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weemssapphic · 2 years ago

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in my head (series)

Chapter Seven: Passion, Desire... Love

Larissa Weems x f!reader

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words: ~3.6k, ao3 link

chapter-specific warnings: none

chapter summary: (Larissa POV) - Finally, the Rave'N is upon us. Larissa is nervous, reader is nervous, Marilyn loves to meddle. Uh. I'm bad at summaries, let's get into it.

Larissa went through much of the week on autopilot. She was looking forward to the Rave’N - she had high hopes that this year’s dance would go smoothly, that it would be one for the books. And, if she was being honest with herself, she was excited to see you, perhaps even spend a bit of time together as the two of you chaperoned.

You’d been acting a bit strange all week, though. Sure, Larissa had been busy putting plans in motion for this semester’s Parent’s Weekend, as well as working on a proposal for more funding to present to the school board. But, no matter how busy she was, she always had time for you - and you’d been making yourself oddly scarce.

You popped by her office a few times but never hung around, and you seemed somewhat distant, though you assured Larissa that everything was alright. She thought it might be stress from setting up for the Rave’N - she refused to entertain the alternative; that you were possibly sick of waiting for her, or that she was simply too much for you to handle.

Larissa found herself becoming antsier as the week progressed - she needed answers. She hoped the Rave’N would serve to provide some.

~~~

Saturday evening came quickly and Larissa spent the entire afternoon getting ready. Sure, she could simply shift her look into place. But she was far too jittery and the familiar routine of pinning her hair and painting her face never failed to soothe her nerves.

Larissa was one of the first teacher chaperones to show up, just before the start of the dance - she wanted to be there to greet the students when they came in. She had to admit she was a bit awestruck at the decor of the great hall - it looked like you and Marilyn had really pulled out all the stops - though she was very sure the giant yeti ice sculpture had been entirely a certain redhead’s idea.

The DJ had already started playing some music and the first students were arriving. Larissa smiled at each and every one of them - it filled her with a deep sense of nostalgia to see all these teenagers dress up, arm in arm with their dates, exchanging shy glances and standing awkwardly near the buffet table, everyone too afraid to be the first to start dancing. She had been young once, too, and full of hope - even though her own Rave’N hadn’t been the best experience of her life (and wasn’t that the understatement of the century). In a way, she almost felt that this Rave’N could be a do-over of sorts, a way to live vicariously through her students and enjoy the beauty and romance of the evening, untainted by Morticia and Gomez and the overall feeling of rejection and hurt.

As the great hall filled with students and everyone was slowly coming out of their shells, Larissa began shifting nervously from foot to foot. She hadn’t seen you come in yet, and she was beginning to worry that you wouldn’t show up. Should she send someone to check on you? Or maybe she should check on you herself? What if it was because of her that you decided not to come after all?

A perky head of red hair sidled up beside her. Larissa smiled down at the botany teacher. “It looks beautiful, you’ve truly outdone yourself.”

“Thank you, Principal Weems. I couldn’t have done it without Ms. L/N, though.”

“Yes, well…” Larissa’s chest tightened at the mention of your name. “Have you seen her around? I would love to thank her in person.” She plastered a sweet yet decidedly fake smile on her face, hoping to hide her concerns from the bubbly teacher.

“No, I don’t think I have.” Marilyn made a point to peer around the room. “I’m sure she’s just nervous, she’ll be here soon.” A hint of a smirk formed on her face and Larissa’s brow creased in confusion.

“Nervous? Why would-” Larissa was gazing around idly when her eyes got stuck on a figure in the doorway. Her breath hitched audibly in her chest and she felt her pulse pick up considerably.

You looked absolutely breathtaking. Larissa had never seen you in formal wear before, and the mere sight of you in the form-fitting suit made her mouth go dry as the Sahara desert. Knowing your affinity for wearing skirts, she’d expected you to come in a dress - this, though, was unexpected and exciting. Something about a woman in a suit… Larissa could feel her cheeks blaze as she drank in the sight of you - until her eyes landed upon your own and suddenly her world slowed as you blinked back at her.

Breathe, Weems, she thought to herself, as you took slow yet determined steps towards her. She hardly heard when Marilyn said something about leaving her be - her eyes had just caught sight of the single red camellia that you were clutching in your hand as though it were a lifeline (she might have thought to tease you about it later if she weren’t so embarrassed by her own, very visceral, reaction to your mere presence). Her heart hammered in her chest as she wondered if - or rather, hoped that - it would be for her.

It was then that Larissa realized that you were standing right in front of her and she had yet to say a single word.

“Hi, darling,” she said - it came out breathier than she intended, and it took everything in her not to visibly cringe at herself.

“Hi, Rissa.” Larissa relaxed slightly when she heard the breathiness in your own voice - surely a good sign?

You held out the delicate flower - it twirled slightly in your grip, catching Larissa’s eye.

“This is lovely,” Larissa murmured.

“Isn’t it? Marilyn has been cultivating these in her greenhouse this semester, she wanted to use them to cross-breed - something about creating a new subspecies of poisonous flowering plant using common flowers.”

Larissa’s brows creased as she attempted to follow your rambling.

“This one isn’t poisonous, obviously.” Your words came out a rushed, jumbled mess. “Anyway, I wanted to give you something beautiful so… it’s yours. If you want it.”

A wide grin stretched across Larissa’s face. She knew you well enough - from the faint pink hue rising in your cheeks and the way your eyes briefly fluttered shut, she could tell you were likely internally berating yourself for something, though she couldn’t fathom what - she found your slight word-vomit endearing, and it had been years since she’d been gifted flowers. Somehow, this one was more special to her than all the rest.

“Thank you, my dear,” she replied, her voice low and sultry with newfound confidence. At least your distance this past week didn’t seem to be due to a newfound dislike of her.

Larissa accepted the flower gingerly between her index finger and thumb, mesmerized as she twirled it this way and that. She raised her eyes to your face, just in time to catch you biting your lip in the most adorable way that suddenly had her desperate to pepper your face with sweet, loving kisses.

“I’m sorry that I was late,” you said, surveying the room. “Did I miss anything?”

“Nonsense, you’re right on time,” Larissa chuckled lightly. “The party was just getting started.”

“I just passed by Yoko and Divina. Are Wednesday and Enid here yet?”

Larissa furrowed her brow in confusion. “Wednesday and Enid? Miss Addams and Miss Sinclair aren’t coming together, are they?”

You grinned widely. “I overheard Enid asking Wednesday to the Rave’N last week.”

“And she said yes?”

You nodded and Larissa stifled a giggle. “I didn’t think Miss Addams would want to come at all.”

“The things we do for love,” you sighed, and Larissa couldn’t help but blush and look away, observing the crowd of students on the dancefloor as if it were the most interesting thing she’d ever witnessed. The things we do for love, indeed.

A sharp elbow in her side made her yelp. “Look,” you whispered, your voice tinged with excitement. Larissa followed your gaze to the entrance of the great hall - it appeared that Enid had managed to get Wednesday to dress up and attend the Rave’N after all. Larissa couldn’t help but snort at Wednesday’s obvious display of defiance, the black dress at the all-white dance. It was so very Morticia, so very Addams, that it made Larissa smile fondly in spite of herself.

Tugging at Wednesday’s arm was her werewolf roommate, who wore a pink wig and whose dress was much more on theme. A bright smile stretched across Enid’s face and she buzzed with excitement, while Wednesday looked rather sullen, but allowed herself to be dragged straight towards the dance floor without a word of protest.

“Aren’t they adorable?” You watched them wistfully and Larissa turned her gaze to you. Yes, but I can think of someone more adorable, she thought - she bit her tongue, choosing instead to mutter out a soft “they do make quite the pair.”

The two of you stood in amiable silence for a moment, enjoying the music and keeping a watchful eye over the students. Larissa was acutely aware of your presence by her side - it almost felt as though electricity were crackling in the space between you both, and she wondered if you could feel it, too.

She was so lost in thought that she nearly jumped out of her skin when you spoke again.

“So how did we do? Does this measure up to your own Rave’N?” There was a teasing lilt to your tone, and Larissa chuckled.

“I think you and Marilyn have done an outstanding job. This has far surpassed my own Rave’N, at any rate.”

You glanced up at her, a frown on your face. “Did you not like your Rave’N? I’d have thought for sure a girl like you would have had to fend off hordes of potential dates. Or was the theme that bad?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Larissa joked. “But no, not quite. The girl I asked turned me down for someone else…” Larissa tried to hold her tongue, but she couldn’t, an old wound threatening to open up inside of her. “Morticia Frump, in fact.”

“Wednesday’s mother?” Your mouth hung open slightly, and Larissa regretted the words as soon as they came out, but she couldn’t take them back. Perhaps she didn’t want to - perhaps it was time you knew what had happened all those years ago. Perhaps it would help her make peace with it.

“Yes, Wednesday’s mother,” she confirmed.

“I thought… she was your roommate, wasn’t she?”

“She was,” Larissa smiled wryly. “I liked her very much, and I thought the feeling was mutual - we had a… relationship, of sorts, I suppose. I asked her to the Rave’N but it appears Gomez Addams beat me to the punch, and Morticia made it clear where her feelings lie.” The confession left a bitter taste in Larissa’s mouth and she swallowed thickly, her gaze dropping to the floor.

A warm hand on her arm forced her to look up. She met your gaze, eyes wide and full of… not pity, as she’d expected, but…understanding? Adoration, even? She held her breath as your hand moved to cup her cheek, leaning instinctively into your touch. It was so warm, so soothing - she found herself yearning for that touch everywhere on her body.

“Well Morticia was an idiot,” you said firmly. “I don’t understand how anyone could turn you down.”

Larissa was sure she had turned as red as a firetruck - warmth flooded her entire body and she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. She could feel your grip tighten, could see you rising up to meet her, and she leaned in as if being pulled by some magnetic force, closer and closer until -

“I thought a public display of affection would be beneath you,” said a voice to Larissa’s right. From the dry, monotone quality of the voice, Larissa knew its owner before she even turned her head. Wednesday watched her with a blank expression, the only hint of emotion on her face a raised eyebrow.

“Glad you could make it, Miss Addams,” Larissa quipped with a smirk as Enid rushed to her roommate’s (girlfriend’s?) side and shooed her back towards the dancefloor - but not before giving Larissa and you a once-over and an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Larissa turned to you, smiling at the full belly laugh you let out. The sound was melodious - she was convinced she could listen to you laugh every day for the rest of eternity and never tire of it.

“Maybe later, then,” you murmured sheepishly, and Larissa nodded in agreement. Later. Her stomach fluttered at the word.

~~~

The Rave’N progressed and Larissa found it easy to make conversation with you, her worries about your avoidance of her during the week dissipating more and more. You told her about your own Rave’N and Larissa felt a wave of sadness wash over her. You’d both had pretty terrible experiences. She couldn’t help but wonder if it would have been any different if the two of you were the same age, had gone to Nevermore at the same time. Would you have been friends with her if you’d known her back then? Would you have liked her? Would you have gone to the Rave’N together? Danced together? There was a pang in her chest at the feeling of an opportunity missed, a past she could never rewrite.

The sadness was soon replaced with pure joy, however, when the song that was playing changed and you giddily exclaimed “I love this song! Come on, dance with me, Rissa, please!”

Okay, pure joy and a hint of nervousness.

Larissa hesitated for a moment, doubts swirling in her mind - thoughts about your intentions with her, about openly dancing in front of everyone, about dancing in general. Seeing the excitement written on your face, however, Larissa couldn’t bear to turn you down - she reached out her hand for you to take. You did so instantly and dragged her towards the dance floor.

She was relieved to see that Marilyn was already dancing with a group of students - the redhead looked up, catching Larissa’s gaze and smiling warmly at her. At least the two of you wouldn’t be the only faculty dancing. Larissa turned her attention back to you when she felt your hand pull on her waist.

“You don’t have to, you know,” you said, your voice barely audible over the music.

Larissa’s smile when she spoke was genuine. “I want to.”

Her stomach flipped when you gazed up at her, grinning widely. You raised her arm up over her head as best you could given the height difference, and for a moment Larissa wondered what you were trying to do. With your expectant gaze and the way you flicked your wrist, she realized you were trying to twirl her around, and she spun in place, unable to contain the laugh that bubbled up inside of her.

Larissa hadn’t felt this silly or carefree in a long time. As you danced around her, twirling her through a crowd of students whose expressions at seeing their principal dance were nothing short of bewildered and awestruck, she found she didn’t even feel self-conscious. The way you spun her around made her forget her height and her insecurities - she felt small and beautiful and safe next to you.

The song ended far too soon and she allowed herself to be led to the long buffet table, graciously accepting a Yeti-tini.

“Thank you for dancing with me.” Your smile seemed almost shy and Larissa felt her resolve waver slightly - Marilyn’s chirpy voice interrupted her, though, before she could step any closer to you.

“Hey, you two! How are you enjoying the dance?” Marilyn asked, smiling brightly.

Had it not been for Marilyn’s timing, Larissa might have wrapped you in her arms and kissed you senseless, students be damned.

“It’s better than my own Rave’N,” you laughed, and Larissa felt her own smile grow at the warmth in your voice.

“I saw you dancing to that last song - you make quite the pair!”

Larissa felt a heat rise in her cheeks and she stole a glance in your direction. Your face was just as red as her own felt, and you seemed at a loss for words. Not that that mattered - Marilyn plowed on.

“The red camellia is so beautiful,” she remarked, nodding at the bloom that Larissa had been holding onto the entire evening, afraid to place it anywhere for fear of losing it. “I wasn’t surprised Y/N chose it for you, it’s such a symbolic flower.”

Now this piqued Larissa’s interest. A swarm of butterflies erupted in her belly, their satin wings fluttering madly about as she looked down at you. “Oh?”

“Marilyn,” you hissed, and Larissa bit back a smile at your obvious embarrassment. Maybe - just maybe - she hadn’t misread your feelings after all. A surge of hope coursed through her body at the thought.

The redhead simply rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to say something just as the DJ announced the last song.

“Wow, I can’t believe it’s already over. Could you guys stay and help me with the food that’s laying out? We wouldn’t want it to go bad. I’ll take care of everything else in the morning.”

“Of course,” Larissa said with a smile. “Anything to help after all the work you’ve done.”

~~~

Soon the Rave’N was over - Marilyn had proudly deemed it a success as the last students left the great hall, looking tired yet somehow bubbling with excitement all the same.

The three of you worked together to clear the buffet table in record time, transferring it to a cart that could be wheeled down to the kitchens.

“Thanks for your help! I can take this on my way out, don’t worry about it.” Marilyn gestured to the cart that overflowed with platters of leftover food. “Can you just get the lights when you leave, Y/N?”

You agreed and bid Marilyn goodnight. She stopped by the DJ booth, where the young man manning it was packing up some equipment, and engaged him in a short conversation - Larissa couldn’t hear it, but she figured Marilyn must be thanking him.

Then she was gone and Larissa was alone with you and the DJ, who was messing with his setup.

Larissa picked up the camellia from where she’d placed it on a table to assist with the clean-up. “Thank you again,” she murmured. She noted how you shuffled in place, fidgeting with your hands - you seemed nervous, and nerves of her own began to rise in Larissa’s chest.

“Yeah, no problem. I had a lovely evening.” You paused. “You look beautiful, by the way. Radiant, even.”

Larissa could have melted on the spot. Of all the compliments she’d ever received, radiant was not one of them - her heart began to sing and she took a tentative step towards you.

She paused as she registered that the silence blanketing the room had been replaced by music - shouldn’t the DJ be packing up?

The opening notes of “At Last” by Etta James came floating out of the large speakers beside the DJ booth, and Larissa felt her pulse pick up as she looked down at you. You were close suddenly, just a hair’s breadth away from being pressed flush against her, and your face was flushed.

“Marilyn…” you whispered, giggling nervously. “I’m sorry, Riss, I-”

“Why are you sorry?” Larissa breathed out, taking the final step towards you so that your bodies were touching.

“Rissa…” you sounded a bit breathless, your pupils dilating with desire. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Larissa’s reply came in the form of wrapping her arms around your neck, the camellia dangling down your back. She felt your hands come to rest on her waist, fingers flexing against the fabric of her dress and pulling her closer as you began to sway. She gladly followed your lead, allowing her eyes to flutter shut as she lost herself in the moment.

At last

The skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped up in clover

The night I looked at you

This dance was nothing like the previous one. There was a sensuality to it that caused heat to pool in Larissa’s belly. Your hands branded Larissa’s waist, her skin tingling where they rested overtop her dress. She opened her eyes and looked down at you to see you staring up at her in wonder, and her heart jumped - she couldn’t recall ever having been looked at in that way before.

“So what does the flower mean?” Larissa purred seductively, making sure to place her lips just over the shell of your ear. She felt you shiver beneath her.

“Passion,” you murmured. “And desire.” You looked as though you were about to say something else, but had stopped yourself at the last second - Larissa watched you curiously, but you didn’t continue - she would have to probe you further, later. For now, her pulse picked up as you gazed into her eyes, your own eyes displaying exactly what you had tried to convey with the red bloom.

And now, with not a single student in sight, Larissa ducked her head down and pressed her lips to yours. The kiss was soft, adoring - it lit a fire inside Larissa that she had no desire to put out. Instead, she deepened the kiss, moaning softly into your mouth as she felt your tongue slide against her own.

The song faded out slowly, though Larissa didn’t notice until she heard the distinct thumping and rustling of equipment being packed away.

“Would you like to come back to my quarters?” she mumbled against your lips. She felt you nod into the kiss and pulled away reluctantly, taking your hand and leading you out of the great hall. The students were long gone, back to their dorms, and Larissa felt free and giddy holding your hand - a true do-over of her own Rave’N. Students be damned, Larissa thought, not caring if anyone did happen to see the two of you - tonight was about her now.

thank you to my girlfriend for beta-reading! and thank you to everyone who has stuck around <3 i love you all!! your comments, tags, reblogs, likes and support make my heart sing <3

#larissa weems x reader #larissa x reader #larissa weems #principal weems x reader #principal weems #in my head #in my head series

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questforgalas · 2 years ago

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My thoughts on TBB Season 2 finale

It's a long one so strap in if you enter

First, before I get started, I wanted to say that this has been such a fun season to watch, and the interactions I've had with everyone in this fandom has made my Wednesday and weeks since January so delightful. I know hiatuses see a lull in activity, and some people are going to need to step away for a bit, but I just wanted to say thanks for being such a warm and open environment (at least the little corner I've found myself in). Here's to fingers crossed that the panel at Star Wars celebration in just a couple weeks brings us confirming great news!

Love ya all. Mama Tay is here with blankets and ice cream for the Tech babes if you need it. My man is unconscious on a torture table and my babygirl is a captive so we can all cry into the containers together

I'm able to watch the episodes at 8am EST every week, it's my little weekly routine I look forward to, so I've had a couple hours to process my one watch through of the finale episodes, and, just, wow.

Warning, "The Breaking of the Fellowship" just started playing on my playlist so who knows where this is about to go lol. Let's go to feelings town

The Bad Batch Season 2

I have not been quiet about how much I love season 2. Out of 16 episodes, there are maybe 2 that could be written off, but put them anywhere in season 1 or any TCW season, and they'd be some of the best episodes, which only adds to how well written and well done this season was.

I'm a Crosshair girl, not just in a "heart eyes spindly toothpick" sort of way, in fact that really didn't develop until halfway through season 1 - which my therapist definitely doesn't need to analyze - but his personality and his subtle devotion to his squad sucked me in from the beginning. So even with how little we had of him this season (granted, what we did get was some of the best television I've ever watched), this season is up there for me.

The character development for all batchers but especially Omega, Tech, Echo, and Crosshair was intriguing and dynamic, and that's not to say Hunter and Wrecker didn't have their moments either. They did, they were just much more subtle. We saw a lot more of Hunter's enhanced senses at play and Wrecker's knowledge, not just fascination, of explosives, but that pales in comparison to the other four.

The universe expansion was everything to me. We don't have anything depicting the rise of the Empire. We've never seen it's take over and the effects that rippled across the galaxy. We've only ever seen the afterwards, so to get this eery and terrifying depiction is exactly how I'd expect the galaxy to feel during that time, and I really applaud the creators on being so detailed with it.

The Finale Episodes

Wow. Just, wow. Admittedly, I had two reactions to these episodes.

The first was as the Crosshair fan who's put a lot of my emotional stability on this group of animated misfits, and that reaction hated these episodes. Not because I didn't think they were done well (getting into that in a second) but because I latched onto the Bad Batch's dynamics as a family since TCW and I so deeply in my soul to the point it's almost a wound in my heart want them back together again. I fell in love with the TCW Bad Batch, and I want that dynamic back so I've been rooting for it since "Aftermath", and every time we were given crumbs of a possibility that could happen this season, I devoured them and clutched onto them like they were my lifeline. So yes, from that perspective I hated these episodes.

Now, from the Star Wars fan taking a step back from my fanon - holy freaking shit. I laughed. I cried. I sobbed. I oooo'd. I cheered. When they stopped "The Summit" in the middle of the action, similar to how they broke up "Spoils of War" and "Ruins of War", it hit me that we weren't getting the reunion I desperately hoped for, and I took a minute to grieve that, went into acceptance, and then dove into "Plan 99".

Again, were there points throughout both, especially "Plan 99", that I was going "oh I hope this happens" or "ok annnnnd now!"? Yeah, absolutely (cut to Omega waking up at Cid's and me going "nice this is when they reveal it was all a bad dream and Tech's gonna walk in in 3..2..1..."). Did I have 4 other endings in my head halfway through the episode? 1000%. But it's not my creation, and based off of what we were given all of season 2, it all made sense to me. Even the things that made me have to pause for 4 minutes while I sobbed into my hands.

We are set up for an extremely action packed, spy/political thriller filled, intriguing season 3, and that wouldn't have happened if the season didn't end the way it did. If it was all tied up neatly in a bow, then there would be a lot more doubt, in my mind, about 1. if we'd even get a season 3 and 2. what the heck it was going to be about.

I'm not going to get into individual character analyses, but I thought everyone was in character. There was not a moment in either episode I thought "huh that doesn't really fit does it?" All of them were on brand in my opinion, and I again encourage people to take a step back and separate fanon from canon.

So why the emotional impact?

One of the things I've really had to process and think through is why this finale was staying with me like it is. I mean, I've been a Star Wars fan since 1999. I lived through watching Revenge of the Sith in theaters. I, like many of us, watched "Victory and Death" at the beginning of a very dark time in the world. I gripped the edge of my theatre seat watching Rogue One, praying they made it out like I hadn't known the end of their story for 25 years. But none of those endings stayed with me the way TBB finale is.

Sometimes something stays with me for an hour, maybe more, but I've never had any show have a finale where throughout the day as I thought about it, I burst into tears in varying degrees, and I can feel that being the case for awhile. Honestly, I haven't put my finger fully on it yet, but I think one of the reasons why is because all of those other endings I mentioned above - ROTS, Rogue One, TCW - and really any Star Wars media so far, has not had such a sorrow filled ending in such a dark period of time without us knowing the story after already.

ROTS we knew the outcome of that 20 years before. Rogue One even longer. TCW was filling in the gaps of a story long concluded. The Mandalorian is set in a time when it's supposed to be peaceful and the galaxy is mostly living in the light, so even when Mando and Grogu are separated, it's sad to witness the pair be apart, but there's no umbrella threat that makes the separation dangerous.

We are in the darkest period of time that we as Star Wars fans know in TBB. That is the point of the series - it's not just about these clones and how they cope post war. It's we the fans seeing how terrifying the Empire is beyond just the two sith lords running it. The inner workings and how easily they squash hope within their own government. We as the fans are meant to watch the Batch and love the family but be terrified of what can be waiting for them around every corner.

And that's not to mention we have no idea what the fate of the clones is. First off, the events of A New Hope are 20 years away. Rebels and the Obi-Wan Kenobi show are the only medias we have depicting the time between ROTS and ANH, and they barely scratch the surface. Rex is canonically confirmed to survive to Return of the Jedi, and we have Gregor and Wolffe in Rebels, but where the heck are the rest of them. We don't know. We literally don't know, and we're now left to speculate what that could possibly entail for the clones (especially the Batch) on any given day, let alone when we're left with two of them as captives of the Empire and one "dead". It is, in my opinion, one of the most devastating endings to a Star Wars media because of the terror it can hold.

Tech's Fall

Why yes, this would be the part I had to pause the show for and sob over for 4 minutes.

Tech has been my second favorite member of the Batch since they were introduced in TCW. This unapologetic, enthusiastic nerd who knows what he likes and hyperfixates on it spoke to me on levels, as I know he did for many of you - especially after "The Crossing" (I personally cannot relate to the ND connection, but was really happy to see the community joyous over the moment).

I, like many of you have already said in your thought posts, had the growing pit in my stomach each time they developed his character. The constant-optimist in me latched onto the possibility that just once they wouldn't pull that shit on us, but obviously that wasn't the case.

Tech and Crosshair's sacrifices punch me in the gut. Both of them are to save their family and give their family a chance. To have Wrecker and Tech bicker back and forth even up to the last minute like brothers do, and then the fucking awful shot of Wrecker watching his brother fall knowing he did it so they could have a chance. As a sibling, I couldn't handle it (I've actually started crying again now writing this). If I was Tech and that was my family, I'd do the same thing. If I was Wrecker watching that in front of me, I'd be on my knees screaming.

The scene was shot chaotically to make us, the viewer, feel panic and feel the gravity of the situation the Batch was in while seeing tiny moments when maybe they could pull it off, maybe Tech is moving faster than we think, maybe the car will come online and speed away, all to keep us hanging on while feeling the pressure of the environment they were in to then watch the fall and feel anything but relief, just like the Batch.

Now, onto what's keeping me hanging on

Is Tech Dead?

No, and I'm blaming Echo for this, but I do not think he's dead. And I do not think that takes away from his sacrifice either.

First of all, this is Star Wars. Unless you see the body, they ain't dead. @jealous-sloth77 even made the point of Darth Maul in their thought post. My dude was cut in half and fell down a supposed never ending shaft, but came back with the v-neck of all v-necks and a 200 step revenge plan, then literally became the cockroach of Star Wars.

Let alone the direct parallels to Echo Tech's fate could have.

So stay with me on this for a second, and I may be giving Filoni and Corbett and Rau a little more credit than they deserve, but follow me here.

Echo's blown up at the citadel in Season 3 of TCW. Not season 6 and then reappears a season later. 4 seasons of separation, and given the cancellations and renewal breaks, you're talking literally 10 years in between his death and his revival, which narratively makes no sense to me. And don't get me wrong, I know the Dominos were a fan favorite and Fives and Echo were a fun pairing, but all in all, Echo appeared in five episodes? Maybe six before he's killed off? And only 3 of those was he a "main" character. Compared to many other clones and characters, that's not exactly a recipe for "bring the fan favorite back 10 years later". So that makes me think that Echo coming back, especially the way he did, was setting the ground work for something. Now hang with me here.

In Mando S2E1, Mando kills the Krayt dragon by going inside of it, a monster who's stomach is literally full of acid, and blows it up from the inside out, dramatically coming out pointedly covered in the krayt acid showing that it has no affect on beskar. Then 2 minutes later we get the cameo of Boba Fett in the sunset, a character who last we saw was swallowed by a monster, supposedly digesting in stomach acid. Then in Book of Boba Fett, we see that because of his beskar armor, he survived the sarlacc, etc, etc. My point is, Star Wars has recently developed a habit of setting long-con explanations in various medias. Planting the seed you could say. So it's not far fetched to theorize that they brought Echo back from a ship explosion that we were made to think nothing but his helmet survived so they could set the ground work for other characters to be dramatically saved/scavenged and "brought back to life".

I mean, this is the world of Palpatine clones so, it's not out there.

That's not to mention the scene of Hemlock bringing Tech's goggles to Ord Mantell and making a point of mocking his death in front of them. Hemlock's entire purpose is to unlock the cloning techniques of the Kaminoans, and suddenly the literal genius is separated from them, assumed dead. If I'm an evil-scientist like Hemlock, I'm figuring out anyway to make sure Tech's alive.

So yes that's a long-stretch plan that gives Corbett, Filoni, and Rau a lot of credit for potentially thinking multiple seasons of plot lines through at the beginning, which, honestly, would be a good strategy considering the time period they're navigating around so I don't think it's that crazy to consider.

However, the main fact that I'm latching onto that Tech's not dead is the same fact that I've latched onto ever since "Aftermath" to tell myself Crosshair will be back with the Batch someday, and that's because it narratively makes no sense in context to how the Batch were introduced to us to keep them separated.

Think back to TCW S7, when the Batch are introduced. That was 4 episodes highlighting a tight knit, unique, family unit who all complimented each other to round out an unbeatable unit. Their sibling dynamic was the main focus of that group and is what made me fall in love with them, and it made no sense to me that they separated that dynamic within the first 10 minutes of the first episode and now to further separate it by taking Tech away.

I feel this so strongly in regards to Crosshair and Tech. I was sad when Echo left, and I was confident he was going to be with them again, but his departure didn't hit me the same way as Crosshair's and now Tech's. It just does not make sense to me to have the OG 4 separated permanently given how they were presented to us. It would be one thing if they went all in on the "Crosshair's evil" route and semi bait-and-switched us, but given his evident loyalty to the Batch and clear, long path of him being back with them someday, it really would not make sense to me for them to "swap one out for the other". That, in my opinion, would be lazy writing, and with how much love and care the creators have shown this series, I cannot fathom them throwing in the towel like that.

Unfortunately until the new season, I'll sadly have to accept the fact that he is gone and in our eyes right now, he's dead. And that hurts. It really does, but boy, am I grasping onto this last analysis like it's my tether over Mustafar

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #the bad batch spoilers #hunter #wrecker #crosshair #tech #echo #omega #the bad batch echo #the bad batch tech #the bad batch wrecker #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch omega #tbb spoilers #tbb positivity #the bad batch positivity

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jimmycartersufo · 9 months ago

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this is me having the Tuesday foh museum employee version of Sunday scaries. I love using tumblr as a sort of diary right now especially when writing my hand causes pain!

the last two weeks of work have been especially rough and this week I have some tough stuff to get through that I'm nervous about but it'll be OK. I just struggled with the unknown. time always moves too quickly this time of year and I'm desperate to hold on to my days off because I am so burnt out. the problem is when you're in between those biweekly checks and you're broke as hell but also it's been pouring down rain. I can't help but feel bad and guilty when I do nothing. I didn't do just nothing, I took care of my mom today and I've rested a lot but it still feels weird and bad.

I'm almost back to being in the green for my sick time. I used up all my sick time and my boss had payroll give me negative sick time which was a life saver. I miss my boss so much. everything has gone to shit without her. but she deserves so much better. clearly. anyway, in a couple weeks I'll start to see actual sick time build up again. and on July 1 I'll get more pto 🤡 but thankfully at least Juneteenth falls on a Wednesday so we will have a three day weekend. The museum won't pay it's workers more or respect their security dept (which is historically and systematically Black) but they will do land acknowledgements if they happen to put up a work by a Native person (aka no permanent land acknowledgement lol) and they'll give us Juneteenth off with pay. oh and back of house gets more pto than foh but I'm not here to list alllllll of my complaints rn. but we as a team are counting down the days so we can have a three day weekend. like yeah holiday pay on a day we already have off (every gov holiday that falls on a Monday) but would rather have a floating holiday for more pto. abyway I should hopefully have some sick time built up in a couple months to take a day off for rest.

falling behind on chores again. desp need to spring clean dust because ofc I have to be a maximalist autistic. still need to wash my beach combing finds from a few weeks ago. still need to hang stuff up. the most I can do is pick up a little. do a load of laundry but share the labor with my husband because we don't have the capacity for either or alone. do dishes maybe. make breakfast, lunch, and John makes dinner. take care of mom which is hard sometimes but more than anythjng it has to be done and I can trick my brain into not being an asshole about it. make the bed but in a more "lazy" way. take care of myself and stick to my barely there routine. medicine with alarms, brush teeth, set out the clothes I want to wear at least a day ahead but two days if possible. shower when it's been too long. lotion on my face and my arms and my legs if I can tolerate it. drink water. try and keep my salt levels up. stretches even if it's in bed. my daily puzzles. learn something new (read an article and or a wiki page).

at least tomorrow we get paid. I have to save money for when we go to an Orioles game soon. need to figure out when and how and where we are viewing the eclipse. grocery shopping. taking care of mom if dad is working late/in traffic. look over what bills are do this check. thankfully we get paid I think three times this month? JK it's may we get three paychecks but thankfully I get paid the week of my mom's birthday!!!!!!

I work on late shift this month. bad because no extra money but good because I am so fucking exhausted. I'm basically a sorta manager without all the manager roles and Def not the pay. but that's basically what I am now. thinking about it makes me sick. I goofed up somewhere to end up here with this responsibility. but also it was happenstance. I understand that. and that I have been masking so well for so long.

it's autism awareness day. I am autistic. I am finally feeling right with that. it's been over a year now, and I've spent that time reflecting on my life and the way I am. I was lucky that my sister has been in programs and I basically knew a guy that knew a guy that knew a guy. but I don't have like, a therapist or anthring to guide me through the realities of hey you're autistic and this is why you think and do xyz. I wish I listened to autistic friends years ago that said hey you're autistic and I was like no not me, I don't do this thing but the thing is a lot of those things I didn't think I did I literally did not understand the questioning which is funny. I can't really think of a good example but like you read a question like do you struggle to make eye contact and irs like yes but only in certain circumstances like when I don't know someone but you don't have the way to answer with nuances so you just say no. not the best example but it's like that. what's so interesting about being diagnosed late is you start to kind a breakdown the safety nets of masking and then it seems like you're faking because you're doing all this stuff not in private anymore, like you're regressing or something and it's like no I was just playing a role.

today for dinner I had chicken nuggets and heinz pickle ketchup and we watched a video about being in wdw on 9/11 and I was like oh

rigut now I'm trying to follow my night routine but I'm so anxious to sleep. I did sleep in really late today after sleeping poorly and then getting up to take care of mom in the morning. I woke up just before noon after going back to bed about nine???? so I'm not very tired. I'm going to go figure out my lunch for tomorrow so I don't worry about it in the am and then I'm going to check the laundry and if it's dry enough get my favorite pair of undies (tomboyx boy shorts) and my favorite pants (green!!) and find a top and then make the bed comfy and then I'm gonna use my new neck massager even though I've probably used it too much today and I hope to find a nice wiki article to read :)))))))

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starshiningsirius · 4 years ago

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Attention seeker (Yandere Vil x reader)

The beautiful Queen's birthday, now if you'll excuse me I'm gonna go pull for his card.

Edit: I have failed and my disappointment is immeasurable. There's always Ruggie then.

A new first year to Pomifore who doesn't look like a potato face in Vil's eyes is rare. Something about her screams perfection and beauty in every way.

He never hears her talk much but she does as she's told. Her grades are always 100 marks never below that number. It amazed him how she didn't wear makeup but still looked like an angel sent down from above. When the freshmen were taught etiquette, she had no trouble at all.

What confused him the most was that she never mentioned anything regarding his beauty. Like maybe he had gotten some new makeup and graciously flaunted it to the whole dorm. She happened to be sitting in the dorm lounge and didn't bat an eye toward him, everyone else was mesmerised by his beauty except her.

Rook had to comment on his idol's sudden interest with the female.

"Roi de poison, you seem to be very interested in that freshman. She does seem like she's got something special to her doesn't she?"

"Yes, find out what you can about her." Vil was busy putting on his makeup but Rook noticed how his tone had shifted ever so slightly.

"As you wish Roi de Poison."

Rook only did as he was told though with an underlying excitement to it. It was for Vil after all and he could tell that this would go well in his twisted mind.

When Rook arrived back again, he had a surplus of info on her. From her favorite color to her daily routine. Vil noted everything he said to him about her.

She would cook for herself in the dorm's kitchen every morning for both lunch and breakfast. She never visits the cafeteria and always eats something healthy complimenting her physique. She even follows the facial routine Vil told everyone to do. When he mentions that she tutors Epel and she only spends time with him that immediately makes Vil's face turn into a frown.

He orders Rook to go and get Epel before he could even let him finish his findings. When he does come back with him Vil puts on a calm facade to mask his overwhelming envy toward the boy. He pretty much interrogates him seeing as Epel has no other choice he answers honestly.

Epel knows that charming smile on his dorm leader's face. He knew what happens when someone angers him. He could still feel the sting that had implanted itself in his memory after the blonde had slapped him for something minor.

All his questions pertained to his childhood friend. From her personality to what he knew about her that Rook didn't say to him already. He took in every bit of information. It only made him fall deeper into his obsession.

Though the fact stood out that Vil had fallen for a country bumpkin, he couldn't care less.

He just had to get her attention, after all.

* * *

"Vil senpai, is there something you need of me?"

He was outside her room door, one would say he was absolutely giddy at his plan he had concocted. Seeing her up close was even more exciting since he could take in every detail more than the pictures Rook had took of her.

"Seeing as you work so hard, I'm offering you a chance no one else gets you get to be my new makeup model! I need someone with your beauty almost as radiant as my own to test out some new makeup I ordered! I know this is such a gracious offer, so tomorrow at three after class meet me-"

"Excuse me, Vil senpai but I have to decline, it would be a waste of my time as well as yours. I ever so deeply apologize for wasting your time but I have to studying to do. Farewell." She shut the door softly leaving Vil shocked seeing as he was denied and put off to side like something to be forgotten.

That shock soon faded into pure rage. He was just denied with an opportunity as good as what he offered she could've become the talk of all social media with just one picture on his magicam page. Now that he thinks about it though, he didn't want that. All of your attention would be held up by strangers, your beauty would be flaunted off for the world to see. He's glad you denied before it could ever reach that point.

He still wanted your attention though. No, at this point he needed it. To just be forgotten just like when he plays the villain is not something he's fond of.

* * *

Y/n had been nervous as she felt like Rook had been following her for a few days and even though it had stopped altogether, she still couldn't help but be weary of her surroundings. Her vice dorm leader was always strange but it led to the question why was she the target of his interest now?

Vil had gained some strange interest in her as well and it made no sense as to why. She wasn't that special, certainly not at all in her standards. But at the present moment she didn't have the time to worry about that.

She had to go meet Epel again to tutor him in potions in the lab. They both grew up in the Village of Harvest together so they look after one another of course being good friends. Epel knows Y/n's reseved nature as well as how hardworking she is. She admires his determination just as he admires how she sees him for who he is which is thankfully not a girl. That's how the two have always been and now they both went to the same school.

She'd usually eat her lunch there before starting to mix any potions as to not accidentally mess up anything so she took a seat in the nearest chair that wasn't the teacher's desk and started eating.

Zucchini linguine was on the menu for today eating it slow with a fork not once making any slurping sounds. She noted that their was a slight difference in taste than what she was used too, considering she had made this before time and time again.

After awhile of waiting and already finishing her food she noticed that Epel hadn't arrived yet and usually he'd text if he were to be late. She found it strange, but something temporarily took her mind off it.

Her mind started to grow hazy and her eyes were growing blurry. Soon enough her body started to sway and the fork that was placed in the open container on her lap fell to the floor. Before she knew it she fell right with it feeling so dizzy all of a sudden. Her mind could process hearing for just a second, it sounded like the door.

Whispering quiet pleas was all she could do hoping it was Epel that could help him. She only saw a glimpse of purple robes, possibly nail polished fingers, and heard a few words as well as a pair of heels clicking against the floor before her mind completely shut off.

"You will give me your attention, even if I have to take you away."

* * *

Golden chains glittering, moved along with the captive that was awoken with a start.

The velvet sheets that had been neatly placed on her shifted as the chains rattled. She felt her wrists feeling the cold smooth metal on them. She immediately panicked even though she was usually calm and collected her mind just couldn't comprehend the situation. Never had she experienced anything similar to this.

She examined the walls and noticed that she was in Pomeifore, the elegant wallpaper had clued in on it. There was a dresser and a vanity next to it with all sorts of makeup neatly organized. It all looked so expensive just like the gold chains. The dread in her body had multiplied when she realized who it could be.

The room was much more luxurious then her own room. It could only be one person.

Vil Schoenheit.

As if on cue he walked in, with his manicured nails, crown on his head, and purple tipped locks accompanied by blonde roots. It only made him even more ecstatic to see her finally pay attention to him. He walked closer to her seeing her watch his every move for the first time since probably the day of the opening ceremony where he lectured the first years on Pomeifore etiquette.

When he finally reached her he lifted her chin and made her look him in the eyes.

"I want all of your attention to be on me my dear. I don't mind keeping you here to get it."

Masterlist

#vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #epel felmier #rook hunt

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bktaro · 4 years ago

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seven-three (part 3)

pairing: nanami x f!reader

themes/rating: explicit, 18+, clubs, bars, masquerade parties, rough sex

tw: daddy kink, spitting, sex toys, dirty talk, creampie, cockwarming, anal, voyerism(ish), squirting

wc: 9.5k

ao3 | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Nanami Kento had a hardened shell surrounding his personal life. Clocking out at five ‘o’clock on the dot every day, he left little to no room for others to get to know him better— leaving him as an unsolvable mystery amongst the office.

Likewise, you too aimed to clock out at five ‘o’ clock. You preferred routine during the workday, finding comfort in maintaining equilibrium and peace and wanting to do nothing more or nothing less than what was required of you.

Little did you know the two of you shared an interesting weekend hobby.

a/n : hi all! thank you for waiting so patiently. this chapter is a personal favourite of mine (of all time), and i'm so excited to finally share it with you all. i originally wanted to make this a one shot smut, but i’ve been wanting to expand it into a mini fic. not sure if tumblr is the place for uploading that type of content, but please let me know if it’s something you would be interested in reading!!

anyways, enjoy this nastyyy chapter!!

An absolute masterpiece— that’s what Nanami thinks you are. A magnificent work of art, somehow misplaced and laid out on the bed in front of him instead of an exhibit in some renowned museum.

Every inch of you is enticing to him. From the strands of hair sprayed across the pillow case caressing the back of your head, your chest that rises up and down in anticipation, the glistening sheen of sweat of your body illuminated under the peaking moonlight from the windows, and his favourite, your legs that are propped open just enough for him to see droplets of your juice threatening to leak on to the bedsheets below— he’s mesmerized by it all . By no means was he an intensely religious man, but in the moment he couldn’t be more thankful for God’s utmost greatest and most beautiful creation— women .

He considers himself to be a good and honest man, yet nowhere close to a saint to be deserving of what God had offered and placed right in front of him. Nanami thinks it has to be a dream— and just maybe the best damn dream he’s ever had. You just look too good to be real, splayed across the bed naked with nothing but desire in your eyes, waiting only for him.

But when his hands roam to explore the soft flesh of your bare skin, feeling you shudder slightly under his touch alongside the tiny whimpers leaving your lips, Nanami knows— and silently thanks God— it’s real. You were real.

His gaze on your body is intense with hunger, so much so you could practically feel his eyes digging into the depths of your skin, and you begin to think it’s deep enough to reach even into the surface of your soul. Mixed with the grazes of his fingers, it’s an alluring sensation despite the minimal touch on the areas most needy, causing you to let out a louder whine and roll your hips just the slightest into the mattress in the search of any sort of physical relief.

“Please…” Your voice comes out shaky, pupils directly looking into his above yours. “...I need you.”

Unable to hold back, a low, nearly inaudible grumble vibrates in his throat at your actions and words. Perhaps he’s the one who saved a nation in his past life, something remarkable of that sort to be lucky enough to be alive and present in this very moment. Or he truly really was just one lucky ass bastard, somehow having a Goddess of a woman practically begging him to fuck her right underneath him.

True, you were the one granting him a wish, but by no means did that mean he couldn’t help grant a few of your own wishes at the same time. Alongside the original, he now had an additional goal that was simple: give you the experience like none other so no other partner could ever compare to him. And of course, Nanami is nothing but confident he’ll be able to achieve just that. Failure was never an option in his books— especially not now.

“Patience, pretty girl.” Nanami whispers, fingers softly caressing the side of your jawline. “First, open your mouth again for me.”

You oblige without hesitation, mind still partially woozy from your second orgasm minutes ago. Nanami grins at the view of your semi dazed expression, tongue hanging out before his instructions to even do so. Gently, he allows a string of saliva to fall from his mouth and into yours, watching the glob of foreign liquid pool onto the pad of your tongue.

“Stay just like that, and don’t move an inch until I say so.”

You do just as he commands, remaining still the best you can for the few seconds you can feel him shuffling on the bed to reach into the bedside drawers. Despite being clouded in the aftermath of your orgasmic high, when you hear the cluttering of his hands rummaging through the contents of the drawer your mind wanders to the possibilities of what Nanami was searching for. Lube? Condoms?

It then instantly dawns on you what else it could be. The rustling of a cardboard box being opened is enough of a signal to confirm your thoughts even seconds before Nanami returns with the suspected item in hand. A sex toy, replicating the shape of a generous sized penis and colored in a translucent purple hue dangles above your eyes, causing them to widen once more.

“It’s nowhere as good as my cock, of course...” Nanami begins, leaving another soft, comforting kiss in the crook of your neck. “...but we need to get that sweet little hole of yours ready for me, don’t we?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply, a trend of his throughout the night thus far, placing the tip of the dildo on the surface of your tongue. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat when he watches your lips wrap around the rest of the toy, taking it deeper into your mouth while keeping your eyes locked onto his.

You work your tongue up and down the rubber surface, tracing the ridges and coating the surface with as much saliva as you could. Nanami can’t help but to silently watch in awe your head bob up and down the toy, a part of him almost becoming jealous that it isn’t his dick back in your mouth instead.

After a few more rounds of making sure the toy was properly lubed and ready, Nanami pulls the toy away from your puckered lips. He smirks at your disappointed whine at the sudden retraction, bringing a hand to caress the top of your head in reassurance.

“No more, you’re making me start to get jealous of a fucking piece of rubber.” Nanami whispers, continuing to stroke your hair and soon after leaving a gentle kiss on the edge of your forehead. His hands halt their movements moments later, moving to tilt your chin up towards him forcing you to see the coy grin now spread across his lips.

“Tell me, are you ready to get fucked stupid, doll? To have that pretty little mind of yours be filled with nothing but my cock?”

Watching the string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to the tip of the now glistening rubber tip of the toy break off, you nod your head frantically. You were more than ready, desperate in desire for more. Even without saying a single word, it was written all over you— in that moment there was nothing more you wanted in the world than him .

Lucky for you, Nanami was fluent in reading the writing of the unwritten plea of a girl searching for the remedy for her lustful trance. He was an intelligent man, after all. Yet, no matter how incredibly alluring you were to him, somehow at the same time you were just as cute, eyes wide blinking up towards him just like an actual doll. He thinks only an insane, evil man would be crazy enough to leave someone as cute as you in the distress you were in.

Thankfully, Nanami considered himself a good man— once again, not a saint of any sorts, but simply a good man. And as a good man, he wouldn’t let you suffer any longer.

Nanami shifts his body, moving to crouch in between your spread legs. You’re so wet, pussy glistening with a layer of the sweet sheen he just couldn’t get enough of, holding himself back from licking it all up then and there. Perhaps he didn’t even need you to prep the toy with your joint saliva— you had more than enough lube naturally already, and you could feel it too.

So you’re shocked when you feel him spit on your cunt— and you're even more surprised when you feel his fingers spread the mixture of liquids from your cunt down to your ass, and slip a finger teasingly into your hole. You can’t help but let out a loud moan at the sudden unexpected intrusion, feeling a bit shy at the position yet already immensely satisfied with the bare minimum of a touch.

“Oh, darling,” Nanami grins, watching your sudden jerk in movements at his actions, pussy clenching at nothing in front of his eyes. “You like that, don’t you?”

You did, you really did— and there was no reason to lie and say you didn’t.

“Yes… please give me more.”

“Where do you want it, doll? In here?” Nanami asks, removing his finger and hovering the tip of the dildo by the entrance of your cunt, before slowly bringing it down to graze over your ass instead. “Or maybe here?”

It’s almost like a game to him, perhaps his new favourite game, seeing just how far he could tease you and watch you whine and wriggle in desire.

“Anywhere…”

Yet, it’s a game Nanami was running out of will for him to continue to play.

His body adjusts once more to hover above yours again, cupping the side of your cheek to bring your lips upwards into a kiss. It’s another gentle kiss, calming and reassuring in nature, feeling the warmth of his body on yours that makes you wonder if time could be kind enough to stop right then and there forever.

But your wonder shifts back into reality, reverting to what you really were desiring at the moment when you feel the tip of the dildo finally sink inside you, breaking the kiss and replacing it with a moan into his mouth. Your hands come up to grip the blades of his broad shoulders, head tilting back in pure relief.

“Oh god …”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

All you can do is whimper out a wordless response, nodding your head instead. It’s good— so fucking good, to finally get your aching hole tended too, yet you still feel as though something is missing. You know all too well what it is, and Nanami chuckles because of course, even though your face twinges in pleasure and soft moans escape your lips the deeper he pushes the dildo in, he too already knows.

He thinks maybe in a previous life he had already explored you, well aware of every single area you were most sensitive in and how to make you feel good because it’s almost scary how he knows you all too well already. Despite never having laid a single finger on you before tonight, he’s already fluent in reading the language of your body and what you’re truly wanting long before you even muster the strength to say it.

So he could give you what you want right then and there. But he also could keep his favourite game going— just a little bit longer than he planned too.

“Yes… so fucking good… but… I-I want… you.”

“You want me?” Nanami asks, almost too nonchalantly compared to the twitching of his hard cock at your plea. “The toy in your ass isn’t enough for my slutty girl?”

“No…I want your cock… inside me.”

A dildo now deep in your ass was more than pleasurable and nice, but the both of you knew feeling his pulsating cock in your aching cunt is what you desired even more . To feel him, all eleven inches throbbing inside of you, fucking your tight hole senseless.

And he’ll give up his favourite game and give you just that. Nanami is a good man, after all.

“I’ll share your mouth and ass with this toy— but from here on out your pussy is mine and only mine.”

Nanami moves in an instant, roughly spreading your legs just a bit further with his own, pushing your knees apart in order to fixate himself properly in between. A shudder travels up your spine once more feeling the hot flesh of his cock against your bare skin, the length caressed and rubbing in between your cunt up and down while the tip grazes just teasingly against your swollen clit.

“You’ve been so good for me, sweet girl.” Nanami leans forward on his forearms beside each side of your head and murmurs into your ear, breath hot against your skin. “Now it’s my turn to make you feel so fucking good.”

It’s the last bit of words you could properly understand and digest before your mind melts into mush, turning into nothing but putty right into the palm of his hands. The room fills with nothing but the sound of two harmonious moans when the head of his cock finally dips inside your cunt, the nails of your fingers digging deeper into his shoulders in desperate search of something to grab onto.

“Breathe baby.” Nanami whispers. “You can take it all.”

He’s big — so big it’s a mystery to both you and him on how he’s able to continue to push into you inch by inch, your cunt squeezing him tighter the deeper and deeper he goes. Alongside the dildo deep inside your hole, it’s already too intense— and when the last inch of his cock finds its way inside you it breaks the last sheer remainder of strength you have left. Your mind becomes woozy once more, back arching off the bed while your hands roam to grip the back of his hair as your body twitches on his cock, releasing a loud moan that overpowers his simultaneous one and echoes throughout the room.

Nanami’s eyes widen in realization in the aftermath, watching your body loosen and relax onto the bed, fingers loosely locked behind his neck.

“Already?”

You feel your face turn warm, and once again you're thankful for the mask that partially covers the redness of your embarrassed cheeks. Yet, you think it’s still not enough to hide behind, releasing your fingers from behind him and raising up both your hands to conceal your face instead.

“Shut up…”

“No, don’t be embarrassed.” Nanami chuckles, reaching for one of your hands to pry them away from your face and bringing it to his lips to leave a kiss on the inside of your wrist instead. “I’m glad I can make you feel that good… not to mention it’s was also extremely fucking sexy watching you cum on my cock.”

You begin to think it’s truly a hidden talent of his you were lucky to see. He seemed to just have the right words everytime to put you in such a lust filled trance again and again— and you just couldn’t get enough.

“You have to make me do that again at least five more times, daddy .”

A cheeky grin creeps up on Nanami’s face. You wonder if it’s because of the flirtatious manner of your words, or if it's the soft moan you let out instantly when you feel his cock twitch inside of you that serves as a silent response to your words itself.

“It’ll be my pleasure to watch you cum, darling.” Nanami pins your wrist in his hand down above your head and into the mattress, kissing your lips with his in between his words. “Over and over , again and again until you can’t take it anymore.”

There’s a part of you that wonders if his lips had some sort of transparent chemicals difficult for the human eye to see. You were beginning to find yourself already addicted to the feeling of them, especially against your own. Soft like previously or hot and passionate like now, his kisses were nothing but hypnotic, drawing you effortlessly faster and deeper into the abyss of Nanami Kento.

You’re only snapped out of the trance of his kiss when it’s broken once again with a moan escaping your lips, feeling the length of his cock slowly slip out of you. The sudden emptiness leaves you aching for something more, clenching against nothing in the hopes of hugging even just an inch of him from escaping you.

“No…” You whisper, your free hand coming up to grip the back of his shoulder in an effort to push his body closer to you. “Put it back in…”

Your efforts show no successful action, his frame much too broad and built to be waived by the strength of just one of your arms. But your plea yields different results, a low, rumbling groan vibrating in his throat and the head of his cock sinking back inside your pulsating walls.

His movements are slow and gentle at first, allowing you to feel and grip every inch of his cock enter and leave your cunt. Rhythmic in pattern, Nanami’s hips work in what feels like matches the beat of your heart, filling you up and emptying you again and again, his soft grunts of pleasure quiet and low, but loud enough to sound like a subtle melody to your ears.

Gradually, the pace of his hips thrusting into you increases the more he feels your cunt adjust and mould into the shape of him, alongside the sound of your moans filling the room increasing in volume. The tips of your fingers can’t help but curl against his back with the rising pleasure, digging into his skin and scratching the surface, surely bound to leave marks to serve as a momento for the night later on.

You think maybe Nanami is angry momentarily at your markings on his skin, his hand that pinned yours down into the mattress above your head releasing for only a second to roughly grab yours behind his shoulder. Bringing that hand to join your other, Nanami now held both your hands down by the wrist, restricting you from freely moving.

“Bad girl. That’s gonna hurt later.”

The now familiar smirk reappearing on his face hovered over yours was more than enough to tell you he wasn’t angry at all. It was the opposite in actuality— the stinging pain would just remind him later on how he fucked you just that good, and his cock throbs just merely at the thought already.

“Punish me then.” You spit out. “Don’t be gentle like you do with good girls— fuck me like bad girls deserve.”

Nanami lets out another groan, and you can feel his cock twitch mid thrust inside of you. Somehow, he was more turned on than he already was— his vision shifting you from the complying, good girl you were in his eyes to the slutty, needy fuck doll you wanted to be.

He readjusts to sit partially upright, releasing his weight holding him up by his forearm and instead using that arm to grip onto the meat of the back of your thigh. Pushing your leg upwards his arm wraps around your thigh, spreading you open more and tossing your leg above his shoulder.

“I’ll fuck you just like a bad girl then.” Nanami mumbles, the grip on your wrists becoming stronger. “I’ll fuck you like you’re a little slut that knows nothing but getting stuffed with cock.”

You can’t help but clench your cunt at his words, feeling yourself get wetter in response. Nanami feels it too, your excitement squeezing his cock even tighter, and he flashes you a quick tiny, knowing grin that lasts only for a few seconds, before roughly snapping his hips back into you.

His pace is fast, still rhythmic but now much faster— pounding your cunt at a speed that makes it difficult for you to even catch your breath. Your leg held up and on his shoulder spread your cunt even further than before, allowing him to reach deeper inside of your cunt and just barely hitting your most sensitive area, causing you to cry out every time his cock mercilessly pounded deep into you.

Seeing your eyes roll back, Nanami moans at the feeling of your pussy clench around his cock even tighter. It’s a sign he’s familiar with— you were close, and he thinks it's the perfect moment to release his grip from your wrists. Your hands instantly curl into fists, gripping at nothing in pleasure while with his now free hand, he brings it to tend to your swollen clit, rubbing the bud with the pads of his fingers.

“Fuck… if you do that I’ll… I’m…”

“You’re what?” Nanami groans, his fingers pressing harder circles onto your clit. “Say it clearly.”

“I’m gonna cum.” You whine, arching your back off the mattress and grinding on his cock the best you could. “I’m gonna fucking cum…”

It’s overwhelming. You’re sensitive to the touch, already overstimulated with his cock pounding your pussy, fingers rubbing your clit, and dildo still shoved in your ass. But it feels so damn good that the familiar knot in your stomach releases once more, curling your toes and sending you into bliss.

Nanami curses under his breath, slowing the movements of his hips before pulling completely out to watch your body relax on the bed once more. Your breaths come out in haggered pants, struggling to catch your breath, and you feel the Nanami’s weight sink into the bed beside you, the callousness of his hands soon after rubbing up and down the skin of your legs in an attempt to soothe the shaking of them down.

“You’re so gorgeous when you cum.” Nanami murmurs, breath warm against the shell of your ear with his body now laying beside you on his side. “So. Fucking. Gorgeous.”

His hands find their way to inch upwards from your legs to your hips, gently turning you around to face your body towards his. Fingers instantly find themselves in their habitual spot, just underneath the surface of your chin, lifting up your lips and trapping them into another fiery kiss with him.

The kiss breaks when Nanami pulls away with a smirk, releasing his hands from your body to lean backwards onto the mattress on his backside. A hand holds the back of his head propped upon a pillow behind him that leans against the headboard of the bed, legs spread and open in a way that almost serves to proudly display his fully erected cock, his other hand pumping the shaft covered with a sheen of your liquid.

A lump forms in your throat at the sight, a reaction formed as a result of a mix of nervousness, embarrassment and excitement. You still had no idea just how he was able to pound into you with something of that caliber, and how now he was suggesting now you were supposed to fuck yourself on it. Yet, the glistening liquid belonging to you coating his cock— a tad embarrassing in retrospect— was a clear indication that he was in fact able to fit it all inside you, and the pleasure was that you’ve never experienced before.

Despite growing increasingly exhausted and tired, you still wanted him again. Again and again, you wanted nothing more than him .

You feel your cunt throb at the thought, biting your bottom lip down in the hopes of holding back the drool you might just let escape, hungry for more of him. And you would be a complete fool to think Nanami doesn’t notice your entranced expression, the tiny smirk on his face transforming into a larger, smug grin instead.

“Doll.” Nanami calls, a single finger rising into the air gesturing to you to come closer towards him. “Why don’t you come here and ride my cock?”

It’s a request you're more than willing to fulfill, finding your body moving on its own accord onto your hands and knees, slowly crawling forward towards him. Your palms rest flat on top of his chiseled abdomen when you finally reach close enough to touch him, utilizing the surface to balance yourself on to your knees to straddle both sides of his body.

Nanami’s hand pumping his cock retracts, joining his other supporting his head against the headboard when your hands travel to wrap around his length. Gathering another pool of saliva in your mouth, you let the trail spit drop down to the head, using your hands to twist and jerk his cock, coating the surface with the liquid.

“Oh fuck .” Nanami hisses, face suddenly wincing when one of your hands roam just a touch lower, squeezing on his balls. “You’re a little minx.”

A staggered groan escapes his lips watching you drop your body lower, beginning to grind your wet cunt onto the shaft of his cock. You feel one particular vein, perhaps the same protruding one from earlier throb at the warmth of your cunt rubbing back and forth on his, causing the corner of your lip to hitch upwards.

“What are you going to do after tonight?” You ask with a small grin, continuing to grind yourself on him. “You won’t be able to stop thinking about me.”

Nanami chuckles, instantly shooting you a confident smile back.

“Darling, what a ridiculous question. I thought you knew your pussy was going to be mine and only mine after tonight.”

In an instant, his body swiftly sits upright, giving you little time to react and forcing you to abruptly halt your movement. Your eyes widen, letting out a startled gasp when you feel an arm snake around your waist from behind, pulling your body close enough towards him so his chest was now pressed up against yours.

“I’m greedy, you know. I want to keep you to myself, and I don’t like sharing what’s mine.” He begins, voice low and fingers coming to grip your chin to lock your gaze onto him. “And I also know you won’t be able to stop thinking about me either, so this works for us well, doesn’t it?”

Nanami leans forward, trapping your lips with his into a sensual kiss, serving as almost a metaphorical action in sealing the deal to his words that were nothing but truthful in nature.

A part of you completely agreed that in hindsight it was a rather ridiculous claim to be so hooked onto the other so quickly. You could more than understand the foolishness in agreeing to only reserve your bodies for one another after merely a single sexual encounter.

Yet you already could imagine how lackluster any other partner would be in comparison to the sex you experienced with Nanami thus far, only becoming better and better with each passing second. And as much as part of you screams internally of how uncharacteristically weak you were to him, falling right into the palm of his hand exactly how he wanted you, you just couldn’t help it. If it wasn’t already so painfully crystal clear before, Nanami Kento was definitely not your ordinary hook up at all— he was much more enticing, luring you every bit through whatever spell he had casted onto you.

Gojo would have to wait for his threesome longer than anticipated— you had signed the dotted lines on the metaphoric contract, returning the kiss with just as much passion and lust.

“There’s some truth to that, I suppose.” You give him a tiny grin against his lips and a wink when you pull away, and Nanami answers in a hearty chuckle.

“That’s a good enough response for me.”

“Is it really? Somehow I don’t buy that.”

“Words don’t hold the entire amount of truth— I’m a firm believer that actions speak louder instead.”

You let out a startled gasp, feeling Nanami’s large hands suddenly snake down your body, roughly grasping onto the curves of your ass.

“And what I’m saying is I’d rather see you start bouncing on my cock— only if you really agree, gorgeous.”

Nanami releases his hands from your body, falling back onto the mattress with his hands returning against the headboard. Holding the back of his head, he’s arguably waiting almost too calmly for your next move. He had given all the power in your court, allowing you to choose the next course of action.

And when he watches your body readjust, steadily gripping onto his cock and angling it to sit yourself on top of it, he can’t help but let out a wide grin, silently celebrating his victory.

“Hold on baby. I want you to turn around and ride it— show me how you can bounce that ass.”

You do just that with no hesitation, turning yourself swiftly around, straddling him with your backside faced towards him. The new position itself makes your cheeks grow warm in both excitement and embarrassment, all your most intimate places now on full display for him to see.

It takes every ounce of strength in Nanami’s entire body to hold back from letting his cock bust right then and there as soon as he watches you slowly lower yourself and take him in, your soft moans once more breaking the silence in the room. The sight is so lewd and erotic to him, focused on nothing but how his cock continues to disappear inch by inch inside you, tightly gripping him as if you were holding on to dear life and the purple dildo still sticking out of your ass.

“Oh my god, baby .” You moan when the final inch slides in, now balls deep on top of him. “You’re so fucking big, baby… filling me up so good.”

Nanami’s mind begins to teeter violently at the combination of it all, your words, the lewd sight and sounds, and he’s no longer confident in how much longer he can hold back from reaching his peak. And when you begin to move, allowing yourself to bounce up and down his cock, he knows he's a goner sooner than later.

His hands reach forward to grip onto either side of your hips, simultaneously grinding his upwards in sync with yours helping you reach the deepest parts of your cunt with every bounce increasing in both intensity and speed. The head of his cock brushes past your most sensitive area, feeling him just right in the pit of your stomach that makes you cry out a moan that echoes the entire room and clench onto him even tighter.

The purple toy glides teasing in and out of your ass with every assisted bounce on his cock, and the view is almost taunting to Nanami, becoming embarrassingly jealous once more at the inanimate object. But it also leaves him curious just how much more you could take, so much so his hands move quicker than his brain, wrapping his fingers around the toy and beginning to pump it in and out inside of you.

Curses drop from underneath your tongue, falling partially forward on the palms of your hands, fingers gripping onto Nanami’s legs in overwhelming pleasure coming from both your holes now getting fucked. Yet you find it impossible to stop yourself from moving your hips up and down, not wanting the pleasure to end even for a second, continuing to take now both his cock and dildo inside of you.

“Fuck… I can’t…it’s so much… filling me up.”

“Yes you can, baby. You’re doing so good, taking it all in... I can feel you getting so much wetter and tighter just for me.”

You’ve grown even wetter now, becoming even more drunk on lust the moment your second hole became another slutty little hole, with the temporary only purpose to be used for pleasure purposes. Nanami also grows more and more drunk on lust seeing your body react, watching the way you squeeze on both his cock and the dildo, your own slick now dripping out of your cunt and down your thighs. The movement of his hips become increasingly sporadic and less rhythmic, mind clouded with nothing but the need to continue to fuck you senseless.

“Say it, you like getting both of your holes fucked by me, don’t you?”

“I love getting both my holes fucked by your big cock.”

“You want to be filled with my cum, don’t you, dirty girl?”

“Yes...please fill my slutty hole with your cum...”

You’re a moaning mess, the air around you filled with nothing but the lewd squelching noises, Nanami’s grunts pounding into you, and your cries of pleasure. With one final thrust of his throbbing cock, you feel the hot load of Nanami’s cum shoot inside your cunt, a shiver traveling up your spine as you simultaneously reach your own orgasm at the sensation.

A moment of serenity envelops the room; you have collapsed fully now onto his legs, Nanami unmoving, cock still deep buried inside you with his cum now trickling out of your cunt and onto his cock. Only the sounds of panting can be heard from the both of you, blissfully recovering from your post orgasm high.

But of course, it lasts for just a moment. Nanami wasn’t one to let things last longer than necessary, after all.

“I didn’t get to see you cum.” Nanami states, shattering the silence in the air. “Do it again.”

You can’t help but blink a few times, turning your head slightly back to look at the man behind you.

“ What ?” Surely you heard wrong, right?

You didn’t. It was exactly as you heard, confirmed when Nanami flashes you another half grin, just a peek of the whites of his teeth showing through.

“You heard me. I missed seeing you cum, so sit on my cock facing me and do it again.”

“You’re crazy.” You let out a small scoff in disbelief, only to transition into the corner of your lips tugged upwards in an excited smirk you fail to hold yourself back from hiding.

“Am I?” Nanami questions, reaching forward to teasingly squeeze the meaty flesh of your ass that triggers you to release a whimper at the touch. “Your little pussy that just throbbed on my cock is telling me differently— you like this idea too.”

His hands move once more, slowly pulling the dildo out of your ass that in return brings about another soft groan to rumble from your throat. Nanami is already a sucker to the sound, growing incredibly weak to it mixed with the sight in front of him of both your cunt and asshole clenching at the sudden loss, instinctively gripping whatever you could to remain filled up. His dick hardens once more at the sensation and sight, twitching against your walls again.

“Guess actions really do speak louder than words, huh?” You grin, your words come out in between breathy moans, eyeing him from just over your shoulder.

“Exactly, you’re one to catch on quickly.”

Nanami’s hands roam again, tossing the purple dildo to the side of the bed and placing his hands to grip either side of your hips. When you feel them gently squeeze your skin, you take it as a sign to readjust your position, briefly lifting yourself off of him, only to sit back down on his cock when you turn back around to now face him.

You lean forward, both your hands softly grasping either side of his neck to pull him in for another kiss, both sloppy and needy in nature. It only breaks when Nanami lets out a low moan, feeling you teasingly clench your cunt around his cock.

“Fuck, stop doing that.”

“Why should I?” You ask, grinning once more. “Maybe I want to see you cum too.”

“If you keep doing that, you definitely will.”

You let out a gentle laugh against his lips, bringing your lips back onto his. Nanami’s hands find refuge on the sides of your hip once more, sitting back upright to deepen the kiss, further exploring your mouth with his tongue.

One hand slowly begins to dip from the side of your hip, on to your thighs, his fingertips trickling skillfully back and forth in the inner part of your upper legs. It’s only when his fingers suddenly move upwards to caress the swollen bud of your clit in steady circles you interrupt the kiss once more, tilting your head back and letting a breathy moan escape.

“Feels good…”

Nanami catches sight of the skin of your neck, the smooth and soft surface now fully inviting him the more you tilt your head back. Similar to a magnetic pull, his body is drawn instantly, lips finding themselves attacking the sensitive skin.

“It does, doesn’t it?” His words come out muffled, in between the kisses against your neck. “Especially when your clit is extra sensitive from getting fucked so hard.”

Your fingers curl once more against the blades of his shoulders, feeling the hand remaining on your hip beginning to guide you in moving back and forth.

“You make me feel so good too darling, knowing you’re just filled with my cum, and warming my cock so good just like this.”

You’re immensely spoiled. At least, that’s the thought that races throughout your mind feeling Nanami work carefully on all the most sensitive areas of your body. As rough as he could be, Nanami concurrently treated your body as if it was a sacred possession tending attentively to all the areas that could give you the most pleasure, in return making you feel as if you were on cloud nine with every kiss, nip and touch. And when the pressure of his fingers against your clit grows harder, and the large, firm hand on your hip directs your hips to grind on his cock faster, the all too familiar pressure in your stomach builds once more.

It arrives faster than Nanami thinks— he too is already fully aware of your little whimpers and increased movements that indicate your upcoming release. But he really isn’t surprised, you were only growing more and more sensitive and overstimulated with every second passing that now perhaps even the tiniest bits of effort from him were enough to make you clench your cunt around him just the way he liked it.

This time, Nanami makes sure to watch your face thoroughly, drinking in every twinge in your face, bite to your lower lip, and moan that drops from your mouth. It’s a shame to him the mask of yours, as pretty as it is, covers him from seeing the entirety of your face just on the edge of cumming, but Nanami prefers to think you make it up in other ways. The shaking of your legs growing weaker despite hips moving faster, the bouncing of your breasts with every movement, and his personal favourite in contrary to his slight teasing for it earlier— your nails that scratch up and down his back, desperately clawing away in the hopes of reaching for something— he’s enthralled by it all, how the gorgeous, well put together woman he saw hours before at the bar was the same as the one in his arms on the verge of her sixth orgasam of the night.

So when you finally do cum once again, letting the more than familiar build up knot in your stomach loose once more, Nanami is of course, mesmerized by it all, filling the air with his own moans at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him tighter than ever before. Yet, not a single ounce of how turned on you made him dwindle, somehow only intensifying— especially amplified at the hint of the sunrise beginning to seep into the room past the sheer curtains of the window beside the bed, reminding him of a little promise he had made to you earlier in the night.

He doesn’t give you much time to think about it, a few mere seconds at most if you were truly to keep record. Although a fan of foreplay and buildup, he was already far too lost in lust and desire to wait any longer. Your body slumped against his chest, head on his shoulder, breaths heavy and arms wrapped around his neck is the perfect position for him to lift you from the back of your thighs up almost too effortlessly, a startled yelp leaving your mouth at the sudden movement.

“Hush, it’s okay baby.” Nanami soothes, a tiny chuckle following, feeling your arms strength and your legs wrap instictintly around him. “You did so good, and now I just wanted to show you what I promised you earlier.”

A sudden jolt of coldness attacks your backside, sending a shiver to run down your spine. You let out another gasp at the abruptness of it all, only to be responded with the tiny grin on Nanami’s lips, ushering you to turn around and look behind you.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”

His grip behind your legs loosening and steady hands resting on yours hips once more gently assisting your weak legs in standing up. There were zero lies in his words, confirmed when you turn around and see the view for yourself peeking through the partially opened curtains of the floor to ceiling windows.

The familiar city before you was now blanketed with an orange hue matching the color of the sun rising from a distance away. The current time remains a mystery to you, but what you could gather was that it was the hour of the day where the city just began to stir awake, the sounds of traffic and humans minimal, and only the true early birds of the world awake and roaming the streets. It was tranquility at its finest, rare to see in the normally bustling city you called home, and a spectacular view that makes you stop and stare in awe.

“It is.” You whisper. “I forgot this city can look this gorg—”

You’re unable to finish the sentence, abruptly cut off midway through. A loud moan replaces it instead, your body falling forward and both your hands flat against the glass in front of you for support when you suddenly feel the head of Nanami’s cock slide back in from behind you unexpectedly, cursing under your breath at the sensation.

“I wasn’t talking about the city.” Nanami smirks, fully aware you’re eyeing his every move through the subtle reflection of the glass. “I was talking about you . This sexy body, this pretty face, this ass, and this pussy… this fucking pussy … words couldn’t describe how it makes me go crazy… my god .”

You let out a louder moan, fingers curling against the window feeling Nanami’s thick and long cock quickly filling you up balls deep. Contrary to before, this time he spent little time teasing you, going slow and making sure you felt every single inch. You had already become accustomed to his body, and Nanami had been accustomed to yours— Nanami no longer had the patience to wait to fuck you senseless once more.

His hands briefly leave your sides, reaching up towards the curtains instead. Grabbing each one on either side of your bodies, Nanami pulls the fabric away, allowing more light to enter the room, and more of the window exposed from the protection of the curtains to the outside. Your eyes widen at the realization, but when Nanami’s hands grip at your waist once more, pulling his cock out and then slamming back in, words of argument become difficult to formulate.

“Wait… there could be people outside…” You manage to mumble in between the mewls releasing at the sensation of his cock slowly sliding in and out of you. “What if they see… that’s embarrassing…”

“I said I’d fuck you so everyone could see, didn’t I?” Nanami hisses, thrusts beginning to increase in speed. “And even though you say that your pussy throbbing on me is telling me you like the idea of people seeing you get fucked up against this window, don’t you?”

He knows you too well. And as scary as it should be for someone whom you practically just met to know you this well, to you the rush of it all is more overpowering— all you can do is let out a tiny grin because he was right. Something about him railing you against the window of a penthouse hotel room, in full view during the sunrise of a beautiful morning for anyone at the right place and time to see was enthralling.

“You’re right, baby, it turns me on so much that someone might be able to watch me get fucked hard by your big cock.” You moan, feeling the tip of his cock brushing against your womb. “Everyone watching me get used as your little slutty fuck doll makes me so wet.”

Nanami does nothing but groan loudly at your words, serving more than enough as a response. His hands ghosts upwards to reach to tangle into the back of your hair, fingers gripping the strands and pulling them back rough enough your entire body follows suit. With your back against his chest, Nanami takes a step forward, pushing your breasts and the side of your face against the window, and all your hands can do is still support his rough movements by clawing away at the window.

“Whose pussy is this? Tell me if you want me to fuck you harder.”

“Yours, It belongs to you!”

“That’s my girl.” Nanami coos, grip on your hair becoming stronger. “My slutty girl.”

The sound of skin slapping and moans echoes throughout the room, Nanami’s hips snapping into you harder with every passing second, pushing you back and forth against the window. Your knees buckle instantly when Nanami’s cock brushes past your most sensitive spot, releasing a moan that comes straight from the depths of your lungs.

“Right there,” You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, too overwhelmed with pleasure. “Oh my god, right fucking there—!”

Nanami grins, knowing he’s found the spot that makes your toes curl in pleasure, eyes roll to the back of your head, and legs shake, threatening to give out at any moment. And when his thrusts pinpoint that specific spot, rhythmically hitting on beat to a silent song that makes your head spin once more, both you and him know all too well what’s to come next.

“It feels so fucking good,” You cry out, endless strings of moans and curses dropping from your lips. “I can’t… I’m gonna—”

“Don’t hold back. Cum baby, cum all over my cock.”

You don’t— not even in the slightest bit. You let your mind grow numb, the high of the orgasm riding your entire body, allowing Nanami to give his last few thrusts, only an unworldly noise leaving your throat. Your body jolts in a way you’ve never experienced before, so much so Nanami has to snake an arm around your waist, holding you steady upright from collapsing from your now completely weakened knees.

“Baby, look at me.” Nanami calls, voice soft with a twinge of startled concern. “Are you tired? We can stop now if you want.”

His movements cease, slowly pulling his length from you emitting a groan from both of you. You muster up the strength you have remaining once more to stand upright, looking behind your shoulder and give him a small, reassuring smile, shaking your head side to side.

“No… I’m still okay, thank you for asking.” A hand reaches backwards, latching on to the side of his neck to bring him down for a brief and comforting kiss. “You’re actually such a sweetie, you know?”

Nanami shrugs his shoulders when you let him go, clearing his throat and reaching to scratch at the back of his neck. His actions were uncharacteristically bashful compared to what he had shown you throughout the night thus far, and it was both intimate and refreshing to you to see another side of him you haven’t seen before.

You wanted to know more about him, effortlessly encapsulated by the growing enigma that was him — Nanami Kento. The more you learnt about him, the more you wondered what other side of him he could possibly surprise you further with.

However, for now, there was another issue present to solve in the current moment. The feeling of Nanami’s rock hard cock, long and stiff looming over your backside, reminded you that he had pleased you so well up until now, and it was now his turn to be absolutely spoiled by you.

You lean forward once more, bending fully over to display your ass towards him. Looking over your shoulder once more, a small grin forms upon your face watching Nanami’s stunned expression, eyes fixated right on your assets showcased in front of him.

“I can’t let you just stay this hard, baby.” You whisper, your hands reaching behind you to spread both of your cheeks open. “I want you to let it all out inside here.”

“Fuck,” Nanami curses, watching you wriggle your ass back and forth against his cock. “How did I get so fucking lucky with you?”

“Because you’re a good man… with a blessed cock to follow. Now hurry up and fuck my ass.”

The once cold glass of the window had now turned warm, condensation coating the surface of the glass with droplets of water— except for where the silhouette of your body that was pressed up against the window was not too long ago. The sight is erotic and incredibly lewd, and a part of Nanami wonders if he even had the strength to make it inside you.

But he does nonetheless, moving slowly to allow the tighter hole to adjust to his impressive length and girth. You weren’t a stranger to anal at all, but you definitely weren’t accustomed to someone of Nanami’s size, slightly wincing in the initial discomfort. Nanami takes notice of this, gently soothing the sides of your body in encouragement.

“Baby… you’re taking me so good. Let me know when you’re ready for me to move.”

A few more moments is all it takes, the discomfort quickly dwindling and pleasure replacing its spot. When a breathless moan parts from your lips, fingers scratching the surface of the window in front of you once more in search of more pleasure, you start to move your hips slightly, taking in the rest of his length.

Nanami’s hands grip the sides of your waist once more, beginning to guide your hips up and down his cock. You squeeze him tighter than ever before, Nanami watching the inches of his cock disappear, stretching the tiny hole more than you could take.

“ Fuck. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, darling.”

A new pool of wetness forms from your cunt, and mixed with creaminess of Nanami’s cum inside from earlier you feel the liquids begin to drip in between your legs, running down the insides of your thighs. Removing one hand from the window, you dip your hand in between your legs, examining the slick in between the folds of your cunt. Bringing the fingers back up to your mouth, you make sure to look at Nanami over your shoulder before sticking your tongue out, humming in satisfaction while licking the liquids off your fingers.

“You and I taste so good together.” You grin as best as you can, eyes partially closed and brain fucked out to the core, bringing your hand out behind you towards him in offering. “Don’t we?”

Nanami groans loudly, rejecting your offering. Instead, you feel the palm of his hand pushing the small of your back down once more, forcing you to look forward once more and to hold back onto the window. His hips pick up, increasing its speed entering in and out of you, but this time you feel his chest against your back, a hand snaking forward and fingers rubbing your clit back and forth.

“You’re gonna fucking be the death of me princess.” Nanami whispers, breath heavy against your ear. “But I can play against you and your little minx ways.”

His body moves faster, an outburst of the last bit of his remaining stamina bursting in both his hips thrusting into you, and his fingers moving against your clit frantically back and forth. Numbness clouds your mind once more, eyes shutting close and rolling to the back of your head.

“That’s fucking right baby doll, you tease me like that and I’ll make that pretty little brain of yours turn stupid with nothing but cock on your mind.”

It was too much. In your overstimulated, over sensitive current state, the combination of everything was just too much. The tension in the pit of your stomach grows, this time differently than previous— more intense, striking you in a way you’ve only felt just a few times in your life.

“Oh my god—” You cry out, eyes shut closed so tight you can feel the formation of a few tears in the corners of your eyes. “No— I’m gonna—”

The synchronization is almost artistic. The way your body convulses underneath his, liquid squirting from your cunt across the lower part of the window and onto the floor below, joined merely seconds later by the drips of Nanami’s cum painting your insides that overflow outwards onto the floor below. Your knees finally give in, falling onto the ground in exhaustion and Nanami finds himself accompanying you in an instance, the last of his stamina escaping him and fatigue overwhelming him.

It’s arguably messy. Definitely to most not the most desired situation, laying on the cold, marble floor surrounded by the physical fragments of both your orgasms. But when you turn around to face Nanami, softly panting in an attempt to recollect his breath from his high, the back of his hand resting on his forehead in exhaustion, you can’t help but let out a small, weak laugh. And when Nanami’s eyes flicker towards you at the sound of your laughter, he can’t help but join in as well, fully understanding the beauty of the moment.

Something about it was almost ironic. You were in the most luxurious penthouse suite, experiencing the most sexy, alluring nearly dream-like night with a man almost too good to be true. This part now was most likely the most realistic portion of the dream-like night, yet, it was your favourite.

It was perfect. Imperfectly perfect. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“I’m going to wash up. Care to join me?”

“You know that’s not gonna work.” You reply, pointing up at your mask. “We can’t keep these on in the shower.”

“I don’t care anymore, you’re more than just a quick fuck to me now.” Nanami smiles, a hand reaching forward to tangle with yours.“I already know you’re gorgeous, but I want to see your entire face for myself.”

You wanted to. You really did. But the reality looming over you was too strong to ignore. Despite being your prince for the night, in reality, he still remained your colleague in the office. You knew mixing pleasure with work was never a good idea, and you knew the responsible choice was to remain keeping the two separate.

“Not yet.” Your hand squeezes his back. “Let’s keep up the mystery a little longer.”

—

“Marlboro’s? These are impossible to find here, how’d you get your hands on this?”

You climb back onto the bed, shaking a towel into your damp hair with one hand in an attempt to dry your hair, nudging at the red cardboard box that laid on top of Nanami’s lap. Nanami shrugs, taking two cigarettes out of the box, placing one in his mouth and offering the other in your direction.

“Connections.”

Taking the cigarette, you toss the damp towel onto the armrest of the nearby chair. You join Nanami under the covers of the duvet, and when you situate yourself to mimic him in leaning against the headboard, he reaches over his bedside table for the metallic lighter.

“What, did I just fuck some wanted gangster or something?”

“Not at all,” Nanami chuckles, finding humour in your accusation. “I’m just a regular salaryman… with an interesting part time job.”

He lights the tip of your cigarette first, lighting his own shortly after. A short silence fills the air when the both of you simultaneously take the first drag, seeping in the bitter flavor.

“I won’t ask.” You wink at him, and Nanami rolls his eyes in response. “Keeps you more sexy, like a mystery, you know?”

“What do you smoke then?”

“Blackstones.”

“Awful.” Nanami scrunches his nose in a cringe, instantly tossing the red cardboard box onto your lap covered with the duvet. “Take this pack on me, and treat yourself to something not garbage once in a while.”

“Cigarettes are garbage in general. Literally poison killing you slowly— but for some reason I can’t stop.

Nanami nods in agreement, taking another drag.

“I could never give up — especially cigarettes after sex. Something about ending the night with a good cigarette is the cherry on top.”

“Blackstones taste like cherry, so that could be literal if you wanted it to be.”

“Huh, makes sense.” Nanami pauses, turning to you with a cheeky smile. “You kind of tasted like cherries and tobacco when I first kissed you.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows raise, reciprocating his coy smile back “What about now?”

Nanami leans forward, his free hand reaching to cup the side of your neck, lifting your face upwards towards him. Your eyes flutter closed when your lips meet his, gently caressing with yours and delicately exploring you, drinking in every single flavour he could.

“A mix of tobacco,” Nanami grins against your lips. “And a little bit of me.”

#Nanami #nanami kento #nanami fanfic #nanami smut #nanami reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x you #smut

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aenaxes · 3 years ago

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PANSLALSOKAAOOSKWOAMSNA CONGRATS ON 200 BESTIE!! YOU DESERVE ALL THE LOVE, SUPPORT, AND EVEN MORE!! YOU ARE SO TALENTED NOT ONLY WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING BUT ALSO YOUR ART TOO!!! If you wouldn't mind, I would like to request a sfw to nsfw with Hardcase? The song that makes me thing of him every damm time, I have no clue why, is Ribs by Lorde. For pronouns would be she/her and if you would like to know, I'm about 5'2" with blue eyes, mid back length half dyed hair, the colors I have dyed my hair are purple, blue, and pink!! Even if you don't do this, just know that I wouldn't mind and I'm always happy with seeing you write whatever you want because you are so talented and keep me very well fed 😌🤲💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

we'll make it (divine)

[hardcase x f!reader] loving hardcase is something akin to falling in love all over again and again every time he knocks on your door and pulls you into his arms.

warnings: nsfw, outdoor sex, mushy gooey feelings

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: sage my darling 🥺 ily bb mwah <3 i'm going to be completely honest writing this made me fall so so so much more in love with hardcase (bless u for that)

event details here! requests will be open until july 4th!

“Hey!” Hardcase greets you with that very specific sort of glee only he knows, breathless and bright-eyed as your door slides open.

The durasteel parts to reveal him and a shiny keyring lifted eye-level to the blue ink arcing over his temple. The sparse assortment of bronze and silver speeder keys jangle against a polished leather keyfob as he shakes his fist with boyish, giddy joy. It’s one that, you might add, isn’t exactly fitting of Hardcase’s rough-and-tumble style—ergo, keys that don’t belong to him—and one that begets a few questions as you raise a pointed brow in his direction.

Hardcase only grins wider.

But before you can ask if those are—and they definitely are—the keys to Jesse’s planetside speeder, Hardcase shoots his other hand forward and wiggles his fingers between yours, tugging you into the glare of the fluorescent hallway lights and squeezing snug.

“Don’t have much time,” he nods earnestly. “You ready to go?”

“Go where?” you laugh as he stuffs the keys into the pocket of his bomber, tearing his attention away from you if only to shoot a hasty glance over his shoulder. But you’re stepping forwards anyways, crowding up against his side as your door slides shut behind you.

“Out, duh,” Hardcase says with a scrunch of his nose, the telltale twitch of his left cheek that you immediately recognize as a silent, animated, ‘isn’t it obvious?’ He punctuates his response with a quick squeeze over your hand, and his smile grows wider when you tip your head back and laugh.

“How much of a head start do you have on him?”

“I have about a hallway lead,” he says, sheepish if not for the excitement in his voice. “C’mon! He’ll beat my ass if we don’t get moving!”

You might not exactly know what’s going on, because for all the spontaneous and oftentimes questionable visits from Hardcase that you’ve come to expect as part of your regular routine, Hardcase carried with him some mischievous ingenuity to surprise you each and every time. But you can’t help but mirror the contagious delight in his grin as you squeeze his hand and take off behind him.

And it’s the natural thing to do, the ebb and flow of alternating surprises: Hardcase poking into your room well past lights out with Tup’s holo and a bootlegged movie, and you meeting him with two glasses of single malt whiskey before both promptly gagging on your first sips. It had always been like that ever since you had, quite literally, knocked heads with Hardcase in the corridors of your first jedi cruiser assignment, running a bit too fast a bit too far.

A bit of carefree joy, a bit of light, you think as you run past a loose group of shinies, the squeak of your boots blending with your stifled giggling. And when Hardcase turns his head to check if you’re still there (as if he’s not squeezing your hand tight), you see him as he is, a sturdy piton to keep your hold against war’s steep shear.

“Hurry, hurry!” he laughs as you run through the open blast doors. His voice rises above the motions of the hangar bay like the sweetest song, hoarse and free.

You open your mouth to say something along the lines of ‘I’m trying!’ but your mouth fills with the cool air of the Ansion night, sweet with the fragrance of grass, organic and good over the labored exhaust of the base. And instead of words, laughter, bright and loud, bubbles from your chest.

As soon as you’re entering the hangar bay, you already find yourself at its opposite end. Hardcase’s fingertips dig firm into the soft curve of your waist as he hurriedly but no less gently lifts you off your feet and onto the back of Jesse’s bike. With one final look over his shoulder, Hardcase clambers on after you, jamming the keys into ignition and revving the engine to life.

The low thrum of the bike drowns out Jesse’s muted yelling from across the landing as you peel away from the bay. But above Jesse’s fading shouts, above the rumble of eight durasteel cylinders underneath you, all you can hear is Hardcase’s whoops of pure joy when you wrap your arms tight around his waist and press your ear behind his beating heart.

The recycled hangar bay air gives way to something earthy and warm. You breathe deep, even with the speeder ramped up as fast as you think it could possibly go, and your lungs fill with the fading ghosts of sunlight and Hardcase’s cologne as you squeeze your arms around him and imagine the floodlights of the base blinking out behind you.

It’s only when the bike beneath you sputters to a halt and the roar of the engine gives way to the broad silence, curling over the hilltop on the rich and cool midnight winds, that you turn your head and see Hardcase without the giddy thrill of impromptu adventure.

Hardcase hops off the speeder, wobbling once on his feet with a breathless laugh as he hits solid ground. You watch from your perch on the back of the bike as he dusts off his jeans and shoves the keys into the pocket of his GAR bomber. It’s the one that fits one size too small, pulling at the edges of his shoulders as he rises to his full stature under the glow of twin moons.

But when Hardcase turns around to face you, all wind-kissed cheeks and rosy glow that reaches his eyes, the playful tease dies on your tongue.

“Your hair’s a mess,” he says softly as he tilts his head to the side to flash you a smile. He saunters forwards, eyes gleaming with starlight, and finds home between your thighs with a sigh you almost lose to the rising wind.

He shrugs off his bomber, his face scrunching up in the way that makes you both laugh when his arm catches on the tight pull of leather, and he sweeps it behind you to set it snug over your shoulders. And when you’re snug under his jacket, he lifts his hands to your temples, fingertips ghosting over your skin as he gently pushes your tousled hair behind your ears.

You let your eyelids flutter shut, relishing in the careful touch you know he only reserves for you, nothing like the playful roughhousing and loving shoves he exchanges in the barracks. It’s a slow deliberation, callused fingertips tracing over your scalp, sending shivers down your spine as he strokes from your hairline and arcs over the crown of your head, fingertips giving way to his warm palm cupping at the apex of your neck.

And it doesn’t take wide eyes to know that when his motions stutter to a pause, when you hear him inhale through his nose, that he’s watching you with that unnameable warmth: the one that settles deep and wide in his dark eyes, fingertips hovering just close enough over your skin that you feel the heat radiating across that small breadth between you, wondering how he got so lucky, reveling in how he got so lucky.

You know the feeling. (You feel the same.)

You open your eyes, and Hardcase is there. He is there, bathed in the endless starscape above, but all he can see is you, reflected back at you in fond eyes you commit to memory each and every time.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Hardcase whispers. He lifts one hand to rub over the back of his neck and brings the other flush over the curve of your knee with the boyish shyness of twinkling eyes and starstruck joy that had roped you into his gravity the first time he’d stumbled into your path.

“You’d better be,” you snort, tugging his jacket close to your collar as he shifts his palm higher. There is playfulness, just a flash, but it soon gives way to something warm and low in your belly.

The small, slow movements of his thumb over your thigh strike a warmth that chases the midnight wind’s cold, spreading in thrumming waves over your chest. It emboldens you like a neat shot of whiskey, thrown back at once, swallowed down with raucous laughter, the noise and the lights faded away under the open sky, warm, warm, warm, and you reach up to curl your fingers over the hand at his neck, pulling him close.

You lean forwards, touching your brow to his, and just before you slide your eyes shut, you catch the look in his deep brown eyes. It reminds you of the first time you bore witness to the ghostly blue lights of a hyperspace jump, entranced in honest wonder as he stands between your thighs.

Because it’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you—a warm and bright place to call home. It’s always been you. And Hardcase melts into your touch as you brush close.

“‘cause I think I’m in love with you, too.”

He laughs, and it’s a new sound in the night. It’s not quite relief, nor is it that exuberant glee from your sprint down the base halls. When you think back on it, it was understanding, your secret for two.

“I love you,” Hardcase says again, stronger, convicted, something closer to an earnest prayer than words alone as he looks up at you and greets you with the galaxy bright in his eyes. Not a soldier, not one of millions, just him; firm muscle between your thighs, breaths ghosting over your collar, fingertips pressing warmth into your ribs as he snakes his palms under your shirt and pulls you close.

Just yours.

You’re not sure who kisses who first, too full of a rapturous swell that blooms through your chest. But it doesn’t really matter. Not when Hardcase’s lips curl close against yours, wind-chapped and dry but so, so warm as he presses his fingertips into the skin of your back and pulls you close against him.

When his kiss is broken by the cold air, bitter in comparison to his touch, you let a whimper roll from your tongue. Brief as the interruption may be, it’s an interruption all the same.

Hardcase humors you with a quick peck to the corner of your mouth. But he’s quick to make up for that split second of lost time as he throws his leg over the side of the bike, his knees knocking against yours as he takes a seat before you. In his lovestruck daze, he sweeps his arms wide, letting that brief moment of giddy glee pass over his cheeks before he brings his hands over your waist and gently tugs onto his lap.

“Isn’t this Jesse’s bike?” you sigh dreamily when Hardcase thumbs over the crease of your thighs and noses up against the edge of your jaw, sending want snaking up your spine.

“He doesn’t need to know,” Hardcase says with a noise somewhere between dismissal and apathy as he shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, gross,” and you stick out your tongue as if you aren’t already aching at the thought of straddling his lap and letting him stretch you open under the starscape above.

Hardcase simply shrugs and brings his hand to his chin to offer you his best glamour face in return.

You make quick work of your slacks, kicking them off to the side while Hardcase fumbles with his fly. It’s awkward, if only by the fact that you’re balanced atop each other on the delicate wobble of the hover generator, elbows bumped close in a gentle fumbling that’s simply too genuine to be embarrassing anymore. You’ve done this too many times, shoved up in dark closets and hidden spaces of cruiser corridors, never truly satiated, never having taken your fill.

It’s not awkward—just endearing, you decide as you shift your hips forward and feel the blunt head of his cock dip up between your thighs.

As you sink down onto his lap, the speeder wobbles beneath you, and you fling your arms around him with a half-squeal half-moan, dropping down onto his cock in one smooth movement that sends a shudder through you both.

There is some solace in knowing that if the bike did tip over, that Hardcase would go down with you, his arms tight around your waist as he nuzzles into your chest and laughs. Commitment, you think as your heart bangs up against your ribs, a bit silly and very much dangerous, but commitment that warms you to your core.

“It’s all you, baby,” Hardcase whispers as you finally peel yourself away from him and lean back just enough to catch a full view of his face.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. How could you? How could you assign to the mundane the sweet ease of trust sloped over his brow as he looks up at you like you’re the only thing in the midnight sky, the only thing in his universe?

“Lazyass,” you snort, and he laughs.

But clever quips and snarky remarks are forgotten for the night when you carefully lift your hips, knees quivering over the hard press of the bike, and rock back down onto his lap.

Hardcase fills you in the way only he can, toeing that fine line between easy comfort and the satisfying burn of being split open and squeezed breathless.

You sink down with a whimpering gasp, toes curling when you feel him buck up into the soft spot inside you that whites out your vision. Choking on your own moan, you let your head drop down onto his shoulder, already rendered boneless and pliant around him. You fist tight into the soft fabric of his shirt, cunt spasming around him, and you hold tighter when his hips jerk up again.

“I got you, baby. I got you,” Hardcase mumbles into your shoulder, trailing his lips to the base of your neck and kissing sweet. His arms squeeze around your waist once and anchor you close. And he is there, curled everywhere around you, holding you close as the wind rises broad and far between the grassy plains and the universe overhead.

Where else could you ever want to be?

You want to laugh when you remember Hardcase leaving the pace to you as you feel his palms knead into your hips. But it comes out as a soft sigh when he hefts you halfway off his cock and fucks you down onto him again. All you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and hold as he starts a steady pace.

You won’t last long like this—neither of you will, not when you’re bared to the open sky and yet the closest you’ve ever felt to each other in a long while.

Hardcase breaks your dreamy longing with an uneven jerk of his hips. He’s close, and like muscle memory, he immediately drags one hand over the curve of your thigh to find the soft skin where you part around him. But you’re quick to react to him, grabbing his wrist as you sink down onto him with a soft moan.

“Already feels good,” you gasp, meeting him through the blurry haze of the tears dotting your lashes. You can just make out his wide eyes, and you choke out an unsteady laugh. “Hold me, ‘Case. Just hold me.”

“Okay, yeah,” Hardcase babbles, holding you flush on his lap and coaxing a soft sob from your lips. He brings his arms around your ribs, nestling his cheek against your chest, right above your beating heart. “Anything for you, baby.”

And that’s all it takes.

You come with a whimpering cry, and pleasure, luxuriant and warm, floods through your core as you bow forward and clutch tight to Hardcase’s neck.

It’s too much but only in the best of ways. Hardcase gives you little time to breathe, shedding the last dregs of restraint to press you down hard onto his lap and fuck as deep as he can go. Feeling your own high, Hardcase takes his fill and bends you to his pleasure, fucking into you for himself. And you swear you feel it in your throat as he lifts you up to the blunt ridge of his tip and brings you back down all at once.

“I love you,” Hardcase chants, breathy and low as he spills into your pulsing cunt. Your soft moans twine with his own as a second orgasm shocks through you, pulled over the edge again by his words alone. “I love you, I love you.” And he crushes his lips against yours and swallows your honeyed confessions with his tongue.

You feel him come down from his high with you. Your breathing blends as one until you’re gasping softly against each other, having long since parted and pressed your heads close, brow-to-brow, nose-to-nose. You vaguely remember it meaning something to the good brothers of the GAR, and while you can’t quite place a finger on what it was, all you know right now is that it’s closeness beyond physicality alone. And you feel Hardcase’s breaths level out and fan over the sweat on your collar, all you find yourself able to do is press even closer.

And when the ringing in your ears subsides, when you no longer feel your chests heaving against each other, you slowly open your eyes and find Hardcase already there, dopey-eyed and blinking slowly as he meets your gaze.

“Hey,” you whisper, drawing back.

The wind rises again, cool and sharp as it curls and eddies around you.

“Hey,” he replies. Gingerly, immersed in the sudden stillness, Hardcase lifts his hand from your back and brings his knuckles to your cheek to brush soft over the sweat and bliss over your skin.

“I love you,” you say, and the words curl over your tongue, shy and true all at once, like it’s the first time all over again.

“Yeah?”

You can’t mistake the spark that alights over Hardcase’s eyes as anything but breathless joy, genuine and raw and perfect because no matter how many times you said it, the simple power remained. The vastness of a night sky, stars exploding to life, with no clear centre but him and his soft smile that puts the moonlight to shame.

You love him.

You do.

“Good,” he grins. “‘Cause I love you, too.”

#cries #i yearn for a love like this #and thats the story of how jesse never touched his speeder ever again #hardcase x reader #501st x reader #the clone wars x reader #sageislostinspring #yaej.writes

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kiribakuficrecs · 4 years ago

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hello!!! im going on a very long trip at the end of april and I'm looking for some very long fics to download to keep me entertained! i dont care what they're about as long as there's no major character death or mentions of non-con. ur blog is a godsend ilysm and you do such a good job thank you so much 🙏

hi there!! i definitely have a lot of good lengthy fics i can recommend to you!

quote love unquote by newamsterdam

Sero nods. “It’s the chance of a lifetime, really,” he says. “We want you to date Bakugou, for the sake of his reputation with the press. Some public appearances, a few ‘candid’ photos. For at least a couple of months.”

“Bakugou sent you to ask me to date him?” Kirishima asks, baffled.

“Of course not. We, his people, are asking you to date him. He’s going to have to get on board, if he wants his career to survive. And in the bargain, Riot will get all sorts of publicity, because their lyricist will be dating one of the industry’s hottest stars. A win for everyone.”

When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.

acceptance and denial by poteto

It all goes okay when Kirishima decides to come out to his friends and it all goes wrong when decides that Bakugou is the best fake boyfriend material.

cause the darks not taking prisoners tonight by imatrisarahtops

“Are those soba noodles?” Kirishima asked.

Again Bakugou’s only reply was a grunt. He offered no further explanation—not that Kirishima honestly expected one—as though making soba noodles from scratch at half past four in the morning wasn’t at all a bizarre occurrence and made complete and total sense. For a fleeting moment, Kirishima even wondered if maybe he was the odd one here. Besides, he’d already decided it was generally not in his best interest to question these types of things with Bakugou, especially when it was something essentially harmless.

When Kirishima has a nightmare and is unable to fall back asleep, he accepts defeat and decides to study in the common area of the dorms. What he doesn't expect to find is Bakugou, also very much awake, and Kirishima can't help but think that maybe they're both having the same problems with sleeping. If he's worried, it's just because they're friends. (Right?)

the weight of your hand by kamin

That night, to the citizens, the explosions were a jolt of fear at every blast, but to the heroes and the students of UA, they were punches and swings, fierce fighting and loud strength. The explosions were the pulse of the battle, and the power of a boy that would never back down.

One after another, explosions set a chorus through the shuddering city.

And then, suddenly—the explosions stopped.

(In which Bakugou’s kidnapping goes a little differently, and just a few seconds could change so much.)

so take my hand (your life will be brighter) by multiclassmaps

When a stranger shows up at the ice rink during Bakugou's usually private training sessions, Bakugou expects to hate him. He doesn't expect to develop feelings that become increasingly difficult to deny, or for them to help each other sort through their emotional baggage. - Bakugou really didn't like Kirishima's smile. There was something about it that made his stomach hurt, something about it that made it difficult to focus. He definitely hadn't thought about that smile on his way to the ice rink that day. He definitely hadn't.

distance makes the heart grow fonder (false) by dragontrappedinhumanskin

When Bakugo and Kirishima get hit by a quirk that forces them to literally stick together or face the less then desirable consequences, how the fuck is Bakugo supposed to keep his crush hidden?! Well, turns out he never needed to.

-- “Well, this fucking sucks, how are we supposed to train?!” "Really closely?"

perihelion by tauontauoff

Bakugou was a comet, blazing out of reach. Kirishima knew he was stupidly lucky that his furious trajectory went by close enough that his fingertips got to graze the cowl of fire. It was enough.

During Christmas Class 1A and 1B spend a laid-back week learning about extreme environment hero work in the Alps. Kirishima was used to keeping part of his feelings for Bakugou hidden, and had every intention of keeping it that way, but things don't always go according to plan.

fight me by mr_todoroki

Bright red, spiky hair. Annoyingly bright smile. Clothes that radiate ‘look at me’ vibes. Neon yellow tank top with black shorts. And those were definitely crocs on his fucking feet.

Yeah, Katsuki hated this guy.

Bakugou gets a new roommate.

quietly by chezka

“We’ve been taking the same way to and from school for weeks,” Kirishima grinned, and then when Bakugou frowned at him he put on an affected pout, tilted his head so that he was looking at him through his thick, long lashes, “you never noticed? Am I that easy to miss?”

He could barely finish the sentence before a laugh escaped his lips, and Bakugou rolled his eyes, hit him with a shoulder a little more violently than necessary.

“You stick out like a sore thumb, broom-head,” he grumbled, promptly ignoring Kirishima's whining about his hairstyle when it started coming, “I didn’t notice ‘cause I didn’t care.”

“And now you do?”

everyone knows that cats are independent by purplepersnickety

Eijirou enjoys his job, working the graveyard shift at a 24/7 coffee shop. His daemon Riot is always there to keep him company, and he likes meeting the early-morning patrons and giving them the best possible kick-start to their day. It's been his routine for about a year now.

Then one day, a grouchy guy with a daemon in the form of a lion walks into the shop in the dead of night, and Eijirou decides to strike up a conversation with him.

punks not dead by wrunic

“So you want to use me to piss off your mom?” Kirishima summarized, raising one pierced eyebrow at Katsuki.

“Look, if you want to be all fucking judgy about it, I take cash,” Katsuki said, dropping his hand palm up on the table.

“Hey now,” Kirishima said, raising his hands in surrender, “I didn’t say I wasn’t doing it. I’m always down for a little chaos.” He flashed a grin, showing off his ridiculous shark teeth.

“Good,” Katsuki said. “We start tomorrow."

sent, delivered, read, loved by kiribakuhappiness

Kirishima E. [6.49pm]: ur okay for such an angry dude bakugou! :)

Bakugou K. [7.12pm]: FUCK YOU!

Kirishima E. [7.14pm]: haha! :D ttyl!

Bakugou K. [7.48pm]: FUCKING WHAT DO THOSE DUMB LETTERS MEAN???

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: I JUST LOOKED IT UP DONT FUCKING TALK TO ME LATER!

Bakugou K. [7.52pm]: STOP TXTING ME!!!

- OR -

Bakugou's and Kirishima's relationship develops from classmates to friends to more, as told through their text conversations.

flicker by mr_todoroki

He was starting to feel depressed. Life was so uninteresting. It was so mundane and forgettable. He had no one to hang out with besides Kota, his family didn’t even live in the city.

He grew his hair out as some sort of rebellion, some sort of stand to make his life the slightest bit more interesting. But he could already feel himself giving in to the pressure of cutting it. He needed to work to live. Without a job, he’d truly have nothing.

Kirishima never applied to UA, therefore never became a hero.

let’s get down to business by kjelfalconer

Katsuki Bakugou, one of the brightest rising stars on wall street, is in need of a new personal assistant. Again. Could Eijirou Kirishima finally be the one to last more than two months?

Katsuki's long suffering HR department sure hope so.

something about us by bigstupidjellyfish

nothing like being in highschool and having no idea how to deal with emotions

fireproof by inkbender

Four years after a classmate nobody seems to remember is kidnapped by the League of Villains, Kirishima drags an amnesiac hobo he found washed up on the beach into his apartment, attempts to teach him how to adult (with varying degrees of success), and discovers along the way that the line between heroism and villainy is quite fine indeed. Plot-divergent after episode 45, the Forest Training Camp arc.

blood riot by magicallee (alternatively)

Kirishima from a universe with no quirks is mind-swapped with an alternate universe version of himself where there are superpowers.

And in that universe he’s a super villain.

And Bakugou is the superhero who caught Evil-Kirishima and put him in prison.

blindside by drowclericpelor

“You’re the first guy friend I’ve had that I can just like, be friends with. You’re either the most unthirstiest boy ever...” Camie shrugged and made another wobbly illusion appear between her hands. It looked like a sparkly rainbow with the word ‘friendship’ beneath it, accompanied by what Bakugou assumed was supposed to be a twinkling sound effect, but it had a tinny quality to it and sounded far away. “...or I just ain’t got the kinda straw you like to ssssip.”

Carefully, Bakugou considered the strange turn this conversation had taken.

He had never been asked, point blank, if he was gay before. And he honestly had never thought about how he would respond. Lying about himself didn’t sit right with him. But he’d always wanted to wait until he was the number one hero - when he stood above everyone else - before coming out. Though he’d had times when he’d thought about doing it before then and had almost gone through with it once. But being the number one hero came first. It wouldn’t matter what people would say about it then as long as he’d risen to the top.

Bakugou knew his lack of a response would give Camie all the answers she needed.

flour power by wingsonghalo

“I’m telling you now, Shitty Hair,” the blonde growled, “I am not gonna play house with you. We will cart this stupid flour around for a week like the assignment says. But some of our idiot classmates are naming the thing and setting up ‘playdates’ and dressing it and I am not doing anything that stupid. Got it?”

Kirishima and Bakugou are paired up to take care of a flour sack for a week. It would be so simple, except nothing with Bakugou is ever simple. Also Kirishima might be kinda sorta completely head over heels for him.

sunchaser by chonideno

that feeling when you suddenly want to jump off a cliff for no reason but instead of a cliff it’s your best friend and instead of jumping it’s growing feelings out of nowhere

or how Bakugou has to try really hard not to throw everything to the wind, and Kirishima doesn't help

i also have a tag specifically for fics that reach somewhere between 30k-70k words long if you wanted to check that out as well! i hope you enjoy the fics here and that i was able to help, ily enjoy your trip!!! :D

#kiribaku fic rec #kiribaku #answered

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tangent101 · 4 years ago

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Max Caulfield and Post-Storm PTSD

One thing I find interesting (and have done so myself) is speculating on how broken Max will be in a Post-Storm (either Sacrifice Chloe or Sacrifice Arcadia Bay) setting. While some people (usually those who killed Chloe) like to say "she'd bounce back!" the predominant view is that we have a shattered Max after this who needs a lot of therapy. So I thought I'd unpack this and look at why I look at this this way.

At this point I should add there is potential triggers here. I'll be examining my own PTSD and elements of Max's state of mind that may in fact result in her being in declining mental health in the wake of the events of Life is Strange.

First, let's consider what PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder) is, and what causes it. And for this I'm going to start by sharing my own trauma. Because I have PTSD. I gained this after I saw a vehicle go out of control and hit two people and run over two others. The final person was trapped under the vehicle and they had to push the van at an angle to pull him out, do CPR, and... he was dead. Even if EMTs had been right there, he'd not have survived.

I suffer flashbacks thinking of this, though it's gotten better. I will flinch, visualize what happened, and feel nausea. I get tense over this and... well, it's not a happy experience to put it mildly. And I have what is likely a milder case of PTSD. I also developed it despite being in an environment that put me at a lower risk of developing it. And yes, I had minor twinges of PTSD writing this up. Two years ago I probably would have had an actual visualization and anxiety break. So you can get better with therapy and help.

But what specifically is PTSD? According to the website for the National Institute of Mental Health, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) develops in some people who experience shocking or dangerous events, with people who have PTSD feeling stressed or frightened even when they are not in danger. PTSD can occur within 3 months of traumatic events or even have you be fine and then crop up *years* later. And symptoms include flashbacks where you relive the trauma, bad dreams, and frightening thoughts which can disrupt a person's everyday routine.

People with PTSD are easily startled, can feel "on edge," have angry outburst, and have difficulty sleeping. They could go through avoidance of staying away from reminders of the experience and avoiding thoughts or feelings related to the event. Further, cognitive and mood symptoms include problems remembering key features of the event, self-negativity, distorted guilt or blame feelings, and loss of interest in enjoyable activities.

Okay, so how can you avoid PTSD? And how could Max avoid this? Well, factors promoting recovery after trauma include seeking support from friends and family, finding a support group, learning to feel good about your own actions in the face of danger, positive coping strategies, and learning to act and respond effectively even when feeling fear.

And this is the kicker. This is why Max is likely screwed as a result of the events of Life is Strange, especially in a Sacrifice Chloe setting. Because Max blames herself and her time travel for the Storm and all the weird shit that happened. She may very well believe that if she uses time travel for any reason, it will result in the Storm and a lot more people dying. And this will get in the way of being in a healthy environment to avoid PTSD.

First, consider friends and family. Max can't tell them what happened because she has absolutely no proof of what she went through. She can't prove her time travel because if she does then she dooms wherever she is and a lot of people die. (It doesn't matter if this is the case or not, she assumes it is true.) So Max is not going to confide in Warren or Dana or Victoria or anyone. She can't. And she's quite likely going to isolate herself because we have already seen at the start of the game, Max is a bit of a loner who doesn't have many friends.

In fact, her two "friends" are Warren (who she feels threatened by due to his attraction to her, as seen by his inclusion in her Nightmare sequence including learning he doctored photos of her to include himself in the picture, his peeping activities on the second day, and the honestly-creepy "Go Ape" thing), and Kate. Kate is going through her own shit and Max remembers Kate killing herself. Is Max going to unload her own issues on someone going through a lot of shit as well or is she going to swallow her problems so not to trouble her friend? And Warren is someone she feels nervous around and who has engaged in some activities that set up warning flags in her psyche. Further, when she told Warren the truth, he promptly blames her time travel on fucking everything up. In short, she trusted Warren and Warren said "you caused all this destruction." (Even if Max initially blames herself, he reinforces that point of view before Max jumps through the photo to save Chloe.)

Nor can I see her telling her parents. Again, she has no proof. Her parents are overprotective already. If she starts going off on this fanciful tale, are they going to believe her? Or are they going to assume their daughter is cracking and force her into therapy and possibly hospitalize her "for her own good" (and thus she ends up medicated and miserable, having lost her autonomy and agency)? It doesn't matter if they wouldn't as Max will worry this could happen. It is better to never say a thing. So Max internalizes everything. And we already see evidence that Max has done this sort of thing in the past. Max keeps her secrets close to her heart. She never told her parents of the time travel even when she could have had proof. So why tell them after Chloe died?

I have been overcoming my PTSD by revisiting it and working through it. Part of this was guided by therapy. Max would not be in a position to talk about this. And how could she? After all, she didn't find Rachel Amber's body (and we have no proof her body is uncovered in a Sacrifice Chloe setting). She didn't see the Storm. She didn't see most of the incidents. The closest that happened was being in the bathroom when Chloe was shot. And her story of what happened would change from the week that beta-Max was in charge and when Max Prime returned to the timeline. So even if she was talking to a school counselor? She'd quickly learn that her story changed and probably shut up and stop seeing them so not to give away her story.

Remember: Max cannot admit to the time travel because doing so means either killing hundreds of people due to the Storm or being locked away for being crazy because she has no proof.

Next, we have feeling good about her actions. For five days Max had hammered into her skull her actions have consequences. More, those consequences are predominantly bad. Far too often Max has to Rewind to fix things from her actions. If she can't Rewind? That means by acting, she's going to fuck things up. In fact, the fundamental aspect of Sacrifice Chloe states that her action to save Chloe caused all of this destruction. Max is going to second-guess herself constantly.

I mean, if she sees Kate on the roof again at a later point (because women who are the victims of crimes are often blamed by society for the crimes inflicted against them as seen time and time again with how we blame victims of sexual harassment and rape for the crimes committed against them, so of course her church and mother and aunt will continue to blame Kate for what she went through), will Max dare to act? If she does, then she might cause another Storm. She might cause damage. If Kate is on that rooftop again, maybe she was supposed to die. Who does Max think she is by trying to stop Destiny?

So yeah. Max is not going to feel good about her actions. She is going to second-guess herself. She already had that tendency at the start of the game, and Sacrifice Chloe hammers down the truth that action is bad. Better to do nothing and not interact.

We end up with Avoidance. Well, what is the biggest Avoidance? Photography. Max already has a murderer who kidnapped her associated with photography. She remembers being in the Dark Room, being powerless in the face of the man who murdered her Chloe. (Just like she murdered her Chloe. She might not have pulled the trigger, but she caused Chloe's death.) She will see Chloe's death and Rachel's death and her own suffering each time she looks at a camera and remembers Mark Jefferson. More, she knows if she focuses on a photograph she could end up traveling through time and causing the Storm. So she can't even enjoy pictures anymore because they are a threat.

That's not to say that the Sacrifice Chloe setting is all dark and dire. She does have music. She loves music. So if she puts aside the camera she might pick up her guitar and embrace music. (Hannah Telle, Max's VA, once speculated that Max would enter a career in music, probably due partly to her own musical inclinations.) So while she might give up her greatest loves, she might eventually embrace a future in music. I doubt she'd ever play in public but... that might be an outlet for a hurting soul.

Now, I've gone on at length about how dire things are for Max in a Sacrifice Chloe setting, but what about Sacrifice Arcadia Bay? Well, things end up a bit more positive in this setting because she can actually talk about going through some of these things. For instance, Max dug up a body with Chloe. She saw Chloe almost shot by Nathan in the bathroom. She saw Kate attempt suicide (whether or not she stopped it is immaterial to the suicide attempt). She learned that a trusted teacher and mentor was in fact a predator who was kidnapping young women, saw pictures of these crimes, and thus "suffers flashbacks visualizing herself in this setting." She can go to therapy and talk about many things she cannot in a Sacrifice Chloe setting and in doing so she can start to work through elements that could result in PTSD developing.

She can also talk to Chloe about what happened. Chloe knows about the time travel. She knows about almost dying (and Max witnessing Chloe's death multiple times). This gives Max a needed outlet for overcoming her own fears and concerns. But more importantly is this: Chloe is likely to tell Max to face down her fears. Chloe is the person who always pushed Max to try new things. And I honestly cannot see that changing as a result of what they went through.

Max also will learn to feel good about her actions. I mean, she chose Chloe over Arcadia Bay. This is the ultimate action, and while she may feel remorse for those deaths and that destruction... she also knows she saved Chloe and Chloe is by her side. She knows that her actions led to the capture and arrest of Mark Jefferson and saving Victoria Chase's life. Hell, it led to David Madsen (and probably a couple Arcadia Bay police officers) surviving the Storm because they were in the Dark Room at the time of the Storm. Her actions have consequences... and those consequences need not be dire. They can be beneficial.

So the Max of Sacrifice Arcadia Bay has a support group, she has access to therapy and can talk about some of the things she went through, she has someone she loves who believes her, she knows that her actions have benefit, she has someone who urges her to move forward. This isn't to say she won't have PTSD... but she is in a far better environment to overcome this to the point that in Life is Strange 2, we learn (in the Save Chloe timeline) that Max is submitting to galleries and that Chloe is still with her. So she's taking pictures and is in a good place in her life.

Now, what about Chloe? After all, Chloe went through some truly horrific shit herself. Chloe was almost shot by Nathan, she almost got hit by a train, she was threatened by Frank, she dug up the body of a girl she truly cared for, dozens of yards from where she was hanging out regularly, she saw a huge-ass Tornado wipe out her home town and kill her mother... yeah, Chloe's been through some horrific stuff, about as horrific as Max. More, she is in an unhealthy position at the time of the game.

But much of what benefits Max in the Save Chloe timeline also benefits Chloe. She can talk to a therapist. She has Max by her side. She has Max by her side and Max out-and-out chose her over hundreds of people. Joyce chose David over her, and for four years Chloe was in an unsafe environment. Rachel was... Rachel, and she was cheating on Chloe anyway. But Max... Max comes back, she saves her life several times, she helps Chloe time and time again, and at the end she chose Chloe over Arcadia Bay. That is big. That is bigger than big, it is... for once, Chloe was told "you are important." I mean, I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking of how big this is. Chloe has realized just how much Max loves her.

So... Chloe might develop PTSD. She is at risk of it. I think her triggers might similar to Max's - both girls probably will freak over thunderstorms for a while, and both may develop an aversion toward guns... at first I thought they'd differ but really, they'd align fairly well. About the only trigger issue Max would have Chloe doesn't has to do with photography (which is why Chloe is the person who'd help Max overcome any such issues).

#ptsd #post traumatic stress disorder #life is strange #lis #max caulfield #chloe price #max and chloe #sacrifice arcadia bay #sacrifice chloe #mental health

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staminaoverlook · 3 years ago

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Devlog 12/07/2021.

After almost a week of designing, redesigning, asking for advice and thoughts and rethinking everything I've ever done, I've finally completed the design of the NPC system.

Behold, what was, not going to lie, a few very stressful days, where this was the only thing I could think about.

First to get the terminology out of the way. An NPC is a Non-Player Character - a character that the player cannot control. Since we only control Erik in this game, all other characters - including Christine, Raoul and everyone else - are NPCs.

An NPC System is an algorythm - a set of instructions - that manages all NPCs in the game, allowing them to walk around, to interact with the world and with the player, and react to things.

In my case, the NPC System includes:

An NPC Manager

A number of NPC scripts, describing general NPC behavior

A number of specific NPC scripts, describing specific, unique NPC behavior.

NPC Manager.

The NPC Manager is a large script that manages everything NPC-related. It is what loads and unloads NPCs in the game and saves all data about them.

NPC General scripts.

The NPC General script is an even larger script that describes general NPC behavior. It describes things that ALL NPCs have and can do:

Name, Appearance

Personality, Type

State (idle, unconscious, working, dead, etc)

Routine

Reacting to the player, as well as murder, bodies and theft

Dying and becoming a body

Having a mini-menu popup on mouse hovering over them.

Having a conversation with the player

Having a conversation with another NPC.

Then the NPC General script is inherited by a number of other NPC General scripts - one general script for each type (Worker, Artist, Administration, Visitor, Police), because the way they function differs so much between types.

Each of these scripts defines behavior specific for these types. Stuff like all possible "work" that this type might do. And also, subtypes specific for this type. For instance, Workers are divided into stud grooms, gas men, scene-shifters, maids, box-keepers, etc.

So now we have an NPC General script, an NPC Worker script, Artist script, Administration script, Visitor script and Police script. Wow. Quite a few scripts already.

There are gonna be a lot more.

NPC Specific scripts.

These are unique to ONE character. That is, if we have Christine - she's an Artist, Singer subtype - there will be a separate script just for her that describes how she interacts with Erik, all possible conversations (that'll be a long one) and all other behavior specific just to her. Yeah, I'm not dealing with these for now. These will most likely grow by themselves as I build up the plot.

Routines.

Now that we have all the general and specific behavior laid out... how about we actually put it into the game?

Here's the catch: my game is built in a way that requires only ONE location at a time to be loaded. Thus, I have no need - and no way - to calculate and predict what every single NPC does in every single location. So I need to deal with just one location at a time.

But before we decide how we do that... how do we deal with the actions themselves?

Answer: Routine.

Every character follows some sort of routine. That is, go there, do that, then go there and do that. Return tomorrow, repeat. A pattern begins to emerge. A Routine is a chronological list of Activities. An Activity must contain a starting time, a location and an action. That alone would be easy to implement. But how to deal with characters moving about BETWEEN locations?

In a game where the entire map is loaded, it would have been easy: use a pathfinder to guide the character into another room. But in my game, only one room is loaded at a time, and thus, once a character leaves a room that the player is in, they just go poof into oblivion.

This prompted me to think of another system: a system where the NPC Manager checks through all NPC routines once in a while, and if it finds an Activity with a starting time equal to that of the check, and with a location equal to that which is loaded, the NPC is loaded into the game, in a required position, doing a Thing.

This system, however, is very much imperfect. For instance, how would a character know when to leave the location they're in to arrive at the location of another Activity in time? Due to there being only one location loaded, we have no way of knowing how much time exactly all the walking is going to take. Additionally to that, the character's routine can be interrupted by the player, or another NPC - how do we account for that?

This prompted me to establish time periods in routine, instead of just mentioning the starting times. There is a time period, during which the character can arrive in a certain location, a time period during which they complete the action, and a time period during which they can leave. This allows for more flexibility and leniency. Additionally, with this system, the player will be able to follow the character from location to location.

But what if the player holds up the character (for example, with a conversation) so much that the time limit of the current period will pass? The character can leave the location immediately after the interruption is finished, but it will be impossible for the player to follow the character after that - since the character's routine will already be in another time period, and they won't be loaded into the current location scripted.

This question bugged me a lot, and then I was proposed the following: make such interactions extremely limited. Which would be realistic, since who is going to stand in a middle of corridor for hours on end, missing all their daily activities, just because a ghostly voice called for them and then didn't answer?

All interactions between Erik and NPCs who are going about their daily routine are going to have a timer attached, and are going to be designed to be very short. Once the timer is up, the character says that they're busy and leaves. Of course, this does not apply to those NPCs who go out of their way specifically to talk to Erik - that is, who break their routine. And no, stopping time isn't an option - since when do all people around stop walking when you're having a conversation with someone?

--‐----------------

Devlog 13/07/2021.

Few things happened.

First, I devised a way that won't allow NPCs to be early. The NPC Manager will read the appropriate time period from their routine, calculate what fraction of that time period has passed, and place the NPC in the middle of their path accordingly.

For instance, if Erik enters the location at 0:13, and the NPC is programmed to pass through this location from 0:10 to 0:15, then that NPC will be placed as if they had already passed 3/5 of their path from one door to another.

Secondly, I have realized that I can reuse what is currently tied to locations in NPCs instead: the "plot progression" variable.

The plot progression variable has a method that goes with it, and that method reads the plot progression variable from the save file, and then does things accordingly.

In each NPC Specific script (like with Christine) there will be a plot progression tree that will determine where the player currently stands. Since various events and conversations can happen across multiple locations, it'll make much more sense to program all conversations into NPCs, when I move into the opera house.

Does that mean that the location-tied plot progression variable will become obsolete? Eh, not necessarily. Sometimes I'll need to tie events to places. Maybe I'll find a way to intertwine the usage of location-tied and npc-tied plot progression. Like, if this location has this plot progression, and this npc loads into it that has this plot progression, then something happens. I might be able to "prepare" different locations for different events like that - and "launch" them through npcs.

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

And that leaves us in the present. I realize that this system is still imperfect, that I will most likely find fallacies in it going forward, but this gives me a solid foundation, a solid idea of what I am going to do. Starting tomorrow, I'll be slowly programming this into the game - and of course, I'll be sharing my progress with you.

I hope you're having a wonderful Monday, and I'll see you later. 💖💖💖

#game dev rant #a very long one #phantom of the opera #game design #programming #Opera Ghost's Love Story

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forsworned · 4 years ago

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[✩] collegeau!anonymous admirer. {moniwa kaname x reader}

Genre: Fluff

Categories: F/M

Relationships: Moniwa Kaname/Reader

Word count: 1,412

a/n: hello dropping another oldie while i work on request, should b a student genya x reader that i got from ao3 but just a reminder that i don't do underage nsfw or anything nsfw or sexy themed cuz that's extremely weird, but if you wanna drop a request in my inbox please b sure to read my faq thanx

Every morning you'd wake up and check your tumblr to have a little message in your inbox from the seemingly same anon with a cute pick-up line. At first you thought that maybe you had reblogged something along the lines of "fill my ask", but it started to become a routine. It was never anything raunchy or lewd, just cheesy, cute one-liners that'd make you smile to yourself. Though, you had really appreciate whoever was sending them to you, you were starting to get really curious. Who could they be? Someone thousands of miles away or just around your area? It was hard to decide. You sighed as you shut down your laptop and slid it under your bed. You really shouldn't have been on your laptop at such a late hour. Finals week started tomorrow and you were beyond nervous. Sure you had studied but you always felt a bit on the edge during these five days. The thought of your anonymous admirer was the last thing on your mind before you drifted off to sleep. At least, they'll keep me positive throughout the week.

But you were wrong. It had been five days. Five days your inbox had been empty. Five days since they had last messaged you and you were actually beginning to feel a bit upset. Had something happened to them? Had you reblogged or posted something that they found offensive and possibly unfollowed you for it? You let out a groan as you spread your arms across your mattress and lay flat against your back. At least finals week was finally over and you could relax. Your phone made a small noise and you reached over your dresser to check whatever the notification you had just received. You almost jumped for joy when you had saw that you got a message on tumblr. Quickly logging on from your laptop, you clicked on your inbox, though it had a similar choice in pick-up lines it wasn't your typical anon. It was... "k-name?" You voiced aloud as your face scrunched in confusion. But then it hit you. You could finally find out who your anon admirer was! Your heart raced as you clicked on the icon and revealed the mystery person's blog. There wasn't much information, just a small quote on the bio: "Forever an Iron Wall" Hmm... That sounded a bit familiar. As you racked your brain for something that could connect to the quote, you hovered over the links and found the appearance link. Jackpot. Hurriedly, you had clicked on it but it was as if your laptop sensed your urgency and wanted to fuck with you because it was loading insanely slow. "C'mon you slow piece of shit." You muttered to yourself. A few agonizingly slow moments later, the page had finally loaded and your mouth dropped as you laid eyes on him. "Mo-moniwa Kaname?!" You exclaimed. Your face nearly burst into flames as you threw yourself back onto your bed and raked your hands through your hair, shaking your head in disbelief. No way, it just couldn't be him. You were dreaming. Getting back up again you scrolled through the many photos he had posted. Most of them with his teammates and some shots of him throwing the ball up into the air. Moniwa had been someone you admired from afar. His spirit and gentle personality is what attracted you to him, but being the shy person you were, you never approached him. You went back to your inbox and read over the pick-up line. How was heaven when you left it? And there is was again, that overwhelming feeling in the pit of your stomach whenever you saw him or were anywhere around him. How would you even begin to reply? You fingers hesitated over your keyboard before you hastily replied. Heaven is anywhere you are You slightly cringed at how cliche that sounded, but as you tried to click on the text box to undo it your mousepad had acted a bit out of sorts and pressed on the answer privately button. Oh shit. "NO!" You exclaimed, as you slapped your face and fell onto your side. What have you done?! Now you really ruined any chance you possibly had with your crush. That night it was safe to say that you didn't get much of any sleep.

- - -

Waking up you felt as if you hadn't even fallen asleep at all. Your mind was murky as you washed up, dressed and got onto your campus shuttle. As you plopped onto the seat, you let out a small groan as your threw you head back and stared up at the ceiling of the moving train. "No sleep?" The voice resonated in your ears and you took a moment before you turned to the stranger. Though your reaction was delayed, you could barely believe who was seated right next to you at that very moment. "Mo-moniwa-san?!" You near shrieked, as you stood up straight and looked at him with ample eyes. His cheeks were tinged a rosy hue as he bit back a laugh. You turned a few grouchy college student heads due to your random outburst and you sulked a bit as you felt your cheeks warm. "I-I mean, weird seeing you here..." "Really? We've been riding the same train for the past three months." He replied. Your attention now fully on him as he looked down at the floor, expression slightly saddened. Had it upset him that you never noticed him on the same train as you? Well, of course you idiot. Who wouldn't be upset? He laughed a bit as he looked out the train window and you tilted your head to the side in confusion. "I mean, I guess that makes sense since I'm probably overshadowed by much better looking guys." He sighed and rest his palm on his chin as he wandered through his thoughts. "That's ridiculous." You said a bit too quickly. His feline like eyes shifted towards you and you gulped a bit as you continued on. The morning sunlight shone on his form, giving him a celestial glow and your lips parted in as you gawked at him in pure awe. Your mouth moving with your mind. "Heaven is anywhere with you." His breath seized as he realized what you had spoken and you clamped your mouth shut. The train had come to a stop and you grabbed your belongings and rushed through the doors. Shit. Shit. Shit. Had you really just fucking said that?! A far but audible, "hey!" could be heard though you didn't stop. A hand on your shoulder had given you quite a fright as your whole body tensed. Damn, you thought you had outrun him... "Hey..." He breathed out. You turned around seeing Moniwa out of breath, body slumped over as he let his arms fall to his side. "Jeez you run quick." He straightened up with one eye squinting as he looked up at you, as the sun beat down on him. "Aren't you part of the volleyball team?" You blurted. He chuckled. "Used to be. I'm getting out of shape. But damn, this is just ridiculous..." He mumbled the last part as he felt himself starting to regain his composure. "What you said earlier though," The blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt yourself shift uncomfortably under his gaze. "Uh, u-um--you started it with the cheesy, cute pick-up lines! And then you stopped for five days and it--damn it--was surprisingly pretty hard getting through finals week without having you send a dumb one-liner. I mean, at least I had something to look forward to." His eyebrows raised and his mouth open ready to utter a word, though he's speechless. Had he really developed that affect on you? "But--but they were so terrible I thought I--" You nervously scratched your cheek. "Well, yeah, but I really liked them. It made sense though, why you stopped. Our finals meant a lot more than just a meaningless message a day. I'll just be going now." You finalized and began to walk toward your campus, but he caught your wrist in time and you turned to meet his gaze. "You don't mean that." He spoke. "I don't." You replied, not bothering to hide your smile. A small pause before you spoke up again. "Let's talk about it over coffee, yeah?"

A large grin now on his face as he nodded. "I'd like that."

#moniwa kaname #hq moniwa #haikyuu moniwa #moniwa x reader #moniwa kaname x reader #hq!! x y/n #hq!!#hq!! imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x you #haikyu x reader #haikyū!!#anime insert

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ssson-of-sparda · 3 years ago

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A TRIP TO THE BEACH - PART 2 (DANTE X FEM!READER)

Summary: When Dante shows up, Patty finally learns how things ended between Y/N and him but that's not the kind of ending she likes. (Part 5 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Tags: Dante is Tony Redgrave / Love / Angst / Blood and Gore / Minor Character Death / Violence

Author’s note: This is the end! I hope you enjoyed this fan fiction as much as I enjoyed writing it. I can't wait to read your thoughts about it. Is it the end you expected? How did you imagine it? Tell me everything. I'm all ears

Patty dared peeping from above the headrest of the couch when the woman opened the door, definitely curious to see the two adults’ reactions when they would finally see each other – though she still feared Dante’s wrath a little. But when she finally saw them face-to-face, this couple she had been imagining – and rooting for - for weeks, she didn’t care about her friend’s anger or disappointment - He would definitely thank her later - . They looked so perfect, like coming from an episode of one of those telenovelas she loved so much. Dante was towering Y/N perfectly and she was so pretty. And the lighting. Gosh “Like a scene from a movie.” She sighed. If only she could read their minds right now. “There you are, young lady!” Dante declared with a menacing finger as he entered the house “Hi Dante! What are you doing here?” Patty tried to play innocent but there was something in her voice that couldn’t fool Dante. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I never thought this annoying little brat would dare come here … or steal my stuff.” “That’s alright, Dante. We were having fun actually. And at least, that girl dared visit me … unlike someone else.” Dante definitely felt that sting and he knew he deserved it. “How long has it been?” “A while.” He said, pretending to be casual even though he had the right amount of years and months in mind. “And this day never happened. Come on, Patty. Let’s go.” No, no, no. This couldn’t end like that. Patty thought. Not after all this time. “Can I at least finish my tea please?” “ I’ll buy you a tea on the way back to Red Grave. Let’s go!” Dante insisted as he came closer to the girl to grab her by the arm and drag her away from Y/N’s place as fast as possible. “Right. Like I’m going to believe you. You never buy me anything, even when you owe me.” Y/N smiled while Dante sighed deeply. “Damn it.” “ Plus, you still owe me a trip to the beach.” “ Alright. I’ll take you to the beach. You happy? Now let’s go.” He tried to pull her from the sofa but the girl resisted. “ Or … you can let Y/N finish her story.” Patty suggested. Dante glanced at Y/N whom he hadn’t seen go to the kitchen to prepare him a strawberry sundae. “Actually I’d prefer that. Y/N can you continue your story, please?” “ Well, maybe Dante can tell you so that you can finally erase his tab while I’m making this devil a strawberry sundae. Topped with a cherry and two pink wafers, is that it?” “I don’t know. You’re the pro.” He had a faint smile at her that Patty noticed and beamed at. About time. “Where did you stop you damn story?”

A TRIP TO THE BEACH - Part 2

Dante was sitting at his desk, eyes closed, a magazine covering his face while he was listening to some good old school metal on the jukebox he had just acquired when the damn machine starting to sizzle and shake. “You gotta be kidding me.” Dante complained and, with a deep sigh, got up from his chair to kick the jukebox like Y/N had once taught him. “Funny how those machines always need a good kick to work.” When he thought of his beloved girlfriend and realised how late it was, he wondered how the hell she had not arrived yet. It was very dark outside and the clock was striking one. The restaurant should be closed by now and Y/N should have been in his arms at least an hour ago, naked preferably.

Not sure Patty needs to know that.

Worry tied Dante’s stomach in a knot in spite of his sleepy brain screaming at him not to be paranoid. “Relax, Dante. She’s probably helping clean the kitchen or something”, he told himself And yet, tired of repeating this sentence over and over again in his head, he decided to grab his coat and head to the diner. Better be paranoid and look like fool rather than wait here and worry one more second. Plus, he had waited long enough already and he had made a fool of himself in front of Y/N more than once. So what was one more time, huh?

But when Dante arrived at the restaurant and found it empty and dark, he wished he looked like a paranoid fool. But he was not paranoid and he was not a fool. He was terrified and alert in ways he hadn’t been for years. “Please be okay.” He whispered as he entered the place, feeling once again like a little boy hidden in a cupboard, crying for mommy and his brother. A ghastly feeling for someone who had spent years burying his past deep in his armoured heart as a promise … a dying wish.

Dante climbed the stairs quickly, very quickly and yet not quickly enough to his taste, only to stop and freeze at the sight and smell of warm blood on the wooden floor. But there was not just iron and salt flowing to his nostrils, there was this stench, rotting and disgusting, a stench only his demon sense could pick but that would soon be unbearable for humans too, he was sure of it. The stench of decaying corpses.

The son of Sparda never really liked Y/N’s parents. He actually lost almost all sort of respect for them the second they insulted him and made him understand they would never approve of him or of his relationship with their precious daughter. But when he saw them both, drenched in blood and completely ripped apart, their broken bodies lying on the floor of in their bedroom, he couldn’t help but feel sadness and compassion especially for the woman who was standing in the corner of the room, petrified and in tears, her small feminine frame strongly hold in a demonic grip. A nightmarish vision that had been scaring Dante for too long. “Took you long enough… Son of Sparda.” The demon said with a calm and yet menacing cavernous voice that would make anyone tremble in fear. But that wasn’t the sound of his voice that made Dante afraid – because yes he was afraid –

You? Afraid? Rrr, shut up!

It was the sight of the woman he loved so close to that monster’s sharp claws. The half-demon squinted at the devil before him, at his cloaked silhouette hidden in the darkness, trying to hide his fear, turning it into a nonchalant and over-confident mask he knew how to wear better than anything else (except his red leather jacket) but that somehow didn’t look as convincing as usual. “I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong guy, pal. Sparda may have a son. But that's not me.” “Tony, what’s going on?” Y/N’s voice was shaking just like the rest of her body. “It’s alright, baby. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.” He had too. “You can try and pretend to be someone else. But I know who you are. Dante, Son of Sparda. And soon, your blood will flow for what your father did to my master.” Usually, that same old routine would have made Dante scoff and slice that creature in two for he was used to demons coming at him with pathetic threats and silly villain monologues. But today, what was at stake was simply way too important for impulsiveness. “And who would that master be?” “The one true king of the underworld. Mundus.”

Dante had heard that name before, long ago, in something that was now a long-time memory. Mundus was the villain of his favourite bedtime story, the one his father would always tell him and Vergil before going to sleep, when they were nothing but kids tucked in their beds. Mundus. He remembered how that name would make him fidget and jump in anticipation and how his big brother in the bed under his would always kick him through the mattress to make him stop wriggling like a hyperactive goldfish out of water. Mundus, the so-called Prince of Darkness Sparda had cast away and locked in the underworld a long long time ago to free the human world from his diabolical tyranny. Never thought he would have ever heard about him in another context though.

“Oh. That dude. Thought he would be dead by now… like you soon will be” “Cocky, just like that filthy betrayer Sparda.” The demon smiled, showing short pointy black fangs that yet shone in the dim moonlight. “And in love with a human, just like he was. It would be a shame …” He grabbed a strand of Y/N’s (colour) hair to toy with it with a vicious smirk, making the young woman shiver even more. “… if something were to happen to her the same way something happened to your slut mother” Dante felt his jaw clench tight and his nails pierce the flesh of his palms. The rage, it was slowly yet surely eating at him. “Don’t you dare talk about my mother! And don’t you dare lay even just a finger on Y/N!” Dante growled, not realising he had just given his identity up. But the black demon did and with a satisfied smile, he cupped Y/N’s face in between his vile sharp claws to burry his long nose in Dante lover’s soft hair and smell her human perfume that was oh so exquisite to him. An intended provocation and an effective one. “How chivalrous! How noble! I’m sure your father would have said the same thing…” Dante frowned and clenched his fists even tighter, trying to stay put and in control, trying desperately to resist the powerful will to pounce on that demon and impale him on his sword and spill his guts on the floor. He knew he had too because he knew that the reaction he thought so much about was exactly what that monster wanted. He was trying to infuriate him, to make him reckless and stop thinking rationally so that he would have him at a possible advantage when he let his rage have the best of him. Provocation at its finest. A strategy Dante knew all about. “… had he been here when I and my fellow demons tore her apart.” Yes, he knew all about it and yet... “Mundus says farewell, hybrid filth.” He suddenly stopped caring about what he knew.

Dante jumped and with a scream, unsheathed his sword to slash the arm that was holding Y/N. An impulsive move, a mistake he realised only too late, when the demon pierced the soft neck of the one he loved the most with his sharp claws in an attempt to protect himself from the demonic blade. Everything went so quick to Y/N and yet so slow to Dante. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even have time to realise what was going on or to process the sudden pain. She only understood something was wrong when her body hit the floor and she saw Dante’s icy blue eyes widen and stare at her in horror. Then she felt the blood, her blood she was quite certain of it, running along her pale skin covering it in shades of dark red. Dante screamed like never before, like no human could, so loud the walls trembled and the demon slightly bowed down in fear. He screamed with an anger, a rage he didn’t know he was capable of, something so deep and passionate he never thought was in him. Something fiery … something … demonic. It felt like his skin was burning, like there was a ravaging fire spreading, growing in his body, menacing to burst, to combust him. And it almost did. It almost did but it stopped just when Rebellion sliced the head of the demon open, spilling his brains and his blood on the walls behind him. Then, there was a relief that all this was over. The fight. The fire. The fear… No not the fear!

“Y/N” Dante ran to her and quickly pressed her body against his. His hand found her neck to apply pressure on her bloody wound. She was barely conscious but she was still with him. “I’m so sorry, baby. Hold on, I got you.” He kissed her forehead. It was so cold against his lips. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Dante stayed by her side for what seemed hours to him, holding her tight against him, trying to keep the weakening life in her safe, when finally blue and red lights began to flicker in the bedroom. What happened next was so blurry. All he could make out were a group of men dragging Y/N from his embrace, saying they would take care of her and that he had to let her go. He didn’t know how he did it but he eventually obeyed those men, in spite of his arms trying to reach for her. He followed them- followed Y/N- to the crowded street where the nearby residents were crammed into, whispering and trying to take a peep at what was going on in this usual very quiet neighbourhood. But he didn’t care about them or their judgmental looks. All he cared about was Y/N being taken away in an ambulance. The paramedics didn’t let him in. And in spite of how much he wanted to fight their decision, Dante chose not to. He couldn’t delay them. Y/N’s life depended on time and too much had been wasted already.

But he found her again, like he would always find her, and he spent days waiting for her to wake up, waiting for her beautiful (colour) eyes to open again, for her sweet voice to say she was alright, his hand holding hers in an eternal grip that only her awakening could break, days in which he had to think about what happened, about what could have happened and what will happen. So many hypothesis, each one worse than the last. And when Y/N finally awoke and, with a soft smile that bear no grudges or hatred, said. “Hey handsome.” He did what he thought he should have done days ago. “We need to end this.”

***

Patty’s eyes were glowing with tears as she was staring at Dante without blinking. This was certainly the saddest love story she had ever heard in her entire life. Even Bolero in Spring had never made her feel so much. “You can’t do that!” She declared as if in denial, as if she could change the past. “The story can’t end like this!” “But it is not a story, Patty. This is not some television show made to satisfy a bunch of hopeless romantic little girls. It’s real life. And real life is tough and …” Dante looked at Y/N, at her sad eyes and at the scar she was trying to conceal under a red silk scarf. “What’s done cannot be undone.” “But you loved each other!” The girl was almost furious, shaking her head nervously. “Patty.” Dante said calmly. “And you still love each other, I’m sure of it. I can tell by the way you both tell your story.” “Patty.” Dante repeated with insistence this time. “I won’t have this ending! No way!” She shouted with a deep frown. “It has already ended!” Dante screamed and Patty froze. He had never screamed at her, never in his entire life, even in times when she was incredibly annoying. He had never screamed at her. “It has ended. And neither you nor anyone can change it, okay? If it doesn’t please you, you can leave, wait in the car and go back to your mushy love series.”

There was a pregnant silence in which Patty stared at Dante with a disappointment he had never witnessed. “Y/N was right. You know how to fight demons. But you don’t know how to fight YOUR demons.” And she got up and left the house to do exactly what her beloved friend had told her, meaning wait in the car to go back to mushy love stories, leaving Dante and Y/N alone in the living room with nothing else but a heavy discomfort.

“I’m sorry for making a scene.” “ Well, you always had a flair for the dramatic.” They both had a conspiratorial smile similar to the ones they used to share when they were younger except it was fainter, sadder. “ She read the letter, the one you wrote me” Dante said staring at his hands in discomfort. He couldn’t look at Y/N, not with all the memories rushing in his head. “ I figured.” But she looked at him, excepting deep down he would say something, anything about what happened.”Never thought you would have kept it though.” “ Why not?” “ You never replied.” And there it was, that disappointment Dante well deserved. “I did reply. I just never sent the letter.” Y/N's eyes slightly widened at this unexpected confession. What did he mean by that? “Huh, words of advice. After writing a letter to someone, you need to mail it.” She declared sarcastically, not really knowing how she managed to crack such a joke. Was it a joke? Maybe, because Dante laughed a bit. “ I had no money to buy a stamp.” The girl scoffed. She knew the man before her all to well to know that this was “Bullshit.” But she had missed it, missed him. “What did it say?” “ Same crap I told you at the hospital. How much I was sorry and … You know what? … There.” He opened his red coat to take a crumpled letter from his inside pocket. It was unsealed, stamped –obviously- and her name and address were written on it. “ I hope Devil May Cry will never provide delivery service cause this has clearly arrived way too late.” However she took it in her hands, gathering all her inner strength not to tremble as she could feel all those emotions shaking inside of her. “ Years too late. You can say it.” Dante smiled as he watched the letter he had kept to himself for so many years finally reaching its long-awaited recipient. “I don’t expect you to read it … or open it. You can actually turn it into a paper plane or shove it down my throat if you want. I won’t fight you.” Of course he had to joke, to play it cool but she didn’t mind. She knew it was just one of his defence mechanism and she couldn’t blame him for it. “ So why giving it to me?” Dante shrugged, refusing to admit he did want her to read what his young 19 years old self had to say, what he still had to say. “You can’t stop with the devil-may-care for a second and admit what you truly want, what you truly feel, can you?” “ Fight my demons, huh?” He quoted her and she nodded. “Yes. Would that be so complicated for a ‘menacing devil hunter’ like yourself?” It was her turn to quote him but that quote made him melancholically happy. “ I guess that’s a challenge I still can not face.” “ Or don’t want to” There was a new pause and as they finally looked at each other’s eyes, they knew they would not fix what had been broken years ago today. He was not ready. Not yet anyway. And that was okay. Y/N was patient. She could wait. She could keep waiting. “Goodbye Y/N” Especially when this time a kiss on her forehead and a hand on her cheek felt more hopeful than ever. “Goodbye, Dante.”

And she watched him leave, again, but certain that someday, one day he would come back to her as he always would. After all, he promised.

#DEVIL MAY CRY #DANTE #DANTE X READER #DMC FANFICTION #DEVIL MAY CRY FANFICTION #A TAB TO ERASE #PATTY LOWELL

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voiceless-terror · 4 years ago

Note

Prompts? This is a happy day! If you wish! I'm writing something similar but I need more cakes in the flavor and you write emotions so well! But early days in the archives and Tim and Sasha are giving Jon the cold shoulder and maybe there's an accident or something Jon really needs help with but he doesn't think he can go to either of them and he doesn't know Martin. And the next day he rolls up sick, or beat to hell, or has a cast, or a black eye, and Tim and Sasha are like WAT? And then feels!

Here you are! How do you know EXACTLY what to prompt me??? This is so my speed. So here you go- I hope you like!

“You’ve survived your first month in the Archives! That’s cause for celebration, Martin. Drinks on me!”

Tim’s cheerful tones weren’t hard to miss. Perhaps he didn’t notice Jon standing in the doorway, small and timid. He realized it was the middle of a rather stressful work week, but he just needed a little bit of help with some boxes. He’d been tired and worn out for the better part of the week, and the small ladder in Document Storage was rickety at best. Martin and Tim were both much taller and stronger than him- hell, even Sasha could’ve probably gotten the job done. Just a few minutes and then they could be on their way, to wherever they planned to go. Without him.

Sasha was the one who noticed him. “Oh- hey, Jon. Did you need something?”

He looked at the other two, twitching with clear impatience. Martin opened his mouth to speak but Tim made some sort of hushing motion with his hand. A sinking feeling made its way through Jon’s chest and to his stomach- the thought of asking for even the smallest of favors filled him with anxiety. He didn’t think he could bear seeing their faces when they said no.

“Er, no, just- have a good night, yeah?” His voice sounded off, even to him, but they didn’t seem to make much of it, nodding awkwardly.

“You too!” Martin called after him as Jon scurried down the hallway, biting down whatever sadness stuck in his throat. He’d be here all night most likely.

It didn’t bother him.

______

Jon stared up at the boxes looming tauntingly on the shelf, filled with statements that were likely just as disorganized as the ones on the shelf below. But these were labeled with the most recent dates in the Archive, and that’s what he planned on going through for the rest of the week.

Back in research, Tim used to prank him by putting things on the highest of shelves- books he needed, tea he wanted. It irked him but Tim would always be right around the corner to lend a helping hand and a teasing word. It got Jon out of his head for a moment, something very few people could accomplish.

Tim still put things on high shelves in their break room but it just felt cruel, now that he wasn’t comfortable enough to ask for help. Now that Tim was never around the corner.

He put a tentative foot on the step ladder, grimacing as it leaned to the side. He’d put in an order for a new one at the beginning of his tenure but Elias never responded. He felt bad bothering the man with such a petty request when he could just ask his assistants for help. What was he supposed to tell him? ‘Hey my assistants seem to hate me and I’m too scared to ask them’ didn’t inspire much confidence.

Jon took another step forward, willing the ladder to stabilize. He needed to get to the fourth step to even have a chance of reaching the box, high up as it was. Just a bit further.

He made it to the fourth when everything went to hell. As soon as he reached his hands toward the box the ladder creaked and listed dangerously to the side, throwing him wildly off balance. He flailed right off the side, landing with a yelp and a crack on the cold concrete floor of Document Storage.

The pain emanating from his left arm was almost paralyzing-it had taken almost all his weight in the fall and was lying awkwardly across the floor. It brought tears to his eyes as he tried to move it so he just laid there for a bit, willing himself not to pass out from the pain. How ridiculous he must have looked, lying prone on the ground, defeated by a fucking stepladder.

When he finally decided to sit up his head spun- he only got as far as scooting back and leaning his head onto a shelf, trying to control his breathing. He had his phone in his pocket. If he needed help, he could just call Sasha or Tim or even Martin. His arm didn’t feel right and he would probably have to go to a clinic or the A & E, something he hated doing. He didn’t think he could brush this one off.

But what if they didn’t answer? He thought about the three of them at the bar, laughing and talking. Tim would be regaling them with some ridiculous story, his phone would ring. He would glance down at it, see Jon’s name and flip it over, ignoring it.

Or worse, they would come, see him huddled on the floor and laugh. They would try to hold it in at first- they weren’t that rude. But as they helped him to his feet they wouldn’t be able to contain it. How embarrassing he was, how ridiculous. Jon couldn’t bear to be laughed at.

Two weeks ago he had walked past the upstairs break room on his way back from a meeting with Elias. It was entirely unproductive; he could sense Elias’s growing frustration with his lack of progress. Jon wondered if he regretted making him his Head Archivist, if he was already thinking of suitable replacements. Jon wouldn’t blame him.

And that’s when he heard it- an odd, mocking voice that he knew belonged to Ryan from research. Ryan and Jon never got on- Ryan was talkative and prone to gossip, and every attempt he had made to talk to Jon had been shut down by his inability to carry a conversation. On the odd times they were paired together to work, Jon took the brunt of it with utter silence, unwilling to complain about the man lest he be deemed more difficult than he already was.

But the voice he put on- stuffy and posh- was a caricature of Jon’s own. And sure enough, when he glanced in the doorway he saw Ryan hunched over a table, someone else’s glasses on his face as he screwed it up in a scowl and carried on as “Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute” to his captive audience.

His captive audience which included Sasha and Tim.

He felt his heart shatter as the group laughed at the impression. It was accurate, why shouldn’t they? God, why hadn’t he realized how much everyone hated him here? Any respect he thought he earned faded quickly with this showing. He found himself sprinting down the hallway and locking himself in his office, ignoring Martin’s concerned inquiries as he desperately tried to blink back tears.

Remembering the incident brought the shame and embarrassment back tenfold. No, he would deal with this himself. That was the best course of action.

He took fifteen minutes to properly wallow but once his heart rate lowered and the pain was at manageable, dull roar he got to his feet and staggered down the aisle, constantly searching for a handhold. He had everything he needed on him- it wasn’t so cold that he couldn’t go without a jacket, and he knew he wouldn’t get any work done this evening.

Making his way down the hallway and up the stairs was almost tortuous; he paused several times and took deep breaths to avoid passing out and making the problem worse. By the time he got to the lobby Rosie was already gone for the day and Ed, the janitor, was idly mopping by the front door.

“‘Ave a good night, sir,” the man said without looking up. “Careful though, s’slippery over-whoa there, Sims!”

He must have looked as awful as he felt because the man dropped his mop and made his way over to his side, his face the picture of concern. Jon was holding his arm at an awkward angle so as not to jostle it. “S’fine,” he wearily started. “Have a good night, Ed.”

“Don’ look fine to me, Jonny.” Jon hated this nickname, but he never let on. He didn’t want to upset the one man who still greeted him day and night, no matter how stressed and irritable Jon looked. It was a nice, comforting routine. “Somethin’ happen?”

“Just took a fall, nothing serious,” he lied, well aware that his palm was scraped and crusted with blood. “I’ll just be going, got a train to catch-”

“Let me get you a cab, son,” he said, a paternal hand on his shoulder. “Shouldn’t be on the tube looking like that, bound to make it worse.” Jon began to voice his protest but the man was already out the door, waving and stamping in the street. He would smile at the scene if he had the energy for it. Instead he just staggered after him, wincing with every step.

“Over here!” the man shouted, standing by a cab a little ways down the road. Ed opened the door and ushered him in, hands helpful and gentle and so kind that Jon has to blink away tears. “There’s a good lad. Take ‘im to the closest A & E, will ya?” Jon watched as he shoved a pocketful of bills in the cabbies hand.

“Ed, you’ve already done enough-”

“Nonsense,” he waved Jon off, still looking at him with that mix of warmth and concern that Jon so desperately needed. “You just get that checked out, y’hear? An’ come back in one piece!” With that, he shut the door and gave him a wave, standing in place until the car was out of sight.

Jon couldn’t hold back his tears after that.

_______

Jon comes in the next day, arm freshly broken and in a sling, medicated to the gills. He paused at first, considering not taking the pain medication but he eventually gave in as the pain progressed throughout the morning. He’s a little late and he’s going to have to march past his assistants’ desks and attempt to avoid questions.

“Whoa there, boss! What happened?” Tim says immediately upon his arrival. Jon avoids his gaze and looks to the ground, walking as quickly as possible to his office and shutting the door. He deserves a bit of peace before the inevitable interrogation.

Of course, he would never be so lucky. All three assistants are soon hovering around the doorway, looking at him with a worry he doesn’t deserve. He sighs as he casts his eyes to the desk and slumps down in his chair.

“Took a spill yesterday, nothing serious,” he mutters in as staid a tone as he could manage. “Now, if you could please get back to work-”

“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” Sasha says, coming over to his desk, Tim not far behind. Martin stays in the doorway, ever polite. “You were fine we left!”

“It happened shortly afterwards. I advise none of you to use the stepladder for the time being.” He manages a weak smile that none of them return.

“Stepladder? Boss, I told you not to use that anymore!” Tim plops down in a chair, legs immediately going over the arm of it. Jon always imagined them talking in the office like this- a stupid fantasy he entertained when he first got the position. No one had ever sat in those chairs, they just stood in his office and counted the seconds until they could leave. ‘Why didn’t you ask us for help?”

“I-I was going to,” he begins, feeling instantly guilty at the thought of making them feel bad. “But- well, you looked like you had plans.”

Tim and Sasha exchanged a look. “You should’ve at least called us when it happened,” Sasha says, a hand on his desk. Jon aches to take it. “We were right around the corner.”

“I know,” he says. He feels out of it, vulnerable and loose and unmoored. Likely from the meds.

“You knew and you still didn’t call?” Martin this time, his voice incredulous.

“I didn’t think you would come,” his voice is no more than a whisper and his chest aches something fierce. His hands tighten into fists at the silence that follows; he nervously starts to fill it.

“I know-look, it’s fine we’re not friends any more,” he starts, trying to keep his voice level. “But it- it just seems like you don’t want me to be your boss either?” His voice goes higher in pitch and he can’t seem to stop babbling. “I just- I need to know where I stand. So I know what’s okay to ask. I know this isn’t ideal but I- I need help sometimes. Not a lot, just...just sometimes.”

“Jon,” Tim has a hand on his arm and an urgency in his voice. “That’s not- of course we would have come. Of course.”

“I didn’t want you to laugh at m-me.” Christ, could he not get a handle on his emotions for five goddamn minutes? Why was he still talking?

“We would never laugh-”

“But you did!” The words burst forward, almost a yell. “I-I saw you the other day. With Ryan- laughing at me. You know I don’t-” The breaths come quick and he can feel the tears coming down his face. God, what a mess he was. “I don’t understand where it all went wrong. If- if you don’t like me, why did you accept this job? Why are you here? What- what do I need to do better? Why were you laughing at me!” Jon dissolves into a mess of sobs as he slams his chair back from his desk, desperate to put as much space as he could between himself and his assistants.

But Jon never gets what he wants. Tim has his arms wound gently around his body, taking care to avoid the sling. And Sasha is there, a hand on his back as well.

“We- we weren’t laughing, Jon,” Tim tries, but Sasha cuts in.

“But we didn’t exactly tell him to knock it off, did we?” Her voice is angry and Jon doesn’t know who it’s aimed towards. He feels so stupid, so childish for breaking down like this but he knows what he saw. What he heard. “Ryan’s a jealous dick, he was just being mean. And...I guess we were being sort of mean, too.”

Tim takes over from there. “Look- things have gotten messy since we came down here, yeah? We’re...adjusting, that’s for sure. And I’m sorry that we made you feel like you did something wrong.”

“I- I did though, I must have-”

“No- Jon, look at me,” He hazards a glance at Sasha’s face, looking anywhere but her eyes. “You know me. Emotions aren’t particularly my forte. It’s- it’s a lot easier not to talk about things, but that doesn’t mean it’s right. It was a lot easier to hold onto my anger at being passed over, y’know?”

“If you told me- I would’ve had Elias switch us, I swear-”

“We don’t have to switch. To be honest, I don’t think I know how the fuck an Archive is supposed to be run either. At least not one like this,” She gestures to the room and Jon manages a weak smile.

“I’m not very good when things get messy, either,” Tim admits, leaning awkwardly on a file cabinet in order to keep an arm around him. Jon hopes the gesture is genuine, and not just an attempt to placate the man having an emotional breakdown in the middle of the office. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’ve been a right ass. So while I’m trying to make it up to you, how about you let me and Martin handle the top shelf from now on, yeah?” The joke feels familiar. This is territory Jon can manage.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon wipes a hand across his face, finally feeling a bit more stable. “S’fine. I forgive you.” He takes the tissue Sasha offers. “Sorry for being so- er, dramatic. The pain medication is quite something, to be honest.”

“Oh God,” Sasha is suddenly all business. ‘“You shouldn’t be at work right now. Not like this- Tim’ll take you home, right?” Tim nods, tightening his arm around Jon’s shoulder.

“Yeah- you’re not going to get anything done like this, Jon. Have a rest, Sasha’ll tell Elias what’s going on, yeah?”

“Of course.”

There it is again- of course. Maybe if they keep saying that, it’ll make it true.

Jon doesn’t argue as he’s ushered out of the Institute- whatever that was took a lot out of him, and he knows he’s useless to his team like this, dazed and unstable. Martin follows them outside- Jon had almost forgotten he was there. He had slipped out of the office during the worst of it, kindly giving them some space. He wants to thank him but he doesn’t know how. Instead he listens as Martin rattles off all the things Tim should watch out for, like a nervous mother hen.

“I got it, Martin,” Tim says patiently. “But I’ll call you if anything happens.” Martin reluctantly backs off, giving the two of them a wave as they drive out of the parking lot.

“Jon,” Tim begins, putting a special emphasis on his name. He missed being called Jon. “You know I’ll always come when you call. I promise. I’d- I’d never laugh at you, not like that.”

You know. Of course.

“Okay,” Jon responds, staring out the window. He hopes it’s true. If not, well- the words are a start, right?

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334912

#my writing #prompts #tma #the magnus archives #angst #whump #some hurt/comfort #jonathan sims #tim stoker #sasha james #loved this prompt!#janekfan

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bloodbitchwitch · 5 years ago

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The Sparda Family's Pet

Chapter #01

It was another normal day for you. You woke up in your dingy old mattress and dust-covered room. You lived in an abandoned building so this was normal for you to say the least. You had been given away to an orphanage at birth but as soon as you turned 18, you were kicked out and was forced to live on your own accord. You had nowhere to go so you wandered around a bit and eventually came across the oh so lovely, almost falling apart building.

You yawn loudly and stretch your limbs then throw your legs off the bed to sit up slowly. The light from the window across from your bed, temporarily blinding you as you stand and start to make your way over to the small dresser where you stuffed all your belongings in, which wasn't much, just a few changes of clothes and some miscellaneous objects. You take out a new pair of clothes for the day, you wonder what and how you were going to eat today. You didn't have money and without that, you were either left with dumpster food or stealing whatever you could and you were definitely going with the latter. You continued your daily morning routine and once finished, you left your little and barely standing paradise and headed into town where you'd hopefully find breakfast.

While walking, you spotted a man in a leather jacket swiftly following quite an attractive young lady with brown hair and glasses. You hummed to yourself and continued on, barely even acknowledging that the man had some sort of robot arm. After walking quite a bit past the loud couple that were now yelling at each other from behind you and could be heard about a block away, you saw a few small rocks roll past your feet and abruptly stopped. Turning your head left, the direction the rocks came from, you found yourself peering into a dark alleyway that you had failed to notice before. You shuffled your feet a bit nervously because you knew that rocks didn't just go rolling themselves. Swallowing the spit in the back of your throat, you inched closer towards the alleyway. "Hello?" your better judgment being thrown out the window even though you knew you probably should have walked away and not looked back.

A small cough that echoed through the alleyway and a small boy walked into view. He looked hungry and scuffed up. His clothes were dingy and his skin had small cuts everywhere and dirt-caked his face. He had tears brewing in his eyes as he huffed lightly. "Please help me. I'm hungry and have nowhere to go..." You were heartbroken the second he said "hungry" and frowned lightly. You crouched down and got eye level with the boy and beckoned him to come closer. When he finally got close enough for you to reach out and grip his shoulders firmly but not enough to hurt the poor boy, you looked him over to make sure he wasn't hurt too badly and once finished your eyes returned to the boy's face which had contorted into some sort of monstrous-looking being. Your eyes went wide and you screamed loudly which alerted the couple down the block that you had passed. Your breathing quickened as you were face to face with the demon child that had grown a pair of sharp teeth and huge claws. The demon boy coiled his arm back and was getting ready to impale you with his sharp claws when suddenly the man in the dark coat jumped over you and the demon boy. Guns in hands while still in the air, he shot multiple rounds into the back of the demon head causing him to fall forward and nearly landing on you if the brunette from before hadn't pulled you into her chest before so. Blood poured out of the monstrous child's head and pooled at your feet. Your mouth had gone dry as you stared at the deformed and deceitful demon child.

The pretty lady brought her hand up to your face and blinded you by covering your eyes from the horrendous sight. "Nero! Was that really necessary? Right in front of this poor gal?!" The man, apparently called Nero, clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Well if I didn't then she wouldn't be standing there, would she? No. she'd be cabobbed onto the shit's arm and bleeding out." the man sassed the woman in front of him, not really upset or anything, it's just how their relationship kind of works.

While the two bickered, you could feel the creature's blood seep into the holes on the bottoms of your worn-out shoes. You cringed and panted, wanting nothing more than to get out of the bloodied alleyway. She tried to step backward, which only succeeded in getting the pair's attention. "Hey now Nero, we should probably get her outta here, she's probably scarred cause of your dumbass." and with that, she grabbed onto your hand with her other hand that wasn't shielding your vision from the gory sight in front of you and guided you away. When she deemed you both to be a safe distance away from the alley, she removed her hand from your face and smiled down at you. "Well aren't you a cute little thing." she snorted and grinned down at you. You blushed a bit and looked down at your blood-soaked shoes "Thank you..." you mumbled lightly and looked behind you to see how far away you were from the crime scene that just took place, only for you to see the man named Nero instead who was most likely intentionally blocking the view from you.

Nero stared down at you for a few seconds, taking in your appearance before huffing lightly and crossing his arms only to turn his head and look the other way. He sort of had a pink hue on his cheeks but you couldn't tell if he was blushing or if he had any kind of adrenaline rushing after that onslaught. You cleared your throat and began to speak. "Um....thank you for saving me back there. I almost became monster food." you then proceeded to give a small, nervous chuckle. The pair nodded and gave you a "No problem". You were about to say goodbye and go your separate ways until your stomach decided that now would be the perfect time to remind you of the reason you were out and about anyways. Your face began to turn a crimson color as they both chuckled at the sound of your stomach making gurgling noises. "Well, I see no reason to leave a pretty little thing such as yourself out on the streets and hungry. Hop on in the van and ill make ya a good ole breakfast that'll stop all that noise!" the pretty brunette exclaimed loudly and grabbed hold of your hand once again and dragged you into her van. "I'll even cook for ya for free since you're so darn cute!" she said in her raspy voice and gave another little snort. Your blush only seemed to darken at her words and you took a seat at one of the barstools by the kitchen area inside the van. "By the way Darlin, the name's Nico and that there is Nero." she pointed to the male who had killed the demon as he was taking a seat next to you on another bar stool. He looked over at you and gave a small smile and a nod before uttering a simple "Hey" which you returned. "It's nice to meet you both, my name is y/n" you gave both a small smile and continued "Thank you both for saving me".

While Nico was cooking and had most of your attention on her, Nero couldn't help himself but look you over again like he did outside. He found it attractive and after Kyrie broke up with him, claiming she was lesbian and started seeing some girl, he needed something to distract himself from the degrading thoughts he had about himself, claiming that he wasn't good enough for the woman he thought he'd marry. He licked his lips and took in your curves....or wait...curves? The more he looked at you, he could see just how hungry you truly were. You looked so small to him and compared to Nico, you were basically skin and bones. How long have you been in need of food? He also noticed all the holes and how dingy your clothes looked. He frowned and came to the conclusion that you were probably trying your hardest and living out in the streets. "Hey" he spoke up "You live around here?" you turned your attention to the white-haired male and pursed your lips. "Yeah, I live down the road. Two blocks away to be exact." Nero's eyebrows furrowed. "Nico and I just came that way. The only house that way is abandoned and falling apart". After hearing his words, your face turned red once more but not because you were shy but because you were embarrassed he now knew that you lived in some old and dusty building. He noticed that you looked upset at his words and mentally cringed at himself for being too blunt. "Hey there, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset... I just... I don't think you should have to live there is all." Nero then thought about his next words carefully and decided that any punishment he'd get out of this would be worth it. "I was thinking that if you wanted to, you could come live with my uncle, my father and I at my uncle's shop?" he peered down at you with what looked like puppy dog eyes and honestly, who were you kidding, it's not like you were going to say no anyways. You were hungry and living in poor conditions. "I... id be more than happy if you'd let me stay with you guys. I'll help around with your uncle's shop and make sure to pay you guys back in any way possible for letting me stay". Nero blushed at your words and felt his cock twitch in his jeans after hearing that you'd pay them back in any way possible. He bit his lip and looked away "yeah yeah whatever. We'll deal with all that when we get to the shop. While we're here though, do you have any belongings you want to pick up before we head out?" You shook your head no and finally turned your attention back to Nico who had just finished breakfast for everyone.

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc vergil #dmc5 #dmc v #dmc dante #dmc nero #dmc nico #dmc trish #dmc lady #dmc morrison #dmc kyrie #devil may cry sparda #dmc sparda #dante son of sparda #sparda #vergil son of sparda

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years ago

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praescitum chapter fourteen

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter seven, chapter eight, chapter nine, chapter ten, chapter eleven pt 1, chapter eleven pt 2, chapter twelve, chapter thirteen

casefile, season 10, season 11, 11x05 ghouli. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: As Mulder and Scully adjust to their reassignment to the X-Files and working together in the wake of their separation, they find themselves investigating a small town and a ghost that apparently warns people of bad things to come.

note: this is the first part of the ghouli coverage in this story, and i want to apologize for its insane length. and also for the amount of pain. warning for the events depicted in ghouli, with possibly a little more detail than the episode gives.

---

fourteen.

november, 2017

Mulder gets a file across his desk one day from Norfolk, Virginia. A stabbing on an abandoned ship called the Chimera. Two teenage girls, no clear motivation. And no clear supernatural involvement. It's intriguing, but he doesn't see much point in going out there; the local PD can probably handle it. He puts it aside on his desk to check with Scully tomorrow, make sure she has no interest.

Scully's headed home for the evening already. She's spent the last couple nights at her place, alone. She kissed him goodbye before she left, and drove back to Bethesda. He didn't argue. He's trying to be patient. He waited seven years for her, and he can wait a little while longer. He works late, falling into bad habits, reads some articles on paranormal possession that some sources sent him, and then he drives home, thinking more about the Willoughby case than the Norfolk one. He's close to just asking Skinner to officially sign off on going down to Willoughby and investigating himself, but he knows Skinner and Scully will have the same question: what are you going to investigate? It's hard to investigate on only a series of ghost sightings and a fifteen-year-old cold case.

The house is too quiet, too cold, after weeks of spending night after night with Scully. Mulder flips on the heater before making himself at home on the couch—a bad habit from the first year or so after Scully moved out. A bad habit so old he can hardly believe it. Who knew he'd be back to sleeping on the couch after all this time? He hears up a frozen meal, reviews some witness testimonies from the Jared Caruthers case, falls asleep on the couch just like he expected to. He swears it's not a cry for help or resentment that he's here alone; it's just a bad habit. He knows Scully would disapprove if she saw him, asleep on their lumpy couch covered only in an Afghan and one of the sweaters they've more or less shared that fits him better than her, his glasses still on his face—but it's not enough to make him go upstairs. He falls asleep mostly warm, the TV lights flickering over his face.

When he opens his eyes, later, he is not at home. He's standing in a hospital hallway, the fluorescent lights flickering above him. It's cold, so cold; he's shivering. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to take in his surroundings. The walls are too white. It doesn't feel real.

He starts to call for Scully, almost instinctively—if he's in a hospital, for whatever reason, odds are that Scully is there with him. But he doesn't even make it through her name before he sees it, as he's turning around. The dark figure, hat pulled down over his eyes, cloak fluttering as if it is the Ghost of Christmas Future. The one he recognizes from a dream a few weeks ago.

The figure—the Specter—raises one white-gloved hand and motions for Mulder to follow. So he does.

He follows the shadowy figure down hallway after hallway of flickering lights, shadowy corners and buzzing bulbs. He doesn't know what's happening, or why, but the possibilities terrify him. He follows, numb to do anything else but follow, until the figure stops, so suddenly that Mulder stumbles. Stops in front of a open door.

The hall lights flicker, leaving the hall dim. The room is brighter. Mulder feels frozen, stiff and motionless, but the spirit motions him forward with a sharp, cruel smile, and he goes. He walks forward, though he doesn't want to, his heart thudding hard, his hands shaking. His breath coming in shallow gasps. When he reaches the doorway, he sees it: the silver table, the black body bag lying on it.

He shouts himself awake, quivering under the blanket on the couch. His face is wet, his hands are cold.

He is alone, he remembers, and he fumbles wildly for the phone, breathing too hard, too raspily. He needs to talk to Scully. He needs to hear her voice. He keeps seeing the body bag on the table, the Specter's familiar cold smile. The Specter brings misfortune, and it's hard to misinterpret a dream like that. His chest is too tight as he dials the number, listens to the rings, absolutely terrified that she won't answer, that he's already too late. He waits and waits for an answer, his palm pressed over his mouth, but the phone just keeps ringing and ringing. He's on the verge of wild sobs, tears welling in his eyes, when that answer finally comes. “Mulder?” Scully mumbles on the other side, sounding confused, sounding fearful and panicked and half-asleep all at once.

“Scully, are you okay?” he blurts, stumbling to his feet. He's casting his eyes widely around the room for his shoes, for his keys, his heart racing. She's afraid, and she must be in danger, and he has to get to her before it's too late.

There's a long pause before she says, stunned, “Mulder, I'm fine. W-what's wrong? You sound…” Her voice breaks off, trembling.

He almost runs into the counter in an effort to get to the car keys before freezing in place. He's clutching the phone too hard. “You're okay?” he says softly.

“I-I had a bad nightmare, but… I'm… I'm okay, Mulder, yes.” Her voice is soothing, even as shaken as it sounds. The best sound he's ever heard, if only because it means she's still here. “What's wrong? Are you okay?”

He gasps in relief, leaning hard against the counter until its edge bites into his ribs. He presses his hands hard over his eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I just… I had a nightmare, too. About the Specter… And I just…” He shakes his head hard, breaking off his words. Scully doesn't need to know what he saw. “Bad night for nightmares, huh,” he cracks, but the words come out clumsy and dry.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Scully says softly.

He's still tempted to go there, to check on her, but his fear of losing her is still nearly neck-in-neck with his fear of pushing her away. And he's not sure if she'd welcome a random, panicky midnight visit. He yanks a hand through his hair, taking shallow breaths. Says, “D-do you want to talk about your dream?” he asks softly. “You sounded pretty shaken, honey.” His voice is rough; he's as shaken as she is. He wonders if she has noticed.

Scully's voice falters. “I… I'd like to talk about it tomorrow,” she says with an exhale. “If that's alright. I'm just… a little unnerved, and I'd rather talk about it tomorrow.”

“O-of course,” he says immediately. The sound of her voice is so precious he almost wants to beg her not to hang up but the words won't come. “I just wanted to know that you're okay. W-wanted to hear your voice.”

Her voice warms on the other end. “I'm here, Mulder. I'm okay,” she says softly. “I promise. I'm just fine.”

He presses his forehead into his palm. He wants to tell her more about what he saw—about the hospital, about the body bag—but he doesn't want to frighten her. He knows she doesn't believe in the ghost. He'd halfway expected her to tell him, It was just a dream, but considering her own bad dream, he guesses she's not banking on, It's just a dream. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” he says instead, his voice rough. “Even if it's just to talk.”

There's that fear back in her voice when she speaks again, a sort of weary sadness and worry. “I will,” she says softly. “I will. Get some sleep, okay? You need your rest. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

It's so routine that he doesn't realize it until she's already hung up. And when he does, a wave of stunned happiness hits him, so strong he nearly forgets about his fear.

That's the first time she's said it, since they came back together, since they started working together again. That's the first time she's said she loved him in such a long time.

---

Mulder's anxiety doesn't quite fade; it lessens a little, but it doesn't fade. He sleeps restlessly in their bed the rest of the night, on her side of the bed, tossing and turning for hours until he drifts off. He texts her almost as soon as he wakes up, under the guise of asking if she wants coffee, and breaths a little sigh of relief when she answers. He speeds on the way the work, as best he can, because he's ready to see her, ready for the visual confirmation that she is okay. The Willoughby Specter brings premonitions, and he doesn't know how else to interpret that one outside of someone is going to die. And he can't think of anyone at more risk for that sort of premonition than Scully.

It takes a lot not to throw his arms around her when he sees her in the office, a relieved, tight hug. But the urge changes when she turns around and he sees her face, sees the dark circles under her eyes. “Scully, are you okay?” he asks, touching her elbow gently, juggling his briefcase and the drink tray. “You look like you didn't sleep at all.”

She takes the drink tray gratefully, holding the door open for him. “I guess that it was harder to shake that dream than I expected,” she says softly, throwing him a wry grin. “I couldn't let it go, Mulder.”

He understands the feeling. He sits at the desk and she sits across from him, gulping her coffee gratefully. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks gently, touching her hand.

She chews at her lower lip, takes a deep breath. “I think I need to,” she says.

She starts off sitting, but she's clearly restless. She ends up pacing around the room as she talks, shifting restlessly. She tells him of waking up in a dark stranger's house, unable to move, until she felt a dark figure behind her. As soon as she could move, she tried to follow the figure, but found herself unable to leave the house. She looked through it again and again before finally coming across a snow globe with a tiny boat inside.

It sounds too similar to Mulder's dream the night before. Much, much too similar. Mulder latches on to the part where she was unable to move. “It sounds like sleep paralysis. REM atonia. Did you hear a hissing, o-or a buzzing? Did you feel an electric current running through your body?” he asks.

“No, it was different, Mulder,” she says. “I mean, after t-the initial jolt of fear, I-I felt compelled to follow the dark figure.”

“Dark figures are usually meant to be avoided,” he says, thinking of the Specter, of his own dream the night before. Wondering if Scully saw the Specter, too. “Where was it leading you?” he asks uncertainly.

Sudden recognition spreads over Scully's face and she draws close to the desk. “There,” she says, pointing to the file that he was looking at the day before. The stabbing on the Chimera. “That’s the same boat.”

“That's an open X-file, Scully,” says Mulder, leaning closer. He's just so relieved it's not the Specter—Norfolk is nowhere near Willoughby—that he'd investigate anything. Even a mundane stabbing.

“Chimera,” she whispers, before looking up at him in amazement. “Mulder, this is impossible. This shouldn't be real.”

“Do you think your dreams are trying to tell you something?” he asks. “Whatever the source may be?”

She rubs a hand over her mouth, sits in the chair across from him. Rubs a thumb over the photo. “I… I don't know,” she says softly. “But I think we need to investigate this case, Mulder. I think it's important that we do.”

---

Annie knocks on his door early in the morning. “Hey, Ry,” she says, sticking her head in. “I'm headed out, okay? I'll be in meetings all day, but I'll have my cell phone, and I left some money for pizza on the counter. And Bonnie said you're welcome to call Sheriff O'Connell if you have an emergency.”

“Ha ha,” Ryan says dryly, setting his phone down. “That’s really funny.”

“C'mon, Ryan. I know things have been… awkward with the O'Connells, but they're family friends. And Joe did stick his neck out for you.”

“He's the cops, Aunt Annie. He has to help if I call him. And none of the O'Connells even like me anymore.”

Annie sighs, shaking her head. “Okay,” she says, and throws him a small smile. “Have a good day, okay? Don't get into any trouble. And call the neighbors if you have an emergency.” She steps into the room and reaches over to tousle his hair, the way she used to when he was a kid. He half-heartedly swats her hand away.

Annie turns towards the door, her eyes falling on the desk. “I didn't know you were into sage and stuff like that,” she says, her voice taking on an edge of suspicion. The is-this-because-of-the-ghost voice. Ryan's heard it many times.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, I thought some… good energy or whatever would be a good idea.”

Annie's eyes flicker from him to the desk and back to him. “Okay,” she says warily. “Have a good day, Ry. Love you.”

She leaves the room, closing the door behind her. “Love you, too,” Ryan calls out after her, and picks the phone back up. Reopens the article he was reading, that he closed so Annie wouldn't see. How To Efficiently Banish Evil Spirits.

---

They go straight to Norfolk. Grab a flight, even though it's not a long drive, and are there within a couple hours. Scully seems nervous, lost in her own thoughts, fidgeting in her lap. She does research on the I-Pad at the airport, and then again in the car. Mulder leaves her alone; he senses, somehow, that this is very important to her. He notices that they are being followed as they drive into town.

They go to the crime scene, where one Detective Costa gives them the rundown. Two teenage girls, different schools, no criminal histories. But they nearly killed each other with knives in an abandoned ferry. It's clearly not a coincidence, Mulder tells Scully, but he can't figure out why they're here. Some connection that the girls had that Scully picked up on somehow? The strangest things about this case so far are the question of a connection between the girls, and Scully's dream.

And then the detective mentions a monster called Ghouli. One that the girls apparently asked the EMTs about. A prospect that fits their typical M.O. much more than a run-of-the-mill stabbing.

At a coffee shop, Mulder finds a blog devoted to Ghouli. It's the typical stuff he's seen a million times, and he's pretty bored with it. Scully points out that most of the entries are from a user named Rever, stopping on an entry that Mulder catches bits and pieces of. It's talking about the end of the world. He's intrigued, but his phone buzzes at that moment with a text from Detective Costa. The girls are awake, if they went to talk to then.

He and Scully split up at the hospital; she talks to Brianna Stapleton, and he talks to Sarah Turner. Sarah describes a monster with sharp teeth and cinnamon-smelling breath that apparently dropped down from the ceiling and attacked her. But she denies seeing anyone else there. She does describe a dream that sounds almost identical to Scully's: a dark figure, a strange house, a snow globe with the Chimera in it. And she mentions her boyfriend. A kid named Jackson Van de Kamp.

Mulder's interest had originally been peaked when the girl described the dream in almost exactly the same context as Scully's, but it rises further when she mentions Jackson Van de Kamp. It nearly spikes off the charts. Van de Kamp is the name that's been in the back of his mind since early 2016, since Scully told him what Jeffrey Spender had told her in the hospital: that William's adoptive parents were named Van de Kamp. His breath catches in his throat as he makes the connection, as he finally starts to understand: this is why they're here. William sent Scully visions of the apocalypse, and William must be sending her visions now. Or dreams. This isn't a coincidence, he can feel it.

Scully seems a little skeptical, but not nearly as skeptical as he may have expected. She shares the details of her interview with Brianna, and reveals that the girls experienced the same thing. They both saw Ghouli, they both had the dream. They are both dating Jackson Van de Kamp. Mulder's breath catches in his throat at that detail.

“The sleep paralysis. The labyrinth. The snow globe. You share the same story,” he points out immediately at Scully's description of

“And the girls, apparently, the same boyfriend—Jackson Van De Kamp,” says Scully. She says it like she wants to say the name again, like she's turning it over and over in her head.

“Scully…” he starts, gently. He knows this is going to be hard. It may be the hardest thing they've ever done.

“I know,” she says softly. She sounds like she doesn't believe it. She sounds like she wants to believe it. “Mulder, it has to be a coincidence.”

“No, it's not,” he says, reaching down to press his hand against her back reassuringly. “You were sent here. We are meant to be here. We've got to find out where this kid lives.” He wants to believe it, too. He's wanted to find his son for so long.

She takes a shaky breath, lifting her chin to look at him. “Do you really think this is it, Mulder?” she whispers, her voice tremulous. “That this is why we're here? This is why I had this dream?” He nods immediately, wrapping his arm around more securely around her. “Do y-you really think it's him?” she whispers in the smallest voice.

“I do,” he says, because he does. He rubs his hand up and down her arm gently, not caring that they're in the middle of a hospital. She leans into him, uncaring herself. He tugs her closer, holding her tightly. “You got that dream for a reason, Scully. I truly think this is him. And if it is… he's calling out for you. He wants to see you.” He presses a brief kiss to her forehead. He can't tell if the churning in his stomach is excitement or fear. If this is real, he's going to see his son again. Scully's going to see her son again. And it seems like he actually does want to see them; he's been afraid for years of the idea that their son hates them, wants nothing to do with them.

She looks up at him, her eyes wide. “Do you think he's in danger, Mulder?” she whispers, one hand pressed to his chest. “Or… scared? Is that why he's reaching out?”

“I don't know,” he admits. He squeezes her close again before letting go. “But we're going to find out. We're going to find him. I promise.”

---

He texts Detective Costa and gets an address back almost immediately. They don't wait around after that; they race straight out to the parking garage and retrieve their car, drive straight there.

Scully is silent on the drive, and Mulder doesn't press her. He can't imagine what she must be feeling right now. He knows what he is feeling: his nerves are shot, he's fearful. Yet he's excited, somehow, as well as fearful; he hasn't seen his son since he was a baby, and he's thought about him every day since. But William doesn't know him, he reminds himself; he has other parents, maybe even a new name. He is not his father. And anyways, his son reached out to Scully. This is about Scully. Scully, who has felt the guilt over losing William for years. Scully, who wanted this more than he ever did in the beginning, even as much as he wanted it in the end. Scully, who has some unexplainable connection to their son.

He feels like he's about to throw up, he's so strung out, and he can tell Scully's in the same place. When they pull up to the curb in front of the house and climb out of the car, they pause at the edge of the lawn. “I feel like I'm gonna fall off a cliff,” Scully whispers, as fearful as he's ever heard her, and he reaches out to rub her shoulder with his thumb. Some small comfort or reassurance.

And that's when they hear it: the popping sound of two gunshots, coming from inside the house.

They take off at a run immediately, sprinting for the front door. Mulder slams his shoulder against the door, breaking it down, and it swings open to reveal an empty foyer. They enter slowly, guns in hand, and Scully whispers his name. “Mulder,” she says. “This is the house in my visions.”

He doesn't have time to process that. He moves further into the house, noting, “Door's open.” He keeps moving, going into the kitchen, until he sees the two bodies. “Scully,” he calls out, and she joins him. They survey the scene: a man and a woman, older, shot in the head. The Van de Kamps, he assumes. Possibly his son's parents. He's about to say something to Scully—although he doesn't know what—when they hear something else. The heart-stopping sound of another gunshot from upstairs.

They twist, turning towards the stairs. Scully gasps, her breath faltering; Mulder's stomach twists painfully. They both move to the stairs, thundering up them, and move in opposite directions. He goes left and she goes right; he moves down the hall, breathing shallowly, silently praying that it's not what he thinks it is. He checks a bedroom, a bathroom, and finds nothing. And then he hears Scully calling out for him. Calling his name in a voice that sounds ripped open, sounds like it's full of tears.

He sprints down the hall, his feet pounding the footboards, and comes across another bedroom. Scully is standing in the doorway, her hand pressed over her mouth, sniffling and softly whimpering behind it. Trying not to cry and mostly failing. Mulder's breath leaves his body as his eyes move over the room. As they land on the boy sprawled in the rug, eyes shut. Blood clotted in his dark hair.

Times seems to stop, then. Seems to thicken, suffocating and airless. He can't breathe. All he can think is that his dream from the night before makes a lot more sense now. It wasn't Scully in the body bag. It was never Scully. He can't breathe. He feels like he is going to throw up.

---

Ryan cleanses first. Just like the article says. He lights the sage and walks the house with it, trying to wave it around like the articles and YouTube videos said. He does all the corners and the doorways, his hand clutching the sage too hard until the end of it is limp and damp with sweat. He's wearing one of the plastic cross necklaces under his shirt, hoping like hell it works in the way of offering a little protection. That all of this works.

He can't risk having the ghost here anymore. He can't. He's terrified that it'll try to hurt his aunt, try to hurt him. He needs to figure out how to get rid of it, but for now, he'll settle for getting it out of his house. He'd do anything to have it gone, to have one place where he feels safe. Just one.

He sages the entire house, reaching up every now and then to touch the cross and make sure it's still there.

---

It might not be him. That's what Mulder tells himself, splashing cold water on his face in the downstairs bathroom. It might not be him. He was so sure, an hour ago, and now he's desperately hoping that it's not, as selfish as that is. It might not be him. He's sure Van de Kamp is a common name. Maybe it's just a coincidence, maybe William is a cousin or something who saw what was happening and has some connection…

He can't stop seeing the body. The image of the boy who might be his son with a bloody hole in his head. His throat is raw, his cheeks are wet and freezing, his eyes red. He turns off the water and exits the stranger's bathroom, heading into the kitchen.

He's looking for Scully, and he means to keep looking when he doesn't find her there, but he gets stuck there, staring at the bodies. At these people who might've raised his son, his baby boy. The woman has dark hair with blood clotted in it, just like her son's. He wants to throw up all over again. Detective Costa is saying that Jackson killed his parents and then killed himself, and Mulder can't listen to it. He doesn't want to hear it. He goes upstairs to find his wife.

He goes upstairs, calling her name softly, and walks right in on them zipping up a body bag. Jackson Van de Kamp's still face disappearing underneath a zipper. A body bag, just like in the dream. The Specter was warning him, and he didn't know how to stop it.

He bites his lip to keep from saying the things he wants to say, from making pleas that no one can grant, and turns around and leaves. He calls Scully's name again, going down the hall until he reaches a room that has to be Jackson's. He freezes in the doorway, taking it all in. There is space paraphernalia on the wall, a telescope by the window, and Scully is sitting facing away from him at the desk. It's so hard, so hard to be in here, looking at the life of the person who may be his son (a life that he missed, and now it might be too late), but he has no choice. He has to be strong for her.

“Scully?” he asks as he enters the room.

She looks up at him, sighing a little bit; her eyes are red, her expression tremendously sad. She's been crying. “This is his room,” she says softly. “I recognize it from my dream. You're right, Mulder. Whoever he is, he wanted me to be here.” He draws closer to her, and he can see what it is she's holding: pictures. Pictures of Jackson. “Look,” she says, thumbing through them. “Birthday, Halloween, vacation, baseball.” She holds out a picture of a little boy in a Little League uniform for him to see, and Mulder really does want to cry. It might not be him, he tries, but he looks familiar. With those dark eyes peering out from under a baseball cap he looks—just a little—like Samantha did as a small child, playing baseball on the Vineyard. But no, he's imagining things, he has to be. “It's a whole life,” Scully finishes thickly, and the words thud solidly in his stomach.

He looks away, because he has to, and when he does, his eyes fall on the can of soda on the desk. “It's full,” he says, picking it up and feeling the chilly condensation under the pads of his fingers, “and it's still cold. Odd choice to crack open a can of soda before you decide to kill your parents.”

Scully says nothing to that. He crosses the room, going over to the dresser and picking up a book on top. He chuckles as he sees the title, some strange combination of gallows humor and amusement. “The Pick Up Artist: Memoirs of a Wolf in Sheep's Clothing,” he says aloud, showing Scully. He tries to joke, “At least he had his priorities straight,” wondering what he would say if Jackson really was his son, if he could say anything at all. He doesn't know if he has the right. He remembers being a dumb kid. Bad choice of reading, bad philosophy to have, but it's not his advice to give, whether Jackson is William or not. Either way, he's not his father.

“He was troubled, maybe even schizophrenic,” says Scully, holding two medication bottles in her hand, staring at the labels. “He was seeing a psychiatrist. Clozapine—that's an antipsychotic, and Diazepam is to treat seizures. They were prescribed two months ago, and they're still full, so he was off his medication.”

“I have grave doubts about what appears to have happened here, Scully,” Mulder says, which feels like an understatement. He's crossed the room to stand by Jackson's bed, and he notices something suddenly on the ceiling. He sits on the bed to get a better look. “Huh.

“Malcolm X,” Scully offers quietly.

"’The future belongs to those who prepare for it today,’” he reads from the poster.

"Was that his hero?” Scully asks as she sits on the bed beside him. An almost fond smile on her face as she cranes her neck to look at the poster. She looks like a mother, the way she did when William was born (smiling fondly down at the baby in her arms). It hurts to see her like that.

“We don't know that that body is William, Scully,” Mulder says. Because it might not be, and if it is, it means they've lost their son. They've really, truly lost their son. And he doesn't think he could handle that. He doesn’t want Scully to go through it. He's trying to give her some kind of hope, trying to reassure himself.

“Mm.” She looks down from the poster, the small smile gone. “Malcolm Little took the last name ‘X’ because he wouldn't take the slave name given to his ancestral family,” she says as he gets up and rounds the bed, going back to the desk. Her voice is vulnerable again, guilty. “Was Jackson's identity so adrift that he couldn't see himself as being a part of a family? Is that why he killed his parents and then himself?”

“Why would he call you here just to see him die?” he asks, forehead furrowed, because he doesn't want to believe it. Can't believe it. He doesn't think he can handle losing anyone else.

“I need to get proof of his identity, Mulder,” she says. “I need answers.”

Mulder hears the sudden sound of car doors open. He looks out the window to see the men who seem to have been popping up all day exiting the car. The men who followed them. “I'll get you one,” he says, leaving the room, rage twisting his stomach into knots.

He goes downstairs, pushing through detectives to get out of the house. He walks through the flurry of people outside to get to the men, and demands, “Who the hell are you with, and why are you following me?”

“Take it easy,” says one of them. The one on the right. “Nobody's following you.”

“We're just curious onlookers,” says the one on the left.

“Yeah,” says the other one. “We saw the police cars. Something bad happened here.”

“What agency are you with?” Mulder presses. “Judging by your crappy rental car, I'm guessing the DOD.”

“You make a lot of assumptions,” the one on the left says.

“I'm also gonna assume it's no coincidence you're here on the night the Van De Kamps are killed.”

“Wow. Three bodies. What a tragedy,” the one on the right says in such a dry tone Mulder wants to hit him. He turns just in time to see them loading the Van de Kamps into the ambulance. Three body bags on a stretcher, a macabre, sickening family portrait.

“Keep cracking wise,” he tells them furiously, a warning of sorts. He could hurt them. He will hurt them, if they were any way involved in his son's death. If that's his son right there. He feels like he could cry, he wants to scream, he wants revenge. He wants his son, more badly than he's ever wanted anything. “You have no idea my state of mind.”

---

Mulder drives Scully to the hospital to run a DNA test on Jackson. But before they leave, he sneaks upstairs to steal the photograph of Jackson playing baseball. It's a horrible thing, but he doesn't think he can leave without it. He wants this one, small thing from the boy who might be his son. This might be all he has.

The photo is too heavy in his pocket. Like a fucking stone. His eyes are stinging, his throat is thick. He drives Scully, silent in the passenger seat, to the hospital with unsteady hands.

He tries to volunteer to go and get the sample—he doesn't want Scully to have to look at Jackson's still face, to feel that fear and anguish and guilt—but she insists, shaking her head hard and firm. “I have to do it. I have to do it, Mulder. I need to take care of him,” she whispers, and her voice breaks a little, and so does his heart. “I need to do it,” she's still insisting, her eyes wet, her jaw set. “Just let me do it. I need to see h—I need to do it.”

He doesn't fight her. He doesn't have the strength. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes her close, tells her okay, okay. He'll go check on some things. He'll come find her. He'll give her some time alone. He kisses the top of her head, holds her close, and lets her go.

She goes to the morgue, and he goes to the labs, intending to ask them to run a DNA comparison. But he finds, suddenly, it's impossible to go in. He freezes up, he can't do it. He collapses in a chair in the hallway, his legs weak, his heart thudding. He fumbles in his pocket until his hand closes over the photo, and he draws it out gingerly. Cradles it in the palm of his hand the way she cradled the snow globe. Fragile. It could be everything, it could be all he has left. It is so, so hard to look at this photo of this boy—maybe his son—playing baseball, because he'd wanted to show their son baseball, watch games with him on the couch, teach him how to throw and hit and catch, go to his games and cheer him on… He'd wanted this, and he'll never have it, and he doesn't know if this is his son, but he's starting to think it might be, because he really does look a little like Samantha, when she was seven or eight. He looks like Scully. He looks just like Scully.

Tears well in his eyes, and he lets his face drop into his hands, lets the photo drop into his lap. He doesn't know how to do this. He should be well acquainted with losing people by now, but he doesn't know how to do this. He feels horrible, that a whole family is dead and all he can do is pray that this kid is not his son, but he doesn't think he could bear losing anyone else. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

Somehow, he makes himself stand up. Somehow, he makes himself walk into the lab and ask them to run a DNA comparison against him and Scully. (He may just be paranoid, but they never found out if Emily was the only child the Syndicate made. If this is really William, he wants to make sure that he matches both of their DNA.) The guy gives him a funny look, but agrees. Mulder does a mouth swab at his direction, drops it in a little glass, and promises to be back shortly with the other two samples.

He travels downstairs to the morgue, through a seemingly endless maze of hallways and elevators, and he remembers the dream suddenly, the dark figure leading him down hallways just like this. They looked just like this. But his dream wasn't from his son; it was from a fucking demonic ghost showing him his twisted future. He wants to vomit, wants to scream, wants to curse the people of fucking Willoughby, Virginia for ever getting them involved. Wants to kill the people who did this to them, shaped their lives into an endless string of pain and heartache, frightened Scully to the point where she felt she had to give their son away to keep him safe. It's a fucking nightmare, and he wants to scream himself awake, but he can't.

He freezes outside of the morgue, suddenly unable to go inside. To see the body bag with his baby in it. He can't move. He can't breathe. He feels dizzy, for a moment, not entirely there, and he shakes his head hard to snap out of it. And as his senses start to come back, he hears something else, another reason not to go in. Scully is talking to Jackson Van de Kamp. Scully is crying.

“—thought I was being strong, because it was the hardest thing I've ever done,” she is saying, sniffling, and Mulder can hardly stand it. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to do. “I mean… to let go. And to know that I was gonna miss your whole life,” she adds, and he shuts his eyes with the pain of her words, the raw emotion. He's thinking of that last night, when they spent the whole night holding each other on the bed, Scully crying and William snuffling in his sleep, snuggling closer to his chest. He's thinking of telling them goodbye in the foyer, hugging Scully close, kissing them both again and again. He'd promised he would come back. He promised he would stay alive. He promised they would be a family. And that was the last time he saw his son: in the doorway of Scully's apartment, cradled in her arms. He promised they would be a family, he promised that he would be a better father than his. And look what happened. Look what has happened.

“But it turns out that this is the hardest thing,” Scully is saying, her voice thick with tears, and it's so hard to listen, but Mulder finds he cannot leave. He can't leave them like this. He watches her, bent over the table, tears in her eyes. “To see the outcome. And how I failed you.” She lets out another sob. “I… need you to know that I never forgot you,” she says, and he wants to tell their son that it's true, how much she thought about him, how much she cried about him, that she kept the bunny from his crib through multiple homes and hotels, even slept with it some nights. She's held onto him all this time.

“And I thought… I felt… that even recently, that we were gonna somehow… be reunited… I wish I could have been there to ease your pain.” Her voice breaks. Shatters. “Oh, my God, this is so inadequate. I'm just so sorry. I'm so sorry.” She sniffles, nearly sobbing, and then she looks up. She sees him there, in the doorway, his hand held out like he's about to knock. He feels awful, like he's intruded. He feels like he's inches away from crying himself. “Have you been there the whole time?” she asks softly.

“No, but I heard enough.” His voice is so steady, it's surprising. He crosses the room in a few strides. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he assures her, wrapping his arms tight around her, his cheek against her forehead. She comes willingly, her arms going around his waist. His eyes shift, inadvertently, to the table, to Jackson's body. His breath falters, just a bit. He rocks Scully back and forth.

He could've stopped this. If he'd only known what the dream had meant, he could've fucking stopped this. If he'd realized what the dream meant, if he hadn't left them alone, if he'd never gone to Oregon… He's failed them. Scully believes that she failed William, but she never would have given him up if he hadn't have left. It's him, not her. He's failed his family, the same way he's failed everyone else in his miserable life.

“This is torture, Mulder,” she whispers, her cheek to his chest. “I need to get the results.” She pulls away and grabs the samples on the table. A swab of her saliva, a lock of his hair.

“Okay,” he says. He feels numb. He has to be here for her, he reminds himself. He's failed her, but he will do his best not to do it again. “We can use the lab here and get a DNA comparison.”

“Okay.” She nods.

“They'll be back in two hours.” He rubs a soothing hand over her back as they exit the room together.

“Yeah.” They walk to the door, and Scully flips off the light before she closes the door. Mulder bites down on his lip too hard, thinking of bedtime and night-lights and please leave the door open just a crack. He fiercely wants to turn back time. He wants the life they should've had.

---

Ryan finishes sageing the house. He goes over the whole thing twice, feeling a little ridiculous, but feeling equally determined. He lights candles, putting them in the hall, both bedrooms, the kitchen, the dining room. His hands are trembling as he lights the candles, lights the sage. He's afraid, more afraid than he'd like to admit. Annie is going to be very suspicious when she gets home and sees all this, but he doesn't care. He has to do this.

He finishes sageing the house and lighting a ridiculous amount of candles, and then he goes upstairs to retrieve the salt he bought. He checks the line before his door—hidden safely under his rug—and in front of his closet. He sprinkles some in the corners of the bedroom. Then the hallway. Then his aunt's room. He's heard that salt can help with more aggressive spirits, and he certainly would classify the Specter as that. As aggressive. He used to hide in closets from the ghost, whimpering with flannel-pajamaed knees clutched to his chest. He used to wake up from nightmares with wet sheets, thumb planted firmly in his mouth. He used to cling to his aunt with fear, bursting into sobs. He used to find bruises on strange parts of his body, just like in the movies. It’s definitely aggressive. It's been tormenting him his whole life; it's been torture.

Ryan sprinkles salt in the corners of the bathroom and across the bathroom door, and then whirls on his heel, heading for the stairs. There's a sudden rustling sound, somewhere behind him, and his head whips around so hard he can nearly feel the friction. At that point, he begins to hear something strange: the sound of a ringing. A sharp, shrill ringing in his ear that's nearly painful in intensity.

Ryan winces, jerking his head and clapping a hand to his ear, as if that will stop the painful sound. “This is over!” he roars, unthinking. “Over! Do you hear me? I want you out! You are not welcome here!” The ringing grows sharper and he cries out a little with the pain, clapping a hand to the side of his head. He makes a move for the stairs, attempting to run down them, his feet clomping on the steps. But he's going too fast, breathing too hard, when the ringing suddenly stops. So abruptly he stumbles to a stop, his arms fumbling, his hands reaching for the banisters. And that's when something plows into him from behind. Pushing him forward, shoving him down.

His ankle twists to the side, hard. He yowls. He goes flying, falling down the rest of the stairs.

He lands hard, hitting the floor too roughly. He cries out again, eyes filling with tears, pressing a hand to his side, gasping hard in pain. His ankle is swollen and bruised, throbbing and aching. The salt has spilled on the floor. He's sprawled in the hall, inches away from the front door, the salt in piles around him.

He can hear the floorboards creaking behind him.

“Get out!” he shouts, his voice wavering with pain. The ringing begins again, shrill and sharp, and he whimpers. Grabs the container of salt and pushes himself up. He crawls towards the door, dragging himself nearly pathetically. Every movement hurts. Behind him, the floorboards creak and moan. He harkens back to one of the articles he read earlier today, and begins to mutter the Lord's Prayer under his breath.

He's never been to church a day in his life, outside of after sleepovers with his friends, and he's mumbling the Lord's Prayer like it's going to save his life. It's absolutely ridiculous, but what else can he do?

Outside, it is getting dark. Something like firelight flashes in the reflection of the screen door. Something dark and cloth-like flickers in the corner.

“Thy kingdom come,” Ryan hisses through gritted teeth, grabbing for the door jamb. He groans as he tries to pull himself into a standing position. “T-thy will be done...” he gasps out, feeling pathetic, like a poser. More salt spills on the floor, but he ignores it. He nearly screams as he puts weight on his swollen ankle. He yanks open the door and nearly falls through it, out on the porch, a limp tangle of limbs. He's bruised all over now, but he can't think about that. He rolls over a couple times, wincing—shit, his ribs are killing him—and muttering the prayer under his breath. The Specter looms over him, out on the porch, but he seems to be drawing back. Almost like the prayer is working. When he gets to the part about deliver us from evil, the ghost yanks away, as if pained. The ringing in Ryan's head increases, pounding hard at his skull; he tosses a handful of salt as he cries out, flinching hard. “For thine… is the kingdom…” he gasps out, crawling pathetically back toward the door. “... t-the power… and the g-glory…” He grabs handfuls of salt, spreading it in a thick, globby line before the door. “... forever and ever,” he gasps out, tossing another handful of salt in the direction of the Specter, who is far on the other side of the porch. “Amen.”

The ringing gets higher: suddenly, painfully higher, until it blinks out like a light. Ryan gasps, tears trailing down his cheeks. He lets out a gaspy sob. Pulls himself to his feet with a whimper, yanking the door open hard, and falls through the doorway in a slump.

He's passed out almost before he hits the ground.

---

When they leave the morgue and stumble onto a waiting room with a couch, Mulder encourages Scully to lie down for a little while. She looks exhausted, eyes rimmed red and lower lip wobbling, but his motives are equally spread to the fact that he doesn't want her with him when he gets the results of the DNA test. He can fall apart without her while he figures out how to break the news to her gently.

“I shouldn't sleep right now, Mulder,” she murmurs, shaking her head stubbornly. “I-I can't. Not right now.”

“Yes, you can.” He presses his lips to her forehead, hugging her close. “If you push yourself too hard, you'll crash. There's…” He hesitates, biting his lower lip. “There's nothing you can do right now, okay? You should get some rest.”

She shakes her head again, but he can feel her resolve weakening. She's practically drooping in his arms. “I can't sleep here, Mulder. It's a hospital.”

“It's a waiting room,” he tells her, “where people sleep all the time. It's fine.” He squeezes her close again, rocking her a little, stroking her warm head. She tethers him, in a sense; he doesn't know what he'd do without her. Especially right now.

Lump in his throat, he rubs a hand up and down her back, pulling away to look her in the eyes. “You lie down here,” he murmurs, cupping the side of her face, “and I'll come get you in a little bit.”

She nods, looking at the ground. “Okay,” she murmurs, and he thumbs hair back from her face, kisses her forehead again. She sits on the bench gingerly, sniffles a little and wipes her eyes.

“I'll be back in a little bit,” he promises, and she nods.

He goes to the lab where he dropped off his samples, cradling Scully and Jackson's samples in his hands. He can still feel the picture in his pocket, too heavy. He can still feel the weight of everything that's happened tonight. He's trying not to think about those three nights, those three nights he had with his son. He's trying not to pray and beg some higher power that the dead teenager down the hall isn't his son. He's trying to believe that his son is still out there somewhere. Another Van de Kamp, and this Van de Kamp is just a coincidence, a chance encounter. But it doesn't feel like that. It's too terrifying to think about, but this doesn't feel like a coincidence. He feels horribly selfish for wishing so badly that it was.

The lab techs agree to compare the samples. They tell him to come back in a little while. He'd wait by himself, but he doesn't think he could handle that. He goes back to the waiting room to find Scully fast asleep, sprawled across the couch. He doesn't wake her up. He goes out to the car to retrieve her coat and drapes it over her like a makeshift blanket, tucking it around her. He sits on the edge of the couch and lets her head bump into his thighs, sits there and strokes her hair and tries to think of anything but what is happening right here. Just strokes her hair and listens to the announcements over the intercom.

It's about the longest two hours of his life.

Scully sleeps restlessly, tossing and turning so violently on the tiny space that he's afraid she's going to fall off. He fidgets absently with the picture, his thumbs pressing against the edges. He sits there until the two hour mark, until he looks down at the clock on his phone and sees how long it's been. It feels like it has been an eternity, and yet he hardly remembers the wait. And he is terrified of what is waiting for him down that hallway. His heart seems to falter. He takes a trembling breath. He slides out from under Scully, his hand on her head, and brushes his lips over her scalp. Hopes, prays that he will return with good news for her.

He goes back up to the lab, where the tech is waiting for him with a solemn look on his face. His stomach twists, painfully, and in the moment, he's so, so glad Scully isn't with him.

The man tells him in that soft, soothing voice Mulder recognizes. He's used the same voice a hundred times before.

---

After he gets the news, time seems to knot up in a muddled mess. He wants to throw up, he wants to scream, he nearly falls to his knees. He wants to tear apart all the people who have driven them to this, who ripped their family apart. This never should've happened. This never should've fucking happened.

All he can think is that he wants another chance. He wants another chance. He'd do anything for another chance. He wouldn't leave them, he'd never let them go. He's lost so many people in his life—his sister, his parents, his best friends, his old partners, Scully over and over again—but somehow, he never thought he'd lose this. His son. He used to think that despite everything, at least William was safe. Scully gave him up to keep him safe, and their one small comfort in all of this was believing that was true. He's lost so many people, but he never thought he would lose his son.

He finds himself sitting on the floor of the men's room, curled up into a ball in a stall, his knuckles bruised and stinging, his face wet with tears. He presses his face into his knees like a child. His throat is sore from crying. He's shaking, shivering like he is cold. He's thinking about William as a baby, the warm cuddly weight in Scully's arms. He looks just like you, Scully had said, tucked under his arm, snuggling into his side. The baby snuffled sweetly. He doesn't look like Skinner, she'd sniffled, grinning at him wobbily. He looks just like you.

Mulder takes shallow, panicked breaths against his knees, clutching them too hard, shaking. He doesn't know how to tell this. He doesn't know how to tell Scully that they've lost their son. Their son. He'd had that dream, and he could've done something to save him, but he had no fucking idea. And he left in the first place, sixteen years ago, left Scully vulnerable and with no other choice. This is his fault. He failed their son. He failed them all.

He stays curled up on the tile floor until his ass aches, until he stops shaking and whimpering. Until he can stand, can walk out of the stall. He wipes his face with a damp paper towel. His knuckles are scratched and bruised. He takes deep, steady breaths. You have to go get Scully, he tells himself. You have to tell her. You have to be there for her. He tries to tell himself that they can get through this. He balls and unballs his fists, breathes easily. He has to do this. He wipes his eyes and leaves the bathroom.

He doesn't find Scully when he left her, in the waiting room. Her coat is there, draped over the back of the couch, but she isn't there. Mulder knows immediately where she's gone. She's gone to the morgue, to see their son.

He can hear her as he walks down the hall; she's talking to someone. “—no sign anyone was ever in here,” she’s saying. He gets to the end of the hall and she's there, standing over the silver table, over the body bag.

“Scully,” he says, and his voice sounds weak, like it's faltering. “Can I have a word?

She turns to him. “It's okay, Mulder,” she says, like she's trying to comfort him.

“It's not good news,” he warns her. He doesn't want her to think everything is okay, that their son is still out there somewhere. He wants to prepare her for this awful fucking news.

“I know,” she says, and her voice is nearly hopeful, Jesus Christ. “It's William. His body's missing.” And only then does Mulder notice that the body bag is empty. It looks deflated, limp on the table like a discarded grocery bag.

“There's no way anyone could have taken a body out of here,” says the man that Mulder had barely even noticed before—the coroner, he assumes.

Scully looks around in a desperate little motion, nearly eager. “Are there any windows anywhere?”

The coroner motions them to a door off to the side. It's a bathroom, with an open window on the far wall. They examine it together, Mulder peering outside, and it's immediately clear: no one has broken in. The window is open, but no one has broken in. “No sign of damage on the outside,” he says, worry curdling his stomach—what the hell has happened to his son? What have they done with him?

“That window's always locked,” says the coroner.

“Well, then it must have been opened from the inside,” Scully says, looking back at him. Her voice is still full of hope, and Mulder suddenly realizes what she is thinking, and it’s impossible. Impossible. She turns on her heel and leaves the room, and he has no choice but to follow.

She's already halfway down the hall when he catches up to her, walking with a new determination. “Scully,” he calls, and she stops, turns towards him. “Can I talk to you?” he asks, drawing closer.

“Yeah,” she says.

He waits until he is close to speak, whispering both for the sake of covertness and comfort. He hopes that he can comfort her. “I know what you're thinking,” he says. “And I want him to be alive every bit as much as you do.” Wants it so much, he can feel it as a lump in his throat. A fierce burning of hope. “And in my heart, I never thought that we'd… have to face this moment, but… here we are.” She's still looking at him questioningly; he adds, “Hope is not a fact. And I'm always the first to jump to extreme possibilities, but this is not as simple as that.” He doesn't want her to get her hopes up; it's so improbable, after what they heard and saw… he can't lose their son again. He can't put his faith into such a wild theory just to find it's not true; he can't lose William again.

“Mulder, I had another vision,” she says with soft conviction. As serious as he has ever heard her. “And I saw this.” She pulls a snow globe out of her pocket, one with a little windmill in it. A tagline from a movie: The Wizard of Oz.

Looking at the snow globe in her palm, he feels some mix of worry and companionship. He's thinking of the stolen photo in his pocket “Did you take that from his room?” he asks.

She falters, as if embarrassed. “I don't know why I did. I just needed to hold on to something tangible.”

“All right. I'll check the video surveillance,” he says. He doesn't know why aside from the fact that he cannot deny her this. He can't do that to her, on top of everything else. He's dismissed Scully's beliefs too many times in their years together, and he won't do it again. Especially not when it hinges on their son. Digging further into the idea that William is alive may only hurt them worse, but he'd hate himself if he ignored the possibility. “But this doesn't change anything. Not yet.”

“He wants us to find him, Mulder,” Scully says, and she sounds more sure of this than she ever has before. “I know it.”

He wants to believe that. He so badly wants to believe that. But with all the evidence, everything that he's seen, he's finding it hard.

---

Mulder checks the surveillance at the hospital and finds nothing. Horribly, frustratingly nothing. No signs of Jackson getting up and walking out of the hospital. But no signs of anyone stealing the body, either. It's as if he vanished into thin air. The disappointment is palpable, the blow more crushing than he expected; he wanted to believe, as unwise as he knew it was.

When he leaves the hospital, he finds Scully in the car, cradling the snow globe in her hand, the glass cracked and broken. “What happened?” he asks, stunned.

“I ran into someone in front of the hospital,” she says softly. “But it's okay.” She runs a gentle finger tip over the unblemished section of the globe. “We should go back to Jackson's house,” she adds. “See if we can dig anything up on his computer. Find any connections to Ghouli. I have a feeling that this is all connected—what happened with the girls, and what happened tonight.”

It runs through him nearly like a shock—the reminder of why they are here in the first place. The Chimera. The case. The monster. “Okay,” he says, and starts the car.

It's strange to be back in Jackson's bedroom, knowing what Mulder knows now. This is his son's room. He wants to linger, to pay attention to every detail, but they don't have time. Scully thumbs through a messy journal they find in the bedside table while he searches the laptop with his device from the dark web that can pull browser histories, and finds a startlingly clean history. He knows then: this isn't the right laptop. But right as he is pointing this out to Scully, cars with flashing sirens pull up outside the house, and he knows they have a small window before they'll be blocked from this investigation.

Scully locates the second computer quickly, under Jackson's mattress, and passes it over. With the device, Mulder finds posts to ghouli.net, as well as evidence that Jackson has hacked into the DOD. His mind goes, almost immediately, to the first case he and Scully worked together: Augustus Goldman's kids, experiments, and the DOD's heightened interest. The one that reminded them of William in the first place.

They hear government agents calling for them downstairs. Scully goes to hold them off, and Mulder digs further. He finds more files, specifically one called Project Crossroads. It's mostly classified, but the bits he can piece together are plenty revealing. A DOD agent shows up and orders him to leave before he can get too far, but he knocks over the open soda can Jackson left by the computer as he leaves. One small attempt to protect his son, if he's out there; it's the least he can do.

Scully is waiting for him in the car, in the driver's seat. “You might want to gun it, Scully,” he says as he climbs into the car, adrenaline running high. “I probably just pissed off an entire government agency—although not for the first time—but I think Jackson's secrets are safe.”

She raises her eyebrows at him as she starts the car. “That's a relief,” she says. “The secrets being safe, not the pissing off of another government agency.”

“In the long run, who cares?” He shrugs. “Where do we go now?”

“I think we should go back to the hotel,” Scully says, honestly surprising him. When he shoots her a look of shock, she says, “You haven't slept at all, Mulder, and it's so late. It's been a long night. And besides that, we'll probably be blocked again if we try to do anything else tonight.” When he doesn't say anything, still a little stunned, she reaches across the console and takes his hand. “You need to sleep, Mulder,” she says softly, just like what he had said to her back at the hospital. “It's okay. We're going to find him.”

He wants to find his son tonight. He's been looking for years, and he wants to find him tonight. Right now. He doesn't want to wait another minute. But the look on Scully's face weakens him. She's holding his hand, looking at him with the softest eyes, and she really believes their son is alive. She really believes it. He nods.

They go back to the hotel. One room, no question. They curl up together in the bed, their arms tight around each other, her head on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Scully whispers, her nose against his neck, and it all crumbles in that moment. He thought his son was dead. He saw his son dead. A lump is rising in his throat; he wants to cry. But he doesn't cry. He nods, pressing his face into her hair, gripping her tightly. “He's going to find us,” she whispers, and he swallows back a sob.

“I hope so,” he whispers back. He kisses the top of her head, breathing shakily, biting back more tears. “I really, really hope so.”

---

Ryan wakes slowly. The surface hard beneath him, the pain in his ankle and ribs shooting back through him like a knife. He groans, rolling over wearily to face the door. He needs to get up, but he's so exhausted, he feels like he can't move.

He's lying in the space between the screen door and the regular door, and with his face half-pressed against the cold glass, he suddenly sees a long shadow falling across his form. The two feet on there on the other side.

He draws back a little bit, rolling away from the door, and sees that it is his aunt, standing on the porch, clutching her briefcase in one hand. He breathes a sigh of relief and raps his hand against the window. “Aunt Annie?” he calls. “Aunt Annie, I hurt my ankle. I… I think I need to go to the hospital.”

She says nothing. Practically standing over him, her eyes are dark in the dim light.

Ryan bangs against the door helplessly again, clumsier. “Aunt Annie?” His voice is small, like a scared child; he's practically begging.

She frowns. She lets her briefcase drop to the ground. “You did not really think it would be that easy, did you?” she says in a droning voice.

Or, no—no, no, it’s not her. Ryan's stomach drops out from under him. He tries to scramble away from the door, and pain shoots through his ankle. He whimpers.

Annie—the ghost in Annie's body—slams a hand into the glass door, so loud he yelps. “I may not be able to cross the threshold, but do you think that means I cannot hurt you?” it growls. “I broke apart your family. I watched your father bleed out while your mother begged for her life. I watched your uncle cower in his prison cell. And I have followed you throughout your entire life. Do you think you can stop me? I can still touch the people you love.”

Ryan struggles to rise on his knees, trembling with pain and fear, his head throbbing. He watches as it dips a hand into Annie's briefcase and comes out with a pair of scissors.

He yelps in terror, fumbles wildly for the door handle and yanks hard at it. The door opens, whapping Annie in the thigh, but she doesn't move. She's lifting the scissors, slowly. Ryan lunges forward clumsily, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her forward. She stumbles and the two of them fall, half in and half out of the doorway. The scissors clatter to the ground, the screen door hits them both. Groaning, Ryan yanks at Annie's shoulders, pulling her over the threshold. She doesn't struggle, but goes limply—he can't tell if the Specter is still there or not. He keeps tugging, grunting with the effort and the pain, until the screen door slams shut. He collapses to the floor, breathing too hard, tears in his eyes, Annie coming down hard beside him.

Annie comes to gradually, and then suddenly, it seems. “Ry?” She blinks, rubbing at her eyes and sitting up. “W-what happened? When did I get home?” She gasps, upon seeing his ankle. “What happened?” she repeats, more urgent. “You're hurt, Ry, what happened?”

He can't speak. He's crying. He's sobbing, he realizes, sobbing like a baby, so hard that he's shaking.

“Jesus Christ,” Annie murmurs, her voice full of worry. “It's gonna be okay, Ryan. You're okay. I'm going to take you to the hospital, it'll be okay. C'mon.”

She tries to loop his arm around her shoulders, and he gasps, “No!” He tries to scramble back from her, shaking his head wildly. “No, no, no, no, we can't,” he sobs, his face wet and snotty, his heart pounding too hard. “We can't, we can't leave the house.”

“Ryan, you need a hospital, you need a doctor…”

“No!” he shouts, yanking away. “I can't, I can't do this, we can't leave the house. I can't stop it, Aunt Annie, it's gonna hurt us.”

“What?” Annie asks firmly. “What is going to hurt us, Ryan?”

He can't speak. He breaks off into whimpers, quivering with cold on the floor.

“Ryan, talk to me,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “Talk to me, honey, what is it? Please, tell me.”

He can't speak. He shakes his head, shuts his eyes, hides his face with a whimper. Because just outside the door, he can see it: the Specter, waiting with his lantern held high. Watching.

---

note: i decided to focus on mulder’s side of the story in this episode, since scully takes the focus in the actual episode, and i was admittedly intrigued by mulder’s supportive position and silent grief. i promise that scully will get more attention in chapter fifteen!!

i did research on banishment of spirits (although i didn’t try it out myself, lol); the websites i used info from are these: http://www.energymuse.com/blog/how-to-remove-negative-energy-from-your-home/, https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/how-to-get-rid-of-ghosts-haunting-spirits. i also did research on sprained ankles, which included visiting this website (https://kidshealth.org/en/teens/ankle-sprains.html) and asking my mom questions about her experience with a sprained ankle this summer. luckily, she’s used to weird, obscure “it’s for something i’m writing” questions.

#xf rewatch #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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