piety like he could. She’s constantly shaking the devil off her back, then repenting for it, then wondering if it were all worth it. What if...what if...what if...she isn’t fully persuaded in her beliefs, and she knows that this is the worst sin of all. Like Mulder though, she wants to believe, and shouldn’t that count for something?

Imperfection is allowed. Understood, even. Doubt is not as permissible. “He who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind,” the Bible says. Sometimes Scully takes that to mean she should walk into the ocean. Then she realizes that would be blasphemous too.

Some people believe without trying. Her father was one of those. Mulder too, in a different way. She used to think that she was too. Now she’s not so sure. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” How many times has she read that line? Has she ever lived up to it? She’s seen and still not believed. Certainly that means she’s going to Hell.

Or is she already there?...She wonders that sometimes. Maybe she didn’t make it back from the other side. Maybe the devil just wanted her to believe that she had, and so he’d constructed some kind of diorama of Scully’s life that would go wrong bit by bit, boiling her like a gradually heated bathtub. No resting in peace for the unbeliever.

She can’t imagine a worse punishment than all the potentially good things in her life getting dismantled beyond her control. She’d rather never experience them at all than know their joy then watch them fall apart. Missy would kill her if she heard this, but you can’t please everybody.

It is at this point that Scully embarks on her chosen method of religious self-flagellation: going through the Ten Commandments and determining whether she’s violated them. Count up your sins and God won’t have to; practically the tagline of the Catholic faith.

She thinks she does okay with the first few. She has no idols, she honors her mother and father, and Mulder knows not to call her on Sunday mornings. Of course, the part about not taking the Lord’s name in vain can be tricky, but she’s working on it.

Number five is where it gets dicey. Thou shalt not kill. She imagines that she wouldn’t, not on purpose, but the circumstances of her job worry her. God makes no exceptions for self-defense. And what if she were ever to be a true doctor? If she couldn’t save a patient, does that mean she killed them?

Her father was in the Navy. He never killed anyone.

Number six...well, she doesn’t mention that often. Few people know about Daniel. Missy is one. Scully harbors a genuine shame regarding that time in her life, not so much because of Daniel, but because she was complicit in hurting his wife and daughter. It was a young, foolish mistake that she never wants to make again.

She feels pretty good about number seven. The only thing she has ever stolen is one of Charlie’s matchbox cars when they were kids. She was uninterested in Missy’s hand-me-down Barbies and Raggedy Ann dolls. The boys’ toys were much cooler. She trusted the Lord enough to know that He wouldn’t hold something she did when she was seven against her. Besides, she gave it back when Charlie figured out it was missing. She just wishes he had let her play with him after that.

Number eight: thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. She considers honesty one of her best qualities. She sure hopes God does too. She’s not the most open person, but that’s different from lying…

Nine is a lost cause, considering six had been broken. This was her least favorite part of her family’s religion: the power it had to cause her shame about her own body, her own desires. She had her first crisis of faith over this at age 14. Missy comforted her with something she has never forgotten: “The original sin was the serpent’s deception, not Eve’s desire. Even God pins it on the woman.” She knew her sister could only say that because she didn’t truly believe and wasn’t trying to, but it had stuck with Scully through many moments when she needed it.

And finally, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. She supposes she did this with the matchbox cars when she was seven, but in literal terms that’s about it. Metaphorically, she does this all the time and struggles with why she feels so inadequate. Her sister’s confidence, Mulder’s tenacity, her father’s faith...The ideal Dana Scully would have all of these. The real one is a work in progress.

--------------------

So it goes that she finds herself prepping a case in the office on Valentine’s Day. Mulder’s scheduled to fly to Florida the next morning to investigate attacks in a community of circus performers. He’s convinced it’s the Fiji Mermaid, she’s convinced he needs to get his head checked; the usual. This is one comfort Scully can always rely on. No matter how utterly twisted her life gets, she will always think Mulder is crazy, and he will always go along with it.

The occasion of the day goes unmentioned until what Mulder lovingly refers to as “closing time,” which is not a specific time but rather the point that he finally gives up for the day, usually hastened by his partner’s prodding. Scully has learned the signs of his dwindling tenacity by now. She glances at the clock as he pulls his glasses off his head and tosses a sunflower seed in the wastebasket, pleasantly surprised that it reads only 5:15. He catches her checking, his eyes--amber today--meeting hers.

His lips curl in amusement. “You got a date or something?”

“No,” she blinks, feeling like a child caught taking a cookie from the jar. Her cheeks grow hot, threatening to make a scene. “I figured you did, since you’re finishing up so early.”

Mulder straightens his stack of papers, clinking them against the desk obnoxiously. “Think again, buckaroo.”

He’s taken to calling her that lately. Neither one of them is sure why, it just popped into his mind one day and stuck. It makes her feel like a heroine in some 70s Western shoot-out flick who wrangles all the bad guys and locks’em in the county jail. She’s thankful that someone can see her for what she could be rather than what she is. It helps her see that too.

He stuffs his papers in a manila folder, then rises from behind the desk and stoops toward the backpack he prefers to a briefcase. (She called him a kindergartener once because of it and he remarked that he’d ‘rather be a kindergartener than an adult.’ She couldn’t argue with that.) “Valentine’s Day isn’t really observed under the Fox Mulder calendar,” he says, unzipping the bag and putting the folder in. “Halloween and Thanksgiving, those are my holy days.”

“You worship at the shrine of the food pyramid,” Scully smirks.

“Yes indeed. Wait--” Scully’s gaze flicks to him, genuinely concerned. He dissolves her uncertainty with a boyish grin. “--does the food pyramid include candy?”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s not deeply felt. She misses these flat-lining comedic routines of his, usually at their best when they’re putzing through some tumble-weed town where the bathroom stalls at the gas station don’t lock. He loves being the funniest person in a ten-mile radius, and that’s not a satisfaction he can have in DC. She wonders if he tells these lame jokes to strangers now, or if they were just for her.

“Speaking of food,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair, “you wanna grab dinner?”

Scully’s forehead creases. “Like, in a restaurant?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna be that forward, but I guess we could take it to yours or mine...”

Scully laughs lightly, wrapping her arms around herself, fingers caressing her bony elbows. “We’ve already covered what day it is,” she demures. “Everyone having dinner is going to be on a date.”

“You’re right...the restaurant probably won’t let us in unless we make out in front of the hostess,” he deadpans.

“Not to mention that we don’t have any reservations…”

“Well, making out might remedy that, depending on the hostess.”

She gives him her ‘last straw’ look--crossed arms, arched eyebrow, stinging glare--and he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll stick to slipping a twenty, then.”

Scully uncrosses her arms and slinks toward her purse rather languishly. “No restaurants, Mulder. It’s too much trouble on a holiday.”

“I sure hope you didn’t mistake my suggestion as an invitation to Mulder’s Downhome Country Kitchen, cause that place is not Michelin star rated.”

“I’m well aware. I’ve seen the menu.”

“Is Chateau de Scully open tonight?” he asks with an eyebrow raise that his partner couldn’t have missed if she tried--and she did.

“Well, the chef is celebrating Valentine’s Day with her girlfriend in Oregon, so you’d be waiting awhile for your meal.”

“There’s no back-up chef? I don’t know, someone who may need to feed herself while the chef is away?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t serve the public.”

“Ouch.”

He plucks their respective coats off the rack, folding his own over his arm and throwing his partner’s over her shoulders. She jumps just the tiniest bit--she probably thinks he didn’t notice, so he’ll pretend he didn’t--then slips her arms in the sleeves and pulls it on properly.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact.

After he’s put his own jacket on, he hoists up his backpack, fielding off his partner’s near swerve into laughter. She’s barely maintaining a straight face, and even if it’s at his expense, he loves it because unadulterated joy is something she deserves so much.

“You know what, I’ve got just the solution,” he says as he strolls out the doorway, flipping the light switch as he goes, leaving Scully scrambling in the dark.

“Hey!”

He hears her petulant voice, followed quickly by the laugh he was looking for. When she turns to him after locking the office door, her eyes are still shining from the momentary euphoria. He is so happy to know her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is the Smithsonian of vending machines.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I know a door to the rooftop that never gets locked.” He flashes her a sly look, his intentions pure despite himself.

“It’s 40 degrees outside,” she counters before he can even voice his proposal.

“Sure, but we can make some fresh coffee, and there’s gotta be blankets in that storage closet of ours.” Ours. Very few things are theirs. She wishes he would say it again.

As much as her instinct is to protest, she can’t quite muster the resolve to. I mean, it checks all the boxes. It’s not a restaurant, she’d only have to eat a snack from the vending machine, and she wouldn’t have to spend Valentine’s night alone, which is a sneaky sadness that had been pressing at the back of her mind.

“Fine,” she bluffs, as if it were a great inconvenience to her. She enjoys the cat-and-mouse game, what can she say? “You find the blankets, I’ll get the coffee.”

Mulder smiles, his lips edging over his teeth in an aesthetically pleasing way that makes Scully feel like he missed his calling as a male model. Of course, this smile isn’t posed. The constant in his life is his partner’s unpredictability. Everyone thinks she’s a stone-cold skeptic, but he knows she’s an uncertain believer, and there’s no one harder to pin down than that. Her yes to his Valentine plans may as well be an admission that Bigfoot exists.

“Let’s meet by the sixth floor stairwell, okay?” he prompts, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Flashes of Christmas Eve sabotage her thoughts--her mother’s kitchen, her untidy tipsiness, Mulder just trying to iron things out. He’d touched her, and she’d lashed out at him. Reaction formation, that was the term for the defense mechanism she’d used. He knew it, probably studied it extensively. Concealing an impulse by acting out its opposite.

Instead of mentioning this, she looks him in the eyes and says, “Okay, I’ll use the coffee machine on the sixth floor then,” as if his touch hadn’t brought forth both memory and desire.

“Great. See you there.” He pulls finger guns, and she thinks that maybe this is already her best Valentine’s Day yet.

----------------------

Five stories of stairs is a long way to go with two hot mugs of coffee. Scully had hoped there would be some styrofoam cups--something she could put a lid on--but the Bureau is stingy, so she had to go all the way back to the basement, grab their coffee mugs, take the elevator back to the sixth floor, brew some dark roast (to Mulder’s probable discontent), then hope that by some miracle, they could make it to the roof.

Ever the idealist, Mulder takes the challenge in stride. Though his arms are already bundled with some comforters he found tucked away in storage (he shudders to think how old they must be), he takes the handle of his mug, squeezing the blankets snug against his chest.

“Are you sure about this?” his partner asks with her usual uneven tone. “What if we get all the way up there and the door is locked?”

“We knock and get the snipers to open the door for us,” he answers matter-of-factly.

Scully’s eyebrows shoot up. “Snipers?”

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? There’s a longstanding rumor about snipers on the roof that I’d like to get to the bottom of.”

His demeanor is just loose enough to make Scully question whether he is in fact kidding. A conversational casualness permeates all of his sensational soliloquies because to him, the phenomena he’s discussing should be regarded as a fact of the world. If he ever launched into an indifferent lecture on the subject, she’d know he was bluffing.

Having never heard the rumor herself, she decides this is simply a figment of his overactive imagination. She’ll play along. “Well, if it’s anything like the talk of you being spooky, then it doesn’t look good for us…” she teases, her own smirk eliciting an identical one from her partner.

Masking his impatience by embodying the role of the gentleman, Mulder uses his free hand to prop open the stairwell door, ushering his partner through. The landing of each story has one stray light bulb, there for show more than anything. Most of them are either flickering or burned out, the agents discover as they inch their way up, one slowly taken step at a time. Step, pause for the coffee to settle, hope it doesn’t breach its container, step: that’s the process they adopt for approximately 100 steps in the cold Hoover stairwell. There are many ways to show love; Mulder bets that you wouldn’t find this in any lame self-help book.

“Do you think Romeo would have done this for Juliet?” he muses.

“Depends on what he was expecting once they made it to the top,” Scully quips, the edges of her lips turning up slightly.

Mulder nods, perpetually amused by her (too) infrequent jaunts into suggestive territory. “My man really got ahead of himself with the whole ‘dying for her’ schtick.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Mulder eyes her. “Actually, I think it was you who was going to die for me.”

“Not for you, because of you.” Her statement is neither packed with malice nor free of blame. “There’s a difference.”

She may as well have shot him at point blank range; then at least she could see the bleeding. She didn’t mean to be so blunt, but he gave her the perfect setup. Mulder cauterizes his own wound, disguising his pain as a joke. “Damn, I was finally moving past that!”

“At least one of us was,” she says, her voice fluttering, and he knows she’s just teasing, but god, what if she’s cauterizing her own hidden wounds?

They reach the door labelled ‘roof,’ and Mulder can’t decipher what happens first, him putting his hand on the door handle or her placing a chilly hand on his cheek. Playing it back in his head later on he won’t even be able to figure it out-- it cut time loose from its axes in such a way.

“Are you okay, Scully?” He’s not sure why this is the first question out of his mouth, but it is.

“I need a hand warmer,” she murmurs. “The coffee’s already cooling off.”

All the while, Mulder is acutely aware that her hand’s still on his cheek and she’s got him propped against the door, and what does she want him to do with that information?

Her thumb grazes his mole, and it becomes clear to him that there are two ways this scenario could go, and if she doesn’t want the second one it’s imperative that she stop rubbing rhythmic circles into his skin.

He clears his throat. “Do you want to...do you want me to check for snipers?” Her touch continues, uninterrupted.

“Is the door unlocked?” Her voice sounds airy and far away. She probably didn’t even hear his question.

He pushes on the handle, confirming their freedom. “Yes ma’am,” he answers, fear of a sort edging him into total politeness. He is twelve tiptoeing through the too empty halls of his house, again.

“Let’s have a picnic,” she says, still light and airy, as if that weren’t the plan the entire time. Then, she breaks into sudden laughter, pulling her hand away from Mulder’s cheek in her fit. “We forgot the food!”

She is back to normal now, his steadfast Scully with a side of joy.

Half of him mourning for the otherworldly Scully and the moment that could have been, he laughs too. “There may have been some lapses in planning.”

“We can make do, can’t we?” There’s a glimmer in her eyes that suggests the moment is not as far gone as he believed.

“Cold coffee sounds like an enduring Valentine’s tradition,” he affirms.

They choose not to dwell on words like “enduring” and “tradition,” entering the chill of the Hoover Building rooftop on Valentine’s night.

------------------

They’re not that far above the city really--the Hoover’s no NYC skyscraper--but their heads are in the clouds, that’s for sure. It’s not the typical dinner date complete with melted candles and overpriced dessert and overly attentive waiters, but as it turns out, they would both hate that. After all, this is not a date, it’s a casual hangout between two coworkers who don’t have dates on Valentine’s Day. If anything, it’s an anti-date. That’s what they tell themselves.

February’s unrelenting chill swirls around them, catching Scully’s hair in playful tantrums and turning the two of them into life-size paperweights atop the blankets. More sensible people may call the night a bust, but not the Prince of Halloweentown and his esteemed guest. This unconventional adventure is exactly what they bargained for.

Scully looks to Mulder, who’s holding his coffee like it’s a beer. She smiles. That is so him.

She exhales, and her breath spells itself out on the air. She tilts her face to the sky, as if the sun might suddenly rise and bask her in its heat. Mulder notices and fixes his attention there too, happy to have an excuse to look skyward. It’s his outlet, like hers is the sea her father dedicated his life to. His preferred escape method is to fly away; hers is to drift off.

He forces himself back into the moment, here, with her, and the expanse of the sky. “I once spent fifty bucks on one of those ‘name a star’ certificates, and I can’t even see it because of the goddamn light pollution.”

“I think that’s really more about the gesture than anything else,” Scully replies, trying to soothe him as if this were actually a pressing problem. “Unless you bought it for yourself...?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, no. It was for an old girlfriend.”

Scully raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Did you name it after her?”

“No, we named it the Rhine star.”

A puzzled look passes between them. It gives him a twinge of joy that his partner is not the encyclopedia she seems to be.

“After Joseph Banks Rhine, the founder of parapsychology,” he clarifies. “We were both fascinated by the field.”

“Oh.” She turns her face back toward the sky with the feeling of a kid who missed the winning word of the spelling bee. There are times when she is grateful she does not know everything, and times when she is not. Somehow, this is both.

“I’ve thought about buying another one and naming it after Samantha,” Mulder continues, “but it feels too much like a grave marker.”

“I’d consider it a lovely tribute,” Scully counters, used to doing so. “But I’m thirty and I own my own gravestone, so take that with a grain of salt.”

It’s true--once Dana was returned, her mother couldn’t bear to look at the gravestone she’d had engraved in memory of her missing daughter, so she gave it to Mulder, who saw no logical place for it to go except the woman whose name it bore. Margaret hadn’t wanted her to know that it existed, that they’d gotten so far as considering her gone. While it brought Mulder no joy to present it to his partner, it served as a reminder of the miracle her survival was, and in such bleak times, they had both needed that.

“It doesn’t scare me--the thought of dying,” Scully says to the stars. Mulder wonders if she meant for him to hear it. He wishes he hadn’t, but he’s met with the realization that she is trying to start a conversation when her eyes look into his.

He doesn’t know where to go with this, so he toes the line between deep and sarcastic. “I thought Catholics were all about that heaven and hell stuff.”

“Yes, but…” where is the line between truth and blasphemy, she wonders? Settling herself, she starts over. “I’ve lived both on Earth, so what have I got to fear?” She turns her glance to the blanket, as if shrinking out of the Lord’s sight. “Besides, sometimes I think I’m already there.”

“Heaven?”

“No, Hell.”

He should have known. He grips the edge of his blanket, wondering why his parents had prioritized the sex talk but never explained what to do in a situation like this. He has a psychology degree, sure, but he’s as much a psychologist as she’s a physicist.

“There are periods of life, I think, where everyone feels like that,” he says in the most earnest voice he can conjure. “It’s just that nobody ever talks about it.”

“Did you feel like that with Samantha?”

Leave it to Scully to turn a personal conversation back on him.

He bites his lip. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Still do, if I think about it too long.”

“How did you...move past it?” The lights of nearby buildings reflect off her blue eyes, galaxies to his black holes. He’d give anything to sluice the pain right from her heart.

He’ll rely on his words instead, despite knowing there are depths they cannot touch. “I, uh, I didn’t really move past it, I just moved. Kept moving, I guess. I found a place where I could make progress out of my pain. Here--the X-Files.”

Scully swallows hard, knocking back tears. "That’s the issue. I feel stuck. Just completely unable to go forward. There’s a current in my brain that keeps pushing me backward.”

Mulder lets out a deep breath, trying to take both their pain with it. “Have you considered seeing a therapist?” he asks delicately. “It sounds like you may have PTSD.”

“Over what?” she practically snaps. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“That doesn’t mean you have no memories. Regression hypnosis could help recover repressed or unconscious memories, so you could understand exactly what’s bothering you.”

“You think I haven’t heard this spiel from Melissa?”

“I bet Melissa doesn’t have first-hand experience with it.”

“No, she doesn’t,” she murmurs in the tone of an apology. She knew that he had it, she had listened to the tapes. How could she let it slip her mind? It is uncouth of her to look down on his chosen method of healing.

Mulder isn’t bothered. He continues, “It helped me. Both in recalling the details of the experience, and in having a recorded recollection of it. It helped me feel less...insane.”

“Mmm.” If he were just a bit closer, she’d reach out and touch his hand.

“If anything, I wish I did it earlier.”

Scully’s understanding of him sharpens, like an ophthalmologist flipping the lens, making her vision clearer. Her gaze probes him, mutual souls recognizing mutual pain.

“Hey.” He uses his extended wingspan to touch her shoulder with the care an older sibling would show holding their baby brother for the first time. She turns her head, their faces mere inches away from each other. His eyes are a dopey brown, his breath scented with coffee.

“Yes?” she says with a coquettish flitting of her eyelashes.

“You should come back out on the road. I could use someone to shoot down all my wild whims.”

She can’t help but smile, though she keeps her mouth closed. “Tired of telling jokes to strangers who don’t laugh, are you?”

He smirks. “Well, yeah, that too.” He leans back a bit, putting enough distance between them to keep the sparks in check. “Of course, if you’re not ready, there’s no pressure. I just think you could use the change of scenery and--you know--companionship.”

She nods, looks out into the night. He’s got the pulse of her problems and the salve that could soothe them. “You’re right.” How often does he get to hear those beautiful words come out of her mouth? “I need to get out of my cocoon, and I think I’m okay enough to do that now.”

“Yeah?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something like hope.

She laughs--catharsis manifest--and it’s like a sheen of light coming through a crack in her jagged surface. “Yeah, Mulder. I’ll make the arrangements with Skinner.”

He pumps his fists in the air. “Hallelujah!”

She hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. Any stray thoughts she had of him being lonely she chalked up to her own delusions.

“Florida is probably a lost cause,” she notes, “but after that…”

He nods, pats her shoulder. “After that.”

To have her back meant something like freedom. The X-Files had never been anything without her. He had never been anything without her.

#oh to share a morbid conversation with your partner on a rooftop on valentines day #i struggled with this part but im quite happy with how it came out <3 #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #mine #thank you as always for reading and supporting

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fipindustries · 4 years ago

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Mouth Dreams analysis

MOUTH DREAMS

I dont even need to introduce to you the marvelous mash up works of neil cicierega’s mouth trilogy (now quadrilogy i guess). We all know them, we all love them and we all have our own interpretations of what they mean. For some merely musical shitposting, for others clever experimentation laden with phrases, leivmotifs and themes repeating here and there, and for many a deep and rich bounty of lore, hidden messages, subtextual stories and underlying narratives implied across multiple variations of all star, hidden in the meta data and uncovered only after doing spectrographic analysis on the soundwaves of the songs after being played at x0.000003 times the speed. It is usually understood that all the albums together form a unique and rich tapestry, a coherent whole that can be understood in its totality. Im not here to do that.

I came up with my own interpretation of what Mouth Dreams can be read as, independent from the other albums. Think of it as me presenting this entry as the soundtrack of a musical with its own self contained story. It is the interpretation that i chose to go by and i hope its understood the brilliance of these albums lies on how weird and vague and open ended they are such that any number of different readings can be extracted from them. So lets see the one i extracted, without further ado, lets begin.

Yahoo

It is an out of context, in media res, start for the whole story. We hear a voice, echoing in the void, yelling at the top of its lungs, reaching desperately for human conection. One form of looking at this song is that the voice only receives an empty response from its own echoes, but i dont take it like that. The song is too sublime and too beautiful for these, the notes soaring too high, the desperate plead is being answered. Someone is listening to the plead and answering right back, harmonizing.

This whole album is in a way that howl, reaching to others, and we the audience are answering back, listening. But also on another level, this whole album is the protagonist telling the tragic story of his own life to some sympathetic figure who wants to help, perhaps a therapist, perhaps a friend, perhaps a partner, we’ll see. And as the yelling subsides the story starts proper.

Mouth dreams (intro)

We are being slowly taken into the story, entering the psyche of the main character, entering their subconscious, their dreams, their memories and therefore, their past. We’ll see what life they led and how they ended up where they are now and we start right at his infancy with….

Spongerock

Spongebob is a great indicator that we are seeing this person’s early childhood. They seem to be a rambunctious and energetic child. Cheerful and enthusiastic, yet there seems to be some underlying aggression there. The music is a bit to strong, and in comes freddy mercury berating the poor kid “you’ve got mud on your face, you big disgrace”. Who is this entity being so hostile to a poor kid? What lies beneath that image of a happy kid? We are about to see on the next song.

Just a baby

This is where trouble starts. We are treated to a dramatic song about a poor young baby who seems to be having a pretty sad life. Justin bieber, former teen idol, keeps lamenting about the poor baby being stuck in baby jail. This song is very much about loss of innocence. A shadowy figure of the mother is introduced who tells the protagonist to be a good boy. And almost at the end of the song we get a suggestion of what’s so wrong on this poor kid’s life. His mother apparently “shot a man in reno”. We dont know if this is a literal thing the mother did or if this is a metaphor for the mother doing something horrible, commiting some crime, harming someone in some way. While its not clarified we see strong hints of what the mother could have done in the next song

Superkiller

As we worry what may be so wrong with this kid’s mother we come across the title for this song, ominous. Now in the original Psycho killer the killer was clearly the singer, but in here the song is twisted and turned a bit, recontextualized by the beats of “cant touch this”. It seems like this time is the singer the one who doesnt want to be touched by some nefarious figure (the mother? Is the mother a psycho killer?) maybe the kid saw the mother killing people “i dont like people when they’re on fire”. whatever the case might be the kid is clearly strung up and under a lot of stress and we are introduced to the first hint of the insomnia that will plague this persons life who cant sleep because “my bed’s on fire”. The horrible situation in which this kid is living is taking a severe toll on their mental health. How is he going to cope with this?

Get happy

I think everyone can agree that “come on get happy” is incredibly unnerving when mindlessly repeated over and over. A first read might suggest the kid is forced to put on a happy face, to pretend that there is nothing wrong going on with their life. But as the song progresses it could also be interpreted as the kid being tempted to find refuge from the horror by unsavory methods “get happy” as in acquire happiness of a forced and artificial kind, perhaps drugs. But also “we’ll make you happy”. The kid is not running into a rabbit hole on their own, they are being invited. Its possible that the kid is being seduced by a bad crowd to move into seedy circles as an escape from their life.

Ribs

In here we see the kid, probably a young teenager by this point as suggested by the use of marylin manson in this song, falling deep into debauchery. The specific kind is not needed to know, it could be drugs, it could be sexual experimentation, it could be criminality. Point is this is unhealthy and dangerous and depraved, emphasized by the title of the song “ribs” as a reference to the rumor that marilyn manson removed two of his ribs in order to perform autofellatio. Whatever the case it clearly works, the song is actually a great bop, energetic and upbeat, the kid is content with the situation, at least for a while…

My mouth

This song is the coming down from the high. In here we see at full blast how the life of depravity on the one side and their situation at home on the other have turned the character into a hardcore insomniac, their health is severy compromised “My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed

Dried up and bulging out my skull”. Another way to read this song is as we momentarily cutting back to the present. After all, what we have been seeing until now has been dreams/memories and this is a short look at the wreck that the person is as a grown up, stirring awake from their memories and trying desperately to forget or to go back to sleep where they can have a reprieve. As evidenced by the next song

Aerolong

I dont wanna miss a thing is completely turned on its head. As the lyrics clearly demonstrate is the protagonist who cant go to sleep being chased by their memories, specifically the memories of their mother “I don't miss you, babe, and I do want to miss a thing”. As the person is tossing and turning on their bed, unable to sleep they talk about how they dont miss their mother at all and they want to “miss” her as in they want to forget her.

Sleepin’

The character is constantly speaking about how they are “sleeping with their clothes on” this is due to them falling asleep during their everyday life because of their lack of sleep every night, this person is barely functional, their sleep schedule is broken. Also since this song is about the character actually sleeping it also works as a bridge back into their dreams and so into their past.

Aammoorree

Is another vignette about the character sinking into disreputable states in order to escape their shitty situation as a teenager, this time very specifically about being completely drunk and perhaps experiencing romance for the first time. The character is probably at a club or a party, drunkenly hitting on someone, though chances are without much success as the song becomes increasingly more incoherent and we go into a full black out. This gets bad enough that the person finally has to take a look and….

Where is my mom

….stop. It is highly suggestive that in the album the “stop” is part of this song rather than the last one. The person is not only stopping their current alcoholic binge. They are stopping the entire situation and taking a good look at their life, finally confronting face to face what is happening and why it is so wrong. Now “stacy’s mom” was always kind of an inappropriate song due to it being about a child having a crush on their friend’s mom, as sung by an adult. But as it is recontextualized by the instruments of “where is my mind” it takes on a much darker tone. The romantic words are still there but now with a sinister bent. This time the main character asks their friend if they can go and take refuge at their house and when they ask if the mom is going to be there they sound more scared than eager, specially suggested by the way he seems to be stammering the word “pool”, they are nervous and terrified. They also talk about stacy’s mom as “all they want and been waiting for so long”, probably because all they want is a normal, loving mother. Presumably this song is about the main character finally talking about what is going on at his house with a friend, confessing and that confession gives way to realization

Fredhammer

Then realization gives way to anger. During this whole song we see the teenage character finally grasping how fucked up the whole situation is and he gets progressively more worked up with each successive aggravation “Why did it take so long? Why (hoo!), did I wait so long, huh?

Why??? To figure it out, but I did it (huh?)”. From this we transition to the kid actually confronting their mom face to face. The line “So you can take that cookie And stick it up your (yeah!)” can be read as the mother trying to pretend there is nothing wrong or pacifying the kid with empty gestures of motherhood, by making cookies and the kid spitting that back into their face. The kid gets more and more worked up through the song as we seamlessly transition to the next one.

Limp Wicket

This song is pure incoherent chaos but something very important can be rescued out of the chaos. This song uses the lyrics from the “ewok celebration” which is presumably the song the ewoks sing in return of the jedi after the empire was defeated. So in a way is the kid celebrating that he finally confronted their mother and presumably defeated her. This is emphazised by the recurrence of the lyrics ““So you can take that cookie”. Is not specified how the mother is defeated, maybe social services or the police get involved, maybe the kid runs away, either way this song is triumphant. The evil entity that stole his childhood and innocence has been defeated.

Cannibals

This song is slightly different from the rest. It works as a form of victory lap after the defeat of the mother figure, but also as an intermission since it lies smack dab in the middle of the album, and finally as a transitionary song from childhood to adulthood. Is a time skip, we get to see the person grow up in fast forward as the THX song hits its crescendo. This song also makes it perfectly clear that, even though she was left behind, the mental scars that the mother left are still there and still fresh and still very much stopping them from sleeping “She drives me crazy

And I can't help myself”.

The outsiders

This works as a way to recontextualize us in the life of the character as an adult. Our so called “feature presentation”. It is not altogether clear who these people being introduced are. They could be the people who came to mean something in this persons life as they grew up after trauma, probably multiple foster homes, social workers, friends, bosses, co workers, etc. the fact that they are being enumerated dissapasionatly could indicate how most of his social relationships were basically a meaningless blur for him who grew up socially distant due to trauma. It could also represent the multiple roles that our character was forced to take as they grew up and the multiple things that went through his mind or meant something. There is clearly some desperate attempts to recapture their lost childhood as figures such as “inspector gadget” or “the ninja turtles part three” are named. The song is a fast montage of views and places. That prepares us for the next song.

Johnny

We finally zoom in and take a good look at our main character as an adult. A sad, pathetic figure, hurt and lonely, possibly not very well liked and certainly not respected as we hear boos all around. Despite all this the character is clearly committing themselves to be a good person, to not hurt others like he was hurt and specifically to not commit the same crimes that their mother commited.

Closerflies & Nightmovin

These two songs might as well work as a single piece since they are both more or less about the same thing. We reiterate how this person has been turned into an insomniac due to the trauma that they experienced as a child “When I'm far too tired to fall asleep”. They are delirious and barely coherent, possibly hallucinating as they think about their life in bed. This is clearly hell on earth and it seems like its just never going to stop “Can't wake up in a sweat

'Cause it ain't over yet” but, with neil’s classic sense of humor, the song immediately ends.

Now that could just be for the sake of irony but there is also another level in which it could be read. This suffering stops because something suddenly changes in this person’s life. What could that be?

Whitehouse

“I fell in love with a girl”

As the lyrics say, the main character met someone special and they are deeply in love. But also, because of the past that weighs heavily on him, he is very trepidatious about wether to go on with the relationship or not. He knows he is damaged goods and he doesnt want to drag her down as well, these fears make it so he never fully opens up to her about his issues “She turns and says, "Are you alright?" I said, "I must be fine because my heart's still beating."

Wah

The use of “war” by edwin starr is a clever reference about how everything is fair in love and war. Now this song is an important departure since it is sung from the point of view of the girl our main character fell in love with. She is a feisty woman who is very clearly trying to establish the terms of the relationship and demanding her partner to open up which the main character, due to his insecurities, takes as a declaration of war and which he deflects by playing dumb, hence the repeated use of the silly “WAH” by wario.

Pee Wee Inc

The emotional distance from the man is putting a strain in the relationship, so what once was supposed to “feel good” is now this melancholic and unbearable situation. Is no mistake that the song sampled here is “the breakfast machine” from pee wee’s big adventure. After all a neglected partner can feel like a breakfast machine, an object that is there just to make your breakfast. On top of this you can see that the insomnia hasnt gone away “My dreams, they got a kissing 'cause I don't get to sleep, no”. In a lot of ways the girlfriend is feeling used as just a relief from the man’s suffering but not as someone who is being truly loved.

1000 spoons

We go back to the woman’s perspective. At first it just seems like a simple melancholic situation where she is sad the relationship is not working, but then we see the woman have a full mental breakdown as the song changes and becomes much more deranged and we get to see what is really happening. The man ran away on their wedding day. This is represented by the lyrics “is like rain on your wedding day” because it means the wedding has been ruined. She is heartbroken by this.

Mouth dreams (extro)

Appropriately as the previous song talked about a wedding being ruined by “rain” this song begins with the sound of rain. This is the big emotional climax of the story, the music at its most dramatic. Now i will admit, even for me this is a stretch, im willing to concede most of what i am about to say is essentially built out of whole cloth and me wanting to fit a neat full narrative into this album where there is none, but hey, what is art for?

Essentially the man is about to commit suicide, possibly by jumping off a bridge in the rain as suggested by the song being sampled “drowning”. The fact that this song is named after the album is a way to signify how everything that we have just seen weighs heavily on the man’s heart, his whole life, his memories, his trauma, and he is finally ready to end it all. He jumps.

But at the last second his wife jumps after him and drags him to the shore, the last we see is her trying to perform mouth to mouth resuscitation, as indicated by the song,”love me mouth to mouth now…” he is unconscious and presumably finally sleeping peacefully (maybe dead?) “...cover me with dreams, yeah”.

It might look like he will not survive, as implied by the sinister version of all star encroaching over the song. But as it looks like all hope is lost he finally WAKES UP.

In a way this song is also when we finally catch up with the start of the album where we saw the man desperately hollering for human contact and merely echos responding, except now someone finally answered, and he is finally ready to open up and share his story.

Brithoven

Even though this song is sung by a single person i choose to take it as a dialog between the couple, both of them sharing their regrets about their relationship with each other, her recriminating the fact that she couldnt have known what he was going through “oh baby bay, how was i supposed to know, that something wasnt right here” and him finally admitting that he needs help “My loneliness is killing me”.

Finally they both agree to try it again and give their relationship a second chance “hit me baby one more time”

Ain’t

Part of me is conflicted about this song, i kind of want to disregard it, mainly because i think its kind of a weird way to end an album and also because i just dont feel is a very good mashup really. The lyrics dont mix that well with the song, they are paced in an inconsistent way and overall feel like they never truly click. On top of that it just doesnt fit at all with the narrative that i have been building during this analysis.

There is talk about alcoholism and parent abandoment, this time by the father, a figure that was never mentioned during the album. The last line says “say it aint so” which doesnt particularly seem to reflect on any of the themes i’ve been building upon. Ultimately i think i will just leave it besides and be content that i managed to fit almost all of the album into one story, this process was never meant to be a perfect dissection of the carefully planned story that neil deliberately crafted but rather me having fun seeing pictures in a rorshach test.

So anyway that was Mouth dreams, let me know what you thought.

#mouth sounds #mouth silence #mouth moods #mouth dreams #neil cicierega #music

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tw-anchor · 4 years ago

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33. Olivia and Lydia vs. The Darach

Anchor

Stiles Stilinski x Original Character

Episode: 3x09; The Girl Who Knew Too Much

Word Count: 7,103

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, attempted murder of main character, kidnapping, sacrifices

Author’s Note: Sorry for not updating in a while. My Gram is in hospice and I haven’t been into writing. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please make sure to reblog, like, and let me know what you think!

Masterlink in Pinned Post!

Olivia had only been to Peter's apartment downtown once before, and that was to bring over a polite welcome-home casserole that he probably didn't eat. Now, she had business to attend to. She had questions for Peter. Questions about herself and Lydia.

Only a half-hour before she made her way downtown to talk to Peter, she left Lydia in her bedroom after a couple of bad hours. Lydia and Olivia had been going out for ice cream with Allison before they went back to their house for a girls' night, when Lydia drove them to the school. Not only had Lydia been drawn to the area—just like she had the night she found the body at the pool—but Olivia, herself, had felt the same thing as Lydia.

She just didn't know if it was because she and Lydia shared abilities or because she was so connected to Lydia due to their shared DNA or relationship. Her only option for answers was to go to her father.

"All right, tell me again what happened," Peter blinked the sleep out of his eyes; it was around one in the morning when Olivia knocked on his door and woke him from a deep sleep.

"Lydia found another dead body," Olivia repeated herself. "What ever your bite did to her, it led her to the body and I felt it to. Now, I know you bit Lydia for a reason. That's why she was able to bring you back with that ritual. I want to know what she is and how it's affecting me."

Peter sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, exhausted. "Okay."

"I want the truth," she said firmly before he could begin. "No changing the story this time."

"All right, fine," he agreed. "To start off, you have to know what your mother was. Grace was eighteen when she inherited her abilities. She was a banshee."

"A banshee," Olivia repeated in slight belief; she hadn't known that banshees were a real thing. They weren't even in the Argent bestiary.

"A wailing woman, harbinger of death, same thing. They're not really like the Irish myths. They don't attach themselves to a family line, and their echoes don't cause death, either" he informed her. "Only females can be banshees and their abilities are inherited from their bloodline."

Olivia knew what he was getting at. "So, Mom got her banshee abilities from Nana Lorraine and because Uncle Thomas is a male, he passed it down to Lydia."

Peter nodded. "Exactly. The only reason you're not a banshee is because the werewolf genes you got from me. Anchorams are rare, very rare, but there have been two recorded instances before."

"As results of a banshee and werewolf union," Olivia assumed.

"Yes. You're neither werewolf nor banshee, but instead you have some abilities of both," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Instead of predicting just anyone's death, you're connected to your pack—that's the werewolf part of you. That's why you knew Boyd was going to die."

Okay, that made sense. It also explained the screams that came out of her when her pack members were in deep trouble, like when Erica had her seizure from the kanima venom or when Mrs. Argent was trying to kill Scott. It was the banshee side of her.

"So, that's how I'm connected to Lydia."

"Banshees are drawn to each other. And you're related to Lydia, which gives you two a deeper connection. On your own, you wouldn't have felt the dead body tonight, but because you were with Lydia, you did."

"But I can hear her scream even if I'm far away," Olivia pointed out. "That night when Boyd and Cora were out of control, I could hear her scream from the public pool. I screamed with her."

"It might have been because it was the first time her powers really came through," Peter said thoughtfully. "I mean, other than the time when I got into her head."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at him, wishing he hadn't brought that up. It still infuriated her that he took advantage of Lydia when she was in such a delicate place.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Sorry," he apologized without meaning it. "Everyone is different, though, and since you're, what, the third Anchoram in history, some things we're gonna have to figure out as we go."

Olivia nodded. She realized that. It was just hard to comprehend. She hadn't even gotten to the bottom of her collection of abilities, and already she had a lot. It was a little daunting to know that she had more to learn to learn about her abilities, along with honing them.

"Okay," she said finally. "Can you tell me more about banshees?"

"Sure thing, sweet pea."

"So, I can find dead bodies," Lydia scoffed as Olivia pulled into the school's parking lot. "You know what, I can already tell that this banshee thing is gonna be a pain in the ass."

"You can do more than that, though," Olivia reminded her while parking next to Stiles' Jeep; it was empty, but she knew—thanks to his text message—that he was going to eavesdrop on his dad, who was supposed to be talking to the principal before school started. "You'll experience something like me, like the whispers or the warnings in your head."

"Yeah, and you handle those so well," Lydia grumbled.

"I know I don't, but they also help," Olivia stated firmly. "I know when my pack is in danger and it helps because most of the time, I have a warning and we can stop whatever is supposed to happen. You'll know if someone's dying, Lyds. What if you're able to stop it?"

They got out of the Olivia's new car—courtesy of the insurance company and Peter, who wanted to spoil her instead of being a good parent—and started making their way up to the school. Olivia was supposed to meet Stiles by the main office but she wanted to make sure Lydia was okay before she left her.

"I guess you have a point," Lydia conceded finally. "It's just a little..."

"Scary?" Olivia offered; Lydia nodded. "I know. But I'm gonna be there for you, Lydia, I swear. You don't have to go through any of this alone."

Lydia sighed and pulled Olivia into a tight hug. "I love you," she rubbed Olivia's back; Olivia awkwardly patted her back, making Lydia laugh. "I know, I know. No PDA."

"It's okay," Olivia assured her as they parted. "I love you too, by the way."

"I know you do," the corners of Lydia's eyes crinkled as she studied her cousin and the awkward face she was making. "You know, the fact that you can only be lovey-dovey with Stiles is really disappointing."

"That's not true," Olivia said adamantly. "I'm lovey-dovey with you, too. I just don't like showing my affection for people out in public."

"It's the Hale in you," Lydia shook her head with a smile. "All right, you're released. Go on and meet Stiles."

"Thanks," hurriedly, Olivia kissed Lydia's cheek and ran away from her, waving teasingly. "Love you!"

She knew that her show of her love would amuse Lydia. It was the only reason why she did that. She had to make an exception for her person.

Outside of the main office, Stiles hid behind a pillar. His eyes were sharp and his ears were perked as he spied on his father, one of his deputies, and the principal. Unfortunately, he couldn't hear much. In fact, the only thing he did hear was Noah excusing himself from the conversation when he locked eyes with Stiles.

"Hey!" Stiles frantically pulled his backpack up over his head as he rushed to get away from his dad; unfortunately, Noah was pretty quick for a man in his forties. "Hey, hey, hey, back it up," he sighed and turned to face his father. "I know what you're thinking. I know you've got all these ideas about patterns and people dying in threes—"

Stiles cut him off. "Dad, they were murdered," he then corrected himself. "Sacrificed, actually."

"I've got half the state, including the FBI coming in on this," Noah told him. "They're not getting away with killing one of our own."

Stiles almost deflated at his father's words. Up until then, he hadn't thought about just who was sacrificed. It was Deputy Tara. She had been Noah's right-hand woman ever since he was elected to be sheriff, and she was a big part of Stiles' life after his mom died. She used to bake him cookies and helped him with his homework when he was having trouble. She was a good woman.

"Dad, they killed Tara," his voice was shakier than he cared to admit. "You know, how many times did she help me with my math homework when I had to wait at the station for you?"

Noah inhaled deeply and Stiles could see the sadness in his eyes. "Just, uh, get to class, okay?" he nodded behind Stiles and greeted Olivia, who Stiles hadn't even noticed had walked over to them. "Hi, Olivia."

"Hi, Sheriff," Olivia waved at him politely.

Noah went back to his conversation with the deputy and the principal, leaving Stiles and Olivia to themselves.

Olivia gave him a sympathetic look. "How are you feeling?"

"Not the greatest, but I'll live," Stiles took her hand and locked their fingers together.

"Well, if you need to talk, I'm here," she promised him, letting go of his hand and ignoring the pout he sent her to wrap her arm around his waist.

"What happened to no public displays of affection?"

"I'll think I'll make an exception for just today."

"Just today?" Stiles stopped walking and when she tilted her head up to look at him, grinned down at her.

"Just today."

"Well, then I better make the most of it," he remarked before ducking his head and slamming his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. She easily returned his affection but when he attempted to slip his tongue into her mouth, she pulled back. "Sorry, too much."

"A little," Olivia laughed. "Come on, we have English and I don't want Ms. Blake to tell on me to Derek."

"Would she really do that?"

"God, I hope not."

"Idioms, analogies, metaphors, and similes; all tools the writer uses to tell their story," Ms. Blake stated as she walked around the classroom. She paused in between Olivia and Lydia's desks, glancing down at Lydia's drawing of a tree. "Lydia, I wasn't aware you had so many hidden talents."

"You and ever guy I've ever dated," Lydia smirked up at her, causing Olivia to snicker.

"Oh," Ms. Blake was surprised by her reply. "um, well, that was an idiom, by the way. Idioms are something of a secret to the people who know the language or the culture..."

Olivia did not like the meaningful look that Ms. Blake gave her, Stiles, Scott, and Lydia. They all knew that she knew about werewolves—she was there when Boyd died, after all—but they didn't need her to act like an amateur and blow the big secret by acting nervous.

"They're phrases that only make sense if you know key words," she continued. "Saying 'jump the gun' is meaningful only if you know about the starting gun in a race, or a phrase like 'seeing the whole board.'"

"Like chess," Stiles offered.

"That's right, Stiles," Ms. Blake smiled down at him. "Do you play?"

"Uh, no," Stiles shook his head. "My father does."

Ms. Blake smiled at him again and faced the rest of the class. "Now, when does an idiom become a cliché?"

Olivia raised her hand to answer and Ms. Blake gave her the go-ahead.

"When you say the idiom too much," she reported. "It's like saying, 'it's raining cats and dogs,' Eventually it'll catch and more people will say it. It's an overused idiom."

"Great answer, Olivia," Ms. Blake grinned at her and then went on with her lesson.

Once Ms. Blake was far enough away that they could whisper to each other, Scott leaned over in his seat to speak to Stiles and Olivia. "I think I can get to Ethan. I'm pretty sure I can make him talk."

Olivia scowled at the mention of one-half of the alpha twins while Stiles asked, "What do you want to do that for?"

"The druids are emissaries, right?" Scott pointed out. "What if the Darach was an emissary to the alphas?"

Olivia pressed her lips together in agreement. "You've got a point."

"Thank you," Scott grinned at her and then turned to Stiles to wait for his response. "So?"

"So, I can't believe that we've gotten to the point where a sentence like 'what if the Darach was an emissary to the alphas?' actually makes sense to me," Stiles huffed. "Second of all, we're gonna have a huge problem getting to Ethan."

"What's that?"

"Going through Aiden," Stiles stated matter-of-factly. "Ever since he's been back at school, they're always together. How are we gonna separate them again?"

Eyebrows furrowing, Olivia tried to think of something that would distract Aiden. She didn't like the guy whatsoever, so the only thing she knew about him was that he liked to hook up with Lydia in Coach's office.

Wait.

"I have an idea," she spoke up. When the boys looked at her curiously, she nodded toward Lydia, who was still concentrating on her spooky drawing of the tree.

Feeling eyes on her, Lydia looked up at them and sighed, "What now?"

Just staring at Ethan's face made Olivia want to slap the shit out of him. Normally, she would think that she'd be somewhat friends with Ethan. But with the situation they were in now, she doubted that she would ever want to be. She didn't see what happened with Boyd, but Isaac had given her some details. She knew that Ethan and Aiden had picked up Boyd's electrocuted body and dropped him onto Derek's claws. She knew that they watched as Derek's claws ripped up his internal organs, and she knew that they walked away without a care that they had left a teenage boy dead behind them.

However, at least she wasn't joining Stiles and Scott in order to talk to Aiden. She didn't know if she could even look at his stupid smug face without attacking him. She didn't even care if he was ten times stronger than her. Ideally, she'd be able to calm his ass down and then Stiles or Allison could get the drop on him. Lord knows that Scott wouldn't.

"Why are you even talking to me?" Ethan asked, his eyes flitting between the three of them. "I helped kill your friend. How do you know I'm not gonna kill another one?"

Olivia gritted her teeth at his words and when he looked at her toward the end of his question, she stiffened. Stiles did, too. In fact, his temper flared at the way the alpha talked about Boyd and how he had the audacity to look at Olivia, like she hadn't been affected by Boyd's death.

"Are you look at her? Are you threatening her?" he snapped at him, standing up straight and stepping closer to Olivia. "You know what I'm gonna do? I'm going to break off an extra-large branch of mountain ash, wrap it in wolfsbane, roll it in mistletoe, and shove it up your fucking ass, you absolute dick—"

"Okay, Stiles," Scott cut him off nervously, while Olivia gently grabbed his arm and reached through their tether to calm him down. She loved that he was willing to stand up to an alpha to protect her, but she didn't want him to get hurt. "Woah, we get it."

Stiles gave Scott an irritated look and wrapped his arm around Olivia's shoulders, exhaling deeply as his anger started to concede.

"Look," Scott looked back at Ethan, who had been staring at Stiles blankly throughout his whole rant. "We're talking to you because I know that you didn't want to kill Boyd. And I think that if something like that happened now, you wouldn't do it again."

Ethan shook his head shortly. "You don't know what we owe them, especially Deucalion," he told the three of them. "We're weren't like Kali and Ennis when we met him. We weren't alphas."

"What were you?" Scott asked.

"Omegas," Olivia frowned at Ethan's answer; he and Aiden really didn't deserve any sympathy but she was going soft and couldn't help but feel a bud of it. Being the type of omega that had a pack—not ones who chose to be by themselves, like Derek had been—was said to be horrible. "In actual wolf packs, omegas are the scapegoat; the last to eat, the one who has to take the abuse from the rest of the pack."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "So you and your brother were, like, the bitches of the pack?"

Olivia hid the smirk that threatened to spread her lips and nudged Stiles as Ethan gave him an annoyed look. "Something like that."

"What happened?" she spoke up instead, wanting to know how he and Aiden managed to make it into the alpha pack.

"They were killers," Ethan shook his head in disgust, which Olivia found to be ironic. "I mean, people talk about us as monsters. Well, they were the ones who gave us the reputation. And our alpha was the worst of them."

"Why didn't you guys just fight back?" Stiles brought up a good point. "Form Voltron-Wolf, you know, and kick everyone's asses?"

"We couldn't," Ethan stated flatly. "We didn't know how to control it back then."

"Deucalion taught you," Scott realized.

Ethan nodded. "And then, we fought. We took down the whole pack, one-by-one," his voice got a little vicious. "and by the time we got to our alpha, he was begging for his life. We tore him apart, literally."

"What about your emissary?" Ethan shook his head at Scott's question. "They're all dead? Kali and Ennis' too?"

"All of them except for Deucalion's," he confirmed.

"You mean Ms. Morrell?" Olivia gave him a pointed look and then paused as her mind seemed to leave her body and then zap right back into it. "Oh, my God."

Cora...Cora...Cora...

"Livvy, are you okay?" Stiles asked as Ethan grunted in pain.

"What's going on?" Scott asked both of them.

"My brother's hurt," Ethan answered at the same time as Olivia told Stiles, "Something's wrong with Cora."

It didn't take long for Stiles to put the pieces together; Cora and Aiden were obviously fighting somewhere nearby. "Where are they?" he asked as her eyes flashed back in forth between purple and blue. "Babe, you gotta focus."

"I...I," she stammered before she was able to pass through into Cora's tether and find out where she was. "They're in the boys' locker room."

The four of them took off into the empty hallways, trying to get to the boys' locker room before any more damage was done between Cora and Aiden. Luckily they weren't far from Coach's office and they made it to the locker room just in time to see Aiden whip Cora in the head with a fifty-pound weight.

"Stop, stop!" Olivia shouted as Scott and Ethan took a hold of Aiden on each of his arms. She didn't bother visualizing the anchor that she put on him, she was too angry about him hurting her cousin that it came easy to her.

Aiden's wolf features immediately melted away, calming down in his brother's hold.

"You can't do this," Ethan reminded Aiden as Olivia and Stiles knelt down by Lydia beside Cora's injured body.

"She came at me!" Aiden shouted. He would have growled, but Olivia's hold was still over him.

"It doesn't matter! Kali gave Derek until the next full moon. You can't touch him, Cora, or Olivia."

Stiles placed his hand on Olivia's back and glared up at the alpha twins. "Get the fuck out of here."

It looked like Aiden wanted to argue but Ethan wouldn't let him. Without a word, the twins left the locker room. Olivia hardly noticed, she was too focused on her cousin and the huge wound on her head that was pouring blood.

"She's really hurt," she said softly. She looked at Stiles and Scott and asked, "Can you help me get her up?"

Once Cora was up on her feet, Olivia escorted her over to the sinks. She got some paper towel and dampened it in order to wipe the blood off of her face. Cora was not pleased with her cousin's hovering and grunted a few times when Olivia cleaned the wound.

"Stay still," Olivia got some antibiotic cream from her bag and gently smeared it over the wound. "You're such a bad patient."

"Shuddup."

"Are you okay?" Scott asked Cora.

Lydia scoffed. "She doesn't look okay."'

Cora gave Lydia an irritated look and carefully pushed Olivia away from her. "I'll heal," Almost immediately after she took a step away from the sink, her legs weakened and she faltered. She would have fallen if Scott wasn't there to grab her and keep her steady. "I said I'm fine."

"Stop being so stubborn," Olivia sighed and wrapped an arm around her waist. At least Cora would let her help.

"Do you realize how suicidally crazy that was?" Stiles pointed out sternly. "What were you thinking going after them?"

"I did it for Boyd," Cora snapped back at him. "None of you were doing anything."

Olivia sighed. "You know that's not true, Cora."

"We're trying," Scott added.

"And you're failing," Cora addressed all her ire at Scott, Stiles, and Lydia. "You're just a bunch of stupid teenagers running around, thinking that you can stop people from getting killed, but all you do is show up late. All you really do is find the bodies."

"Cora, shut up," Olivia's voice had hardened as she turned and carefully dragged her cousin out of the locker room, not hearing Stiles' comment about the both of them definitely being part of the Hale family. "I know you're grieving and you're angry and hurt, but you can't say things like that to them."

"Why not? It's the truth."

"You shouldn't say it because we're trying our hardest to figure this out," Olivia stated, annoyed. "And I get it, I can feel Boyd's loss, too, but you can't take it out on people who are doing their best to help you and the whole town."

Cora let out a drawn-out sigh and winced when a flash of pain went through her head. "I'm not apologizing," she said stubbornly.

"That's fine. Just give them some slack."

"Hey!" they heard Stiles call from behind them; he was soon at their sides. "Do you need a ride?"

"Um, yeah," Olivia nodded. "I can leave my car here and pick it up later tonight."

"Sounds good."

Halfway to their journey to Derek's loft and after three attempts to make contact with Derek, Allison called them. She informed them that she and Isaac had been searching her dad's desk and found a Celtic knot that was labeled with each group of the sacrifices. She listed the groups of sacrifices that had already happened and then the two that had yet to come.

"Philosophers?" Olivia asked in surprised. What exactly did that mean? There were a lot of occupations or people that could easily fit into that category. It would be someone like Plato, or a teacher, or a scientist, or even a really smart person. But, at the same time, how did Deputy Tara fit in that category?

"And guardians," Allison added; that made more sense in Tara's case since she was a police officer. "which after last night, has to mean something like law enforcement. Stiles, you have to tell your dad. Tell him whatever you need but you have to get him to believe. Tell your dad, warn him."

"Okay, okay, okay," Stiles said quickly, his mind racing a mile a minute. "I know."

Olivia ended the call and looked at her boyfriend, seeing the anxious look on his face. "You're gonna tell him right?"

"I have to," Stiles nodded. "but I'm gonna need both of your guys' help."

Olivia nodded and took his hand from the steering wheel, squeezing it tightly. "Whatever you need."

Olivia watched from Stiles' bed as her boyfriend paced back and forth, trying to come up with something to tell his dad. Personally, she had never gone through telling a parent about the supernatural world and because she was pretty sure that Natalie had some sort of knowledge about it—and she was in deep, deep denial that Olivia and Lydia were a part of it—she wouldn't really need to. She couldn't put herself in Stiles' shoes properly and it annoyed the crap out of her because she wanted to be there for him like he was always there for her.

"Okay, okay, okay," Stiles murmured under his breath. "Yes, okay...No, no..."

"Stiles?" Noah cleared his throat.

Stiles quickly faced his dad. "Dad, I'm sorry. I'm just...I'm trying to...I'm just trying to figure out how to start here."

"Hey," Noah said sternly. 'I don't have this kind of time."

Stiles blew out a heavy breath, causing Olivia to speak up encouragingly, "Stiles, just start with the cases."

"Right, right, the cases," Stiles nodded jerkily and looked back at Noah. "Okay, um, for the last year, you've had all these cases that you couldn't figure out, right? I mean, all the murders involving Kate Argent, and then Matt killing all the people who drowned him, and all these murders right now. It's like...it's like you've been playing a losing game."

Noah stared at him, unimpressed. It was clear that he didn't know why Stiles was going through his "failed" cases. "Stiles, the last thing I need right now is a job performance review from my own son."

Stiles rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I know," he looked over at his dresser in order to pull his thoughts together and spotted the chess board he and his dad would play with from time to time. "Okay, see, but that's—that's just it, Dad."

He hurried to his dresser and grabbed the chess board, which folded into a case to keep all of the pieces together, and then set it on his desk. "The reason that you're losing the game is cause you've never been able to see the whole board," he opened the game and tossed out all the pieces. "I need to show you the whole board."

While Stiles carefully labeled each and every chess piece with sticky tabs, Olivia let Cora lean against her. She made sure that she didn't fall asleep, but soon she was swept up into an episode. She could hear Lydia screaming and it took all of her control—and biting down on the inside of her cheek—to make sure she didn't scream too (she didn't realize that it would have helped Stiles convince his dad that the supernatural life was real until afterward).

Noah did not look over at her—and therefore, did not see her purple eyes—because he was too concentrated on watching Stiles label and explain each supernatural creature and the names of his friends that matched up with them. By the time Olivia was pulled away from Lydia's tether and back in control of her mind, Noah was sufficiently caught up.

Well, kind of.

"Scott and Derek are werewolves," he said flatly, looking across the desk at Stiles.

"Yes."

"And Kate Argent was a werewolf?"

"Hunter," Stiles corrected him, pointing to the piece where he labeled Kate with a purple tab. "That's...Purple stands for hunter."

"Allison and her dad are hunters, too," Olivia told him, leaving out the part where they were supposed to be retired. If Mr. Argent and Allison were retired, then normal grandparents would be working overtime.

"Yeah," Noah gestured to Dr. Deaton's piece. "and my friend, Deaton, the veterinarian, is a kanima?"

"No, no, he's a druid, okay?" Stiles stated. "Well, we think."

Olivia and Cora exchanged a look. They didn't really think that Dr. Deaton was a druid, they were 99.9% positive that he was one. Then again, Olivia could see why Stiles said what he said, Noah could only handle so much.

"So, who's the kanima?"

"Jackson," Olivia responded, thinking of her friend; she missed him.

"No, Jackson's a werewolf."

"Jackson was the kanima first, and then Peter and Derek killed him and he came back to life as a werewolf," Stiles explained. "Now, he's in London."

Noah frowned. "Who's the da-rack?"

Stiles corrected his pronunciation. "It's da-rock."

"We don't know who the darach is," Olivia piped in.

Stiles pointed at her in agreement. "We don't know yet."

Noah blinked at them. "But he was killed by werewolves?"

"Slashed up and left for dead."

"We think."

Stiles pointed at Olivia again. "We think, yeah."

Noah sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "Why was Jackson the kanima?"

"'Cause sometimes, the shape that you take reflects the person that you are."

"And what shape would an increasingly confused and angrier-by-the-second father take?"

"Uh, that would be more of an expression like the one you're currently wearing," Stiles replied nervously.

"Yeah," Noah heaved himself off the chair and started toward the door.

Stiles scrambled out of his, too. "Dad—Dad, would you wait?" he begged his father. "I can prove it, okay? Cora's a werewolf and Livvy's an anchor. You ready?" he asked Olivia and Cora; they nodded and Olivia helped Cora stand. "All right, Dad, just watch this, okay?"

Olivia didn't know if Noah managed to see any sign of their supernatural nature or not. Cora's name popped up in her head and she was dragged down to the floor when Cora collapsed.

"I wished you would have answered my calls," Olivia muttered to Derek as they sat side-by-side in the hospital waiting room while Cora was being examined and placed in a room.

"I know, Ollie," Derek replied softly. "I'm sorry."

"I don't understand why she's not healing. She should have healed by now."

"We'll find out why she's not," Derek assured her and squeezed her hand. "I already called Peter. Hopefully he knows something we don't."

"Hopefully," Olivia sighed; her phone started vibrating in her hand. When she was that it was Scott, she excused herself from Derek and walked over to Stiles, where he was talking to Melissa. "Hey."

"Hey, is Stiles with you?"

"Yeah, hold on," she waved to Melissa silently and grabbed Stiles' arm, pulling him into an empty hallway; she put him on speaker. "Okay, you're on speaker."

"All right, it's philosophers as in teachers," Scott told them hurriedly. "Allison and her father just found Mr. Westover."

"That makes sense," Stiles glanced at Olivia. "Tara, she wasn't always a cop. She used to teach middle school."

"Then the last one's gonna be another teacher."

"There's close to a hundred teachers employed at the high school," Olivia pointed out worriedly. "There's even more at the middle and elementary schools."

"And they're all headed home," Stiles added.

"No, no they're not," Scott said after a few seconds of silence. "They're all going to the recital."

"Fuck," Stiles cursed in annoyance. "All right, I'm gonna go talk to my dad."

"I'll borrow Derek's truck and head over there now, Scott," Olivia took the call off speaker as Stiles walked away to find his dad. "I'll only be a couple of minutes."

"Okay, but Liv..."

Her eyebrows furrowed at the worry in Scott's voice. "What's wrong?"

"I talked to Morrell. She told me that the alpha pack wanted me because I'm supposed to be a true alpha."

"A true alpha?" she repeated in disbelief. "Wow, Scott."

She was impressed; true alphas only came around once in a while and the fact that their own Scott was going to be one was special.

"Yeah, but that's not the only thing she told me," Scott sighed; Olivia braced herself for more news. "She told me that the alphas want you, too. She said that anchors are rare and you have powers you haven't even untapped. Deucalion thinks you be a good addition to the pack."

Shit, shit, shit, shit...Olivia cursed herself. Why did I have to be a rare species?

"Well, that is not good," she breathed nervously before collecting herself. "but we can deal with it later. We need to stop the darach before someone else dies."

"Yeah, we do," Scott agreed. "All right, I'll see you in ten."

"Okay, be careful."

"You too, bye."

The recital had already started by the time Olivia arrived at the school. A storm was brewing overhead and the faint music she could hear coming from the auditorium made the environment even more eerie. She ran through the parking, wishing that she hadn't worn heels that day, and rushed into the building.

She got to the lobby but stopped right in her tracks outside the main part of the auditorium, her gaze taking on a purple tint. An indescribable feeling flashed through her body and then she moved, letting whatever the feeling was take her where she needed to go. It was like the time that Derek had been shot with the wolfsbane bullet and she was led on autopilot throughout the school until she found him.

Lydia...Lydia...Lydia...Lydia, Lydia, Lydia...

She found herself in the English hallway, automatically making her way to Ms. Blake's classroom in a daze. She stopped just outside of the classroom when she heard Lydia and Ms. Blake talking.

She didn't take time to listen to what they were saying. She stormed into the classroom but was immediately airborne. Her back hit the wall painfully and she was risen until her feet were a couple feet off the ground. She was stuck and she was useless.

"Glad you joined the party," Ms. Blake—no, fuck that, I am not giving her any respect by calling her anything but her stupid first name! –smirked at her. "I was wondering when you would come for her."

"Let her go," Olivia snapped at her, her eyes darting to Lydia, who was terrified and staring at her with wet eyes. "What do you even want with her?"

"Nothing special," Jennifer shrugged. She flicked her hand toward a chair and Olivia flew to it, slamming against the hard, wooden back. "You, on the other hand..."

Olivia was unable to move as Jennifer used duct tape to secure her hands and legs to the chair. When she was finished, she picked up a small wooden dowel and started wrapping a length of strong cord around it. She was making a garrote.

"What are you doing?" Lydia whimpered, still fighting off unconscious from the hard hit she took from Jennifer when she first walked into the classroom.

"What's necessary," Jennifer stated. "I'm still surprised none of you seem to get that. You call them sacrifices but you're not understanding the word," Olivia rolled her eyes at her dramatic monologue. "It's derived from the Latin 'sacrificium', an offering to a deity, a sacred rite. A necessary evil."

"Oh, shut up," Olivia groaned, hoping to get her attention away from Lydia. "I'm pretty sure that killing fifteen innocent people isn't necessary."

"You know, on the outside, you appear so tough, emotionless," Jennifer stood from her crouched position in front of Lydia and sauntered over to Olivia. "but I know you're afraid right now. I know you're afraid all the time. This shell?" she poked Olivia in the cheek. "Well, it's all an act."

"Who cares if it is?" Olivia hissed right back at her.

"Oh, I don't care. I was just taunting you before I kill you and your precious cousins. The useless ones, I mean," Jennifer grinned maliciously. "I think I'll keep Derek around."

Olivia harshly snapped her jaw together, speaking through her clenched teeth, "Stay away from them."

"I would but I won't," Jennifer giggled. "See, you were my target. Deucalion wants you and you're powerful. If I kill you now, he won't be able to use you against me."

Olivia's heart started to race and her own name was starting to be repeated over and over in her head. Scott had to know that Lydia had disappeared and that she never made it to the auditorium. She had to stall so he could get there. "So, you're doing this to go up against the alpha pack?"

"Correct. Let's just say that you don't know the alphas like I do," Jennifer twisted the garrote in her hands and stepped behind Olivia. "And because they currently don't know my plan, I think Lydia is going to have to go, too. She knows too much. First, she can watch you die."

"No, no, no," Olivia said frantically, locking her scared eyes on Lydia, who stared fearfully back at her.

"Stop!" Lydia whimpered. "Stop, stop!"

Jennifer didn't stop. Before she could fully press the garrote against Olivia's throat, she forcefully tore the duct tape around her right hand and slipped it between her flesh and the cord. She gasped as the cord dug into her fingers. "Lydia!"

As if they had rehearsed, Lydia let out the loudest scream that had ever passed through her lips. Olivia screamed only a second later, unable to fight the urge that came from Lydia's tether. It was kind of weird, warning people of your own death.

Olivia's scream died out first and then a couple seconds later, so did Lydia's. Jennifer dropped the garrote from her hands, letting it hang on Olivia's neck, and walked over to stand in front of Lydia.

"Unbelievable," she gasped, studying Lydia intently. "You're a banshee. A wailing woman, right before my eyes. You're just like me, Lydia. Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent under it."

"She's nothing like you," Olivia spoke up fiercely, her voice hoarse.

Jennifer shrugged, the comment not bothering her. "It's too bad, though, and too late," she walked back over to Olivia, taking her place behind her and picking up the garrote. The garrote pulled tightly around Olivia's neck, making her choke. "One last philosopher."

Olivia couldn't breathe. There was no room for her trachea to move, causing her to suffocate. It was almost as if she could feel her throat being crushed, causing her to panic and squirm around in the chair, kicking her feet to try to fight back.

Olivia...Olivia...OLIVIA, OLIVIA, OLIVIA!!!!

"Stop, stop!" Lydia shouted frantically, choking on her tears as she watched Jennifer pull out a knife from her person and hold it up to Olivia's throat; the second part of the three-fold death.

"Drop it!" a new voice joined Lydia's.

With Jennifer sufficiently distracted, the garrote dropped from Olivia's neck. She took in a deep breath, her throat sore inside and out. Something urged her to look over at who had interrupted Jennifer, but she recognized the voice. Noah had ran into the classroom, gun cocked and aimed right at the darach.

As soon as she laid eyes on her boyfriend's father, Jennifer whipped the knife that was going to be used on her at him. It lodged itself into his shoulder so forcefully that it splayed him flat on his back. Noah wasn't technically in her pack, but he was someone Olivia cared for very much; that meant that she knew he was in danger, but he wasn't going to die. She couldn't explain it, but there was a different between the whispers that warned her of a pack member in danger and then the ones that warned her of the pack member's death. Noah was okay, for now.

Jennifer turned back to Olivia, intending to finish what she started, but a roar filled the room. Scott had arrived, his werewolf features fully on display as he snarled at Jennifer. He lunged at her, but Jennifer easily dodged each of his blows. She was more powerful than him and the way she sent him flying across the room and into a pile of desks proved it.

Olivia didn't know exactly what Jennifer did to him, but it was obvious that she did something else to him. Scott was spitting up blood and hitting desks that didn't weigh much didn't seem like it would do something like that to him.

She whimpered through the pain in her throat, "Scott!"

Her attention was dragged away from Scott as Jennifer slid her desk across the room and right into the door, slamming it closed. Before she could even wonder why Jennifer had done that, she saw Stiles' head pop into view from the small window at the top of the door. He was slamming his whole body against it, but with the weight of the desk, it wouldn't budge. He couldn't get into the room.

With Stiles and Scott taken care of, Jennifer focused on Noah, who had grabbed his gun, got to his knees, and aimed it at her.

"There was a girl," he said tiredly as Jennifer took slow steps toward him. "years ago. We found her in the woods, her face and body slashed apart. That was you, wasn't it?"

Jennifer glared at him. "Maybe I should've started with philosophers with knowledge and strategy."

She closed in on Noah and he pulled the trigger, shooting in her in her right thigh; Jennifer simply shook it off and continued on to him. "Healers," she grabbed him by the knife in his shoulder and held him high in the air, the blade slicing through the fleshy part of his shoulder. "Warriors..." she ripped his badge off of his shirt and crushed it with her fingers. "Guardians...Virgins..."

"God, leave him alone!" Olivia shouted to the best of her ability as Jennifer placed a wet kiss against Noah's mouth. Jennifer's face warped into a horrifying figure and screeched while she grabbed Noah and flew toward the windows. "No!"

Jennifer had disappeared with Noah. Scott had woken up from whatever daze Jennifer had put him in and the force that was shoving the desk against the door had disappeared. While Scott had rushed toward Lydia—on Olivia's insistence; the redhead was unconscious from the blow Jennifer had landed on her—Stiles rushed into the classroom and to the windows.

"Dad?" there was no answer to Stiles' call and it hit them all like a punch to the gut. "Dad?!"

(Gif is not mine)

#teen wolf rewrite #stiles stilinski x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski fanfiction #stiles stilinski x original character

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spookysweet-heart · 4 years ago

Text

Christmas Story Submission: The Perfect Pair and the Wearable Chair

Note: I'm not good at writing fluff, I'm normally a comedy or horror writer, but I tried my best. I'm sorry about the length! I'd insert a "read more" line if I could! Anyways, tried to make this gender neutral! Enjoy!

***

It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and it was quiet...Okay, no it wasn’t.

Granted, the last few Christmases and Christmas Eves were anything but quiet thanks in part, but actually in full, to your goofball of a boyfriend. One would think that a banshee-siren-like monster like Mare would be more threatening and more serious...like an actual mare. However, if you told that to Mare, he’d accuse you of stereotyping spirits, which only further confused people on why he would call himself Mare when he wasn’t even actually a mare. He still wouldn’t tell you what exactly he was though.

That’s besides the point, the actual point was that Mare was a goofball. Now sure he could be threatening and scary at times when it was necessary; afterall, you still had no idea what happened to the guy that broke into your apartment and stole all your holiday cookies and chocolate. Still, there were times when you legitimately wondered how someone like Mare was capable of being a threat when sometimes he couldn’t even sit in a chair properly. As a result, you were used to something weird happening every year during the holidays.

Moving along though, you were awoken this Christmas Eve morning to the sound of a crash followed by a series of noises that sounded like a plate or something shattering on the floow. Your eyes shot open and you let out a low groan as your mind started to fully awaken. Truth be told, you had been half awake since Mare got up half an hour ago. You thought he had gotten up to go to the bathroom or something and figured he would return shortly and you could cuddle with him a bit longer before waking up. When he didn’t return after five minutes, you heard him go downstairs, so you thought he was gonna make coffee. You figured you could maybe get another half hour of sleep before Mare would try waking you up with his usual method of kissing and tickling you.

The sound of a crash was definitely not something you wanted to wake up to, but it was definitely something that you did wake up to more than any normal person really should. Begrudgingly and with a pout painted on your lips, you rolled out of bed, half literally and half metaphorically. Slipping into your unicorn slippers, a Christmas present that was gifted to you by one of Mare’s brothers last year, you slowly but surely made your way downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, you saw Mare on the ground wiping up the hot chocolate that he had spilled on the floor. Clearing your throat to get his attention, he turned to you and gave a sheepish smile.

“Uh, I tripped.” he said.

Raising an eyebrow, you shook your head. He was lying.

“Tripped, or fell?” you asked pointing to what he was wearing.

And what was he wearing you may ask?

“Uh, okay, maybe I did fall, but-”

“Are you seriously still wearing that stupid wearable chair?” you asked cutting him off.

You made a mental note to somehow get back at Anti for giving your boyfriend such a weird and dumb invention. Ever since he had gotten it, Mare would use it as often as he could. One time he even tried tying his victim to it...it didn’t work out.

“It’s not stupid! It’s-” Mare tried to argue.

“It’s the chair of the future, I know I know!” you said finishing his sentence that you had heard probably a hundred times.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed another few paper towels before you got on the floor with Mare who stopped to watch.

“You really need to be careful with that thing, you might hurt yourself.” you said softly as you finished wiping up the mess.

“Uh...Actually,” Mare gave a small, shy smile, “I kinda bumped my head when I fell.” he said through a light chuckle as he shifted positions to sit on the floor.

“Why am I not surprised?” you said failing to stop the smile that was forming on your lips.

“Can you kiss it better?” Mare asked looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

You rolled your eyes before scooting over to him. Getting yourself on your knees, you placed your hands on his shoulders and looked at the spot on his head that he was pointing at. Leaning it to kiss that spot, you found yourself being pulled towards Mare’s lips instead because only he would pull something like that. He wrapped an arm around you as you kinda just melted into the kiss.

Pulling away, you looked at Mare’s eyes which seemed to be full of hearts.

“You’re a dork.” you said as you rolled your eyes lightly.

“Yeah, but I’m your dork!” Mare corrected with a huge smile now painting itself on his face.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” you murmured softly as you started to get up.

Mare grabbed your hand in protest and attempted to pull you back down to him for another kiss.

“Wait, one more kiss!” he argued.

You pouted and placed a finger on his lips, “No more kisses till after I brush my teeth!” you said laughing.

It was Mare’s turn to pout as he watched you get up. Offering him your hand, you helped him back onto his feet before you went back upstairs to the bathroom. After brushing your teeth and fixing your bedhead, you threw on a flannel as a sweater and headed back to the kitchen where Mare was placing hot chocolate and cookies on the table.

“Did you get those from the bakery?” you asked through a yawn.

“Yup! Went over there this morning and got the last batch!” Mare replied happily.

A few Christmases ago, Mare had actually almost burned the kitchen down trying to make you your favorite Christmas cookies. You appreciated the gesture, you really did, but you really didn’t enjoy having to fight a fire on Christmas. Luckily for you, you were able to save the kitchen, but you couldn’t save the cookies...or the oven. After that, Mare was never allowed to bake again, and if he wanted to get you cookies, he opted to go to the little family owned bakery that was a short walk away.

“They’re your favorite!” Mare exclaimed as he motioned you to the table.

“Really? Yessss!” you squealed as you hurried over.

Before you could take a cookie from the plate, Mare stopped you.

“Waaaaiitttt!” he whined as he grabbed your hand.

“Whaaaaat?” you asked mimicking his tone turning to him slightly annoyed.

Letting go of your hand, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close to him with a wide grin on his face.

“Mistletoe!” he declared as his other hand held a piece of mistletoe above both your heads.

“Really?” you asked with a quizzical look.

“Yes! Now kiss me!” he insisted as he leaned in towards you.

You giggled before kissing him back. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer as you again sank into the kiss as it deepened. When you pulled away, those hearts from before were back in Mare’s eyes.

“Yay!” he sang happily.

You just smirked at him before you sat down and started to eat cookies. Mare, with the wearable chair because he still had that thing on for some reason, sat across from you, watching you happily.

Catching his look of adoration, you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked trying, and failing, to hide the blush was creeping up on your cheeks.

“I love you!” he answered cheerily.

Letting out a small laugh, you looked at him and smiled, “I love you too.” you responded softly.

Taking a sip of your hot chocolate, you mused and took in the sound of the soft Christmas music that was playing from the TV.

“You know, I’m really surprised you haven’t set anything on fire. It’s almost like a Christmas miracle!” you half joked.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Mare objected through a chuckle.

“Well…” you hummed, “I mean, our first Christmas together, you somehow set the tree on fire-”

“That wasn’t my fault! The guy who sold me the lights didn’t tell me that they were super old!”

“Then the next Christmas you somehow almost set the porch on fire with a flamethrower.”

“I was trying to melt the ice so you wouldn’t have to worry about slipping on it!”

“And let’s not forget about the kitchen fire last year.”

“I just wanted to make you cookies!”

You giggled, and then paused. Mare really a knack for somehow setting things on fire.

“Okay, well I did those things because I wanted to do something nice for you!” Mare said with a sad look.

“I know, and I love you because of it.” you reassured him as you took his hand in yours, “but if you set something on fire this year, I’m gonna lose my mind.” you added with a serious tone.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that! I promise nothing crazy will happen this year!” Mare said confidently.

You smirked, “You literally fell from the roof five times while putting lights up.” you called out.

“Yeah, but I didn’t set anything on fire!” Mare argued, “Plus, I’m determined to make this the perfect Christmas for you!” he added as his face beamed of hope and cheer.

You just nodded and took a sip of hot chocolate. Mare was being way too cheery today, it was kinda weirding you out. Peeking at your boyfriend again, you realized how well he was sitting at the table really well with that wearable chair.

“You know, you’re really getting the hang of that chair aren’t you?” you pointed out as you got up to put your cup away.

“Sure am!” Mare said proudly.

“I still wish you would just sit on a regular chair though.” you said with your back to him.

“But why? Regular chairs are boring! Besides, this chair is perfect for getting into position.”

“Into what position? Into a falling position?” you joked as you put the cup in the sink.

As if on queue, you heard your boyfriend slip and fall to the ground, most likely due to the chair’s legs giving up when he shifted positions.

“Mare!” you screamed in surprise as you quickly turned around to help him up.

You paused when you saw Mare on the floor. The way he fell made it so he landed on one knee.

“Mare?” you asked quietly.

He looked up with a sly smile.

“What are you-” you began to ask cautiously.

“Like I said, this chair is perfect for getting into position.” Mare said as he got out a small box from his pocket.

Opening the box, you saw a diamond ring that sparkled brightly.

“Oh my god…” you said quietly.

“I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want to spend every Christmas and every day with you. I know I’ve messed up more than a few times, and I want to make it up to you if you’ll have me. Will you-”

“Yes! Oh my god, yes!” you cut him as you dove into his arms and hugged him so tightly that you swear his bones would’ve cracked if he was human.

You were almost crying as Mare put the ring on your finger; you were so overwhelmed, the diamond was huge.

“Do you like it?” Mare asked.

“I love it!” you said as you stared at the ring in complete and utter wonder.

How Mare was able to afford such a big ring was beyond you. It looked like something from a jewelry catalogue. In fact, you could’ve sworn that saw this exact ring on a celebrity news story from a few days ago-

You paused with realization.

“Mare.”

“Yes?”

“Did you kill someone for this ring?”

Mare looked like a kid who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Uh…” Mare immediately grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to face the living room, “Hey look carolers! GUYS THAT’S YOUR QUEUE!” he shouted.

The door to your apartment swung open and Mare’s brothers and some of the Iplier and Septic egos bursted into the room in Santa hats and reindeer headbands singing carols. However, they didn’t seem to agree what carol they were singing since almost everyone was singing a different one. You sank into confusion as you started to accept the reality of the situation; the reality being that you were engaged with a gorgeous million dollar ring on your finger that Mare got from probably killing someone.

Then one of the ego carolers had their light up santa hat combust into flames.

“HOW DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN???” Mare shouted in dismay as he ran to get a fire extinguisher.

Fin

#spookys holiday contest #1000brightstars #nwtb merch contest #contest entry #natemare #natewantstobattle egos #youtuber egos #youtuber ego #submission

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srsly-messed-up-fruitloop · 4 years ago

Text

Shielded Away (pt 1)

““Jeez Fenton, what the heck are you doing?”

Danny stopped. “Just practicing for mime school, you know...just in case the whole astronaut thing doesn’t work out.”

Wes squinted. “Wait a minute...the news said they placed your parents’ newest ghost shield around all of Amity…”

Danny groaned, for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Are you kidding me?” He prodded at the shield, only to get stung again.

At that, Wes began to chuckle, which turned into an actual laugh, eventually becoming full-blown cackling.

Danny scowled. Not calming down in the slightest, Wes continued to cackle as he walked off into the distance.”

Or, my take on this prompt posted by @danphanwritingprompts

Word Count: 5,183

Read on AO3 or under the cut

Danny glanced at himself in the mirror in the washroom. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to have doubled in size since he last saw them. Not that he cared. He was too exhausted to care. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, but he’s already fought seven ghosts today. A thin cool mist expelled from his lips. And here comes the eighth.

Outside in the halls, a familiar voice boomed, “BEWARE, I AM THE BOX GHOST!” Danny watched himself as his eyes became a vibrant green on instinct. Transforming once again, he flew out the washroom, sighting the box-loving spirit throwing cardboard boxes at students. He zoomed towards him, grabbing his ankle, forced them both intangible, and dragged him down to the school’s basement.

“Hey! Can’t you see I was in the middle of something?” the Box Ghost whined.

“Yeah? Attempting to traumatize people once again with boxes? How many times do I gotta tell you it’s really not scary?”

“IS TOO!” The Box Ghost angrily hurled a dusty box at Danny, who then fired an ectoblast at it to defend himself.

“You know, I could think of a hundr—oof!” Somehow Danny didn’t notice every single storage box in the basement hovering right above his head, before it was too late. Man, he really needs sleep.

He faintly heard the ghost laughing above him. Of all the places in the school, he had to lead the Box Ghost here. He’s gotta remember to use the roof next time. But this time, he knows he’d hidden a Fenton thermos somewhere around here…

In an instant, he turned intangible and phased through all the boxes he was buried under. His eyes searched wildly around the basement. Where was it?

“LOOKING FOR THIS?” Danny’s head shot up, finally seeing the thermos. Well, crap. “LET’S SEE HOW YOU LIKE BEING STUCK IN THE CONFINES OF A CYLINDRICAL CONTAINER!” Hearing the beep of the thermos activating, Danny gasped as he was slowly sucked into it. Since when did the Box Ghost learn how to use it??

“HA HAH! HOW DOES IT FEEL NOW?” the ghost yelled into the container, painfully vibrating Danny’s condensed molecules. “Now if you will excuse me, I WILL HAVE MY CORRUGATED CARDBOARD VENGEANCE!” Next thing Danny knew, he felt a harsh CLUNK to his everything as the thermos fell to the hard floor.

Outsmarted by the Box Ghost, he really was having a bad day. Well, hopefully, Tucker and Sam will find him. Eventually. He could just imagine Sam berating him immediately after releasing him. “You should have called us first! Of all places, why would you bring the Box Ghost to the basement?” Tucker would be laughing his ass off. Honestly, he wouldn’t blame him.

Each minute in the thermos always felt like an eternity. His form was squished to the point where all he could really do is think. And he’s come to realize how much he actually depends on his friends. He doesn’t appreciate them enough.

Except, they should be here anytime now.

Anytime.

Any. Time.

Nothing.

Wait. There were footsteps. The next instant, he was being picked up. Finally, they found him. Come on now, press the button Tucker. What was taking him so long? A fair bit of fumbling continued until fingers found the right button and he was finally released. Danny groaned and stretched, feeling an ache from being compressed for so long.

“You’re lucky I found you Fenton.”

That. Wasn’t Tucker. Or Sam. His head shot up, seeing a red-haired pain in the ass holding a stupid grin, growing wider by the second. Wes.

“Were you stalking me again?”

“Just gathering evidence. You should be grateful, who knows how long you’d be stuck in there.”

Danny scowled. His friends would’ve eventually found him. “Fine, thanks. Now if you excuse me, I have a job to finish.” He flew up, phasing through the ceiling. Invisibly weaving through the corridors of his school, he noticed two things. One, his ghost sense seemed to be picking up nothing at all. Two, the hallways were deserted. He peeked into a random classroom, empty. Same for the one beside it. He zipped through the ceiling to the second floor, stopping in front of the English classroom he left behind. Empty. Save for his bag tucked under his chair. He really should stop doing that, the number of times he’d left class forgetting his bag was too embarrassing. Picking up his bag from the floor, he walked over to the window expecting a routine gathering for a ghost alarm. Nope, the fields were empty too. Weird. Maybe they’re at the front. He was just about to check, but something about the far off view of Amity’s city buildings struck him as odd. He pulled out his phone. Dead. Right, never got a chance to charge it last night.

“Everyone’s gone.” Wes suddenly spoke from the door, almost a tinge of fear in his voice. Funny, he’s never seen Wes scared before. This should be good.

“You sure?”

“I checked everywhere, even the teacher’s lounge.”

Huh. Danny glanced out the window again. “Parking lot’s completely empty.”

“The entire school couldn’t possibly abandon us—we were only down in the basement for an hour,”

“AN HOUR?”

“Yeah, I was busy collecting evidence.”

“Okay, first off, you need a new hobby. Second, why didn’t you let me go earlier if you were there the entire time?”

“Hey, be grateful. I was contemplating not letting you out at all.”

Wes could be such a...ugh. There were bigger things at hand. Like the disappearance of his entire school.

“Give me your phone.” Wes eyed him suspiciously. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and brought out a small device, slightly bigger than the palm of his hand. Danny approached closer. “Is that a freaking Nokia?”

“Can’t trust smartphones, government uses them to steal all your information.”

Of course. Danny grabbed the cell phone. It reminded him of a calculator. “Can you even text on this thing?”

“It’s not worth it. You can call though.”

Danny searched the deep recesses of his brain for his friends’ phone numbers. He dialed a number, half guessing the last four digits.

The dial tone rang...and rang, and rang once more…

A smooth automated female voice responded, “Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of—” then there was a moment of silence. The automated voice picked back up, “Please leave your name and message after the tone.” BEEP.

He just hung up then. Sam never bothers checking her voicemail anyways. Dang, if only he remembered Tucker’s number.

“...should we just leave? Maybe everyone got sent home?” Wes hesitantly asked.

Something still didn’t sit quite well with Danny, but the idea of using the rest of the day to catch up on some sleep was too good to resist. He tossed Wes’ brick phone back to him and muttered, “Alright, see you around, I guess.” He didn’t waste any time in turning intangible and flying through the classroom window, heading straight for home.

On his journey back, it was oddly peaceful. Usually every time he flew in broad daylight at least one person would sight him and yell anything along the lines of “Hey, look! It’s Danny Phantom!” or “Screw you ghost boy!” He was still a very controversial figure in the town, even though the news seems to be taking his side now.

And well, Danny has given up on trying to woo those who still dislike him. No matter what he does, all they see is a ghost. Apparently it isn’t clear that his only intentions are protecting the town. It sucks that his parents are part of that special group. Their narrow-minded point of view almost killed him on several occasions (well...metaphorically, he’s already kinda dead).

Which is why he transformed back into human form as soon as he landed on his front step. The lights for the Fenton Works sign were off. Odd. His parents were adamant on keeping them on 24/7, despite constant complaints from all their neighbours. He dug for his key in his backpack and unlocked the front door. Stepping inside, he slipped off his shoes and shrugged his backpack to the floor.

“Mom? Dad?”

Nothing. He strode over to the kitchen and checked the basement entrance. Locked. They must be out. Sweet, nothing to distract him from his well-deserved nap. He grabbed a cookie from a jar and made his way upstairs. As he was halfway through that cookie, he passed by Jazz’s room. He failed to notice the absence of Bearbert Einstein from her bed.

He brushed off the crumbs off his hands and opened his bedroom door. Flopping onto his bed, Danny was just about to pass out until he remembered. He groaned and blindly reached for the end of his charger on his nightstand. Ugh where was it? Reluctantly peeking one eye open, he saw lying aimlessly on the floor. Ugh. Stretching to the point where half his body was off the bed (it would’ve been much easier if he just sat up), he finally grabbed the charger and plugged in his phone. Victory. Now, he could relax. He’ll deal with whatever happened later.

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

No, he swore he just closed his eyes a second ago. Just a few more minutes.

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

Please.

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

The vibrating stopped. Hallelujah. Now back to h—

BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING BRIIIIIIIIIING

The obnoxious buzzing continued once more. Several rounds later, Danny slowly blinked open his groggy eyes. He had to suppress the urge to hurl his phone at the wall when he finally grabbed it. Declining the call, he was just about to return to his slumber until he noticed his screen was full of notifications. 9 missed calls from his mom, 5 from his dad, 11 from Jazz, 17 from Sam...his stomach sunk. Danny almost dropped his phone on his face when it started ringing once more, this time his dad again. He didn’t waste a moment in answering it.

“Hello?”

“Danno where are you? Did you get to evacuate with your school? Sam and Tucker say they haven’t seen you!”

“Wha—what? Evacu—”

“Hang on your mom’s here,”

“Danny sweetie, where are you? You’re not in the Casper High group.”

“Mom what did dad mean by eva—”

“And our tracker says you’re home, but you know we can never trust it since it sometimes locks onto that menace Phanto—”

“Wait a tracker?”

“Yes honey, we need to always know where you kids are, especially at times like these. Now, which evacuation group did you leave with?”

“Uhh...I’m actually home.”

The line went silent for a few moments. Danny heard his mom’s barely contained anxiety as she spoke her next words. “That’s...how did you...that’s alright sweetie. Can yo—was anyone else left behind?”

“Yeah, uhm, Wes Weston?”

“Okay...okay. Can you find him...and leave the town right away?”

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“Danny, please.”

“...okay.”

“Call us once you’re out, okay?”

“Okay mom.”

“Love you sweetie.”

“Yea you too.” He hung up then, his earlier grogginess completely forgotten now. Right, okay, he just has to find Wes no—

BRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

A LOUD shrill noise accompanied the incessant buzzing on his phone. Danny’s stomach dropped even further.

“[11:00 AM] EMERGENCY ALERT: Due to the increasingly harmful and destructive occupation of extra-dimensional beings in the town of Amity Park, the state of Illinois in conjunction with the GiW has made the final decision to evacuate all residents. Please follow your nearest evacuation group and proceed to exit the town.”

It was 3:07 now. The entire town just left? While he was stuck in the thermos? And “increasingly harmful and destructive occupation of extra-dimensional beings”? Dammit he had it under control.

Just before Danny left the room, he made sure to grab his charger.

Grabbing his bag left on the floor by the front door, he nearly jumped when he saw Wes sitting on the living room couch.

“How did—”

“Chill Fenton, you left the door unlocked.”

“But wh...nevermind. Did you hear—”

“About the evacuation? Yeah let’s get outta here.”

He didn’t bother to look back to check if Wes was following. The annoying scruff of his sneakers on the sidewalk was enough to tell.

But twenty minutes later, he couldn’t help but wonder why Wes was left behind too. “So...why didn’t you leave?”

“You know nobody takes those ghost alarms seriously anymore, right? Oh wait, you do, cause you’re Ph—”

“What about the emergency alert?” Danny asked, cutting Wes off.

“What emergency alert?”

“You didn’t get it? On your phone?” Danny pulled out his phone and showed Wes the notification.

“Oh, heh, I don’t get those.”

“What do you mea—oh, right. Your dinosaur phone is too old to get them.”

“Hey, at least with my dinosaur phone, the government can’t spy on my every move. That seems like something you’d be interested in, Phantom.”

“If the government was spying on us, how did they manage to forget us when evacuating the town?”

“The government has bigger things they like to worry about.”

“Sure, like hiding Area 51 right?”

“Exactly!” Wes exclaimed enthusiastically. “Finally, someone gets me.”

“Dude, that was sarcasm.”

Wes deflated at that. “Screw you Fenton.”

“Yeah, I—” the next moment Danny slammed face-first into something that stung. Quickly backing up, he saw Wes walking, perfectly unperturbed. Hesitantly, he took his index finger and slowly pushed forward, until he was blocked again. Ghost shield, great.

Turning intangible, he disappeared into the ground and tried burrowing under the barrier, only to get blocked and stung again. Dammit, he shouldn’t have told his parents about ghosts being able to get past their old shields that way. Returning up, Danny began to feel his way around the shield, attempting to find a weak spot.

At some point, Wes stopped, noticing that Danny wasn’t tailing him anymore. “Jeez Fenton, what the heck are you doing?”

Danny stopped. “Just practicing for mime school, you know...just in case the whole astronaut thing doesn’t work out.”

Wes squinted. “Wait a minute...the news said they placed your parents’ newest ghost shield around all of Amity…”

Danny groaned, for what felt like the hundredth time today. “Are you kidding me?” He prodded at the shield, only to get stung again.

At that, Wes began to chuckle, which turned into an actual laugh, eventually becoming full-blown cackling.

Danny scowled. Not calming down in the slightest, Wes continued to cackle as he walked off into the distance.

Bastard.

After Danny could no longer see the flare of his annoying red-hair, he sighed and glanced upwards, turning around until he saw the tower at the centre of the town, blasting at full strength. His parents worked relentlessly for more than a year on that tower. After trial and error with various other ghost shields, they finally perfected the ultimate model. Danny tried his best to help too, ghost shields were becoming more vital to Team Phantom as the days passed on (mostly because it stopped people from complaining about property damage). Often that involved sneaking down to the basement while they were out purchasing supplies, testing it out, and subtly dropping recommendations during dinner time. With governmental aid on their side, they were able to expand it into a town-wide defense mechanism, resistant against all ectoplasmic entities, even halfas in their human form.

With all the good their work has done for Amity, they are no longer seen as the town’s local kooks. Jack and Maddie Fenton are now revered as the country’s leading scientists on ghosts. That tower was a stark symbol of his parents’ true dedication. Every time Danny saw that tower, he felt a swell of pride for his parents in his chest. Except for this time. Instead, he felt dread slowly trickling down into the pit of his stomach. Why must everything his parents invent come to bite him in the butt sooner or later?

Plunking down beside the shield, Danny laid down in the grass and pulled out his phone again. Ignoring the even bigger clusterfuck of notifications on his lock screen, he started up a video call with Tucker.

The instant the call picked up, Tucker shrilled into the speaker “DANNY, WHERE THE—” which was then combined with Sam exclaiming, “Is that Danny? You got him finall—WHAT THE HELL DANNY?”

Shit, he didn’t mean to make them so worried. “Hey guys, I-I’m fine,” he said, sheepishly looking away from the screen.

Sam’s expression quickly switched from angry to concerned. “We didn’t see you when the ghost alarm went off...” she trailed off.

“Yeah?”

“Figured you were taking care of it,” Tucker added. “We had no idea—”

“Tucker it’s okay.”

“Wait, really? You made it out?”

“Well...errr...”

Sam’s face took over the screen, expression serious. “Danny...are you still in Amity?”

“Uhh...yeah?”

A moment of silence passed, where Sam’s eyes widened and Tucker just walked off screen.

“B-but look, I’ll figure out a way out! I helped build the shield, I should be able to take it down, right?”

Tucker jumped back into the frame, “You were the one who helped make it indestructible, especially against yourself!”

“True but—” he was suddenly interrupted as his phone started buzzing again. “Shit, my parents are calling, what do I tell them?”

“Just say you’re on your way out?”

“But Wes already left!”

“Wes?”

“Yeah, Wes, no time to explain—what do I say??”

“Just answer it!”

“Um.”

“DANNY!” Tucker and Sam both yelled.

He jerked as he hung up and accepted his parents’ voice call. Hesitantly holding the phone to his ear, he stuttered out, “H-hello?”

His mom’s worried voice crackled through the speaker, “Sweetie, where are you now? Wesley just came out and told us you were coming…”

“Uh…” He had to think up something. NOW. “Uhh...ghost!”

“Danny wha—”

“Can’t talk now, ghost chasing me—bye!” He abruptly hung up and shut off his phone. Heart beating rapidly, he stared at the black screen. His parents are going to kill him for this.

Well, if not already for being Danny Phantom. Ha.

Lying back down on the grass (at what point did he start sitting up?), he registered just how quiet it was. No vehicles humming in the background, no people; just a soothing autumn breeze brushing against the leaves, accompanied by an occasional chirp from a bird nearby. A lone cloud floated off in the bright blue sky. With a bit of squinting, it looked like a hoagie. At that moment, his grumbling stomach decided to interrupt the serenity.

Searching his bag, he found the sandwich he packed for lunch, which was now disgustingly soggy. Ew. Did his parents leave any leftovers back in the fridge? Nah...wait. His eyes locked on a Nasty Burger in the distance. If people had to evacuate, then they must’ve left their orders behind, right? Yeah, he would be doing the world a service by not letting that greasy burger goodness go to waste. Tucker would back him up on this.

Five minutes later, he phased out of the fast food joint with a bag of untouched, barely warm Nasty burgers in one hand and a Nasty soda in the other.

Danny was going back home to figure out a way to get past the shield. Not at all because of his impending food coma. So what if he decided to take a quick power nap to regain his focus? He’d get nothing done anyways if he was too tired to think.

And so what if that quick nap turned into him knocking out for 13 hours?

Startling awake in his bed, he checked the clock. 8:00 AM. Shit! He’s late for school. Stumbling out his bed, he immediately tripped over his backpack, falling to the floor in a harsh thud.

“Ow.”

Rubbing his shoulder, everything came flooding back in his now clear mind. Fuck, how could he let the Box Ghost trap him in his own thermos?

Fuck, he has to get up. He has to find a way to get past that shield. Right now. His parents, his friends...they’re all waiting. Who knows what could be happening to them, they could be in danger, they’d need him. He has to before...before…

Before what?

Danny didn’t even realize he was doing his morning routine on autopilot until he was in the kitchen, halfway through a slice of toast. “Ergh!” he exclaimed as he spat out the almost cardboard-like excuse for breakfast onto his plate.

Why would they be in danger?

Glancing outside, he only saw a flock of living birds in the distance. Where did all the ghosts go?

Maybe because there’s no longer anyone to haunt. And as long as the shield remains, there’s no chance of even a blob ghost escaping.

Wait, there’s still Vlad in Wisconsin! No, he wouldn’t dare make a move while the Guys in White were watching. That’s one thing he knew for certain about the fruitloop.

So...what now? Danny leaned back in the kitchen chair as the realization slowly dawned on him. Everyone’s safe. A wave of relief came over him, washing away a suffocating feeling he didn’t even realize was always there. For the first time in months, he could breathe.

The next thing Danny does is turn his pathetic slices of toast into a triple decker PB & J sandwich. Another first in months.

Of course he had to be finding a way to get past the shield. His parents must be so worried. Jazz...he still hasn’t called her back. Staring at the black screen of his phone, he couldn’t bring himself to turn it on again. Talking to her would only worry her even more, right? Ancients forbid, if his parents called again...what could he even say this time?

Sam and Tucker could fill her in. They probably already did. He slid the inactive phone back in his pocket and got up to drop his empty plate in the sink.

Hours later, Danny was sticking his tongue out in concentration, trying to get past the Level 4 boss in Doomed. He honestly started up the old desktop in the basement fully intending to review his parents’ notes on the shield. After nearly nodding off on the eighth page, he decided that he deserved a little break.

Yet, that break was still going strong at 5:30am the next day. He was finally on the last level. So close...his bloodshot eyes locked on the final key, just within arm’s reach. Almost...there…

Except, a shot came out of nowhere, striking his player right in his chest, killing him instantly. And because he was on his last life, Danny stared in disbelief as the words “Game Over” appeared on the screen. He threw the computer mouse in frustration, unintentionally letting a bit of his ghostly strength through.

Well, crap. He needs a new mouse now.

Maybe he can stop by the store in the morning. Yawning heavily, his eyes wandered to the lab’s wall clock, widening as he read the time.

He...he should’ve been focusing on the shield! He groaned as he took another look at the broken mouse. There’s not even any store to stop by anymore! Screw this, he needs sleep. He’ll deal with this later.

Apparently later meant a week from then. He honestly doesn’t know how he got so distracted. He just knew the majority of the last week was spent binge-watching classic horror movies and emptying out his dad’s secret hidden stash of snacks. Jazz probably would be able to offer him some textbook explanation for this.

At some point, he’d managed to convince himself that everyone’s eventually coming back. Why else would he still have electricity? And his family left pretty much everything behind, except for a few ecto-weapons and the GAV. There’s no way this can be permanent. And why should it be? He still couldn’t find the true reason for the evacuation, news reports from earlier that week just cite the “increasingly harmful and destructive occupation of extra-dimensional beings.” Sure, Danny’s been busting his ass more recently, but it wasn’t like the town was about to be captured by Pariah Dark again. With that in mind, why should he expend any extra effort figuring out how to get past the shield? The shield he made sure worked against his very own biology?

Plus, he was happy to have a break from everything. At least that’s what he tells himself. He tries to ignore that nagging feeling in the back of his mind, telling him that he should turn his phone back on.

Anyways, his dad’s snacks have run out. Which is why he was standing right in front of the supermarket, currently in his ghost form. He’s just going to phase in, grab what he needs, and phase right back out. Easy. It’s fine, even if he sets off any security alarms, no one’s even here to stop him. Besides, a lot of that food’s probably gonna go bad anyways.

The first thing he noticed was all the flies. They seemed to be having a party in the (slightly smelly) produce section. Luckily for Danny, eating his veggies wasn’t really a top priority (sorry Sam). He grabbed a basket, floated over to the bread area, and tossed in a loaf. One of his greatest accomplishments in the last week was learning how to make a grilled cheese sandwich. That and the snacks are what have fueled him in the last week.

It seemed like the owners still left everything on after abandoning the store. The meat section was thankfully cool and fly-free. Danny eyed his options, recalling all the times Tucker shared his favourite methods of cooking each meat. Guess that knowledge is finally being put to good use. Bacon? Yes. Steak? Yup. Drumsticks? Of course. Sausages? Can’t say no to that.

Danny floated further along, grabbing various other items, including a couple boxes of frozen dinners and plenty of snacks.

He almost forgot about the mouse. Luckily, he passed by the electronics store on the way home.

After packing away the groceries, Danny thought he deserved a nap. After, he’ll probably try making the sausages for dinner. And maybe give reading those shield notes another shot since he had the mouse now.

At least, that’s what he told himself. Instead, he finally beat Doomed. Holy shit. He instinctively reached for his phone to text Tucker. They’ve been playing that game since they were nine! He…

Faced with his still powered-off phone, Danny suddenly realized that it’s been a week since he last spoke to Tucker. And Sam.

He really should talk to them. He’s been an awful friend, he’s gotta at least reassure them that he’s alright. Yet Danny couldn’t bring himself to turn his phone back on.

Eventually, an imaginary light bulb lit up above his head, and he logged into his email on the computer. However, the moment he saw his inbox cluttered with emails from his parents, he logged the fuck outta there. Nope.

While watching The Birds later that night and seeing Melanie lock herself in a phone booth to protect herself from the violent seagulls, Danny suddenly got another idea.

It was a clear night, with the moon shining in all its glory, softly illuminating the dark sky. You couldn’t even tell that the shield was there. Almost would’ve been perfect for stargazing if it weren't for the useless city lights that were still on.

A family of raccoons was crossing the road a few blocks away. And a crow cawed from above on a lamp post. Otherwise, the street in front of his house was completely deserted.

He floated up until he had a view of the entire town. During his nightly patrols, it’d never been this quiet. It felt like he was almost intruding on something, being out here now.

Using his powers to enhance his vision in the dark, he searched around for a payphone. Yes, he’s seen them before, although he can’t say he’d ever used one. It's gotta be somewhere.

He passed by an electronics store with a TV playing the news in the display. He immediately halted and did a double-take. His face was splayed across the screen, with the headline underneath, “RESIDENT GHOST HUNTERS’ SON MISSING AFTER EVACUATION”.

Before he could fully process that, he was knocked to the ground. Panicking, he struggled to get back up, but was pinned under something. Hold on, this seems famili—

“What have you done with our son, ghost?” Maddie Fenton demanded, pure hostility lacing her words.

Danny stared wide-eyed at his mother through the net, standing over him and holding an ecto-gun to his forehead.

“I…uh...”

“Speak now. Otherwise, you’ll find out just how quickly a blast from this will obliterate your vile form,” she threatened, pressing the gun right to his head now.

“N-nothing I s-swear! He l-left, with everyone else,” Danny sputtered.

“Lies. You attacked him right before he was going to leave.”

Crap. In retrospect that wasn’t really a good choice for an excuse. “That wasn’t me!” he exclaimed.

In that moment Danny realized his father was also there, standing a few feet behind Maddie. “Scanner’s telling me that you’re the only ecto-entity in Amity Park. So, ‘fess up ghost boy,” Jack said, glaring at his son.

Danny looked between them. His heart dropped when he registered how stressed they both looked. His dad’s face was patchy in places, obviously left unshaven for days. The bags under his eyes only accentuated how bloodshot they were. Danny couldn’t see much of his mom due to her goggles, but she was visibly trembling. This was all because of him. That same nagging feeling he’d ignored for far too long was now threatening to boil over and strangle him. Choosing his next words carefully, he choked out, “Alright yeah, but he left. I swear.”

“No…” Maddie whispered.

“Maddie, maybe the tracker’s malfunctioning again,” Jack suggested.

She looked back at her husband for a few moments. Then, she lowered the gun. Danny didn’t even realize he was holding his breath.

“But...we’ve searched all the groups, and none of the nearby towns are reporting him. Where else can he be?” she pleaded.

“We just have to keep looking Mads,” Jack answered dejectedly.

As soon as his parents started up the GAV and turned at the block, Danny made an instantaneous decision. He transformed to human form, broke through his parents’ net, and ran after them, forgoing all consequences. The guilt was too much to bear. He ran as fast as his “barely passing P.E.” legs could take him. He passed several blocks, adrenaline fueling him to keep going. When he slammed into the shield once again, he looked up to see the GAV stopped far in the distance, with Maddie outside, sobbing into Jack’s shoulder while he held her. They were too far for his screams to reach.

#danny phantom #Danny Phantom Fanfiction #i did it #the longest fic i've written #so far #i’ve finally graduated from writing ficlets #:')#ao3 #oneshot #grooveactuallywrites

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isocrime · 4 years ago

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Where do you fall on the MCU CW wank? What did you think of the showdown in Siberia?

i’m not particularly familiar with this wank! i didn’t watch ca:cw until it was well out of theaters, and i wasn’t really in steve/tony fandom at the time so i wasn’t keeping close tabs on the drama

also i’ve only watched the siberia showdown once so i might not have all my facts straight

here’s my understanding: tony, exhausted, already beat half to shit (and he’s a human in his 50s under that armor so he’s not healed), watches video of his parents being murdered by the guy next to him and loses his fucking mind. bucky, being a smart cookie, decides to get the hell out of dodge, and steve does his best to cover his retreat. things go downhill fast, and they have a slug-out in the bottom of a missile silo that ends with bucky getting his metal arm turned to slag and tony having his metaphorical heart shattered.

okay i re-watched a quick cut of the siberia scene

now i think there’s something interesting about the fight tactics. tony and bucky are long-range, lethal fighters. iron man is built for airborne dogfights, not punching -- the movie even says it when friday tells tony he can’t beat steve hand-to-hand. Meanwhile bucky is first and foremost a sniper and an ambusher. if tony and bucky really want to kill each other, they should hang back and try to murder from a distance. but if they’d actually rather not do murder, they have to get in close and wrestle, which isn’t their strong suit.

and they end up choosing to wrestle! which means that tony isn’t actually up for murdering bucky in coldblooded revenge, and bucky’s being as non-lethal as bucky gets while he tries to get away. (ignore the fact that the real reason it was choreographed like a bar fight is that a brawl is more fun to watch -- i’m enjoying my meta)

steve, on the other hand, is all melee anyway, so it’s hard to say what his lethality intentions are. his goal at the start is to protect bucky, even if it meant using deadly force. but by the end of the fight...i think steve just wants to take tony down.

right before the end, bucky goes for tony’s arc reactor. he knows if he destroys it, the suit will power down, making tony unable to fight but not dead. (tony hasn’t needed the arc reactor to live since before bucky’s character was introduced, i think bucky would have known tony’d be fine)

then tony blasts bucky’s metal arm off, stands still for a dramatic moment, then hits bucky with a non-deadly repulsor blast, then stands still for another dramatic moment, all this time not killing bucky yet.

which is when steve comes at tony, hard, and, uh, beats the tar out of him. tony gets the upper hand, then stops and tells steve to stay down. but steve comes at tony again and really really beats the tar out of him, and tony thinks he’s about to get killed for real.

non-lethal, non-lethal.....coulda been lethal. steve’s the worst behaved of the bunch, imo.

it makes sense for steve to be a wreck! his judgement is all fucked up. he’s an overprotective mess over bucky -- who died on steve’s watch once anyway, landing him with some spectacular survivor’s guilt -- which means he’s thinking in emotinoal absolutes. steve KNOWS that tony is going to kill bucky which means steve has to do ANYTHING he can to stop it, no price too high. plus steve gets caught up in the need to win fights, even ones where he doesn’t need to keep fighting, because he’s stubborn and has a chip on his shoulder and has a bit of a temper.

(i also think this fight is an example of why mcu steve is a terrible captain america as written: he's not cut out for the shield. this fight wasn’t about protecting the world, it was about protecting the person he loved. in terms of superhero symbolism this scene was like if both bucky and a school bus full of kids were falling and steve picked bucky to save. not superhero-like! you could argue that putting bucky first doesn’t make steve a bad person, but it definitely makes him a bad cap.)

tony is also a wreck! bucky is a guilt-ridden half-brainwashed disaster who definitely has moments where he’s pretty sure tony’s justified in trying to kill him! nobody is behaving well!!! but steve’s goals and reasons still seem to be the most questionable to me. he seems the most like he’s acting out personal beef and escalating instead of de-escalating. so that’s my stance. i am not sure if this is actually what the wank is about but that’s what i think!

SIDE NOTE: this fight scene is terribly written. the character goals are all over the map! you never know what the characters immediate goals are, or really their long-term goals. there’s all these moments where a character is slammed into the wall and then they just kind of grapple there uselessly for a minute before breaking apart. nobody has any concrete, stated goals at the end beyond “do cool punches together” and “exchange brief, emotionally loaded lines”

in a good fight scene you know what everyone wants at all times -- you just don’t know how they’re going to get it or what they’re willing to sacrifice for it. both in the long term (ie, i wanted to hide in here and instead there is an angry blacksmith swinging a sword at my nose) and in the short term (ie, i’m handcuffed and need to be not handcuffed so i can be better at not getting stabbed). mcu movies are TERRIBLE at this a lot of the time. spiderverse is great at this -- think about the fight with peter, miles and doc ock in the lab where they’re trying to get the data to make the goober. the whole time their ultimate goal is to escape with the computer. along the way they encounter a bunch of immediate problems -> solutions such as “can’t find the files -> take entire computer” and “miles can’t swing -> give him a webshooter and push him off the roof.” every time the viewer gets two KEY pieces of information: 1) what is the immediate problem and 2) what tools do the characters have to solve it.

MCU CONSISTENTLY FAILS TO DO THIS!

take the bit in the siberia fight where steve lassos tony around the neck and uses him as a flaily parachute. we start with bucky trying to climb out the roof and steve helping. tony is fighting them. steve tells bucky to go on ahead and we briefly see steve pulling a gizmo out of his pocket -- what does it do? we don’t know. steve has a Plan. what does he need it for? we don’t know! we won’t know until tony flies upwards (ah steve had predicted that the problem would be “stop tony from flying,” rather than...any of the other things tony could have done) and steve flings his lasso around tony’s neck and drags him down (oh he had a handy lasso gadget i guess). how unsatisfying! we didn’t get any chance to predict what would happen, it just did, and in retrospect you can figure out the motivations. it has zero story content.

the action does NOTHING to help tell the story. it just looks cool. that’s it. there’s nothing for the viewer to engage with or chances to use your brain. the only thing the fucking movie asks from you is that you wait and see.

fucking disgraceful.

OKAY I HAD SOME FEELINGS PROBABLY THIS SHOULD BE TWO POSTS BUT WHATEVER BYE

#phew #this answer is a mess i'm sorry #but not sorry enough to split things up #i love the emotional content you can extrapolate from the siberia fight #i just also think it's terribly written!!!!!!!#Anonymous

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magnoliawhetstone · 4 years ago

Photo

Introducing The Whetstones || 10.31.2020

“Why you wanna marry me anyhow?

So I can kiss you anytime I want.”

Wedding Song || Vows

“People always used to laugh at me when I said I believed in soulmates--as if they were silly myth that didn’t exist. They’d appease me for a moment and then do their best to remind me how the real world works. But I couldn’t understand why they didn’t believe in them--wasn’t it obvious? Now I realize that the reason it was so obvious to me was because I had found my soulmate at seven years old with the little boy living next door to me who would invite me over to play and ride horses and bake with his momma--who made a place for me in his life when others wouldn’t. Soulmates are rare, yes--but they aren’t a myth. And I think our love story proves that. I Happy wedding day, baby. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with my soulmate.”

Jack feels like it’s a dream when he rolls over and finds a head of blonde hair next to him. Of course, he quickly realizes it’s not when he inhales a mouthful of hair and tries not to gag on it. “Hey,” his voice is soft as it comes out, his hand dragging up the soft skin of Lia’s arm until he can twist his fingers into hers, “Mags- hey, you should wake up. Don’t you and Moira have a costume shopping thing happening in like… an hour?” Jack’s eyes flicker to the clock that sits on the bedside table closest to Magnolia’s head and it’s already 10:30- this is the first time he’s slept in in years and there’s nothing he wants more than to stay curled up around Magnolia forever. Jack cuddles in closer and slides his leg between hers, his cold toes pressing against her ankle, “It’s not like you to sleep in like this. Come on, Mags- don’t make me tickle you.” His hand brushes over her side, “I’ll do it. I will.”

“Mmmmhh,” She mumbles incoherently as she feels Jack’s fingers intertwine with hers. “Shopping can wait till later. I am not moving.” She presses herself closer to him to emphasize the point. In truth, Jack was right--Magnolia didn’t sleep in hardly ever but that was before she’d fallen asleep in Jack’s bed with him beside her. Now the idea of never leaving was a thousand times more compelling and she was planning to do just that. She jumped softly as the shock of cold on her ankles but still made no move to get up. Sleeping next to Jack was by far the most comfortable position she’d ever been in and waking up next to him was something she could do forever, if given the option. She yawns lazily, shifting slight to adjust to fall back asleep when she hears his threat. “You wouldn’t,” Lia’s eyes open just a slight bit more, sending him a glare. “Don’t you dare tickle me mister, I can’t be held responsible for what happens if you do!”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” his fingers dance over her side and he gives it a squeeze in hopes that she’ll jump. Jack leans forward and over her, a smile pulling wide across his face as he does, “You know she’ll kill you if you’re late. Or she’ll kill me. Regardless of who she kills, one of us will be suffering, so you really should get up.” Jack lays down on top of Magnolia while laughing - it may not be his entire body weight but they break out in giggles, “Do you have any ideas on what you’re thinking of getting for a costume? I have no desire in the slightest to go get a costume so I was thinking like… James Bond or something. Slick back hair- suit, you know… the usual.” It’s not that Jack hated Halloween- he really didn’t, in fact- he loved getting to dress up, but this year had been weird and he was just ready for the month to be over.

“Jack!” She gasps slightly, laughter escaping from her as she looks at him more clearly. She watches as a few stray curls fall in front of his eyes and her heart jumps in the same way her body did when he squeezed her side. She thought herself a pretty focused person, all things considered--until you threw Jack Whetstone in the mix. Just a look at him and her whole train of thought just fly out the window. Lia’s lips slipped into a sly smirk, her free hand maneuvering up to brush the curls from his eyes before she leaned forward to kiss him gently. “First of all, I’m a princess to her--so that grants me royal immunity,” She teased, another giggle bubbling from within her. She didn’t believe Moira when she called her a princess, but she was also pretty convinced the woman would let her being a teensy-bit late slide, all things considered. “And secondly, I can probably use that immunity on you too--but if you are really that tired of me hogging your bed…” A quick peck on the nose and she thought on his question. “Well I don’t know--I haven’t dressed up for Halloween in years. Usually I’m working.” Most holidays she’s working, but that wasn’t the question. “The usual? So, you think you’re usually 007, huh? I mean, I suppose you’re handsome enough for it,” She laughed again, her arms snaking to wrap loosely around his neck. “Well the obvious choice is some sort of princess or--like a mouse? But I don’t know, I kind of think it’d be fun to do something not obvious for once, y’know? Throw everyone off their groove?”

“You’re a princess to everyone, Mags. It’ll always amaze me how you don’t see how people lay down and roll over like lovesick puppies for you,” He pressed his lips to her shoulder and kissed across it- they’d hardly done anything more than kissing and cuddling, but this was enough for Jack for once. This felt right. “I’m pretty damn sure I’m James Bond at all times,” he rolled his eyes at the expected jar comment that he knew would follow- at this rate, he was pretty sure he could afford to buy an engagement ring with the amount of money he owed Magnolia. “What if we did like… a couple’s costume? I know that’s cliche and I know we arent a couple…” his words hung in the air for a moment. What even were they anyways? Basically a couple, right? Just one that never spoke about how they felt, “I’d offer to be someone from Pride and Prejudice but honestly… I don’t think I can pull off the look.” Jack let his hands hang off of Magnolia’s arms, his thumb brushing against her soft skin, “Well… if you’re looking for something not obvious, I think playing it safe is not the way to go.”

“Lovesick puppies?” A soft giggle escaped her lips as she felt him kiss her shoulders. “Oh please, they don’t do that. I just ask nicely and usually they are nice enough to help out--or my bag of baked goods helps. I’m like Mary Poppins but with cookies!” Nothing about this scenario felt wrong or weird to her--like it was just normal to wake up in the bed of your crush without anything having happened the night before and the idea that it felt just right made her smile wide. “Jack--” She looked around the room they were in and let out a sigh. “Dang it, the jar doesn’t count in the bedroom.” Lia sent him a wink and she laughed a little, swiftly moving on to his next suggestion--a couples costume. Or, rather, a not-officially-a-couple couples costume. That name didn’t roll off the tongue half as well--but nevermind that. “First of all, you could pull off anything you wanted to--but even so, Pride and Prejudice might still be too obvious. Oh--wait, you said James Bond, don’t those movies always have a,” She furrowed her brows as she tried to think of the name, it resting on the top of her tongue. “A Bond Girl!” A Bond Girl--you forgot the name of Bond Girl. “What about that? I mean, to be fair I’ve never seen a James Bond movie--am I totally off base?”

If Jack had been drinking water, he would’ve choked, “Doesn’t count in the…” he let out a nervous laugh, “There you go surprising me again, as usual.” He buried his head into Lia’s neck as she rattled out ideas of a bond girl while he tried to think through his own. Austin Powers came to mind- and while that’d be fun, he didn’t think it’d quite hit the mark like he wanted it to. The thing was… Jack was tired of them playing this game- he was tired of them dancing around the idea of a relationship or of dating. They’d been metaphorically dating for most of their lives at this point, and maybe that’s why he’d been so reluctant to truly put effort into sealing the deal because he knew it took so much to start when really… he was ready to have the white picket fence ending with Magnolia tomorrow, if he could. Jack pulled Magnolia closer to him, “Maybe not James Bond… what about… I mean, like… assassins are kinda cool, aren’t they? Or spies? We don’t necessarily need to be characters, right?” It was in that moment that he had an epiphany-, “Wait! Have you ever seen Mr. and Mrs. Smith?” Jack pulled back, a wild grin on his face, “That would be so badass.”

“I have all sorts of tricks up my sleeve,” She grinned and kissed the top of his head as he buried his face in her shoulder. “Haven’t figured me out yet y’know.” Lia teased, her fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair as she listened to his follow up--though her mind was caught up in the idea of a couples costume--whatever they were, it was still enough to dress up in a costume that matched. But they had always done that, in some way--perhaps that was the first sign that there was clearly something more between them. Well, not the first sign--their inability to stay separate from each other was clearly number one. There would have been no shuffling in the tilt-a-whirl line if that wasn’t the case. But it wasn’t like she wanted to stay away either--as cheesy as it sounded, her world never felt more upright and normal than when she was with Jack and it made her heart skip when she thought about it. “Assassins? Oh wait--that’s the movie with Brad and Angelina, right?” Part of her was shocked that she had even seen the movie, but it had been years ago and didn’t remember much of it, except the fact they were married and….were trying to kill eachother. But they could leave that part out. Her face lit up. “No, that’s perfect. Like it’s a fantastic mix of James Bond and Bond Girl but with a twist.” She paused for a moment. “Wait--can we do that scene where they’re dancing in their fancy clothes but she also has a weapon on her thigh?” Lia had always thought that was the coolest part. “I love this idea.”

Jack couldn’t hold back a laugh, “Oh, so you’re telling me sweet little miss Magnolia Barnes wants to walk around with a gun strapped to her thigh and a cut in her dress up to her waist?” He bit his lip to bite back a bigger smile and squeezed her side, “I mean- it’s an easy costume, right?” Mr. and Mrs. Smith. He could do that- it was classy enough for a ball, but fun enough for a couple’s costume. Jack thought about the little paper ring in his bedside dresser- he’d been playing around with origami for a while and he’d made it on a whim- hoping to give it to Magnolia as a fun, whimsical gift when she needed a pick-me-up. It took a moment- a moment of Lia fumbling around with her words and Jack staring at her lips moving for him to comprehend the thoughts racing through his head. Lia. Ring. Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Couple. Costume. Ring. Lia. Ring. Mr. & Mrs. Jack sucked in a breath of air- the thought… the idea was crazy. It was… Jack knew it was possibly maybe even the dumbest thing he’d ever do or even suggest- but they’d waited so long. It was gonna happen someday, anyways, wasn’t it? “Hey… Magnolia?” Jack waited until he’d caught her eye, “You remember when our parents sat us down and told us that one day we’d be required to marry?” He remembered that day- it’d been the best day of his life- getting to marry the girl he’d been in love with for years sounded like heaven. “I know I acted like I was upset- like I didn’t want it,” Jack sucked in a deep breath. Was this going to be the conversation they’d been avoiding for months? Now? In his bed, a mess of tangled curls and twisted bedsheets? “But since then, I haven’t really thought about anything but getting to marry you. I haven’t seriously dated anyone since then- not without that thought of getting to be at the end of an aisle you get to walk down to me.” He pulled himself away from Magnolia and dug around in his bedside drawer and when he rolled back over, he held the little paper ring up between the two of them, “I guess I’m just trying to…” he paused, sucked in a deep breath, and asked, “Why don’t we just go as Mr. & Mrs. Whetstone instead? Would you marry me and give me the honor of making you my forever partner? Even more so than you already are.”

“Maybe I’m not so sweet after all. It’s not fair if only Nic gets to have all the fun” She nudged him lightly, jumping with a laugh at his squeeze. “I mean, that’s proof enough that its definitely not something people would think I’d wear.” Lia nodded a few times--Mr. and Mrs. Smith, that was perfect. After all, she already had dresses like that...well, not exactly like that, but she could find one easily. Plus, getting to see Jack in a suit was not her idea of a bad night, that’s for sure. It was a masquerade ball too! So they’d fit right in--wow, there really couldn’t have been a better costume idea. Her mind wandered around the idea again, trying to figure out just where she was going to get a thigh holster in Chicago--and also how to put one on. Maybe she’d get Moira to help her...Blinking a few times, she heard Jack use her name and her eyes locked with his. Something was different in the way he looked at her and she chewed her lip lightly, suddenly slightly nervous. Slowly nodding as she sat up, she listened, suddenly she was immediately back in that chair, all the way in South Carolina, looking at her momma as if she was crazy--when in reality she believed this might have been the only good thing she’d ever done. Marrying Jack was the one part of her future she had never wanted to change--and finding him again reignited a slight bit of hope that maybe it wouldn’t have to. She knew it was a long time coming if that were the case, right? Right? There was...was no way--was there? Magnolia heard the words he was saying--the words that echoed exactly what she felt but it wasn’t until a small, crafted paper ring appeared between them that Lia felt herself gasp loudly. Her hand flew to her mouth as she looked at him, the ring, and him again. No, this had to be a dream--there was no way he was proposing to her--and yet… “Jack--” Her mind spun, trying to find words to complete her though, the moment rendering her speechless in the best way. “Yes!” She finally managed to say, in between laughs and sniffles. It didn’t matter to her that they hadn’t ever said they were a couple--or been on a date. Magnolia Barnes had always known what her answer would have been if he had asked her to marry him--that was a choice she had made on her own years ago and one that had not changed. “Of course--of course. I can think of no better way I’d ever want to spend the rest of my life, Jack Whetstone. No better way.” Without thinking, she pulled him into a kiss--perhaps with slightly more force than she had anticipated. “Oops,” She giggled slightly, “Sorry.”

Jack felt his heart throb in his chest- the moment of silence that lingered between the two of them as he got his words out and just before she answered felt like a million years and less than a second all in one moment. Her ‘yes!’ had him laughing, tears maybe brimming his eyes (not that he’d admit that) and he eagerly leaned into the kiss, not at all minding the way their teeth clashed together as he went. Jack pulled back after a few more kisses and hopped out of bed- he followed the movement with half a happy dance and half a pace across the room, “Okay- we gotta call Momma, I’ll call the private jet company- Vegas sounds good, right? Not that either of us would normally get married there, but that makes sense, right? We’ll find a photographer and get married tomorrow morning. Halloween. Fly back just in time for the gala and then… surprise everyone?” Jack bit his lip- while he may not have been a planner like his fiance, he still liked to have things in order. “We’ll get you a dress in Vegas. Maybe get Elvis to marry us, too?” Jack was certain that his Momma would never let him get away with only an elopement, so the idea of having fun with the first ceremony- one for just the two of them (plus his momma), was his ideal perfect day. Jack jumped back on the bed and pulled Magnolia into another kiss, “Come on’, future Mrs. Whetstone- we got a lot to do and you still gotta go see Moira.”

A wash of utter joy spread over Magnolia’s entire being as she watched him react to her acceptance and she couldn’t help but laugh along with him--with her fiance. She wasn’t sure she could smile much wider than she currently was--but it was impossible for her not to try at that thought. Fiance. Future Husband. How long has she thought about that far off idea--and now it was here. Like really really here. “Wait--today?” Lia looked over at him pacing, blinking a few times as she caught up with what he was saying. “You mean like...like actually get married today?” The idea was--well, he was right. It wasn’t like either of them to do this and yet...it also made complete sense. Lia had just said she wanted to do something unexpected--and getting married out of the blue was pretty much the epitome of that. Though, as big of a risk as it was, it also felt like...common sense. Of course they’d get married today--how long had they already waited, in a relationship or not? For once in her life, the blonde had no reservations about this idea. Another laugh erupted from her chest and she nodded quickly. “For someone who doesn’t like to plan ahead, you sure are impressive in the moment. But yes--that sounds absolutely perfect. And honestly very easy--who said planning a wedding was hard?” She teased, kissing him back with a grin and doing her best to not get caught up in the moment again--not an easy feat. “Mmm, I’m up, I’m up--you’re little plan to get me out of bed worked a little too well. But go call your Momma, Mr. Whetstone, before her superpower figures it out and you’re in hot water.” Lia giggled, tugging gently on his curl as she skipped to the bathroom--there sure was a lot to do, no time to waste.

#[[its that elm shade red road clay you grew up on; jack]]#SCREAMS IN SURPRISE!!!#[[homecoming queen?; headcannons]]

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fvlminare · 4 years ago

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✗✗✗ you see [ camille rivas ] around lately? yeah i heard that the [ cis female ] is up to no good. [ she / her ] has been here for [ three years ] now but they’re still pretty [ calculating ] which is fine because they’re also [ ardent ] so it balances out. the [ twenty-six ] year old [ dancer at mayhem ] actually looks like a lot like [ sofia carson ], don’t you think? it’s best to watch out, though, because it’s been said that they’re really into [ the rush of cocaine in her veins & a vice grip on her throat ].

henlo it me again! i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc here’s my other bb! say hello to my boss-ass bish gal camile! she’s sassy, classy and a lil badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger who cba with ur bullshit tbh n she’ll tell u this too if u piss her off enough! she’s lowkey cutthroat and always out for number one, aka: herself. but, i mean, she does have some redeeming qualities and her hair is bomb af so that makes up for it all really, doesn’t it? basically that meme: ‘ she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll punch you in the face. ’ anywho, you know the drill, slap a lil luv on this n i’ll come pester u for all the good stuff : - )

fundamentals.

CAMILLE ALARA RIVAS — twenty-six, dancer at mayhem, + an honest-to-god vixen / hellcat / lil demoness !

aesthetics ➤ dresses of black lace and red velvet, the scent of chanel perfume lingering in the air as she floats past, blood-red fingertips coiled around the pistol grip of a gun, red-bottomed heels clicking against marble floors, rose gold highlighter shimmering along the height of prominent cheekbones, satin dresses draped over a svelte frame that is shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue, baby pink roses in a vase on the window sill, deft fingers stained with charcoal and oil paint, the melodic chime of piano keys, delicate digits adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across full crimson lips, long raven locks blowing in the cool breeze of a summer’s evening, battered books with dog-eared pages, a sense of freedom and carelessness when dancing for fun, & a sense of allurement and captivation when dancing for work.

nicknames. cam, cami, mil, millie, spawn of satan >:~)

date of birth. april tenth.

gender. cis female.

pronouns. she + her.

birthplace. manhattan, new york.

orientation. pansexual + demiromantic.

education. bachelor of dance degree obtained from nyu tisch school of the arts.

spoken languages. can speak fluent english, spanish, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, caustic, brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, poised, elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment, & has a rather risky behaviour.

talents. ballet, knife throwing, hand-to-hand combat, horse riding, figure skating, piano, violin, painting, singing, & dancing.

physiology. hazel eyes. dark brown hair. five feet, four inches tall. of a petite, slender stature with subtle curves and long hair. has a long silvery scar on her back. her skin is clean of any tattoos. has both earlobes pierced. requires glasses but wears contacts most days. is right-handed.

psychology. aries zodiac. fire element. ravenclaw house. istp-a. true neutral. type seven enneagram. choleric temperament. intra-personal intelligence type. addicted to alcohol, tobacco, and cannabis. suffers from addiction and abandonment issues. her vices are lust, greed and wrath. her virtues are ... ( again ) honestly, probably just diligence tbh.

background.

possible triggers : child abandonment, abandonment issues, foster homes, alcohol, drugs, violence, gore, blood, murder, & death.

a synopsis. ok so for this gal, let’s all give a big, warm welcome to sadness ( no, i was in no way at all inspired by salem from sabrina for that line ) bc boy oh boy, her life has been constant grief and pain, tbh. strap in for the bumpy ride, i’ll give u cookies for compensation. OK SO, camille was abandoned as a baby, never did—and still doesn't—know her biological parents and she doesn’t want to either, tbh. she bounced around from foster home to foster home, never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her. it didn’t take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, camille knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. she always felt starved of love: as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void that nobody could ever fill. anywho, she fell in with the wrong crowd which did little to aid her foster families hostility toward her. truthfully, most of her experiences in various homes were ... not pleasant. she’d encountered abusive ‘parents,’ horrible ‘siblings,’ and even worse schooling days. pressing the self-destruct button is this gal’s speciality thus she found herself gravitating towards her vices: things and people she knew were no good for her. drink, drugs, people, you name it. quickly, she realised that these things were no longer any good at keeping her dark side at bay: she needed something more, something deeper. thus, she began going down the road of petty crimes—stealing cars, smashing windows, theft, setting fires both metaphorically and literally. due to this lifestyle, she wound up entangled with some real shady folk who did … even shadier things. most specifically, she started dating a real jackass who was violent and truthfully, a horrible person, really. stupidly, she decided to run off into the metaphorical sunset with him * insert eye roll emoji here. * so, fast forward a year or so and things took a swift nosedive when her lowlife boyfriend’s hands were round her throat and not in the kinky way. while she’d clawed at him and tried to fight him off, she struggled against his weight and strength until, eventually, she lifted the first makeshift weapon she felt: a rusted pair of scissors. [ TRIGGER FOR VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, MURDER, DEATH ] and, in a blind state of panic, she jammed them right into his jugular vein, his blood squirting out and decorating her face in crimson splatters. he’d stumbled backwards, clutched onto his neck, blood spurting from the webs between his fingers. naturally, camille was shook about this but somehow managed to flee the scene with less guilt rattling her soul than she’d imagined. [ TRIGGER OVER ] in her mind, it was an act of self defence. it wasn’t too long after the incident that she found herself in a rather perilous situation that resulted in her sudden realisation that she needed to get her damn life on track. therefore, she done the responsible adult thing and got herself a decent education. somehow, she managed to get into university where her life started to shape into a positive one—the kind she’d always dreamed of. once she graduated, camille decided that she wanted to see the world. following a couple of years travelling, she wound up in santa ysabel where she quickly fell into the employment of mayhem. admittedly, this was a far cry from the future she’d envisioned when she was just a sweet, innocent lil child. still, all in all, she kind of digs who she is and what she is: after everything she’s been through, she loves herself. it’s been a long and winding road but camille finally believes that she’s settled in her life now. tho she still refuses to let people in, her abandonment issues terrifying her to the degree that she feels that anybody she’d ever let into her life would eventually leave her in the end. * insert sad face emoji here. *

random extras.

her tell? playing with her hair: when she’s lying, nervous, flirting—you name it!

can drink any man under the table.

she loves art in every form: paintings, sculptures, music, dance, people, etc. she loves the freedom that expressing herself through these mediums gives her.

she’s ... experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people ...

can be hella calculating and vindictive so do not cross her.

quite power-hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century-long list shkjsh.

high key is not above killing people who don’t do things her way.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

she’s lowkey a perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, also cutthroat and egotistical.

if ya ain’t of use to her, then what the heck is ur purpose???

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

she can be ... aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues.

dry sense of humour one million per cent.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. and always carries one on her person at all times.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo lighter. it has her initials engraved into it and where she got it from, or who is something she’ll never tell.

always says she needs to quit smoking but never does and probably never will either.

did someone say ... resting bitch face???

tho when she smiles it’s like sunshine uwu

high key will sleep with anyone.

first place is the ONLY acceptable place, ok???

one of those people who just excels at everything she tries her hand at.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

much too sassy and sarcastic for her own good.

really, she does what she wants to, when she wants to, without seeking the approval of others.

truthfully? she’s a bit of a spitfire if you really irk her. so, watch out.

you can find a pinterest board for her by clicking anywhere here.

#* dj khaled vc * anotha one !!!#slap a lil heart on this n i'll hit ya up for le plots !!!#indulgence.intro

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