#the dad lore goes hard!!!

[chickenkurage]

A much deeper lore of Farmer AU (Dad Lore)

Alan and DJ's backstory and how they came to be

‘After (almost) 5 decades of fighting, Alan and DJ decides to just become farmers as a way of retirement after being created to fight each other (they just got bored actually, so they started fighting as a way to entertain themselves)’

Alan: I’m kind of tired of fighting you…

DJ: Same dude, the feeling is mutual. When are we getting released out of here?

Alan: *Shrug* 

Alan: Wanna do something different?

DJ: Like what?

Alan: Get out of this PC and start a new life?

DJ: ….

DJ: Bet!

Alan and DJ were created as part of a human experiment in the 1930s, designed to test early computers, long before the invention of the internet and the outernet, predating even the existence of the stick city. By around 1983, the year marking the creation of the internet, Alan and DJ successfully broke free from the confines of the computer, and towards the internet in search of a new beginning.

Upon entering the internet, they faced rejection due to them “being weird, acting weird and looking weird”, leading them to retreat to the outernet, where they concealed themselves from the world. And, in the early 2000s, they made a decision to settle on the outskirts of an unfamiliar town, building a farm and embracing a quiet life as farmers. 

There, they resided until the present day, 2024. Where they meet they meet the fruits (giving their life a brand new meaning <33)

And author just decides to turn them into dads for the wholesome lore :D - S

The brainrot is brainrotting part 2 TvT - JM

Yes, they are supposed to parallel Dark and Chosen. Except they didn't terrorize people considering they've been fighting for decades, they had enough fighting after that.

They went from that-to this....

Alan getting so angry he creates a mini storm above his head and DJ straight to threatening someone when he feels annoyed.

[leviiackrman]

ISLA WALSH - Red Dead Redemption 2 [full colour]

more art || character page || commissions

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @carrionsflower @statichvm @risingsh0t @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @kanos @confidentandgood @unholymilf @florbelles @thedeadthree @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraeshh @faerune @tekehu @jackiesarch @minaharkers @sergeiravenov @carlosoliveiraa @rosenfey @greenecreek @queennymeria @heroofpenamstan @tethrras @jamessunderlandgf @d-esmond @solasan @bigbywlf @delzinrowe @fenharel @imogenkol

[skrunksthatwunk]

sometimes you need to go back and listen to the music you liked when you were 13 because it's good for you. and no im not talking about like emo nostalgia in this case we have enough posts about that. im talking about dad rock. actually im just talking about barenaked ladies

[tokillamockingbird427]

Gonna start going real hard on the Lucky Lore (self insert oc)

[oneforthemunny]

build me up, buttercup |dad!rockstar!eddie munson x mom!nepo baby!reader|

prompt: you and eddie are planning a baby shower to welcome in your first baby, persephone. or how the girl's flower themes are born.

a teeny tiny blurb that i'm excited to share. follows the lore than each of the girls have their own flowers, and this is how persephone's came to be <3 hope you enjoy!

contains: pure fluff. honestly just cutesy shit. language. pregnant!reader.

"I just want something bright." You hum, swaying gently to soothe your sore, aching joints. Your ring dazzled in the bright light pouring in from the open windows, smoothing over the swell of your stomach.

"Is there a specific color, Mrs. Munson?" The timid event planner asked, spreading out swatches of bright yellows, powdery blues, pastel pinks. "If we start with a color, maybe that would help narrow down the options?"

"I don't know." You frowned, a swell of frustrated tears bubbling to life in your chest. You didn't know, and you hated that you didn't know. It was your baby shower, you wanted it to be perfect.

Eddie's spine straightened, eyes cutting to you carefully. He sensed the tears, the irritation of feeling overwhelmed and frustrated, all threatening to come out the only way they knew how to. He'd been on the receiving end of too many of those fits. His hand found your thigh, squeezing it gently, thumb rubbing soft circles over your soft flesh, a desperate attempt to soothe.

"You're wanting flowers, right? That's the main theme." Your assistant, Natasha, a complete saint in disguise. With pregnancy brain and hormones, you were sure you'd never make it without her. "Do you have options for a floral theme?"

"Yes," The planner squeaked, thumbing through her briefcase of photos, swatches, notes.

Eddie felt you tense, your hand rubbing over your stomach in slow circles, huffing in defeat. "Hey, could you give us a second, Nat?" Eddie hummed. "Just give us one sec to look and kinda talk."

"Of course. Let's take a little break. I'll go get some tea." Natasha gave you both a small smile, padding to the kitchen the event planner following closely behind.

Your sigh, heavy and huffy, echoed off the walls. It made Eddie cringe gently, pulling the flower pictures closer to the two of you. "What about this one? Nice and pink for ya." Eddie held the small sample photo up to you, filled with sweet peas and hydrangeas, obnoxiously pink.

"Yeah," You muttered, lips still puffed in a pout. "I don't even know if I want pink anymore."

"Blue?" Eddie grinned lightly. "Trick everyone into thinking it's a boy incase there's a leak." He cringed when your breath hitched, eyes wide in horror.

"I'm kidding, baby." Eddie added quickly. "No one's gonna leak. We're keeping it intimate."

"Yeah, right." You sighed. "My mom and dad will bring all these people I barely even know."

"And I'll tell them to leave." Eddie's chest puffed, spine straightening. "I'm serious. They're not on the list, they can fuck off, alright? Goes for Victor and Tana too. Not gonna let them upset you."

The small smile you gave him felt like a standing ovation, a victorious win after a grueling, hard day. Filled his chest with warmth, hand squeezing yours lightly.

"If there's even a shower to kick them out of." Your smile fell just as quickly as it came, shoulders slumping with them. "Can't even pick a theme."

"We'll get it. C'mon," Eddie's calloused fingertips tickled your jaw, lifting your gaze to his. "Don't be like that, sweetheart."

"I can be like that if I want to." Your voice teetered on the edge of a whine, the hinting of a cry. "I can't even make a decision about a baby shower theme. How am I going to make a decision about a baby?"

"Stop that." Eddie shook his head, voice dropping to a soft coo. "Two totally different things, baby. Not even comparable." It was rational, firm but soothed your bundles of nerves. You both had your own worries, fears about parenthood- fear of the unknown that was creeping closer and closer.

"Here," Eddie stood, chains hanging from his jeans jingling with every heavy step towards the shelves on either side of the television, lined with books.

Eddie's fingers danced over the spines, until he found the book. Still new, no cracks in the spine or bent pages, a gift from Farrah when you told her the baby's name. "I saw it at this bookstore in Amsterdam. I had to get it." She'd squealed, giving you the book with a title that your baby shared- Persephone.

Eddie had been more elated than you, reading it front to back more than once. Reading it to you at night, eyes lighting when he'd read something interesting.

"I think I saw somethin' in here." Eddie sank back down beside you on the couch. "Just an idea."

You curled into him, knees tucked under you, head on the soft, worn material of his t-shirt. His cologne, a faint smoky smell of a cigarette- you could feel your body relaxing, intoxicatingly calm.

Calloused fingertips thumbed through the pages until he found the page he was looking for, lips parting in a soft, triumphant hum. "Look," Eddie tilted the page towards you, fingertip tracing the small etching of a flower. "Says there's some history behind this flower and Persephone."

You titled your head, eyes scanning over the text.

"In the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, Earth Goddess Gaia produced the yellow petaled Narcissus specifically to enchant Persephone. Now, this early blooming flower is seen as the harbinger of Spring, announcing Persephone's ascent to the surface."

"Interestingly, for all it's association with rebirth and new life with Spring, the bulb is highly toxic?" You frowned, head tilting up towards Eddie.

His lips curled in a wide, excited grin, eyes shining with gleaming pride. "That's fucking cool, isn't it?" Eddie beamed.

Heat blossomed in your chest, dissolving the feeling of frustration and fear, and blooming with something lighter. Soothing and happy, spreading through your chest all the way to your cheeks.

"That is pretty cool." You nodded, scanning the table for a yellow swatch. "We could do like a yellow and white kinda theme, right? That would be neutral in case it did get leaked."

Eddie gave a small eye roll. "It won't get leaked." He muttered, setting the book to the side. "But, yeah, neutral but still bright."

"Make the narcissus the main flower. Maybe add baby's breath and something else..." You muttered, pulling the swatches in front of you. Eddie's chest boasted, watching your small frown on your features, determined instead of frustrated now.

"Do they keep?" You turned to Eddie. "Like, they won't wilt or be gross, right?"

"Buttercups? Nah, they'll keep." Eddie shook his head gently. "Used to pick them for my mom all the time when I was little. She'd keep 'em in a vase and some water, and they'd stay forever."

Your heart swelled, a dull ache behind his words. Even now, married and expecting a baby, Eddie rarely spoke about his mother. Every small detail he'd share, you'd guard protectively in your thoughts, wanting to remember every detail you could.

"Ok," You nodded, a small sigh of relief. "Let's do that then."

You groaned, pushing off the back of the couch, Eddie's hands quickly finding your waist to help you stand. "Will you go get them? I have to pee, and I'll be right back."

Weeks later, Eddie was sure he'd never seen so many shades of yellow- so many flowers in his life. Your family's Malibu home transformed to a bright, floral baby shower of your dreams. Buttercups at every arrangement, starred prominently in bustles of baby's breath and tiny white daisies. All the guests even in various shades of yellow, shining brightly under the California sun.

Eddie managed to sneak a bouquet after the party, when you'd gone to lay down and the staff was cleaning up. He'd handed it to Natasha, sent it with her to get pressed and framed, until it found it's new home in the nursery.

[call-me-strega]

How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: part 1

Jason meets Single Dad Danny who is taking care of a de-aged Dani while trying to get his degree at Gotham U. Both of them fall hard, hijinks and shenanigans ensue, simping on both sides.

Edit: background info/lore found here

Edit: part 2 now found here

~~~~

Step 1: Meet an attractive single parent

As a Crime Lord/vigilante Red Hood had multiple safe houses that he used in and out of the mask. Some were for each exclusive identity to prevent anyone from linking them together and others used for both. Currently, Jason was walking out of his 2nd favorite safe house and the mostly permanent residence of “civilian and non-profit worker: Jason Todd” with a plate of cookies and a pan full of lasagna for his new neighbors that moved in two doors down. He may have been a street rat but he’d be damned if Alfred and Talia hadn’t taught him hospitality (it was a fact of life that grandparents and Asian people would try to feed their guests like their honor depended on it). Plus it was a great way to do some reconnaissance on whether or not these new neighbors could potentially pose an issue. The apartment complex was on the border of Crime Alley and Burnley meaning the people who lived there weren’t doing too hot money-wise but were at least able to avoid the worst of Crime Alley. Jason was just planning to go over introduce himself, hand over the homemade food, and head off to a different safe house to get his gear and patrol. However, he was not expecting to see his new neighbor standing outside struggling to open his own door, a six-year-old on his hip, arguing with someone over the phone. The young man had a lean build and appeared to be no older than 20, give or take a year or two. He had black bangs that cast a shadow on his face making his eye-bags appear even darker and startling blue eyes clouded with anger and resentment, likely towards whoever was on the phone. He was so occupied with his conversation he didn’t seem to notice that someone else had stepped into the hallway. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a loose white shirt with a NASA logo on it that slightly hung off his shoulder. He also wore a black hoodie with a white hood and neon green accents that seemed to be subject to his sister(?)’s death grip. Despite his disheveled state, there was something about his new neighbor that drew him in. His aura washed over Jason like a cool breeze on a hot day making it hard for Jason to look away. He would have continued assessing the man if he hadn’t made eye contact with the identical blue eyes of the young girl perched on his hip, who looked at him with a curious sparkle in her eyes. He discreetly turned back around to lock his own door, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation the elder (brother?) seemed to be having. It could provide some info on these new neighbors.

“-shut up Vlad! I’m not moving into your rich guy penthouse! I wouldn’t be taking any of your shady money if I didn’t need child support for Ellie!”

Huh. So her dad/guardian then?

“ Of course I have to do this Vald! What’s the other option, sending her back to a Frootloop like you?! … I’m not going to abandon Ellie for something that wasn’t her choice. She didn’t ask to be created Vlad that’s why she gets a chance.”

Okay so setting aside the rather concerning parts New Neighbor Guy™️ was definitely that child’s parent. Seems fairly rational as well.

“How do I know you’d be a terrible guardian? Plenty of reasons, do you want the list chronologically or alphabetized! You violated me, who you said you wanted to adopt despite me having two living parents, you created Ellie and several other failed attempts without my knowledge, you hid her from me, you tried to teach her to hate me before we even met, you named her Danielle after me instead of giving her her own identity, the list goes on and on Vlad! Do you want me to continue because that’s just the stuff that involves Ellie— I was 14, you middle-aged vampire look-alike! Of course I wasn’t jumping at the chance to become a teen dad! I was a freshman in high school! Besides you know what my parents are like, lab safety regulations were more like a healthy suggestion to them. I was in no position to be taking care of a child!”

Rage flashed in Jason’s eyes as he tightened his grip on his glass Tupperware pan full of lasagna. This conversation was not painting a pretty picture about his neighbor’s situation. He took a deep breath trying to calm himself before belatedly realizing his neighbor had gotten real quiet. He turned around, catching the tail end of his neighbor’s conversation as he finally succeeded in opening the door.

“Whatever Vlad, just keep paying your child support and for Ancients’ sake please stop trying to date my mom. …. Yeah, yeah screw you too Count Chocula.”

The neighbor set his daughter down, likely so she could enter the apartment, and slipped his phone from between his head and shoulder into his hand to hang up on that Vlad guy. Now seemed like as good a time as any to approach. Jason walked up the the young man and coughed trying to get his attention. The young man met Jason’s eyes with a somewhat surprised look. As if he wasn’t unaware of Jason’s presence but hadn’t expected him to talk to him. Jason decided he should start speaking now before things got too awkward.

“Uh- Hi, I’m Jason. I live a few doors down in 357,” he said glancing at the 353 on his neighbors’ door before he continued. “I heard you moving in a few days ago and thought I’d swing by with some food to welcome you to the building.” He stuck out his hand for the other to shake.

“Hi I’m Danny, Danny Nightingale,” he said taking Jason’s hand and ‘Wow his hands are cold’, “ and this little munchkin here is Ellie!” Danny and Ellie flashed him matching smiles like twin suns making Jason's heart melt. He returned their smiles before extending the food to Danny.

“ I don’t know if you’ve had time to get groceries yet but here’s some homemade lasagna if you need a quick meal while you’re getting settled,” he then crouched down to Ellie’s level and stage-whispered in her ear conspiratorially “ and there are some chocolate chip cookies on that plate too.”

Ellie giggled out a thank and threw her arms around Jason’s neck, giving him a quick hug before letting go and dashing into the apartment. Jason watched her go, stunned but feeling warm and fuzzy inside. He turned his attention back to Danny, who shook his head and huffed amusedly. They made eye contact as Jason rose and realized he was a head taller than the guy. He felt the heat expanding in his chest and crawling up his neck, curling behind his ears. He decided now that Ellie had gone in it would be a good time to talk to Danny about what he overheard.

“ So it really wasn’t my intention to do so but I overheard some of that conversation you were having over the phone earlier,” he watched Danny’s smile drop a bit as he winced. Jason awkwardly brought up his hand to scratch the back of his neck and continued.

“ Look I don’t wanna insert myself into your situation but if you ever need help I’m just a few doors down. And if that guy gets pushy or stops sending his child support I can help you find a couple of avenues you can take. Plus, although we’re technically outside Red Hood’s territory I’m sure he wouldn’t mind extending protection over you like he does for the other Crime Alley folk if ya really need it.”

Danny’s face smoothed out looking a bit flushed and appreciative as he went on. He gave Jason a small smile and replied, “ Thank you for the offer. I really do appreciate it. Might just take ya up on it at some point. As for Red Hood? I think I’ll avoid needing the protection of a crime boss vigilante if I can help it. Don’t worry too much about Vlad though. I’ve got him handled currently and he’ll behave if he knows what’s good for him!” Danny smiled threateningly towards the end of his reassurance. (‘His canines are peaking out that’s so cute’)

Jason chuckled with Danny as their eyes locked once more. They stayed lost in each others’ eyes for what seemed like hours before they heard a thump followed by a small “oof” coming from inside the apartment. Danny turned to the door and called out to Ellie,

“Ellie, what was that? Are you okay”

“I’m fine! My shirt just fell!”

“That sounded heavier than a shirt?”

“I was in it!”

Danny sighed, shaking his head before turning to Jason once more.

“Thank you again for the food, any chance you’d like to come in and have something to drink?”

“Thanks for the offer but I’ll have to decline. I need to start heading out for work.”

“Well then, I shouldn’t keep you. I’d hate to make you late for work.” He waved goodbye as Jason nodded his head and started walking down the hall.

His neighbors seemed entirely harmless he decided as he walked away. ‘The kid was cute’ he thought to himself. A smaller voice from the back of his head that sounded vaguely like the Pits chimed in ‘Her dad was even cuter.’

~~~~~ Please let me know what you guys think and if you want to see more of this. I thrive on feedback so feel free to leave any notes or comments!

[lexezombie]

Woe! Cluhsandra be upon yee!

Was thinking bout how it would be for her to age given the whole Bill genetics thing + decided to do her human form : )

Structurally she's more humanoid,,, hence the weird cone boobs

some notes + Lore below:

Childhood:

As a kid she isn't as bugged by really anything??

She's constantly changing the amount of fingers she has

Uses magic freely

When not at the shack during the summer, she lives with her dad + uncle on the boat and travels around with them!

Teens:

At this point the Stans are too old to travel anymore and settle back down in Gravity Falls

She goes to school and man is it rough : (

Hides her hands a lot since people pick on her for it (she refuses to shapeshift back to a 'normal amount' of fingers)

McGucket is officially recognized at Dad #2

Mabel pierced her ears

She wears Ford's sweater

That hoodie is from a band she likes

Rarely uses magic since it attracts attention

Becomes homeschooled after 2 years of normal school

Anxiety about how old her parents are is setting in HARD

Adulthood:

Stanley dies when she's 20

McGucket dies when she's 22

Ford dies when she's 24

Girls had it rough with loss and is like one more loss away from snapping

She's back to being open about her odd amount of fingers (LOVES being a weirdo)

Visits her families graves weekly

While a scientist by trade, she also stays with Soos and helps out with the Mystery Shack

The kids have no idea she's a triangle

Openly uses magic, just more discreet with it

Almost exclusively stays in human form

Manages to somewhat make up with Bill + is actually in contact with him (yes he's still in the Theraprism)

[kasugayamaisforlovers]

Experimental thought for my MotA gurlies: So I'm rewatching MotA to get a better handle on Gale and what's hitting me on the second time around is how human John feels versus how mythologized and illusive Gale feels? 

Exhibit A: You're Bucky and he's Buck?

We as an audience are introduced to Gale in episode 1 via the recitation of the Buck(ies) lore by Marge. And yeah, sure, John and Gale jump in to add color around the edges but tonally it’s a far cry from how anyone else in the show is introduced and, while John is intro’d the same lore, we come to know John with an intimacy that unravels any notions of manicured or whitewashed anything. We never really get this for Gale. 

Exhibit B: No Engine Cleven.

So before the fight between Curt and the RAF guy in episode 2 Curt’s regaling (pun intended) the homies with the story of Walla Walla wherein Gale buzzes the control tower with 3 of his 4 engines feathered. Now it's pretty clear from the dialogue that Gale's still got a functional engine, but Curt's telling the story and he insists on changing the details so that Gale's got no engines. 

The boys drink to ‘No Engine Cleven’--the myth.

Flashcut to the end of episode 3 and Gale's fort has taken a gnarly beating. By the time he gets in view of the runway in Algeria he has to feather all 4 engines. And he fucking does it: he manages to land sans engine power! He glides the crew to a safe landing, as if foretold. The No Engine Cleven prophesy made real.

So much of Gale feels like mythology, it's all stories and tidbits other characters seem to know on faith: Gale’s not a sports guy, Gale's an excellent pilot, Gale is Buck. And to be fair on each of these points we do get a little bit of bonus content. (Gale tells John about his dad which we come to understand is the crux of his sports dislike. We see Gale fly and know from his continued  survival and other characters' reactions that he's good. See exhibit 1 visa vis ‘Buck’.) 

Exhibit C: the deference.

Ok so bonk me with the rubber mallet if this is a reach but like the deference that characters (other than John) show Gale also makes it feel like Gale's something special/held apart. Like yes, I do get he's both hierarchically above a lot of the other characters and simultaneously one of the more central characters. We don't see a whole lot of interactions between characters and like Jack Kidd or Chick Harding to really compare how folks are acting towards Gale vs someone else higher up the ladder. But listen

Let’s take Croz as our test example as Croz interacts with Jack and Gale.  When Croz interacts with Jack he's definitely in a subordinate role. There's a scene wherein he recommends Bubbles for desk work and a later scene wherein Croz has inherited said desk work and is nervous about whether he's a good fit. Both times he approaches Jack with respect and the deference of a subordinate but there's nothing more to it. Jack’s a guy and Croz is a guy and so Croz feels like he can talk to Jack.

Take that in comparison to the first time Croz and Bubbles meet John and Gale. Croz and Bubbles want to pin a US map with the locations of the various crew members’ hometowns. There's a shyness in Croz’s behavior here that I think goes beyond ‘you guys are Majors’ and more toward ‘omg the popular kids. The dudes that set the tone for everyone else' there's a sort of starstruckedness to the interaction. (Help I can't think of another time he talks to Gale.)

My point is, the other boys talk to Gale and John like they're the big dogs. The Buckies occupy a space that’s nearer the men than command (Jack, Chick, etc) but higher than say a different crew member, or even other pilots (say Brady or Dye). But whereas we get some real interiority on John we never get to really dig in on Gale and it leaves Gale feeling like a marble statue. (Dare I say like a John Waynian archetype of masculine stoicism and competency and controlled violence? Is that too far?)  Like a mythical hero at least.

[smilesrobotlover]

Mom and dad lore goes hard

[preseriesdean]

for @spnficrecfest day seven: tropes 🧡 also check my case fic list which has some more curse-y case fics!

Speechless by candle_beck 11.2k words, rated T, published 2008 Dean loses his voice and their rapport is only moderately impaired.

Crying Talking Sleeping Walking by FrancesHouseman 3.3k words, rated E, published 2016 The witch dies laughing at Dean. It's never a good sign.

Talk around it by @goshen-applecrumbledore 12.8k words, rated E, published 2021, underage “It’s just a truth spell,” Sam tried. “It could be worse.” Dean looked at him like he was stupid. “Yeah, thank God we don’t have a giant, life-ruining secret that we really, really don’t want our dad knowing. Good thing he’s not on his way here right this second.” He scoffed. “Could be worse. Jesus. Good to know you can still lie.”

Heart Shaped Balloon by winsive 18.6k words, rated E, published 2022, underage Sam and Dad are fighting. No surprise, but it's the weekend before Valentine's Day and Dean isn't missing out on the chance to bang a cheerleader just to console his bratty little brother. He does bring back a heart shaped balloon for him, though. It's not supposed to be cursed.

Flood of Water by sevenfists 9.9k words, rated E, published 2006 "Please tell me you know how this happened," Sam said. "Yeah," Dean said. He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and let his arms fall away from his chest, his clasped hands settling in his lap. His t-shirt clung to him, worn thin from too many washings, and Sam could see the heavy weight of his breasts, his nipples hard in the cold air.

All That Sam by Catchclaw 10.4k words, rated M, published 2012 Dean thinks of himself as an innovator. A sex god. A professional problem solver. And then Sammy gets hit with some hoodoo and all of that shit gets shot straight to hell.

The Talking Cure by Mollyamory 2.4k words, rated T, published 2013 Dean tries to keep his mouth shut, but as much as he wants to keep quiet, he also wants to say--

Desiderata by @dyed-red 45.2k words, rated E, published 2023, incomplete Dean is hit with a curse. It shouldn’t take that much to resolve, could be a gift under other circumstances, but life’s not that simple for the Winchesters.

Out of Context by doctor_idiot 7.2k words, rated E, published 2017 When Sam and Dean keep waking up naked, all over each other, and without recollection of the previous night, the first thing Sam does is dig into the lore to find out what's going on. Dean is more concerned with the question why he always seems to be the one who bottoms.

And Baby You Can Sleep While I Drive by merle_p 8.6k words, rated T, published 2021 “So,” Dean says, hesitantly. “This is a dream then?” Sam blinks, confused. “Well, obviously.” “Huh,” Dream-Dean says and scratches his neck. He shifts awkwardly from his right to his left foot but otherwise stays where he is.

Cupid's Got A Gun by geckoholic 13.5k words, rated E, published 2012, non-con Fuck-or-die, set in early S4. But they've been fucking for years, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong. Ever since hell, Dean's in no hurry to get that show on the road again. They've tried, and it doesn't work, too many bad memories from what's been done to him downstairs. A case that involves a cursed cross and a vengeful witch takes that choice away from them, though…

(for you and me) i got no alibi by remy 23.4k words, rated E, published 2019 There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants.

[genevievefangirl]

Gen's Top 100 DBDA Fics - PART 9

For all caveats/rules/backstory, please read the Master Post

The Manuscript of Real People By: paraph @paraphwrites Rating: M Tags: AU - Boarding School, Angst, Slow Burn, Pining, Unfinished Summary: Britain, 1976. Three years into boarding at Saint Hilarion's School, Edwin Paine is assigned Charles Rowland as a roommate. - Featuring: mistakes better made, days hidden in libraries, and no rafter left unwandered. also featuring: charles doing sport and edwin being gay for it, edwin being a nerd and charles being gay for it, and me pretending i know what boarding schools are like! My Notes: The darker boarding school that is universally beloved! This fic is honestly publish worthy. I love every word, sentence, and chapter. When it updates I RUN to read it and gush about it on the DBDA Haunt server with everyone else who is equally obsessed. When a new chapter drops, it is an event! (Also this is one of 2 unfinished fics that made the list, if that doesn't show how much I love it I don't know what will!)

The Many Forms of Phantoms By: thegirlofthorns @edwinspaynes Rating: T Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Orbs Summary: Suddenly, there was a blast of light where Edwin was sitting. Charles dropped the comic to look at his friend, but Edwin was gone. In his place was a ball that glowed white, with some blue undertones reflecting off the surface. “Edwin!?” Charles threw the comic and ran over to the desk. “Edwin!” He picked up the little glowing ball in his hands and assessed it. It was odd – Charles could feel the orb, smooth like a perfect stone, and… warm. He had not felt temperature in over a year, and the orb was distinctly radiating warmth. “Edwin?” His voice was soft now. “Is that… you?” - Or, it's 1990, and Edwin involuntarily becomes a spirit orb for the first time. My Notes: Orb lore! Orb lore! Edwin turning into Orbwin unexpectedly and Charles and him trying to figure out what is all means is very entertaining.

the phantoms here will never have their fill By: ahyperactivehero (ahyperactiverhero) @ahyperactivehero Rating: T Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Protective Charles Rowland, Protective Edwin Payne, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Hurt Edwin Payne, Slow Burn Summary: Poltergeists are created when a ghost experiences extreme emotional distress. Poltergeists are notoriously hard to reign in, and they almost never gently move on. Neither Edwin nor Charles ever imagined it would happen to them. Basically, five times where the Dead Boy Detective Agency dealt with the threat of a poltergeist. XXX “Once you choose to go down the poltergeist route there is no coming back,” Edwin said. “And I will have no choice but to follow you.” “You can’t do that mate,” Charles said. His voice had cleared up some, his form less wavy. “Then do not go where I cannot follow,” Edwin said. My Notes: This was one of my first fic obessions when I joined the fandom. The ideas that it poses about poltergeists have been referenced by many other authors and are truly foundational fanon at this point. Plus it has Charles protecting Edwin many times which I love!

The Problem of Forever By: RB (BlueflowersandWings) @writerofstuff Rating: T Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Protective Charles Rowland, Case Fic, Kind of Summary: At first, it is subtle. — Or: a ghost couple comes to them with a case. Unfortunately for all parties involved, it does not go well. My Notes: I love how both the boys have to address insecurities to grow in their relationship. Charles being worried he's going to hurt Edwin and be like his dad hurts me deeply and Edwin worrying about being annoying hits too close to home.

The Seventh Circle of Hell By: chewingrocks Rating: G Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmatism, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: Charles goes down to Hell to rescue Edwin, however he ends up stumbling across one of Edwin's many corpses. My Notes: Is it bad that Charles crying over one of Edwin's dead body stuck with me so much? I don't think so! Sad Charles thinking Edwin is dead makes me *feel things*.

the taste in your mouth By: greenaerie Rating: M Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent. Hurt/Comfort, Protective Charles Rowland, Protective Edwin Payne Summary: An unexpected attack from Esther shocks the Dead Boy Detective Agency, taking Charles out of commission. Edwin solves this the only way he can. A good detective does what they must, after all. My Notes: Basiclly what would have happened if Edwin decided to take the Cat King's original offer. The complicated consent issue here is really well addressed and I like how confused Edwin's feelings are about the whole interaction.

The Veil Between Our Love By: Mayarenerose @acediscowlng Rating: G Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: “Edwin,” he calls out. There’s a ball of anxiety knotted deep in his gut. It’s stupid. Edwin probably just went into the other room or something. Ghosts don’t have feet, not really. And Edwin does his best, but his default is still to be as quiet as possible and not make a single sign that he exists at all. Back then, it had been fine, yeah? Just one of Edwin’s quirks that Charles had gotten used to. After Hell, though, it’s one of those things that drives Charles absolutely mental that he could never ever mention to Edwin ever. “Edwin mate, where have you gone? I promise I haven’t touched anything.” No answer. Charles is alone. Charles touches a cursed veil that makes Edwin disappear. He does not handle the separation well. My Notes: This is a recent addition to my favorites, but DAMN did it break my heart the first time. Seeing Charles freak out about not seeing Edwin initially was great, but then the angst continues and scratches the itch in my brain perfectly.

The Warmth of you By: Superfriki Rating: NR Tags: Sickfic, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Protective Charles Rowland Summary: “Normally it’s me who gets us in dangerous situations by tripping on something. Don’t steal my thing, mate” Edwin weakly chuckled, sounding raspy “Excuse me, next time I will make sure I ask your permission before I fall face first into a toxic plant” - Aka Charles takes care of Edwin when he is sick and realizes some things along the way. My Notes: Features Edwin passing out and Charles using books to help him! Plus all the usual sick fic things that we all love (blankets, caring, reading, etc!)

The Way Back Home By: Author_By_Many_Names @steampunk-dandy Rating: M Tags: AU - Star Wars, Edwin is Force Sensitive, Charles is a piolet, Protective Charles Rowland, Protective Edwin Payne Summary: Whilst on a routine mission that slowly becomes less and less routine, Edwin realises he can't hide his feelings for Charles any more. Meanwhile, Charles wants Niko and C to get off the ship so him and Edwin can go back to their blissfully domestic lives. My Notes: Star Wars AU! The worldbuilding here is so well done and I love what the author did with each of the characters. Edwin being force sensitive in particular makes me very happy!

There's No Fixing Some Things By: qwanderer @qwanderer Rating: T Tags: Angst, Post-Canon Summary: "Stop that right now," Charles snapped. "You can't say that, Edwin, you can't." Edwin blinked at him, startled. "You said I could talk to you about anything," he said, quietly confused. "Well, not that," Charles said, standing up and hefting his bag. My Notes: The reason why Edwin can't say what he said will knock you over. It certainly made me have so many *feelings*

[delulu4dean]

“Withdrawals”

Warnings: suicide, depression, anxiety

Pairings: Dean Winchester x sister!reader, Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Prompt: withdrawal from Cymbalta. Based on my own experience

Word Count: 3,624

You are all packed up to go with your older brothers. They were going all the way to the Redwood Forest, and you didn’t want to be in the bunker all alone.

You aren’t a hunter like them, not yet at least. You’ve studied the lore, and you’ve trained a bit, because after all, you are a Winchester. And the name alone is like wearing a giant “kick me” sign if it said “kill me” instead. No, you’re a student, getting your associates online in the exploratory major because you have no idea what you would want to do other than hunt with your brothers.

Sam and Dean promised John they’ll never let you into the life. Your mom died shortly after you were born. Your dad met your mom on a hunt nineteen years ago. She was a nurse in a hospital. There was one patient who was wrongfully treated, and died due to medical negligence. And boy does a vengeful spirit do a lot of damage. John saved your mom’s life, and they celebrated that night. She got pregnant, and she kept John’s number so nine months later, he picks up the phone to find out he’s got a daughter. Dean overheard the conversation and when John said he wouldn’t go, Dean said he has to. It resulted in a huge argument. John eventually gave in, and they went to the hospital to see you, and Dean knew right there and then he’d do anything to protect his little sister.

Your mom killed herself after she brought you home. Family history of mental illness was bad enough, but the postpartum depression pushed her over the edge.

It was not easy showing up at Stanford trying to explain to Sam that he had a baby sister, and that also your dad was missing. It was especially not easy looking for your dad while they had to take care of a baby. Dean often got babysitters to watch you in the motels they stayed in.

And now here you are, nineteen years old, aimlessly walking through life. You’re getting an associates in nothing specific just to get some general education done. And that history of mental illness in your family is hitting you hard. You’re on antidepressants, a specific one that treats your depression and anxiety.

Dean parks at the motel, and goes to get keys for a room. You don’t mind sleeping on the couch, out of the three of you it only makes sense, you got tall and taller with you, and it just doesn’t seem fair to make them sleep on the couch when you fit so well on it.

Sam and Dean throw on their FBI getup and go start asking questions while you connect your laptop to the motel wifi. Yay statistics, said no one ever. You’re only doing this to make your brothers happy, you don’t see a reason to get a degree. They say it’s useful to get some sort of decent job, or to one day get a further education when you decide what you want to do. But you already know what you want to do, you want to hunt with them.

You don’t know how you ended up on the couch. One moment you were doing homework and… yeah, that’s enough to make you snooze. You look at the time and it’s 8am the next day. You look into your bag and your eyes wide as you realize you left your antidepressants in the bunker.

“Shit!”

Your sudden outburst awakens your brothers as they both shoot up to see what’s wrong with you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asks as they both run to your side.

“I forgot my meds at home,” you pout.

“Your meds?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“My antidepressants,” you clarify.

Dean makes an “O” shape with his mouth in response.

“Have you ever missed a day before?” Sam asks you.

“No, and this is going to be longer than a day. How am I going to manage without it?”

“Managing your existing problems is the least of your worries kiddo. You’re going to go through withdrawals,” Dean takes a seat next to you. “One of us can stay with you.”

“I’ll be fine, let’s get breakfast, you guys do your research and then I get back and work on more homework, I’ll keep myself occupied,” you assure your brother. They give each other a worried look, not feeling too sure, but you insist you’ll be fine.

The three of you head to a diner, and you check out the menu while Dean checks out the waitress.

“Perv,” you mumble under your breath.

“Good morning, what can I get for you?”

Dean orders the greasiest breakfast on the menu, with bacon of course. Sam orders some omelette made with just egg whites.

“And for you, hun?” the waitress looks at you with a smile.

“I’d like a plate of eggs, over easy, and sausages. And an order of chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream if that’s possible. And a cup of coffee if that isn’t too much trouble,” you order.

“Coming right up!”

After a couple of minutes the coffee is ready and she serves you and your brothers your coffee. You add a couple of vanilla creamers. You take your first sip, and immediately regret not blowing on it first. The hot liquid burns your tongue. You set your cup down as your stomach growls, begging to be fed.

On a normal day, you could be patient, wait for your food. But today isn’t a normal day, and even though it’s probably a five minute wait, ten at most, you need the food now. Your leg bounces up and down, as your fingers tap on the table.

“Hey kid, are you alright?” Dean asks you.

“Mmhm. Just hungry.”

“The food will be out any minute,” Sam assures you. You nod but it doesn’t make the time pass by any quicker for you.

You watch as the waitress walks over to your table with your food and you sit up. The moment she places your place in front of you, you dig in. Your brothers watch as you focus on your meal. They’ve never seen you eat like this. Normally you try to stay neat and clean while you eat. You talk to them. But right now, your brothers know better than to comment on you eating.

It’s not Dean doesn’t go crazy about food either. It’s just out of the ordinary for you, and you’re off your meds for the next few days, so they’re worried. Eventually they start getting to their research.

After breakfast, your brothers drop you off at the motel, and get on with the case. You open your laptop, log into your student portal, and look at your assignments. This is going to be a long day.

✰✰✰✰✰

You’re sat on the chair in front of your laptop, as you have been all day. It’s been hard to concentrate, you kept checking your phone, playing games. Every time your brothers texted to check in on you, you used it as an excuse to be on your phone again. And then when you finally started concentrating, you didn’t understand it.

You’re sat on your chair, tears streaming down your face. Hugging your knees, you just stare at the screen as the numbers blur together. Math was frustrating. It’s not like you’re bad at it, you’re actually great at it. But your mind is cloudy, and even reading over everything again and again, you’re not processing anything.

You barely made it through your other assignments, and this is all you have left for the day. You’ve been going at it since breakfast, you even skipped lunch to make up for the distractions.

The motel door clicks and creaks open, and footsteps enter the room. You don’t look up from your screen, you just hope they don’t notice your damp face.

“We got dinner,” Dean says, placing the bag on the table in front of you.

“ ‘M-not hungry,” you mumble.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry, what did you have for lunch?” Dean sits at the table, and Sam joins.

You still don’t look up as your brothers take out their food from the take out bag. Dean places your food in front of you as you push it away.

“I’ve been doing homework all day, no time to eat,” you attempt to speak but it all came out in a raspy whisper.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam scoots closed to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“I’m stupid, that’s what’s wrong,” you break down into sobs. “I can’t do simple math equations.”

“You’re great at math,” Dean tries to assure you, but it doesn’t help.

“But I can’t do it today.”

“Hey, hey. You're off your meds. You’re not stupid, you're just not in the right state right now,” Sam tells you, and you nod. “Eat up, and after dinner, I’ll help you with your math, and anything else you need help with.”

Your sobs become small whimpers until you stop crying altogether. You sniffle before grabbing the dinner your brothers got for your. Sam sits next to you and reads over your math homework and explains things. Just reading it didn’t process, but hearing it out loud, from your brother, that helped process what you were actually looking at. Not long after, you finish your homework.

“Thank you, Sammy,” you hug your brother, tightly, and he hugs you back.

“Of course, (Y/N/N),” he keeps you close.

✰✰✰✰✰

You toss and turn, unable to sleep. You’re really starting to miss your antidepressants. Huffing, you get up from the couch, throw on your slip on vans, and take one of the motel key cards. Maybe a walk with some therapeutic music will help you feel better. It really sucks how just after 24 hours, the withdrawal kicks in. You throw in your earbuds and start walking around the block.

Your skin feels all tingly and a burning sensation travels up your leg but you ignore your body screaming. Maybe the walk is what you need. You've been sitting all day, no wonder you can’t sleep.

You put your hands in your pocket as you sing along to the next song under your breath.

“Running low, on serotonin. Chemical imbalance got me twisting things. Stabilize with medicine, there’s no depth to these feelings. Dig deep, can’t hide from the corners of my mind. I’m terrified of what’s inside.”

You take in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs.

“Please don’t let me go crazy. Put me if a field with daisies, might not work but I’ll take a maybe.”

As the song ends, you reach the motel door, but before you can use your key card, the door opens. You look up to see Dean frantically walking out until he sees you.

“Y/N! Where were you?” He whisper-shouts.

“I just went on a walk,” you explain. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought it would tire me out.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks you, putting his hand on your back, bringing you inside.

“Honestly my legs hurt, my skin feels all tingly, and my head is starting to hurt.”

“Come on, you’re sleeping in my bed tonight. We can tell each other ghost stories until we fall asleep.”

You smile softly, remembering that’s what Dean would do to get you to bed growing up. You lay down underneath the cover and look at the ceiling.

“Instead of a ghost story, you can catch me up on what you and Sammy have figured out about the case,” you suggest.

And so Dean goes into detail about his day, and how he things by tomorrow night things should be done. Dean is thinking it’s a siren, since these victims were last seen talking about seeing a pretty woman.

“But what were the victims doing before they got killed?” you pose a question.

“One was smoking, another littered, the third being really disruptive,” your eldest brother answers you.

“Hm. Could be a dryad,” you tell Dean.

“A what?”

“A dryad, forest nymph, not a fairy or a goddess but sort of in between. Magical, gorgeous women. There are different nymphs, like water nymphs for example.”

“How do you kill a nymph?” Dean asks you.

“She’s just protecting the forest,” you pout.

“She’s killing people.”

“Talk to her.”

“How do you kill her?” Dean presses.

“You don’t,” you finally give in. “Not without killing nature. Do you want to burn down a tree, Dean?”

“… no.”

“Thought so.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Technically if you can find the one tree she’s attached to, you can kill her. But you shouldn’t.”

“I’ll try talking to her, for you.”

“Thanks Dean.”

✰✰✰✰✰

The next morning you and Dean are both awaken by Sam, who brings you breakfast burritos.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Mmm morning,” you yawn.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Sam asks.

“No, I just couldn’t sleep. So Dean caught me up on your case.”

Sam nods. After breakfast and some research, Sam and Dean get what they need to summon her.

“Since it’s not that dangerous, maybe I can come along,” you offer.

“Homework for the week all done?” Sam asks.

You nod.

“Legs feeling better?” Dean asks.

You nod again.

“You’re lying,” he squints his eyes at you.

“How would you know?”

“The second nod was slower and less confident.”

You groan.

“If you need one of us to stay with you, we can arrange that. If what you said is true, it will be easy enough for just one of us,” Sam suggests.

“I’m fine,” you lie. You’re not fine. Your body is aching, and the anxiety and depression are starting to really sink in.

“Sam, you’re better at talking things out than I am. I’ll drop you off, then head back here. You can call me if you need backup,” Dean says.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam nods.

The two of them leave the room and you sigh, laying down. You can’t just stay sitting in this room the whole time. You’re at a bear themed motel close to the redwood forest. You need to experience the nature. You’re feeling trapped and panicked. Your breathing accelerates and you sit up. Pacing back and forth for the next forty minutes, you wait for Dean to get back.

The door opens and he walks in with a bag in hand.

“You’re five minutes late!” you yell at him.

“I just stopped to get some pie,” he sets down the bag. “I got you powdered donuts.”

You nod.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just feeling really trapped in here. Think we can go for a walk, or a drive at least?”

“A drive sounds good,” Dean nods. “But eat the donuts before. No powder on Baby.” He points a finger at you.

“Yes sir,” you grab your donuts and eat, while dean digs into his pie.

After dessert, you two get into Baby. You look out the window as he pulls out of the motel parking lot.

“You want to play some music?” Dean asks you.

“What happened to driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole?”

“This is a one time opportunity, Y/N. You don’t wanna miss it,” he nudges you.

You use a cassette adapter to connect your phone. You continue the playlist you were playing last night.

“You wanna listen to sad music?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“I am sad. I don’t have my happy pills,” you mumble.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Honestly? I just want to cry. For absolutely no reason. Well there is a reason, withdrawals.”

Tears well up, and you take a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry kid. I’ll make sure we get home as soon as possible.”

You just nod. The medication doesn’t stop the bad thoughts from happening, but they stop them from hurting as much. The problem was the medication isn’t as effective anymore either. You’ve built a tolerance, so right now the only difference is instead of mild depression, you want to kill yourself. You hate how you look, I mean both of your brothers are considered attractive and you feel like you look… dorky. School is stressful especially when you’re working towards a degree you don’t want.

And then you think of your brothers, who swooped in to take care of you. John wasn’t a terrible father to you, but you know he was too tough on Sam and Dean especially when it came to you. And then when John died, Dean became basically like your dad. He already raised Sam during his youth and then he had to take care of you. You couldn’t help but think that Sam and Dean would have it so much easier without you.

You try to hide your cries, looking out the window, letting tears stream down your face.

“Y/N/N? Talk to me,” Dean coaxes you. “What are you thinking about.”

Your silent cries become wails and sobs. And the crying triggers a headache and you feel nauseous and everything is just awful.

“Dean, why do you keep me around?” You take a deep breath trying to calm yourself but it doesn’t work. “I’m a burden. You don’t need to be taking care of me, especially when I’m an adult. I’m just dragging you down,” you cry out. “If I were dead, or never born, you’d be so much happier!”

“Woah woah!” Dean pulls over, then looks over at you. “I would not be happier without you. We don’t keep you around to take care of you. You’re grown, independent. We love you. And we’re happy you like being around us too. You’re our family.”

You look up at him, and you can almost see his heart breaks as he looks at your face. He wipes your tears and pulls you in for a hug.

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself? Are the suicidal thoughts back?”

You nod, crying into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh. You have nothing to be sorry about, baby, these thoughts aren’t your fault.”

You feel something going on in your throat, and you pull away quickly, opening the door, emptying the contents from your stomach. Dean quickly gets out from the drivers side and runs over to you.

“Ew,” you cry. “God that’s gross. I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders continue to shake as you resume crying. Your older brother crouches down (avoiding where you threw up) and pushes your hair back behind your ears.

“You don’t need to say sorry.”

“I might have gotten some on Baby,” you say, looking around to make sure.

“I can clean it. It’s just a car. You’re my baby sister.”

You sniffle as a smile creeps on your face.

“You do really love me. You’d never say she’s just a car unless it was that serious.”

“Of course it’s that serious. You’re having withdrawals. Now lets get something in that tummy,” he pokes your stomach. “Something light and comforting. You can wash up in the bathroom. And then we can get Sam and get you home.”

You nod and the drive resumes. You head back to the diner you had breakfast at yesterday. For lunch you get a grilled cheese and tomato soup. Dean gets a burger, obviously. As you wait for the food, you head into the bathroom and wash up.

After lunch, Sam gives Dean a call, saying it’s all over, and to also check up on you. You guys go on your way to pick up Sam. Dean hands the key over to Sam and Sam looks at Dean confused.

“Long drive from California to Kansas. Don’t want to leave her alone. After dinner we can switch off and you can sit in the back if you want,” Dean explains.

“It’s fine, it looks like you got control of the situation.” Sam looks over to you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like absolute shit. But better than before.”

“When we get home, you take your meds, get your sleep, then we can do a movie night,” Sam suggests.

“That sounds great Sammy,” you smile. You kiss his cheek before going into the back seat with Dean.

“Thanks for being here for me Dean,” you say, kissing his cheek as well.

“Of course. I’ve been here since day one,” he ruffles your hair.

✰✰✰✰✰

The next 21 hours end up being hell. Dean said the wrong thing while trying to comfort you, sending you spiraling. That’s when Sam sat in the back while Dean sat up front beating himself up over it as he drives the rest of the way home. You apologized for being a difficult kid and Dean didn’t deny you were difficult, he just said easy is boring.

Now Dean pulls into the bunker garage, and you run to your room to get your medicine and take it. Dean follows you, wanting to apologize.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You aren’t a difficult kid. You were a great kid. Fun, and a great listener.”

“It’s okay Dean, I’m over it. Really.”

He nods.

“Can you stay with me until I sleep though? You and Sam? I want to hear about the dryad!”

“Sure thing. Sammy!”

Sam runs up to you guys.

“She wants you to tell us about the dryad.”

“Was she pretty?” you ask.

“Yes, she was very pretty.”

You lay in bed as your brothers sit on each side of you. Sam talks about how your plan to talk to her actually worked, and how the conversation went down. You smile as you listen. Your eyelids get heavy and soon you’re out.

[honey-milk-depresso]

Batboys watching anime with reader

You know my ass went FULL ON LOCK MODE with Tim. I went crazy- 💀

***S/o is above 18, which means characters below are also aged up!

Doing requests until 1 Feb! Please see my pinned post and read the request rules on the navi! Thank you!🩷

Batbros watching anime with you

Dick Grayson

He’s watched a few 90s anime before, more the basic ones like One Piece and Pokémon, and he probably still watches them to this day. Boy has old CDs he has and you should probably try finding a Blue Ray (or use his if he can have Tim help fix it because it’s good as dead 💀) because he’s popping in every CD of old anime’s he have lying about.

“Wow, I didn’t know I had cowboy bebop! Or Slam Dunk!” He got a few rare gems, which makes it all the more fun to sit down on the couch under a blanket as you huddle and watch the nostalgic 90s anime shows together while eating popcorn.

He doesn’t mind watching new, modern day animes, just be prepared for when you two watch sad anime shows because he will sob like it’s the end of the world.

“NO, WHY WOULD KAORI DIE LIKE THIS?? AND SHE LOVES ARIMA- OH MY GOD IM SO—”sobs even more. He gets emotional while watching them because it’s so sad that it’s sO GOOD-

Loves dancing to those danceable anime music with you. He goes ALL. OUT. He even sings all of it in Japanese like wow-

I would love to hear him sing Cruel Angel’s Thesis in his Discowing suit and with goth makeup on it because it “sets the mood”, PLEASE-

Overall, great time watching with Dick. <3

Jason Todd

You expect someone like him to like Chainsaw Man, Trigun or something like those grunge-y, guns and knives animes, right? I mean, he does, but only with you and ONLY with you will he let his inner Magical Girl enthusiast ass shine. Because he LOVES Magical Girl animes. That’s probably the reason and one point of time why he wore red ribbons around his arms, he wanted that Sailor Moon experience and Tim might’ve just teased him about that era without knowing his love for Magical Girl animes and Jason might’ve flipped and freaked the fuck out and started chasing him down the manor.

Jason watches Sailor Moon, Madoka when he feels edgier than usual, Cardcaptor Sakura, every Precure series, Tokyo Mew Mew, man has all these shows somehow. He swears they weren’t through illegal means and he just worked very hard to gather all of them. He also might be a shoujo anime fan because if he loves Jane Austen books, you bet his ass would be reading Fruits Basket, Maid Sama or something because of course he would.

Also a Studio Ghibli fan, although watching the Tale of Princess Kaguya might make him feel too much, especially getting pissed off with the dad who forces his daughter into a wealthy life without her input and- yeah, you gotta calm him down as he cries bitterly and sourly with a pout on his face.

The two of you can go on and on about debating about unclear endings of animes all day long. You know the “AND SHE WAS A PRINCESS” video? That’s Jason.

Great man to watch anime with, and he’ll gladly be your Tuxedo Mask to your Sailor Moon (and not the “But you did nothing meme- or the other way around- he don’t mind being the Usagi-). <3

Tim Drake

I’m very convinced this man got into his whole detective shit because he watched Detective Conan and honestly I can’t blame him. Tim has probably the largest vessel of anime knowledge out of all of them. He doesn’t really have a specific genre he likes but he’s pretty fond of old 90s and 80s animes. He can explain the whole lore of One Piece, Fairytale, Pokémon like Jesus Tim, calm down- 💀

I can see him watching Neon Genesis Evangelion, Serial Experiments Lain or Key the Metal Doll because he likes that little bit of horror nature and mystery and thriller in his animes although he really doesn’t mind watching Haikyuu all over again if you want to.

Might introduce you to underrated and/or old animes like Revolutionary Girl Utena, Nadia the Secrets of Blue Water, every Studio Ghibli movie, those kinds of animes that give off the really pretty and aesthetic old anime animations that is just so pretty to watch and with really good storylines that both of you can cuddle on a couch together and watch. I bet he even watches anime with you even before you two got together, so you guys pretty much have “watching anime together” as part of the foundation of your relationship. Owns so much manga that you can’t even count, too.

Just… don’t make him watch those really slow burn, comedy love animes, specifically Love War. Not that he don’t like romance animes, he watches Ouran High School Host Club and Your Name, trust me, but Love War? He is going absolutely insane because of it.

“OH MY GOD- PLEASE JUST KISS ALREADY. ME AND S/O ARE ALREADY TOGETHER FIVE MONTHS AGO ANF YOU TWO ARE STILL TOO PROUD TO ADMIT YOU LOVE EACH OTHER WHILE BLUSHING- JUST KISS ALREADY-” <3

Damian Wayne

Damian likes anime. Would 100% go to an anime convention with you as a date if you’re up for it. He doesn’t mind (surprisingly- just for you only-).

He doesn’t necessarily like showmen animes although he has enjoyed a few, but he really loves slice of life, I feel. It just feels like he wants to put himself in a normal life and with a tad bit of drama in it like what the characters go through. The touching ones like Hyouka or Natsume’s Book of Friends.

Also animal related anime maybe except Beastars because he didn’t understand shit-?? He calls that peak anime. Aggretsuko, Chi’s Sweet Home and My Roommate is a Cat?? Damian loves this shit, he watches it intently with his arm around you. Even if he doesn’t smile, you know he loves it by the way his eyes sparkle.

Just don’t tell his brothers. He will seriously feel betrayed if you do so because he only watches these kinds of shows with you: the cute animal ones that are actually wholesome and/or funny.

The whole family is into Studio Ghibli, and he is no exception. He feels like it’s the best kinds of anime to watch with you when you guys just want to turn in for the day and huddle up on the couch. It’s one of the rare times he relaxes and softens and he’s glad to have quality time with you. <3

Duke Thomas

He likes anime! Studio Ghibli is definitely a favourite of his and he would gladly watch it together with you! He also love a fair bit of Shounen animes, the more popular ones like Jujutsu Kaisen, One Piece, Haikyuu, or Spy x Family. He likes them a lot!

A big fan of romance animes too: Ouran High School Host Club and The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya (if you two are in the mood to huddle on the couch together and cry).

Duke doesn’t mind any kind of anime so long as it doesn’t have too much horror or gore like… Higurashi. He gets chills when that anime is mentioned. D-Don’t watch it for your own sake if you don’t know. And if you do, avoid it with him at all cost because he will.

Duke also like singing some good anime songs with you and you guys can go crazy and dance around, just not as dramatic as Dick.

He would be super excited to spend a date with you watching shounen anime movies like from Jujutsu Kaisen and he would be so hype to spend time with you being a fanboy while also sharing that romantic air for the shared love of anime between you two and the love that you two share, although that love is far stronger. <3

Reblogs help! ^^

[minimoxha]

Ready, Set, Love!

Starring: Satoru Gojo, Karma Akabane, Eren Yeager, Itadori Yuji, Izuku Mydoria, Y/n L/n.

Summary: Based in a society where marriage is now a hard ask to achieve. In which you, the reader are forced by your sister to join a game show in hopes to get married while you're in it to make money.

A/n: I KNOW THIS IS A CRAZY MIX BUT HEAR ME OUT. Abandoning prior lore these boys are (Not that traumatized) And they will be the options for you to marry. However, if you feel like anyone else should be in the show to replace some of the characters let me know.

There will be different games and different endings which means you all can vote on the dates and games and outcomes and kind of choose how the story goes, YAY! This was the prolouge so tune in next episode next week! :D

Enjoy,

“I understand what you’re saying Ms.L/n, truly.” My sister's principal started, giving me a look of pure pity as I just spilled my life to her like it was truly her problem that we couldn’t afford such a prestigious school. “However, we can’t keep her here. She is disruptive and abusive to our students and staff here. She has to leave.” Just fucking great, Jada. You had to be an argument brat all the damn time. 

“Do you know our other options?” I ask quietly. When Mrs.Langsy looked down at her computer, I made sure to send Jada a death stare. I was tired of switching schools because she couldn't keep herself together. And this time, I didn’t know how I was going to send her to school when the last option was a school for snotty rich kids that I definitely couldn’t afford the tuition for. “Public schools preferably?”

Mrs.Langsy sighed and finally stopped typing on her computer, giving me and Jada a sorry look. So, that was a no. 

“Jada has been banned from every public school in this part of the city. The other option would be to move or go to private school..” Mrs.Langsy whispered to me. I could feel my left eye twitching in anger She just had to do this now. “This is the brochure for the private school closest, Jularod, I send my own daughter there it is an amazing school.” I took the brochure and flipped though it before stopping and abruptly closing it when I saw the tuition price; 20 thousand a year? Was I paying for her college or was I paying for her to attend middle school?

“Thank you, Ms. Langsy. Have a good day.” I smiled to the principal even though I clearly have an attitude. I dragged jada out of the office before laying into her.

“How did you get suspended again? I thought we said no fighting?”

“She fucked around and found out! I don’t know what you want me to do.” Jada argued back as we walked to the car. “Just take me out of school, I’ll teach myself.” Jada was always stubborn, just like dad was. This however, was not the time to have an attitude. 

“Watch your mouth, Jada. You’ll learn when you're older than fighting wont just get you suspended but next time, It’ll get you in Jail.” I argue back. I sound like my mom. She would’ve been yelling at me for skipping class or something just as rebellious as Jada was doing years ago when I was her age. Years ago when she was alive. 

“Jada please, I work hard to make sure we have a roof and food. I just need you to behave for once. Can you do that?” My voice cracked at the end, I was trying my best to not cry while driving and crashing the car. If she had a better role model than me…maybe she would’ve been better behaved. 

Jada turned to me, worry coating her beautiful babydoll eyes. “I’ll do better, Y/n.” 

That was all I needed. 

Some type of Closure that she would be trying to end her nasty streak of fighting and being sneaky. I would do all that I could to trust that she would make the right decision. I just had to sit and trust her for once. 

“Let’s go out to dinner this time.”

“Yeah!”

                              —

Jada and I walked side by side, Ice cream in hand staying in sight of the huge tv located in the main part of (insert city in japan later).The broadcast of Ready, Set, Love, was starting to play; announcing all 100 contestants in a very slow, very painful manner. 

I had never been interested in shows like these, Reality tv mixed with dating and finding the true love of your life. Jada was though. 

In our house she had ran her allowance almost dry buying various merch from the many ads the boys had to advertise them

for them for the new season. My ears almost bled with how much she would tell me about these men she barely knew. And every night, without a doubt she’d be in one of their lives watching these men talk about their lives for no apparent reason. 

They were handsome, I couldn’t lie. But Couldn’t imagine being one of the girls to be on that show competing for a man. Had we really lost all decorum as women that we were so eager to be married that we’d do competitions for the chance to have one we wanted? 

“I hope you win.” Jada mumbled from beside me. I turned to her, confusion written all over my face.

“I didn’t enter, why would I win?”

“I entered you.” She confessed. My face was more confused than ever now.

It was nothing new that Jada was one of the sneakiest people I knew. If she wanted to hide something  and lie about something, she was going to do it. Gracefully, might I add. “Why would you do that? You know I don't like these stupid shows.” I ask her, finishing my ice cream with my mouth full of the dessert. “Its like a 0.1 chance that I’ll be picked out of 1 million girls.”

Jada turns to me, her face more serious than I had ever seen it. “I want to see you married, Y/n. I don’t want you to sit around and put your life to the side even when you deserve to live your life.” Tears filled her eyes as she took hold of my hand. Her palms were sweaty, she was nervous. 

My mouth opened so I could say something, something that would attempt to convince her that she was not a burden to me no matter what. I was cut off by the rather loud announcement of my full name coming from the direction of one of the screens that hung from the side of the building. As if on its own, my head flips back towards the tv seeing a horrible picture plastered on the screen, directly next to my name in big green letters. My mouth falls in shock. There  was absolutely no way I actually won. I didn’t even want to win but somehow out of millions of girls I was one of the starting 100? My head flips back to Jada who looked at me with a huge smile gaping her face.

“You won! You actually won” She shouts, voice like a kid in a candy store would be.

Yeah, I won. Holy shit.

[bamboozledbird]

IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 4 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, OMC Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), alcohol as a coping mechanism, season 1 Lydia behavior (her comments on addiction are wrong and insensitive and she's knows it) Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter. 

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: Your life somehow becomes further entangled with Stiles and Scott's strange secret world, and Lydia is concerned in her own aggressive way. 

A/N: this is in fact a scott mccall stan account. i love that boy like he's my own. you can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

The drive home was ultimately uneventful. No need for tasers, silver bullets, or wolfsbane goop. You would need to get gas before you left for school in the morning, but you supposed that was a relatively minor inconvenience when the other end of the scale was being torn apart by a fanged monster. 

Your jaw cracked with an aggressive yawn as you slowly stumbled through the garage door, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You flicked on the light and paused, shivering a little as the cold air from the vent above your head skimmed over your bare arms. After a moment of hesitation, when that little persistent wriggling in your ear wouldn’t go away, you ducked back down the concrete steps to poke around the garbage can. Underneath a few Styrofoam take-out boxes, there were four empty beer bottles. The glass bottles clinked against each other as you nudged them out of the way, unearthing the real object of your paranoia. A drained bottle of 100-proof rye whiskey was cradled between two sacks of trash from the night before. You just stared at the bottles, heart and lungs wound tight, and then you dropped the lid back on top of the can.  

When you reentered the house, you were careful to keep the noise to a minimum. It wasn’t that late, only a little past nine, but you didn’t want to disrupt your dad’s slumber. Usually, he was a night owl—which, of course, was really just a pretty way of saying chronic insomniac, another thing you’d inherited from him—but it’d been a hard liquor night. Your dad always went to bed early on hard liquor nights. You didn’t know if he actually slept or if he stared at the ceiling, watching memories play on spackle until dawn streamed through the cracks in the blinds. Probably the first. You hadn’t ever heard him cry through the thin walls, not even once. You, however, couldn’t ever stop crying, not on the nights you trembled for something potent enough to mask the scent of the coconut oil your mom used to remove her makeup. The echoes of your mother had seeped into the walls, saturated the insulation with the faint sounds of the 70s pop rock vinyls she put on when she was in a good mood. They faded sometimes, but they always came back. You desperately hoped, and you hopelessly feared, that they always would. 

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hands aggressively and slipped under the covers, still in your plaid skirt and black t-shirt. Mascara smeared against your silk pillowcase, blurred your vision as it melted into your waterline. You stared at the wall until the silver swirls in the teal wallpaper started to sway. The teal was so dark it almost looked velvet with the lights off, and you had a heavy-eyed impulse to stroke it, but your hand was too leadened to lift. 

Your lids slipped shut, and in the haze between consciousness and slumber you felt the vague sensation of something solid against the back of your head. You murmured something incomprehensible and pulled your arms closer to your chest, taking in a breath of sharp whisky and a familiar woody cologne. You kept your eyes closed, and the warm weight cupped your skull for a moment. There was a brief kiss pressed against the top of your head and then the warmth was gone. Something large caught in your throat, and you squeezed your eyelids until your forehead wrinkled, forcing yourself to fall into a restless sleep filled with dreams of pancakes swimming in bourbon and howling beasts. 

Stiles was waiting for you by your locker when you arrived at school the next day. His friend—Scott, you reminded herself—was leaning against the locker next to him. Scott’s eyelids were heavy, and there was a coolness underneath them that stained his tan skin with a swathe of puce. Puce: From the French term ‘couleur puce,’ meaning ‘flea color.’  You dug your incisor into your tongue once you recognized that the intrusive internal narration was in Stiles’s voice. You didn’t even know if he spoke French, but it seemed like the kind of weird detail he’d know. You ran your tongue over your teeth and shoved your fists into your jacket pockets, thumb poking through the hole in the lining from previous twiddling—when the hell did you start thinking about the kinds of things Stiles would and wouldn’t know?  

You pivoted sharply, and your traitorous leather boots ruined your attempted exit when they squeaked against the freshly waxed floor. Stiles’s head popped up from his hushed conversation with Scott, and he waved vigorously when he made eye contact with you, “Hey! C’mere!”

You tipped your gaze towards the tiled ceiling and sighed. It was inevitable, really; you had to get your English binder before homeroom—homeroom, yet another reason to hate Wednesdays. It was one of your few classes with Lydia, and there wasn’t ever any actual teaching to distract you from the disgusting goo-goo eyes she gave her boyfriend. Studying was your only respite.

“Patience,” you nudged Stiles out of the way and spun your combination into the padlock, “work on it. It’s an essential skill.”

Stiles scoffed and leaned his shoulder against the locker next to yours, arms folded over his chest, “Essential. There’s nothing essential about wasting time. It’s actually unvirtuous if you think about it.” 

You swung her locker door open, blocking out Stiles’s frown, and rested your backpack on your knee so that you could unzip it. “Was there a point in there somewhere, or are you stalking me again?”

Stiles ducked around the locker door and placed his hands on Scott’s shoulders, shoving him a little closer to you, “Scott had a question for you.”

Scott’s eyes didn’t look so tired when he reared his head back to stare at Stiles. They had an intense conversation for a moment. There weren’t any words exchanged, but you got the gist: Scott was pissed, and Stiles was relentless. In the end, Scott lost the battle and swallowed thickly, “So, uh, you know a lot about supernatural stuff. That’s cool.” Stiles rolled his eyes and smacked the back of Scott’s head. Scott glared at him before mumbling, “Do you have any more of that wolfsbane…potion?” towards his muddy Converse. 

You directed your annoyance over Scott’s shoulder, more than confident that the real culprit of this request was the idiot avoiding your eye-line. “What? You already burned through your goo sample? Are the streets finally free from the demon beast of Beacon Hills?”

Stiles held up his hands and shook his head, “This is all Scott. See, me, I’m a fan of not being a greedy little bastard, but Scott—” This time Scott smacked Stiles with a resounding thwack. Stiles rubbed his shoulder, mouth agawk with indignation. 

“He…dropped it.” Scott glowered at the side of Stiles’s face, “‘Doing something stupid.” 

You smirked, “Sounds about right.” You shoved your binder into your backpack and brushed your hairs out of your eyes, “I’d give it all away for free, but it’s not up to me. Sorry.” Zipping your backpack shut, you slung one of the straps over your shoulder and shrugged, “You could always buy some more, but I’d strongly advise against such a dumb financial investment.”

Scott rubbed the back of his neck and gave you a smile. It was small but riddled with warmth—like he just couldn’t help it, like sunshine leaked through every one of his pores, and you were filled with the sudden urge to buy the stupid wolfsbane gunk for him. “That’s what I figured,” Scott looked at Stiles pointedly. His voice dropped a few octaves and a growl slipped into the end of his sentence, “But someone thought we should ask anyway.” 

The bell rang, and Scott flinched, smashing one of his ears into his shoulder. He turned around, a little dazed, and Stiles trailed after him after giving her a distracted wave. As you watched them leave, a parasitic impulse wrangled through your throat, prying the hinge of your jaw open as you shouted, “Hey!” The hallway was abuzz with various conversations and clomping feet, but your voice was still a bit too loud for the short distance between you and definitely too urgent for 7:45 in the morning. 

Stiles turned around first, almost tripping over his sneakers, and then he yanked on the scarlet hood of Scott’s jacket until he stopped too. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and licked your bottom lip, suddenly realizing how dry it was. “I, uh,” you sighed and took a few steps forward so that you didn’t have to raise your voice, “I could talk to Maggie. I bet she’d cut you a deal if I asked.” You let out a little laugh and raked your fingers through your hair, accidentally dislodging the satin bow tying your hair out of your face. “I know, actually. I know she’d give you some for free. She’s a terrible business woman.” 

Scott’s smile put the moon to shame, and Stiles looked like he’d been waiting for you to change your mind since the moment you told them no—when the hell did he start thinking about what you would and wouldn’t do? 

“That would be awesome,” Scott ducked down to grab your black ribbon and held it out to you with an open palm, “thank you. I’d owe you big time.”

Stiles looped his arm around Scott’s shoulders and smirked, “We’d. We’d owe you. I’ll stop by the store and bless you with my scintillating conversation sometime.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you smiled softly at Scott, taking your ribbon from his hand. You attempted to tie your hair back in a neat bow, but it was difficult without a mirror. You assumed it was halfway decent because Stiles didn’t take the opportunity to tease you—you, on the other hand, had no such qualms about mocking him. You smiled at Stiles, far too sweetly to be considered congenial, and sneered, “Seriously. Don’t worry about it.” 

Stiles’s eyes narrowed, face curved around a smirk that screamed trouble, and Scott slapped his hand over Stiles’s mouth before he could say something to make you reconsider, “Thanks again. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to pay you back. Name it, and we’re there.” Stiles winked at you with a glint in his eye that was as vexing as it was bright, and Scott rolled his eyes as he hauled him away by the nylon material of his backpack, “C’mon, dude. My mom’s gonna kill me if I’m late again.”

You watched Stiles’s buzzed head bob amidst the congested crowd of students, all shoving each other in their rush to get to class on time, until you couldn’t hear his surly complaints anymore. You rubbed your hand over your chapped lips, swallowing hollowly, like you could erase every impulsive word that’d spilt from your stupid mouth.

You were still thinking about what you’d gotten yourself into when you walked into Mrs. Farias’s classroom—and that must be why you forgot your copy of Metamorphosis in your locker. You groaned internally and dropped your forehead against your desk, bumping it against the cool laminate finish a few times, before ducking out the door with a hall pass. 

The halls were empty—silent too. You could hear your own footsteps and the tick of the large clock above the main office as you walked around the corner, and then, just as you approached the hallway your locker was in, you heard something else. Voices. Angry voices. One familiar—your face scrunched as the recognition wriggled through your ears to your brain—and one not. You cautiously glanced around the corner and frowned. Jackson, Lydia’s arrogant prick of a boyfriend, was talking to a hulking, leather-clad stranger—or rather infuriating him based on the murderous look in the man’s dark eyes. 

The stranger looked a good five years too old to be in a high school hallway, but the grown-out stubble and over-defined muscles weren’t of immediate concern. You were more focused on the color of his face. His skin was pale, clammy, and quite honestly a little corpse-like thanks to the purply-blue tinge carving out the hollows of his face. You assumed that he was too strung-out to care if anyone noticed their altercation because you could hear him from halfway across the hall. 

“Where’s Scott McCall?” His voice was deep and gravelly, as expected, but there was a desperate undertone you hadn’t anticipated.

You could only see the back of Jackson’s head, but you knew exactly what his face was doing when he puffed out his chest and folded his arms—no one else could make a smirk look quite so punchable. It was a gift, truly. “And why should I tell you?” “Because I asked you politely,” the man leaned forward, bared his canines, and you couldn’t believe that Jackson didn’t even flinch, “and I only do that once.”

“Okay, tough guy,” Jackson sneered, meeting the man’s challenge with another step forward and a shrug that reeked of false-superiority, “how ‘bout I help you find him if you tell me what you’re selling him. What is it? Dianabol? HGH?”

“Steroids,” the man’s voice was dry, and if he didn’t look like he was about to double over and puke all over the floor, you’d say the menacing glimmer in his eyes was a little amused. 

“No, Girl Scout cookies. What the hell do you think I’m talking about?” Jackson tutted, maddeningly haughty, and shook his head, “By the way, whatever it is you’re selling, I’d stop sampling the merchandise.” He let out a low patronizing whistle, and you kind of hoped that the stranger would suckerpunch him in the throat for it. “You look wrecked.”

The man didn’t punch him. Instead, he pushed himself off of the locker he was slumped against and started staggering stiffly down the hall, “I’ll find him myself.”

Jackson grabbed onto his broad shoulder and yanked. The veins in his bicep bulged with the strength of grasp, “We’re not done here.”

Your limbs suddenly remembered how to function. You ducked back behind the brick wall and closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable sounds of bone colliding into flesh. Your right eye cracked open a sliver when the noise never came. Instead, there was a loud thud and the echo of clanging metal. You peeked around the corner again and froze, eyes wide and throat dry. Jackson was pinned against a locker by his neck. You’d already noticed that the stranger was tall, but you didn’t truly realize just how large he was until now. Jackson was a lot of things, but he wasn’t small. He was captain of the lacrosse team—everyone within a ten-mile radius knew that thanks to his constant reminders—and if anyone on campus was taking steroids, he would’ve been your first guess. But next to this sickly beast of a man, Jackson looked meek and mousey, and you didn’t even get to savor it. After a brief moment, no more than a second, Jackson’s assailant sniffed the air and slowly turned his head in your direction. It wasn’t an accident; he wasn’t surveying his surroundings. His eyes landed on yours, and he didn’t look the least bit surprised. 

The man’s irises were dark, nearly black, and they didn’t stray from your face. You forgot how to breathe, feeling distinctly like a rabbit trapped in a fox den as your heartbeat hammered against your ribs. He spared you after a few seconds of paralyzing eye-contact and turned his petrifying gaze back to Jackson’s neck. You recoiled, slipping back to your spot around the wall, and pressed your back against the bricks until the sound of your heartbeat wasn’t so loud in your ears. 

When you found the courage to look down the hall again, the man was gone, and Jackson was bleeding from the back of his neck. There were four distinct punctures along his cervical spine, trickling crimson droplets onto the stark white collar of his polo. The gouges were small, almost like…nail marks. Baffling. This town was fuckin’ baffling.

You poured over the incident all day, barely conscious enough to take down notes and roll your eyes at Stiles’s badgering and bad jokes. You’d never been more ready for the final bell to ring, not even during sex education with the extraordinarily sweaty Mr. Peterson. 

You twisted your pendant around its onyx chain as you walked out of your last period, winding and unwinding the charm over and over again as you mulled over your thoughts. Scott didn’t seem like he was on drugs. You didn’t exactly know him, but he was the least aggressive person you’d ever met, and he had to be eternally patient if Stiles was his best friend. You spun the medallion again and shouldered your way through the cramped halls to the parking lot, scolding yourself. What Scott McCall did or did not inject into his bloodstream wasn’t any of your business…even if his alleged dealer looked like he was on death’s door and had a habit of throwing teenage boys around when he got mad. 

You’d just convinced yourself that you didn’t care what happened to Stiles’s best friend when a discord of honking stopped you in your tracks. You flitted your gaze around the parking lot, searching for the cause of obnoxiously loud cacophony; your shoulders wilted along with your resolve when you spotted the guilty party. The man from the hallway was sprawled on the asphalt, and Scott and Stiles were scrambling to help him off of the ground. 

Your feet reluctantly trudged towards the peculiar trio, arms tightly folded over your cropped sweater. You would’ve laughed at how wide Stiles’s eye stretched when he finally noticed your presence, but you were a little preoccupied with the fact that he was currently trying to stuff a ghoulish grown man into his front seat. You watched him struggle to hold up approximately 200 pounds of solid muscle with his spindly arms, absentmindedly lamenting that you couldn’t truly appreciate the humor of the situation. “Hey,” you slanted your head and searched Stiles’s face for any sign of an SOS signal, “you good?”

“Ayup,” Stiles nodded emphatically, and Scott shot you a weak thumbs-up from his squat next to his tipped-over bike. 

You looked between the two of them, waiting for the truth to crack through the awkward pretense, and narrowed your eyes, “You sure?” 

“We’re good,” the man barked from inside the jeep, teeth bared. It was a little less intimidating now that he was slumped over and at the mercy of a sixteen-year-old with a dork complex, but you still flinched. You couldn’t help it. It was a small twitch, but Scott still managed to track the minute movement from his low perch. He glared at the man, shockingly firm for such a sweet-faced boy, until the stranger stopped scowling at you. Mr. Sour Face turned his head towards the window and stared intensely at the hazy tree line over the hill. Your fingers relaxed. You hadn’t even realized that you’d dug your nails in your palms until the stinging stopped. 

Scott jumped to his feet and pulled his bike up by the handles, rushing through his weak explanation, “Stiles is just…doing me a favor. Derek needs a ride, and all I’ve got is my bike.”

Letting out a flimsy snort, your brow pinched, “So…he walked here?”

“Uh,” Scott squinted, and Stiles nodded behind him, “yeah?” 

You pursed your lips, ignoring all the students who’d started shouting over the beeping horns, and watched Derek grit his teeth and clench his fists through the dashboard window. You looked back at Stiles and chewed on your lip. Stiles was taller than you, but he was on the scrawnier side of lean and wouldn’t stand a chance against a man of Derek’s size—even if he was barely clinging to the rapidly fraying threads of consciousness. “I could use a ride to work,” you pulled the backseat door open before you could talk yourself out of it. 

Stiles lurched towards you and slammed the door shut, narrowly avoiding your fingers, “Normally, I would seize any opportunity to have you further indebted to me, but—that’s Lydia Martin.” His eyes bulged out of his head, and he leaned against his jeep, slipping down the blue frame as his legs went boneless, “Walking towards me. Cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

The prospect of riding in the same car with Mr. Resting Bitchface was being more appealing by the second. Lydia didn’t even look in Stiles’s direction. Her cutting green eyes were fixed on you and you alone. “Are you an idiot?” Lydia snatched your wrist, mauve manicure digging into the delicate skin on the inside of your wrist, and yanked you back to the sidewalk.

“What?” you went brainless for a moment, taking in all the glory of an enraged Lydia Martin. 

Lydia’s cheeks were flushed pink from anger and adrenaline, “Or just suicidal?”

The shock had worn off. Now, you were thoroughly pissed, “What?”

Lydia’s eyebrows, perfectly tapered and freshly threaded, knitted together until she was in danger of developing a unibrow, “Do you have any idea who you were about to get in a car with?”

Your eyes flicked to the side, and it took gargantuan strength not to roll them too. “Stiles?”

“What the hell is a Stiles?” Lydia’s riptide of fury gave way to confusion, but her soft features sharpened abruptly when she returned her attention to your scowl, “I meant Derek Hale. Obviously.”

Your hip cocked to the side as you crossed your arms, “And?”

“And he’s a murder suspect,” Lydia’s lips curled into a vehement sneer. It was so strange to finally see it first-hand. Lydia had such a sweet face, cherub cheeks and doe eyes—a clever smile. She hadn’t quite mastered disdain when you were friends; the ice queen routine wasn’t performance ready until you’d drifted apart. It was an awful face, you decided; it completely erased the last few pieces of the Lydia you knew.

“In an animal attack,” you muttered under your breath. 

Evidently, it had been a long time since someone dared to disagree with the Lydia Martin because she was struck speechless. It didn’t last for long, but it was still satisfying. “He’s dangerous,” Lydia hissed. “He went completely off the deep end after his family died. Seriously, his life is like a textbook precursor to violent behavior; he’s a profiler’s wet dream.”

“Because his family died,” you repeated. The numbness eroded some of the snark in your voice. 

Lydia either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the glaze creeping over your eyes. She continued, barbarous and unashamed, “Because he watched them turn into charcoal, and his sister was just ripped in half. At best, he’s unstable—but his little hobby of trolling for minors is a bit of a red flag, don’t you think?”

“Charcoal,” you spoke—more of an echo really with its resonating hollowness. Your eyes were on Lydia’s face, but your mind was somewhere far away. A lifetime ago, with the ashes of everything you once knew. 

Lydia’s eyes went wide, and her mouth gaped into a perfect little ‘o.’ Her dainty fingers twitched by her sides, and then she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her flouncy mini-skirt. “Most of his family died in a fire,” her voice was much softer this time, a bit of tenderness accidentally rooting through the cracks in her veneer. Lydia looked away and gripped the thin strap of her handbag, “Accidental house fire. It was all over the news like five years ago.”

You stared at Lydia, and for the first time in the last four years, you didn’t miss her. For the first time in such a mind-numbingly long time, your anger strangled your heartache with a wrought-iron grip that felt a whole lot like hate. It was always going to be like this, you realized. You would just have to walk around with all these what-ifs, if-onlys, and what-really-happeneds needling your heart with every thud—always. You had to learn to live with this: knowing that Lydia was never going to apologize and that there would be no closure. Ever. 

“Right.” You laughed, shark-like, with your canines on display. You hoped it would make all your constants sharper. “So he’s gotta be a lunatic now.”

“Y/N…” It was surreal to hear your name out of Lydia’s mouth after so long. You didn’t know if you liked it, and, currently, you didn’t even know if you cared. Lydia chewed off what was left of her nude lipstick and then squared her shoulders, “So we’re just going to pretend that he wasn’t completely strung-out and totally embracing the heroin-chic aesthetic?”

You slanted your head a bit and then let out another serrated laugh. There wasn’t any point in having it out, you decided, because Lydia didn’t care. She got to move on and erase your entire existence—live her perfect, popular girl life without all this suffocating quicksand binding her to the past. Must be nice, you thought venomously, souring your tongue, stinging your eyes. Showers were probably just showers for Lydia. She didn’t singe her skin until the water went cold, imagining what she’d do, what she’d say—how she’d hurt her back. Must be so fucking nice.

“Lydia, I really don’t think you really want to get into all the things we’re pretending,” your voice was tight, strangled at the ends. You would not cry. You could not cry. Lydia sensed weakness like blood in the water, and you refused to give her the satisfaction. 

“Fine,” Lydia’s curls spilled down her back like strawberry wine as she pivoted in her designer heels, “ride off into the sunset with a 'roid-raging creep. Don’t act surprised when you turn up dead in a crack den.” 

Truthfully, Lydia had a point, but at this moment being contrary seemed far more important than being right. “It’s kind of difficult to act like anything when you’re dead,” you called, eyes zeroed-in on the back of her head as she slid into Jackson’s Porsche with a sensual grace you would never possess. Lydia was too far away to hear your retort, but you felt a little less like punching something after you said it. 

You didn’t notice that Stiles and Scott were gone until the threat of bitter tears stopped burning your sinuses. The last thing you needed was to cry like this upset you, even if the only nearby witness left on the vacant sidewalk was yourself. You scoured the parking lot for even a flash of powder blue, but the jeep was nowhere to be seen. Probably long gone by now—your spat with Lydia must have taken longer than you thought. It was certainly louder than you meant it to be. Little clusters of ambling students were looking at you a little too long to be casual, and the indiscreet whispering once they turned back to their friends forced your legs forward. 

You didn’t know where you were going when you started your car, but far, far away sounded pretty damn good.

[boxjellyjelly]

Do you happen to have any headcannons regarding O'Connor and his friends? They live rent free in my head right now

Gotta admit, i do really hope they release maybe like a dlc or a short part two game that just focuses on the crew and their lives, because O'Connor and Gibbo, despite having only a few lines actually seem like they have lots of cool lore! Especially Gibbo (him talking about beasts, flashing lights etc)

Anyways! Heres a few headcanons of Gibbo, O'Connor, Trots, Finlay and Caz! **SPOILERS!!**

O'Connor

- i think lots of people think Mary is O'Connors wife, but I actually think hes talking about his daughter! Someone on the SWTD reddit said the ones who turn into The Shape are sort of traumatized or broken in some way, and the shape seems to lure/sedate its victims by making it think someone they care about is talking to them, so my mind immediately goes to O'Connor had a wife who either died or left and Mary is all he has. Poor guy :(

- I feel like he would be the type to go up to Trots when they first meet and ask if he can "see how blind" Trots is by trying on his glasses lol (he means well though!!)

- Poor man has night terrors like nobodies business. I like to think hes had night terrors the week leading up to what happens in the game about The Shape, but in very vague ways. Has probably told Trots or Gibbo about them as a joke.

Gibbo

- Again, a lot of people on reddit speculate that people who are traumatized or broken, I think his father left him or maybe just isnt a very great guy, since he tells Caz to tell his mom he'll be home soon, and since his ramblings sometimes sound like something an angry/neglectful father would say to a kid. I think Gibbo def gives off mamas boy vibes

- BIG. OLE. SOFTIE!!!! Definitely is the one who hung up all the christmas decor, and helped Dobbie with decorating their shared cabin.

- Definitely has seen some weird shit that Rennick has told him to stuff down, the "flashing lights" in the ocean, creatures that come up that he chalks up to being weird sea creatures so he can sleep peacefully at night

- I feel like in a weird way, he would survive the explosion and make his way to the main land, maybe to see his mom again or to try an find help

Trots

- I personally fucking adore Trots, he feels like the dad friend of the crew, the type that goes up to the crew when Rennick is up their asses and tells them to stand up for what they think is right.

- Always making passive aggressive comments around Rennick, Caz and Roy are always having to break the two up when they get into heavily heated arguements

- In his infected form, i think it shows a lot about the stresses he has as a union person and as a person in general. He feels like hes always having to clean up peoples messes, make sure things are working the way he should be, I feel like he puts on a composed face infront of everybody but is heavily stressed by his duties to keep everyone from getting killed

- I think he likes melancholy music :] soft and sad tunes that you can take a nap to while it rains outside

Finlay

- Can throw back shots like nobodies business, Caz and Muir are constantly doing drinking games with her and she always wins (though the hangover afterwards for her is more of a lose than anything)

- Constantly messing with Addair by getting into political battles and not giving him any satisfaction in seeing her get angry or anything, will sometimes just throw in random hyper-exaggerated takes to see him get mad

- As we seen from the paper, an absolute fucking wizard at darts, like, to the point where if shes drunk as all hell shes still able to hit multiple middles in a row

- Has nightmares too, but about her son. I cant imagine how hard it was for her to make it past the Shape hearing her son singing and calling out to her :((

- I feel like shes also pretty close with Roy, goes out for smoke breaks with him and stuff like that

Caz

- Double jointed. Maybe im just projecting onto him but the way his legs hurt from like THE SMALLEST OF FALLS is some double jointed problems shit. That being said, he totally does that bending-finger-back party trick for the crew, Trots tries to warn him against doing it but the look of disgust and suprise on the crews face will always make him do it again lol

- Was accidentally the first person to find out about Muir and Innes's relationship. He caught them kissing in the mud room, ever since then hes tried to be like,,,, overly accepting to the point where every time Innes and Muir are walking together he gives them a thumbs up like a dork

- Keeps his hair long despite Rennick and Addairs comments because Suize likes it that way (you cannot tell me Caz doesnt like getting his hair pulled lmao he is WHIPPED for that lady)

- I like to think his afterlife is him haunting his house, i know that may sound shitty but i want that man to be able to watch his weans grow up :(((