#the ick over not getting a wave back IS kind of wild to me though bc like. yes its cringey but its strange to me to put that on the person

[shesmore-shoebill]

Fascinating/unexpected reveals from the Ick video: Amanda is Not A Fan of people calling their parents mommy and daddy.

- "i know I say mommy and daddy a lot, but i joke because im trying to heal from the many times people do that".

- Lets Do This! reference :')

- Angela IMMEDIATELY putting her cringe token down on the mommy daddy one

- Angela also going i think you love when people go for a ball and then miss it

- Amanda actually loving the ball one. "it makes me cringe and i LOVE it" "what if your husband did it" "my husband HAS done it and its very fucking funny and AWFUL."

- Amanda getting an overpowering ick from people waving and not getting a wave back.

[painless-innit-colourful]

Invisible

Potions of invisibility grant the user the ability to disappear, functionally: the concealment of one’s self through magic, distilled into a draught easy to swallow. For better and worse, Tommy’s familiar with the taste.

It tastes sour, primarily. 

Looking at the ingredient list, no wonder. Nether wart and fermented spider eye. Gross. There are some things a golden carrot just can't balance out. 

It's such a disgusting taste he doesn't notice the shimmering feeling, instead focusing his attention on scraping a thin layer of translucent brown sugar-mushroom-spider ick off his tongue. Not until: 

"Tommy?" "Y- Bleh- Yeah?" "Oh!" Tubbo waves his arms in a wild arc, smile growing, before his hand collides with Tommy's arm, and he picks up Tommy's wrist. "It worked!" "What do you- Ohhh..." 

If he blurs his vision, Tubbo's fingers circle around nothing. If he looks properly, he can just about see the edges of his wrist, the lines of his shirt sleeve. "Dude, how does that work?" "Which bit?" "Clothes. My clothes didn't drink it too." "Dude, I dunno... My turn!" 

They learn to spot the tiny signs of an invisible person. They learn to disguise them. Tommy tries to tackle Tubbo and misses completely, and both of them fall about laughing. 

Call that a drug van success story. 

--- 

He sprints past it, hoping they aren’t following, panic filling his bloodstream. He chugs the potion as he runs, drops spilling down his front, staining his navy coat with off-white shadows as he shimmers and disappears into thin air. 

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

He stumbles into the shallow waters of the lake, wading - disturbing the water, too many signs, you're gonna be seen - towards Tubbo's tunnel. He takes three steps and slips under the surface, landing on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, waiting, waiting- Where are they? 

There's the sound of an arrow seeking its mark and hitting true, and for a split second Tommy sees an arm with deft fingers and a dark blue sleeve fall over the side of the entrance, and then the body is gone and shit shit shit- 

Tommy sticks his head back out- Who was that? Wilbur? Tubbo? He feels the shimmering feeling again - "a quick escape", where are the others - and slowly drops back to the tunnel floor. 

Make a decision, what if they find you, Little Laddy One Life? He walks away, opting to live to fight another day, hoping that his friends will join him soon. 

--- 

Funnily though, while clothes disappear with the potion, armour doesn't. He doesn't know why; he's not smart enough to. And right now, as he yanks the shoulder straps of his chestplate tight, he doesn't really care. 

"Stop!" They don't stop, voices mostly drowned out by the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Dream, his face also hidden, but by his signature mask as opposed to the magic of an invisibility potion, holds his hand towards Tubbo and tells him "I need the disc." Tommy crests the wreckage of the Community House, no longer attempting to stay hidden as the water thunders down around his ankles, pulling him towards the platform in the centre. It's a bizarre version of the Pit. It’s an arena. It's a stage. 

"No!" He screams, as Tubbo takes half a step back towards the ender chest. Heads snap to his position, looking at the empty suit of armour that's just appeared beside and above them. Tubbo stutters something in quiet disbelief, and between that and the sudden attention, Tommy falters. If he took off his armour now, could he get out of there? Or would the same fate that once befell Wilbur catch him? The blame for this building is on him, after all. 

He jumps in, landing on his feet between Dream and the cabinet of L'Manberg. He is caught in the crossfire of their questions: "Tommy?" "Is that Tommy?" 

He shouts, and he screams, and he revolves like a merry-go-round, trying to keep his eyes on everyone, not trusting that his armour'll be enough to protect him from the sheer amount of enemies about. So many people hate him, he realises, it's 30 v 2. Technoblade would like those odds. Technoblade, who's standing beside him, not invisible because he went to get milk. He likes the protection; he thinks. 

They don't listen. Tubbo keeps insisting he betrayed them all by teaming with Techno, that he betrayed L'Manberg, but they don't understand, he didn't have a choice, "You don't know what he did to me in exile." Tubbo has the disc in his hands, and without having an inkling of where Dream's eyes are, he watches him consider simply snatching it from Tubbo's hands. 

"You're not gonna give him the disc." Tubbo looks at him like it's a dare, and why can't he see? Tommy's practically crying with the effort and exertion of watching his best friend betray him in slow motion, of being this close to his abuser, of being blamed for something he didn't do, of being beaten down every time he gets on his damn feet. 

"I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus— for once in your life, Tubbo, trust me." Tubbo's eyes are cold, his mind made up. What happened to us against the world?  "I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice." 

There's a little moment where time stops, and everyone draws nearer like a crowd at the coliseum, and Tommy feels his invisibility ripple slightly, warning him it's about to wear off. Who the fuck cares. 

Tubbo takes a step towards Dream, and Tommy lunges to put himself between them. "Don't you dare." Tubbo's hand goes to his axe. "You betrayed me, Tubbo, you- Did you just-" Both of their eyes are on Tubbo’s weapon, when he puts the disc away, staring Tommy down plainly with his one hand returning to the axe at his waist, and the other taking out his shield. "I didn't betray you." His voice is level, all business. Okay then, Mr President.

"You betrayed everything that you'd built with presidents prior." Tommy's anger, and hurt, and frustration, and pain finally boils over, so much so that it's visible in the way he shakes as he brings out his axe. "You know what?" He bites into a golden apple, feeling its effects drown out the rushing water and the shimmering sensation of his invis. "You've got your axe up." Technoblade’s tone is surprised but light as he tells Tommy to make this decision wisely, but he’s already gone, his safety and conscience be damned. He throws himself at Tubbo, brandishing his axe as the pigman taught him, like he once practised with the brown-haired boy he’s swinging at, thinking You say I betrayed you? I'll show you a traitor. 

Poetically, perhaps, it's less like a fight, and more like a dance. They are a whirlwind - a hurricane - clashing and blocking and pushing and shoving across the otherwise empty floor. Somewhere in the gushing water, Technoblade's bloodlust has seized him, and he's gone for the L'Manbergians and the festival-goers and the unrelated parties that came when they saw the destruction, and he's scattering them this way and that, but who cares about that? 

They are not equally matched. Tommy shakes too much: there is too much of him vulnerable here, not just his mortality, something that neither invisibility nor armour can keep from being scratched and damaged. He's losing. He's quite badly losing, despite Tubbo's inferior armour and weapons and allies, and he leaps into the nearest watery wall, letting the Respiration helmet Techno made for him protect him as the water drags him under and away from his attacker. His best friend. He bites into another golden apple, his pleas swallowed by the torrent. He still hears Tubbo's shout though, permeating the water and being relayed through his communicator from wherever Techno is. 

"Where are you?" 

He pops back up, shaking and soaking wet and sees a familiar sight: an old friend, a brother - once - staring him down with death in his eyes from behind brown hair. He was wrong, oh so wrong, all those weeks ago: at once he is Schlatt, alone at the end of his days, and there's Wilbur, old pals who'll be the death of each other. No. 

No. 

"I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed us the first time!" He feels his invis shimmer one more time, and the timing is immaculate, really. Cinematic, one might say. 

"I went for the discs— Tubbo, the discs— The discs were worth more than you ever were!" "No... Wh- Th-" The world stands still, and it feels so good, it's so good to finally say it, to watch Tubbo's face fall, his shield slipping from his hand, listen to the reactions around their little arena, watch as Tubbo shuts his mouth and yanks on the strap of his chestplate and lets it drop to the floor, leaving him defenceless and open to attack and wait- no- wait- 

Mutely, Tommy’s gaze drifts skyward, and it should feel good because they know now, they know how he feels, but it's not, it's not good because that- that wasn't true. That wasn't right. 

And he looks back at Tubbo, and finally, finally, his invis runs out, and he hopes it shows on his face, that he knows he's fucked up because Tubbo looks destroyed, and a shiver goes through him because he no longer looks angry he just- He just looks sad. 

He takes off his helmet, breathing heavily from the ache and exertion, heart burning in regret. 

‘The discs were worth more than you ever were.’

How do you fix that? For one crazy moment, he considers the invis again. Turning translucent and running, back to Techno- back to Technoblade who'd congratulate him on 'moving on' and tell Phil like he was proud and probably write that line on the fucking wall, how could he be such a monumental ass- 

"Tubbo?" Their eyes meet. Tubbo says nothing. 

"Give him the disc." 

He looks bewildered, "You want me to give Dream the disc?" He says, the tiniest sliver of something they used to have peeking through, the bearest hint of kindness, and bless him, it's more than Tommy deserves. It makes him want to go invisible again. 

He smiles softly, and it can't reach his eyes, but he pours every ounce of good left in him into it and desperately hopes it's enough.

"Yeah." And because he's fucked up, because he knows they can never go back from this: "I'm sorry Tubbo." 

--- 

He's done it again, he keeps fucking up. Sam's hand is holding him down by the shoulder, firm fingers digging into him, keeping him from reaching Ghostbur. 

He tried so hard. His throat is sore from not coughing. His muscles hurt from the pure tension and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, from his stubborn heart to the ends of his fingers and toes. He thought he'd gotten caught when he drank the potion in the waivers room, and his heart had been beating so loud that he'd thought Sam could hear it. 

Yet, they made it. But it doesn't matter, because he pulled out the axe too early, and now he's busted, and Sam's gonna kill him or Wilbur's going to come back or both, and it's all his fault. 

Every time he tries. Every time he tries to fix things, or do what's right, or have something for himself, it's taken away, destroyed and he's kicked to the ground. Every time. 

It's enough to make anyone want to be invisible.

[idonthaveanaccent]

It’s been a while

Hello everyone, it’s been months since I last posted anything on here. I don’t know if I still want to post anything on tumblr, but I figured I should use the platform I gained a little at least. 

I’ve changed a lot and I like to think my writing has improved since creating this blog at 14/15. I’ve included the first chapter of a story I’m writing. I’ve included a link to it, it is available on wattpad.

The Immortal and the Cursed

Who knows if I’ll ever post anything again...college was shit so I’m no longer in school for this semester so I have a lot more free time and plan on working on writing more and hopefully one day publishing my stories.

I hope you all have a good day.

Seattle, 2018

"AND SO, THE WAR of 1812 was significant to America as it helped to..."

I watched as the class remained silent, their lifeless eyes staring at me with hollowed expressions. A sigh escaped me as I ran a hand across my forehead. As per usual, my class was basically dead. This was what my on-level history class looked like. My eyes scanned the crowd before landing on Derrick, a kid who was busy whispering to his friend about something. I was going to relish this moment. "Derrick?"

The kid jumped in his seat before looking at me like a deer caught in headlights. "Yes, Mr. Herwy?"

"Can you answer my question?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Derrick muttered something under his breath as he looked around. "Uh— What was it again, sir?"

A few people snickered, but I quickly cut them off with my hand. "How did the War Of 1812 impact America?"

The boy frowned as he began to think. I watched the gears turn inside his head before he looked up. "It made lots of people die?"

I nodded. "That's one impact. But what I want to know is long term impacts. There's one big one that I think we should really focus on. Think of today's world and think of the people we fought during the war. What changed between then and now?"

Now everyone was thinking. I knew I had mentioned it. I did, didn't I? Honestly, couldn't tell anymore if I had said something or if I had forgotten to mention it entirely. Derrick frowned, rubbing his chin. Suddenly, a voice from the back piped up. "Canada."

Everyone turned their attention to Cera, a young and timid girl. Her voice immediately paled as she saw all the attention. "What was that, Cera?" I asked.

Her face flushed as she looked down at her hands. "Our relation—relationship with Canada changed."

"Thank you, Cera! That is a perfect example!" I shot up from the desk I had been perched on. The entire class jumped at my sudden burst. I didn't care, though. My passion for history overtook everything. "Before the War of 1812, Canada and the US were simply just neighbors. They didn't like one another, especially since Canada was still under the control of England. After the war, the US and Canada made a treaty that is still lasting to today. It is the longest standing peaceful border in the history of the world. We have never fought against Canada since."

I saw a few students scribble down what I said before I changed the slide. "Another very important part of the War of 1812 was—"

••••

THE SMELL OF RANCID lunch meat made me gag. Thankfully I didn't have to sit in the cafeteria. However, I needed to talk to a teacher that was on duty here. Due to budget cuts, Maryanne had to watch the high schoolers in order to keep things safe.

My eyes scanned a table populated by giggling teenagers. I grimaced. My stomach rolled in physical pain at the sight of the 'meat' and 'food'. It had gotten really bad in my entire existence.

I immediately remembered hunting and killing my food way back in the day. My chest tightened. Maybe I didn't miss those days as much. It was always a fight for survival, one more intense than todays. In today's world I could drive down the street and pull into one of the fast food places for a quick bite to eat. I could stop by any gas station and buy a water or a bag of chips. While it was less healthy than the past, it made things more convenient.

My mind wandered to my old friends. They would've loved this.

Immediately my mood soured. I couldn't indulge in such thoughts. My attention went back to the task at hand. Finding Maryanne to ask her about a lesson plan.

I was tasked with teaching her class during fifth period because she had to help set up the assembly the school was having during sixth. I don't know how she managed a wild group of history students while also being the student council teacher. I was barely able to hold these rug rats at bay in my classes, and yet she taught two different types of kids.

Dividing these students into types made it easier for me to identify the most likely reaction they would have to something. There were the charismatic popular kids, the popular for some reason kids, the average kid who was smart, the average kid with average grades, the failing kid who was smart, the failing kid who was not smart, and late but not least, the delinquents. Of course, there were sub groups as well, but I didn't have time to list all of them in my head.

I had just found Maryanne.

The petite woman looked like the super sweet Hispanic neighbor that those kids in movies always have who shower them with delicious food. Maryanne was that woman. She couldn't bake or cook in general, but otherwise she was really sweet. I towered over her, but most times people couldn't tell the difference between me and a student.

My chest tightened. I would forever look like a teenager. It made going to bars really difficult. It also made it real awkward when a parent came in and asked where Mr. Herwy was. I once had a parent ask me if my dad was out at the moment, and another time one of my student's sister hit on me. Awkward.

"Maryanne! Mrs. Garcia!" I called, waving at her.

The woman looked to me and then smiled. "Lawrence! How can I help you?"

"I need your lesson plans. Where did you put them?" I asked, stopping in front of her.

"I believe they are in the second drawer on my desk. If not, then just know they are learning about the Salem Witch Trials."

I felt my throat dry up. "You're that behind?" I croaked.

Maryanne nodded. "As an AP teacher we go more in depth. That means we spend more time on events."

I tried not to take offense to that. I didn't want to go through and learn how to teach AP kids. Plus, it was way harder to grade them and such. Ick. "Well, it's a good thing colonial America is kind of my thing."

"That's why I wanted you to teach them. I think they'll like you, Lawrence." Maryanne winked at me, a grin spreading on her face. "Oh, by the way, there is a new student too, so just keep a good face on and all that jazz."

I nodded, giving the needy woman a soft smile. "Will do. I will see you later. You owe me!" I called after her as I walked away.

Maryanne laughed as I walked off. My mind then ran off to the task at hand. I had to teach the Salem Witch Trials.

I rubbed my neck, my face darkening. History was my thing, but there were certain events I did not like to talk about. Whenever it was time to talk about be witch trials, I typically briefly talked about them. However, if I were to just gloss over it, Maryanne wouldn't be happy. Something twisted within my gut. I immediately tumbled into the nearest teacher's bathroom. My legs gave out in front of the toilet. It was just in time to as all the contents of my delectable lunch spilled into the bowl. A groan escaped me as I leaned back, pressing my back against the wall.

Dammit.

After making sure I was not going to throw up again, I stood up and made sure to clean any evidence of my episode up. I knew it had to do with thoughts of the trials, but that couldn't be helped. After years of it still haunting me and talking to a few people about it without giving away too many details, it was determined I had PTSD. It wasn't hard to imagine that I did, especially since that was the most horrific time of my life.

My neck ached once more, and I rubbed it as I walked out of the bathroom. The next ask for me was getting a mint because I could taste the vomit in my mouth. My mind immediately went to Miss Robinson, the lady at the front desk. She had a huge bowl of mints and I would need some of them.

By the time I reached the desk and had grabbed a handful of them, lunch was almost over. "Lawrence, did you eat some tuna or something?"

I looked down at the young woman and gave her a dazzling smile. "Yep. I have to teach Maryanne's kids too so I gotta make a good impression."

My stomach rolled hazardously as she laughed. "Good luck. I heard fifth hour is full of the self-centered kids that everyone loves."

I muttered a few obscenities, which only furthered her hysterical state. "Goodbye, Miss Robinson."

"It's Emma, Lawrence!" The young woman said as I walked off, a bright red flushing over her cheeks.

While I was flattered that she was into me, I knew that nothing would come from it. I couldn't afford to hand my heart out to anyone. That would only lead to yet another crack. I don't know how many more I could endure before my heart shattered.

I barely made it to Maryanne's room before the bell that ended B lunch and started fifth hour began. I quickly went to her desk and found the lesson plans. My eyes skimmed the paper before I heard people begin to come into the room. I glanced up and saw students walking in. When they noticed me, they immediately began to whisper amongst themselves. I sighed before continuing to read this paper full of retched memories for me.

By the time the bell that signaled class was starting rang, I had managed to quell any nausea threatening to break way. I looked up at all the students talking. I picked up the roster sheet and then looked down. I adjusted my glasses before clearing my throat. "Okay then."

Everyone looked at me. I saw a girl looking at me with a confused glint in her eyes. She was probably the new kid. "So, I'm Mr., Herwy, one of the other history teachers here. Mary— Mrs. Garcia is busy setting up the assembly for next hour, so I'll be filling in. Let's do roll first, okay? Uh— Marcus Alcantara?"

I watched a boy in the back nod to me as I raised his hand. "Here."

And so, I continued down the list, butchering a few names. It's not my fault I can't read every single name these kids have. I speak five languages and yet none of those names were ones I could speak. It's honestly stupid. People these days were so strange. "Did I get everyone?" I asked after marking down everyone who was absent.

The one girl raised her hand. "And what's your name?"

"Lavern Yeller."

I stiffened at the name but smiled nonetheless. "Are you the new student Mrs. Garcia told me about?"

Lavern nodded, her face flushed red. I chuckled before writing her name down. "Perfect. Who wants to take this to the office?"

After handing it to someone, I began to lesson. "Today we will be talking about the Salem Witch Trials. Who here knows what they were and why they happened?"

Some kid whose name was Kyle raised his hand. I pointed at him as I took a seat on a table near the Smartboard. "So, the Salem Witch Trials was an event in which people were executed for being witches, and they happened because of hysteria or some form of it."

"Yes. There're other theories that perhaps disease and boredom also played a part, as well as a want for power. Other than that, that is basically what happened. A group of 22 people were executed because they were thought of as witches or warlocks. Warlocks being male. Now, Salem was a Puritan colony. Can someone explain a Puritan to me?" I adjusted my glasses again, my stomach churning.

A young girl whose name was Hannah raised her hand. Kyle did as well, but I called on her instead. She gave Kyle a pointed look score looking at me, batting her eyelashes. "The Puritans were a group who came from England because they believed that the church was corrupt, and so they wanted to come to America to make their own, better version."

"Very good, Hannah." Her face flushed red and she winked at me. I kept my face as neutral as possible. She was a teenager, she had to know flirting with me was illegal. "Puritans followed the Bible to a T because they saw it as the exact word of God. They also believed in predestination, so no matter what they did, they were either going to heaven or damned to hell for all eternity. Now, one thing they did think would automatically damn you was becoming a 'Devil's Agent'."

I watched as thy began to write down what I was saying. "They believed that when a person made a deal with Satan, they became a witch or warlock. There were tell-tale signs of them being one too. If they were unable to speak the Lord's Prayer or if they were able to hold a rifle, with their arm extended and their finger in the barrel, they could be a witch or warlock. They also checked for any physical flaws, such as a skin tag. They called them 'witch's tit', and so the person might be sent to the gallows.

"Now, of course, finding proof of actual witchcraft is impossible. However, people would often fake being possessed by demons in the witch's presence or fake symptoms of curses to better sell the witch. The people who started the witch trials are two young girls named Betty Parris, who was only nine, and then her cousin Abigail Williams who was eleven. They talk to a slave named Tituba for advice on their future husbands. After telling their fortune using a West Indian ritual, the girls began to act erratically. They identified Tituba and two other women as witches."

I watched as they continued to write. I took this chance to begin writing down every person executed. My stomach rolled, and a sick feeling began spreading across my spine. As I wrote my name, memories of the rope tightening around my neck flooded through me. I bit my lip, trying to focus on anything but that. If I blacked out now—

"Mr. Herwy, why is your name up there? I mean, your name is Lawrence, right?"

"It's a strange coincidence, isn't it? But no, me and his Lawrence are not the same. He was barely nineteen when he was executed. Hung. Poor kid. Anyways, let me get into some of these people and why they were accused—"

A strange feeling suddenly filled my body. I immediately felt dizzy. The next thing I knew, the ground was rapidly approaching me. I could hear people calling my name as I fell forward. The feeling simply spread, and it took me a moment to realize what it was.

As soon as I realized exactly why I had collapsed, my head hit something hard. A desk, I think.

My eyes rolled into the back of my head. As everything turned black, I came to the realization of where this horrific event had just taken place.

Salem.

[drawlfoy]

2019 Draco x Reader Secret Santa Gift Exchange - - Inevitable

masterlist request guidelines i know, i know...it’s been a bit. this is for @eltanin-malfoy​ ‘s secret santa gift exchange.

pairing: draco x reader

requested: kind of! this is part of the xmas gift exchange :)) also i hate to say this but i kind of deviated from the request...i wanted to make it a bit longer and didn’t like how it specified how they were the only two students left at hogwarts...wanted to mix it up some :)))))))))

summary: ravenclaw y/n is remaining at hogwarts over the holidays to study for N.E.W.T.S while her family is away on business. despite never really having been close to him before, y/n begins to form an unlikely connection.

warnings: just swearing and underage drinking and a mention of a sexual relationship between snape and a student (don’t worry...NOT the central focus and just an anecdote provided).  

a/n: damn....it’s really been like....almost two months. i’ve been logging on and off occasionally to see what’s been going on. i know that there were a lot of requests over the summer that kind of sunk that i never got to, and to that i’m very sorry. maybe one day i’ll be able to get back to them (i’m thinking of doing so over the next summer!!). i’m so so so thankful for the fact that you guys are still here, reading my content and enjoying draco malfoy as much as i am. i love this community and feel very blessed to be a part of it.

music recs: any christmas music!!

word count: 3,859

“And you’re sure that you’re alright with staying behind?” 

Y/N sighed, twisted her hair into a knot behind her neck in a nervous gesture. “Yes, Mum. It’s really okay. I hope you and Dad have a good time in Paris.”

“You know we won’t,” her mother said. “I can’t believe we have to work through the holidays.”

“I’m sorry Mum.” Y/N took a glance out the window, watching the rest of her friends leave the grounds with the intention of catching the train back to London. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I’m one of the only students staying here this winter. I’ll just be working too.”

“Be sure to write often.” There was a brief pause before Y/N could hear some commotion in the background, and her mother’s face, which had previously been gazing at her from the common room coals turned. “I’ve got to go, dearie. Love you!”

With that, the fire was extinguished, and Y/N was left to sit alone in the empty Ravenclaw common room. It was rather dark now that the sun was hanging lower in the sky, and every sound she made echoed. She had never noticed just how much space her housemates took up until they had gone home.

Once Y/N had gotten over her miniature pity party, she gathered up her robes and headed down to the dining hall. There was one particular Slytherin girl, Daphne, who she knew was staying behind for sure. There was something about the Slytherin house staying over the holiday break to study for N.E.W.T.S...or perhaps all their parents had gotten sick of them and their snooty attitudes by this point.

Y/N snorted ungraciously at this notion as she entered the dining hall, pushing open the two large doors. The eerie hum of quiet chatter hit her ears instead of the familiar roar of 4 houses, and her footsteps echoed--actually echoed--as she made her way to the Ravenclaw table. She quickly changed her mind when she saw Daphne waving at her from the sparsely populated Slytherin table. 

“Over here, Y/L/N,” she called, shoving someone who was sitting next to her to the side. Y/N couldn’t get a good look at who it was, but the long, flowing dark locks suggested that it was Pansy. “Move, Pans. We have special company.”

Y/N gratefully accepted the offer, ditching her completely empty table and sliding in next to her Potions partner.

“Thanks, Greengrass.” Y/N never understood the Slytherin obsession with calling acquaintances by their last name, but on Merlin was she going to follow that rule whilst she was the only friend she had. 

“Of course,” Daphne responded, daintily picking at the food on her plate while Y/N grabbed a roll and spooned stew into her bowl. “Just don’t embarrass us too much, you know. Blue and green just don’t really...vibe well. We’ll have to get you a Slytherin tie for the holidays if you don’t want to be harassed in the common room.”

“In the...what?” 

“In the common room,” Pansy said, barely looking up from her own plate. “You don’t seriously think we’re going to leave you to go up to an empty dorm every night, right?”

“Does...that....huh?” Y/N knew that her mouth was gaped unceremoniously open, but she didn’t know how else to act. The Slytherins were...inviting her to live with them?

“Yeah, Pans and I have an extra bed now that Millicent is off in Peru on holiday,” Daphne said nonchalantly. 

“Does that mean I get to call you Daphne now, or...” 

She laughed, her perfectly straight white teeth glinting in the light. “If it makes you happy. Only me though. Or Pansy. Anyone else will have a bit of an attitude.”

Y/N smiled nervously, pushing her stew around with a spoon. “I really wasn’t expecting this, Thanks for not making me spend the holidays completely alone.”

“Honestly,” Pansy said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t get why people give Slytherins such a selfish rap. Look at how empathetic and caring we are.”

Y/N laughed, casting her eyes up from her food and taking in the table. The 6th year Slytherins were well-represented, with Zabini, Nott, and....Malfoy? She frowned at him. Malfoy had blabbed the entire year to all of his croonies about how well-regarded he was in family and how he was such an integral part of his father’s work. It was surprising to see him at Hogwarts and not home, where he would’ve been much more useful to his family. The extra line in his scowl suggested to Y/N that he was well aware of the fact and was staying against his will. Then again, she could’ve been wrong. She’d had some classes with him, but they’d never personally spoken, but it didn’t take much for her to draw the conclusion that he was a spoiled prat.

She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t think to pull her eyes away when Malfoy turned away from his conversation with Zabini, his head tilting in her direction. His grey eyes snapped up from the table to meet hers, and she jerked away the moment they made contact. Y/N stared at the table as nonchalantly as she could, counting 7 cracks in the wood before she felt confident enough to peek back up again. Malfoy was turned back around, talking a bit more animatedly to his friends. 

That was weird she thought, putting her energy back into her stew. I’m never looking that direction again.

<^>

The Slytherin bunk beds felt slightly more comfortable than the Ravenclaw ones. “Daddy’s money always makes for a thicker cushion,” Pansy said to this observation as she rifled through her drawers, trying to find a few acceptable pieces for Y/N to borrow. “I don’t have an extra jumper, but I’ll be right back. I know someone who does.”

“Isn’t this kind of extra?” Y/N asked Daphne as Pansy dashed off through the open dorm door. “I’ll just avoid wearing blue stuff. I swear.”

She laughed at this, tossing an extra Slytherin tie on Y/N’s bed. “It’s weird. I think it’s kind of a Slytherin thing. It’s fun to indoctrinate you or something like that.”

“Kind of kinky.”

The two snickered as Y/N continued to unpack her things into Millicent’s now empty drawer, shoving her sweats and unmarked sweaters to fit as much as she could. 

“I wouldn’t go that far, but if it floats your boat.”

“You’re gonna love me for this,” a prim voice sang from the doorway. Y/N turned to see Pansy holding a bundle of clothes. “Full set of Slytherin robes. I say that you try and convince everyone that you’ve been in this house the whole time.”

Y/N cackled at this. “I feel like I’m rooming with absolute lunatics.”

“Because you are, darling.” Pansy flounced forward, pinching Y/N’s cheek. “Anyways. I say you get changed into something a little less...blue...and we go to the first Christmas party of the year. I hear it starts at 11.”

With that, the girls descended into a flurry of motion. Y/N slipped into one of Daphne’s deep emerald dresses, which felt more expensive than her family’s home, and prayed that it would stay intact for the rest of the night. She was never a wild partier, but she would never forgive herself if a rogue glass of mulled firewhiskey found its way onto the expensive velvet fabric. It felt uncomfortably tight and revealing, so she snatched the first Slytherin article of clothing she could find--what appeared to be a black cape with a snake emblem on it--and draped it over her shoulders.

“Let’s talk about girl things,” Pansy announced as she took out her makeup bag and sat herself in front of the mirror. Daphne smiled in exasperation. “I know all about Daphne’s vast experiences with Blaise, but I know nothing about you, Y/N. Got any horrid men messing up your educational experience?”

Y/N laughed as she finished trying to spell her hair smooth. “No. Not really. I wish. I was into this one guy in my Charms class this September, but he turned out to be a whole clown.”

“Oh, ick.” Pansy paused just long enough to make eye contact in the mirror and send her a disgusted expression. “I hate men. Except for mine, of course. “

“And that is...?” prodded Y/N.

“If I told you, it’d ruin all the fun,” Pansy teased. “He does look good in red, though. I’ll let you know that. Do with that information what you will.”

“A Gryffindor?! Aren’t you afraid that he’s gonna kill himself cliff-jumping over the holidays or something?”

“Oh, hush little Y/N. He’s here for a good time, not a long time.”

Daphne snorted from her corner of the room, sending Y/N a look that said “see what I have to deal with?”. 

11 came around sooner than expected. Y/N’s dress was feeling tighter with each breath she took, her anxiety brewing within her. Despite being on friendly terms with Daphne for a season, she had never been invited to a Slytherin party, but she had heard plenty of morning after stories that left her wondering what really went on. 

Now I’m going to find out she mused, running her fingerpads over her ring. 

“Are you going to just stand here or are you going to open the door, kiddo?” Pansy’s voice sounded behind her, shaking her out of her thoughts.

“Don’t be fucking rude, Pans,” Daphne chided. “This is a monumental moment for Ravenclawkind.”

<^> 

Y/N never thought that she’d see people getting absolutely trashed to Frank Sinatra’s christmas album, but her first Slytherin party shook this preconceived notion. The moment she stepped into the common room, Daphne pressed a hot goblet into her hand that was full of something that smelled suspiciously like fire. 

“It’s a Slytherin specialty,” she explained. “Firewhiskey, but with more fire.”

Whatever it was, it tasted good. Really, really good. If Y/N hadn’t been so nervous, she would’ve downed the goblet in one go, but she knew better and only took small sips. Daphne and Pansy were a little less conservative, pouring themselves a third go before she had even finished her first. 

“So proper,” Daphne managed to get out as she looked at Y/N, an amused expression on her face. “Come on and be festive.”

Y/N managed to hold off on heavy drinking and instead retired to a dark green leather armchair, choosing to people watch. The Slytherins were stumbling about in a fashion that was very unSlytherin-esque but oddly charming. Pansy was chatting up Nott and Malfoy, and when she saw Y/N sitting alone, she grabbed the two boys by the tie and dragged them over. 

Malfoy didn’t look nearly as hammered as his companions as he stared daggers at Pansy’s hand, clutched at the emerald fabric encircling his neck. They were standing in front of her in moments with Pansy smiling goofily. 

“Y/N, doll,” she began, dropping the ties and reaching out to grab Y/N’s hands. “Have you met my friends? Draco and Theo?”

“Why are you wearing my cape?” Draco’s voice cut past Pansy’s easily with his posh accent. 

“Your...what? Are you talking to me?” Y/N asked, her mind clouded with confusion.

“Er, yeah,” Malfoy said, motioning towards the cloak settled over her shoulders. “That’s mine.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Y/N shifted awkwardly, working it off her shoulders and holding it out to him. “You can have it back, if you want. Pansy just said that I could borrow it.”

Malfoy stared at her, his silver eyes flickering in the dim light. He seemed very out of place--the Malfoy energy didn’t exactly match with the classic Christmas love songs that were echoing through the room.His pale hair reflected the festive green lights strung up around the dungeon ceiling and walls, making it look much colder than she thought it normally did. 

It took him clearing his throat for her to realize that she’d been staring again and that no, he hadn’t reached out his arm to take the cape.

“It’s yours now,” he said stiffly. 

“Ooooookaaaaay,” Pansy sang, slipping her arm through Nott’s and shoving Malfoy towards the couch. “Looks like you two need to talk this out! I’ll be going!”

With that, she darted off, leaving a very awkward looking Malfoy standing substantially closer to her.

“You can sit down if you want,” Y/N said, a wave a boldness washing over her. So what, he was cute, and there was nothing stopping her from talking to him now. “I don’t bite.”

He seemed receptive to this, settling down onto the couch and leaving a healthy distance between them. “Your name is Y/N, right?” 

She was surprised by this. There was no point in time where she was referred to anything but Y/LN in front of him, but it appeared as if he somehow knew her first name anyways. “And you’re Draco?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to call you Draco or Malfoy?” she pushed, curling her legs up under her and turning to look at him better. Now that he was just about a foot away from her, she could see that his hair was slightly ruffled. 

“Whichever you fancy,” he answered. 

“Do we have Potions together?” 

Before Draco could fully answer, there was an explosion of motion behind them and an infectious spread of laughter.

“Mistletoe!” Pansy gleefully shrieked from somewhere out of Y/N’s line of sight as a floating patch of greenery made its way through the common room air.

“The fuck is that?” Y/N cast a questioning look at Draco. “What’s the point of mistletoe if it doesn’t stay still?”

“It’ll stop in a moment. It goes to the pair with the most chemistry in the room.”

“That sounds kind of dangerous.”

“Oh, believe me.” Draco’s face broke into a rare smile, revealing dimples that Y/N had never seen before. “I heard that one time Snape walked in while that thing was floating about. It stopped over the heads of him and one of the 8th years. The cruelest thing is that it won’t leave the pair alone until they kiss.”

Y/N closed her gaping jaw and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I wish I could return to the point in my life where I didn’t know that information.”

He smiled a little wider, his eyes seeming to be a little warmer now. Their was a strange fluttering inside of Y/N’s stomach, but she chalked it up to the firewhiskey. The distance between them had shrunk significantly since they had first begun to talk, and now they were so close that Y/N could smell his cologne--a tasteful mix of pine and mint.

Her throat dried up as she saw Draco blink slowly, resting his chin in his hand and looking at her in a way that made her feel...not right. Wasn’t he supposed to be a prick? Her attention was caught by a flash of green leaves in her peripheral vision, speeding towards their direction.

“I should go,” she hastened, grabbing the cape and pulling it snug over her shoulders. His eyebrows raised the slightest bit in interest, but he didn’t seem to move at all. “I’ll....er....see you around, okay?”

With that, she booked it to her room.

<^>

“I’m never drinking again!” Pansy’s shrill voice awoke Y/N from a rather deep slumber. “I swear to Merlin, Daph! Never let me do that again!”

Y/N leaned over the side of the bunk, glaring down at the two girls. “Can you be a bit quieter? Some of us are trying to get some sleep here.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “And some of us are trying to get up in time to get a good study spot in the library. Care to join us, princess?”

While it pained Y/N to admit, Daphne was probably right--every single student staying at Hogwarts over the break was there with the purpose of studying for N.E.W.T.S, meaning that the library was going to be overflowing. A quick glance at the clock on the wall confirmed her suspicions--most spots were probably already taken at 11 in the morning, and they’d be lucky to even find a table open at this time.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Y/N moaned, sliding down from the bunk to get dressed. They all readied quickly--after all, studying wasn’t the most glamorous event--and made their way down to the library.

“Damn, there’s only a few spots left open.” Daphne frowned as she surveyed the room. Sure enough, there were no empty tables, just scattered empty seats throughout the library. 

“Guess we’re splitting up then,” Pansy said. “We can all meet up in an hour for lunch. Until then, good luck! I have some Wide-eye potion if either of your hangovers get too bad.”

Y/N snorted at this, turning away to find her own spot. If she was lucky, there’d be an empty seat by the windows that overlooked the forest. It was snowing, and she wanted nothing more than to watch snow fall as she revised.

Thankfully, there was exactly one empty seat, but unthankfully, this seat was next to a certain someone.

“Hi Draco,” she greeted, immediately wishing that she had just kept her mouth shut. Her tone of voice was way too cringy. 

He looked up from his Charms essay, his face lighting up when he saw who it was. “Hello.”

“Do you mind if I sit here?” She motioned towards the empty chair, and he shook his head, even going as far as pulling out the chair for her. “Thanks.”

Draco nodded but turned his attention back to his essay, dipping his quill back into his inkwell and continuing to write. Y/N rested her chin in her hand as she watched the snow swirl outside the window and paint the trees white. 

After a bit, she unpacked her books and began to read up on outlawed hexes. Every once and a while, Draco’s elbow would bump her arm as he immersed himself in his essay. 

“Isn’t that my tie?” Draco asked, his voice breaking the silence. 

“What?” Y/N’s eyes cast down to the Slytherin tie she had haphazardly thrown on that morning and caught something she hadn’t noticed before--the Malfoy crest.

“Oh,” she said. “Pansy gave me a whole bundle of things. I’m assuming all of it was yours. I don’t plan on keeping this stuff, by the way. Once I go back to Ravenclaw, I’m never wearing green again.”

“Shh!” A random student looked up from their work to glare at Y/N. She whispered a quick apology before turning back to admire Draco’s amused expression.

“Those are fighting words,” he told her simply, quirking an eyebrow and tapping his lip with his quill like he was thinking.

“Can I see your quill?” she asked suddenly, holding her palm out. The feather was something she had never seen before--it shimmered with some kind of charm that projected silver light. Without a word in response, he passed it to her, his hand dragging across her palm for a second as he placed it in her hand. She shivered--his hand was surprisingly warm considering his fairly cool demeanor.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Very wintery.”

“That’s not a word,” he said matter-of-factly, but one glance at him was enough to tell that he wasn’t being serious. 

“You’re insufferable,” Y/N told him. “But you must know that.”

His face broke into another smile, lines forming around his silver eyes. “Insufferably wonderful.”

“Seriously, can you guys shut up?” the same Slytherin asked from the other end of the table. “Some of us are actually trying to work.”

“Yeah, take a walk if you guys can’t be quiet,” another Slytherin added. 

Draco sent them both a death glare that made them turn back around and get back to their work without another word of caution. 

“Maybe I should leave,” Y/N offered, motioning to the blizzard outside. “I like the snow anyways. You can come with me if you’d like.”

His dimples pressed into his cheeks again at this as he packed up his things, a bit haphazardly and carelessly. “I think a walk sounds great.”

The two made their way out of the library, passing by Pansy who sent them a curious look. The library doors were obnoxiously loud to open, and it took both of them throwing all of their weight into them to get out.

“I hear they’re harder to open the more students are inside,” said Y/N absentmindedly. 

“And where did you read that?”

“Hogwarts: a History, I think.”

“Of course.” Draco seemed amused at this--which was admittedly a great look on him. Today he had worn a white collared shirt, the collars barely peeking out of the dark green jumper he wore over it. That color always looked absolutely stunning next to his near-white hair...something made Y/N feel warm for noticing.

“So....er....” Y/N struggled to stay upright on a particularly slick patch of ice. Draco’s arm shot out to steady her. “Oh, er, thanks. Are you enjoying the holidays?”

His eyes crinkled at the edges. “Yes, I guess so. You?”

“They could be better.” One of his eyebrows arched. “Er, no, I mean, not because of you, because of all the studying I have to get done.”

“I almost forgot you were a Ravenclaw,” he teased. A few snowflakes had nestled themselves into his eyelashes, and he looked indescribable to Y/N. 

He cleared his throat, and Y/N stopped staring. 

They walked in silence around the grounds for a bit, and Y/N cursed herself for not wearing any gloves. The winter air swirled with snowflakes that stuck to her bare skin, and Y/N shivered a little more with every step she took. 

“D’you want my--”

Draco’s proposition was cut short by the sound of something whizzing through the air.

“How did that get out of the common room?” Draco said instead, motioning with his head to the flying patch of greenery that was coming their way.

“I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s out now.”

The two waited awkwardly for a few seconds, and Y/N was sure that they were both praying that the mistletoe would change its course and veer back in the direction of the castle, but it didn’t. It made its way straight for them, hardly stopped at all through the battering of the blizzard.

It stopped only when it was directly above the two of them. When Y/N tried to lean away, it was like she hit a forcefield that forced her back in, even closer to Draco. He seemed concerned at this, running his fingers through his hair once and sighing.

“I guess this was inevitable,” he said, offering further explanation when he saw Y/N’s confused expression. “I saw it heading towards us last night. If we had gone to another Christmas party, I’m sure it would’ve found us anyways.”

“Maybe it’s better that it’s here than in public,” Y/N mused. Before she could add anything else, Draco took his gloves off and took her hands in his.

“Another reason why this was inevitable,” he began, dropping her right hand to brush a strand of hair away from her face, “Was that I was planning on doing this anyways.”

final a/n: sorry i really really didn’t feel like writing a kiss scene and also i procrastinated and started this yesterday and that was NOT the move i’m so so sorry kings and queens and nonbinary royalty--i hope you can enjoy the lead-up and use your imagination to fill in the blanks that i have left (please please please don’t kill me). alright love u all and merry xmas. wonders of ohio is coming out soon and is in progress

[mxbitters]

Do you have any band recommendations? I’ve been trying to get more into the punk and/or emo scene more so I’m looking for some new bands.

AHA! yesyesyes i will share bands with you :)) this is gonna be wordy so i’m sorry--

taking back sunday!  they’re from long island, i’d consider them an emo band even though they’re a little hesitant about the label.  they started up around the same general time mcr did, same general scene too.  their first album tell all your friends is absolutely kickass and is great for laying around and listening start to finish.  however individual songs i’d recommend are timberwolves at new jersey, great romances of the 20th century, a decade under the influence, you can’t look back, and of course makedamnsure and cute without the e :)

saves the day!  another new jersey emo band formed in the late 90′s, i won’t lie i’m so biased everybody says through being cool was their most influential album, one of those landmark emo albums, but for me, my favorite album is their first one, can’t slow down.  from that one my gateway was the song jodie so i think that’s a good place to start!!

ok stepping away from new jersey, more recent bands, i’m like legally obligated to mention sorority noise because art school wannabe is a song by them.  they’re from my state and actually one of them went to the same (art) school i did!!  aside for that song, i’d really recommend dirty ickes, using, and mononokay.  but with those last two songs and blonde hair black lungs just be careful because they can be kinda triggering, their singer is pretty open about his struggles with depression, drugs, all that, so i should mention that.  they are on hiatus i believe at the moment but like they’re still an incredible band, and they’re AMAZING live.

modern baseball!!!  they’re a fucking classic, they’re from philadelphia (ok ok maryland at first if you really want specifics), and they’re about as emo as it gets.  they’re also on hiatus, or split, i don’t really know and it’s kinda sad but regardless they’re absolutely incredible.  my gateway was tears over beers, i’d also recommend the weekend, fine, great, your graduation, and all the other songs i’m suddenly drawing a blank over.

ANOTHER philly band but this one’s technically punk, kinda emo (in my opinion) and deserve every ounce of your attention.  this one’s the menzingers, and they are absolutely PHENOMENAL.  perhaps this is just my band friends converting me into somebody who will eventually have a shrine specifically to their album on the impossible past, but regardless oh my god listen to them.  i’d give you recommendations but the ones that pop up immediately are the opening and closing songs of that album.  just listen to on the impossible past tbh.

okay we’re going into more punk bands,, umm,, AGAINST ME!! they started up in gainesville, relocated to chicago, you want anarchist punk? against me! is the band.  you want a trans punk role model??  laura jane grace, i swear, she’s your person.  i have her memoir, i also saw them live front row and probably did way too much pointing because i’d never been to a real punk show, nevermind front row at the most crowded punk show on earth right before the tour got cancelled due to covid.  songs??  oh god there are so many.  baby, i’m an anarchist is such a classic, pints of guinness make you strong is so good too, thrash unreal, borne on the fm waves of the heart, i was a teenage anarchist, transgender dysphoria blues (the album and the song, this was after laura came out), true trans soul rebel, crash, white people for peace, and like every song i don’t know by them because i did not know half the lyrics at that show tbh.  they actually played something new but i genuinely cannot remember it :’)

ok back to more emo bands uh remo drive has been like blowing up these past few years and honestly? good for them.  anything off greatest hits (ironically their first album) is excellent, i haven’t really listened to tons of their new stuff.  but i’d recommend hunting for sport, yer killin’ me, strawberita, name brand, eat shit, i’m my own doctor, okay that whole album really.  i also really like the grind :) they just released a whole new album, portrait of an ugly man, i haven’t listened yet though

here’s a mouthful, the world is a beautiful place and i am no longer afraid to die, they’re from willimantic ct, (aka my state and the town i’m going to college in haha) and are like?  a nine piece band that kinda switches out for shows, which is kind of wild.  they are so unique in emo because you don’t usually see THAT much variety in instrumentals.  like you got the front bottoms with their trumpet or whatever but that’s not even close to what twiabp pulls off.  i can talk all i want but it’ll never truly do them justice.  listen to you can’t live there forever, and here’s a video of them playing heartbeat in the brain live!!

there are definitely a shit ton more than this but i’m gonna have to get up so i’m gonna leave you with that for now :))

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 46

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 13. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: Mental snap, body horror. Things feel a little henny-penny.

________________________

A small building something akin to a shack or garage stood separate from the mudded dwelling intermixed with what had once been a blue country house. They walked up to the opening of the dwelling. Sticks poked his head inside, and knocked to somewhat hollow effect. A dry chuckle within drew a grin out of the ghoul, and he set down his flamer to wave ‘Choly inside. Angel, as always, remained in the Furriers’ doorways.

Hand-sculpted shelves both dug into and emanated out from the walls of the dwelling’s dome-like main room. As Reese’s house, series lighting embedded in the topmost region of the surface of the room illuminated it. While Sticks greeted the inhabitant, ‘Choly eyed the shelving, and the old man’s belongings. Hood finials, dashboard ornaments, rear view mirror dangles--so this Furrier shared a love of vehicles with Sticks. He glanced over to the pair to find them engaging in what seemed at first a sort of secret handshake: They crisscrossed their arms to grip together all four hands between them. Both the old man’s arms belonged to the right side of his body, one of which originated where a neck should have been, and his neck and head came instead from his left shoulder. Clad in an apron-like glossy, ruddy leather garment with a dusty grey-blue wrapped shirt beneath, this Furrier wore a mummy mask comprised of several materials. Its sallow eyelids hung heavy and sarcastic, and the lipless mouth shape could not contain the insinuation of teeth. Wild silver-white hair bushed out anywhere the mask was not affixed. ‘Choly stared as the two sealed the gesture with a long tight hug.

“Lacked you something sorry, Sticks. Know you visited the higher ups before you came to see me,” the old man known as Ick play-scolded. Barrel-chested and modestly burly, he projected his voice with a certain benevolent insistence. The hand of the top arm smushed down Sticks’s ushanka and the ghoul stifled a wheeze out of his noseless nostrils. “Who’s this picayune?”

“I’m...” ‘Choly stiffened. “I’m Melancholy.”

The mummy-faced trapper approached him and looked over his coat, then tapped his nameplate.

“Melancholy,” Ick repeated thoughtfully with a nod. “Sure he’s said it, but I’m Ick.”

The trapper offered his shoulder-arm and its bright red glove for a handshake and ‘Choly swallowed, trying to remember how Sticks had done it. But Ick didn’t give him the chance, and dragged him into a hug and vigorous shoulder-pat. The chemist smiled nervously once he let go of him, and did his best not to look unnerved by all the physical contact the ghoul had warned him to avoid.

“How’s the Riverhawk?” Sticks began.

“Keepin’ her sharp as ever.” The mummy skirted the ghoul’s directness. “Stay for dinner? I’ve got a bunch’a pelt hangin’ in the kitchen just this mornin’.”

“Meals sit better shared,” the ghoul quietly agreed. “You really gotta show me your curved needle technique again. I think I’ve lost it. Last mounted animal I did myself came out looking more like a prewar cartoon character.”

Ick chuckled, patting his hands together.

“Then you’re around for a few days. Bless it all, I don’t even care if I’m getting too old to unfold. Really, I wish you’d move into Voire proper, you misanthrope. I’m not the only one that’s lacked you.”

“The fishing’s better out Pawtucketville side.” Sticks leaned against a smooth part of the wall. “You know I stay out there as the lifeline between y’all and the General, besides. ...Wish you’d move out to Sampas with me, gonna be like that. We’d get into much better mischief.”

“I do miss scavvin’ lots with you,” Ick resigned with a shrug. “But the fur and leather’s so much better in Dracut’s backyard. You tell me how much radstag runs into you.”

‘Choly mentally squirmed, excluded from the familiarity of their conversation. He’d known Sticks for less than a year and they’d grown near-instantly close, but from the sound of it, the ghoul and this Furrier had known one another for half a century or longer. Time hadn’t stopped just because the chemist had succumbed to a cryogenic coma. The jet lag hooked at his temples and stitched around his scalp.

As the two continued to catch up without him, he readily scrutinized Ick’s physique unnoticed. Something about the asymmetrical arrangement of Ick’s pair of arms unsettled him in a way the other Furriers’ oddity had not. He identified that the old man had a third hand, though he lacked full use of it largely owing to it jutting halfway down his left side absent of an arm. This third hand was gnarled up and fused to Ick’s flesh, and ‘Choly choked up at recognizing that the hand looked distinctly ghoulish. His delayed disbelief snapped all at once, and with a terse snarl he lurched forward to grab the mask off Ick.

The old man’s very regular and very aged features stared back at him almost expectantly. ‘Choly hyperventilated as he gawked at the fullest concept of the Furrier’s anatomical dishevelment. Sticks looked on, disappointed and pained but not the least bit surprised at ‘Choly’s behavior.

“--Mindy, what were you expecting?”

“...I thought you said your name was Melancholy.” Ick’s bushy eyebrows raised then lowered as he tried to figure out for himself why the chemist had unmasked him.

“I have a lot of names, I guess!” ‘Choly slouched apologetically, confused as ever. “I get the feeling Sticks nicknames anybody he gets a little close to.”

“The fifth.” Sticks feigned a sneer as he held up his gloved hand to flourish his fingers.

“No, no...” Ick stepped nearer the chemist, squinting. “Carey... Great-gramma talked about a Carey from Deenwood. General gave you the digs of a real dark an’ wicked man.”

‘Choly scrunched his chin into his neck to grimace down at his nameplate.

“Certainly looks so...” He laughed weakly in agreement. “How come great-gramma knew anything about Deenwood?”

“Furriers came from that place. Our great-great gramparents served the General’s lot. She won’t let us back on base, but most of us don’t want to go back no ways.”

He could feel something in his skull pop.

“...Do you want to go back?”

“Never been,” Ick shrugged. “Never met the General even. I... I can’t say. Got all I need in Voire. Sticks’s made it sound like Deenwood’s some kinda paradise full’a robot butlers, but what good would it do me to have a bunch’a robots do as I say?”

“Robots can do a lot of good,” he replied a little too readily, “...depending on whose care they provide.” He glanced to Angel in the doorway with a smile. “Angel’s become my everything as my health deteriorates.”

Sticks had watched to gauge the conflict, and his mouth hung open about to say something, but Ick grinned and patted ‘Choly’s hand in both of his good hands.

“Gettin’ old has its costs, just as everything else.” The old man laughed and took his mask from ‘Choly to put it back on. “Sticks, let’s turn over the ol’ Riverhawk and get ‘er over with. Wanna be back before dinner.”

“Music to my ears.”

Ick opened the wooden rolling shutter door of the shack beside his house, revealing a Pick-R-Up truck with paneling salvaged from three different colors--black, blue, and white. The old mummy popped the hood and cackled as he crawled around to check fluid levels on all the main lines. Meanwhile, ‘Choly and Angel followed Sticks’s lead loading up the cargo bed with two crates from the shack. A cradle mount jutted from the center of the bed into which the ghoul tossed his flamer.

“Mister Ick is most generous to be permitting us the use of his vehicle,” Angel lauded quietly.

“This is becoming an all day affair for certain.” ‘Choly took off his glasses to rub at his face a moment. “What the fuck is with the masks, Sticks? Do they think it’s Halloween every day now!”

Up in the cargo bed, Sticks slumped to sit on the crates to glare at him.

“Rhetorical question: Can you get your feet out of your mouth for two seconds?”

‘Choly’s face drooped, and he put his glasses back on.

“--Wait. You said there was a drainage pipeline from Deenwood to the river... Do you know where that empties out?”

“A half-baked theory, but an interesting one. You’re gonna drive me to smoke at this rate.” The ghoul shook his head. “I’d imagine that it emptied into what used to be the Christian Hill Reservoir. At least some of the cogs in that defrosted skull are turning. Not well, but. ...No. That pipeline empties out under O’Donnell Bridge. In case you were wondering why there’s such a crustacean issue there.”

“Then--” He deflated in a huffing pout. “You’re the only person being honest and full disclosure with me here, Jacob. Please... please just tell me.”

“You really don’t get it, do you? They’re family.” He grinned sarcastically at him. “All I can say is you’re right about it being Halloween every day for the Furriers. Symbols of harvest and unity celebrate this place. The masks are, ah. Ironic. Something for strangers to focus on over their folds. But they’re a nice leper colony. Pushy, and a real huge batch of weird, but they’re good people.”

“A leper colony that insists on throwing some kind of massive costume party before they’ll even consider agreeing to help Olivia Francis flush the raiders out of Lowell for good.”

The ghoul barked, and sniffed before laying into another roar of laughter.

“Costume party. That’s a good one. ...Which reminds me.” He jammed a finger his way. “Ick is probably the most milquetoast Furrier you could have unmasked. Don’t fuckin’ do that again if you value staying in one piece.”

“Are they really so grotesque?” Sticks deadpanned him and he screwed up his face. “Curiosity’s only worse now.”

Sticks mashed his face into his palm. Ick turned over the engine, and the ghoul stood up to square his footing and get his flamer properly mounted.

“Let’s just get in and out of Boott Mills already. Hopefully the wildlife stays small and manageable. Mating season can make Downtown recon hairy as sin.”

‘Choly hopped up on Angel with his syringer filled with pencils, to follow behind the pair in the truck. They made their way South out of Voire, and crossed Cox Bridge weaving through the vehicles long abandoned there. Once they crossed the river, Ick leaned out the window and waved ‘Choly to match pace. The Handy and chemist complied and the old mummy guffawed heartily, then spoke over the volume of the engine.

“Gawd almighty never met a body knew Sticks longer’n me. He’s lacked you something AWFUL. Told me all about you. Called you Mindy! You’re MINDY!”

'Choly paled, not knowing how to even begin to object.

“Oh, don’t choke on your humility, son,” Ick insisted. “Won’t tell a soul. Not my business to say a body’s a ghoul when he doesn’t look it.”

Sticks could hear it all through the window opening which once would have held a glass panel between the cab and the bed, and he frowned to ‘Choly apologetically.

“Guess you know for sure now, that you’re family,” the ghoul quipped sheepishly off the side of the truck. “They’re your children, Mindy.”

The generational cascade of his military legacy crashed down on him like the sky shattered, and if Angel had not been steering he would have spilled off it.

Go to Next »»»

[samsexualdeancurious]

Day Thirty-Eight

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 2,036

Prompt: “Imagine being the only one who can pull Sam out of his hallucinations” from @teamfreewillimagines

Warnings: Spoilers for 7x02, “Hello Cruel World”, canon divergence, hurt!Sam

A/N: This is Part one of two!

“You should probably wake up Sam,” you say, tossing Dean a water bottle and a power bar. “It’s been almost twelve hours. Give him these.”

You lean against doorway, watching as Dean lays a gentle hand on Sam’s chest to wake his brother. Sam startles, eyes snapping open.

“Whoa!” Dean says, hands held up in a placating gesture. “That’s twelve hours straight. I’m calling that rested. Here.” He hands Sam the bottle and power bar. “Hydrate and, uh, protein-ate.”

Sam takes the items, using his elbows to push himself into a sitting position. “Breakfast in bed.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”

You smile fondly, crossing the room to kneel down beside the couch. “Hey, babe. Let me see that hand.”

When he sets his hand in yours, you gently peel back the bandages. It’s a little bruised and swollen, but the stitches look fine and there’s no sign of infection so far.

“You’ll live,” Dean observes. “Here.”

He passes you a bottle of whiskey and you pour a little over the cut. Sam hisses in pain, yanking his hand back.

“Easy,” you say soothingly. Bobby passes you clean bandages.

“So, ooz invasion,” Sam says as you wrap his hand. “Any leads?”

Bobby shakes his head. “I got all my feelers out. Whatever they’re up to, it ain’t – ain’t about going Mothra down Main Street. They’ll turn up.”

“Mmm,” Sam says thoughtfully as you tape down the bandage.

“We’ve got other problems to worry about, too,” you say. “How are you doing? And don’t you dare say you’re ‘okay’, because I know you’re not.”

“I’m not okay,” Sam admits.

“You think?” Dean says harshly.

“Go easy on him,” you say, glaring at the elder Winchester brother.

“There’s nothing easy about it, Y/N, okay? We acted like he had everything under control.”

Sam rubs his good hand over his face. “I get it. I’m sorry. Look, I- I didn’t exactly want to crack up, you know?”

You lay a hand on his knee. “Sam, what happened back there?” you ask, keeping your voice low and gentle.

“Well, it’s not just flashbacks anymore,” Sam sighs.

“Well, then what?” Dean asks, frowning.

“It’s more like… I’m seeing through the cracks,” your boyfriend explains.

His brother is not pleased, that much is clear, but he’s also worried. Whatever Dean may be and whatever he’s done in the past, you have to admit, he loves Sam. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m having a difficult time figuring out what’s real.”

“Hallucinations,” you say.

“For starters.”

“Well for starters, if you’re tripping Hell’s Bells, why would you hide that?” Dean asks.

“I wasn’t hiding it, Dean,” Sam replies. “I – I was just not talking about it. I mean it seemed like you two had enough going on as it was. Look, I – I just figured, try to hold onto the safety bar and ride it out, you know? But it’s getting more specific.”

“What do you mean, specific?” you inquire, exchanging concerned glances with Dean and Bobby.

Dean pours he and Bobby a glass of whiskey each- you despise alcohol- and slams the bottle down a little too forcefully. He turns to look at his little brother.

“What the hell, Sam?” he blurts.

“I told you,” Sam says.

“I mean seriously,” Dean says. “How do you, how do you argue with that?”

“I know. It’s a problem.”

“Well now wait, I got it,” the older Winchester says, holding up a hand. “Why would the Devil holodeck you a whole new life when he could just kick your ass all over the Cage?”

“‘Cause, as he puts it, you can’t torture someone who has nothing left for you to take away.” You note how Sam glances at the doorway to the kitchen as he finishes talking.

“Okay, fine,” Dean says. “But this Malibu dream mansion that he, he, he makes for you to take away is this post-apocalyptic mess?”

Sam glances at the doorway again. This time, Dean notices, too.

“Wait, are you seeing him right now?” he snaps.

Sam nods, eyes lowered.

“You know he’s not real, right?” Dean says.

“He says the same thing about you,” Sam responds.

Something in his voice breaks your heart. You step forward to stand behind him. Dean opens his mouth to stop you, but you just glare. You gently place your hands on Sam’s shoulders, massaging. He immediately relaxes, head falling back. The relief is practically coming off him in waves.

“I’m going back to work,” Bobby says, downing his whiskey and leaving the room. Dean looks like he wants to say more, but thinks better of it and leaves as well.

Alone at last, Sam tips his head to look up at you.

“Thanks,” he murmurs as your fingers rub expert circles along the back of his neck.

“My pleasure,” you respond, bending to kiss his cheek. “Come on, let’s get some real food in you.”

“Well, at least he’s not curled up under the sink,” Bobby says, glancing to wear Sam is cleaning his guns at the desk in the study.

“Yeah, no, he’s just sitting there silently field-stripping his weapon,” Dean says bitterly. He grabs Sam’s phone out of his jacket pocket, which is draped over the back of a kitchen chair.

“What are you doing?” you ask, looking up from the files Bobby has pulled up on his computer.

“Turning on his GPS, case he decides to fly the cuckoo’s nest,” is the response.

You roll your eyes and sigh. “I’m going to help Sam clean the guns.”

You look up as Dean comes in and sets a paper sack of groceries on the counter.

“Hey there Gunga Din, buck up,” Bobby says, twisting in his seat to look at the other man.

“So it looks like we got some bad news for a change,” Sam explains. “Stockville North Kansas, most of a high school swim team got mangled to death in their locker room.”

“Cop talk on the wire’s kind of garbled, saying it looks like some kind of wild animal attack,” Bobby adds, getting up and walking around to Sam’s side of the table. “They’re saying that whatever attacked them’s about the size of a linebacker.”

“It’s a lead, Dean,” you say.

“All right,” Dean says. “But if you” he points at Sam “think you’re going out on a hunt…”

“No, I know. I’m not,” Sam says. “But you and Y/N are.”

“Sam,” you start.

He cuts you off. “Look, Bobby’s running the hub, I’m – I’m 5150’d, which leaves you and Dean to follow this thing up.”

“Sam, you’re in the middle of a psychotic break,” Dean points out.

“It’s a couple hours’ drive, Dean, and it could be a Leviathan thing.”

You shake your head. “If you think I’m leaving you here alone-”

“Hey. What am I, chopped brains on toast?” Bobby says, grabbing papers from a shelf and bringing them back to his seat. “I can eyeball the kid. Go. Work off some of these nerves on something useful.”

You and Dean both shrug. “Fine,” he says, though he doesn’t sound pleased.

You smooth your slacks and follow Dean into the high school.

“Special Agent Anderson,” he says, flashing the officer at the door to the locker room his badge. “This is Special Agent Swift.” He smiles at the officer inside the room examining a blood splatter on the wall.

“Yeah, okay,” the officer inside the room says. “Our point cop’s out on the donut” You and Dean duck under the caution tape. “Forensics,” the man says, gesturing to himself. “I can show you the layout. And step lightly. We got a whole bunch of NC17 shiznickel right over there.” he points to your right. You make a face, watching the floor.

“Right,” Dean says.

You split, Dean headed in the direction the forensics guy just pointed. Out of the corner of your eye you see him approach the entrance to the showers. He’s examining the entryway when something seems to catch his eye.

“Damnit,” he curses.

The phone rings a few times before Sam picks up.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Hey, babe,” you say with a smile. “We are positive for ick. Dean found the same kind of stuff that came out of Cas at the crime scene, plus two of the kids are missing. They stole one of their parents’ cars.”

“So you think these, um, these Leviathan things just jump into people? Like Eve did?”

“Makes sense, I guess. The state troopers have surveillance footage from about six hours ago of the kids gassing up near the South Dakota state line, so we’re headed back your way. We can just track ‘em from Bobby’s. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Great. How’re you feeling?”

There’s a bit of a pause before Sam answers. “Ya know, uh, okay.” He’s trying to sound sure of himself, but he’s not quite getting there.

“Alright,” you say. “Well, we’ll be back soon. Just, hang in there.”

When you and Dean get back to Bobby’s house, all the windows are dark. Concerned, you head inside.

“Sam?” you call. “Bobby?”

There’s no response.

“Sammy?” you call again.

“Y/N, what’s up?” Dean says, coming inside.

You whirl to face him. “Sam’s gone. I’m going to go find him.”

Before he can respond, you grab the Impala keps from his hand and book it out to the car.

You’ve only been driving a few minutes when Dean calls with a location he pulled off the GPS on Sam’s phone. You thank him, committing the address to memory, and hang up.

The address is to a warehouse. There’s a big black van you recognize from Bobby’s yard parked outside, still running. You park behind the van and get out.

Luckily, it doesn’t take you long to find a door. You push it open and step inside.

The interior of the warehouse is pretty much empty and well lit enough for you to see Sam standing about forty feet from the door, his gun in one hand. He looks so lost and scared.

“Sam!” you say, relieved.

He lifts the gun, pointing at you.

“Whoa!” You hold your hands up. “Sam, it’s me!”

“First Dean and now Y/N?” he says.

“Dean?” You’re confused. “Dean’s back at Bobby’s. I pretty much stole the Impala. He’s not going to be pleased when we get back.”

“I came here with Dean,” Sam says.

“Dean’s not here,” you say. “I’m here, though. It’s me, baby.”

“You have to understand, I can’t know that for sure.”

“I get that,” you assure him. “We’ll just start small.”

“I don’t remember driving here,” Sam says. He sounds terrified.

Suddenly, he whirls and fires at nothing.

“Whoa, Sam!” you call, moving slowly closer. “This discussion does not require weapons.”

He slowly lowers the gun, chest heaving in a way that, at any other time, you would find incredibly hot.

“Sammy, sweetheart.” You step closer, hands held out in a gesture of peace. “C’mon, give me the gun.”

Reluctantly, Sam hands it over. You unload it, click the safety on, and toss it behind you. You take his still outstretched hand, the good one, and weave your fingers together,

“Sam,” you murmur. “Is this a hallucination? We weren’t together before the Cage. Lucifer wouldn’t know about us. Sammy, look at me.”

Scared hazel eyes lift to your face.

“There you are.” You gently draw him closer to you, slipping your free arm around his waist and laying your head against his chest. “I’m here, baby boy. I’m real.”

He’s tense for what feels like forever. Then, very slowly, he relaxes. A choked sob escapes his throat and he clings to you, burying his face in your hair.

“Shh, shh,” you whisper, holding him close. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Everything is not alright, seeing as when you get back to the house it’s burned down and Dean is missing. Then a Leviathan attacks and you end up going to the hospital Sam says Bobby went to check out.

Everything is definitely not alright. But you’ve found a way to get through Sam’s hallucinations and that’s as good a place as any to start.

Part Two

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