#open the read more to be washed away in a flood of text

[psicadetterra]

Ended up jabbering with my friends about PN stuff. In this post I will talk about Clem and Crystal's deteriorating friendship (and eventual recovery.)

Crystal gives up the project, and for a while, so does Clem. Clem falls back into old habits fairly quickly though. This puts a strain on their friendship. Crystal doesn't want to be like that anymore, and Clem doesn't seem intent to change (he's too deeply entangled in his negativity.) Their friendship reaches its lowest point when they are 14-15. Crystal tries her best to salvage it, but she just can't anymore. They seldom speak or see each other.

Crystal has other friends (Phoebe, Quentin, Misha, and others.) Clem has no one, so he winds up affiliating with other people just as miserable as he is (misery loves company.)

But throughout all of this, despite it all, neither of them truly "hate" each other.

Going off-track a little, I feel like Crystal has known Clem since she first started going to Whispering Rock (let's assume she's seven when she first attends.) I also feel like their friendship was INSTANT, like Crystal mentioned something and Clem was like "no way me too" and bam (lord I'm not implying crystal was like "lol i wanna die" and clem was like "lol same lets be friends" I'm hoping it was something more innocent BUT PROBABLY NOT LOL. It's fucked up to imagine a 7 y/o girl wanting to die IT'S FUCKED UP IMAGINING A 9 Y/O GIRL WANTING TO DIE TOO NOOO MY BABY. I am getting further off track let me reel it back in.)

I am also certain that enduring de-braining and re-braining with your best friend pretty much bonds you for life lol. When you've known someone for so long and went through so much with them, I don't think you could ever truly "hate" them (at least from my experience. this is partly based on my rl friendship and DON'T WORRY we didn't have a suicide pact when we were kids!! we didn't have our brains stolen either.)

I feel like the deep sadness and loneliness Clem feels from losing his best, closest, and ONLY friend is that one thing that finally wakes him up. He misses her. Even if he can't earn back her friendship, he has to TRY and do better. If not for her, then at least for himself.

Thus begins Clem's recovery. When you are at the bottom, the only place you can go is up (although Clem would beg to differ. He says he hit the bottom and kept digging lol.)

Fast forward to about 4-5 years in the future when they are 19-20 years old. They're both in the Psychonauts and they finally speak to each other after so long. I feel like when you're 19-20 the drama from when you're 15 doesn't matter anymore. Clem apologizes to her, and she apologizes to him (she isn't an innocent party, they were both enabling each other.) He doesn't even really expect her to want to be friends again or even accept his apology, but to his surprise, she does. Crystal was afraid that Clem hated her, but this was never true. Even when they were mad and said things they regret, they never genuinely hated each other. They then spend many hours talking and catching up. They've matured and recovered. They are better to each other.

Later, they give dating a shot. It lasts for less than a week. They found it awkward and prefer to just go back to being best friends. Friendship works best for them.

There is continuity in my drawings (have you noticed it?) Crystal still has the Cheer Bear that Clem and Misha gave her for her birthday. Clem assumes that she got rid of it. He is shocked to see she still has it when they become friends again. Even when her friendship with Clem deteriorates and Misha goes missing (that's a story for another time) she never gets rid of it.

To summarize: Clem and Crystal's friendship deteriorates when they still go to Whispering Rock. Once they "graduate" that is the breaking point and they rarely speak to or see each other. They finally reconcile when they are young adults.

[hoshifighting]

I was reading your leaving after a fight reaction and o got an idea could you please do one where reader leaves and goes to a bar and gets drunk they get a call from the bar and it’s just fluff

seventeen reacting to you getting drunk after a fight WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and arguments, & fluff too.

seungcheol grabs his keys, his mind racing. he can’t let you drown in this. when he arrives at the bar, he spots you immediately. you’re laughing with a group, a glass in hand. “hey!” he snaps, but the bark in his tone quickly fades as you turn to him “what the hell are you doing? this isn’t fun. you need to come home.” he tries to keep his voice steady, but the concern leaks through. “why? so we can fight more?” you roll your eyes, but u look vulnerable still. “you think you’re perfect? you’re not!” “i never said that. im just taking care of you” he bites. your eyes soften, and relief washes over him as you touch his arm, guiding him toward the door.

jeonghan's phone buzzes, cutting through his thoughts. it’s the bar, and his stomach drops. “on my way,” he snaps, not bothering to hide the urgency in his voice. when he arrives you turn, a grin spreading across your face that makes his heart ache. “jeonghan! come join the party!” “this isn’t a party! you need to come home y/n.” he reaches for the glass in your hand, gently prying it away. “let’s go home and talk this out. please babygirl” you hesitate, the fire in your eyes dimming as you look at him, the fight leaving your body.

joshua dont hop into the car, he throws himself in!!! he asks the bar number if you're doing okay as he drives. “there you are,” he says, pushing through the crowd. you know joshua cares too much. he’s sweet like that, always wanting to shield you from everything, even yourself. you look down at the bar top, the wood grain swirling under your fingertips. “i just... needed a break.” “from me?” he asks, sadly. you bite your lip. joshua’s expression softens, and he reaches out, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “can we just talk about it? please?” u glance up, meeting his gaze, and it feels like home. “fine. but only if u promise to stop being so fucking cute when we fight.” he chuckles, relief flooding his features. “no promises, babe.”

junhui “where are you?” he texts after the call, worry oozing through the words. “out,” you reply tersely, taking another drink. “the bar? seriously?” “what if i am?” you shoot back, but inside, you know you’re pushing him away. “stay there. i’ll be there soon.” “don’t bother,” you type, but your heart sinks at the thought of him not showing up. a short while later, the door swings open, and there he is—his hair a little messy, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. he strides over, concern etched into his features. “what are you doing?” he asks, taking the seat next to you. “just enjoying my night,” you reply, a little too defensively. he raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “by drinking alone?” “i’m not alone; i have my drink,” you mutter, taking a long sip as if it could drown your frustration. he leans closer, his voice dropping to a gentle tone. “you know that’s not what i meant. you’re not okay. let me take care of you baby? hm?” you nod, feeling the walls you built starting to crumble. “fine, but if you keep looking at me like that, i might just forgive you too easily.”

hoshi wrinkled his nose the moment he smelled the strong drink you were drinking, he was clearly sweating like he was running a marathon to get to where you were. “you’re mad at me, but this isn’t how we solve things... you know you can tell me anything, right? even if it’s hard?” you take a deep breath, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. “i just hate fighting with you. it feels like we’re always stuck in this cycle.” “i hate it too,” he admits, reaching for your hand. “but running away doesn’t fix it. let’s talk.” “talk? like, actually talk?” you tease, a small smile creeping onto your face. “yeah, that thing where we don’t just yell at each other,” he says, grinning back. “i’m pretty good at it.” you can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood.

wonwoo slides the helmet, and hops on his motorcycle, a few moments later, the door swings open, and there he is—hands in his pockets, that serious yet soft expression making your heart ache. he spots you and makes his way over, concern etched in his features. “you’re really here,” he says, his voice low. “didn’t think you’d come,” you reply, trying to sound indifferent, but you're soft. “and leave you alone like this? not a chance.” he sits beside you, his presence instantly calming. you glance at him, catching the way his brows furrow slightly. he squeezes your hand and kisses your neck softly “let's go home, hm? i'll give u a nice warm bath and we'll talk before going to bed, is that okay, sweetie?”

woozi strides over the bar, hair messy, body stiff, eyes worried, after the call, and you can see the scolding ready to spill from his lips. “i can’t believe you left without telling me. i was worried sick. you really just left? you could’ve told me!” “ listen jihoon, i didn’t want to fight anymore. it was too much.” he flinches, he didn't mean to snap at you, but he was really worried. “i get it,” he replies quietly, his voice gentler now. “but you know you can tell me when it gets too heavy, right?” you take a deep breath, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. “what do u say we talk about it over ice cream? my treat,” he suggests, a playful grin breaking through. “ice cream sounds perfect,” you reply, matching his smile. “you always know how to fix things.” “it’s a talent,” he jokes, and you can’t help but laugh, the heaviness of earlier fading into something sweet.

minghao asks the bartended to pass the phone to you, “i’m coming to get you,” minghao’s voice is steady, cutting through your haze. “you shouldn’t be there.” “i’m fine,” you snap, but even you can hear the slight slur in your words. he knows you better than that. “you’re not,” he replies. when minghao finally walks in, the door swings open, and the bell jingles, like a damn superhero coming to save the day. “hey,” he says softly, the frown on his face deepening as he takes in your state. “you look… rough.” “yeah, well, thanks for the observation,” you retort, but there’s no real bite in your words. he steps closer, the scent of him wrapping around you like a familiar hug. “i didn’t ask you to come.” “no, but you need me,” he counters, taking your hand, grounding you. his touch makes your cheeks flush, and you can’t help but lean into him, feeling the fight inside you melt away. “let’s talk, okay? i love you and I hate fighting with you.” you melt, and minghao smiles small.

mingyu in quesiton of minutes was there, tall and worried searching for you on the bar, the call made him stumble on his feet on his way there. “you really shouldn’t be here,” you murmur, but your heart races as he approaches, the worry etched on his face only making you want to lean into him. “and you shouldn’t be here alone. we both know you’ll feel worse if you stay out like this. just let me take care of you.” the softness in his tone makes your heart twist. “you don’t have to play the hero.” “but i want to,” he insists, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his. the warmth of his grip pulls you back from the edge of your frustration, reminding you of everything you love about him. “please?” you take a deep breath, the tension in your shoulders easing as you look into his eyes. “fine. let’s go home.” “thank you,” he whispers, pulling you into a hug that feels like coming home, before arriving in.

seokmin not even five minutes later appears on the bar, seokmin steps inside, scanning the crowd until his eyes land on you. relief floods his expression, and he rushes over, pulling you into his arms before you can say a word. “what the hell, you scared me,” he murmurs, hugging your back tightly. his warmth seeps into you, and you can’t help but melt a little. “you’re drunk.” his concern wraps around you like a blanket, and suddenly, the anger feels distant. “let’s get you out of here,” he whispers, still holding you close. “i don’t want you to feel like this.” “it’s just… everything’s a mess,” you admit, your voice cracking a bit. “we were fighting and—” “i know,” he interrupts softly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “but we can talk about it later. right now, i just want to make sure you’re okay.” the sincerity in his gaze makes you want to cry, and you nod slowly. “okay.” he smiles gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “let’s go home, yeah?”

seungkwan the minutes tick by slowly, and every time the door swings open, your heart skips a beat. finally, you spot him striding in, “it’s… it’s not safe for you to be out like this,” he says. you pout. “i can take care of myself.” “you’re making this harder than it has to be,” he grumbles. as you slide off the bar stool, he’s already there, an arm around your waist, guiding you out. you laugh, the sound a bit shaky. “u should try being less of a pain in the ass, kwanniee” you tease, but it’s soft, a flicker of something sweet cutting through the tension. he smirks, finally breaking into a grin. “noted. now, let’s get you home before you say something else you’ll regret.”

vernon would keep his emotions bottled up, when he's almost purple in worry, would run to the bar fast, breathing properly only when he finally sees you. “i don’t need you to babysit me,” you sulk when you feel him taking you from the bar stool, “just… please? for once, let me be the responsible one,” he replies squeezing your waist. “oh, shut up,” you say, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smile creeping onto your face. “i was just having a good time.” “more like trying to forget about our fight,” he counters, crossing his arms, but there’s a playful glint in his eyes. “let’s get you home before you embarrass yourself further.”

chan before the bartender ended the call, was already on the way. the moment he reaches you, he slips an arm around your shoulder, guiding you away from the noise. “you okay?” he asks, searching your face with those steady eyes. you can see the maturity in his expression, the way he balances concern in his heart with the logic, “i will be,” you say, though you know it’s not entirely trrue. his presence calms the storm brewing inside you, and u lean into him. “you’re allowed to feel things,” he expresses, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “but next time, can we talk instead of shouting? i’d rather understand what you’re going through.” you nod, the way he watches over you even after an imense fight. “yeah, that sounds good babe...” he smiles with the full of love name.

[unluckywisher]

Not sure if you take requests like these but a fic inspired by this with Caleb?💕

https://www.tumblr.com/wttcsms/768539625247719424/thinking-abt-reader-being-an-absolute-sweetheart?source=share

(Link) Of course! :D I changed the plot very slightly by modernizing it and making them neighbors in an apartment building instead of a small town but everything else is the same (cause I feel like it's easier to make friends in a small town, as someone who spends summers in one).

- Content: I recommend reading the original post in the link first. Neighbors AU, Caleb x any!reader, cw J*sephine (LMAO I hate her but she's nice here I promise), slow burn ig (?) it's a one-shot how slow could it be XD, slightly suggestive at the end. - Word count: ~1.4k

New beginnings are filled with open doors and opportunities. And damn, you were determined to make the most of your fresh start. Sure, it wasn't a big apartment, but it was yours, and that's all you've ever wanted.

The first day you moved in, you hadn't finished unpacking when there was a knock at your door. You thought it might be more boxes that had arrived, but the old lady on the other side certainly didn't look like she worked for a moving company, slice of sponge cake in her hands.

"Ah! Hello! I heard some unusual noises happening and couldn't help being nosy and asking if someone was moving in," she smiled sweetly, "I hope you don't mind, I came to introduce myself and give you a welcome gift. I live right across from you, my name's Josephine."

Sure enough, the cake looked delicious. You introduced yourself and happily took the slice, promising to give the plate back after washing it. There was some small talk, nothing really relevant, but it left you with a warm feeling of community as you closed the door. How nice of her.

The next day you knocked on her door to return the washed dish, and pay your compliments at her baking skills.

"Thank you, sweetie, I'm happy you liked the cake. How are you settling in?"

"Good, good. There are still some boxes to unpack, but nothing I can't handle," you nodded with determination.

More small talk flowed, and you seized the opportunity to look in from the threshold, curiously examining the homey details that filled the entrance hallway.

You learned through conversation that she lived alone, but you learnt through observation that she had a... grandson? You couldn't really tell, the pictures were too far away for you to check properly, but she was in them, along with a younger male figure. Probably.

She waved goodbye, thanking you for the company, and you thanked her as well for her kindness. To be honest, you didn't really have much company either, since the place you had moved to was completely new, and you weren't about to make friends working from home, so, it was a start.

A couple of days later, better settled and prepared to start using the kitchen for actual proper meals, you found yourself cooking some fried rice and realized you had made too much by accident. It wasn't odd, you were used to cooking for your family back home and having to make larger portions, so you weren't used to making meals for one.

You could keep it as leftovers, but an idea surged in your mind: Since Josephine had been so nice with the cake, why not share this? There wasn't much else you could do for her, but cooking? That was one of your specialties.

She opened the door after a couple of knocks, smile immediately on her face as she saw you. You explained your situation and insisted she have some of the surplus fried rice. She was both delighted and taken aback, but ultimately agreed. You also took the opportunity to exchange phone numbers.

That night she sent you a text thanking you and complimenting your skills, a barrage of nice words flooding the chat. She was really impressed.

Fast forward a couple of weeks, you had been exchanging food quite often, with you bringing her leftovers and her giving you baked treats, although sometimes you were the one bringing her sweets, too!

You still hadn't gotten to see the interior of her house, not that it really mattered, and certainly not because you were curious to see the pictures up-close.

However, your doubts about her possible descendant were dissipated one day as you made the usual small talk.

"Don't mind me asking, but out of curiosity, do you live alone?" she asked with a smile, "I wouldn't be surprised if you had snatched a good partner for yourself with your cooking abilities. You know what they say, the way to a person's heart is through their stomach!" she laughed.

You laughed along, shaking your head.

"No, no, I live alone and I don't have a partner. Haven't had the time to really socialize with the move and catching up with work," you explained.

You could swear a glint of mischief danced in her eyes at your admission.

"Really? Well, you know, I have a grandson that's about your age... If I could choose someone for him, I'd choose a person like you," she spoke innocently, "tell you what, keep yourself single for a bit longer until he comes back from his trip, and then you can meet him. Who knows..."

If you had been eager to know more about the mysterious figure in the pictures, now you were overwhelmed, because the woman started talking about him, and wouldn't. Stop.

She told you about his work as a Colonel in the Air Forces, about how he was a skilled cook too, about how good he was with animals (nevermind how she made it sound like she was talking about kids), about how he was fun and interesting and smart and you should definitely meet him.

In your mind, you pitied the poor guy. Really, if your grandma acted this way about you with a stranger, you would be embarrassed. If he was really as great as she was saying, he probably even had a girlfriend already and he simply hadn't told her. So you nodded politely and smiled and told her "sure, I'll come say hi when he returns".

The days went by and you forgot about that little conversation. Your curiosity about the guy was more or less satiated as far as your gossipiness went, and you were busy doing other work related and life related things to fully settle - formalities and documents and money and blah blah blah…

"I've officially bested myself," you smiled as you held the oven-hot cake with mittens.

It was a masterpiece, fluffy, flavorful, light but filling, with a delicious smell, it was a no brainer that you had to share a slice with your lovely neighbor. You let it cool before cutting a piece.

Your clothes and some of your face were still covered in flour, but hey, there was enough familiarity between you two that you didn't really mind if she saw your messy state, you cared more about her opinion on your recent creation.

Knock, knock.

You waited in front of her door, humming a random song. Muffled steps. Uh- Was it just you or they sounded different from usual? Maybe she had bought new shoes or something.

The door opened.

"Hi, Josephine! I just made-"

Stop. That is not Josephine. Your eyes moved up, used to the shorter height of the old lady, until they landed on amethyst ones. That's her grandson.

And by the looks of things, he had just arrived, still wearing the uniform of the Air Forces. It didn't do him any disservices, highlighting his broad shoulders and long legs. Focus.

"Let me guess," he said with a smirk before you could get a word out, "you're who my grandma keeps insisting I marry."

Oh no. She had been talking about you with him, too?

"I'm... I... You're Caleb?" You blinked repeatedly, remembering the name she had given you some time ago.

He didn't answer right away, letting his gaze roam down across your figure unashamed, which brought a warmth to your cheeks. Josephine peeked out into the hallway, waved at you with a smile, and disappeared again. You were on your own here.

"Yes, I'm Caleb," he nodded, "and you're... Covered in flour."

He reached to wipe some off your cheek with his gloved hand, your body pinned to the spot by his sheer presence, despite how friendly he seemed.

"I was baking. I made a cake and decided to bring a slice," you lifted the plate slightly to show him.

"Yeah, my grandma is always bragging about how you make the best food ever. You won't mind if I try it myself, right?" he smiled and tilted his head with gentleness, although his eyes held a different tune, "I have to check if you're as good of a spouse as she's been saying."

And oh, you were sure he was going to take his time checking.

[secret-sturniolo]

scars to your beautiful - matt sturniolo

summary - When Matt has a sinking feeling about y/n, he takes matters into his own hands to make sure she is okay.

warnings - discussions of self harm, eating disorders, body image (no super graphic details)

a/n - this is based off of some of my own experiences and mental health issues. there will be no graphic imagery or details, but please do not read or interact if this will be a trigger for you.

Matt's POV

I had been asking our friend y/n to hang out with us for weeks now, and in that time my brothers and I had only seen her a handful of times. This was extremely out of character for the bubbly, out going girl that we knew. I had brought this up with Chris and Nick, but they figured that she just needed some space. While that may be true, I still had a bad feeling about y/n that I couldn't shake. I finally decided to call her.

Y/n's POV

I had been holed up in my room for the past few weeks, just idly scrolling through pictures of skinny, beautiful girls on Instagram. I had hit an all time low. Baggy clothes covered my shrinking frame and my red striped arms. It had been days since I had something proper to eat, and my body was feeling the effects. Even though I was so dizzy I could barely stand up, I repeated the mantra in my head. Beauty is pain, beauty is pain. And I would do anything to be pretty. I was past the point of feeling sadness. I was completely devoid of feelings, numb to the world, including my best friends. I knew they were probably worried about me, but I didn't care. I was too focused on the pictures and the razors. In the darkness, my phone screen lit up with Matt's contact.

A facetime call, dammit. I couldn't let Matt see me like this, so ignored the call and just let it ring, not worried about the possible consequences.

y/n, i'm worried about you. please call me. 7:45pm

I stared at the screen, my fingers frozen. Guilt washes over me as I realized how worried Matt was. More thoughts come flooding in.

You have to be pretty for Matt

He'll never like you if you look like that

I toss my phone aside not noticing my new notification, mind made up about what I was going to do next as I walk to my bathroom.

if you don't answer me, im coming over 7:57pm

alright, im coming over. be there in 5 8:00pm

Matt's POV

"Damn it!" I say out loud after there is no answer. I sent her a text, hoping she would call me back. When she didn't respond, I sent a few more messages, silently begging her to respond. Still nothing. My stomach was in knots as I walked out of my room to the living room where Nick and Chris were watching a movie.

"I'm going to y/n's place. Something's wrong, I know it." I say in a panic.

"Woah, Matt, hold on. Did you try calling her?" Nick asks me.

"Yeah, and I sent her texts and shes not responding. It's not like her, Nick."

"Do you want us to come with?" Chris asks me.

"No, I think it's better if I just go," I say, grabbing my keys. "I don't know when I'll be back but I'll let you know."

The drive to y/n's apartment is short as she only lives a few blocks away from our place. I find her spare key from my keychain and unlock the door.

"Y/n?" I yell, with no response.

Wasting no time, I walk towards her bedroom. The room was dark, only illuminated by the light from the bathroom creeping under the door. As I get closer to the door, I could hear faint crying. I say her name again, knocking softly on the door.

"Y/n, its Matt. I'm coming in."

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I opened the bathroom door. She was sitting on the floor, back against the wall with a sharp object in her hand. I took in the red on her arms, the arms that looked smaller than I remembered, and the pill bottle in her other hand. Her eyes were dark and sunken in, she looked so sick and fragile.

Where do I even start? I thought.

Y/n's POV

I had no idea anybody was even here until the bathroom door opened, and I saw Matt standing there. His face was filled with worry as he took everything in. I burst into tears, finally feeling everything at once. Without saying anything, he moved to sit down on the floor next to me, pulling me into his chest. I breathed in the scent of his cologne as I tried to match his breathing, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry I didn't come sooner. I had no idea..."

"You weren't supposed to know, Matt!" I sob. He lets me cry into his arms for a few more minutes before speaking again.

"Y/n, you need to tell me what's going on. Have you been eating?" he says gently but sternly.

I buried my face in my hands. "Matt, I can't tell you!"

"You know you can tell me anything, y/n. Talk to me, please." he pleads.

I broke down and told him everything.

"I don't know what to do, Matt! I can't stop. It just feels so right!"

"But why, y/n? Why did this start, did something happen?" He looks into my eyes.

"I just want to be pretty for you, Matt!" I sob.

He pauses. "For me? Y/n, I've always thought you were the most beautiful girl I have ever laid my eyes on. You shouldn't change yourself for anyone, especially not for me."

"Can you help me Matt? Like, help me get better?" I ask him genuinely.

"Of course, y/n I will always be here for you." he says. "I want to get you cleaned up, do you have a first aid kit anywhere?"

"There should be one in that drawer." I point with a sniffle.

I watch as Matt gently cleans and bandages my wounds. As he finished up, I grabbed his hand.

"Matt?"

"Hm?"

"I - I love you." I stutter out.

His lips form a smile. "I love you too, y/n. So much."

We both lean in for a quick but passionate kiss, not wanting to go overboard in this moment.

"Can we go to bed?" I ask him.

"Of course, let me text Nick and Chris so they don't worry."

He sends a quick text to his brothers saying he's spending the night at my place, and then helps me up off the ground, carrying me to my bed. He slides his hoodie and shirt off before climbing under the covers with me. I lay my head on his chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breathing. He must have sensed my anxiety.

"Hey, it's all gonna be okay. Nothing bad is going to happen between you and I, I promise it's all for the better. Just go to sleep, and we can talk in the morning." He places a gentle kiss on my head.

God, it's like he can read my mind I thought to myself. I trusted his words, and for the first time in a long time, I finally felt safe.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and the Witch ~ Dean Winchester x fem! reader

Description: Dean asks Y/N to help him find his Dad who mysteriously went missing. The two along with Deans brother, Sam, go to investigate John's last hunt, which he’d gone missing from.

Warnings: cannon violence, mentions of su!cide, arguing,witch craft, arguing, curse words, everything written is fiction and should not be taken seriously

word count: 6,103

The Woman In White

(Masterlist/ Next chapter)

Present day…

A knock at the door halts my movements, I wasn’t expecting anyone.

I place the book I was reading on my coffee table, jumping up to see who's at my front door. Suspicion and anticipation floods my veins as I peek through the peephole seeing a familiar deep brown leather jacket, not needing any more confirmation I open the door swiftly.

“Y/N.” Dean spoke, a mix of relief and worry laced within his voice.

“Dean” I respond with a smile. I practically jump on him, my arms around his neck, the last time I saw him was a month ago when he came up to Maine to hang out with me. We were sitting on the hood of the Impala just taking in the view when he said he needed to tell me something, he had this look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite place, and just as he was about to say it his phone rang and he had to leave. Since then I haven’t heard anything from him, no calls or texts.

I let those thoughts pass through me as his initial shock wears off, wrapping his arms around my waist squeezing tightly.

I end our hug, remembering the worry in his voice as he said my name, motioning for him to come in leading him to my living room. “You cut your hair” He acknowledges, sitting down.

“Felt like it needed a change,” I say, shrugging. I had so much I wanted to ask him, but even before that I wanted to hug him again. I didn’t move to do either, not wanting to scare him off. “You sound worried, Dean, is everything okay?” I can’t help but ask, my eyebrows scrunching with worry.

“I'm okay sweetheart, but I do need your help. Dad's been missing for a couple of days.” He explains the worry in his voice returning.

“You really think he’s in danger? I mean this has happened before and he always comes back fine” I rationalize.

“Not for this long.” he answered simply.

“Okay” I breathed out already knowing my answer the moment he said he needed my help, “Okay, just give me a couple of minutes to pack.” I repeat as I stand up, that charming smile landed on his face as he stood up with me. I took this as my opportunity to wrap my arms around him, this time around his torso, giving him another hug. If missing someone was illegal then lock me up. His arms wrapped around my waist and I felt the tension I hadn't realized was there, washing off my body.

I broke away first, immediately regretting it, pointing upstairs as a sign for me to start packing.

After traveling many days from Maine to LA we had finally made it to Sam’s place, who Dean naturally also wanted on board to find their dad. Dean had parked the Impala in a parking lot close by, the darkness of the night cloaking us as Dean found a way in.

I whisper, warning Dean, “He’s already gonna be grumpy about you showing up here let alone breaking in!!”

But he dismisses me with a wave of his hand as he carefully opens up a window, sneaking in before turning back around and offering me a hand. I give him a look that says ‘really we’re doing this' as I accept his offer and enter the house.

I follow after Dean as he enters a hallway, when suddenly a tall man lunges forward and grabs Dean's shoulder. I figure it’s most likely Sammy and decide that I can stay back as the brothers have their quarrel. Dean knocks Sam's arm away and aims a strike at him, missing as Sam ducks. Their fight continues until Dean finally knocks Sam down and pins him to the floor. “Easy tiger” Dean huffs.

“Dean?” Sam asks, getting a laugh in response. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“That's ‘cause you're out of practice” Dean responds before Sam manages to knock Dean to the floor.

“Or not” Dean mumbles, face full of floor.

They finally get off of each other, as Sam asks “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, I was looking for a beer” Dean replies, getting a response from me this time

“Dude, really?”

“Y/N? You're here too?!”

“Hi, Sam!” I respond, smiling brightly. Dean pats Sam on the shoulder, in the weird way guys do to greet another guy, “We gotta talk” Dean explains.

“Uh, the phone?” Sam reasons

“If I'd called, would you have picked up?” Dean counters, getting a low stretched-out “yikes” from me as I add in very helpful commentary, earning two hard glares from both boys.

Then the light suddenly turns on revealing a curly-haired blonde woman wearing short shorts and a cropped Smurfs shirt, very fashionable. I already like her even though I don’t know who she is.

“Sam?” the woman asks, tiredness lacing her voice.

“Jess. Hey. Dean. Y/N, this is my girlfriend, Jessica.” Sam introduces

I smile wildly, waving at her as the dots connect. I had heard lots about Jess but hadn't gotten the chance to see a photo of her or meet her in person. Then, I notice the way Dean checks her out, his lips parted a little as he gapes at her. I roll my eyes, elbowing his side.

“Wait, your brother Dean? And your friend Y/N?” Jessica asks as Dean turns his head to me annoyed. Sam nods and Dean moves closer to her ignoring my warning via elbowing.

“Oh, I love the Smurfs," he remarks, gesturing towards her cropped shirt, the neckline cut a little too. "You know, I gotta tell you. You are completely out of my brother's league," he grins.

“Really, Dean” I deadpan, getting an appreciative half smile from Sam while Dean ignores me.

“Just let me put something on” Jessica says, turning to go before being stopped by another sly comment from Dean “No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of it. Seriously.”

I move forward hitting Dean on the back of the head. He turns around to me “Really?”

“Yes, really!" I say as if it's obvious because it should be.

Dean turns back to Jessica, “Uh anyway, I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business. But, uh, nice meeting you.”

“No,” Sam replies, going over to Jessica and putting an arm around her. Cute couple. “Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of her” he goes on.

Dean turns to look at them both head-on, “Okay, Dad hasn't been home in a few days.”

“So he's working overtime on a Miller Time shift. He'll stumble back sooner or later” Sam reasons.

Dean huffs, clarifying, “Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days.”

Sam's expression doesn't change as Jessica glances up at him.

“Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside.”

Dean heads downstairs, Sam follows after him once he changed into jeans and a hoodie. Knowing they would be having an argument I walked behind Sam making sure I was going slow. “I mean, come on. You can't just break in, middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you."

I hold back my ‘I told you so’ comment.

“You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him” Dean counters.

“You remember the poltergeist in Amherst? Or the Devil's Gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too. He's always missing, and he's always fine” Sam reasons, pointing out the same thing I did only a couple days ago.

Dean stops and turns around, Sam stopping too. “Not for this long. Now are you gonna come with me or not?” Dean asks

“I'm not” Sam replies simply prompting a “Why not?” from Dean.

“I swore I was done hunting. For good” Sam clarifies

“Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad.” Dean try’s reason.

Even though he said it I know we were all thinking it is that bad, it’s always a dangerous game. Dean starts walking again, Sam and, subsequently, me following. “Yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45” Sam recalls

Dean stops at the door to the outside, “Well, what was he supposed to do?”

“I was nine years old! He was supposed to say, don't be afraid of the dark.”

“I’m sorry Dean but Sam’s right about that” I chime in.

“Don't be afraid of the dark? Are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there” Dean explains, looking at the both of us like we’re crazy.

“Yeah, I know, but still. The way we grew up, after Mom was killed, and Dad's obsession to find the thing that killed her. Yet we still haven't found the damn thing. So we kill everything we can find” Sam rationalizes.

“We save a lot of people doing it, too.”

There was a pause where no one said anything before Sam asked, “You think Mom would have wanted this for us?”

I tense knowing that was a sensitive topic, as Dean throws open the door clearly pissed at the mere mention.

“The weapon training, and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors” Sam, sadly, points out as we cross and enter the parking lot to the Impala.

“So what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?” Dean argues.

“No. Not normal. Safe” Sam clarifies before adding,

“And that's why you ran away.”

“I was just going to college. It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing.”

“Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it.”

“A-And what about you Y/N? Last time we talked you were saying how you were really happy with your job. Did you just throw that all away to help Dean? No offense Y/N but you really don’t owe him, let alone our Dad, anything.”

I breathe in sharply not expecting him to throw me into this conversation. He was right though, I really did love my job, I was a journalist for a crime website/paper. It paid well and was a way for me to indulge in my knowledge on crime investigation.

But even so I countered, “I do love my job and just because I agreed to come with doesn't mean I stopped doing it, I was able to make a deal to do it on the road and I’ll do it as long as I’m able to. And trust me I know I don’t owe anyone anything, but you guys are my best friends so you say you need help and I will gladly come, no questions asked.”

Sam looks down, sighing, “You’re too nice for your own good.”

Dean pipes up, “I can't do this without you, Sammy.”

“Yes you can.”

“Yeah, well, I don't want to” Dean clarifies with a sadness in his voice that if you hadn’t known him well you probably wouldn’t have heard.

Sam sighs, “What was he hunting?”

Dean opens the trunk of the car, then the spare-tire compartment that he uses as an arsenal. He props the compartment open with a shotgun so that he can dig through the clutter.

“So when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?”

“Well, first I was hangin with Y/N here for a while before I started working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans” Dean answers.

Even though it was hardly a sentiment, the mention of us hanging out those weeks brought a smile to my face.

“Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?” Sam questioned.

“I'm twenty-six, dude” Dean spoke as he pulled out papers from a folder, the ones he showed me at the first motel we slept at on our long journey to LA.

“All right, here we go. So Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy.”

Dean hands one of the paper articles to Sam, adding on “They found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA.”

“So maybe he was kidnapped” Sam reasons.

I answer this time, reciting what I remembered reading as Dean handed Sammy more articles, “Well there was another in April, then in December of oh-four, oh-three, ninety-eight, ninety-two and some more for a grand total of ten over the last twenty years.”

Dean puts the papers away pulling out a bag and then a tape recorder as he continues the info dump,

“All men, all the same five-mile stretch of road. It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough. Then I got this voicemail yesterday on our drive to you.”

He presses play, the familiar voice of John, their dad, and static playing, having heard it multiple times, “Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

He stops the recording.

“You know there's EVP on that, right?” Sam mentions.

Dean smiles, “Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it?

All right. I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got.”

He presses play again, “I can never go home…”

“Never go home” Sam repeats as Dean puts everything back where it belongs to shut the trunk.

“Fun, right?” I comment sarcastically.

Sam sighs, “All right. I'll go. I'll help you find him. But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here.”

Sam turns to go back to the apartment but turns back when Dean says, “What's first thing Monday?”

“I have this...I have an interview.”

“What, a job interview? Skip it.”

“It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate.”

Dean smirks, “Law school?”

“So we got a deal or not?”

Dean says nothing so I do, “Yes, we do” I confirm.

We arrive at the highway where all the men have gone missing just as Sam hangs up the phone, “All right. So, there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that's something, I guess.”

“That’s good!” I add.

Dean then slows the car as we near on a bridge, police cars and men all around, he pulls over fully leaning over to open the glove box, exposing the many fake ids he and his dad had, one’s like FBI and such.

Sam glares at while I say, “Love a good ol’ fraud”

We exit the car heading towards the deputy.

Dean starts, “You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?”

The deputy looks up at us asking, “And who are you?”

Dean flashes his badge, clarifying, “Federal marshals.”

“You three are a little young for marshals, aren't you?” The man asks.

But Dean just laughs, “Thanks, that's awfully kind of you.”

Truthfully he has absolutely no reason to be that smooth.

Dean goes over to the car, the one that belongs to the guy who went missing aka Troy, “You did have another one just like this, correct?”

Jaffe, the deputy who’s name tag I was finally able to read,responds “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.”

“So, this victim, you knew him?” Sam chimes in, asking

“Town like this, everybody knows everybody.”

Then I ask, “Besides them being all men have you found any other correlation?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.” He responds truthfully.

“So what's the theory?” Sam asks

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?”

So nothing. Great.

Just before I could ask another question Dean comments, “Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys.”

Sam stomps on Dean's foot, clearing up his comment by saying “Thank you for your time. Gentlemen”

We walk away, with nothing, no helpful information, no nothing.

We make it into town, luckily finding who we assume to be the girlfriend of Troy.

Somehow Dean managed to convince the girl, Amy, that we were Troy's Uncles and Aunt who were also looking for our missing nephew.

Even more surprising we were able to get her to come to a Diner with us to talk, her friend Rachel joining us.

Rachel and Amy sat across from us in a booth, me being squished in by the wall as Dean sat next to me with an arm on the back of my seat and Sam sitting next to him.

Amy begins to explains the last time she saw Troy, “I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did.”

Sam asks, “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?”

Amy shakes her head, “No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace, it’s really nice” I say, noticing the pentagram she was wearing.

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—with all that devil stuff.” Amy says, laughs at the memory.

“I don’t know if you believe in that kind of thing but pentagrams are actually a good tool, it protects you against evil. Your boyfriend has good taste, even if his intentions were different” I smile, careful to not use past tense to not give her the wrong impression.

Dean takes his arm off the back of my seat to lean in “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything…” going the complete opposite direction I was aiming for aka nice and sympathetic.

But it seems to work as the girls look at each other debating whether whatever they had was worth sharing.

Rachel speaks this time, “Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

Dean and Sam ask at the same time, “What do they talk about?”

Neither boy called jinx, missed opportunity.

“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered on Centennial, like decades ago.Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

After heading to the library we found out about our murderous spirit, a twenty-four year old Constance Welch who committed suicide in 1981 after her two kids died in the bathtub when she walked away for a moment.

She commited on the very bridge that Troy, and many others went missing.

So that very night, we walked along the bridge, stopping to lean on the railing. “So this is where Constance took the swan dive.” Dean said, looking over the railing.

“What a respectful way to put it, Dean” I say to him sarcastically.

“So you think Dad would have been here?” Sam asks Dean.

“Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him.” Dean spoke, I knew this would turn into another argument between them so I walked in front of them to give them room.

Their conversation became murmurs as I kept ahead, minutes going by before I turned around to wait for them to catch up.

“Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—“ Sam said frustrated before being cut off by Dean

“Monday. Right. The interview.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam answered back

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?” Dean argues.

“No, and she's not ever going to know.” Sam responds.

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean turns around and keeps walking, Sam following, caught up to me at this point.

“And who's that?” Sam questions.

“You're one of us.” Dean motions to me and him.

Sam hurries to get in front of us, “No. I’m not like you. This is not going to be my life…no offense Y/N”

“It’s okay Sam no offense taken, this job isn’t so dreamy” I respond.

“You're on his side?!” Dean yells, turning towards me.

“I-I mean do you blame me? It’s his life! And if he wants to settle down and try to forget the things that go bump in the night then that’s his decision to make. Don’t you wish things could be different?” I argue back, dying down with my question.

“He has a responsibility to—“ Dean gets cut off by Sam now, “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

My heart aches for him, I understand what it’s like to lose a mother but at least I had time with her.

Then Dean grabs Sam by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge. “Don't talk about her like that.”

“Dean!” I shout out.

He releases Sam with a huff and walks away.

“Are you okay, Sam?” I ask

He nods but by the look on his face I can tell he’s frustrated.

“Y/N.Sam.” Dean alerted us, we moved to stand next to him seeing a pretty pale women in white with dark brown hair, Constance. She was on the edge of the bridge, and with one final look back at us she stepped off.

We run to the railing but see nothing.

“Where’d she go?” Dean asks no one in particular. “I don’t know” Sam responds while I add on “Freaky.”

The sudden roaring of an engine forces our attention behind us once more revealing it to be the Impala with its headlights also on. I whip my head towards Dean, double checking that he isn’t the one in the car.

“What the—“Dean starts

“Who's driving your car?”

Dean pulls the keys out of his pocket and jingles them. Sam glances down at them. The car suddenly jerks into motion, heading straight for us.

With no other speaking necessary, we turn and run.

“Go! Go!” I yell, panic running through me. But the car was moving faster than we were and it was all too close far too quickly.

Dean grabs hold of my wrist forcing us both on and over the railing of the bridge into the ice cold river, knowing I would never do such a thing willingly (even with the circumstances). Sam jumped over, right after us.

The river was, truthfully, more mud than water or at least that’s how it felt. I choke as I breach the surface, Dean’s firm grip on my wrist remaining making it easier to locate him as he pulls us both out and onto the riverbend.

“Dean? Y/N” Sam calls out, his voice coming from above meaning he hadn’t fallen into the river and wasn’t suffering like us, lucky bastard.

It’s only when we’re both standing, out of the river, do I realize just how bad we are. Mud cakes to every inch of my skin, forcing the clothes I was wearing to stick to me, and I knew that my hair would be a catastrophe to deal with.

I want to start crying, seriously.

“What?” Dean calls back

“Hey! Are you all right?” Sam asks the both of us. I watch Dean through an ‘ok’ hand sign along with an “I’m super” just as I hang my head down.

Sam laughs and I suddenly feel very compelled to go up there and throw him in the river so that he could suffer too.

Dean still kept a hand on my wrist all the way up until we were back to the Impala, immediately he went to check if Baby was okay.

He shuts the hood of the car and leans on it.

“Your car all right?” Sam asks him.

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!” Dean complains.

“Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure. So where's the job go from here, genius?” Sam asked as he settled on the hood next to Dean while I prompted to stand knowing that if I sat I'd just feel the mud even more.

Dean throws up his arms in frustration, flicking mud off his hands.

Sam sniffs, then looks at Dean and I. “You guys smell like a toilet.”

“Alright I can't take this” I complained, moving to stand right in front of Dean. I slap a hand near his shoulder and begin a cleansing spell. The latin slips off my tongue as I catch my reflection on the car seeing my irises glowing purple, like they always do when I use my powers.

The mud, the icky-ness, and the smell vanish from the both of us as I finish the short spell. It’s definitely a weird feeling but far better than the feeling of mud being everywhere.

A sigh of relief comes from Dean as he covers my hand on his shoulder with his own, giving it a squeeze. “Thanks sweetheart”

“You’re welcome! Consider it a thanks for pulling me out of that mud-river.” I respond back cheerfully, eyes focused on Dean as I smile.

I feel Sam’s eyes going from me to Dean in an almost freaked out way.

“I didn’t know you could do that” He breathed

“If I sat here and listed everything I could do we’d be here for a hot minute” I smirked just a little pridefully.

“Two rooms, please.” Dean asks the motel clerk. By the time we got to a motel it was already morning so it was safe to say we all wanted a little break.

The Clerk picks up the card and looks at it. “Are you guys having a reunion or something?”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks as I look between both boys, also confused.

“I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought a room for the whole month.” The Clerk explains, and the realization hits us all.

John.

The motel door swings open, Sam having just picked the lock to John's room. Sam and I enter, complementing his criminal skills while Dean is just outside, playing lookout until I grab hold of his upper arm and pull him inside. Sam closing the door behind us.

Every surface has papers pinned to it like maps, newspaper clippings, pictures and notes. There’s books on the desk and assorted mess on the floor and bed. There’s a line of salt on the floor and half eaten food on the desk.

“I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least.” Dean informs sniffing a half eaten burger.

“Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in.” Sam noted.

Dean looks at the papers covering one wall.

“What have you got here?” I ask, half looking at the junk on the bed.

“Centennial Highway victims.” He replies

The paper showed some of the victims including Mark somebody, William Durrell, Scott Nifong who disappeared in 1987 at age 25, and somebody Parks. Judging by the photos Mark, Durrell, and Nifong were all white males.

“I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs—ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?” Dean asks to no one in particular

“Well it’s not always about the outward stuff could be something more personal in their life, maybe a sequence of events or just something as simple as an action” I inform.

“Dad figured it out” Sam detects, me and Dean turning to see him in front of papers on another wall. Something about Witches, demons, devils, and so on along with an article about the “Woman in White.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks him

Sam clarifies, “He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white.”

“You sly dogs…All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.” Dean comments looking closer at the pictures of her victims while I get more distracted on the clippings about the witches, yes it hadn’t a thing to do with this hunt but I mean come on.

“She might have another weakness.” Sam suggests

“Well, Dad would want to make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?” Dean counters.

“No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband.”

“If he’s even alive, and he’d be sixty-two by now” I murmur, chiming in.

“All right. Why don't you guys, uh, see if you can find an address, I'm gonna go take a piss” Dean informs.

I scrunch my eyebrows as I say, “Have fun!”

Dean starts to walk away but he stops when Sam starts speaking, “Hey, Dean?…What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry.”

Dean holds up a hand, “No chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughs and nods, “All right. Jerk.” It’s then that I knew that everything between them would be okay.

“Bitch” Dean calls back as he disappears into the bathroom.

I keep looking at the articles on the wall, reading more on Constance victims, but in the corner of my eye I see Sam smiling sadly at a photo he picked up from a mirror frame in the room.

A minute or so later Sam begins to pace the room before opting for sitting on the bed, with his phone to his ear

Dean exits the bathroom half shrugging on his jacket as he says, “Hey, man. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. Do either of you want anything?”

“No.” Sam answers plainly.

“Oooh! Can you get me some fries?” I ask, getting all excited for some food as I pull out my laptop from my messenger bag ready to find that address.

“Sure thing, baby.” He says throwing me that charming smile and a wink that causes my cheeks to flush. “You sure Sammy, Aframian's buying.”

But Sam shakes his head printing Dean to head out.

I’m just about to start searching on google when Sam stands up suddenly with panicked eyes.

“We have to go, now.”

Sam filled me in on the ride to Joseph Welch’s house, we had to keep going even with Dean arrested.

“Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?” Sam asks the older man

“Yeah.”

Sam had given him a photo, the one he got from the hotel mirror, as we followed Joseph down his cluttered driveway.

“Yeah, he was older, but that's him.” Joseph says, referring to John, handing the photo back.

“He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter.”

“That's right. We're working on a story together.” Sam explains.

“Well, I don't know what the hell kinda story you're working on. The questions he asked me?”

“It’s an article about the understanding of young women committing suicide as a result of grief. We wanted to get all the details and even include a case that was more than 20 years old” I said cutting in, my experience as a journalist coming in handy.

“He asked me where she was buried” he deadpanned.

“I’m sorry Sir if our partner came off gruff and unsympathetic, and truly I hate to have to ask you again I mean I know this must still be difficult but where was she buried? It’d be helpful to know it again as a fact check because, as you can tell, our partner isn’t the best with people” I explain trying to come off the exact opposite way that John had.

“In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.” He answered simply, only seeming a little bothered.

“And why did you move?” I ask.

“I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died,” he replied, I nodded at what he said.

Sam stops walking so I stop not knowing what he was getting at, Joseph then stops too.

“Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?” Sam pipes up.

“No way. Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.” John reminisced.

“So you had a happy marriage?”

But Joseph hesitates for a beat then says, “Definitely”.

How convincing.

“Well, I think we got what we needed. Thank you, Mr.Welch, for your time and sorry again.” I concluded.

Sam and I turn to walk back to the Impala, but he pauses turning back towards Joseph who began to walk away.

“Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?”

Joseph pauses, turning around “A what?”

“A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman?” Sam clarifies.

But John doesn't respond.

“It's a ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really. Um, they're spirits—“

“Sam, What are-“ but my point goes on deaf ears as Sam stalks towards Joseph.

“They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places, in Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women. But all share the same story.”

“Boy, I don't care much for nonsense.” Joseph says walking away but Sam remains insistent as he follows

“See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them. And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again.” Sam goes on stopping Joseph in his tracks, getting his attention once more.

“You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!” He lectures Sam.

“You tell me.” Sam says, calmly.

“I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!”Joseph yells one final time, shaking with anger or maybe grief.

Sam turns walking back towards me.

“That was good Sammy, seriously” I admire his blunt choice patting him on the back.

Sam’s driving when his phone rings, handing it to me to pick up. I put it on speaker phone as a familiar voice rings out.

“Fake 911 phone call? Sammy, I don't know, that's pretty illegal.” Dean laughs proudly.

“It was actually Y/N’s idea” Sam clears up.

“Eh what’s one more crime to the endless list?” I say smiling pridefully.

Dean laughs and it bubbles something inside me, something that’s been there for a long time.

But his laugh dies down and he goes serious,

“Listen, we gotta talk.”

“Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop.” Sam informs Dean, catching him up.

“Sammy, would you shut up for a second?” Dean warns.

But Sam continues on, “I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet.”

“Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho.” Dean spoke.

“What? How do you know?” I ask, beating Sam to the question I know he was about to ask.

“I've got his journal” Dean announces

“He doesn't go anywhere without that thing.” Sam pointed out.

“Yeah, well, he did this time.”

“What's it say?”

“Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going” Dean informs.

“Coordinates. Where to?” Sam questions

“I'm not sure yet.”

“I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?” Sam slams the brake causing the phone to fall out of my hand, I whip my head to Sam and then back to the road seeing Constance standing ahead of us, the car doesn't slow quick enough as we halt right as we go through her.

All of a sudden Constance is in the back seat saying “Take me home”

I yelp, having not expected her to just be in the back seat. Next to me Sam is breathing hard, looking at the ghostly women in the rear view mirror.

“Sam? Y/N? Y/N!

[lieutenantfloyd]

When Duty Calls Part 2 | Cyclone x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You arrive at The Hard Deck, a place that was once like a second home to you.

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, and Hangman being... Hangman.

Authors note: Life with a neurodivergent brain means I haven't updated this series since September but I managed to write this chapter in less than a day. Writers block be damned lol.

Read on AO3

It only took you twenty minutes to arrive at The Hard Deck, but another twenty minutes elapsed before you were able to convince yourself to open the car door.

You savor one last minute of air conditioning before willing yourself out of the car. Each crunch of sand under your shoes feels almost deafening but you push yourself forward, instead letting your eyes examine the scene in front of you. It’s early evening and a decent size crowd is occupying the parking lot while a slow moving but steady stream of people flow through the front door.

You join the back of the pack and slip your phone out from your back pocket. As luck would have it, your phone—unused since before you’d gotten in the shower—opens directly onto the text-that-shall-not-be-named. The panic inducing text bubbles have vanished and your initial message remains the last one sent between you both. Half of you is flooded with relief by the lack of response while the other half is more bothered by it than you’d ever care to admit.

You peer around the man in front of you, hoping to find a spot to slip through, but to no avail. From where you’re standing, you’re granted a perfectly framed view of The Hard Deck’s sun washed coastal siding against the blazing blue sky. It is a view that fills you with both comfort and nostalgia.

The nights you’d spent at this bar were among the few memories you let yourself get lost in. Quarters in the jukebox, the feeling of salt and sun making itself home on your skin, Clinking bottles and cans together after a job well done, the biting taste of whiskey on your tongue while venting frustrations. All things that drove you away, yet they kept you going when you needed it most.

Your spiraling thoughts barely register when you remember the phone still in your hands. You hurriedly lock the screen and slide the device back into your pocket. You far from expect anyone peering over your shoulder to piece together exactly who had left you on read, but your instincts tell you that you can’t be too careful. You’ve seen first hand how people here ensure that even the most baseless rumors spread quicker than wildfire. The last thing you need is to be pulled into an office and reprimanded before this mission even begins.

You were now second place from the entrance, so you capture the remaining moments and stomp out the last bit of anxiety left in your gut.

You cross the threshold in one quick step, your eyes already scanning the room and taking note of how many of the faces in this bar were completely unfamiliar. Whoever had sent the summoning text you’d received roughly two hours earlier chose to leave out who or what you should be looking for, so you instinctively set off towards the bar. ~ There wasn’t an empty barstool in sight, so you stay on your feet and shoulder your way through the rowdy servicemen until you can lean your elbows against bar top. Your chosen attire of light wash jeans and a brown tank top is nothing special, but your actions have earned more than a few glances, and you felt myself wanting to shrink under their eyes. You push your insecurities aside just in time to spot the woman you’re looking for.

“Penny!” you call out, raising your arm above your head in a lazy wave. She pivots instantly at the sound of her name and freezes briefly as her eyes land on you. A wave of memories—both wanted and not—wash over you in the time it takes her to abandon the towel and glass she’d been drying and pace over to you.

In a past life, you’d spent the majority of your free time helping out behind the bar or escorting Amelia and her friends around town. Penny was like a sister to you then, and both her and Amelia had been two of the hardest people to leave behind.

“Now that’s a face I didn’t expected to see at my bar again.” Penny says bluntly, but you can see the tell tale signs of a smile threatening to shine through.

“It’s good to see you too, pen.” You say with an easy smile.

“I assume you got called back too?” she asks. You give her a curt nod in response.

“Well then it seems like your friends got the party started without you.” She says while signaling towards the pool table on the far side of the bar.

“Friends is a strong word.” You say dryly.

“Well, in that case,“ She starts, only to pause and crouch down behind the bar. “Go easy on them.”

She finishes her sentence with a soft laugh and slides a can across the bar towards you. You wipe the ice and condensation off the rim and crack open the soda. The action is so familiar you don’t even give the can’s label a glance. You make sure to take a long, dramatic swig in the process.

“Thanks.” You say, tilting the can towards her while simultaneously breezing past her comment.

“I mean what I said. I obviously don’t know what’s ahead, but I get the sense that they don’t either. Hold your cards close to your chest around them.” She warns.

“Yes ma’am.” You affirm.

The area around you has cleared a bit which gives you some much appreciated breathing room. Over Penny’s shoulder you watch yet another man approach the bar, only this time it’s a face you’re anything but excited to recognize.

Of course Hangman would be back too.

You fight back the urge to grimace as he calls out to Penny, who quickly acknowledges him before turning back to you.

“Do you still have my number?” She asks.

“Always.” You answer, which earns me a soft smile from Penny.

“Good. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“That we do.” you agree, trying your best to mask any lingering unease about what the following weeks had in store.

You take your time circling the bar, and keep your eyes on Hangman as Penny serves him another beer. You have half a mind to ask him if he has any idea why we were all called back, but the thought dies the minute he makes an painful show of checking you out.

"Hangman." You say with the fakest smile you can manage.

“Just when I’d thought you were gone for good…” he says while dragging his gaze slowly up your body until he reaches your eyes.

“I knew you’d be bored without me.”

Jake laughs while you take a sip of soda and swallow down the anger building inside you.

“Aw, how considerate.”

“We can’t all be complete assholes, so…” You respond pointedly.

Hangman gears up in rebuttal just as Penny calls out your name and waves you back over. He turns to make his leave—and you’re almost shocked he’s accepting defeat—but the shock instantly becomes irritation when you both back away while throwing each other equally unkind hand gestures.

Turning towards Penny, you let her take your free hand in hers and give it a sisterly squeeze. An uncomfortable silence lies between you, and you can practically see the wheels of contemplation turning in her head.

“Have you… talked to him?” She queries in a low voice.

You don’t know what your face betrays, but hers instantly fills with a look of regret. You change your grip on the soda can, the chilled aluminum suddenly searing against your fingertips. You open your mouth to answer but can’t find the right words. Thankfully, she seems to take the silence as a hint.

“Well, I hope to see you both around more often.” She says quietly. Her words are simple and pleasant, but you can’t help but feel the urge to read deeper into them.

“Yeah, me too.” You breathe.

She squeezes your hand once more, and you all but cringe as the vulnerability in your words and voice rings loudly in your ears. After the unfortunate events of the last ten minutes, you’re quick to follow Hangman’s path towards the pool table. ~ You can feel eyes on you as you drop into one of the surrounding barstools, but make no effort of acknowledging them. The game plan you’d written earlier in the day flashes through your mind, and you know you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself than necessary. You chose to sit and observe for a while before briefly catching up with old friends from your first time at Top Gun over a few rounds of pool. Soon after, you use the uncomfortably tense exchange between Hangman and Rooster as cover and slink onto the stool next to Phoenix’s new backseater.

You quickly learn that as quiet as he may be, the WSO—who’s stationed out in Lemoore and has the name and callsign Bob, according to your former wingman Natasha—Is more than happy to engage in a bit of gossip. Something which you’re happy to do as you watch the last several aviators file through the door.

It is only when you rise from your seat to refill Bob’s bucket of peanuts that you notice the awkward hush falling over the group. It wasn’t hard to decide that if the already heavy dose of tension was anything to go by, this mission—and the complete lack of details as to why any of you had been called back here in the first place—has everyone feeling shook up.

Bucket in hand, you skim the outskirts of the group. And quickly share a collective double take with Harvard, Yale, Omaha, and Fritz. You know the same question weighing heavy on your mind is doing the same to theirs. Yet before you can ask, the sound of Phoenix’s voice commands everyone’s attention and breathes life into one of the many questions you are all dying to ask.

“Everyone here is the best there is. So who the hell are they going to get to teach us?”

Taglist: @katesmadness @natasharomanoffisbaebby @nobody7102 @idiomaticpunk @thebeckyjolene @paintballkid711 @barbiewritesstuff @bbooks-and-teas @starshipfantasy @saramaple @marchingicenotes7 @bayisdying @princessofglitterland @katesmadness @shakira-sasha @xoxabs88xox @nyx2021 @qardasngan @fanboyluvr @bellamy1998 @alexxavicry @madamemelancholysstuff @autumnleaves1991-reads @dozcan123 @noxytopy @accio-boys @the-winter-marvel33 @justameresimp @abaker74 @starlightmoon2020 @comfortzonequeen, @flrboyd @heyitskay-21 @kmc1989 @kkrenae

[krnsluvvie]

love at first, love at second, love at last

veinticinco: finalmente, tuyx (wc: 2,2k)

SUMMARY: sae had chosen his career and that was shortly followed by his and y/n's separation. three years pass by and amongst all the lurking and stalking each other's socials, sae is suddenly found back in their hometown. old feelings are resurfaced, current ones are questioned and a whole load of future ones are found in a blur.

veinticuatro | masterlist |

Your results have come out and you were sitting cross-legged in your room, shaking with fear and anticipation. To say you've been on edge would only be an understatement; both Isagi and Kurona knew they would be getting dealt with the Devil reincarnated himself and thus, actively avoided you. You closed your eyes then as you rubbed your temples, seeing them turn around the corner, I can't really blame them. 

You keep opening and closing the laptop as if that would help you with your current predicament. It's been done with, what else do you have left? You either face it and take it like a real alpha that you are or you end up crying about it to your friends–as if they haven't been dealing with… everything you've served them. Willingly or unwillingly.

Your phone dings and you check the sender: Sae. With a silly smiley face.

After the grand revelation, you couldn't help but think about how repressive you were regarding your feelings. That explained your random outbursts and terrible mood swings. You really just had to come clean with it. To yourself.

how did you do?

The text is how it usually is. All lowercase, sounding anything but interested. You swallow down the lump that starts to create in your throat and start typing.

haven't checked them yet

You throw your phone back on the bed as you face your laptop. The worst thing is repeating a year. You mumble this under your breath while typing the website into the browser. It soon becomes a mantra–to redirect your mind elsewhere, to have your mind preoccupied.

The screen turns momentarily white after you finish logging in. Relief washes over you but it gets cut rather short when your face pales upon seeing the loading sign appear. Your eyes don't look away in time as they zero in on the percentage. You knew when you saw it but was curious to see the details. Maths got you real fucked up but hey, no more seeing any of that after all of this. 

You send an all-caps message into your group chat, announce it anywhere and everywhere possible.

congrats

Sae's message reads. You frown a little because looking back, you did freak out about this to him. Unpleasant memories flood your mind and your cheeks heat up. Right, it's just a graduation, why were you pissing yourself every time someone mentioned it? You physically cringe at just revisiting all of the instances.

You send him your thanks in the most nonchalant way possible (you ended up with a lame “thx”) but hey, if you truly squint, the communication has gotten better. The bare minimum is being barely met but you don't expect much from the Japan prodigy to begin with.

You get up and stretch a little before letting your body drop on the bed. You loosen your body and close your eyes. You were incredibly happy; it was beyond words.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

After the formal part ends, you get off the stage, meeting with your friends and family. Your parents look at you somewhat proudly and you give them a small smile–a little mocking as you could never forget their nagging and how “with this attitude, you will barely graduate”. It stung but you got over it quickly. The way their heads drop, you can tell that they might feel some regret, too. They point towards the exit and mumble “have fun”. You nod and get back to talking to your classmates, friends, teachers. This is a special day, after all.

“Would you look at that? You getting a diploma?” Isagi approaches you along with Kurona who's holding a small bouquet of various flowers. 

Kurona catches your gaze and you can feel the remark that threatens to leave his mouth but he holds himself back. “We are expecting you to do more for us.” And he hands it to you, all toothy.

You almost grab it. “I knew you guys would never stab me in the back.” The flowers look a little wilted but you don't expect much from a pair of football-obsessed high school freaks. 

“Thanks, you two. Don't worry too much–”

“Where's Y/N!” A voice resounds throughout the gymnasium. It's already teeming with sweaty bodies, loud, and someone has so much time on their hands that–

“Here you are!” 

There's Shidou standing before you, next to Isagi and Kurona. He's holding a box of chocolates with the most devious smile. You raise your eyebrow as you subconsciously grip the tube with your graduation certificate in it. No one dares speak a word. And you notice it isn't just you or your friends. The whole hall ceases all their activities, it becomes deafeningly silent that even a drop of a pin could be heard.

“Continue!” Shidou yells and the rest continues as if he was a person of authority. The look on his face is tell-tale enough. 

“I'm sure they have just never seen that ugly ass hair combo, my friend.” Oliver emerges from behind them and waves at you. You're frozen and rendered speechless. You blink once, twice. Why is everyone here? Everyone but … Sae?

“Don't call me that,” Shidou swats the hand from his shoulder and he fixes his look on you.

Your peripheral gaze locks on the two guys that you surely believed would never stab your back. Explain.

“I only invited Oliver, I don't know what he's doing here.”

“Yeah, my bad, it was me. Figured you'd want this to be more lively.”

You intake a sharp breath. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Why are you even here. Is this a substitution for Sae?”

The others look at you like you're the seventh wonder of the world. You would do the same in their shoes, let's be real. But for the sake of your dignity, you avoid their piercing gazes as you look around the gym. So spacious! And it fits so many people!

“Actually,” Shidou comes closer as he hands you the chocolates. “Yeah, we are. Sae-chan said he couldn't attend. But he said that he's so proud of you and that he misses–”

A new person enters the discussion as he kicks Shidou in the back of his knees.

“My bad.” Sae mumbles as he regards you with a nod. 

He's in all black, and has a cap that covers his face when he looks down.

“The fuck was that for?!”

“You're seriously not asking that, are you?” Oliver crosses his arms as he tries his best not to erupt in laughter. “Ahh, isn't it just so fun in here?”

“You guys are just loud.” you say. It feels as if it's been years since you last talked, your voice sounding raspy doesn't help it, either.

Oliver not so subtly ignores you as he says, “Sae drove us here. He got here late because he was trying to find a parking spot, isn't it right, Prodigy-chan?”

“I could have said that myself.” Sae deadpans.

You, Isagi and Kurona exchange glances. 

I'm sorry… Sowwy

Isagi puts his hands up in a prayer as if you'd accept his apology this way. You mouth, Buy Me a Congratulatory Meal And Then We're Even-all emphasized–and he has no choice but to reluctantly nod. A smile snakes its way onto your face.

Isagi also catches the way you keep throwing glances Sae's way and drags the rest to the side. Some of your classmates have recognized Oliver and came up to him to talk. 

Now it's just the two of you. 

The bustling and chaos around you does little to help you alleviate your mind. You knew there were a lot of things between you and him unsaid and this place, now, was a godsend opportunity.

“You got the chocolates?” Sae asks out of nowhere and you're almost forced to look at him. 

“Huh?” Huh? WEAK. “I don't know what you're talking about.” As you say this, Shidou comes sprinting towards you, the chocolate box already in shambles. “Sorry,” he says almost unapologetically as he points towards the crowd, enjoying your supposed chocolate.

“I guess not.” He takes the box from your hand and you both notice there's only one piece left. “You take it.” You blurt out.

Sae doesn't say anything as he indeed takes the last piece and pops it into his mouth. 

“Can I take a look at your diploma?” he asks out of the blue and for some reason you comply. You hand the tube to him and watch as he carefully takes the document into his calloused hands. You don't think you could stand there idly, doing nothing, anymore so to plan your escape, you scan the area and the best case scenario would be just… turning around, leaving him behind.

You had manners, though, and this childish game wasn't going to cut it anymore. As you turn to look at him and tell him you will go back to Isagi and Kurona, he grabs your shoulder and leans down. Sae uses the diploma to shield both of your faces as he slightly leans down and kisses you on the lips.

You feel something probing on your lips and your body reacts way faster than your mind and you let him in. His tongue swirls and that one piece of chocolate lands in your mouth.

He slowly pulls away but you latch onto him, not backing down. 

Your façade has been long debunked and you knew Sae was aware. Probably had been for some time now with how confidently he invited himself into your mouth.

You pull away and he looks at you amusingly. “What, want more?”

Your face is burning with crimson and you still have some half-decentness in you left that you cover your mouth with the back of your hand. What the fuck was that.

“Gahhh, that was tiring.” Shidou comes back, arms stretching over his head. 

“No one even knew you.” Oliver deadpans.

“I was literally the talk.”

“You were the guy that Itoshi Sae tossed to.”

“Multiple times, if you will.”

“You know what, nevermind.”

“Oh, you two.” Shidou changes the topic as swiftly as he usually does. “Why are you holding their grad certificate?”

“Was curious.” Sae's answer comes fast and almost calculated. He returns it to you.

“Okay.” Shidou eyes both of you. “The kids are going home 'cause practice, school, so it's just us left.”

Oliver adds, “We should go celebrate.”

“Why are you so red?” Shidou turns to you. “Did somethin' happen?”

“I am fine, you guys go ahead. I will go talk to my teachers before I leave.”

“I will go talk to them, too. Haven't updated them in a while.” Sae says.

Oliver and Shidou exchange fully knowing glances. “Alright, you know where you parked your car. We will wait there.. after we find it.”

Sae nods and the two of them leave with a mischievous glint in their eyes.

“You wanna tell me something?” Sae asks and it takes you a while to realize that he's talking to you.

“Me? I don't think so. Maybe you have something to tell me?” You say, inwardly cringing at how it ended up sounding despite all your nonexistent efforts. 

“Well, I'll go talk to them if you don't mind–”

“Sae,” you exhale. It feels like the more you call out to him, the more free you feel and the more true you're staying to yourself.

He turns to look at you and you hate being scrutinized over. Yet…you gather all your courage and say, unfiltered, “I like you.”

Sae's lips quirk in a small smile. A minute passes. Or maybe a second. You don't know because it feels too long until he responds.

“I know.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Actually–”

Sae chuckles and gets closer and you actively notice you don't mind it. At all. “I like you, too. I have for a while. A long while.”

You look at him and you notice that he's really grown now. He wasn't the boy you once dated and…  almost loved. Though, the personality stayed the same still, but you believe it is a part of the Itoshi appeal.

His hair is longer, his features got sharper and you can only hope that you feeling he has gotten mellower is also right.

“I don't think I ever stopped.”

Your heart starts beating faster. It accelerates with every passing second and you feel like passing out. You also never thought you'd find yourself near him again, let alone like him and be in each other's proximity. Just like before. 

“Aren't you such a romantic?” Your voice comes out meek. But you know that it isn't any sign of weakness.

“Let's go talk to the teachers,” you lay out your hand to him, “I'm sure they missed seeing their favorite sports player.”

He scoffs but takes your hand nonetheless.

That in itself was an answer you both wanted. Neither of you was a fan of words and it manifested itself in this form of a relationship. In the end, words never conveyed as much as actions did.

They truly never did.

a/n: FUCKING FINALLY!!!! i cant say im totally happy with how i managed the series and how it flowed overall (severe burnout from the constant posting in the beginning (sprinkle some life things that contributed to the plot that i call my life) that i had to sit down and breathe). thank you to everyone who stuck around despite everything, im eternally grateful. if you have any questions, send an ask and ill answer!! until then <3!!!

tag list: @kiopanxp @funtuki @silly-ez @asteroskoniiii @keijiqahara @pikibee @tamimemo @kaitfae @biaonww @y-sabell-a @kaiserkisser @winterpein @bloombb @yyoichisgirl @rifran

[pippytmi]

Hey, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your wonderful Kacy fics. I've been reading and rereading them during this very sad post-cancellation time. I would be so glad if you could write another one with this prompt from your neighbors AU list: "You live in the apartment above me and your water pipe burst and is flooding into my apartment ..."

The first sign of disaster is, inevitably, the distinct lack of the pipes groaning in the walls.

Kate doesn’t think twice about it at first. All she cares about is washing the grime of the last double shift off her body, and it's a quick enough process that she barely registers that the water pressure is weaker than usual. Besides, her mind is firmly elsewhere; her RDOs are this weekend, and she already can’t wait for the longest sleep of her life (along with a bad movie and some cheap wine to kick it off).

But just as she begins to towel off her wet hair, a loud clank rings out from somewhere beneath the shower. The sound of rushing water follows, but curiously, nothing leaks—in the end, Kate decides to text the landlord to mention it. She certainly doesn't plan to spend her evening investigating.

Then she hears the first scream.

In an instant, Kate rushes back into her room to grab her gun and badge, unable to stay away from the possibility of someone in trouble. She identifies the scream as having come from somewhere downstairs, takes the time to clear the hallway with careful, precise steps in an attempt to locate the source.

“Motherfucker,” comes a loud curse from apartment 512, followed by a few frustrated bangs against the wall, and Kate slowly approaches her target.

“Hello? Is everything okay?” she calls through the door.

“Just peachy,” says the occupant from 512, voice dripping with sarcasm. The door swings open to reveal an…umbrella. “Except for the fact that everything in my apartment is melting.”

“Melting?” Kate lowers her gun, confused, until the umbrella shifts and a beautiful stranger blinks up at Kate quizzically.

“You're not maintenance,” the woman says. She looks vaguely familiar the way all of Kate’s neighbors do, but she eyes Kate up and down with no recognition in her own gaze. “If you're here to rob me, I have absolutely nothing you want.”

It's only then that Kate realizes holding her gun with no uniform is the worst idea she has ever had. “Oh no, I'm…I'm a cop,” she says, hastily clicking her gun’s safety back on and tucking it into her pants. “I thought you might be in danger.”

“I am in danger,” 512 says, “of drowning in my own apartment. Fuck my entire life, I guess!” She has obviously been crying—mascara smeared halfway underneath her eyes—and Kate feels a pang of sympathy.

“Is there any way I can help?”

“Unless you can magically shut off the water in this building, I don’t think so,” the woman says sorrowfully. “This is all 624’s fault.”

Kate does a double-take. “What?”

“The dickhead who lives upstairs,” 512 says. “Whatever they did, they broke my ceiling.”

“All I did was take a shower,” Kate says, perplexed, and 512’s jaw drops.

“You’re the dickhead?”

“I just live upstairs, I didn’t do…this,” Kate gestures to the water steadily dripping onto the carpet. “A pipe must have burst somewhere.”

“And all over my new couch,” the stranger sighs, obviously resigned. “It’s not supposed to get wet. It’s dry-clean only.”

“Your couch is dry clean only? How does that even work?”

“Okay you are in no place to judge, 624,” 512 scoffs. “Your shower has destroyed everything I own.” She raises her umbrella higher, and Kate has to step back before it pokes her in the eye. “I want it on the record that I don’t consent to being searched.”

“I’m not trying to search you,” Kate says. “Oh my God. I just came to see if you needed help.”

512 narrows her eyes. “Tell me your name first.”

“Kate.” When Kate is met only with a pointed, raised eyebrow, she gives more: “Katherine Whistler. Do you need my badge number, too?”

“Well it would certainly help,” the stranger says, painstakingly typing every digit into a text message that Kate only gets a glimpse of. “I need my guy to check you first. You know how it is, I’m sure.”

“...right,” Kate says. “Listen, um—”

“Lucy.”

“Lucy,” Kate repeats. “Is there any way that I can help? Not as a cop or anything, just…as a concerned neighbor.”

Another sigh, Lucy’s breath quivering like she might cry again. “No. My apartment is now a watery graveyard,” she says. “I’m going to have to sleep on the floor.”

“Did the pipes burst everywhere in your apartment?” Kate is now officially concerned. “Even on your bed?”

“My couch is my bed. This is the worst day of my life.” Lucy pouts, entire lower lip jutted out as her eyes grow wet and glassy, and Kate swallows hard.

“Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?” Kate finds herself asking. Maybe it’s guilt—maybe it’s because she genuinely wants to help—or maybe it’s just how Lucy’s pretty eyes go wide when she makes the offer, but Kate doesn’t take it back. “Just until maintenance, you know, fixes everything.”

“Seriously?” Lucy squints at Kate dubiously. “You would do that?”

“Sure,” Kate says, with only about 75% certainty. “It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

(And so, that is how Kate’s night officially morphs from staying in to entertaining the attractive neighbor from apartment 512).

Lucy has obviously dressed for a night out—a tight, sparkly dress, dark curls blown out, high heels strapped up to her ankles. In the aftermath of her living room being enveloped in water, though, Lucy doesn't seem to be in any hurry to go anywhere.

“Thank you,” Lucy says once she has accepted a blanket to wrap around her shoulders, sitting small and sad on Kate’s couch. “Maintenance got back to me, but apparently it's going to be a while.”

“That's fine,” Kate says, and her eyes flicker again to Lucy's outfit. “Were you planning on going somewhere tonight? I can drive you.”

“Mm, kind of.” Lucy leans back, closes her eyes briefly, and the corner of her mouth twitches like she might smile. “I was going to play poker. Actually, I was going to crash my friend's poker game and embarrass him a little, and then probably gamble away my dad’s money.” She cracks open an eye. “That's not an admission of illegal activities, by the way.”

“I see.” Kate clears her throat and does the only thing she can think of: change the subject entirely. “Do you want some tea? I have chamomile, chai, earl gray…”

“Earl gray tastes horrible,” Lucy says, opening both eyes now, and she smiles ever-so-faintly. “I would love a cup.”

So Kate makes two mugs of earl gray instead of opening a bottle of wine, and she turns on the TV to watch Sex and the City instead of her movie because Lucy had perked up when she saw the title, and it's…actually not bad, having some company. Lucy does not mention wanting to go to her poker game, and Kate doesn't ask again.

“I’m not keeping you from any wild Friday night plans, am I?” Lucy whirls around to stare Kate down as she poses this sudden question, likely making her own appraisal of Kate’s outfit.

Kate can only imagine the story her sweatpants and frayed tank top are telling, and it makes her cheeks flush. “No, this is it,” she says. “I mean, the most adventurous thing I planned was maybe ordering pizza.”

“Pizza isn't adventurous, it's basically its own food group,” Lucy gasps, whipping out her phone in a flurry. “I'm ordering you one. Is Hawaiian okay?”

“Sure,” Kate agrees, hiding her grimace into her tea. “Do you want to change into anything more comfortable while we wait? I can lend you some clothes.”

Lucy shakes out her hair with a tired shrug. “That would be great,” she says. “If you really don't mind…”

The pizza comes just after Lucy finishes getting dressed; she emerges tying her hair up, pajama pants unraveling down her right leg as she curses and tries to roll the ends back up. Kate has to blink rapidly and look away before she can get caught staring.

“Is there anything else you need?” Kate shifts over to let Lucy join her on the couch, and Lucy happily obliges, sitting cross-legged to balance a paper plate on her knees as Kate opens the pizza box.

“Nah, I'm good. But thank you, seriously, for this. I wouldn't have had anywhere else to go.” Lucy has washed all the makeup off her face, and when she takes a bite of her pizza, sauce smears onto the corner of her mouth. “My parents would completely cut me off if I told them the only piece of furniture I own is a couch.”

“Is that why you sleep there?” Kate says. “You don't have a bed?”

“I’m…still kind of moving in. Or I was,” Lucy says. “Bed frame shopping is very serious. I can't make that commitment yet.”

Kate picks the pineapples off her pizza and resists the urge to laugh. “So when will you be ready to make that commitment?”

“Whenever my heart tells me,” Lucy says with a knowing smile which means she's absolutely kidding, and this time, Kate does let a huff of laughter escape. “You'll have to give me some pointers.”

“I don't think I'm qualified. I bought the first one I came across,” Kate says.

“You did not,” Lucy feigns horror. “Never mind, Katherine Whistler. You seem like you have very poor judgment. For one, you keep your apartment unnaturally cold—”

“It’s 65 degrees?”

“—then you pick furniture with no sense of love—”

“Is that really a good metric for picking a bed frame?”

“And I’ve been watching you not eat the pineapple on your pizza this entire time,” Lucy finishes.

Kate guiltily takes a bite of her pure-ham-and-cheese slice. “I don’t really like pineapple.”

“Then why’d you let me order it?” Lucy asks laughingly, not with any frustration in her voice, just pure curiosity; Kate can only shrug her shoulders in response.

“You’re my guest,” Kate says plainly, and tries not to think too much about the fact that Lucy has moved closer so their thighs are nearly brushing now. “It would’ve been rude if I said no.”

“Hmm,” Lucy says, and absolutely nothing else. Then: “So this is just you being a very thorough host.”

“...yes,” Kate says, nearly posing it as a question, and Lucy smiles with her tongue between her teeth.

“As a bonafide Texan, I would commend your Southern hospitality, but something tells me you’re not Southern. Let me guess—Delaware?”

“Close, actually,” Kate says. “D.C.”

“A D.C. girl opening up her home to damsels in distress,” Lucy muses. “Is that a cop thing? You just take pity on any stranger in need?”

“It’s…more like I’m just a sucker for pretty girls who call me a dickhead,” Kate says, taking the chance that Lucy has been moving closer and closer for a reason (and hopefully, not because of the supposed temperature of the thermostat). 

Lucy beams, her entire face overcome with shy delight, and Kate barely manages to keep breathing. “Careful,” Lucy says, “I might test you to see how far you’re willing to go.”

“I think I can handle it,” Kate says, meeting Lucy’s gaze head-on, and Lucy bites her lip coyly in a way that surely means challenge accepted.

And so Lucy moves again, this time so they’re pressed side-to-side, and uses the excuse of, “It’s getting colder in here, I think. You’re going to have to keep me warm.”

“Anything to be a good host,” Kate plays along.

Lucy sets her empty plate on the coffee table and casually mentions, “And it’s getting so late. You know, if you were planning to go to bed anytime soon.”

Kate almost has a heart attack on the spot. “It is…late,” she says haltingly. “And you should take my bed. Um, to sleep in.”

“Just to sleep in?” Lucy raises an expectant eyebrow.

“Well, it—has many functions,” Kate says, and Lucy's hand falls warmly over Kate’s.

“I guess you're going to have to show me,” Lucy says, batting her eyelashes, and Kate is powerless to do anything but nod.

“Definitely,” Kate says breathlessly—holds the word like a promise—and knows in that moment she is a complete goner.

(But what a way to go.)

[rebelwrites]

Fifteen: So What Happened Last Night?

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till the wheels fall off Masterlist

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Resting my phone against my chest I found myself blankly staring up at the ceiling willing my body to go back to sleep. The sun was starting to creep into the room through the cracks in the blinds, the soft orange glow bounced off the walls, running my hand over my face. I finally admitted there was no way I was going to get back to a peaceful slumber, not when I had spent the best part of the last year waking up at the crack of dawn.

Feeling my phone vibrate against my body, I harshly rubbed my eyes as I tried to move but I quickly found I was being pinned down to the soft mattress by Charles’ arm draped across my torso. I couldn’t help but cock my brow at the screen of my phone once I had finally grabbed it. Jax’s name shone bright in the low light of the room.

Why was my brother texting me at five in the morning?

05:01 - whatever you do Squirt please don’t look at social media

Well, that was like telling me not to press a big red button, it was just going to make me want to do it even more. Swiping the conversation off my screen I automatically opened Instagram, the moment the feed loaded my heart sank into my stomach making me wish I had listened to my older brother for once.

My eyes went wide at the picture that was staring back at me but what caused tears to slide down my cheeks were the comments.

I knew people could be mean online but never I had the hate directed at me, I couldn’t stop the tears as I slowly locked my phone before gently prying Charles arm off my torso allowing me to escape the cloud like bed. The next five minutes were a blur as I grabbed Charles’ hoodie he was wearing last night, pulling it over my body letting the smell of his aftershave flood my senses providing me a small amount of comfort.

Sneaking out onto the balcony I placed a cigarette between my lips as I sunk down onto the outdoor sofa, I wanted to scream. I knew I should have put the phone away but I couldn’t help but continue scrolling through the comments. My head was spinning as the tears rolled freely down my cheeks, the more I read the words of random strangers on the internet the more my insecurities ate me alive.

She looks like a troll!!

What does Charles see in her? She’s the size of a whale.

Where are the supermodels he usually dates?

Look at those love handles, it’s making me feel sick.

Waking up to the bed being empty caused Charles' heart to sink, he let his arm move over to where Nova had been sleeping only to find the sheets were cold meaning she had left a while ago. Panic flooded his veins as he desperately went over everything that happened last night trying to pinpoint why he was waking up alone, however he was drawing blank.

He couldn’t find a single reason.

Everything about last night was perfect, listening to the sweet voice of the girl that had captured his heart and falling asleep with her wrapped in his arms. Running his hand over his face, he rolled out of bed, feeling the softness of the rug under his feet. As he was reaching for his phone he noticed the balcony door was open slightly.

For a moment he dropped his gaze to the screen of his phone just as a text came through from his brother.

07:31 - BRO YOU NEED TO CALL MAMAN ASAP

07:33 - APPELEZ-MOI MAINTENANT (CALL ME NOW)

07:34 - WAKE UP FUCKFACE!!!!

Confusion washed over Charles as he knitted his brows together at the messages, the sound of Nova’s soft cries caused him to lock his phone, he didn’t care he was wearing nothing but his boxers, he needed to see why she was crying.

The moment he saw Nova sat with her knees pulled to her chest, he felt his stomach twist into a knot. His movements were smooth as he quietly made his way over to the girl that had flipped his world upside down.

“Sunshine,” Charles whispered, placing his phone on the table before he crouched down resting his hand on Nova’s knee, “what's with all these tears?” he asked softly. Nova stayed silent, pulling her hands away from her face looking up at Charles. His heart broke as he took in how blood shot her piercing green eyes were. Reaching up he softly ran his thumb over her cheeks wiping away the tears that dampened her skin, “Parlez-moi Talk to me,” Nova sighed heavily as she passed Charles her phone, which was still open on the instagram post.

Charles couldn’t believe what he was reading, anger bubbled inside of him. There were only a few people that knew about their whereabouts and the only way they would have gotten to picture was if they were there, meaning it had to be someone from the yacht staff. However the thing that was upsetting him the most were the harsh words people were commenting about a girl they didn’t even know.

“Come here babygirl,” he hummed, placing the phone onto the small table before wrapping his arms around Nova, “they don’t know what they are talking about. You are beautiful, smart, brave and one of the best women I know.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the top of Nova’s head, “all the people that are commenting about you are jealous, because I want to be with you and not them,” before he could say another word his ringtone started echoing around the two of them. He turned his gaze to the screen seeing his mother’s face staring back at him, “I need to answer that,” he said softly, “you ready to meet my Maman?”

“What if she doesn’t like me?” Nova whimpered, roughly wiping her eyes with the sleeves of Charles’ hoodie she was wearing.

“Sunshine, Maman is going to love you.”

Jax watched intently as the red Ferrari gracefully pulled into the bar's car park, with bated breath he watched Nova through the passenger window, he couldn’t quite see if she had tear stained cheeks from where he was standing.

Some of the comments made his blood boil, making him want to track down every single person, putting a 9mm hole in their heads. That thought alone scared him slightly, he wasn’t the same person he was when he was a teen, he didn’t carry all of the time now but when it came down to Nova he would go on a killing spree, without batting an eyelid just to protect her.

The moment he saw the post and the horrendous comments Charles’ fans were saying his stomach twisted into a tight knot knowing how much this would tear her up. He had spent many years consoling his baby sister when her insecurities and demons in her mind became too much to bear.

A small smile appeared on his face as he watched Charles climb out of the driver’s seat, jogging around the front of the vehicle before opening the passenger door helping Nova out of the car. It was a breath of fresh air to see her with someone that wasn’t a complete douchebag.

Surprisingly Nova stepped out of the car with a bright smile on her face, it had been a while since he had seen his sister with a smile that actually reached her piercing green eyes. He had never seen his little sister so happy, he just hoped that this wasn’t just a fling between her and Charles and they could make the long distance work.

Running his hand through his perfectly kept blonde hair smirking as Charles and Nova walked hand in hand up to the building. It was as if they were in their own protective bubble, like the recent social media post didn’t exist. He just prayed that she had actually done what he had told her for once and kept off the internet.

He knew his sister didn’t come home the previous night meaning he was ready to go into fully annoying big brother mode teasing her about her whereabouts, although there was no need to ask where she was, he already knew she spent the night with Charles. “Soooooooo,” Jax whistled, placing a cigarette between his lips before extending his arm out to Nova offering her one which she quickly took with a nod, “what happened last night?” his tone was playful as he nudged Nova’s arm with his elbow.

“Like I’m gonna tell you,” Nova hummed, pausing to take a long drag of the smoke, “but we do need to talk about Juice, that boy’s had too many fuckin’ chances.”

Before Jax could speak Elenor came running over linking her tiny hand with Charles’, giggling loudly as she pulled him into the bar. Jax wrapped his arm around Nova’s shoulders pulling her into his side. He took a deep breath before asking his next question, normally he could read Nova like an open book but not today, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yea, I know,” Nova said with no emotion in her voice, “I kinda looked this morning.”

Jax let out a heavy sigh, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, “are you okay?”

“Meh, Char helped calm me down this morning, he helps keep the demons away,” Nova said quietly looking down at her trainers, “I knew there was a chance this could get out but I didn’t expect it to be so quick, ya know,” she sighed, resting her head on her brother’s shoulder.

“Are you together now then?” Jax asked.

“I think so,” Nova nodded.

“You think so? Surely it is a yes or no answer.”

“We haven’t really spoken about it, guess we are just seeing where it goes. At the end of the day he will be leaving town in a couple of weeks so I don't wanna get my hopes up,” she said, Jax didn’t miss the hint of sadness in her tone as she mentioned about Charles leaving.

“Even I can see that boy loves you,” Jax whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Nova’s head, “don’t focus on him leaving town, just focus on the time you have with him. Life is short squirt, don't let an opportunity to fall in love slip through your fingers.”

The sound of his daughter’s giggles coming from inside the bar made his heart swell, not only was Charles good with his sister but Elenor adored him, although he find himself starting to feel jealous that his babygirl wanted to spend her time with the Monegasque driver rather than her daddy.

Pushing the jealous thoughts from his mind, he pressed another kiss against Nova’s temple before speaking. “So you wanted to speak about Juice? What's he done now?”

Nova placed another cigarette between her lips, taking a step back from Jax, looking up at him through her lashes as she fumbled with the zippo. “It would be easier to tell you what he hasn’t done,” she growled through the filter of the smoke,“the jerk is a waste of air.”

Jax cocked his brow, knowing that if he wanted to keep his balls intact he knew not to interrupt his sister when she was going off on a rant.

“I warned him, I fucking warned him if he screwed up once more then he is gone,” she spat, leaning against the brickwork of the building, taking a long inhale of the cigarette, “I went back to Charles’ room at the Lodge and the place was a fucking sty.”

“Leclerc’s room?”

“No dummy, the lobby of the Lodge,” Nova hummed, narrowing her eyes across the parking lot. Jax watched as she snarled to the person backing their bike into a parking spot. “Oh and he was no where to be fucking seen, probaly too busy at that stupid fucking weed shop.”

Jax let out a heavy sigh, running his hand across his face, “okay, leave him to me,” he nodded, pushing himself off the wall moving so he was blocking Nova’s view of Juice. “Now, what you are going to do is take a deep breath, forget about Juice and go spend some time with that man of yours.”

Nova scoffed at Jax, “Ce n'est pas mon homme, face de cul. He's not my man, assface,” she said, rolling her eyes, as he took the half smoked cigarette from between her fingers.

“You know I hate it when you speak French to me,” he huffed, like a toddler as he watched his sister crouch down grabbing one of the crates of beer piled by the doorway before slipping into the building.

Jax couldn’t believe it was only a couple of months ago where he had a similar conversation with Juice. But this was it, there wasn’t going to be any more chances. The Lodge meant alot to the club and his family so to hear that it was being turned into a dumping ground, severely pissed him off.

The only sound that was echoing around the empty lot was the crunch of the gravel under Juice’s boots. Jax tossed the cigarette in the metal bucket by the door as he narrowed his eyes at the Puerto Rican.

“Kitchen, now!”

@withmyteeth @chibsytelford @stillbreathin @danzer8705 @keyweegirlie @dragon-of-winterfell @ohthemisssery @a-distantdreamer @sgkophie @angywritesstuff @enchantedbytomandhenry @scribbuluswrites @dangerouspursepeachbear @buendiabebeta @ferrarifwendvale @theplobnrgone @charlesleclercje @queenslife @panicforspec @justme2042 @liv67 @derpinathebrave @clcspeonies @pleasantducktimetravel @raaaaabzzz @mehrmonga @sbgal @fangirl-lb @pitconfirmbutton @oslokij @tall-tanned-tattoo @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @pumpkin-spice-hate @talicat713 @band--psycho @little-diable @i-love-scott-mccall @fourthwallhateclub @theysayitscrazy @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @meteora-fc @beeroses @darklydeliciousdesires @the-jer-bear @extraneousred @youflickedtooharddamnit @babypink224221

[multi-fandom-of-madness]

Rained Out

Pairings: Rain X Mountain

Type: Fluff

Summary: Rain doesn’t show up to his weekly picnic date with Mountain, and Mountain comes to find out why.

Warnings: Vomiting, being sick, nudity (non-sexual)

Word Count: 727

Notes: Read here on ao3.

~

Mountain was starting to get worried. He had been waiting in the gardens for almost an hour waiting for Rain. There was a small spot by a pond where they had their weekly picnic. It wasn’t like Rain to forget or not send a text saying he’d be late.

Mountain decided to wait in case Rain got caught up in chores, but then he noticed the dark clouds rolling in. He sighed and gave up, texting Rain to tell him that he was going in and maybe they could move their date to one of their rooms. Still no response from the water ghoul.

He went back toward the ghoul den, seeing everyone lounging about as water began to fall from the clouds. “Has anyone seen Rain?” He asked, setting the picnic basket on a nearby table.

“He wasn’t with you? Didn’t you two have your cheesy little picnic?” Swiss replied, arm wrapped around a purring Phantom.

“He didn’t show up. I haven’t seen him all day,” Mountain frowned.

“Maybe go check if he’s in his room.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be back.” Mountain sighed and started to walk down the hall toward where Rain’s room was. There was no noise coming from behind the door. No sign of life. With a concerned expression, he pushed open the door.

Mountain was immediately hit with a sour scent mingling with Rain’s own, yet the water ghoul was nowhere to be found. “Rain? Are you in here?”

He heard shuffling in the bathroom, then the noise of someone retching and gagging. Mountain immediately shoved the bathroom door open to see Rain, shaking, sweating, and vomiting.

“G-go away,” Rain said when he finally stopped hurling. His voice sounded shaky and there were tears streaming down his face.

Despite his protests, Mountain knelt beside him, wiping away some tears. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick, Waterlily?”

Rain pouted and looked down. “Didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I don’t mind that you’re sick. I would have been there to help you,” Mountain sighed, pulling Rain into a hug. A concerning warmth flooded into Mountain’s skin as he made contact. That kind of temperature was expected from Dewdrop or Swiss, but Rain was almost always cold. “Oh, baby, you’re burning up,” Mountain said as he stroked Rain’s hair.

Rain shuddered as he cried before pulling away to throw up once more. Mountain held his hair back, a worried expression plastered on his face as he rubbed the smaller ghoul’s back.

Rain leaned against the wall once he was done, chest heaving with an exhausted expression on his face. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out as Mountain wiped off his mouth with a wad of toilet paper.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I ruined our picnic and now you’re watching me puke my brains out.”

“Well first, you didn’t ‘ruin’ anything,” Mountain protested, standing to start up a bath. “Second, I’m taking care of you. You’re sick, and I love you too much to let you suffer on your own.”

Rain looked away, almost sad, before leaning over the toilet, dry heaving as his stomach protested his every move.

Mountain was right there, pressing a cool, damp, wash cloth to his neck as he watched Rain continuously gag. Rain sobbed as he stopped, though he stayed with his face over the toilet, fearing that it wasn’t over yet. Mountain just continued to comfort him.

“Do you want to get in the bath now? I have it decently cool, so we can try and get that fever down,” Mountain suggested, tying Rain’s hair in a small pony tail to keep it out of his face. Rain nodded, then let Mountain undress him. “Do you want me in the bath with you, or not?”

“I’ll get you sick.”

“I didn’t ask that, Raincloud. Do you want me to sit with you?”

Another nod. Mountain undressed, then lifted Rain and carried him into the tub. Mountain sat behind him, holding the small ghoul against him as he whimpered in discomfort, pressing a kiss between his horns and resting his cheek against his hair. “I’ve got you, Waterlily. After this I can make you some tea and soup if you’d like.”

Rain shakes his head. “Stay with me. Someone else can do it,” he mumbles, exhaustion setting in.

“Anything for you, Waterlily.”

[loveinsprings]

seasons- part 1

pairing: enzo vogrincic x f!reader

warnings: none

genre: angst-ish

notes: (1) this is my first story ever, so it might not be that good, comments and opinions are welcomed (2) the story will have three parts, this works more as a intro (3) it was inspired by my favorite wave to earth song seasons

______________________________________________________________

I can’t be your love… Look it’s too trivial for you now 

She sits in the restaurant’s terrace eating her meal in silence, her eyes focused on her phone’s screen. She reads the article carefully time and time again and takes a couple of screenshots of the parts she finds interesting. She smiles and takes a sip of her beer, the response to the movie is great, she had suspected it would be good, the director and production behind it had made great films before, how could this one fail?

She opens X and searches his name again. She always feels slightly guilty while doing this, as if she’s stalking someone, but she still goes ahead and does it. People love him, and how could they not? For the eight years that she knows Enzo she knows that he’s one of a kind, someone special. He’s kind, intelligent, talented, and obviously, attractive, of course people would love him. Her friend had worked hard all these years, and while it makes sense that he gets the recognition he deserves, the way that the film-and his popularity-have exploded almost globally shocks her a little bit.

Her heart beats a little faster in an uneasy way. She takes another sip of her drink, trying to wash those feelings away. She’s happy for her friend, she’s proud. But this weird feeling keeps popping out of her heart and flooding her veins. Uneasiness, fear, confusion. She doesn’t know how things will work out. How their friendship will work out. How her feelings will work out.

She focuses on her food, it’s useless to overthink about things that haven’t happened yet, and after all, everything will turn out well for him; and she’s his friend, she will be happy for him, she’ll be by his side cheering him on his next big steps. How could she feel upset even for a bit? When everything is going so well?

Her phone’s screen lights up, it’s a message from him, he’s asking her what are her plans for next Monday, maybe she would like to go for coffee in the afternoon? After checking her calendar she quickly answers him, of course she can go for coffee, she doesn’t tell him that she’ll have to work late into Sunday evening to be able to meet a work deadline. He doesn’t need to know, it’s a trivial thing really, besides she really needs to take a break from work, and hanging out with one of best friends will help her relax.

She schedules their meeting in her calendar after she finishes her meal, and quickly writes a text to him asking him how everything’s going, he replies saying he’s super busy, but that everything’s well, he’s surprised that new appointments are being made, events are being programmed for the next couple of months at least. ‘It’s Netflix, what did you expect?’. He just laughs at her response.

While she walks back to her apartment she reminds herself that she’ll take a break from her phone, she hasn’t done much reading these days. She also reminds herself that she can’t keep going on like this, checking stuff related to him so frequently. It’s not good, she tells herself, ‘I’ve been here before, it’s no use to get hung up on him again’. She looks at her reflection on a shop’s window, ‘You made a choice all those years back-she tells herself-no one forced you, and now, for your own well being, you have to look after yourself and don’t get your feelings tangled’.

As cliche as it sounds she fell in love with her friend and of course she didn’t tell him. She won’t be telling him any time soon anyways. She finds it ridiculous, how could she end up in a situation like this? She often feels guilty, how could she call herself his friend when she has all these feelings inside of her? And that’s why she made a choice, she would be just his friend, never tell him her feelings, don’t take things too far, and don't play silly games around him.

She arrives at her place, takes off her boots and quickly takes a shower. While shampooing her hair she tells herself that it wasn’t a hard choice, it wasn’t hard at all. Years ago, when she told Silvia, her best friend, that she had, sort of, fallen in love with Enzo, and that she wouldn’t not tell him, her friend asked her if she was afraid that “it would ruin their friendship”. Her best friend wanted to argue that it was worth a shot, she had feelings for him, and if he rejected her, she could move on. She laughed, Silvia looked confused at her, she said ‘look, I did this for me, not him’. 

Contrary to the cliche “I’m afraid that it would ruin our friendship, that’s why I kept my feelings for myself”, Y/N had decided to not act on her feelings because she felt that there were many things in her life that she needed to work on. At the time she felt like she was an incomplete person, and she honestly couldn’t say that her lover would be ‘her other half’. She had to have her other parts together, she had to be able to assemble all her pieces, by herself. What good would come out if she confessed her feelings to him? She felt that her insecurities would be a burden, her short temper could be hurtful, her clinginess could be a bother. She had more problems than she could count. She could end up dragging him with her instead of finding a solution.

She doesn’t pity herself, and even though it can be hard sometimes she chose to be just his friend. But, she had learned to move on with her life. She had gone on dates, she had had brief relationships with other guys. She couldn’t deny her feelings existed, nestled in her heart, sometimes they were more present, like a wind chime on an open window, tingling softly whenever the breeze hit them. Sometimes it felt like they were hidden, and the only way she could reach them was on sleepless nights when she focused on their memories together. 

She had been going through the pages of her book slowly, she was actually enjoying it. Her wet hair making a damp patch on her back, the soft hum of the air con creating a soft relaxing sound, when another notification came on her phone. He had sent her a picture he took that day when he managed to go out for a bit. She jokingly told him that she was shocked that he could be a good photographer, ‘if by any chance you can’t find work as an actor, you could do this for real’ she wrote. He sent her a laughing emoji and asked her if she was busy, if she could talk for a bit.

She laid on her couch and dialed his number before he could beat her to it. It only took him a couple of seconds to answer ‘hi Y/N, how was today?’ She laughed, he sounded tired, he had never done promotions for such a big project, he was exhausted by all the things that were happening. ‘Hope you don’t forget to drink water and eat properly these days’, she told him, she didn’t think it was necessary to answer his question. She preferred to focus the conversation on him, whether she would tell herself that if she ignored her problems she wouldn’t need to deal with them, and that her friend had more important things going on. 

They fell into a conversation quickly, he was tired, he felt like he needed to prepare himself better for interviews, with the popularity of the film he got more and more requests for them and he kept doubting if he was doing well. At the same time he found it amusing how things had gone so far. He genuinely hadn’t predicted that people would be so hooked on the film, he felt like he was part of a boyband. Throughout the conversation she keeps making jokes about all of this, she knows he has lots of things in his mind and she’s trying to keep things light.

He sighs, she changes her phone from her left hand to her right one, and sees that they’ve been talking for more than forty minutes. At that moment he tells her ‘Everything is so easy with you, it’s not like I won’t stop thinking about these things, but whenever I talk with you, everything seems more simple, thanks, I know I’m lucky to have you as my friend’

‘Yeah, I know, we’re lucky to have each other’s back… to be friends’

[raindownforme]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Ted Nivison x reader where they just spend the day at home together and reader forgets that Ted was about to stream and walks into his room to hang out, but they hadn't announced their relationship publicly yet. Just all together lots of fluffy shit LMAO. Oh also could you use they/ them pronouns if it's not too much of a bother? Thank you lovely <3 /p

Accidental

Ted x reader (they/them)

The room was quiet aside from Ted. He had spent the last few minutes clicking around his monitor set up, launching the right games, making sure his camera was on and working, and that his mic was picking up sound correctly. It was almost ready for him to fully stream, except for one thing.

Ted pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and unlocked the device, searching through for his most recent text chain with his lover, y/n. No one outside of a specific few knew Ted was even dating someone, much less his entire fan base. And with how rarely Ted streamed? Him and y/n had both agreed long ago that if y/n was ever going to appear on stream, it wasn’t going to be for a while.

Ted typed quickly into the text bar, telling y/n he was going to start streaming momentarily. They were at the grocery store right now, and most likely wouldn’t see the text until they got in the car, but it was still better than leaving them unaware.

With the text sent, Ted turned full attention back to the monitors and began the stream, allowing Twitch to fully take in his face. Ted smiled as he watched the chat fill in, flooding the side of his live screen.

“Hi guys! Look at all of you.” Some familiar user names filled in as well. Ted leaned back in his chair a bit and stared into the camera, creating eye contact with the thousands of people watching. “Welcome to shit show.”

In the span of almost three seconds, Ted heard the front door fly open and shut, and someone run down the hall to the room he was streaming in. Ted meant to stand up and check the door, maybe mute his mic or turn his camera off, something. But too fast, y/n burst through the door and jumped into his lap, wrapping their arms around him and giggling into his ear.

“Ted. Help me with groceries.”

Ted glanced over their shoulder nervously, watching as the chat moved even faster. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“Oh what?”

“Wait no-“

y/n looked back to see the recording set up on Ted’s monitors. “Oh cool what game are you recording. Minecraft? Or is it more Fiver stuff?”

“No. I’m not recording.”

“Then what are you—? Oh. Oh no.” y/n turned back to Ted with the realization washing over their face. “You’re live. You didn’t tell me! Oh god how long have you been live for.”

“Only a few minutes. I texted you!”

“Obviously not.” y/n snatched Ted’s phone off the desk and searched through his recent texts. They pulled up their most recent messages with him, noting that he had fully typed out the message without sending it.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Ted glanced back to the monitors. “Well. Either you can sneak out or say hi.”

“I think sneak. I still have groceries in the car.”

“Okay. See you later.” Ted kissed y/n on the cheek as they snuck off of Ted’s lap and out of frame. Ted watched them walk away and then turned back to read the chat. Ted tracked y/n with his eyes as they shut the door, then turned back to his live chat.

“I can explain myself.” Ted watched the donations cue fill with messages, and thankfully his mods held them back. “That was my partner. They… yeah. That’s y/n.” Ted watched more messages go by. “No— no you can’t have y/n. They are mine, thank you. No you can’t their number either! Or their snap! Guys-“ Ted chuckled to himself, rubbing his forehead with his hands. “I understand you’re upset, and I’ll formally introduce them later. Guys!”

y/n listened from the other side of the door. They leaned against the frame, stifling laughs into their hand. Hearing Ted try and calm his audience was hilarious. They sank further against the door, devolving into giggles.

y/n fell back against the hardwood floors as the door opened. Ted stood over y/n lying on the floor, smiling down at them. “What’s going on over here?”

“Are you still live?” y/n spoke in a hushed manner.

“No. I left.”

“Okay. Well I’m bullying you.”

“Ugh. Loser activity.”

“Loser activity? I just bought your groceries!”

“Our groceries.“

“Whatever. I guess I’ll just return them.”

“No wait-“ Ted laughed as y/n got up, him wrapping them in his arms and pulling close. “I’m joking.”

“I know I know.” y/n accepted the embrace, leaning back into him. “I didn’t mean to mess up your stream.”

“It’s fine. It was bound to happen at some point.”

y/n chewed at the side of their mouth. “Is your fan base upset?”

“Very. They want to take you from me.”

“I’ll let them if they help me take in the groceries.”

“They did ask me for your number.”

“I’ll give it to them.” y/n shrugged. “Maybe then someone will help me take in the groceries.”

“I was gonna help you bring them in!”

“No. You’re taking to long.” y/n wriggled around in Ted’s arms, pushing him off until they were able to walk down the hall. Ted followed dote-fully behind, watching as y/n went to open the front door and retrieve the groceries.

[startseeingstars]

Collision Path - Mike 5lbs of Pressure

CH11 Maddi’s POV 🎶 Daddy Issues - The Neighbourhood 🎶

TW - sexual themes, drugs, mentions of abuse

I flung a G-string at Mike as he loaded his washing into the machine and watched it hit him in the side of his face. I chuckled as he rolled his eyes.

“Nice shot.” He leant down and picked up the panties.

“Do I get to keep this pair?” He winked and I stifled another laugh.

“Sure. They aren’t mine though.” I admitted and he scrunched his face up, immediately dropping the underwear to the floor.

“Seriously?” He asked and I nodded, pressing start on my machine.

“If you want to see mine again, you'll have to come back to the club.” I teased playfully. He ran his hands through his hair, inadvertently flexing his biceps. I let my gaze linger for a moment too long and he noticed.

“I can think of another way.” His voice was husky through his smirk as he winked at me.

I blushed, looking away briefly as my phone vibrated wildly in my pocket.

My phone was flooded with text messages from an unsaved number. I opened them and read them from the beginning, feeling my heart sink as I realised it was my ex.

He’d found my new number, clearly. As I read the threatening messages, my hands began to shake slightly. The memories of all the horrible things he put me through came flooding back.

Suddenly, Mike was beside me and he looked over the messages briefly before he took the phone from my hands. I didn’t protest as he shoved it in his pocket, ignoring it as it continued to buzz. He just held me close, embracing me in his scent of smoke and cologne.

After a few minutes, the buzzing stopped and I sniffled, pulling away from him as I quickly wiped the few stray tears that had escaped.

“Let me handle it.” He whispered and I nodded - having no desire to relive the traumatic events I’d been through any more.

He took the phone and sent a photo of himself flipping the bird and sent it off with a message - something to the effect of ‘wrong number asshole’ before he blocked it.

I sighed, mentally drained. Mike’s hand reached out for mine and he gave it a soft squeeze.

“Want to get high?”

I laughed a little at his abrupt proposal but nodded.

We sat on my couch, passing each other the joint. Buffy had curled up on Mike’s lap immediately after he’d sat down. She generally hated people, so I took her affection as a sign that I could trust him.

We were quiet for a little while, but eventually, I’d given him the run down of what happened with my ex - why I’d moved here in the first place. He sat quietly, listening intently as I recounted my past.

Once I’d finished, he gave my knee a squeeze.

“I’m sorry you went through all that. You deserve a lot better.” His voice was soft and I smiled.

“Yeah, I do.” I inched myself closer to him and rested my head on the back of the couch as I looked at him thoughtfully. He smiled - eyes a little glazed over.

“Wanna play some music?” He asked and I nodded.

“I'll grab my guitar.” He leant forward and pressed his lips to my forehead before he left.

I blushed, laying back briefly and enjoying the fuzzy brain feeling.

He returned shortly with his guitar and sat down, fiddling with the tuning pegs as I sat up.

“You know this one?” He asked, fingers beginning to pluck at the strings delicately and I nodded, grinning.

“One of my favourites.” He beamed at my answer and began playing a familiar song.

I sang along, not nearly as nervous as I had been the other night - maybe it was the weed. He hummed a little as he played and I found it endearing. Giggles interrupted the song a couple of times from him playing a chord wrong, or me forgetting the words from being fried.

The way his fingers worked over the strings had my brain fighting a battle of dirty thoughts vs lyrics.

As the song ended, he smiled and something inside me melted as I stared at him for a while.

“You’re high as shit.” He smirked and I kicked him playfully.

“Am not.” He placed the guitar aside and sat facing me.

“C’mere then.” He pulled me toward him and I willingly sat on his lap, straddling him. He squinted slightly and stared into my eyes. “Are fuckin’ too.” He muttered, making me giggle.

Suddenly, I felt his hands grip my waist lightly and his eyes darkened as he swallowed. I felt a shift in the energy between us - a flame that craved more heat.

I held his neck softly and leaned in.

His lips were softer than I’d expected, pillowy against my own. I felt sparks across my skin as our lips moved in sync and we breathed each other in, finally giving in to the desire we’d been tormenting for days.

Shamelessly, I rocked my hips against him slowly, unable to think of anything other than being as close to him as possible.

His fingers dug into the flesh of my waist encouragingly as my hands travelled to his hair, deepening our kiss.

He let a moan escape into my mouth and I almost whimpered at the sound, feeling a familiar wetness begin to pool between my thighs. His track pants were accommodating, allowing me to feel the extent of his excitement against my own.

He pulled away from my mouth slightly as his phone rang, breathing heavily as I still tasted his lips - a strangely intoxicating mix of weed, smoke and mint.

He declined the call without hesitation and tossed the phone aside as he kissed me again hungrily.

His hands ran up my shirt along my back, pulling me closer to him as I felt his hips bucking slightly - desperate to create more friction.

His phone rang again but we ignored the buzzing, unable to keep our hands off one another. His tongue licked my bottom lip lightly before he bit it, earning a small moan from me as I tugged at his shirt, begging for it to be off his body. He broke away just long enough to rip it off before his hands made their way up the front of my shirt.

I gasped as his calloused fingers groped my breast and pinched my nipples. His full lips moved from mine to my jaw, trailing down my neck to my collarbone where he began to lick gently and sink his teeth into my skin.

Loud knocking on the door startled us apart and he groaned. Catching my breath, realised it was Leff.

“Fuck off.” Mike called out to him, clearly agitated but Leff continued to bang on my door.

I slid off Mike and stormed over, furiously opening it.

“Do you fuckin’ mind?” I snapped. He glared at me coldly, ignoring my question.

“Don’t ignore my fucking calls.” He practically snarled past me at Mike. “Get your ass downstairs. There’s work.” He didn’t even glance at me or wait for a reply before he left, heading down the stairs.

I slammed the door shut and groaned in frustration. Mike was angry, but he threw his shirt back on and grabbed his phone.

His eyes avoided mine as I stared at him, a little rocked from the interruption.

Holding a hand to my waist, he leaned in and pressed his lips to my temple, lingering for a moment.

“Sorry, doll.”

[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

You fracture light again (Ooh), I love you, oh, love you

★ Chapter 10 of 15, 5233 words

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ warnings: !!! mature content, minors please do not interact !!!, smut, oral (male receiving), alcohol consumption

<< 9

24 May, 2019

Middlesbrough Station was one that Este couldn't ever imagine herself needing to pass through. But, Radio 1 Big Weekend being held at Stewart Park that year gave her a reason.

She had originally planned on only coming in for their set on Sunday night and spending it there with Matty. But, he pointed out that they didn't have any commitments on the first two days of the festival, suggesting she come on the 24th and stay with them for three nights instead. Though eager to see him again and in favour of the idea, Este was paranoid of intruding or distracting him from work. So, she humbly attempted to deny taking up too much of his time off and persisted with her former plan.

Of course, Matty refused to let her say no. He was offering, after all, and wanted to see her—a bit confused that it seemed like she was turning him down. But, after Este insisted that she was just trying to allow him the rest he deserved after a crazy couple of months (and agreed to take the train in on Friday morning), he felt better.

It's bold of you to assume I can manage us being in the same country for the first time in months and be able to keep my hands off you, read a text from him when the plans got straightened out and she made her way from her flat to Manchester Victoria. His words made her cheeks flushed in the already warm May weather.

She wheeled a small suitcase through the station and eventually got to her seat on the train. The almost three-hour long ride ahead of her consisted of Este dozing in and out of sleep and listening to the small selection of music she had downloaded on Spotify. Towards the end of her journey, her bladder begged a trip to the cramped toilets to relieve the wee she'd been holding.

Este washed her hands thoroughly after flushing and assessed herself in the mirror. The dilemma of wanting to dress comfortably for the multiple hours sat in a train seat—but also knowing Matty would be picking her up once she reached Middlesbrough—kept her mind busy when getting ready that morning. Ultimately, she decided on dressing up. Silver buttons ran down the centre of her 70s-esque denim jumper dress. Paired with white socks and burgundy loafers around her feet, the outfit was classy. Professional, even. But, the garment hugging her waist tightly, its v-cut neckline, and the sight of her tan legs on display still made Matty's breath quicken when he opened a photo that showed up in his notification centre from Este.

Flipping him off to avoid being too serious, the picture somehow captured her full body in the small toilet mirror. Her back camera pointed at it, phone gripped in hand, posing with her weight leaning on one hip. She stuck her tongue out playfully and squeezed an eye shut to wink at her reflection. The message that accompanied the impromptu mirror selfie read, I'll be yours in 20 x, heightening Matty's excitement even more. Good god, he replied shortly and simply.

With her knee bouncing up and down with anticipation, the train finally slowed to a stop to bring her into the unfamiliar town. She gathered her things and hurriedly stepped onto the Middlesbrough platform, scanning for a rogue Matty Healy within the fairly busy station. He watched the flood of people surround Este, who he caught sight of right away, and saw her brows furrow and eyes squint to look for him. The couple of seconds it took before she recognised Matty made him chuckle.

"Matty!" she exclaimed when her eyes finally locked with his.

Speed-walking over and almost tripping a teenage boy with her rolling luggage dragging behind her, Este forcefully wrapped her arms around him. He hugged back tightly. She smelled exactly the way Matty remembered. Sunglasses covered his eyes and a hat was atop the curly brunette mess on his head, but neither could hide the ecstatic expression his face displayed.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.

"Please," Este agreed, pulling away from their embrace and planting her lips on his.

They melted into this kiss as the months of yearning came to a close. Este smiled against his mouth. It was easy to underestimate how much they missed each other until what they'd missed so much was right in front of them again. Matty moved his hand from her waist up to her face, cupping it gently and running his thumb over her skin a couple of times as they broke apart and studied each other's faces.

It seemed like she'd gotten a haircut. The layers fell shorter and there were more of them. There was dark powder smudged right above her eyelashes and her lips tasted like mint with a pinkier appearance.

"You look breathtaking," Matty muttered, looking her up and down. "Did you dress up all nice just for me?"

Este hid her face in his neck, embarrassed to know that she did spend extra time on her hair and makeup and did take shockingly long to decide on an outfit.

A car was waiting for them and they walked hand-in-hand to it. Matty rolled her luggage for her, placing it in the boot, but stopped her when she reached for the handle to get in. "He's just going to take your bag to the hotel. We're gonna walk." he interjected.

"Oh, okay." Este replied, agreeing to his instruction but confused and backing away from the vehicle. "Why?"

The hint of suspicion in her voice made Matty laugh. "I'm taking you out first."

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. "Are you?"

"I mean, yes, but don't get your hopes up too high. It's nothing special—I just found a couple of shops that look cool and a cafe I think you'd like," he explained, taking her hand back into his and guiding her to start walking down the pavement.

Este shook her head at the fact that he was downplaying his efforts. "That sounds lovely."

He just smiled and hummed in fondness as they made their way to the first stop Matty had in mind. Their feet stepped in unison and the conversation filling the air was simple. With their frequent communication, not much catching up was needed to be done. But, because of the time they spent across the globe from one another, both craved the warmth of the other's skin. Out of comfort. Longing. When Este's hand wandered away to point at something in a shop window or scratch a tickle on her chin, it always migrated back to him.

A Bad Neighbour Records approached on their left after a few short minutes. "Down for some sifting?" asked Matty, coming to a stop and forcing her to as well.

"Always."

He stepped in after her and nodded to the worker who gave him a smile as they entered. Este let go of the couple of Matty's fingers she had linked with her pinky to begin flipping through by the first crate she was faced with. "Are you on the lookout for anything specific?" she wondered aloud.

"I might just buy a couple that I haven't heard of to be spontaneous, or something."

"You can't plan to be spontaneous. That's sort of the whole thing about spontaneity,"

"Shut up," Matty chuckled in defeat, moving on to the next crate. He began with the ones opposite from her, so he shuffled to his right and Este to her left, face-to-face with one another. "Is there any vinyl you've been wanting?"

She pulled a record out, flipping it to read the track listing on the back, only to drop it into the place she found it once again. Not that one, thought Este. "There's this album called Stranger In The Alps that would be lovely to own. By Phoebe Bridgers. I feel like it has the perfect sound to spin in late-spring, you know? So I've been thinking about that a lot."

"I keep forgetting you're a Phoebe Bridgers fan,"

"Duh. Are you?" Este innocently wondered.

Chuckling, Matty nodded his head. "Yeah, I am." he admitted and stepped to his right again, continuing to flip. "She's done some BV's for the new album, actually. Had her in the studio when we were in LA—she's a good friend of mine,"

Her eyes caught his immediately. "You're joking."

He laughed and apologised for never mentioning it, while walking around to her side of the product. A few clicks on his phone files led him to what he was looking for. Grabbing the airpods that sat in his front pocket, he stuck one into his ear and then offered the other to Este. "Want to hear some of it?"

She nodded eagerly, starting to hear the gentle acoustic guitar. "What's this one called?"

"Doesn't have a real name yet. The file's titled 'Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America', but that's probably temporary, I suppose. Phoebe actually sang an entire verse, if you want to listen." he suggested, skipping forward by dragging his thumb along the playback line.

An expression of pure bliss struck her face. She held eye contact with him as the chorus came back around and his voice could be heard below Phoebe's. It was simple, but poignant. She found herself without anything worthy of saying to follow it once the volume faded out.

"Este? Good? Bad? Worst thing you've ever heard?"

Grabbing the airpod from her ear, she handed it to him to return it to its case. "God, I love her." It was all she could fathom to comment on.

"That's all you have to say? No 'Wow, you're a songwriting genius! Your new album will be the best one ever created!' or anything?" Matty complained sarcastically. "Also, it won't be out for a while. So keep quiet."

"I compliment your songwriting enough. You're no Phoebe," argued Este, "And sure. It'll be my dirtiest secret."

They continued down the line of crates, pulling LPs one-by-one and showing them to one another. Some serious, some as jokes—like when Este lifted a copy of I like it when you sleep to tease Matty about it. They both had a couple wedged under their arms to consider buying.

Once in a while, they'd converge and flip through crates side by side, shoulders brushing together. Este would move to the next and snake her arm around Matty's lower back as she passed him. He'd catch her hand on the other side and squeeze it before she let go to get back to digging for more titles.

A canvas tote bag that carried Este's usual essentials was now stuffed with five vinyl. Two for her, three for him. When their feet hit the pavement once again, he brought up a nearby cafe.

"I think there's a cafe a few minutes down the road. Off The Ground Coffee, or something like that. Want to stop for a drink?" Matty asked, offering to carry the contents that tugged at Este's shoulder. She politely declined to hand it over and kept hold of it, but grinned at his chivalry.

"You say 'I think' as if you haven't fully planned this out. Like, I bet 'good coffee shops by Middlesbrough Station' is in your Google search history," Este teased. "But of course. Coffee sounds great."

"I hate how well you know me."

-

Matty sipped on a steaming flat white and Este an iced latte, both sitting at a quaint two-person table amidst the lunch hustle and bustle of Off The Ground on a Friday afternoon. They shared an almond croissant between the two of them and took turns taking bites.

"It's mainly just to track what you read. But, some of my favourite features are that you can rate and review them, and set a reading goal for how many books you want to read in a year. And see what your friends are reading. It gives you recommendations based on what you log, as well. I don't know, maybe it's lame." Este attempted to explain the purpose of using Goodreads, frustrated that his boyish Aries mind couldn't understand why she went through the extra effort to keep track of something physical within an app.

"I'm not saying it's lame, I've just never heard of anything like it before." Matty chuckled, swallowing his mouthful of pastry. "Can I see what it's like?"

She swiped through the organised home pages of her phone and opened the app, sliding it over on the table to let him see. Matty stared down in curiosity and used his finger to navigate its interface.

"This seems quite convenient, honestly. I see why you'd want to use it." he admitted, scrolling through the books she had virtually shelved. "Reviews?"

An internal panic set in as the idea of him reading her unnecessarily formal write-ups she sometimes inserted under the books she felt passionately about. Please don't read them.

"Oh, those are just—"

"Wow." he interrupted. "You weren't joking about reviewing being a favourite feature of yours,"

"I sort of just chat shit. After I finish something, the emotions are usually right at the surface, so it's easy for me to ramble and just spill whatever I feel at that moment into the text box," defended Este, horrified that she could see Matty opening and closing a few of them to scan through. She watched his eyes dart back and forth across the words.

A subtle smile sat on his face. "This isn't chatting shit," Matty decided. "These are like real, actual, meaningful reviews. Good ones. You're good at this."

The compliment encouraged her to take a gulp of her drink and finish the last chunk of croissant to avoid having to receive it well.

"I went to uni for it, sort of. So I'd hope they aren't bad," She laughed nervously.

Matty's eyebrows furrowed. "You went to uni for book reviewing?"

"Honours BA in Multimedia Journalism," Este clarified, "at Manchester Metropolitan."

"Why have I never known what you studied in school? I always assumed it would be English, or something snobby like that. So I wasn't too far off,"

"Dunno, just never thought to tell you." She shrugged. "Nothing wrong with a bit of snobbiness."

"Now I understand why I'd read the Bible if you recommended it to me. They should pay you for these," He shook his head, bewildered at the new information before passing the phone back to her. "Were you ever in that field professionally? Or ever thought about using your degree?”

Este thought about her answer. "I did some internships after graduating. Just never turned into anything livable. And Sam—being the businessman he is—with all of his investments and the property he owns, pays well. Greenhouse kept that passion for literature around and made me happy, and I think a quiet and mundane life was less scary at the time, so I stuck with it." She explained. "I do occasionally dream about writing for big media publications or something fancy like that, but I imagine it would be difficult to try and get back into it now."

"It's never too late to start something new, E. But I'm glad you're happy at the shop. You seem at home there." The last drop of Matty's coffee tipped back into his mouth. "Plus, you're helping fulfil this whole librarian fantasy I've been dreaming—"

A kick to the shin shut him up quickly as he giggled at his own joke. Her hand raised to her face in embarrassment, but she fought a smile that begged to appear.

"You're not funny."

-

The car journey back to where Matty and the crew were staying was smooth and quick—and everyone was lovely. By the time they arrived, it was dinner time, so a few of them gathered in one of the bigger rooms they had booked to order room service.

"Sorry that this setting for dinner isn't very luxurious," George complained as he sat on the edge of one of the bright white beds. He twirled noodles from the creamy pasta covering his plate with a fork and shovelled some into his mouth.

Este laughed and dismissed his apology. "Please, don't worry. I don't really associate music festivals with 'luxury' anyway. It's more about running on one single meal the whole weekend and almost weeing yourself while waiting in an hour long portaloo queue,"

Agreeing, the room reminisced about their days as teens going to gigs. They were all much more hardcore than Este though, making fun of her when she claimed that one of the best ones she'd been to was a Fiona Apple show.

"Were you moshing at Fiona Apple?" Ross asked with a chuckle in his voice.

"Hey, Fiona Apple is a badass," she said, standing up for herself. "You lot just don't get it."

They went on to have a couple of glasses of wine while different members of the band and team dropped in and out for a drink, and continued their chat about live music and how excited everyone was to be back in the UK. Much to Este's dismay, Matty would be heading back to America as soon as he'd arrived home. A New York show was on their schedule for just three days after their Sunday Big Weekend set, so a flight overseas was their itinerary for Monday afternoon. Any of their remaining free time was reserved for writing, as they did have another album on the horizon. It was unfortunate, but inevitable.

Because of the brief moment they had available to them, they wasted barely any of it—so when the late evening approached after filling their stomachs with hotel food, Matty and Este marched back down the hall to his room. A slight buzz put a pep in their step, from the wine.

It was their first minute alone in hours and the previous had been spent out and about in town, so Matty took advantage of the sudden privacy. He swiped the Hilton keycard into his door and followed Este in once it flashed green.

"Lovely dress you've got, by the way. Don't know if I've mentioned it yet," he complimented, catching up to her and feeling the material near her hips between his fingers.

Este pushed closer to him, wanting to close the gap, but waiting. "Thanks, love." Her lips formed a smile as her eyes trailed over every detail on the skin of his face. The thin wrinkles next to his eyes appeared when he smiled back.

"Sort of want you to take it off, though."

"Be my guest," She pulled him in for a kiss, their first since the one short-lived within the train station, mouths open with hunger. Este's fingers sat where Matty loved them, running through his hair and caressing the delicate skin on his neck. The whisper she uttered into his ear instructing him to sit down made him shudder.

Breaking apart to let him take a seat on the edge of the bed, Matty looked up at Este who was still standing. His legs were spread and she stood between them, gazing back down at him as they breathed heavily. Her hand sat gently on the side of his face as he used his feverish ones to feel up and down the material the hugged her torso. When he got to the back, the zipper became undone, revealing her bare tan skin.

"You don't even know how many times I've thought about you like this while I was away,"

She let the denim fall to the carpet and climbed onto Matty's lap to straddle him. All four of their hands desperately tugged his shirt off. Their lips reconnected.

"Oh yeah?" she urged. A moan left his mouth at the suggestiveness in her voice. "When would you think about me?" Este asked the question with her lips against the skin on his neck.

He tilted his jaw away to give her more space, eyes closed in pleasure and mouth slightly agape. "When I was alone."

"Alone and doing what? Touching yourself?"

Matty bit his lip at the way she was egging him on. Pressure built in his pants as she shifted her hips and let them grind against him. Her lips back against his prevented him from answering coherently, so he nodded slowly.

She moved her hands from around his neck down to run over his bare chest and step off of his lap. It wasn't often that Este was this forward—but the months without him inspired the fire within her to bubble to the surface. Matty surely wasn't complaining. Eye contact was prolonged as he watched her kneel in front of him. Her gaze met his through her dark eyelashes.

"You're so gorgeous, down on your knees for me."

The fly of his trousers unzipped painfully slowly. Matty fell backwards onto his elbows, peering over his chest that heaved up and down at Este, who palmed him through his pants while planting kisses on his lower stomach.

He was already hard and hissed in pain when she pulled back the waistband of his white Calvin Kleins to take him in her hand. She let a drop of spit fall from her lips from above, and the two of them watched it land and allow her fist to move slickly over his length. Quiet whimpering could be heard from Matty. She clenched her thighs together at the sound.

"Do you want me to use my mouth?" Este asked, looking up innocently as if she wasn't speaking filth and driving him mad.

"Please," begged Matty, not able to form any other words with the pleasure of her stroking his cock overwhelming his conscience.

Finally, she slid her lips over him and used her tongue to swirl around the sensitive tip. His moans only got louder and more frenzied as Este took him in further. Matty swept the hair that fell forward back behind her head and held it in place for her. She hummed out a moan when he hit the back of her throat, its vibration bringing him to slightly push her head back down with the hand that gripped her hair. It was gentle, and turned Este on, so she moaned again.

His hips buckled upwards as he groaned out her name over and over with euphoria. Replacing her mouth with her hand for a split second, Este came up to take a breath and mutter words that almost made him finish on the spot.

"Are you gonna come in my mouth, baby?"

Face writhing in pain and gratification, Matty nodded. The action made a strand of hair flop forward and stick to his sweaty forehead. Her cheeks hollowed, taking him to her limit and tilting her head back so he could see her face while doing it. Este's hand made up for whatever she couldn't fit while she felt his breath become shaky and his muscles convulse. She didn't stop, and only increased her speed and furthered her depth.

A wave of pleasure took over Matty's body as he gasped and came across her tongue. "Este, shit," he cried. She moaned with him and let his hips thrust to ride out his orgasm, eventually swallowing and letting his length fall back against his stomach. Grinning, head hazy with arousal, Este climbed up to meet his lips with hers and collapsed next to him on the mattress.

Matty's hand inching between her legs signalled the beginning of a long night. Hot breath surrounded them. Their cheeks were the same shade of pink. And they made up for the time they'd spent apart.

--- 26 May, 2019

The next two days flew by far too quickly. They were a blur, for Este. Saturday consisted of driving out to Stewart Park to catch some acts in the afternoon. Sam Fender, Billie Eilish, and Charli XCX were a few they came out to see, and Este was excited to get to do so from the artist areas; secluded from the big crowds. She had the time of her life screaming the lyrics to Boys and 1999 back to Charli without a care in the world.

But, nothing was as exhilarating as seeing Matty up on the main stage when the sun began to set on Sunday. It was huge. Lights from the screen behind them lit up the thousands of faces in the crowd below, and Matty, dressed formally for the occasion, performed his heart out. She shouldn't be shocked by how much the band continued to impress her, but each time Este saw them live, it felt even more powerful than the previous.

After closing out the night, a much needed series of after parties were seen by the group. Matty dragged Este by the hand to each of them, enthusiastically introducing her to some of the acts she watched earlier in the weekend with a grin on his face. As new and surreal as the environment was for her, she felt safe. Things were easy with Matty next to her.

But eventually, everyone's energy began to dwindle and they had to call it, hopping in a car to head back to the hotel. It was loud and obnoxiously filled with giggly conversation as the group sobered up together on the journey. They parted ways when each person found their room, most desperate for rest after a strenuous day.

Both Matty and Este were exhausted. As soon as their unmade bed was in sight, he flopped down onto it, face first. A tired groan came from him and was muffled against the comforter.

"Hey, it's not time for bed yet. We have to brush our teeth." she said as she tugged on Matty's arm, forcing him to sit back up.

"I don't care if my teeth are clean, I'm ready to fucking sleep."

Este refused his protests and made him walk to the toilet with her anyway. "Up you get," His feet dragged across the carpet in annoyance. "Come on. We should drink water, and take some tablets, too. You'll thank me in the morning."

Humouring her, Matty followed through with her instructions instead of sleeping in his sweaty clothes and waking up regretting it. He slipped off his button up and replaced the far too fancy trousers he wore all day with a pair of gym shorts that were sat on the bathroom floor. In a pile with them, was one of Matty's t-shirts. He picked it up—but instead of putting it on, he left his upper body bare and handed it to Este so she could sport it. She thanked him and wore just that and her knickers.

After squeezing her tube of toothpaste to her toothbrush and his, Este looked at Matty through the mirror in front of them. His eyes were tired, but happy to be looking at hers. Catching her stare while the two of them brushed their teeth in unison, he bumped his hip against hers playfully. Since she didn't expect it, she stumbled to the side from the impact and rolled her eyes.

Matty's shoulders bounced up and down as he chuckled, and Este pulled out her phone to snap a laughably domestic mirror selfie of the two of them pampering up in comfortable silence. They both smiled with their top and bottom teeth, forcing toothpaste to spill out of  the corners of their mouths. She looked back at the photo and laughed at the state of them both, eyes barely open and minimal clothes draping over their bodies.

Somehow, she convinced him to stay awake even longer to do some skin care. "You need it babe, trust me." said Este.

"Can you at least do it for me? I seriously can't be arsed," he complained, turning to her and closing his eyes, as if he was giving Este the green light to start giving him a wash. She threw him a 'Really?' back, in disbelief, but agreed after washing her own face. Her wet hands with cleanser on them started rubbing against his skin.

His eyes stayed shut as the foamy soap built up on his face. Focusing, Este came close, her touch gentle and caring. Less than a minute of scrubbing passed when Matty peeked out with one eye and studied her face. When she noticed he was looking at her, she smiled and made her dimple appear.

"I see you glance down at my dimple like every time I smile, Matty." Este pointed out, then ran a flannel under the tap to get it damp. "It doesn't change, you know. Always there, always the same. No need to check up on it,"

"Your dimple was one of the first things I noticed about you. I can't help it," Matty said quietly as she wiped the product off his face.

She followed the cleanser with a bit of face cream, and he hummed at the quite therapeutic feeling of her hands across his face. His eyes fluttered closed again.

"Am I putting you to sleep?" she asked.

"It's like a face massage," commented Matty. "Any longer and you might."

"Alright, all done."

The bathroom light was switched off. They walked back out to the bed, but swallowed back a couple of Ibuprofen before climbing in. It was dark, and the microwave clock glowed green, reading a shockingly late time. Once the sheets covered them both, Matty rolled over to nuzzle himself against her. A soft and drained voice left his lips.

"Thank you for coming out this weekend, E."

She looked over her shoulder to look at him, but his eyes were already shut. "Thank you for headlining huge festivals like a rockstar and letting me come see you play. I've had the most fun."

"It's no biggie," he replied, sarcastically humble. "I missed you too much to let you only stay for one night. I'm really glad you agreed to the Friday train."

"I don't think you missed me as much as I missed you," argued Este. Her eyes closed with exhaustion, too.

"I highly doubt that. But I appreciate the sentiment," It took a couple of seconds before Matty responded, so she thought he may have dozed off. "You can ask the guys, they never hear the end of it." He muttered one last comment before erupting into snores.

A smitten smile broke out on Este's face as she imagined Matty talking about her in fondness and appreciation like he claimed he did. But quickly, it fell when she remembered she'd be leaving for home in mere hours.

She tried to shake the thought out of her head but failed, already missing the thing that laid right next to her as she passed out in a slumber.

11 >>

[den-of-the-jadewizard]

Whumptober: Day Three: No-one there except the moon

A/N: So, this one is a rain world fic, yay. Don't feel very nice today for reasons, but I had this written some time ago so here you are. <:3

BSM: Date: X/XX/XXXX

I wish I labeled each of these journal entrees when I started so long ago. I don't even know the date anymore.

I suppose it doesn't really matter now, does it?

This transmission is nothing but a text file in what is left of my files, I'm not sure anyone other than myself is reading this. As usual I will leave a note so that I will not forget who I am and what has happened.

I am Looks To The Moon, I'm an iterator, the eldest of my local group. I had collapsed when, as No Significant Harassment would've put it, Five Pebbles stole my drink. I only pity him now, as he suffers as much as I have.

I'm uncertain if the others are still active or not, but I know Pebbles is still functional, but for how long? I do not know. The rot is a cancer that eats away at everything, it's hunger never truly sated.

His Overseer sometimes visits, but that's far and few between, as if he is awkward around me, wanting to speak but yet unwilling and unable to. That's fair considering all that has happened.

A sense of nostalgia for a time long since passed came to me recently, I'm uncertain as to how or why. I remember scolding of a young ancient who had snuck into my chambers to put cheap decals on my walls. 

The memory was only bittersweet now, I found myself morosely musing that I would not mind if someone defiled my ruined chamber with stickers.

It's quite lonely out here, unable to communicate with the outside world, stuck waiting for something to happen, for someone to visit me.

It's been a long time since I've seen one of those relatives of the Pipe Cleaners. I quite missed the feeling of their soft warm bodies resting against my side as I read them a pearl they had found.The cycles seemed to blend like paint, mixing together into a dull grey.

I would boot up when the water drained from my systems enough and then I would do nothing. Just simply sit on my small island and wait. 

There was not much to do, I would be there until the rain started once more to flood my systems yet again. I had researched about drowning victims' experiences and strangely they were accurate, even to an iterator like myself. This would send me into shut down until I woke the next cycle, and it would all repeat ad nauseum.

However, something very peculiar happened a few cycles ago.

I saw the moon.

No, the irony of my name is not lost on me. Through my ruined chambers I could see the sky up above, free as if taunting me while I was still trapped in this husk. 

Sometimes I could see the sun...but never the moon. The rain often came before the night.

I was alarmed when it didn't. The world had changed to dark, the sky a brilliant dark blue among the clouds above. 

I had gone from fear of not having enough water, to having too much and now back again to fear of never having another drop. The fear was unfounded as the rain started again late into the night.

Warnings and error screens popped up in my head as I cringed from the pain of my systems being flooded again. I could never get used to it, the feeling of every fiber of your being screaming that it wanted to live despite not being able to do a single thing about it.

But it only lasted for a moment, before the strange tranquility washed over me. Caught in the silent in-between of life and death.

It's through this haze that I noticed its light shining through my ruined interior and through the water's depths.

I gazed up and saw it...the moon.

The scene was clear, crisp, a beautifully morbid painting on a sliver border deep in my psyche. I couldn't stop thinking of its magnificence. I had seen my same sake many times before but never in person.

It brought back an ancient longing I had buried quite some time ago. I wanted to be free, to venture into the open world and leave the ruins of my dying body.

Sometimes I find myself wishing I had been born as something else, perhaps a slugcat? A scavenger? Or even a lizard?

The world was dangerous, the fight for survival the only thing that kept them all running. 

I could take the risks and the numerous pains. I would take it all in stride. I would never take for granted the freedom I had then.

But alas it was only a dream, a mid-day musing on a lonely cycle.

I think I've wrote down all that needed to be mentioned. I've nothing else to add, should I need to I'll be back again, perhaps sooner than I thought.

-BSM

[lollytea]

There’s Sunshine in Your Smile: Chapter 5 (End)

[READ ON AO3]

Willow Park was drowning in sunlight.

She was sitting with her head thrown all the way back, eyes closed, allowing it to wash her face and twine its shimmering gold ribbons through her hair.

Hunter added this to his list of Settings in Which Willow So Naturally Belonged.

1.)  In the depths of her brilliant garden, dirt on her hands.

2.)  Tearing through the sky on her staff, face slashed neon green.

3.)  The Human Realm, laughing in astonishment beneath a painless rainfall.

4.)  Wherever the sun shone brightest.

“So, do you photosynthesize?” Hunter asked, after a long while of comfortable silence.

Willow opened her eyes to find him smirking at her.

“Or are you just showing the newbie plants how it’s done?”

“I just really love sunshine.” She shrugged. “Sorry for the boring answer. Your theories were funnier.”

But his first thought was not to be bored, but to add it to yet another list.

Things Willow Loves.

1.)  Flyer Derby.

2.)  Nature.

3.)  Clover.

4.)  Texting.

5.)  Spring.

6.)  Heart Shaped Fireworks.

7.)  Her Dads.

8.)  Abomination Goo Sandwiches.

9.)  Boring Books With Purple Prose.

10.)  Sunshine.

It was a hastily constructed list, a little on the simplistic side, but he would expand on it and draft a more comprehensive version once he had time alone.

This was the sort of thing that Hunter felt was important. The reality of having friends was exciting but chaotic, and he felt more at ease when he added his own sense of structure to this whole deal. He also had lists for Gus, Skara and Viney in the works.

(Gus’ list was coming along slower than the others, as half the stuff that kid talked about was basically gibberish to Hunter. What was a ‘Meme’? What was a ‘Paperclip’? What was a ‘Mattholomule’?)

(There was one for the Human too, which he had attempted to scribble out numerous times. But that was the problem with writing lists in your brain with permanent ink.)

Their palismen would occasionally swipe around their peripheral, as though informing them that they were still within the permitted area and weren’t going to wander away.

Hunter never worried about Flapjack straying far. He couldn’t get rid of that bird if he tried. (And Titan, had he tried.)

Clover really liked to do this thing where she would crash into the back of Hunter’s head, bump it against her own a few times, and then bumble away. She returned to repeat the act every few minutes.  

“Why does she keep doing that?” Griped Hunter, rubbing the spot she had made the target of collision.

“She likes you, I think.” Willow mused. “But she’s not sure how much she likes you, so she’s figuring it out. Doesn’t know whether to give you a friendly little bump or snuggle up on your shoulder.”

“Can she figure it out already before she leaves a bruise?”

Willow laughed her jingling laugh before tipping back her chin to continue soaking up light. Knees folded up against her chest, her toes happily pattered up and down.

It was…

Hunter heard the twittering above their heads and then Flapjack was there. He had chosen such a bizarre place to land that Hunter hacked with laughter, immediately digging out his scroll.  

Willow, face to the sky, had a little red cardinal perched atop the tip of her nose, said little red cardinal looking into her eyes with a friendly chirp of greeting, like this was perfectly normal.

Willow took a moment to process this, lips parted and lashes fluttering in dull surprise.

Hunter managed to capture the moment with a few quick snaps. The light that flooded down the two of them, the garden backdrop of rich, bleeding colours, Flapjack being cutest palistrom sculpture that had ever been carved, and Willow.

He was already peering through his camera, awed by the picturesque prettiness of the scene, when Willow broke into her smile (Dimples.) and his thumb wildly snapped (snapsnapsnapsnap) before he even began to think about it.

Willow held her palm out flat and Flapjack hopped into it.

“What’s he saying?” She asked, fondly cradling the bird like a gift.

“Nothing noteworthy. Just ‘Hi.’’”

Willow exhaled sharply through her nose, her smile widening. “Hi.” She said to Flapjack, stroking a knuckle down his neck.

The bird was delighted with this.

Hunter was too. That was his friend and that was his palisman. And there was something so similar about the two of them but he couldn’t quite clock it.

When Willow’s smile faded and a frown surfaced, Hunter was quick to ask “What’s up?”

She drifted hesitant fingers around the scar that tore across his eye, though didn’t dare touch it.

“Where did this come from?” She murmured, concerned. Hunter wasn’t sure if she was asking him or his palisman.

Flapjack promptly flittered out of her hold. He closed his beak around a lock of hair at her forehead and gave it a sharp tug.

“Ow!” Yelped Willow, lightly shooing him away before he shot into the sky, all atwitter.

Hunter snorted.

“Is he mad at me?” Willow asked, gazing up at the bird that was doing figure eights high above them.

“Nah.” Said Hunter. “He does that to me sometimes too. It’s his way of saying he doesn’t like the question and don’t ask it again.”

“I’m sorry!” Willow called, cupping her mouth to throw her voice.

Flapjack whistled in response.

“He forgives you.”

“Phew.”

The lock of hair had been pulled undone, a green streak hanging loose against her cheek. The misplacement of it bothered Hunter a little.

“Do you know what happened to him?” She whispered so Flapjack wouldn’t hear.

They should be fine in that regard, as Hunter’s thoughts and feelings had to be profoundly strong for Flapjack to mentally eavesdrop from such a distance. And the mystery of Flapjack’s eye was still an ever-present wondering, but simply talking about it wasn’t going to work him up too much.

Hunter shook his head.

“You probably worry nonstop about what that little guy must have been through.”

Hunter nodded.

“Can I ask…?”

The uncertain pause urged him to turn to her, expectant. But she wasn’t looking at him, instead observing Flapjack.

“Can I ask…what’s the connection between you two?”

“The what?”

“You know. The connection between witch and palisman.” She twirled her wrist around, like it would swirl up some understanding on Hunter’s part. “The shared ambition that makes you compatible.”

“Oh. Yeah. We don’t have one of those.”

Willow fixed him with a look, brow scrunching together doubtfully. “Sure you do. He’s your palisman, of course you have a connection.”

Hunter did not like the finality in which she insisted this.

“I-I mean, he’s not really mine.” He stammered. Because it was the truth, whether he liked it or not. “I didn’t carve him.”

“I didn’t carve Clover. I adopted her.” Said Willow, like it was simple. Maybe it was simple. For her, anyway. “That doesn’t make our connection any less strong.”

“I didn’t adopt him either. He just showed up at my window and wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Oh!” Willow clapped her hands together, fingertips touching her chin. “So he adopted you. That’s precious!”

Hunter’s ears burned. “Flapjack is loyal to a fault. Whatever I do, he goes along with it. But my one and only ambition…” The words felt heavy on his tongue. “Is to be useful to the Emperor. And I know he couldn’t care less about any of that.”

There was a lot about Flapjack that Hunter didn’t know.

He figured there had been some significance to the bird allowing mental contact between them, and granted, he seemed to view Hunter as his witch, in the same vein that Hunter deemed him his palisman. But under those feathers were secrets, ones that Hunter was not being let in on.

He was pretty sure the whole point of a witch and palisman bond was to know each other inside out. And so, maybe their relationship was an unconventional one, in which Flapjack took to Hunter not because of any profound or meaningful connection, but to feed into his mysterious little bird agenda. His palisman observation had been well documented, but now he was starting to wonder if it went both ways…

Or maybe it was simple as Flapjack being lonely and imprinting on the first witch that took his fancy. Hunter couldn’t fault him for that.

He had given up on questioning how he and his palisman came to be, just grateful he had him at all. Hellish birdsong at 5A.M. aside, Hunter hoped to keep him.

Drip, drip, drip…

Crumbling dust.

Time, time, how much time did he have…?

Hunter exhaled, low and steady, and willed himself not think about that.  

“Huh.” Said Willow, successfully tethering him to the moment before he could drift away. “Your situation with your palisman is an…unusual one. Maybe he just decided you would make a wonderful friend.”

“We’re not friends.” Said Hunter, though it felt unnatural to say the words, like writing with your non dominant hand. “He’s just…”

What was Flapjack?

My palisman.

My friend.

Given his situation, there was most definitely an angle in which Hunter should view his association with Flapjack. An angle wrought by self-preservation that he badly needed to convince himself of. Maybe if he said it aloud, it would feel like the truth.

“He’s just my power source.” Said Hunter, staring at the fingers in his lap, curling and uncurling around one of his gloves.

Scarred, curious hands that could finally masquerade as competent with the wield of a proper witch’s staff.  

“I…can’t do magic without him.” He found himself admitting. It tumbled out rather suddenly and for a fleeting moment, worry knotted his stomach.

Had he wanted this?

But it was something he barely had to think about. Yes. Yes, he wanted to tell her. This pesky flaw of his had unfortunately resurfaced.

Apparently, if Hunter happened to develop an attachment to someone despite his better judgement, some inane facet of his subconscious was simply not satiated until he blabbed to them all about his inherent defect. The same thing had happened with that stupid Human.

Why? Why couldn’t he keep a lid on the shame that rotted away all his hopes to look at himself and see someone who belonged in this world? Why couldn’t he just pretend and have someone who mattered see him in the way he wanted to be seen?

But…

Would his desire to be seen as an idealized fabrication ever overcome that stupid stupid stupid want of his?

The idea of being unable to hide struck him petrified. And yet, as unadvised and reckless and totally ridiculous as it was, Hunter so desperately wanted to be known.

And maybe that was a selfish thing. In the few times he let someone know him, they came to regret it. And yet here he was, forcing it on someone new, just to grasp at some juvenile longing to be barefaced and visible.

Maybe it was masochistic too. Because there was nothing like knowing that you had become someone’s regret.

The thought of becoming Willow’s regret sunk cold claws into his insides, and still, he wanted to tell her.

Willow was his friend and she had a right to know him. And hopefully, their foundation was strong enough to endure this.

He helped her win her Flyer Derby match,

He saved her from Darius,

He carried a heavy burden for her,

He helped her garden,

He made her laugh,

And...and….

Was it enough? Had he done enough to justify himself? To warrant Willow’s judgement of him to not fall any lower than someone mediocre who had earned his place regardless?

“A palisman is a friend first and a power source second.” Said Willow, shattering Hunter’s thought process before it could spiral any further.

Wait…

“You know he wouldn’t think you any better if you had magic. You’re his, that’s all that matters to him.”

The tone of her voice made the whole thing seem very cut and dry. Like it couldn’t be argued further. And it irked Hunter a little because this was the exact line of reasoning he been wrestling with ever since the incident at Eclipse Lake. When Flapjack had gone from a hindrance to a chance.

But he wasn’t dwelling on that right now, but rather on Willow’s demeanour. She was unfazed, entirely flippant, not even a surprised ‘Oh.’ for Hunter’s admission.

Hunter had not a drop of magic in him and apparently, that had been pathetically obvious.

He felt a hot flash of anger, only to wonder what the damn point was. He wanted her to know, but now he was angry that she knew.

Hunter’s deeper fury was usually more smoke than solid and it was oftentimes impossible to assess the rhyme or reason. Which proceeded to frustrate him on a fundamental level because he lived to assess rhyme or reason.

“You knew.” It was not a question.

Willow only shrugged. “Not for certain. But I had a hunch. Never saw you cast a spell circle. And I know exactly what ‘half-a-witch’ means.”

Half-a-witch.

So, she had deduced his condition via logic and objective observation. Hunter’s anger deflated, a swell of embarrassment heating over it.

Now he remembered.

‘Especially if you’re considered half a witch like me.’

Right. He had mentioned it. Frustrated and bitter, he had snapped at her, unwilling to comprehend that those ‘pathetic’ excuses for team members could be accepted so easily, while he had to tear himself apart time and time again just to earn a first chance.

(So. Yeah. Vindication for the Entrails. Sorry, Entrails.)

And now that he was thinking about it, he remembered the echo too. The echo of his own words.

Cell bars, three sets of eyes glowering at him, and that voice. She had quite a nice voice, but when it was warped in such a way, it became so unfamiliar. The emotions swirling in that voice had unsettled him.

It was layered with quiet disbelief, a hopelessness that he would never have imagined she was capable of. The miserable berating had already made Hunter go perfectly still with a sinking sense of knowing, but then she had uttered, unsteady with that soft fury towards herself and herself alone.

‘I’m just half-a-witch Willow.’

His throat had tightened and there was a flicker of awareness in his heart, his champion heart of selective ignorance. He was no longer looking at a friend that he couldn’t figure out, but at a total stranger that he completely understood.

He had quickly written if off as nonsense but like all unanswered questions, the haunt of her words remained with him. There was no way this witch was half of anything. What the Hell had she been talking about?

“You said it too.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, but the overt curiosity gave him away.  

I would like to understand.

“Yesterday. In the…”

“In the cell?” She asked innocently.

Hunter winced.

Willow’s smile was rueful, drifting further into unfamiliarity, worlds away from the girl he thought he had a basic understanding of.

“That was wrong of me.” She said firmly, scolding almost, and Hunter wondered if she was even talking to him.

“It does no good to keep repeating it, especially so long after I’ve gotten better. But it can be really easy to slip back into your old ways…”

“Old ways?”

“Remember how I said I was in the abomination track?”

Hunter nodded. How could he forget? This piece of trivia had him unsuccessfully attempting to picture her in that ugly shade of pinkish purple all day long.  

“I used to be…” Willow hesitated, staring at the tangle of her fidgeting fingers. She took a staggering breath and squeezed her eyes shut tight.

“The most useless witch at Hexside.” The words were ground out.

The back of Hunter’s mind suggested this silence might be a social cue and he was supposed to say something. But Hunter could not do so, stunned disbelief scrambling his focus.

When Willow finally summoned the courage to look at him, his face made her grimace. She hurried to continue.

“I couldn’t do anything right. My grades were terrible, all my teachers did was yell at me or look at me with disappointment.” Her voice had a gritty bite to it. “I think I preferred the yelling.”

It was a reflection that burned the back of his throat.

Hunter would prefer the screaming, the outbursts, the spear of cursed sludge that spoke in warnings of scars and grazed hair, he would prefer anything to those simple saddened words.

‘I know you can do better.’

“My best friend abandoned me.” Said Willow wretchedly.

And he saw it, he heard it, he felt it. Hunter, who had never been abandoned, never had a best friend, heard the way this girl spoke of things so foreign to him and he felt the overwhelming hurt like a blow to the chest.

Her best friend abandoned her.

This detail was the twist of the knife, he could tell in the silence that followed. Willow looked drained, like it had taken everything out of her to say it out loud.

However, Willow did not give up.

“But then…I got better.” She nervously rubbed her fingertips together, plucking up the tiniest of smiles. “At magic, that is. Or at least I was finally allowed to do what I was good at. I didn’t wake up every morning scared to go to school. My confidence improved. I actually felt happy with myself.”

Hunter’s relief melted the stiffness in his shoulders. The little burst of euphoria in Willow’s voice was cathartic.

A soft landing to the story. She would be okay. This wouldn’t trouble her anymore.

“But…” Her face had turned to stone. “If you’ve ever dealt with being ‘half-a-witch’ you know that it never goes away. You’re always thinking it. Deep down.”

Another pause but Hunter would not speak a word.

He had been given a mask, he had been given a staff, he had been given the whole world to compensate. But it had never felt like enough.

He had never felt like enough.

“But the worst thing you can do is let yourself believe it. I am not half a witch.” Said Willow, through clenched teeth. She turned on Hunter and he swore she was trying to tear open his soul with the intensity of her gaze. “And neither are you.”

Every fragment that composed Hunter automatically recoiled, steeling itself in a protective layer of gold.

No.

He couldn’t hear that.

She couldn’t say that.

She couldn’t say that to him.

He couldn’t allow it.

He wouldn’t allow it.

It wasn’t needed. It wasn’t wanted. Flimsy words of affirmation were worth nothing to Hunter. Especially coming from a witch whose blood practically coursed with power. It was a deep-cut insult and Hunter’s temper flared.

He barked out a harsh laugh that carried so little humor that even Hunter didn’t like the sound of it in his ears. “There’s a difference between you and I, Captain.”

Willow did not flinch, only shook her head passively. “No there isn’t.”

“Yes, there is,” Hunter hissed. “Your powers actually developed. You became worth something.”

He regretted it as soon as it shot off his tongue, though his glare remained steadfast.

It pained him to admit, especially in regards to Willow, his friend, but it was the sharp, nasty truth. She had only gained worth when she gained magical ability. That was just how things were on the Boiling Isles.

But this image she painted, this former version of her was burrowing deep into his mind and he couldn’t shake it. A powerless Willow, just trying to exist in a world where magic meant everything. When he pictured this girl, he was intimately familiar with the swell of her emotions.

It was hard, it really was.

But the difference was that Hunter had been hidden away until he was old enough, then had a weapon of artificial magic thrust into his hands and nobody had been the wiser. Hunter had the privilege of secrecy.

Not only had Willow failed again and again, but she had been put on a podium for everyone to see.

He wondered if her dimpled smile ever saw the light of day.

He wondered if she had been just as kind back then. How could she possibly mean so little when she was so kind?

No, he reminded himself. Kindness did not hold a candle to magic when it came to inherent value. He knew this.

…..in theory. He knew this, in theory.  

He wasn’t sure how he expected Willow to respond. With anger? Hurt? A reluctant agreement? Surely, after all this time, she understood the hierarchy of the Boiling Isles as thoroughly as Hunter. She couldn’t possibly argue with this.  

But the expression that crossed her features was lost on him, and all he could note was that it significantly darkened her face for a fraction of a second, before the tightened muscles relaxed, serene and almost contemplative.

“I remember this one time,” She began, completely out of nowhere. “Back when I first started at Hexside. I was here in the garden, trying to raise an abomination for an assignment. My parents were watching, cheering me on. They knew I was terrible at magic and figured if they supported me enough, I’d get better.”

His attention snagged on this detail. He imagined Mr. Park, the man with Willow’s kind smile, enduring a powerless witch for a daughter. Maybe he and his husband were as understanding as Belos had been, reasoning that she could be useful in other ways. He hoped so, as any other reality was too horrible to think about.

“But then there was…a mishap.” Willow cringed a bit, scratching behind her ear. “And welllll…long story short, I had messed up big and my cauldron of abomination goo had spilled all over my favourite flower patch.”

Something sharp jabbed at Hunter’s heart, which he managed to clock as sympathy. Willow’s adoration of nature was overwhelmingly known and Hunter could only guess how devastated she would be if a single sprout in her beloved garden were damaged.

“I cried like a baby.” She confirmed his assumptions, quirking a self-deprecating little smile. “Can you believe it? My parents had just witnessed me fail at the one thing a witch should be able to do and I was all torn up about my flowers.”

Oh. Right.

He had been focused on the flowers too, though that stemmed from being focused on Willow’s feelings. He hadn’t even thought about that.

He absolutely should have thought about that.

Willow scooched a little closer to Hunter, catching eye contact. There was some kind of significance in her gaze.

“So, do you know what they did?”

Hunter’s entire frame went rigid.

Punishment.

He struggled to keep his hands from clapping over his ears, straining with his voice box not to blurt out the words ‘Please stop talking.’

He really, really didn’t want to hear this part.

But then Willow Park dismantled the skeleton of their whole universe, only to reconstruct it from scratch, an impossible garden of her ardent handiwork. And this all begun with a simple sentence.  

“They helped.”

Something wavered in Hunter’s apprehension, like awaiting a strike that was unexpectedly delayed.

“They got down in the dirt next to me and they tried to help me salvage my flower patch.”

The tightness of his stomach unravelled some, if only to make space for the confusion to breathe.

“They did it because they knew I loved my garden.” Willow uttered softly as she touched the ground, blades of grass brushing her fingers. She spun a circle and summoned a cluster of beautiful lilacs.

“All of Hexside was telling me I was half a witch, but…I deserved to have something I loved. They did it because loved me. I didn’t have to earn it. They just loved me.”

They just loved me.

Something intangible rioted inside of Hunter.

“I was worth something then, Hunter.” The green fire of Willow’s eyes hardened into volcanic rock “So, don’t you dare tell me I wasn’t.”

As unyielding as that tone was, willing to fight back if provoked, Hunter’s keen ears picked up on that barely noticeable waver.

“I--” He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he tried to speak.

But Willow was not finished. “And if I can talk myself into believing this every day of my life, then you can too.”

She was speaking the kind of spells that bent reality.

“We’re not half of anything, Hunter. We’ve always been whole.”

We’ve always been whole.

We’ve always been whole.

We’ve always been whole.

He didn’t believe it, but it echoed like a mantra, razing the delicately structured mechanics of his worldview.

The story of Willow’s fathers settled on his mind, uncomfortable in that it was comfortable. It felt warm and innocent on the surface but Hunter was ingrained with too much vigilance to let it melt into him. It was a dangerous kind of story, one that branded itself there, one that demanded that he ponder the nonsense of it.

This story was deteriorating something at Hunter’s core and the worst part was he wasn’t resisting as strongly as he should.

And then here was Willow (Willow), the Best and the Brightest of the Boiling Isles and she was telling him (him) that he was worth something.

He no longer believed it a flimsy sentiment, at least not from Willow’s perspective. He hadn’t even an inkling that she spoke of anything but what she believed in. She was hyped up with all her reasoning and her polite retorts and she was prepared to make sense of it all.

What she said had made sense.

It wasn’t supposed to make sense.

This was lighting up his neurons in a way he didn’t understand, so he decided that it was bad.

But…

We’ve always been whole.

Hunter was silent for a long while, bare hands wringing his gloves so tight he almost ripped them apart.

Willow seemed to understand that he needed a moment to (Think? Breathe? Get a grip on himself?) process this, so she waited patiently, growing a maroon leafed fern to entertain herself.

Hunter’s thoughts were a frantic flurry of chaos but there was a gravitational pull towards Willow. To the girl who held her past self tight against her chest, even though the pain of the latter absorbed into her bones.

Please just let her go.

“I don’t get it.” Said Hunter, finally. “Why you’re so passionate about all of this.”

He looked at her with admiration, with admonishment, with a plea. “You’re an insanely powerful witch now.” His voice shook in an attempt to capture the magnitude of the statement. He couldn’t even come close.

Willow’s mouth opened at once. As bizarre as it would be, with all the evidence and her waves of confidence, he swore she had been gearing up to argue. But then her mouth drew in a firm line and she said nothing.

“You don’t have to think about this anymore.” Hunter continued, saturated with quiet yet fierce encouragement. “Move forward, Captain. And-and don’t look back on what you used to be. You look so tired right now.”

“I am.” Breathed Willow.

“And it’s obviously from making yourself talk about it. So stop. All it’s doing is hurting you.”

Willow took a moment to answer. Her wide eyes piercing Hunter, like he were a knot of roots that she couldn’t find the trick behind.

A smile cut her face then, small and sharp. “I think you’re right. In the basic sense. But remembering who I was is important to me. It keeps me standing upright, as both a witch and a person.”

That stray lock of her hair that Flapjack had loosened was still dangling there, occasionally lifting with the mild breeze. Hunter kept finding himself staring at it.

“For as long as I can remember, there have been people to love me.” Said Willow. “My Dads. Amity…” A touch of pain made a divot in her forehead, but then she swallowed, and it was gone. “Gus. And then Luz.”

The Human’s name sounded warm on her tongue. She really was her friend, someone who meant the absolute world to her.

“My life was unbearable for the longest time. But I can’t imagine how much worse it would have been if I wasn’t loved.”

Hunter heard the reverberating of Clover’s wings before she knocked into him again. He sputtered out a noise of annoyance, as she nonchalantly settled into her witch’s already preoffered hand.

“Aaaand that’s where Clover comes in,” Willow grinned, her palisman chittering happily as she scratched her beneath the chin. “It’s our shared ambition.”

He wondered if Clover had sensed Willow turning the conversation in this direction, as her appearance seemed almost rehearsed. If so, their mental contact was impressively strong.

“I’ve decided that my purpose as a witch is to love. To protect who I love.” The emphasis she put on ‘Protect’ was more than a promise, it was an oath. “My magic needs to be strong because I need to be strong. And I need to be wise too, so I know which decisions are the right ones.”

Hunter wanted to say something, but he wasn’t an idiot so he said nothing.

One could flood with wisdom but knowing which decisions were the right ones was still destined to be difficult at one point or another.

Hunter never knew for sure, as he had only done things of his own accord a handful of times, with so-so results. Whenever things went right for him, it was because he had been carrying out someone else’s orders.

“I’m going to keep the ones important to me safe.” Announced Willow, with a determination that Hunter had come to expect of her, but it still stole the oxygen from his lungs.

“And happy. I won’t let anything hurt them. I won’t let them hurt themselves.”

She stood up.

And then Willow Park, the Best and Brightest of the Boiling Isles looked at the boy on the ground beneath her and said “That’s my purpose and nobody is going to get in my way.”  

Fear struck down his spine like a bolt of lightning and all logic disappeared in that split second in which Hunter truly believed he was about to die.

The silence crackled, time suspended and Willow’s impenetrable stare gripped down on all of it.

But then this entire person burst at the seams with the funny little squeak and fingertips to her lips. All at once, the posture she had built melted and even the seconds seemed to feel like they were ticking again.

“Heh.” She chuckled, a little flustered. “Sooo, that was a little intense.”

And because that was the understatement of the millennia, Hunter could only laugh. It shook a little with the remnants of his tight wrung nerves.

“A little.” He agreed with a nod, causing her to laugh in return.

“But I meant it.” She said and she was the epitome of Willow then. Shining eyes and dimpled, the way she carried herself being so robust and utterly unstoppable. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

She threw a hand into the air and her devoted palisman sprung above her head. With a shimmer and shine, Willow was then brandishing her staff. “So, I hope you’ve gotten on board with that ‘cause there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow, still caught in the dazzle of the newly transformed Clover. “Gotten on board with what?”

“You’re my friend and therefore you’re important to me.” She fixed him with a level look and said the words that kickstarted the apocalypse.

“Whatever it takes, I’m going to protect you, Hunter.”

Hunter’s body rejected this so violently, he nearly threw up.

Willow had gone and split open a dream and now reality was bombarding down on them. Hunter was reeling with everything he had subconsciously buried just so he could stand beside her without feeling guilty.

Who she was, who he was, and those lines drawn in the ground.

Why would she need to protect him? Protect him from what?

He couldn’t stomach the thought of that either. If there were ever a danger that Hunter couldn’t take on singlehandedly, he’d be proven as a failure of a witch. He could not have it proven, he could not be protected.

Jittering anger prickled all over him in little sparks, threatening to be set ablaze.

He needed…

He needed to challenge this. To counter it. To actively push against it before it convinced itself that it was anything more than fantasy. He needed a firmer grasp on the way things were.

And apparently, so did Willow.

Hunter rose to his feet, eyes never wavering from the girl in front of him. He slowly closed the distance between them.

“And what if,” He reached out and pinched the head of Willow’s staff between two fingers, and realigned it to point directly at his throat. “What if I’m on the opposite side of this staff?”

Something in the wind changed, and Hunter suddenly felt watched. Watched by Willow’s little world of flora and fauna. It would be ridiculous to believe, but he swore that he saw it out of the corner of his eye, the whole of the garden shuddering as one.

Willow faltered, face crinkling into the exact stung expression he had predicted. Her eyes were splintered with emotion, like she had been slapped. (The difference was if she had been slapped, she would have retaliated without hesitation.) She didn’t say a word.

“Well…Captain?” Hunter dared spitefully.

He wanted her to answer.

He wanted her to answer foolishly.

He wanted her to have to admit that she didn’t know.

He wanted her to confront how wrong she was to think like this.

He didn’t want her to do any of these things.

Willow’s entire frame stiffened and her gaze cut to the grip on her staff. It tightened, her knuckles going white. “I can only hope you won’t be.” She muttered.

He would be.

“And if you are….well,” Her whole face twisted with a struggle, and when she looked up at Hunter, he knew it had been difficult to do so. Her eyes blazed, and he couldn’t tell if it was anger that sparked them or something else entirely. “Maybe that’s exactly why you’ll need protecting.”

She had dropped a lit match and Hunter’s simmering anger exploded.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” His tone was venomous. “You think I’m not aware? You being friends with that Human tells me everything I need to know. And whatever fight you think you need to be involved in, I know exactly what side you’ll be standing on.”

“What?”

Whatever the look in Willow’s eyes was before, the sparks of anger were flying now. “I wasn’t talking about--”

“You don’t need to protect me.”

He needed to say it. Loud. Firm. To chase the lingering thought of failure away.

“There’s nothing to protect me from. And just so you understand this a little better.” Fists balled at his sides, Hunter loomed closer into her space. Her features flickered in alarm, but she refused to break eye contact. He felt her breath on his face.

“I have someone who’s important to me too. And whatever it takes, I’m going to protect him. And if your friends pose a threat to him, if you pose a threat to him….”

Please.

Please don’t be you.

It was for Belos. Everything was for Belos. If he allowed this to go any way that wasn’t for Belos, Hunter knew he would never forgive himself.

Belos, who allowed a defective boy to not only exist but gave him the opportunity to prove that he could be worth something.

Belos, who dressed him in gold and handed him a staff and gifted him with a purpose.

Belos, who was cursed.

Belos, who was in pain.

Belos, who was running out of time.

Belos, who was the only person on this cruel revolting isle who loved him.

“And this is my life.” Hunter ground out. “This is my purpose. And if it all comes down to it and you’re pointing that staff at me, don’t throw away your shot at survival by being a sap.”

Please don’t.

“Don’t go easy on me, Captain. Because if it’s what I have to do for my uncle, I won’t go easy on you.”

She would kill him. The simple truth of the matter was that Willow’s skills outweighed Hunter’s and if she didn’t hold herself back, he wouldn’t stand a chance. As they were both so deeply aware of this, Hunter knew his threat was devoid of weight in that regard.

Willow did not look frightened, but harrowed. Like he had taken one of her flowers and ground it to dust in front of her.

Hunter did not need her to be scared. That was not the message he was trying to send.

Willow was strong but she was kind. A little too kind. He had never seen her in a real fight but he worried that her hesitation might weaken her tenacity.

Please don’t let me hurt you.

She was his friend.

She was a girl who sent him friendly texts and talked to him about food books and seasons, and she wanted to spend time with him in spite of…

Wait.

Stones dropped to Hunter’s stomach so fast, his legs almost buckled. He knew his expression had shifted by the way Willow’s softened.

Hunter dared to ask it, because it was crucial that he know the answer. “Why am I here?”

Willow grimaced.

He didn’t want the answer. But he asked again because he did want it.

“Why am I here?” Demanded Hunter, his breathing beginning to go ragged as the tension climbed his hollow stomach. “Why have you been insisting all day that I stay here with you?”

“You….” Willow murmured feebly. “You just looked so tired.”

He was tired.

“Is it because I’m on the side you don’t like? You think I need to be set straight or something? And if you feed me and say you’re my friend, I’ll turn my back on Belos? Is that the only reason I’m here?”

“No!” Willow yelled, suddenly livid. “That’s not it at all, it’s--”

“Because I’m better than that.” Hunter drowned her out. “Do you understand?! Do you understand that he’s my family?!”

“Hunter, you’re not listening to me! I’m trying to tell you--”

He could not register a word she was saying, he could barely even see through his tunnel vision and none of the other senses could be accessed as his brain screamed and bashed him to bits for believing that she had ever wanted to be his friend.

She….she….

“You are a powerful witch. The Best and the Brightest.” His praise was null and void when it was spat so viciously. “But if you really believe that making nice with the Golden Guard for your own gain would work, then--then maybe you really are--”

Oh.

Oh.

He slammed the breaks on that outburst before it could leave his mouth. But the very idea that he was about to say it to her hit him full throttle.

The shock was such a blow, it felt like he had been knocked clean out of a labyrinth of blinding smoke. The white hot anger was rapidly juddering out of him in unsteady exhales.

What was he doing?

What the Hell was he doing?

He crashed with regret, made all the worse by how Willow looked at him. It didn’t matter that he had never uttered the words, because she knew.

Willow would know botany in her sleep, she would know the complex mechanics of Flyer Derby while concussed, and she would know the rest of Hunter’s sentence in death.

And he knew in his core just how deep the incision was, how much he had hurt her.

The light in Willow’s eyes died and her staff clattered to the ground.

There was the rumble beneath them, barely noticeable if all his senses weren’t on high alert, and Hunter braced for mass destruction, for the thorny vines the size of basilisks, for Willow’s unrestrained rage.

So his surprise was palpable when the vines that sprouted up were no bigger than weeds and didn’t do much more than feebly wriggle around at Willow’s ankles.

“Is that what you think?” She said and she sounded like a million tiny broken pieces.  

Where was the anger?

Hunter needed the anger.

Willow dug her fingernails into her palms until they vibrated and when she spoke again, it was slow and careful. “I know who you are and I know what you stand for. But I never thought I could just change everything you believe in.”

But then it escalated.

“How can I?” Demanded Willow, her voice cracking “I’m just a kid!”

I’m just a kid.

Long gone was the girl of all those brazen declarations, the girl who swore that her purpose was to be a hero, the girl you simply couldn’t doubt because she was built of such extraordinary stuff.

The girl who said all these things unwaveringly in an effort to convince herself that she was capable of it. That she was worth something. Hunter knew that trick too well.

“Captain…” He began hopelessly, having no idea what he was going to say.

“But I want…I want to be your friend.”

His attempt at speech died on his tongue, and it felt like something was attempting to put pressure on his heart until it burst.

“In spite of everything!” She continued, voice climbing to more and more frantic levels. “It’s why I keep trying to make you stay. I’m sorry, I really am sorry…”

The vines at Willow’s feet were steadily lengthening, coiling around her ankles, up her calves.

They never reached for Hunter, never attempted to harm him or anything else in the garden, which didn’t matter as he was already thoroughly entwined with the brambled thorny words that Willow was growing.

“It’s-it’s just you seem so tired a-and worn out and you act like you’ve never had much fun, so I just wanted to help. You’re my friend and I want to help.”

This time, Hunter believed her.

He chose to believe that she meant it, he chose to trust her. Which was stupid on all accords, as nobody with half a brain should trust blind, but he had already doubted her. He couldn’t bear to repeat it.

Their ‘argument’ hadn’t even been that, just a one-sided outburst in which Hunter had hallucinated a mangled version of Willow who didn’t actually care about him, a version of Willow that had made sense in the moment.

A version of Willow that was not Willow.

Why had he done that?

Why had he done that?

Willow Park was a little bit nonsensical and that was something he needed to come to terms with.

Willow Park was not lying to him, he knew it in his gut, and he was devoted to hopelessly, stupidly, recklessly trusting her.

So, now he must attempt to hopelessly, stupidly, recklessly diffuse her meltdown.

But he never done this, never in his life had he ever needed to comfort someone. He was frozen with uncertainty, mouth garbled with half sentence starters that she kept cutting off whenever they spurted out of him.

He was completely useless at this.

Why had he never learned?

Why had nobody ever taught him how?

“I wanted to pretend.” She said, raw and desperate. “Pretend that all this Emperor’s Coven stuff doesn’t matter. That we could just have fun and not think about it. At least not yet. I knew it was going to sneak up on us eventually but not yet.”

To pretend…

Hunter hadn’t realized it but he had been pretending…

It had been nice to pretend.

Willow gripped the hair at her scalp so tight that Hunter flinched. “I’m trying to be wise but it’s hard. I don’t always know the right thing. I forgave my ex-best friend. I’m happier now that I don’t carry that grudge around. I missed her. It should be all better now. Most of the times it feels all better. But sometimes I look at her and it hurts.”

Her face was twisted in anguish, and the vines had reached her waist, cutting into her stomach. She didn’t seem to notice. “But I’m trying because I love her and I want to keep her. I’m trying to open my heart to everybody because I think that’s what’s right.”

She finally looked up at Hunter and his insides twisted at the sight. A terrible terrible gleam had turned Willow’s eyes to glass.

Tears.

Hunter had made her cry.

“Captain--”

“But maybe nothing I’m doing is right. Maybe I’m stupid,”

The vines were snaking down her arms, around her wrists and the way they were getting tighter and tighter had Hunter worrying about Willow’s blood circulation.

“Captain, the-the vines,” Hunter stammered. Y-you need to stop--”

“Maybe all of my decisions have been bad ones. I’m sorry, Hunter. If me deciding to pretend has hurt you--….if I made you think that I--…I’m sorry.”

“But you haven’t done anything!” Hunter exploded, alarmed at the harshness of his voice. It wasn’t her he was angry at.

Why had he blown such a fuse?

What was wrong with him?

And why was she not directing the brunt of her emotions at the person who deserved it? Why the Hell was she attacking herself?

Half-a-witch…

That had to be it. Hunter had almost said it and she had deteriorated from there.

“It’s not my magic anymore but I haven’t gotten any better.” It was all spilling out of her. “I’m still half-a-witch-Willow. I’m still…I’m still…”

Tighter, tighter, tighter…

This needed to stop.

“Willow.” Said Hunter.

It stopped.

Willow gasped quietly, so momentarily thrown off guard that she had lost her train of thought. She stood there, shoulders racking violently, and looked at Hunter with watery eyes, her wobbling bottom lip hung ajar.

Hunter swirled the word ‘Sorry’ around on his tongue, impatient to spit it out. But when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were:

“You’re not half a witch.”

On his second attempt to say ‘Sorry’, something so deeply altering of everything he had ever known was torn out of Hunter’s throat. “You’ve never been half a witch.”

And he meant it.

He meant it, he meant it, he meant it.

That girl had been powerless, that girl had been weak, but that girl had always been worth something.

The most delicately preened facets of Hunter’s brain protested this furiously. But he had decided to be stubborn, he had decided to believe in it.

And if he believed this for Willow, then maybe…

Maybe…

When Willow tried to raise a hand to wipe her wet eyes, she seemed confused by how her wrist snagged midway. But then her gaze lowered to the binds that pinned her to the spot and some kind of clarity cleared her face.

“Not again.” She muttered, bitterly exasperated.

The vines instantly slid off her body, now a lifeless tangle at her feet. She miserably nudged them with her foot. “This isn’t who I want to be.”

Hunter’s breath hitched.

He remembered his last encounter with that Human, when all of her passion was poured into rescuing those palismen. He remembered his staff turned on her, he remembered the hurt in her eyes.

He remembered Eclipse Lake. He remembered Amity Blight.

This isn’t who I want to be.

Willow moved like she was about to sit down properly, but then her legs gave in and she dropped to her knees, looking dazed and exhausted as she picked up her discarded staff. Tears were still trailing down her cheeks, accumulating in fat drops at her chin.

“I won’t force you to stay here anymore, Hunter.” She said, peering up at him. He suddenly felt uncomfortable being so high above her.

‘My name is Hunter.’ He had said to the Human, knowing full well his actions were breaking her sensitive little bile sac deficient heart.

‘Appreciate it. I uh, mean that too.’ He had said to Blight, once she had surrendered the key to him. Once he had threatened the life of someone she loved.

Weak insubstantial sentiments of gratitude to soften the terrible blows he had dealt, but knowing he would not lift a finger to make things right.  

Not this time.

This isn’t who I want to be.

He would stay with Willow and he would attempt to stitch together some semblance of amends. (Though he had no idea how he was going to do that. Darius was right, he did need a sewing lesson.)

Hunter shuffled over to where she was slumped, a wreck of shakes and quiet sniffles and he got down on his knees in front of her.

As she lifted her head to look at him, he offered her something to dry her tears.

Willow stared at it before gingerly taking it in her hands. “Your glove.”

Hunter lifted one shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “I don’t have anything else.”

Her chuckle was watery as she pushed it under glasses and mopped at her eyes.

He wanted to tell her he was sorry. But instead he asked “Is that what happens to you? When somebody makes you feel small?”

Willow sniffed. It was a gross sound. She nodded.

The two of them soaked in heavy silence for a terrible moment, and once Willow’s breathing had evened out, she asked.

“Is that what happens to you? When somebody says they want to care about you?”

“I don’t know.” Hunter answered, dragging his fingernails across his cheek. “It’s never been said before.”

Willow laughed and for once, it was devoid of humor.

“I think we’re a little messed up, Hunter.”

He wanted to argue with that. Hunter had always considered his upbringing to be physically and educationally superior than that of the average witch. He was strong and healthy and in control of his faculties and…

And…

He had made Willow cry…

Why had he made Willow cry?

“Maybe a little, yeah.” He said, finding that the idea of such a thing left him breathless.

“Am I doing the right thing?” He assumed Willow was wondering aloud, until he realized she was asking him. “Is this the right thing? Trying to care about everybody?”

“I don’t know.” Said Hunter again, because he was rather useless when it came to this particular subject.  If there was one thing he couldn’t guide her through, it was puzzling out the right decision. “But it’s a nice thought.”

“I don’t think I’m wrong about this.” She said after a long stretch of silence and her voice was regaining that welcome Willowy bubbliness.

“And why’s that?” Urged Hunter, simply out of a relieved desire to hear her speak like that again.

“Because you’re still here with me.”

Hunter made a dismissive noise, wrinkling his nose. Of course he was still here with her, but that didn’t equate to him being someone worth keeping.

“You were crying.” Hunter said simply.

“Exactly.”

“I’m sorry.” He finally managed to spit out, unsurprised as Willow stiffened.

Her eyes infused with a molten kind of stubbornness. “I don’t want to hear your apology, Hunter.”

He wouldn’t allow himself to flinch, nor shy away from her gaze. He would receive whatever burning words she dealt him without complaint.

“Apologize by making a promise and keeping it.” Said Willow, utterly adamant.

And here it was.

Hunter immediately shrank into himself, knowing that his loyalty would render him unable to agree to a promise. If she was requesting he go against the Emperor or disclose confidential information or--

“Promise me that you’ll try to stay my friend.”

Hunter’s flurry of thoughts stopped short, leaving him dumbstruck.

“Even if anything bad happens, promise me that we can still be friends once it’s over.”

Willow spoke slow and soft, like  these were sacred words.

And though Hunter still made to push against this, his voice had softened to match hers, barely more than a whisper.

“What happens if you have to point that staff at me?”

Willow remained unruffled. “I said when it’s all over. Promise.”

Hunter said nothing. It was not something to dive into recklessly.

“You’re like me.” Said Willow, which thrummed at Hunter’s heart. “And I just….would really like to keep you. I want you to promise that you’ll let me try to keep you.”

This was either a complex and sacrificial promise or one that was simplistic and innocent. And yet it somehow felt like both.

“I promise.” He finally said because he was stupid, and made a promise he didn’t know if he could keep. But the force driving him to utter the words was his desperate aching want to keep it.

He wanted this too. In spite of everything.

Strangely, Willow did not force any everlasting oath upon him, she hadn’t even suggested such a thing. Hunter would assume with how unshakeable she was over this, she would spell it to be a little more binding.

But then he realized this was deliberate. Willow was giving Hunter the option to break his promise. Somehow, this only strengthened his determination to keep it.  

He lounged there with Willow for an hour, until he was certain she had settled down. She was more sombre than usual but eventually he got some giggles out of her, once he began rambling nonsense about his infamous and unhinged castlemates.

“I’m sorry, which one is Kikimora?”

“So, imagine somebody who is so drunk on a power fantasy that she is constantly attempting to kill me. Then imagine this somebody as basically a deranged toddler.”

“That’s a very hard thing to imagine.”

“Well, get on board already ‘cause it is currently happening. I’m as confused as you are. I lock my door at night and shove towels under it in case this tiny lunatic slips through the cracks and stabs me in my sleep.”

“Is this why you wear the breastplate?”

“This is why I wear the breastplate!”

Willow howled with laughter.

Hunter was grateful that it came from the belly as it rendered her clutching her torso, eyes squeezed shut. As such, she didn’t notice how often Hunter stared at her.

That loose lock of hair made his fingers itch.

He wanted to touch her. To pat her shoulder, to rub her back, to brush the length of her arm, constantly swelling with the doubt that he had done enough to comfort her. (Or anything at all.) When someone was sad, this was what you were supposed to do, right?

But Hunter was being held back by uncertainty. Ever since his outburst, touching her felt forbidden.

The sun dipped lower on the horizon, streaking the sky with the most diluted shades of pink, orange and gold. And as those rays reached higher and higher before it all melted away, so did Hunter’s awareness that he should be leaving soon.

They had been enjoying the last dregs of sunlight when Hunter felt something ghost tentatively against his little finger. His body went rigid and, not wanting to startle her, he did not look down, nor make any acknowledgment whatsoever.

That finger was littered in burn scars and, though they were faded and unnoticeable, he wondered if she knew that she was tracing them, that she was brushing along the symbols of Hunter’s inherent recklessness.

Willow had draped her little finger across Hunter’s and that was enough for both of them.

He never dared look down, so technically he couldn’t even trust himself to say that it had happened. And out of the corner of his eye, Willow’s head was turned in the opposite direction, so she was no reliable narrator either.

It was a good thing she wasn’t looking, as blood pounded in Hunter’s cheeks and he really didn’t want his cool new friend Willow to see him as her weird friend Hunter, who could miraculously change colours.  

“I need to go.” He said at dusk and Willow nodded. She didn’t attempt to dissuade him this time, only rose to stand alongside him.

Hunter didn’t really know the protocol here. He was aware that once you part ways with someone, you had to say a farewell of some kind. (Hunter loved his method of saying farewell.) But did the rules change if you were parting ways with a friend? Would a simple ‘Byeee!’ suffice or would it need to be more personal?

When Hunter stood facing Willow, the latter idly swinging back and forth on the balls of her feet, he wondered what he could say?

His entire perception of this girl had been thoroughly reconstructed today. Something had shifted in a way that it could never be put to right and Hunter felt…

He felt known.

It was a horrifying, wonderful thing to be known.

Willow was as strong as trees, as gentle as her flowers and just as damn pretty, but he was coming to realize that she was far more, she was the entire garden.

Willow was a person riddled in nettles and briars, jagged ended leaves and ferns of strange colours. It was a language Hunter did not know but he knew the emotions underneath it. He knew the tangle of roots.

Willow was a little like Hunter and Hunter was a little like Willow. And nothing could take that away from them.

Kindling to their bonfire, rain to their jungle.

Hunter hadn’t realized that he had stepped into Willow’s space, until her fauna green expectant eyes were blinking up at him.

Gone was the girl who had bound herself in vines and cried. She was smiling and her dimples were saying their farewell to him alongside the setting sun. She was every bit the image of the girl he had met at Hexside, only this time she wasn’t half as much a mystery.

Well, she was almost looking exactly like herself but…

Hunter did not think about it, just rose a hand to wipe that loose strand of hair aside, tucking it away behind her ear.

His fingertip accidentally brushed behind her earlobe as he drew his hand away, Willow’s breath rattling.

He drew back to get another look at her, satisfied with the touch of order he had re-established.

Her lashes were in a flurry, one of her hands clutching the other and that pink pollen dappling across her cheeks.

This was Willow and Hunter was pretty fond of her.

“There you are,” He found himself saying and his voice was a jumble of things.

Who is this girl? Asked that wild, impossible piece of him.

Who is she? Asked the piece that had seen her and cried out, unabashed and delighted FRIEND!

Who the Hell is she, Hunter?  Asked the reckless boy with the scarred, curious hands.

“Captain Willow Park.” Hunter answered aloud, reverent.

He broke into a beam, wide and open, not even caring that the brunt of his teeth were on display.

Willow gazed at him like that again. Like he was gold.

She then slowly raised a trembling hand of her own and for a split second, Hunter though she were about to brush back his own forelock. (He hoped she wouldn’t. It was the coolest part of his whole appearance.)

Instead, Willow spun a tiny spell circle.

Hunter watched the green glow of magic before his eyes, the intricate work of her deft fingers, of the growing stem she conjured and the rise and close of warm yellow petals.

“The answer to your question.” Said Willow with a huge grin. “This is my favourite plant today,”

“Oh. Right.” Hunter didn’t know why he felt compelled to pretend he knew his flowers. “It’s a….”

“A yellow tulip.”

“Yes. Exactly.” He cocked his head, examining the odd way the petals pinched up top. It resembled a little cup. “What does it mean? In code?”

The pink pollen spread as Willow held it out to him.  

“Take it. It’s a gift.”

A gift.

In those first few seconds of expectant silence, Hunter did not know what to do with himself. He opened his mouth, only to clamp it shut when only a “Wh--” was wheezed out.

Then Flapjack appeared, landing on his shoulder and chirping a very helpful reminder that Hunter was supposed to take it.

He was mortified to discover that his hands were shaking as he went to relieve the flower of Willow’s hands, a fumble of knuckles bumping against knuckles.

And then Hunter was holding it, marvelling at it.

A gift from his friend, Captain Willow Park.

He marvelled it as he was saying goodbye, and as he crossed Willow’s brilliant bursting exploding garden.

He considered it all throughout his long track back to the castle.

And as he had reached the endless hallways of home, he was running his fingers across the petals, still dazed by the reality of the thing.

A flower spun to life by her magic.

And it had been given to him.

He needed to reach his room so he could wash up before dinner. It was difficult being both a Coven Head and sixteen, as in order to be taken seriously, he had to conceal any glaring evidence of stereotypical puberty nonsense.

Hunter could not show up to dinner when he was this sweaty, they would eat him alive.

He wound up passing Darius in his travels homeward, and the Coven Head had done the strangest thing. He greeted him.

“Little Prince.”

“Darius.”

“Since when are you known to wander around carrying flowers?” He asked, lifting his steely green gaze from the letter he was reading.

And because it was Darius, who was now technically a confidant of sorts, (Though Hunter still didn’t intend to tell him much.) he shrugged, feigning indifference and answered “A girl gave it to me.”

Darius managed to drop his jaw and grin at the same time, and Hunter suspected he was mocking him. Or maybe he was mocking Willow.

“Is that so?”

“It’s not weird, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Hunter snapped, suddenly defensive. “She’s not weird.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of saying that.” Said Darius, his tone so oddly lilting, all pleasantness as he cupped a hand to his cheek.

“Goodness, you’ve adapted much…faster than I thought you would. You’re doing splendid.” The ever wobbling amorphous hair bun struck out and playfully flicked back Hunter’s forelock, causing him to squawk indignantly.

“Now where did you meet—Oh, no no no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know the details of teenagers and their interpersonal relationships.”

He turned on his heel and strutted off, leaving Hunter bewildered, before throwing a glance over his shoulder and calling “Oh, but do give the little princess my regards.”

Hunter waited until after dinner to fulfil the Coven Head’s request, crashing down into his mattress. His bones ached, as they always did, though he tended not to think about it until he was laying flat out in bed.

He heard Flapjack rustling around somewhere, probably making himself comfortable for his night’s sleep in that nest he had fashioned out of Hunter’s socks. (Feathery tufts on all his socks was not a problem he had ever imagined for himself. But life was weird these days.)

Of all accords, Hunter should close his eyes and give himself over to unconsciousness. He was exhausted.

Instead, he rolled over on his belly and the glow of his scroll lit up his darkened bedroom.

RULERZREACHF4N: Darius. S,ays hi..,

Hello_willow: Hi Darius.😒

RULERZREACHF4N: Think hes.  A ;jerk?

Hello_willow: It took me hours to wash his abomination goo out of my hair

Hello_willow: Magic did nothing! 😡

RULERZREACHF4N: He;s the. one whO gave. me,..a scroll.

Hello_willow: Oh…

Hello_willow: I see…

Hello_willow: Hi Darius! ☺️💚

Not wanting to wake Flapjack, (Or Titan forbid, hear any more of his opinions.) Hunter managed to muffle his laughter with his pillows.

This was the moment he intended to ask her something before it slipped his mind again.

Sitting at Hunter’s window, propped in a recycled inkwell full of fresh water (Did magical flowers need water to stay alive?) was a single yellow tulip.

It hadn’t occurred to him until he had reached the castle but Willow had dodged his question the first time, instead successfully distracting him by dubbing it a gift.

RULERZREACHF4N: wHat doe s a.yelLow tuulup mea.n??

Willow’s chat bubbles appeared and reappeared for several minutes. Hunter could practically hear the sputter.

Maybe she just didn’t know. Which would make sense as it would be extremely embarrassing to boast about your love of Human Realm flower language, only to later admit that you were no expert.

Several minutes later and still no answer, Hunter had begun to slip into unconsciousness, only to stir from his doze when his scroll lit up, washing him in the glow.

He squinted at the floating image, rubbing at his eye, before his blurry brain recognized it as Willow. Her mouth were pursed to an exaggerated extent and she had one gloved hand doing a strange gesture across her chin.

(The next morning, a less sleep addled Hunter would recognize it as a teasing recreation of his profile picture. A less sleep addled Hunter would then proceed to try to replicate hers in retaliation.)

Hellow_willow: You left your gloves here btw

Hunter wanted to inform her that it was fine, he had spares but the keyboard had become unfathomably complicated.

His face then plopped into his pillow, conked out seconds before the collision was made.

And he dreamed, and he dreamed, and he dreamed until morning.

He dreamed of a girl who gazed upon a ravaged wasteland and decided to do the impossible. She lowered herself to her knees and she grew a patch of flowers.

“How did you do that?” He breathed, awed. “It’s extraordinary! You’re extraordinary!”

“You’re being dramatic. It’s not like I materialized all these flowers out of thin air.” The girl smiled with an airy wave of her hand. “And we can surely grow more.”

“Really?”

Her brow crinkled in confusion at Hunter’s disbelief and she stood up, tapping her foot pointedly on the earth beneath them.

“The seeds were in the ground. Didn’t you know, Hunter? They’ve been here all along.”