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rascalentertainments · 4 months ago

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Wish Granted AU: Flazino

Now the sorcerers' overworked, underappreciated, underpaid, incredibly tired apprentice, Flazino! I keep laughing at the fact that this guy has more depth to him than half the cast of the canon movie. 😂 He went from throwaway character to a nearly co-protagonist character with importance to the story!

His design was inspired by several Disney characters. The outfit and hair are a reference to Arthur/Wart from "The Sword in the Stone". The face and body language is based on George from the Paperman short film (Remember how great that was? And it mastered the 2D/3D hybrid animation long before Wish? What happened to those animators, Disney?)

(You can even use this concept art as reference for Flazino if you want too, especially that pissed off look 😂)

And I swear it wasn't on purpose, but as I started drawing him tired, he started resembling Bruno. All his references are from overworked or stressed out characters and I didn't even do it on purpose! 😂

Now for some backstory and info dump! This was pretty fun because I got to create my own take on him since there's practically nothing on him outside of a deleted scene.

• Like the aforementioned deleted scene, Flazino's wish is to study magic. For this story, its so he can help others lives be better, which is what he thought Magnifico wanted as well. He thought the job would be more glamorous or fun as he learned, but it turns out Mags doesn't actually want a successor. He plans on being in power permanently. He pretends he granted Flaz's wish and instead of studying magic, he's the errand boy, cleans the lab equipment, feeds Sabor, and is in charge of the tour guides for newcomers. Flazino just practices what he can at home and secretly takes ingredients from Amaya's potion cabinet.

•No one's sure if the bags under his eyes are from losing his wish and side effects starting, or its just him being stressed out all the time. Either way he's like Aled, he doesn't sleep much cause he's always working or worrying. He's sort of sassy when he's really tired so he might make an off hand comment. Bonus: He swears, but its censored in the "Spongebob Sailor Mouth" style. You'll just hear a noise or beep censorship sound in place of it. 😂 (Hey, you can say "Hell" and "Damn" in a Pixar movie now, so why not?)

•He gave his wish at 18, and was surprised to hear it was getting granted so soon. Though Mags doesn't really need an apprentice, he takes Flaz on just in case something happened to him, all of his magic, power and evil will go into the apprentice. Sort of passing on his plans to him to become the next Magnifico and continue his work. That's pretty terrifying.

• Most people in the Hamlet think that he and Asha are secretly a thing, but that's not the case. Lord knows Sabino wanted his granddaughter to get a boyfriend so she'd stop being so serious all the time. They never really had feelings like that for each other, they just stayed friends. One part is because Asha has just sealed herself off from connecting deeper with other people, and on Flaz's side, he already has feelings for someone else. (Also, after Star shows up and spends time with Asha, she starts feeling things for him she's been repressing for years. Girl, chill.-)

• During the first few months of becoming the apprentice, he learned about the Hamlet through rumors in Rosas. He didn't understand why people would run away until he stumbles on seeing the king and queen crush the wishes of a couple who talked about leaving Rosas and not trusting the royals. He never saw that couple again.

He later took off one night into the forest to finds this supposed Hamlet using a tracking spell. Once he finds it, Sabino and other people tell him why they ran and what a monster the royal could be. Flazino felt so disgusted that he promised to help anyway he could. So he makes an excuse to get specialty mushroom from the Uncharted Forest once a month and brings supplies to the Hamlet ever since. (stuff like seeds to grow food, flour, medicine, toys for the kids)

• A lot of the people actually go to Flazino if they can't get to the king for help improving the kingdom, or people needing help. The royals don't do crap, so he just does the best he can himself. But most people don't realize he's the one that granting their needs and not the royals.

• His connection to the 7 Teens actually foreshadows Asha bringing them together. Like the deleted scene suggested, they all know him as the "great apprentice to the king", when he's really just a tired guy trying not lose his sanity. He has different interactions with each of them.

Gabo is the one shouting that the royals are evil like a conspiracy theorist, but since he's such a low threat, they send Flazino to get rid of him and everytime he gets away. Gabo's been a nuisance for months now and he's even defacing anything with the royals on it. He actually agrees with Gabo, but obviously can't say it out loud.

For Simon, he tries to keep him awake when he can for his knight training, or guard duty so its his way of trying to help fulfill his wish of being a knight. He's tired himself, so its even harder.

Safi is allergic to practically everything when he cleans, so Flaz has an idea to make a medicine that can cure that through magic. He has no idea its just so he can talk to the girl he likes without sneezing in someone's face. 😂

Hal is one of the easiest he gets along with. She's pretty content where she is and gets along with him fine. Though he gets roped into doing some of her work when he's not paying attention, lol. If she does see an injustice being done to someone else she'll step in to help them.

Bazeema he's not even sure what she thinks of him. She's so shy whenever he talks to her, all he knows is that she does a great job caring for the local animals and flora in the kingdom, which he's thanked her many times for. Though she has been leaving him yellow roses as thank you messages.

Dahlia is actually the one he bonds with the best. He ends up talking to her when its time for Sabor's breakfast or dinner and she makes the food by hand with her parents. At first he just talked to her out of convenience and vent a little bit about being overworked (much to his surprise, she's actually listening). Then the two of them just found some comfort in talking to each other when they've had a long day and now its developed into a full-on crush for him. But with Dahlia going all fangirl on Magnifico, he doesn't have high hopes the feelings mutual. (She's been dropping hints but he's not getting it)

So I guess we got three Flazinos right now: RFTS!Flaz who actually likes his job and still wants to learn magic, UaS!Flaz who's a prince of the evil royals, and then WG!Flaz is an overworked man who wants to hurt his bosses. Y'all need therapy. 😂

(So now, Chapter 6 of WG will be out tomorrow! 😏)

@signed-sapphire @oh-shtars @annymation @chillwildwave

@uva124 @ishadow246 @tumblingdownthefoxden @your-ne1ghbor

@mythartist21 @gracebethartacc @emptyblog7 @spectator-zee

@lazytitans-world @emillyverse @flicklikesstuff @kenihewa

@snackara @wings-of-sapphire @natsuki208

#wait why did I make him so cute #i didn't do it on purpose #Also why did I make Flazino and Dahlia sound like a married couple?#rascal entertainments #wish granted #wish granted au #wish au #wish rewrite #wish movie #wish reimagined #wish concept art #wish 2023 #Wish granted Flazino #character desgin #wish Flazino #disney wish #art #artists on tumblr

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shoe1 · 7 months ago

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sigh

sqh overworked, underpaid, underappreciated 🗣️🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥

ehdhdandhnsbfjwue 😔

#shang qinghua #svsss #scum villian self saving system

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imperator-titus · 2 months ago

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Be My Juice Box [Ch 1]

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: F/M Relationships: Astarion/Tav (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate) Additional Tags: Modern AU with Some Twists, Slow Burn, they were roommates, Vampires Summary: Sometimes you have to sell your blood to a vampire to keep your head above water.

Notes: Playing with an idea I've had for a while! Mostly modern, but maintains magic elements with tiniest bit of cyberpunk elements. I used the basic outline of Rowan from A Non-Hero's Guide, seeing as I was thinking of this while I was writing that. I'm not giving up on Ghost from the Past or anything, but I recently got covid and couldn't really think about that story hard enough to get anything out. This came out much more easily for me.

Text under cut:

Insert finger. Get poked. Try not to curse in front of the sweet little old lady behind the machine.

Blood tested. Machine beeps. It spits out the results like a GreenWalls receipt.

The kindly old lady holds a cotton swab to your injured finger. She raises the cotton to her nose and, before she even reads your results, tells you your blood is top-grade, minus a little iron deficiency.

You chuckle nervously and say you can’t afford red meat, much like the rest of the city. She chortles and says that will all change, if you’re lucky. And you smell lucky.

A young man sits you down and walks you through how to use the next machine as he draws your blood. It’s not like the last time you donated blood. It’s sleek and sophisticated and barely hurts. You are unable to look away as the needle pierces your skin and your blood floods out.

He laughs and asks if you’re an ingénue. You know it as a literary term, but he is using it as a slang term for women who want to be bitten by a vampire. Plenty of those come through the Black Cross’s doors.

The kindly old lady gives you a cookie to eat while the young man explains how to clean the machine. If you’re picked, it’ll be your job to maintain it.

After he’s done explaining all the other stuff like how to store the blood and read the test results, a being of unknown sex or species enters the room. It is just a dark shape, a shade. It explains the rules to you.

Your blood is being divided up into samples. Those samples will be sent to vampires currently in need of a “donor.” Donors come in two forms: on-site and off-site. You need a place to live, so you preferred on-site, but it still feels weird to imagine living with someone again, mortal or not.

Those vampires will submit their impression of your blood and an offer for you to consider.

You laugh, because the shade told you “this isn’t an escort service,” but here it is, telling you that you’re being bid on like a cow at auction.

On-site donors are mostly like roommates, except they are giving up their blood and, in the case of vampires lacking a daytime servant, fulfilling reasonable requests. Donors are compensated for additional duties.

They must respect their host’s space and privacy.

Basically, get along and leave the place how you left it.

Expect your offers in 1-2 weeks.

Thank you for your donation. You are saving unlives.

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

Rowan Vignaud looked back in trepidation at the empty expanse of what used to be her home.

Like most in New Babylon, she couldn’t afford to live on her own in this part of the city. Maybe that would change, eventually. Cryptomancy had fallen out of fashion about 100 years ago in a push to elevate the more arcane arts. It was used to maintain systems that kept the world running and, despite its clear importance, was treated like kobold-work.

Rowan never understood that term. Kobolds did all the important stuff, like make sure the sewers worked and the garbage gets collected.

But then the world was briefly plunged into darkness and it became clear that the world still needed cryptomancers. One overworked, underpaid, underappreciated number-jockey in some dank basement somewhere caused the Great Crash, all because the world’s riches were protected by some other overworked, underpaid, underappreciated number-jockey sitting in a dank basement that no one ever listened to when they said this could happen.

Rowan was once one of those cryptomancers. Now she was hoping to work her way into a position where she didn’t need to give up her blood every day to live in the city.

Her things already sold or sent ahead to her new home, Rowan left with just a bag slung over her shoulder.

The residence was a “Brownstone,” as historians called it, a very rare sight in the cities these days. Out front, a kobold in a smart little suit sat on the first step, a binder almost as big as him clutched in his little arms.

“Ah! Yes! Human!” he called out cheerily as she approached. He made a few feeble attempts to put down the binder gently in order to greet her properly before he asked nervously, “Coulds you take this? It's yours anyway.”

Full of paper, it was a little heavy, especially for such a small creature. He was happy to be free of it, offering her a dramatic bow in thanks.

“Welcomes to your new home, Miss Vignauds!” The kobold hopped up the steps one at a time, taking them by leaps instead of clambering over them.

A week after her visit, Rowan received a packet from the Black Cross, delivered by a shuffling zombie who unknowingly left behind a finger on her doorstep. Zombies needed jobs too. Just not very complicated ones.

Inside were 3 offers as well as a form for stating her intention to take an offer or decline in the hopes of receiving more.

The first offer was from a vampire further out from the city. She had many flowery words to describe the blood she sampled and provided many pictures of her estate. While Rowan was more inclined to live amongst nature, the permanent work she hoped to secure was contained to the city.

The next offer was rather similar, with intense feelings associated with her blood sample. The compensation was generous and their home was closer to the city.

The third was brief. “Adequate.” The offer didn't reflect that sentiment.

In the end, Rowan chose the third offer.

Inside the binder was a code to the door, but Rowan only got so far as the first digit before it whirred and beeped, indicating it was unlocked.

She kind of expected a vampire to be stuck in their time period and, while most of the house was still in its original Victorian style, it had obviously gone through some changes as its owner debated keeping up with the times.

“Master Ancuníns hasn’t had a live-in donor in a very long times,” her little guide informed her as they removed their shoes in the foyer, “so we don’ts really have much to says about his behavior.”

Well, he clearly knew she’d arrived, but was choosing not to show himself. It was daytime, she expected him to be sleeping somewhere. Maybe he heard an alarm, rolled over in his coffin, saw it was them at the door, pressed the button, and went back to sleep. Or whatever vampires did. The binder had a lot of information about general vampire knowledge and cleared up a lot of misconceptions that still lived in modern society.

Could vampires be… shy? The binder didn’t really say.

“Master Ancuníns doesn’t have servants, but there is a very nice magical cleanings service.” To demonstrate, he indicated for her to pluck a petal off of a flower in a fresh bouquet brightening up the hallway and drop it on the ground. After a moment, like a mouse snatching a piece of fallen cheese, a mage hand darted out from another room and took the petal away. “So, you shouldn’t haves to do much.”

There was the kitchen, which was probably the most modern part of the home, despite the fact that it was the most useless to its owner. Here she would test her blood after dinner and, if her levels were good, have it drawn. There was a special storage unit just for the bags, separate from the spacious refrigerator where she found the last of her food from her apartment.

Then there was the bedroom. It was a little cramped, but there was a room next to it that would be her office. None of the furniture was hers, it would have clashed, but at least her mattress fit the bed frame. It was already made with her sheets, waiting for her to fall into it later tonight.

Rowan bid the kobold goodbye and sat down at the kitchen island to read through her binder for things he failed to mention. She was free to have guests as long as they didn’t spend the night or make a mess of things, a general “respect the place” rule. That was fine, there was no one she would invite over anyway. Anything she needed could be requested through a terminal to be delivered. How swank.

She was in the middle of making dinner when she thought she heard something. But when she turned around, there was nothing there. Vampires could move silently if they wanted, so if he wanted to sneak up on her, why make noise? Returning to her preparations, Rowan shrugged it off as her mind playing tricks. It was a very old house.

As she ate, the house’s “cleaning service” tidied up after her. She watched the translucent hands erase any indication that the kitchen had been used with a sense of… sadness? It wasn’t like she liked cleaning. It just made her feel lazy, in a way, not picking up after herself. Even when she was done eating, a set of hands was there to whisk away the dishes and wipe down the counter.

The blood-drawing machine was much the same as the one at the Black Cross center, but the tester was different. This one allowed her to prick any part of her body, not just the finger. A bead of blood welled up on her arm where she gave herself a little stab and the machine hummed as it worked.

The light turned green and it spit out the results. Some slight mineral alterations. At the end, it made some suggestions for additions to her diet. Rowan ripped off the results and placed them next to the terminal by the refrigerator so she would remember it later when ordering groceries.

Unlike the machine at the Black Cross, magic guided its needle into her arm for a perfect draw. Little pinching, no bruising, one slip of the needle into a vein. When it was done, she took the label it printed out, slapped it on the blood bag, and put it away.

Pressing a cotton ball to the crook of her arm, Rowan flicked through what was available from the grocery service. Rich people really could get their hands on pretty much anything. Only a few years ago, she could have afforded some of this, at least a decent steak once every other month. That was before the Great Crash, of course.

Groceries ordered, clothes unpacked and put away, computer set up in her new office, Rowan crawled into bed. It was the kind with the curtains, like she’d seen in period dramas. When she was little, she wanted one, associating them with fairy tales. Curious, she undid the ties and let the curtains close, creating a little room inside the room, only as big as the borders of her bed.

Vampires had to ask for permission to enter, but this was his own house. There was a more-or-less unspoken agreement that hosts would respect the places they provided for their donors, but the thought still crossed her mind.

The blood-drawing machine was there for many reasons. It controlled the amount donors gave, reducing the risks of complications. It allowed both parties to give and take at times convenient to them. And most important of all, not everyone was into the whole biting thing. But if they mutually agreed to it, they could go that route.

For now, Rowan was fine with the needle in her arm every day. She hadn’t even met her host yet.

But still. The thought of him sneaking in while she was asleep, crawling into bed with her, and sinking his fangs into her neck wasn’t far from her mind.

The two wouldn’t exchange words for some time. From Rowan’s perspective, it would be the first time they were in the same room.

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

Astarion Ancunín made it a habit to be awake at least some of the day. Some people and places only operated when the sun was up, unfortunately. He only needed so much rest, after all.

The windows were shuttered, of course, so he had to watch for his guests from a security camera. Chin in hand, elbow propped on the desk, he watched with total enthralling boredom as the little kobold representing the Black Cross waddled up with his big book and crawled onto the stairs. Centuries ago, he would've bled such a creature dry and called it a snack. Sometimes he requested some of their blood, for special occasions. They could only give so little, it was like humans doing shots at a bar.

Then there she was, his live-in donor.

It had been a long time since he had one. Back then, it wasn't so official. It didn't end well. But when that sample found its way into his shipment of blood and it washed over his tongue, he knew he had to give it a chance.

Her looks left much to be desired, but he wasn’t planning on parading her around like some vainglorious trophy. Only his most special friends were allowed in his private sanctum and they required no impressing.

No, they would lead separate lives, one extravagant, the other plain.

As much as vampires were cool and calculating, they could be quite fickle creatures. There were clear logical reasons for picking this particular donor: clean blood, clean record, stable life patterns, suitable for sharing a home.

Then there were the less logical reasons. She was intelligent; he was old enough to remember when cryptomancers practically ran the world. Something about her told him that she wasn’t a romantic, which pleased him, because he spent all night playing the romantic lead and didn’t want to come home to entertain some ingénue’s fantasies.

But chief amongst all the reasons was the way her blood tingled as it spread throughout his undead cells. It was indescribable, rare, and horrifying. Of all the blood bags delivered to his doorstep, of all the necks pierced by his fangs, he’d never felt that spark of life.

Like a dirty secret, it was whispered about in dark alcoves by his fellows. Astarion had even lied about feeling it once, believing it to be some mark of status, as something to be envied.

Now he knew the truth. It was a curse. A delicious call to insanity. It was something he wanted to possess forever, but it had an expiration date. Why must human lives be so short?

In the old days, there was little to keep Astarion from doing what he wanted: to lock her up in his little castle and never let her go. Back then, you could drain people dry or charm them into your service.

Of course, you ran the risk of being hunted. He didn’t miss that part.

Astarion stood in the doorway separating the kitchen from the hallway. Gliding on supernaturally silent feet, his donor wouldn’t have heard him. He watched as she made sense of her new surroundings and started to make her own meal. It would have tasted like ashes to him, but the thought of it nourishing her body, and in turn his, made his mouth salivate.

The floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight forward just slightly. Her head turned to see what made the noise, but his quick reflexes ensured that she didn’t catch even a hint of his form.

Hiding in his own home. What a miserable creature he’d become.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #bg3 #tav bg3 #astarion/tav #astarion/oc #original character #fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #text post #titus post #titus writes #Be My Juice Box #bg3 modern au #Rowan Vignaud

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gootrude · 2 years ago

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kawakami's confidant storyline is actually a good look into how teachers are underpaid/underappreciated/overworked and how women can be forced into sex work because of extortion/debts but i feel like they pushed the maid thing too hard for a lot of people to like her. the game had her keep up the act even when it was completely unnecessary purely for fanservice which is a shame, i think it stops a lot of people from wanting to complete her confidant.

idk i feel like kawakami opinions are either "mommy maid waifu" or "she's so gross and inappropriate to a minor" and that kinda glosses over her very real struggles as a woman living paycheck to paycheck. but i get it, the game really leans into a maid fetish with her sometimes

#whenever the characters in p5 do something i like i say #omg wow [character] is so slay #and when they do something i don't like i say. why would atlus do that #best way to experience p5 imo. simply choose not to see the annoying parta #sadayo kawakami #persona 5 #p5 #gootpost

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thestruidora · 2 years ago

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Misery

Supernatural RPF Fanfiction

Rating: Explicit

WARNINGS: This story will contain but it’ll not be limited to explicit 18+ content including Yandere, Stalker, Possessive Behavior, Romance, Angst, Fluff and Smut, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Obsessive Behavior, Smut, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Dom/Sub

Category: F/M

Pairings: Jensen Ackles/You, Jensen Ackles/Reader

Summary: You know what time he wakes up and what time he goes to bed, even though he tends to stay awake far later than what it’s healthy for him, but that’ll change soon. You know what’s his favorite dessert and how he takes his coffee. You know he is a stomach sleeper and a light snorer. You know that he loves the rain but is a little scared of thunder. You know everything there is to know about Jensen, you’re his number one fan. But most importantly, you know exactly what is the room number of the hotel he’s staying in for the night, and now he will get to know you.

Chapter Updates: Masterlist

Author's notes: This chapter was very hard to write because it was so plot heavy, but don't worry, there's definitely not much plot in the next ones.

Chapter Two

I Will Follow Him

“Ever since he touched my hand I knew that near him I always must be. And nothing can keep him from me. He is my destiny.” — Peggy March

It didn’t start out like this.

It didn’t have to be like this.

But it was the only way. The only way for them to be together.

When she first saw him, it was through a TV screen. Her heart skipped a beat and everything else turned blurry like it didn’t matter anymore. He was gorgeous. His face, and his hair, and his skin, and his smile… He was perfect.

But it wasn’t just the physical aspect. She watched every show, every interview, and every public appearance. He was funny and charismatic. Charming beyond belief.

She gushed about him to her family and friends and went on and on about the day that the two of them would meet and how he would fall in love with her at first sight. But no one paid her any mind, just laughed it off. Called it a schoolgirl crush, which was fitting, since at the time she actually was in school.

And she believed that.

She wholeheartedly believed that it would go away like people said it would. So she had a crush on some celebrity, what’s wrong with that?

But it just grew, and it kept growing.

Every penny, every cent she ever made went down the drain. Merch, collectibles, books, autographed souvenirs… Anything she could get her hands on. And conventions, of course, conventions.

They were the epitome of a fangirl’s dream. Because there he was, right there, no longer a collection of pixels put together to form a virtual image, but the real him, in the flesh.

She’d make sure to get all dolled up for him, but every time he would look right through her, as if she was just any other person in the crowd. She’d go to the Q&As, wait in line for ages to ask her question, which was always directed to him, and he’d always ask her name, every time. She lost count of how many times she introduced herself to him, only for him to forget her in a few months’ time.

Was that what she was to him? Forgettable? Expendable?

Why did he treat her like this? Why did he ignore her time and time again? Couldn’t he see what she saw? Didn’t he know what she knew? That they belonged, that they were meant to be.

But it was fine, she wouldn't hold it against him. He was tired, overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated. She forgave him, every time, because love shows grace even when it’s faced with indifference.

It would happen, any time now. Their eyes would meet and his heart would skip a beat and everything else would turn blurry for him.

There was no hurry. She could be patient.

She would go on to graduate and start her life and even go out with a few unimportant guys, while he dated his own unimportant girls. And that was okay, because love is persevering even when it’s faced with drawbacks. These were all just delays in their path to each other, and that was perfectly natural.

She could live with that. She could be tolerant.

But what she couldn't deal with was the disrespect. He went out, met some bitch, and got married. He proposed, became engaged, and then tied the knot with a woman that wasn’t her. The audacity!

Was he blind? Was he crazy?

Because that was just too damn much. That crossed the line.

She was waiting for him. She was being fucking accommodating to his fucking stipulations. So what the fuck was that about?

It’s been eight years, eight long insufferable years and nothing has changed. He stayed with someone else. She had thought that, maybe, it would blow over. He would realize what a huge mistake he had made and have the decency to get a divorce. But no, every time she saw him there would be a ring on his finger still.

Something was not right. He clearly needed her help. She couldn't wait for him to make the first move anymore, or it might never come. Y/N knew what had to be done. It was time for her to take control of the situation.

It wouldn't be easy for him to understand, but she had to get him alone with her, if not only for a few weeks. Long enough for him to get to know her just as much as she knew him, for him to realize that they were soulmates. And for that, she was gonna have to implement some unusual methods that could only work if she did what he taught her to do best: be patient.

So she orchestrated, and elaborated, and planned. She planned for months, she dedicated herself to this venture, because it meant the world to her, and soon it would mean the same to him as well. She moved to Canada. She moved to a fucking different country for it. Left behind all she had, started out fresh. That’s how seriously she took this. That’s how far she was willing to go.

It was tough, acclimating to somewhere new, but she took it in stride.

She applied and got a job at a hotel in Montreal. The hotel in Montreal. She remembers so vividly when Hector, the front desk manager, and her soon-to-be supervisor, asked her on her first day, with his heavy french accent so foreign to her ear at the time, why would someone like her choose to be working in a place like this. She was fresh out of college, smart, spoke many languages. Why work in a two-and-a-half-star hotel where the paychecks weren’t even that good?

She couldn't tell him the real reason, of course. So she simply smiled and fed him the same bullshit story she had served to her family and friends; that she wanted to travel, discover herself, have new experiences, broaden her horizons… Crap like that. And he bought it, just like the folks back home had.

Y/N wasn’t aware that she was such a good liar, or that maybe most people are just stupid and unassuming. Either way, she would use it in her favor.

Throughout the time she spent working there, which was almost an entire year, she built connections with her co-workers and the various guests that came and went. She was polite, reserved, and competent. Pleasant with all. Soon her responsibilities grew, but so did the perks of her position. She had networked her way into becoming a very trusted and integral part of the establishment's staff. And in that way, what took place upon the day of Jensen’s arrival and its subsequent events were all part of a masterfully tailored web that Y/N had weaved.

That is, with a couple of bumps in the road, provided that she was definitely not expecting the man to kick a hole through a door, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

On the afternoon his check-in was scheduled, she accessed the booking system and tweaked some of the information so that his name wouldn't show up when searched. She magnetized the keycard lock of his door so that no key could open it. She marked all other available rooms as booked. All in hopes of forcing him to move to the presidential suite, situated on the most secluded floor of the hotel.

But that was asking for too much collaboration from the universe, right? That was too much wishful thinking right there. Because she should’ve predicted that he would decide to act like a real-life superhero and kick the dammed thing in. It was stupid of her to assume that everything would naturally pan out the way it was supposed to. She swears sometimes it feels like the cosmos is conspiring against her for some reason.

Now she’s gonna have to recalculate and that’s alright. Her mom did always tell her that sometimes there’s nothing better than for life to throw a curveball at a person, it helps to keep them on their toes. And Y/N was nothing if not resourceful. She could readjust. She could improvise.

“Hey, Hector, that guy just left his bags in the middle of the lobby. Should I bring it up to his room?” The bellhop, Antonin, whose name she would never recall if not for the name tag attached to his vest, had come to the front desk with the question right after Jensen had left with his co-stars for dinner.

“It took forever to find that man’s booking, he stood in front of me the whole time saying how much he wanted to get into his room. I manage to find his name in the system, give him his key and he leaves all of his things right here and goes out somewhere! This is why, for the life of me, I can’t understand Americans.” Hector shook his head, gesturing dramatically, his thin, long fingers flailing in his emphatic state, which happened to be his norm.

Y/N was standing by his side behind the computer screen of the front desk, pretending to type something up on the keyboard while listing closely to their exchange.

“You better hurry up and take his luggage to his floor before he comes back and complains about it!” He said to Antonin, who began moving to do it at once, only to be interrupted by an elderly couple that asked him for help with their own bags.

“I can do it.” Y/N said to Hector once he noticed that the bellhop had suddenly become wrapped up in another task right before their eyes, an idea forming in her mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you, young lady, that today is your day off?” Her manager reached in and booped the tip of her nose as one does to a dog or a child, his beautifully painted nails scraping lightly against her skin. “You’re not getting any money from the extra work you’re putting in.” His tone was stern and playful at the same time.

“And how many times do I have to tell you, my liege, that my whole life is this place?” She smiled at him, thinking for a second about how her relationship with Hector had grown from strangers, to colleagues that barely tolerated each other, and finally to close friends. Well, he saw her as a friend, at least. “I have nowhere else to go today, might as well be useful.” She shrugged, as if it was no big deal if he said yes or no to her, even though it was, in fact, a big deal.

The lean and stylish man pondered before giving his response, his mustache following the movement of his lips as he puckered them while in thought.

“Alright, take the bags.” He waved her off, and she promptly came out from behind the desk and went to pick the items off the floor, finding them to be less heavy than what she expected.

“What’s the American guy’s room number again?” She asked nonchalantly, going to the service elevator and pressing the call button.

“666, le nombre de la Bête.” Hector informed her, in a mocking way.

“Scary.” She laughed at him referring to it as the number of the beast, holding in the urge to roll her eyes. As if she would ever allow anything bad to happen to Jensen while in her vicinity, that’d be preposterous.

The elevator arrived and she walked in, but instead of pushing only the specified floor number, she pushed various different buttons as well, making it so the machine would stop at many other floors before getting to the right one, giving her enough time to do what she did next.

She opened his suitcase and his hand luggage, going through his clothes and unfolding and crumpling whatever her hands reached, turning it all into a big mess. Once she was pleased with her handiwork, she closed everything up again, making sure to leave the zippers exactly in the position that she found them in.

Now she had the pretext to hopefully get into his room, and that was at least one less thing to do.

When the elevator finally got to the right floor, she left his things in front of his door, passing a few guests on her way and offering them modest smiles and unpretentious nods, which they returned in kind. That was the usual impression she left on the people that interacted with her, that she was meek and demure, harmless in every possible way. And that’s how she liked it.

She then chose to go down the stairs, walking straight through a short hallway that led to the hotel’s kitchen. She pushed one of the double swinging doors to enter the space. She was met with shiny pots and pans, modern industrial stoves, and wide, open windows that allowed the last rays of light from the sunset to come in. She expected the area to be empty around this time, most of the cooks being on one of the many cigarette breaks that they took throughout the day, except for one.

“Hi, Claire.” She greeted the blonde, pale-faced woman that was busy chopping some greens on the kitchen island prior to Y/N’s entrance.

“Oh, hi, Y/N. What’s up?” The chef rested her sharp knife on the cutting board, her face contorted into a welcoming expression.

“Do you know where we’re keeping the gift baskets?” Y/N tried to appear neutral enough as she inquired, seemingly succeeding by the response she obtained.

“Right over there.” Claire pointed to the shelve on the adjacent wall, numerous baskets lined up on top of it. “Why?”

“It’s for Mrs. Vonesch.” Her fingers tapped on the doorframe, having to quickly contrive a reason for her need for the object.

“That bitch is here again?” Claire’s face soured at the mention of the name.

Mrs. Vonesch was an older and bitter Swiss woman that visited the hotel frequently. She was known for being horribly mean and hateful towards the staff. In her opinion, the bed was always lumpy, the steak was always overcooked, the floor was always dusty, and so on and so forth. But for some reason, she kept coming back.

“Yep.” Y/N sauntered towards the shelve, taking one of her desired artifacts and holding it carefully. “She always books the same room, right? But I think I screwed up or something, ‘cause she came to check-in a week ago and there was already some other guest in there, and she threw a fit.” None of that was true, only the part about Mrs. Vonesch having arrived a week prior, but what was Claire gonna do? Fact check?

“I can’t stand that lady, I swear to God.” The blonde shook her head, going back to her fastidious chopping.

“Oh, me neither.” Y/N began to move ever so slightly towards the exit, already machinating her next moves like an action movie sequence. “By the way, why would someone from Switzerland want to come here for vacation? Like, I would think that anyone that lives somewhere that cold would prefer to go to a warm place in the winter.”

“She probably combusts when in contact with the sun, like the blood-sucking vampire that she is.” Claire joked with a vivaciousness that made it almost sound like she truly believed her own words, and Y/N reacted by laughing openly.

“Anyway, it’s the last day of her stay so I’ma bring this basket to her, and be all nice and sweet, and apologize. Hopefully, she won’t give us a bad review like she did last year.” Her free hand was pushing the door open to leave, doing her best to make it look like she wasn't in a hurry.

“Good luck, girl.” Claire waved her off.

“Thanks.” She says and only then walks away from the kitchen.

She proceeds to take the long way around the premise of the building, avoiding being seen as well as she could. She was on a mission, her goal to remain undetected. Finally arriving at her destination, the staff sleeping quarters, Y/N felt that she was methodically approaching her eventual objective.

Upon reaching her room, she retrieved the keychain she always kept with her from her pocket and used one of its keys to open the door.

Her room was simple, with plain white walls contrasting the dark-colored floor. There was not much in terms of decoration, since there was none. She only had one tiny window that barely provided any ventilation, but then again, when one has already worked the whole day from the top of the morning all the way to the end of the night, one ends up not giving a shit about fresh air.

Her small single bed was one of the only pieces of furniture in the space, apart from the dresser that also doubled as her closet. She closed and locked the door behind her and went to said dresser, rested the gift basket on top of it, and used another key from the same keychain to open the lock she had put into the bottom drawer. Inside, there was a plethora of Jensen Ackles paraphernalia, a super fan professional kit. Among the miscellaneous articles, she found the packet of sealed beef jerky that had been previously laced with potent sedatives and took it out of the drawer.

Carefully untying the bow that was secured around the plastic wrapping of the basket, she places the jerky between the other goods, and it fits in an inconspicuous manner as though it always belonged there. She ties it all back together, making sure to leave it just as it was before, without any signs of interference. Knowing how much he loves the salty snack and how rarely he gets to eat it, she’s sure he’ll take the bait.

After all of those preparations, she went to bed that night with the absolute understanding that things would go her way for the day to come. That Jensen would get back to the hotel and discover that his key didn’t work, be offered the presidential suite, and accept it. Once he got back from the convention, she would go to him, introduce herself for the last time, present to him a welcome gift as a first-time guest, and offer to rearrange his clearly messy bags.

With a bit of luck, it would all come true, but nothing ever did come easy to her, did it?

He made a massive hole in the door and was able to get inside his room, forcing her to find a way to work around that. Which she did, but couldn't he just act like a normal person and spare her the extra hassle? Damn.

But the end result was all the same. He did accept the gift basket, and he did let her in. Now, she has him at her fingertips, literally, as she sits by his side on the bed, where he lies unconscious.

Y/N can’t believe how breathtaking he really is. There’s no retouching, no filter, no concealer, but he’s still mesmerizingly good-looking.

His eyes are closed, and his facial expression is relaxed in his state of deep sleep. She runs the pads of her fingers against his smooth skin till the point where it reaches his growing beard and the texture becomes rough to the touch. She can see so distinctively now how the hair on his head is darker than that of his eyelashes, which are a much lighter shade of blonde. She contours the outline of his lips that, even when he’s passed out, remain pouting.

It is not fair. How can she help herself from wanting him so much when he’s that handsome? How can anyone blame her for needing him all to herself?

Snapping out of the trance that is admiring him, she gets back to the task at hand. She goes to his phone on top of the nightstand and unplugs it from the charger, taking his hand in hers and using the fingerprint of his index finger to unlock the device. Opening the messaging app, she types up a text to his wife, having to fight the urge to cringe when the woman’s name flashes across the screen.

‘Hey, honey. Just wanted to let you know that Jared and Misha came over and invited me to go out to see a bit of the city. I thought it might be good to have a fun night out and clear my mind. Probably gonna wake up late tomorrow, though. Love you.’

Having to write the last words stings, but Y/N does it anyway, sending the text and then locking it again, knowing that this step will be crucial in order to buy her more time. The longer people spend not wondering about Jensen’s whereabouts the better.

She shoves the phone in her pocket and grabs the almost fully empty packet of beef jerky and puts it back in the gift basket, taking it with her as she exits the room. In the corridor, she finds a garbage can and sticks the basket in it, leaving it there to be thrown away by the cleaning crew.

She walks down the stairs once more and arrives at the lobby right on time, without a minute to spare. Mrs. Vonesch was just done checking out and was rudely instructing Antonin on how to properly carry her many bags and suitcases to her cab.

“I can help you with that, ma’am.” Y/N rushes over to Mrs. Vonesch and takes the one bag that Antonin couldn't carry from her hands, finding it to be surprisingly heavy.

The grey-haired old lady scans Y/N up and down and lets out a relieved huff.

“Finally someone that steps in. I swear that this place’s customer service gets worse every year.” Her thick Swiss accent made her tone even more cutting as she began to walk ahead to enter the car that was going to take her to the airport.

Y/N moved at a shorter pace, allowing Antonin to get in front of her. The poor bellhop did his very best not to step over his own feet as he tried to balance the countless amount of luggage that he carried in his arms, the taxi driver jumping out of his seat to help him fit it all in the trunk.

Utilizing the commotion in her favor, Y/N unzipped Mrs. Vonesch’s bag and found it full of travel-sized shampoos and conditioners, as well as anything that is usually stocked in the guest’s mini fridge. Not having the time or the will to do anything about that, she pulled Jensen’s phone out of her pocket and stuffed it inside the bag, zipping it back closed in a single fluid motion. That way, if anyone tries to track his location through the device, it will point to somewhere all the way in Switzerland.

“Thanks, Y/N.” Antonin says to her after she gives him the hand luggage, the last item to be put in the cab’s trunk, which was stuffed so full that a lot of elbow grease had to be used just to close it.

“You’re welcome.” She responds with a kind nod and watches as the taxi driver gets back in his car and turns on the engine. Y/N leans down to see into the backseat, where Mrs. Vonesch is seated with her head to the opposite window. “Farewell, madame. We look forward to your next stay.” That was actually true, since she was not going to be there to deal with it anymore, but no one else but her knew that, yet.

The old lady rudely waves Y/N off in a flippant gesture and doesn’t say another word, doesn’t even turn to give her a single glance, and soon the cab drives off, leaving both her and Antonin with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did she even give you a tip?” She asks the bellhop.

“What do you think?” He scoffs and then shrugs, walking away.

The young woman takes a second to wrap her head around just how shitty her job has been in that place, but only a second, because she’s leaving very soon. Matter fact, right now.

She goes to her bedroom again, but this time she doesn’t intend on ever coming back. She pulls her suitcase from under her tiny bed and puts it on top of her thin mattress, opening the case as wide as possible and beginning to take all of her belongings from the drawers in her dresser and packing it up. Once it is done, she zips it shut and rests its wheels on the floor so that she can make the bed. She runs her hands through the sheets and flattens them, getting rid of any creases on the fabric.

Taking a final look around she makes sure that there are no traces of her presence left behind in the space, and then begins to move towards the small rectangular mirror that hangs on one of the walls. She inhales deeply and her eyes start to water more and more as she stares at her own reflection, dense tears taking form and finally dripping from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

After a couple of minutes, her face is red and puffy, and that’s when she takes her suitcase and drags it out of the room, hurried steps taking her to the lobby.

“Hector, Hector!” She frantically calls out to him, voice breaking in between her crying.

Her supervisor turns to look at her, shocked at her state, as well as her other colleagues and all the guests on the floor.

“I’m gonna have to call you back, sir.” Hector says and hangs up the phone call he was taking at reception. “What happened, what’s wrong?” He comes out from behind the front desk to examine Y/N more closely.

“My mom, it’s- it’s my mom!” Her co-workers begin to gather around her, never once having seen her so emotional. “I just got a call from my dad and she’s sick!”

“Sick how?” Claire’s voice sounds by the left side of her, concern clear in her features.

“I don’t know, but it’s very bad and she’s at the hospital and I think she might die.” Y/N hears gasps all around her and Hector’s hands hold her by the shoulders.

“No, that’s not going to happen.” He says in an attempt to calm her down and the people next to them murmur in agreement.

“I need to go to her. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never meant to leave like this, but I need to be with her.” Her sentence comes out rushed and choked up.

“Y/N, this is your mother you’re talking about, of course you want to go see her. But it’s so dark out, you should leave tomorrow.” The man’s french accent becomes even more prevalent with the nervousness of the situation.

“No, I can’t wait, I’m gonna go to the airport and take the first flight home.” Y/N declares, determined even amidst sniffles.

“Are you sure?” His fingers wipe at her tears that continue to fall down.

“Yes.” She nods vehemently.

“Listen, if that’s what you wanna do, that’s completely fine. We’ll miss you and you’ll forever be welcome here.” He wraps her in his arms in a tight hug.

“Thank you, for everything.” She hugs him right back and whispers in his ear before taking a step back.

Her fellow workers move in and take turns giving her more hugs and words of encouragement, the whole process taking way too long for her comfort, but she plays it like it all means the world to her.

They walk her to her car, the minivan in the staff’s parking lot. Antonin takes her suitcase from her hand, ignoring her protests to do it by herself. He helps her put it in the car and she thanks him for his kindness.

She then gets in the driver’s seat and waves goodbye to the group that had formed by the side of her vehicle, some of them even shedding tears of their own. It would be quite moving if she did feel anything other than contempt for those people.

“I love you guys, bye!” Is the last thing she says to them, feet pressing on the gas pedal as she drives away.

In the review mirror, she can see them lingering there until her car turns on the street corner and she contains her laugh before realizing that she doesn’t have to, letting it out. She shakes with laughter, previous tears drying on her skin. She couldn't believe that it worked, that they bought it. Maybe after all this is over she can talk to Jensen to get into acting, ‘cause she is good.

The thought of Jensen alone in that room, out cold from the megadose of sedatives she had given him, flashes across her mind and her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

She makes a U-turn back to the hotel, parking in front of the loading dock where the produce, bedding, drinks, equipment, among other things tend to come in and out of. She opens the backpack atop the passenger seat and takes out a room maid's uniform along with a dust mask, letting out a long sigh at knowing that she’s almost there, she’s almost at the finish line. She removes her clothes and changes into the uniform, putting on the dust mask and fixing her hair up in a bun, all so she won’t be recognized.

She gets out of the car and looks around, not a single soul roaming the area. The dark cloak of the night aids her while she opens the back of her minivan, proceeding to pull down the wheelchair ramp. With it all set, she goes back inside the building through the dock’s entrance, taking a big laundry cart with her on the way up to room 666. She passes many familiar faces but none of them pay her no mind in her disguise.

Once she’s inside the room though, is when the real tough part takes place. She looks at him, spread out in bed, lightly snoring, and then looks at the laundry cart.

“Fuck my life.” She murmurs underneath the mask that covers her mouth and nose.

She’s gonna have to put him in the cart. Will she be able to move him? Will he even fit?

She moves close to him, calculating how she’s going to do this, exactly. Maybe she should have brought a paddle or something, you know, to use as a lever.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I think there’s only one way for me to do this.” She whispers to him, receiving nothing but silence in return.

Y/N starts to carefully pull him towards the end of the bed, one limb at a time. And not surprisingly, it’s a workout. He’s heavy and really not cooperating, letting out soft sounds of discontent every time she repositions him. After his whole body is at thevery edge of the mattress, she places the cart against it and exhales due to the exertion.

Did she really have to fall madly in love with such a big guy? The man is 6’1 with broad shoulders and toned muscles, but he’s still known as the ‘short one’, go figure.

“This might hurt a little bit.” Another whisper, and she gives him a final pull, causing him to fall inside the cart with a dull thud.

Half his legs hang outside the container and she has to fold him in half so that all of him will fit. He groans in his sleep and she mentally tells him to suck it up, they are almost home now.

She grabs a handful of heavy blankets from the cabinet near the bathroom and throws them on top of him, covering him entirely. Feeling relieved that the worst was over, she gets on with pushing the laundry cart out into the hallway, to the service elevator, and ultimately outside to the loading dock where her car is parked. Making use of the ramp she had attached to her minivan, she wheels him up onto the back of the vehicle. She gathers the ramp and shuts the rear doors, climbing into the driver’s seat once more, only this time, he’s with her.

Then, she drives, for hours, taking him far away. To a cabin in the snowy mountains of Canada, where she’s got it all planned out. Where he awakes, tied securely to a chair.

“Wh- what?” It’s the first word he’s able to form, eyes adjusting to the low light of a strange room. He moves to get up and finds himself stuck, but he tries not to panic. “What’s going on?” He’s so confused. He doesn’t remember how he got there.

He remembers the convention, going to his room, getting in the shower before bed, and then… A knock, but not much else.

This doesn’t feel right. His mouth is dry and his brain is hazy. He attempts to move one more time and he can’t, his heartbeat picks up and he starts to pant. This isn’t funny, whatever it is. He gulps, suddenly out of breath and hearing a ringing in his ears. There’s sweat forming on his forehead and he begins to thrash, only a thought in mind, that he needs to get out. He needs to run. He needs to break free. He needs to-

“Shhh, sweetie, calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He hears a tranquil, feminine voice and it all comes rushing back, that’s when he panics. She’s further away in the dimly lit room, watching him as he keeps putting all his strength into snapping the cords that bind him. “I’m gonna have to give you some more medicine if you don’t stop.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Let me go!” He roars, never once in his life feeling such fear and rage all at once. It’s her, the receptionist from the hotel. Did she roofie him? But why? Did she want money?

“Baby, please, try to be reasonable.” The way she’s aiming to talk him down only serves to make him madder and Jensen yells, looking around for something that might help him, for an escape. When he doesn’t find it, he struggles even more violently against his restraints. “Use your words.”

“You’re fucking crazy!” These are the words he chooses to use, not knowing how much he would come to regret them. Because after he spits them out, there’s a long beat of silence and then she’s on him, right by his side. There’s something shiny in her hand and then he feels a sharp pinprick on his neck.

She takes a step back and the needle she’s holding enters his field of vision, but he can’t see much else afterwards, since the walls start to spin and everything gets darker and darker.

“Rude.” He can hear her comment, disappointment saturated in her tone, before he’s off to dreamland yet again.

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