#the idea from supernatural where you keep saving a doomed world you have to ask if it might be worth letting it end

[nice-profession-mechanic]

Random Tyrian Citizen: Hey Fleetsteel, you're often out of the frontiere. Have you seen the commander recently?

Their Char "Boyfriend": Nope, but it's probably for the best. The last time I heard them doing stuff was way to the south in Cantha. Every year they seem to wander further away from Ascalon and kill some bigger and bigger monster.

Citizen: When you put it like that, it makes me hope they don't really come back. That they just keep wandering further afield, cause eventually the fallout from fighting monsters that big might cause us normal people problems.

The commander nearby doing map completion: Yeah, fuck that guy, I hear they eat dirt for fun. Everyone who worked with them ends up dead, they have to have something wrong with them to always be the only survivor.

The Commander has disappeared. They have good reason; Tyria doesn’t know that.

But do you think there’s anyone on Tyria who feels…betrayed? Abandoned? That this symbol of hope and courage and unity stayed around long enough to kill the Dragons, and then just seems to vanish, leaving the wake of their destruction for everyone else to deal with.

How do you build a new world when the one who was always leading the way towards it leaves you?

[allegra-writes]

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity. 

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…" 

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did. 

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit" 

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition. 

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly. 

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness. 

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath. 

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?" 

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation" 

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"  

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?" 

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal" 

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought. 

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned. 

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did. 

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order" 

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell. 

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list" 

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, 

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point. 

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever. 

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart. 

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have? 

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't. 

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated? 

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me." 

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped. 

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you. 

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips. 

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim. 

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night. 

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made. 

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers. 

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal" 

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense. 

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall. 

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him. 

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying. 

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move. 

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it. 

"Shut up" He growled. 

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven" 

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long. 

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. 

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides. 

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me." 

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end. 

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you. 

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?" 

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined. 

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides. 

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream: 

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

[leatherjacketsupervillain]

I've been kind of bouncing this idea around for a while now, and trying to find the time to write it out...

Many see Grant Morrison's run on Doom Patrol as the definitive take on the series. As such, the most recent iteration of the Doom Patrol as seen in Gerard Way's run(s) have seen a great deal of comparison. While Way's Doom Patrol did many things to emulate Morrison's, the difference in how Doom Patrol has written its outcasts throughout time are radical and worth noting.

When it's at its best, the Doom Patrol has always been about outcasts. Arnold Drake's run with the team's debut in the 1960's featured Cheif who was in a wheelchair, Cliff and Larry who looked straight out of a monster movie and Rita who'd been blacklisted from Hollywood. Sometimes Beastboy, who was bullied at school for his green skin, sometimes the rich, able-bodied Mento who no one else on the team really got along with or wanted him to be there. While the main focus of each book was this weirdo or big monster they'd have to fight, there was always an undercurrent of how they were sensationalized and subsequently dehumanized; "Fabulous freaks", as they're frequently called in the papers. Reporters don't call Larry by his name, because he's not a person to them, he's "Negative Man"; Rita is invited to star in a movie for the first time in a couple years, only to discover she'd been manipulated into a role where the director could showcase her powers as a gimmick, not her talent. They're allowed to save the world and sell papers, but they're not given a place to live among society.

Morrison famously took this theme and upped the ante. In his take for the early 90's, he incorporated many elements that were gaining more attention at the fringes of society; mental illness, homosexuality, gender (explored even further in-depth by Pollack in her run)... Part of what made Morrison's Doom Patrol stand out so much was that while fighting surrealist, parodical and even dadaist threats, the writing left plenty of room to explore what made these characters outcasts; For Cliff, his body dysmorphia (again, expanded on by Pollack) and depression over the fact that though his brain (and possibly his soul) remained, by all other accounts, he was a dead man; Negative Man had been reinvented as Rebis who was genderfluid (even if the language wasn't there yet); the introduction of Jane who had DID (to a supernatural extent) and a history of abuse and trauma; Kate Goodwin who joined the team was both transgender and lesbian (but please, read Pollack's Doom Patrol, its severely underrated, it still has yet to be published in a collection) among others. Though certain aspects of these themes were handled problematically, looking back, this series represented all sort of misfits and outcasts who had had little few representation in science-fiction till then, and even fewer as heroes up to that point. Even today, few series have demonstrated this level of inclusion.

Gerard Way (of My Chemical Romance) picked up the torch and began writing the series in its 2016 revival, carrying the theme of outcasts. So why has this run been the subject of such polarization? As a fairly recent series (ending with Weight of the Worlds as recently as 2020), we, in our current socio-political climate are living the society that shaped this most recent entry; over-politicised divisiveness, racism, economic inequity, and that's just the tip of the iceberg (for as long as we still have icebergs). For that reason, many fans found themselves asking "Why not put that in the book?", or "Why does Casey f*ck her cat in the book?". The fact of the matter is that for all the angst, for all the drama, Doom Patrol has always been about outcasts who have found and love each other, and in turn, learned to love themselves. If you want to say Way's run on Doom Patrol didn't deliver to the fringes of society, look again. He wrote it for the queer community, shippers, fan fiction writers, furries and people with generally frowned upon kinks that you really mostly just see on Deviantart (looking at that issue from Milk Wars where they and the JLA all get hyper-inflated).

So perhaps this run wasn't as poignant or as groundbreaking as you expected it to be, but what Way offered was a safe space. While none of these groups (save for the LGBTQIA+) see the level of oppression many others in the fringe of society experience, or, rather, any, they are not without their own scrutiny. They're often excluded as weirdos who don't really fit in with the world at large. His run was a landing pad where we could watch our charectars go on cartoonish adventures and bizarre sex-romps all the while keeping a focus on the theme of community and self-acceptance. Maybe it wasn't a perfect run, but the idea of a perfect run looks a little bit different to everybody (though I'm a big fan of Keith Giffen's). That said, it was pretty fun and certainly deserves its place cemented in the long (and often convoluted) history of the Doom Patrol.

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3

Chapter 55: Assorted statements of the Magnus Institute archival staff and sundry associated, prior to their departure for Great Yarmouth.

[CLICK]

PAST ARCHIVIST

Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Regarding the upcoming…operation. Fourth April, 2017. Recorded direct from subject. Statement begins.

I-I wanted to get some thoughts down before…well, everything. We all should, actually. I’ll—I suppose I’ll mention it to them.

(sigh) God, I hate that I can’t just record my thoughts these days. I have to make it a statement anymore.

It looks like we’re all set. We hammered out the last of our plans last night, went over it to make sure we have everything timed as precisely as we can. Myself, Daisy, Basira, Tim…we’re all going to be heading off to this House of Wax. Sneak in as best we can. Daisy will set the charges while the rest of us run interference, then we’ll set them off once the ritual begins. All the research, both ours and Gertrude’s, shows that this is our only chance. Anything we do before the ritual can be easily repaired. But once it’s underway, if we stop it, it will be centuries before the Stranger can try again.

Of course, we know damn well it won’t succeed. If we let it play out, it will collapse on its own. The trouble is, we don’t know what that collapse will look like. Would that be anything more than a simple delay, as far as they’re concerned? Would the Stranger simply try again, in a year, two years, five years? Even if we destroy Nikola Orsinov—“the Dancer,” Gertrude called her—surely she can be rebuilt easily enough. And all the other players…no. It’s too great a risk to simply let it fold in on itself. The Stranger has been collecting skins for ten years. We owe it to them to put what’s left of them to rest.

Daisy’s made it clear that she thinks her best chance is to go in alone, and honestly, I struggle to disagree. But I have to go. Not because Elias is making me, or because I feel compelled to, but…(sigh) Tim. I can justify this operation all I like, but the truth of the matter is that we’re largely doing it for Tim. This…this ritual is the reason his brother died. The Circus, the Stranger, it stole his brother’s skin.

God. I’m the only one of us without…without a dog in this fight, I suppose? No, that’s not the right way of phrasing it. But Danny is undoubtedly going to be part of the Dance, however much we want to believe otherwise. And Gertrude…of course Orsinov is going to, how did she put it with me, “wear her to dance the world new.” Tim’s brother, Martin’s grandmother…

I’m, I’m almost tempted to look up my grandmother’s grave, or my father’s, and find out if they’ve been disturbed. I have to assume it’s been too many years, but I have no idea how long they’ve been collecting these skins, so what if—no. No, that’s not—it wouldn’t work like that. They only dug up Gertrude because they wanted her power. Everyone else, it appears, they took…alive. I don’t know enough about taxidermy to know how long a thing can be dead before its skin can’t be preserved, and frankly I don’t want to.

It’s enough to know what I know. Enough to be doing what I’m doing.

It has to be.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

SASHA

Statement of Sasha James, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, regarding what I did not study Classics well enough to understand why it has been termed Operation Janus. Recorded by subject, fourth April, 2017.

I know why I’m staying back. I get it. It wasn’t the original plan, but I get why Jon gave in to it. He’s right, the more people go, the more dangerous it gets. It doesn’t take eight people to push a button. And with my uncle being back, I don’t—I owe it to him to stick around. Staying back here is going to be safer. Probably.

Still…I have to admit I’m a little jealous that I don’t get to go.

I’m curious. That’s the problem. Curious and excited in ways I shouldn’t be. The description of the last attempt at the Unknowing fascinates me, and I want to see the ways this one will be different. I want to see if I can stand in the face of the Stranger and come out on top. And…well, the Stranger is our antithesis, after all. We know and it conceals. It’s one of the few secrets I can’t just pluck from the air, and that excites me and infuriates me in equal measures.

I want to know.

(short laugh) God, that’s probably the other reason everyone got immediately on board with the whole “stay behind, Sasha” thing. They know I’m the most likely to be a…rogue element. They know that as much as I want this to work and want everyone to come home safe, I’d be the most likely to go poking around in places I shouldn’t, sneaking around trying to ferret out secrets, tape recorder in hand and eyes wide open. The chances of me doing something—incredibly stupid and getting caught in the middle of the Unknowing is high.

I would, too. I’d be the one that would screw everything up for everyone. Not on purpose. I know how much this means to Tim…and because it means a lot to Tim, it means a lot to Jon and Martin, too. We’ve put a lot of work into this and I don’t want to blow it.

But I—I know myself. If I were to go, there’d be that niggling little voice in the back of my head telling me that it doesn’t matter, that what we do won’t change the course of the world. That this ritual is doomed to fail anyway, so who cares if they can’t blow it up because I’m up there trying to watch it?

The trouble is that I wouldn’t tell them I was going. I’d just…slip off. Find a good vantage point to watch it all from. They’d never know I was up there and Tim would press that button and…

Anyway, I’m needed here. They’re right about that. This part of the plan needs all the people it can get. The more, the merrier, all that. And there are enough parts of it that I don’t know about—or don’t know the purpose of—that it’s built up my curiosity. It’s going to be pretty interesting, and I’ll get to be there to see it. I hope. And it’s not like I can’t get all the details out of the others easily enough afterwards.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

BASIRA

Statement of Basira Hussain, fourth April, 2017, at the request of Jonathan Sims.

I don’t have any idea why I’m doing this. I mean, I’m not talking about the actual…mission. I’m not talking about what we’ll be doing come Thursday. I know why I’m doing that. I don’t know why I’m doing this, except that Jon asked me to. Asked us all to, really. And Sasha passed me off the recorder, so…here I am.

I don’t want to be part of this. I never did. I never made a secret of the fact that I wanted nothing more to do with all this…paranormal and supernatural stuff. When I was done with the police, I was done with Section Thirty-One and all that entailed. And then I let myself get dragged back into it like I’d never left. I know what we’re likely to be up against and I’m doing it anyway.

Maybe that’s part of the reason why. I can’t let them go into this alone.

Let’s be honest. I’m not helping out because I want to save the world. Not even because I think this thing is all that dangerous. I’ve helped out up to this point because of Sasha. I’m going because of Daisy.

I’ll admit, I’m…torn. I want to be there for Daisy. She was always there for me. She’s…dependable. Solid. You know where you stand when you’re with her. I know the others don’t trust her all the way, but really, she’s always been a good partner to me. Maybe her methods weren’t always the greatest, but she knew what she was doing and why she was doing it. It’s easier to see the way straight with her. You go in, you blow things to hell, you get out. You stop the monsters. You fix the problems. Simple.

At the same time, I—I feel like I ought to be here. To help Sasha. She keeps telling me she’ll be fine, that it would be a lot more suspicious if I stayed than if I go, since I don’t work at the Institute. There’s no reason for me to be hanging around here. I know she’ll have Melanie and…I know she’ll be okay. Logically, I know that. But still…

I don’t trust Elias. I mean, shocker, nobody trusts Elias. Just thought it might be useful for someone to know that it’s not just people who work here who don’t trust him. I’ve met him all of twice and I felt like I had to go take an immediate shower every time. But I feel like Sasha’s—the part of the plan Sasha is helping with has a lot more potential to go wrong. It relies too much on Elias Bouchard acting the way they’re predicting, and I don’t know about that. I think there’s going to be trouble.

Then again, I don’t know that it’s the kind of trouble I can help with, or if I need to be there to make sure Daisy doesn’t get in a sticky spot.

(deep breath) God, just make a decision, Basira.

I think I have to go. I think…they’re not going to have the kind of help Daisy might need if I don’t go. Sasha will—she’ll be okay. She’s got backup here. It’s going to be fine.

It’s fine.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

MELANIE

Melanie King, fifth of April, 2017, 8:21am.

All right, Jon, let’s make this clear: I’m still not doing this for you. I’m doing it because Martin asked me to.

Everyone’s leaving tomorrow. Everyone except those of us who are sticking around to deal with Elias. Um, I’m not sure what time everyone’s leaving. They’re going to let us know before they do and we’re all going to meet up at the Institute if we’re not already here, but I think there’s a lot of “if we don’t say when we’re leaving exactly, it’s harder for people to track us down” going on. Even though apparently Rosie booked them into a B&B, so it’s not like they can’t be traced.

I mean. I know what they’re doing is mostly superfluous. They’re not—it’s not going to make a difference if the Unknowing gets pushed back, ‘cause it won’t work. They can blow what’s left up after and it’ll still be fine. But I’m kind of worried that they’ll get caught ahead of time and…I don’t know how this stupid Dance is actually supposed to work.

My dad gave me this book of Hans Christian Andersen’s stories when I was a kid. Fake leather binding, gorgeous artwork. It had a picture of Kay asleep in the Snow Queen’s sleigh on the front and full-color plates in it. My favorite story was “The Red Shoes”. I don’t know why I liked that one so much, but I used to ask my dad to read it to me, over and over, and he always did the same voices and everything. Every time someone mentions the Dancer, or the Dance, I hear his voice, pretending to be the angel in the churchyard.

“Dance you shall,” said he, “dance in your red shoes till you are pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are a skeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud and wicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you and fear you! Dance you shall, dance—!”

It didn’t end happily, that story. Or it did, depending on how you look at it. She repented and got forgiven in the end, but then died immediately. Dad always said Andersen had to end it that way because he knew if she didn’t die right away, she’d fall right back into her old ways. I don’t know if that’s the parallel I’m thinking of with this…creepy puppet person or if I’m just thinking about it because of the dancing bit.

I think it helps that I got all that stuff about India off my chest already. I didn’t—there are universes where I didn’t talk about it and I was just so angry all the time. I’m always angry, let’s be honest. That hasn’t changed. But I didn’t let it…fester. There’s some things festering, sure, but not all of it, and I’m really glad of that, I think.

I can do this. We can do this. And (heh) I like this plan a lot. Don’t know much about it, but I know how it’s going to end, and I am completely on board with that.

Oh, and Martin—if you’re listening to this…you’ve got a deal. After everything is over, I’ll get Jon Prime to get that bullet out. I promise.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

TIM

Jon, Martin, if you’re listening to this before we leave…don’t. Please just don’t. You can listen to this later. After. Not now. I can’t say this if I know you’re going to listen to it before. And whatever else you are, whatever put these recorders here, I—if you tell them, I will find some way of making your existence miserable for all time. Don’t test me. I’ll manage it somehow.

I…I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to…you know what, no. It works when the others do it, so…what the hell.

Statement of Timothy Stoker, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, London, involving conclusions and endings. Given directly, fifth August, 2017. Statement begins.

I know I’m not coming back from this. I realized that a couple weeks ago. It’s been…not as hard as it should be, actually, to sit with them and smile and joke and be…me. I should feel worse about it. I should regret it more, mourn more for what I’m not getting, you know? There should have been more hesitancy. More melancholy.

It should’ve been harder for me to hide it from them.

But…it’s not. It’s like Jon’s dad said in his statement. Regretting the life you won’t get just means you waste the life you do. So even knowing I won’t live past…tomorrow, I’ve been making memories. For them if not for me. Charlie especially, he doesn’t need to…he’s lost enough in his life. Better for him not to dwell on it. But for all of them, I don’t want their memories of these last few days to be…tainted with knowing I’m going to die. Or with knowing that I knew I was going to die.

I—I need to do this. It’s not like it used to be. It used to be all revenge. Even a year ago, I would have gone full red rum on this museum and started hacking up waxworks to punish them for what they, it, did to Danny. It’s not the same now. I don’t have that burning hatred, that thirst for revenge…plus, you know, it might be kind of hard to swing an axe with one hand in a cast, so that’s out. Don’t get me wrong, I want to pay them back for skinning my brother. I want to pay them back for threatening Martin and torturing Jon. For what they did in that—that other universe to Sasha, to Jon Prime, and, well, maybe a little to me. I do want revenge for all of that.

It’s just that now it’s—I can get revenge just by watching it collapse. Don’t have to blow it all up for that. The best revenge might be seeing the look on Nikola Orsinov’s plastic face when she discovers that she hasn’t danced the world new after all. That it’s still the same old world and she hasn’t won a damn thing. Might be worth it for that.

But it won’t be. I have to—if we just let it collapse, they might still be able to try again. Who knows who else might be hurt, might be killed, because the Stranger has so much power just…swirling around? Whereas if we blow it up, we can disrupt all of that. We can keep anyone else from finding their brother’s skin pulled off like a tablecloth, or from being chased by a monster pretending to wear someone else’s skin, or from spending two weeks tied to a chair and being basted like a turkey. I can’t let the Stranger go near them again. I can’t let them be hurt.

So. Plastic explosives it is.

And I’m not—I know it’s not as easy as we want it to be. I talked to Daisy. I know what the range on that detonator is. Even if I know when the ritual starts, I won’t be able to clear the building completely before pushing the trigger or I’ll be too far away from the charges and they won’t blow. The only way to be sure they all go off is to still be underneath the building, right in the middle of everything. I might be able to run for it and get out in time, but it’d be touch and go. Daisy’s opinion is that I’ll have a better chance of survival if I stay put and hope the building collapses in such a way that I survive, but I don’t need freaky Eye powers to know she doesn’t think my chances are good either way.

Even before knowing that, though, I didn’t think I was going to live through this. And I’m—(small laugh) I’m not okay with that. I’m not! But I’ve come to terms with it, I guess. I don’t want to die, but if I have to…you know. As long as Jon and Martin are safe, it’s worth it.

(deep breath) That…that actually did help. Got it all out without stumbling over myself. So…thanks for that, I guess.

Oh, uh…Jon, Martin, there’s a file in the bottom drawer in the living room. It’s all my insurance paperwork. I, uh, I had my policy updated a couple weeks ago. It’s not much, but…it should at least help with the house payments. You know.

I know it’s not—if it’s not enough, it should at least be something.

And…I’m sorry.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

PAST MARTIN

(small sigh) Statement of Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, regarding his final thoughts. Recorded direct from subject, fifth of August, 2017.

It’s almost the end of the day. We’ve already closed down everything, buttoned everything up. We’re just waiting for—Elias—to come down and confirm the arrangements like he threatened, and then we’ll leave. I think. I don’t think we’re planning to stay here overnight. Actually, I know we aren’t, because Jon just shoved the recorder and the tape everyone’s been putting their final thoughts on into my hands and pointed me at the War Room and asked me to please just get mine on here already.

I’m scared. I don’t think that’s a big secret. This might be it. This might be…when it’s all said and done, this tape might actually be everyone’s last words. Well, not everyone’s, but…well, maybe. We all pretend to think the people who are staying behind are going to be safer than the ones who go, but that’s not necessarily accurate. I mean, the first face of the plan is the one about Great Yarmouth and the House of Wax and blowing up the Stranger, which, you know, explosives and the Stranger. We know that’s going to be dangerous. But the other face is the one that’s going to be…

It’s going to be just as dangerous, I think. Maybe more. Because it’s about taking down Elias Bouchard.

It’s about taking down Jonah Magnus.

We don’t know all the details. Jon Prime has a plan, he seems pretty confident it’ll work, but he’s not telling us all the specifics. I don’t know if it’s because we can’t accidentally reveal what we don’t know or because he’s trying to protect us. Either way, he hasn’t told us any more beyond what it is he needs us to do. After that, he just said, “Leave it to me.”

I—I trust him. I do. I believe he has a plan, I believe that it’ll work. I’m sure everything is going to work out there. But if it goes wrong…

Something’s going to go wrong. I’m almost sure of it. It’s, it’s, my luck cannot be this good. There’s no way we come out of this all right. Something’s going to go wrong and, and we’re not going to succeed, or someone’s going to get badly hurt, or—

I can’t lose them now. I can’t.

God there’s—there’s so much I want to say. So much I should say. Jon, Tim, if you’re listening to this and—I-I’m sorry. I want to say it, but…but at the same time, I refuse to have the first time I tell you be on tape. It’s going to be in person or not at all. (heh) Maybe I’ll get the nerve up to say something tonight, but I doubt it. Don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable, just in case…just in case it’s just me that feels this way.

B-but, but you’re both smart. You can probably guess what I’m not saying. So if you’re listening to this, and I’m not…there, and I didn’t say anything before…yeah. I do. Both of you. Really and truly, from the bottom of my heart.

(sigh) I just need them to be safe. I can handle anything as long as they’re safe.

Wh—okay, okay, Elias is coming. I need to go.

Right, this is it. Here we go.

Good luck to all of us. I think we’re going to need it.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Right, I know you don’t expect me to say anything here, but…I’m having trouble settling down, and I’m hoping getting my thoughts out will help with that. So.

Statement of Jonathan Sims Prime, the Archivist, regarding…round two. Recorded direct from subject, fifth April, 2017…barely. Statement begins.

I am ready. I know I am ready. I will never be more ready. All our plans are laid, and this will be the best opportunity I have, we have, to carry them out. I also know this may be my only chance.

(sigh) That’s not quite true. It may be—it will be my only chance to take out Elias Bouchard, not Jonah Magnus. I don’t need the Eye’s power to know that. If he knows I’m here, if he knows I’m planning to destroy him, he’ll run. He’ll find someone he deems worthy to be his successor and take their place. Elias Bouchard’s body will be found…somewhere, and there will be another running around with Jonah Magnus’ eyes, someone I won’t recognize. He’ll find somewhere else to build up as the Eye’s new pedestal, find a new Archivist, someone to be a new linchpin for his plan. And the whole thing will start again.

There’s—there is a part of me that thinks, well, that won’t be so bad. As long as all of the others survive…as long as I haven’t failed them…it’s not the worst thing in the world. Certainly Jonah won’t try with anyone at the Institute again. It could take years for him to build up enough strength to attempt his ritual, to—to find a willing vessel, or at least a pliant one. Certainly I could try to hunt him down. With Tim’s ability to See marks, and with everyone else’s ability to Know and get answers—

No. No, I can’t think like this. I-I have to stay positive. We have a plan. It’s a good plan. It’s going to work.

If I’m honest, I am far more worried about the team heading to Great Yarmouth than I am about the ones staying here. I know I can protect the ones here. Jonah will threaten, he’ll torture, but he won’t risk trying to actually physically harm them or, God forbid, kill them. Not until they’re closer to where we’re going to spring the trap, and at that point, I’ll be there. No, Jonah isn’t the danger, not right now. Not…today, I guess. The danger is in the Unknowing.

I know what they face. I know what the risks are. I—God, sometimes I still think I can hear that music, see those…horrible dancers. I would have said it was the worst experience of my life, until…later. Until I had to face the possibility of losing Martin before I told him how I felt. But even so…it was terrifying, and dangerous, and so much more than we had ever expected.

And it cost us Tim.

I cannot, will not, pay that cost again. I didn’t—I wasn’t in a good place then, and I didn’t realize how much he might have meant to me, but…we were friends, once, even if we weren’t as close as he and Sasha were.  And it hurt me dreadfully to lose him. It was worse on Martin—God, poor Martin. He so very nearly lost us both, left alone with two people who never fully trusted him, who bonded with each other and excluded him, even when he was still trying to be a part of things…

That cannot happen. They have to be all right. All of them. They’ll—it’s going to be fine. I know what to warn them about. I know what they have to be aware of. They have all the tools they need. They will go in, set the charges, get out, detonate them, and collapse for a good night’s sleep. They’ll all be home tomorrow. It’s going to be fine.

This time tomorrow, it will all be over. Much of the Stranger’s power will be dissolved, the Unknowing a pile of rubble. Jonah Magnus will be gone for good. The world will be safe.

The team will be safe.

They have to be. I can’t let myself believe anything less.

[CLICK]

———

[CLICK]

MARTIN

(haltingly) Statement of Martin Blackwood Prime, on the morning of his friends’ departure, again. Taken direct from subject, sixth April, 2017.

…

God. I—I didn’t realize that actually meant anything when I said it. Even back then. Even just me, just with the little I was doing…I guess I did actually manage to get enough of the Eye’s attention that it, it did a little, anyway. Not enough that I could get a coherent statement out of anyone else, o-or maybe it was by the time they left, but…it was enough.

I can’t feel it now. Not even a little bit. There’s—there’s nothing. I’m cut off from the Eye well and proper, which, I mean, that’s what we wanted, but…

Well. Except for the parts I let it have back.

So that’s why I’m awake doing this. I had the nightmare again. I’ve—I’ve had it a lot, especially lately. Reliving that gallery of horrors, the one I passed through on my trip back in time. I didn’t at first, and I think we both thought—we all thought—that I still had enough of a connection to the Eye not to satisfy it with my fear. But that’s not the case. I think it was just at first that Past Jon wasn’t strong enough to dream about me, and the others definitely weren’t, and the Eye didn’t quite know what to do with Jon. Then, um, then he took the doctor’s statement, and I-I think that woke the Eye up.

It’s only been since Christmas that I—that Jon and I, really—have been having that nightmare. Wasn’t until tonight that I figured it out. See, Jon and I sleep during the day most of the time, and then we’re up most of the night. So I’m the only one Jon can usually relive, because the other live statements he took this time around—he’s normally awake while they’re sleeping and vice versa. But then there’s me.

I still wouldn’t have figured it out, actually, except that I saw the others in my dream tonight, too. Past Jon and Tim and Sasha and Past Me, they were—they were all there, all watching. First time I’ve been asleep while they were. No idea how long they’ve been dreaming, but here we are.

Anyway, yeah. Woke up from that, Jon’s still asleep, so I slipped up here to add my voice to this tape. I’m assuming this is the right one, since it was, you know, sitting out invitingly and all. If I’m ruining another statement, um, sorry.

Okay. Anyway.

It doesn’t feel as hard, staying behind this time. If I’m being honest, a big part of why I hated staying back was because I didn’t want to let Jon go without me. I wasn’t…I hadn’t admitted how I felt. I mean, it’s not like nobody knew about my crush—I think just about everyone in the Institute except Jon knew about that—but I-I don’t think even Elias knew it was more than that. And I hadn’t said anything to Jon. I kept telling myself there’d be another chance, there’d be time later, but—even back then, I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe the universe would let me be happy.

Now I know I was wrong.

I had to work for it. I had to fight for it. But I got that second chance. I am loved, and I am in love. (heh) I’m engaged, and it’s the first time I’ve really thought about the future in…years. Maybe the universe doesn’t want to let me be happy, but I am happy, so—so suck it, Cosmic Entities.

But yeah. I’m staying here…obviously, I wouldn’t be any use at the Unknowing, and I have a pretty crucial part to play in Jon’s plan. But more importantly, Jon—my Jon—will be here, too. I can—I know he’ll be all right. I know I’ll be here for him if anything goes wrong.

He tried to find a way around me being involved. Wanted me to, I don’t know, stay in our room, stay out of it, stay safe. I wouldn’t let him. Not anymore. Not again. Even if there’s not a lot I can do…I can at least do something to help him. And even if I couldn’t, I’d at least be there for him. He’s not doing this alone. We do this together, or not at all. That’s the deal.

That’s always been the deal.

All right, that’s…I think those are all my thoughts on the matter. Going to go back down and curl up with Jon for a little while longer, at least until it’s time to get things moving. It might be our last chance. But then again, every time we get to do this might be our last chance. You never know what’s coming. So if you treat every moment you get to spend with the one you love as though it’s the last one you’ll spend together…well, it makes every moment special. A-and it, it kind of makes the next moment better, because it’s a moment you didn’t know you’d have.

Yeah, okay, I’m done being sappy and maudlin for now. Gonna go lie down.

Good luck, you lot. I know you can do it.

Oh, wait, one more thing. Jon, Tim, Martin…if you three haven’t said out loud that you’re in love with each other? For fuck’s sake, do it now. Whatever happens today, you don’t want to come out the other side wishing you hadn’t left something unsaid.

And it’s a lot easier to survive if you know someone who loves you is counting on it.

[CLICK]

[inkdemonapologist]

Following up on Anon’s idea of Escape!Sammy in Hell’s Studio...what if it is the Cracked Glass AU? The things we put all the versions of Sammy through 😈.

No question, this would be WAY better. Well, setting aside whatever’s going on with Joey in A World Reflected Brightly since there’s been some Unsettling Hints about him but I don’t know precisely where that’s gonna go. But like, as things stand now? Greyscale-Henry and Sam would immediately understand why Escape Sammy is The Way He Is, even though he turned out more Desperate To Appease and less Stab People With A Letter Opener than Sam did in the same circumstances, 

So he’d show up, freak out about the machine and the demon, and everyone native to Hell’s Studio might have to just be like “oh no oh geez it’s another one???” and call in greyscale-Henry because he was able to make sense of Sam when “Sammy” started freaking out, and it’d be super weird that Escape!Sammy looks So Different when nobody else does, but like... Henry and Sam would AT LEAST be able to get on the same page. When he’s suspicious of Joey and scared of the demon they’d get it, they were in that place too, it was awful, they understand. Frankly, Sam might be right there with him that the “harmless” nature of this place seems too good to be true.

And when they found out that he escaped, that he has a home somewhere safe, and how awful it is for him to be Back In The Studio after he got out … I think they would understand that, too. Sammy wouldn’t seem crazy to the people who were pulled out of ink hell. He would make a lot of sense.

...WAIT, NO, I FOUND THE SOUL-CRUSHING HORROR IN THIS ONE, ITS JUST FOR HENRY THIS TIME. Because, like, Escape!Sammy has a bit of a complex over his own Henry and 100% still sees him as the person who Set Him Free, and his telling of what happened to them would absolutely frame Henry as the one who got them out, rather than the more uncertain truth -- that circumstances outside of Henry’s control gave him a chance to pull people out with him. We know Sam and Henry have a bunch of survivor’s guilt… Would greyscale-Henry wonder if he could’ve done the same? If he had abandoned people who could’ve been saved? With that haunting knowledge, wOULD YOU EVER REALLY BE ABLE TO STOP ASKING YOURSELF if you doomed people to that awful place by leaving too soon???

Anyway, the only real big divergence I can think of is thanks to our good friend Dreams Come To Life, Escape!Sammy has a lot of Very Odd Hangups about ink that literally none of the others experienced. The toons sharing their ink snacks would flip him out, and Henry liking the taste of it would be horrifying, and he would be very likely to get physically violent trying to get Henry away from it. He would always get Weird around the ink and anxious about leaks and nobody would know why. That could go a couple of ways -- either he figures out that nobody else got addicted to ink but him and immediately shuts up but keeps being jumpy and nervous about it for reasons the others don’t understand, or he accidentally reveals what happened to him by assuming the same thing happened to Sam. If the others did find out, though, I imagine they’d believe him at this point, and learning that the ink in his world had been not just supernatural, but alive and malevolent, would be rEALLY PRETTY HORRIFYING and Sammy’s anxiety over it would seem Extremely Founded.

[pensivetense]

A List Of (Mostly TMA) Fic Recs Sorted By Vibe

Not an exhaustive list by any means, just a few favourites that caught my fancy. I shortened many of the summaries for space.

I’m going to pin this here and update it as I go.

Also, I’m pensivetense on ao3

MELANCHOLY VIBES

for when you want to feel comfortably muted

(sad but not utterly bleak endings here)

Hope, Etc. (Dickenson, et al.) by yellow_caballero

Jonathan Sims, six months after the Unknowing, wakes to find himself without a daemon - without humanity, without a soul. It’s a cursed half-life, but existence as a shell without a heart isn’t so bad: between solving the mystery of a persistent illusion cast over his friends and some light pseudo-cannibalism, a life as a monster is better than no life at all. At least, it would be, if it wasn’t for the fucking Owl.

A freaking. Amazing. Daemon au. Ties the lore of Dust with TMA lore very satisfyingly, but is mostly about Jon navigating what it means to be human, or, in the absence of that, a person, and doesn’t require prior knowledge of His Dark Materials. Cannot recommend highly enough.

after one long season of waiting by nuinuijiaojiao

Annabelle is not used to having nice things. or, Annabelle heads to Upton House, muses a little, and gets some well-deserved rest

I love survivalist Annabelle and also the concept of the Web as kind of a horrible Patron, actually.

i love you. I want us both to eat well. by SmallishWormMasterOfTheUniverse

At the safehouse with Martin, Jon decides it's time to quit statements once and for all. The Eye disagrees. Martin just needs Jon to be okay. It's quite possible that nobody is going to get what they want.

Scottish Safehouse Era, Jon and Martin coping with their respective Entities... really, really good.

the friend by doomcountry

He always greets a new spider when he meets it. It’s instinct, born in childhood, the same way he instinctively counts magpies, or flicks salt over his left shoulder. A little harmless superstition. A bit of politesse.

A great Martin character study with eldritch spider horror included. The imagery regularly haunts me (in a good way).

autumn’s rare gift by bee_bro

Annually, the two meet, renewing the binding ritual where it had all started. The procedure simple: a waltz.

Singlehandedly made me ship Gertrude/Agnes so there’s that. It’s so bittersweet and bee_bro’s writing is, as always, incredibly poetic. (I’d recommend everything they write, actually.)

smile, you’re trending by Goodluckdetective

During an encounter with another Avatar of the Eye, Jon faces his past, Martin takes a turn at playing Kill Bill and Basira has a second look at the monster she’s determined to see. For three people associated with the Eye, they could all use some perspective.

Features an original Eye Avatar character who’s a YouTube personality; she is infuriating and inspired and genuinely frightening and I cannot say enough good things.

Humility by The_Lionheart

have you no idea that you're in deep?/i've dreamt about you nearly every night this week,/how many secrets can you keep?

An OC centric story but don’t let that put you off, it’s amazing. Very heavily focused around Jonah Magnus and the other Avatars as they change through the years. Also, I’d die for the OC.

oh, for one sweet second without the eye series by faedemon

Beholding does not like in the way humans do, but it likes its Archivist all the same.

I’m just so fond of the way this is done stylistically. I have a great weakness for dialogue only/dialogue heavy writing, not to mention all of the wonderful character beats and interplay of humanity/inhumanity for Jon and Melanie.

Rewind by WhyNotFly

It takes eight days of forced confinement for Jon to start hallucinating. [...] It’s Martin, though, that his exhausted brain conjures, because of course it’s Martin. After all this time, of course it’s Martin.

Jon willingly allows himself to be confined rather than hunting for statements, and examines his relationship with Martin.

for a firmament series by supaslim

There is beauty in destruction. There is art in becoming. In which Jon becomes the Archive, and the Archive becomes Jon.

Part two posted this morning and uhhh. Good. Also if you’re here for weird eldritch body horror (I am), this one’s for you.

ONES THAT JUST HURT

for when you want to feel sad

(somewhat bleaker endings here/everyone is NOT okay)

Feste by yellow_caballero

If asked, Martin would say that he became the shadow director of the Magnus Institute by accident. But nobody ever asked, and nobody ever cared, and it was in this way that Martin stopped lying to himself. Or: break free, Martin. All you have to lose are your chains. And your sanity.

Oh, this one totally didn’t go the way I expected it to. A study in isolation. Could go into the category above, as the ending is not bleak, but the tone of the whole is somewhat more depressing than most there.

Ghosts of Love by RavenXavier

Nothing made Martin more grounded in the world than yearning for Jonathan Sims.

Lonely!Martin that really captures a sort of visceral ache. Hurts me and yet I keep rereading.

i do desire (we may be better strangers) by godbewithyouihavedone

For ages, it only knew how to worship, taking human bodies and living off the fear of those who remembered. It never knew love until it became Jonathan Sims. Now it must fight against every instinct to save Martin Blackwood. Archivist Sasha, Not!Jon/Martin, and the worst kind of Fake Dating AU.

Oh, this one just made me sad. The poor not!them, which is something I never thought I’d say.

Apple Of Your Eye by fakeCRfan

In which the Eye is fond of Martin. Perhaps a little too fond for comfort.

Somehow manages to be both sweet and horrifying—the characterisation of the Eye is incredible. ‘The Eye loves Martin’ is a scenario that’s so utterly doomed to failure and yet the writing is packed with so much pathos that I just want them all to be happy. A fantastic use of themes of agency and choice, and the single best use of Beholding as a source of horror I’ve read.

The Last Press by copperbadge

Jon Sims is awake, and has begun preparations for the Rite of the Watcher's Crown. Peter Lukas, who woke him, would be content to rule at his side. Martin is very upset about all of this, and the Lukases aren't thrilled with it either.

I really can’t say anything without spoiling the end and it’s so good. An alternate take on the Watcher’s Crown. Not a pairing that I ever thought would work for me, but this made it work.

watch the blood evaporate by 75hearts

It starts, like so many things in Jon’s life have started, with a nagging itch of curiosity. Jonathan Sims uses his healing abilities throughout s4. Read the tags.

Dear God please read the tags. But this is some high quality pain if it’s for you.

the lighthouse series by low_fi

Peter Lukas is a lighthouse keeper. One evening, he gets a call from a cryptic overseer tasked with monitoring his work.

This is such a vivid and yet subtle story—from the setting to the emotions portrayed, it creeps up on you slowly. The ending was like the gentlest possible gut-punch. The sequel just completed, and yeah, just as wonderful. This one is very much LonelyEyes but I listed it here because it is just exquisitely painful.

SATISFYINGLY HOPEFUL VIBES

for when you want to feel cozy

Clutching Daffodils by Gemi

Martin has always liked the idea of love at first sight. It’s such a romantic idea, the whole thing of it. Seeing someone and instantly feeling that strange, twisting feeling deep inside that every single media likes to obsess over. Of knowing you are in love within the day, petals falling from your mouth and warmth filling your chest as love burrows deep, vines twisting through your lungs. He always liked the idea of it. And then Jonathan Sims starts working at the Magnus Institute.

Somehow manages to be lighter and fluffier than most hanahaki fare, despite the setting. I’ve reread this one a lot.

the least he could do by Prim_the_Amazing

Martin should in fact not pick this man, specifically because of how attracted he is to him. It would be the responsible thing to do. Except he’s already following him. And he’s hungry.

Fluffy vampire au which everyone’s probably already read, but was too good not to mention.

rather interesting by bee_bro

Jonah Magnus realizes that, for some reason, when he comes in contact with weed, Elias Bouchard's consciousness will come into his life banging pots and pans.

Oh boy. So these are all favourite fics but this one is a favourite amongst favourites. The way Jonah is characterised (i.e. incredibly sensitive to scrutiny) is my favourite depiction of him, and the slow-burn between him and Elias is far sweeter than it has any right to be. Also, it’s hilarious.

The Magnus Records series by ErinsWorks

In a world parallel to that of the Archives and the Institute, a supernatural sanctuary stands against a cruel and uncaring world: A world of bureaucracy and tyranny, of murder and carnage, of loneliness and surveillence, of plague and death. But in this world of fear and misery, 14 entities born of the hopes of the world have emerged. And one of them has made their home here, at The Magnus Sanctuary. Perhaps, the employees within may lead happier lives than their counterparts did in the Archives.

This is just so goddamn pure. The author writes a really imaginative, fleshed-out alternate world and alternate Entities with engaging, well-written short statements. All of the character voices are absolutely on point, and it’s overall absurdly hopeful without ever feeling overly saccharine. I love this series so much, you guys, you don’t even know. I want to print it out and paste it on my wall. I love it.

HARD APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel dark and angsty (and eldritch)

Most of these are shorts/oneshots because it’s just that kind of genre, y’know?

Ashes to Ashes by marrowbones

A conversation at the end of the world.

Oliver Banks is one of those minor characters that I am overly attached to. Love him here.

Employee Benefits by equals_eleven_thirds

The Magnus Institute offered some normal employee benefits: a pension plan, holidays, travel subsidies, free lunch on the last Friday of each month. Rosie makes it work.

This manages to hit that perfect sweet spot of satisfying and hilarious. Rosie gets to torment Elias, as she well deserves.

a rose by any other name by Duck_Life

Part of Jon blooms in Jared Hopworth’s garden.

This one was sad and honestly too gentle to really belong in this category, but I love it.

Eye to Eye by Dribbledscribbles

In which Jonah Magnus attempts a post-apocalyptic pep talk.

Unreliable narrator at its finest, and the implications are suitably horrific.

commensalis by doomcountry

The tower is endlessly, impossibly tall, but Jon’s work is taller.

If you’re here for the eldritch imagery, then this has some of the best.

SOFT APOCALYPSE

for when you want to feel gently triumphant

apocalypse how series by sunshine_states

Humanity adjusts. The Entities have Regrets.

Some nice vignettes set in a kinder apocalypse.

ceylon series by Sciosa

The one in which Jonathan Sims decides that no, actually, he isn't going to let the world just end.

I include this only for the sake on completeness, as everyone has no doubt already read it.

rituals by doomcountry

Martin is the first person to knock on the Archivist's door since it arrived, fully, into its little waiting temple. The Archivist saw him coming from down the hall, but decides to feign interest when the knob turns, and Martin—still a little bit smaller, a little more translucent than before—stands uncertainly just outside the room.

This one’s a little less focused on the world at large and more on JonMartin specifically.

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way; (although perhaps the world itself and the darkness that exists behind it isn't quite as out to get everyone as it seems).

More ‘soft revolution’ than ‘soft apocalypse’, but has the same vibe. A time travel fix-it. Incomplete but worth it if this is a mood that appeals to you.

Scarred Ground by DictionaryWrites

“You see," Elias said softly, "people always have this idea that only living things can be scarred - and they're right, of course. But a building is a living thing, Martin. And the ground can be scarred, too." "I don't have any scars," Martin said. "Yes, you do," Elias said. "You just need the right light to see them.”

Falls somewhere between ‘Apocalypse’ and ‘Soft Apocalyse’ but I’m putting it here because I feel like it. Also technically a LonelyEyes fic. I found it hard to follow at first but it’s worth sticking with; things will eventually begin to make sense and come together.

LONELYEYES

for when you want to feel lonelyeyes

marrying anguish with one last wish by procrastinatingbookworm

In which Elias isn't Orpheus, and Peter isn't Eurydice, but Elias brings Peter home anyway.

Lives in my head rent free forever. My favourite lonelyeyes fic.

ouroboros by Wildehack

“You know,” Jonah says, a muscle in his calf quivering agreeably where it’s slung over Mordechai’s shoulder, “it’s really quite--fortunate--that I don’t care for you at all.”

Oh, this one hurts in the best possible way. The endless cycle of their relationship, the way it comes full-circle... yeah, good. Actually, no, this one might be my favourite. It’s a tie.

Breaking all the Rules by Thedupshadove

Elias proposes a somewhat...unusual wager.

Soft lonelyeyes? In my recs? It’s more likely than you think. Short, sweet, and... sweet.

Threefold by Sprinkledeath

Peter Lukas breaks three rules.

I’m just a slut for mythology allusions I guess.

Luck Be A Lady Tonight by prodigy

In 2014, Elias Bouchard takes a rare trip outside of his comfort zone. Peter Lukas wastes a bunch of money. You'd be surprised how many things can go wrong for two beings of cosmic power.

I love the sense of the history of them you get while reading this.

love is just a word (the idea seems absurd) by kaneklutz

"Something's wrong. It's stopped hurting" An avatar of the Lonely and an avatar of the Beholding walk into a bar relationship. It was bound to blow up in their faces.

Short, sweet, painful. Excellent exploration of their priorities.

Victor by penguistifical

elias tries something with his powers that he hasn't attempted before

The one where Elias tries to raise the dead. Not incredibly LonelyEyes centric but that’s still the pairing.

Simon Says by penguistifical

“Peter asked me to drop by and have a word with you, and, so, here I am.” Simon chuckles at Elias’s disbelieving stare. “Well, he asked in his own way. He’s not a complicated man, you know. He either comes from your arms looking like a stroked cat that’s been given a dish of cream or looking like he’s been in that toy boat of his out in an unexpected storm. He was far angrier than normal, so I daresay you weren’t cream today.”

I mean personally I’d just go ahead and rec all of penguistifical’s LonelyEyes fics but this is a standout for me.

AROMANTIC AND ASPEC MOODS

for when you want to feel Seen

The Aro Archives series by WhyNotFly

These are all just really really good. From Aro!Peter to two different aro-spec versions of the Scottish Safehouse to a long and beautiful aro hanahaki fic, this series is uniformly wonderful. The two Scottish Safehouse ones (Torn Edges and Murky Water) are my comfort fics.

and now all fear gives way by j_quadrifons

Before he can think it through, he murmurs, "Is that what it feels like? Being in love?" Martin's hand stills in his hair and Jon's stomach drops.

This one just. Wow yeah this is how it be. Another absolute comfort fic of mine.

Sweet As Roses by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon takes Martin by the shoulders, leans up on the tips of his toes, and kisses him.

I’m going to be honest—I didn’t know where to put this one. But it ended up here because the real standout of this fic for me is the portrayal of Sasha, and especially her portrayal as an aro character. So I’m putting it here. Mind the content warnings with this one!

HUMOUR

for when you want to feel delight

The Torment of Sebastian Skinner by Urbenmyth

After the Eye's victory, the statement givers are trapped in their horror stories, living them over and over again. Naturally, this works out better for some then for others.

Premise? Delightful. Execution? Fantastic. I read this one to cheer myself up when I’m sad.

Unlucky by VolxdoSioda

Jon’s dice betray him

Short, sweet DnD au, and the reason I cannot get DM!Elias out of my head now.

Voracious by beetl

A bird hits the window. Jon experiences The Flesh's thrall.

“Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” but make it literal.

The Stupid Endings by Urbenmyth

There are a lot of very deeply thought out and creative AUs on this site. These aren't among them. These ones are how the story could have ended, if Jonny Sims was a dumbass.

These are just uniformly hilarious, I cannot recommend them highly enough.

PODCAST CROSSOVERS

for when you want to make one of those “if I had a nickel for every time...” posts

The Sabbatical by morelikeassassin

Nicholas Waters is in need of an all-knowing eldritch entity beyond the confines of human imagining to help with his latest ritual. He'll have to settle for Jonathan Sims, who happens to have nothing better to do.

Crossover with Archive 81 (s3, specifically). Both fun and bittersweet.

The City And Its Sorrows by cuttooth

“What makes you think your friend is in Eskew?” David asks. He feels he can risk the scrutiny of the city that far. “I read that this is a place people end up when they get lost,” says the man. “This is a place people end up,” David agrees./The Archivist comes to Eskew.

Contemplative piece, and I love the way it presents David’s relationship with Eskew, the way he finds it horrible and hates it and yet belongs to it, is almost proud in the way he shows to to Jon. Great little vignette of two people oppressed by eldritch powers, intersecting.

Hiatus by bibliocratic

My name is Jonathan Sims, and I am in Eskew. (Jon gets lost in a Spiral city. It is not as easy as escaping.)

This one is far more focused on Jon than David, and is honestly more Eskew-weird than Spiral-weird. In the best way. Told in Eskew episode style, and is very good.

Sweet Music by Shella688

Eskew has a music to it, if you know how to listen. The percussion beat of thousands of footsteps, the melody in the squealing of the trains overhead. Today, the music of Eskew comes in the form of nine musicians, playing outside my office. My name is David Ward, and I am in Eskew.

Not TMA, but since a lot of Mechs fans go here—this one’s a Mechs/Eskew crossover. Short and simple, mostly David Ward centric, just a little well-written one shot I had to mention because I enjoyed it but it doesn’t have much traffic. Nice portrayal of the Mechs from an outsider’s perspective, and how genuinely strange and frightening they’d come across (especially if you’re already being haunted by and eldritch city). If you like Eskew-style storytelling, check it out!

NOT TMA

...but good enough that I physically cannot make a recs list without including them. Here!

[keyofjetwolf]

Pitch Me your thing!

HELLO HELLO MY SUNBEAMS. For most every category, there was an impressive turn-out for pitches, so I thought we’d utilize the weirdness of this year’s GIFTENING to give something new a try. The popular vote winner for each category will happen on the first day, but on the second, the winner will be chosen from YOUR PITCHES. Mostly those pitches will be to me. The exception is in Miscellaneous, where you’ll be pitching to my family, because what I want to do and what is most entertaining isn’t necessarily the same thing.

So! How will we do this thing? GLAD YOU ASKED. I’ll link you to a form in a minute with space for one pitch. Once you fill it out, you’ll be asked if you want to do another. There’s no limit to the number of pitches you can send in! But remember that if you submit multiple entries for the same category, you’ll basically be competing against yourself.

NOW WE’VE GOT SOME RULES FOR DOING THIS (which I mostly stole from Holligay, because I have no creativity this year). Please read them carefully! I’ll toss pitches that break any of these, and I’d rather your hard work not go to waste.

Pitch Me is open for your submissions from RIGHT NOW (22 December) through the very last day of this hellyear (31 December) at 11:59pm MT.

The thing you pitch must have come from what was nominated for THE GIFTENING 2020. (Full list of those nominations in every category below the cut on this post.)

Entries must be unsigned! I’m looking to chose based on the pitch alone, regardless of who submitted it.

The pitch itself must be 100 words or less. HAVE PITY ON ME I CAN ONLY CONSUME SO MUCH.

If you’d like to get some help, ideas, feedback, all that good stuff, the Discord is a FANTASTIC resource I encourage you to use.

HERE IS YOUR PITCH SUBMISSION LINK

And, as promised, below the cut you’ll find the list of all the nominees in every category you guys sent in this year. IT’S A LONG LIST HAVE FUN WITH THAT

Anime

A Place Further Than The Universe/Sora Yori mo Toi Basho Ace Attorney (Gyakuten Saiban) Action Heroine Cheer Fruits Aggretsuko Aho Girl Air Master Akuma No Riddle Alien Nine Angel Beats! Angelic Layer Appare-Ranman Aria Aria the Animation Arrietty/ The Secret World of Arrietty (Ghibli film) Ascendance of a Bookworm Azumamga Daioh Baccano! Beastars Black Cat Blood + (the series) Bloom Into You Blue Drop/Tenshitachino Gikyoku Bodacious Space Pirates (starting right where you left off) BOFURI: I Don't Want to Get Hurt, so I'll Max Out My Defense Boku no hero academia Bubblegum Crisis Card Captor Sakura: Clear Card Cardcaptor Sakura Castlevania the Animated Series Cells at Work Chaos; Head Chihayafuru Code Geass cowboy Bebop Cyborg 009 Death Note Death Parade Deca-Dence Demon Girl Next Door Demon Slayer (Kimetsu no Yaiba) Diebuster: Aim For the Top 2 Dog Days dorohedoro Dot Hack//SIGN Dr. Stone Elfen Lied Erased (Boku Dake Ga Inai Machi) Escaflowne Excel Saga Fantastic Children Fate/Zero Flip Flappers Fresh Precure Fruits Basket 2019 Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Ga rei Zero GaoGaiGar gekkan shoujo nozaki-kun Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex Ghost Stories (dubbed) Girls' Last Tour Great Pretender Hoseki no Kuni/ Land of the Lustrous House of Five Leaves/ Saraiya Goyou Inari konkon koi iroha Interviews with Monster Girls Inuyasha Isekai Izakaya "Nobu" Jellyfish Princess/ Kuragehime JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable Kaguya-sama Love Is War Kaleido Star Kannazuki no Miko Keep Your Hands Off Eizouken! Kemono Friends Kiki's Delivery Service Kimi ni Todoke: From Me To You Kino's Journey/Kino no Tabi (2003) Land of the Lustrous (Houseki no Kuni) Little Witch Academia Lord El-Melloi II's Case Files EP0 {"A Grave Keeper") Love is Hard for an Otaku Love Live! Sunshine!! lupin the 3rd part 4 Madoka: The Rebellion Movie Magic knight rayearth Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha March Comes in Like a Lion Mardock Scramble Master of Martial Hearts Mawaru Penguindrum Megalobox Miss Kobayashi's Dragon Maid Mob Psycho 100 Mobile Suit Gundam (1979) Monster Mushishi My Bride is a Mermaid (Seto No Hanayome) My Love Story!!! My Neighbor Totoro My Next Life As A Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom My Roommate is a Cat NANA Naruto Natsume’s Book of Friends Neon Genesis Evangelion (hateblog) New Cutey Honey Nichijou Ōban Star-Racers One Piece Ouran High school Host club Outlaw Star Paranoia Agent Perfect Blue Please Save My Earth Pop Team Epic Pretty Cure Fresh Princess Jellyfish/ Kuragehime Princess Mononoke Princess Principal Princess Tutu Project A-Ko promised neverland (/yakusoku no neverland) Psycho-Pass Ranma 1/2 Re: Cutie Honey Re:Creators Read or Die (OAV) Red Garden relife Revolutionalry Girl Utena Rose of Versailles Ruroni Kenshin Sailor Moon Sailor Moon (viz dub) Samurai Champloo (english dub) Sarazanmai School Days School-Live! Scum's Wish Senki Zesshou Symphogear (listed as just "Symphogear" on Crunchyroll.) Serei no Moribito (Guardian of the Spirit) Shin Sekai Yori (From The New World) Shirobako Shoujo Kageki Revue Starlight Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinju Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle Smile Pretty Cure (Japanese original)/ Glitter Force (english adaptation) Snow White with the Red Hair Sound Euphonium Strawberry Panic (yuri) Sweetness and Lightning The Devil is a Part-timer The Devil Lady The disasterous life of saiki k (saiki kusuo no Sai Nan) The End of Evangelion (movie) the Promised Neverland The Twelve Kingdoms Tiger & Bunny Tokimeki Tonight ToraDora Tsubasa Chronicle Umineko When They Cry Valkyrie Drive: Mermaid Vinland Saga Violet Evergarden Whispered Words (Sasameki Koto) With a Dog AND a Cat, Every Day is Fun Yona of the Dawn Yu Yu Hakusho Yugioh Duel Monster Yuki Yuna is a Hero Yuri Kuma Arashi Yuri On Ice!!! Zoids: Chaotic Century Zombie Land Saga

Non-Anime Animated

Adventure Time Amphibia Animainiacs (Original) Animaniacs (Reboot) Archie's Weird Mysteries As Told By Ginger Barbie Life in The Dreamhouse Batman the Animated Series Big Guy and Rusty the Boy Robot Big Mouth Bob's Burgers Bojack Horseman Bravest Warriors Captain N: the Game Master Carmen Sandiego (1994) Carmen Sandiego (2019) Castlevania (Netflix) Cats Don't Dance Coco Courage the Cowardly Dog Craig of the Creek Cyber Six Daria Darkwing Duck Dragon Booster Dragons: Riders of Berk DuckTales (2017) Exo-Squad Fern Gully Fillmore! Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Futurama Gargoyles Glitch Techs Godzilla: The Animated Series Green Lantern the Animated Series Hedgehog in the Fog (Ёжик в тумане) Hey Arnold Hilda Infinity Train Iron Giant JEM Kim Possible Kipo and the Age of the Wonderbeasts Legend of Zelda animated series (1989) Legion of Super-Heroes Liberty Kids Magical Girl Friendship Squad Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart The Legend of Korra Moominvalley Motorcity My Little Pony (Classic, NOT FiM) My Little Pony: Equestria Girls: Rainbow Rocks Onyx Equinox Over the Garden Wall Over the Moon (2020 film) Owl House Primal Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure Redwall Rise of the TMNT Roco's Modern Life Rugrats RWBY Samurai Jack Seis Manos She-Ra (1985) She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Sonic Boom Spartakus and the Sun Beneath the Sea Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse Star vs. the Forces of Evil Strange Magic Super Mario Brothers Super Show Superman: The Animated Series Teen Titans The 13 Ghosts of Scooby Doo The Animals of Farthing Wood The Dragon Prince The Hollow The Legend of Tarzan (TV series) The Magic School Bus (1994) The Mysterious Cities of Gold The Pirate Fairy (Disney Fairies) The Powerpuff Girls (1998) The Real Ghostbusters Thundercats (1985) Thundercats (2011) Transformers: Prime Tuca and Bertie Twelve Forever Undone Venture Bros Wakko's Wish Wakfu Wander Over Yonder We Bare Bears (TV) Winx Club Wreck-It Ralph (2012) X-Men Evolution X-Men: The Animated Series Xiaolin Showdown

Live Action

20,000 Leagues Under the Sea 28 Days Later 3rd Rock from the Sun A Series of Unfortunate Events American Horror Story: Asylum Babysitter's Club (2020) Batman (the old Adam West version) Better Call Saul Black Mirror Blackbeard's Ghost (Peter Ustinov) Boston Legal Boy Meets World Boys Over Flowers Bromance (Taiwanese tv series) Brooklyn 99 Buffy the Vampire Slayer Cadfael Cagney and Lacey Charmed (2018) Chopped Cleopatra 2525 Cloak and Dagger Clue (1985) Community Crazy Ex-Girlfriend Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance Dead Like Me Dead To Me Deadwood Death Note (Netflix) Derry Girls Dimension 20 - The Unsleeping City Doctor Who (New) Doom Patrol Dracula's Daughter (1936) Escape to the Chateau Farscape Fingersmith Galavant Godzilla (2014) Gokushufudo (2020 Japanese TV drama) Golden Girls Good Omens H20: Just Add Water (somewhere in seasons 1-2) Happy New Year Harley Quinn movie Hateblog a REALLY STRAIGHT soap opera. Haunting of Bly Manor His Dark Materials (HBO series) Holes Hot Fuzz House Inception Inside No. 9 Iron Chef America Joan of Arcadia Julie and the Phantoms Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle Kamen Rider Build Kamen Rider Ex-Aid Kamen Rider Fourze Killing Eve Knives Out Letterkenny Leverage Little Women (2019) Lucifer Matlock Majisuka Gakuen MASH Merlin Mission Impossible Ghost Protocol Money Talks (1997 film) Motherland: Fort Salem Murder She Wrote Mythbusters Nailed It! Never Have I Ever Once Upon a Time Orphan Black Pen 15 PGSM Pi (1998) Picnic at Hanging Rock (2018) Pride and Prejudice: A New Musical Puppy Bowl Pushing Daisies Rome (hateblog) Russian Doll Sabrina Sense8 Sera Myu: Un Nouveau Voyage Shameless Sierra Burgess Smallville So Weird Star Trek: TOS (or their films) Star Trek: The Next Generation Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Star Trek: Voyager Stargate Atlantis Suckerpunch Supernatural (out of context speedrun the last three episodes) Sweetheart Switched at Birth Tall Girl Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles The Addams Family (1964) The Big Flower Fight The Booth at the End The Bride With White Hair The Crown The Fresh Prince of Bel Air The Good Place The Kissing Booth The L Word The Librarians The Magicians The Muppet Show The Pregnancy Pact The Room The Steve Harvey Show The Stranded The Untamed The Witcher The Wolfman (1941) Torchwood Twilight Zone (original) Twin Peaks Ultraman Nexus Umbrella Academy Van Helsing Warehouse 13 Warrior Nun What We Do In The Shadows (tv show) Will & Grace Wynonna Earp X-Men 2: X-Men United Xena: Warrior Princess

Miscellaneous

Alpha Flight #41-62 Anime music dance party, the logistics of which are to be determined! Ask Hot Pocket and/or Mina-pup AskSharknado: Giftening Edition Attempt to make French macaroons Commentary on old Goggles Critical Role Crowdsourced: A Black Mirror-style day where Jetty has to ask what her choices are of the audience for everything! I give you a menu, you decide what she has for dinner? What does she wear? Does she walk on the track or do the eliptical? Does she go to a movie with Doc or play a video game with Mike? Can be done alongside other stuff. Doodle Day Dramatic readings of fan fiction! Drunk History (or whatever your favorite subject would be) with Jet Wolf! Drunk Sailor Moon Exorcising Closet Ghost Fic Prompts Day Figuarts Day! (Not specifically freeing anyone, just various fun poses and such) Guess the plot of a show based on its opening Her Shim-Cheong (manhwa) House of X/Powers of X Hubby's Choice IDW Jem comics liveblog Intros Only (watch show openings, give commentary, guess what show is about, etc.) Jackbox Games Jet Wolf paints along with Bob Ross Jet and Doc go to Heaven/Hell, respectively: Jet gets to write reams of words about the awesomeness of Rei Hino and Doc has to read all of them and say ONLY NICE THINGS. Jet does Tiktok dances Jet Liveblogs Holligay: A Nature Documentary Jet Ranks Sailor Moon Image Songs Jet Reads Goosebumps Jet Reads Legion of Super-Heroes Jet redesigns the Wolf and Gay offices! Jet shows off her knitting Jet Wolf attempts to recreate scenes from Sailor Moon with Mina and Hot Pocket and/or whatever is in the house Jet Wolf reacts to Sailor Moon tiktoks (in blog form) Jet Wolf reads Love and Rockets. Jet Wolf reads the Jem comics by IDW Jet Wolf reviews her old top 100 Sailor Moon moments list Jet Wolf talks about Archie Comics Jet Wolf talks about each cel she owns and why they are so awesome. Jet Wolf writes Poetry Jet Wolf's Top 5's Jet, Hubby and/or family play board games Jetty Rants and Raves Jet Wolf tries to crack the Gravity Falls Codes Kiwi Blitz on Hiveworks Let's Play on Webtoon Liveblog: Favorite X-Men comic book arcs Livestream Pathfinder one-shot LOONA (Collection of music videos with an ongoing story/universe about GIRLS who are FRIENDS and SAVE THE UNIVERSE) Lore Olympus on Webtoon Mike regales us with "the story of your love" while you get increasingly embarrassed Mina and Hot Pocket day - liveblog like a nature documentary Mister Tsukino Does His Taxes and the Household Budget (Sailor Moon fan comic by Shadowjack) Nancy Drew: Ghost Dogs of Moon Lake Not So Shoujo Love Story on Webtoon Pitch Mishaps for Untitled Senshi Game (it is a lovely day in Juuban, and you are a Horrible Minako.) Pitching hubby's favorite media at (readers/holligay/jill/momigay) Playing with dolls (because how could 3 women not have any dolls between them) Re-Take By Studio Kimigabuchi (All Ages Version) Real or Fake Anime (people submit descriptions of anime you guess if it is an anime that actually exists or not) Reviewing succulents Scavenger hunt! Not entirely sure how it would work, maybe folks could send in asks for you to show things like your favorite Rei Hino object, or the thing that's been with you the longest, etc. sewing/knitting/baking tutorial Share or rant about a Roman history topic Sleepless Domain on Hiveworks Talking to Docholligay 2: Doc Harder (basically you talking to Doc's future womb evictee while still in there and telling them stuff like say the greatness of Rei Hino) The Monster Duchess and Contract Princess (manhwa) The Polar Bear Plunge--I take Jetty to our finest Lake Elmo in January, and she jumps in! Note: THIS IS NOT DANGEROUS, WORRYWARTS. I'll bring a life preserver, I've done it before, and I would do it with her if I weren't pregnant. The Senshi Helpline--The Senshi, taking your advice questions, here and now! The World of Moral Reversal Virtual knitting/crafting circle! Let us craft and chat with you! What-If #24 Gwen Stacy Lived Worm the web serial Write an explanation for a drawing we send you! Yuri Hell's Kitchen

[lifebeginsbyleaving]

Accidental Amnesia Amnesty

Hello, this is for sterek bingo 2020. I have so many other ideas planned and a few other prompts written so I’m excited to finally be posting them!!! I used the tags mistaken identity and full shift werewolves.(I also used fake relationship, but forgot to say.) So this fic changes some of canon, but everything before the cop car scene and everything after the end of the third episode is canon. I tried to make it fit as well as I could, but this is my first time sticking to canon so closely so I might've missed something. Thanks for reading!!!

All he had to do was not run into Melissa. Easy as pie.

"Stiles?"

Shit.

He spun around with a grin as his jacket flapped in his hand. "Hey Mels bells!"

She squinted in confusion at him. "What are you doing here?"

Stiles scratched his arm and scrambled for an answer. "Well as you know, Scott and I are very close. Arguably the closest. Best friends and all. I was just wondering if you've seen him around?"

She looked at him disbelievingly. "You came here, to my work, to ask where Scott is?"

Stiles took a moment to consider. "Yeah. Sure. I mean, absolutely."

"And you didn't think to, I don't know, call first? Or check the house where Scott would most likely be? And last I knew, usually always is right about now?"

"You know, I should've. I guess it just slipped my mind." Stiles tried to look not guilty as he discreetly hid his bloodied hands and jacket behind himself.

She looked at him for a moment. "Right. Okay, you are going to stay right here and I'm going to call your dad."

Stiles startled. "Oh that's not-"

"Save it mister. I don't know what you're up to, but I have patients to deal with so I can't figure it out. Sit down."

Fuck. Stiles went and sat down to await his doom.

His dad was going to be so pissed. Lately Stiles had been butting into cases a lot. Every time he mentioned something he figured out he saw how much stress he was causing his father by him not staying out of it, but there was this buzzing. This feeling that never left him, not even in sleep, that something was coming. Something big and changing. Something that would hurt the ones he loved if he didn't figure it out. With his very recently widened world view to involve the supernatural, it added even more weight to the feeling. It was this indescribable itch at the back of his mind that only seemed scratched when he was figuring out his father's cases before he could get hurt. But he couldn't explain any of that to his father, so he just played it off as the nosey kid.

His father tried multiple times to keep him away from it, and it worked once his father had been reported. Some jackass told his superiors that Stiles was poking around some old files and now he had a lady from the FBI questioning his every move.

Stiles knew he should just let it go, let it all blow over, but there was something about this. This case. This week. This feeling.

This feeling wasn't just him fearing for his life. This feeling wasn't him wondering if he'd make it through his high school years. This feeling wasn't him worrying about his dad getting shot stopping some punk knocking over a liquor store. This feeling he had didn't even go away once Scott was bit, it wasn't that simple. This feeling wasn't just about his best friend suddenly becoming a creature of the night. This feeling wasn't just one simple thing. This feeling was everything.

This feeling told him that everything before now was what was leading up to something, and everything after would never be the same again. This was Scott and werewolves and there was something about Derek. Something he couldn't figure out. This feeling told him that it was important, it was all important. This feeling told him no matter what, he had to figure it out.

Stiles didn't like not knowing, not being able to trust what he saw.

Looking down at his hands and the blood caked on them he wasn't sure he could trust what he just saw. He didn't know if he could trust the memory because everything just happened so fast.

One moment he was in trouble with his father because he found yet another crime scene, the other half of the body, and the next his father's boss was questioning both of them. Soon enough he slipped away and into the unobserved police car to speak with Derek Hale, well more like accuse. Then he was being pulled back out by his father and getting yelled at while the sheriff looked nervously over at the woman raising an eyebrow and looking more and more sure. His father told Scott to stay so he could talk to him, most likely express disappointment.

He heard chatter as he walked back to his car about how they had a more nailed down date of death, it had been a day earlier than they thought.

Soon enough, he was starting Roscoe and watching the patrol car taking Derek away, along with all the answers. The buzzing, the feeling, was back. The next second he was shifting into gear and following behind the car.

The next hour happened in the blink of an eye.

He was thinking about how the girl/wolf was buried then, there was a big, snarling blur and the patrol car was shoved off the passing bridge.

Stiles swerved to the shoulder before the bridge.

By the time he was looking down to the bottom of the stream, Derek was dragged from the car.

By- by something Stiles couldn't believe. Scott being a werewolf was one thing. That- that hulking scarred beast with hollow red eyes was another.

Stiles stood frozen in the flash of movements as the monster bashed Derek's head against a rock and raked his claws down him as he fought. His hands trembled as the monster's claws dug into the back of Derek's neck and Derek's arms went slack, he stopped grappling with the beast's terrible paws.

It's giant jaws cracked open and it spoke, horrifying Stiles further.

"Forget or you will die like her. You will die like your sister."

Stiles' mind raced to the bat in his Jeep.

He scrambled to get it and in doing so he brushed the string of flowers he had taken from around the body.

A truly stupid idea flashed in his mind as he remembered an article about wolfsbane.

He saw the flower wrapped rock sail and for once his aim was good enough.

It landed with a similar thud as the stone in Stiles' belly as the beast looked down at it then directly into his eyes.

It tilted it's head and sniffed the air, and still he knew this fear, this pants pissing fear, wasn't the feeling he was dreading.

In the blink of an eye he couldn't see the glowing red anymore, but he could still see the stare even as he clamped his eyelids shut.

When he opened them again he saw red, trembling red. The overhead system called out for a doctor of some sort, but all he heard was the sickening crack of skull against rock.

Over- Crack! And over- Crack! And over- Crack! And over- Crack! And over- Cra-

Stiles bolted up and ran.

He threw open the bathroom door and began scrubbing at the blood coloring the swirling cold water. No matter how hard he cleaned his hands it seemed more blood kept pouring onto them.

Two men walked in while talking.

"-Hale is in stable condition."

Stiles was brought out of his thoughts and cycle of seeing himself fail at holding the blood inside Derek's body.

"I don't know how he made it. That kid is a miracle. Some of the injuries weren't as bad as originally thought. Gave the EMTs a real scare with all the blood, I heard. And he's not even in the ER any more, he's in 309. You should see th-"

Stiles was out the door in an instant.

He knew exactly where the room was.

As he went by Melissa, thankfully distracted by an urgent patient, he hid until he could dart around the corner.

He tried to as calmly as possible, run to the room.

Once outside he barged right in. His father wouldn't be here yet, but there wasn't any time to waste. He would be soon.

Looking at the pale man in front of him, everything stood at a stand still. He stared at him and thought for what felt like hours.

What if he woke up? What was he supposed to say? 'Hey, you know I hope you don't hold it against me that I accused you of murder.'

Oh God. Stiles had a fear inducing idea.

If the murdered woman was a werewolf, what if she was murdered by that beast? And Derek was a werewolf too, did that mean- the murdered lady was Derek's sister, and the one the beast was talking about? Stiles accused him of murdering his sister?!

Holy shit.

He so didn't kill his sister. He wasn't the alpha. He wasn't the threat. Or maybe he was. If he was a werewolf he could still be a threat.

Stiles studied him.

Right then he didn't look like a threat. He didn't look scary. Hell, he didn't even look like a werewolf. He looked- broken. And scared, and hurt. And my god Stiles had never seen someone look so sad in the peacefulness of sleep.

It made him wonder if he laid his hand over his if it would comfort him, if he was the type of sad that meant he was just lonely. He looked at Derek and remembered the papers and stories.

His own face twisted in sorrow.

He looked at his prone healing form and knew.

Derek was the type of sad that knew loss. He knew it better than he knew himself to the point that who he was might as well have been added to the body count of people lost to him.

Stiles ached for the man he, up until moments ago, thought and accused of murdering his own sister.

He came closer and stood next to his bed.

The feeling felt wrapped up with Derek some how. Like he was vital to figuring it all out.

He lifted a hand to offer comfort.

The monitors beeped faster and Stiles looked over at them.

When he went to check Derek's face his eyes were open, and glowing electric blue.

"Jesus!" Stiles ripped his hand back.

He looked confused, and alert. "Where am I?"

"Warn a guy!"

"Where am I?"

Stiles huffed. "Where do you think genius? The hospital."

"Why am I here?" He still looked confused, but more calm.

Stiles frowned. "You don't remember the accident? Or the-"

"I was in an accident? Were you there?" Derek's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "You were there right? You held my head and cried and cursed the ambulance for taking so long."

He paused.

"Who are you?"

Stiles was taken aback. He squinted. "Derek?"

Derek looked at him with a contemplative look, then looked at the tubes going into him with concern. "Who's Derek?"

Stiles didn't have time to process his shock as the door swung open and his father marched in.

"Stiles?!" His father looked furious. "Mieczysław Genim Stilinski!"

Derek's eyes went wide.

Stiles quickly grabbed his hands to cover his claws.

His father took a brief pause at the hand holding, but quickly schooled his face.

Stiles winced. "Hi Dad?" He felt Derek's claws retract.

His dad turned to the woman with him.

"Save it Sheriff. I see the complaints about your gross disregard for procedure by involving your son aren't unfounded. Pray, do tell me there is a reasonable explanation why your own son is in the room with a murder suspect? After the body, the second half that is, I only needed one more reason for your review. It seems now I have one."

Stiles' wide eyes quickly became hard with determination.

Derek looked at him and immediately knew what ever came out of his mouth was going not going to end well, despite knowing him for less than three minutes.

"I have a perfectly reasonable explanation."

His father covered his face with his hand and his shoulders raised to tense against the incoming response.

"Derek is my boyfriend."

Stiles' face was filled with conviction, but the the other three surrounding him went wide with shock.

The sheriff's hand fell from his face as he gaped at his son, but soon enough he turned to Derek. Gone from his gaze was the confusion, now all that was there was a murderous edge as he stared right into Derek's soul.

Derek swallowed and turned to Stiles. "We are?"

The confusion was back ten fold.

"Stiles if this is one of your tricks or schem-"

"Derek doesn't remember anything." Stiles blurted.

All eyes turned to Derek.

That wasn't true. He remembered waking to pain and someone holding him in their lap. Repeating over and over, 'You're going to be okay. We're okay.' He remembered shiny brown eyes and moles. He remembered the hammering of a heart that some how calmed his own as he faded in and out of consciousness. He remembered holding a hand as his body felt like it had been drained of too much to recover from. He remembered thinking he had to hold on, or maybe he was told that.

He remembered having an anchor to reach for.

He remembered all of that but he kept quiet.

The sheriff once again turned to him. "Is that right?"

Derek tried to clear his dry throat. "Which part, sir?"

He fixed him with a hard glare. "Both."

Derek looked to Stiles and considered. He didn't remember anything, so he didn't know if what he said was true. Stiles turned away from his father to look into his eyes and he gave him a very meaningful look as squeezed his hand. Like, 'Hey, agree with everything I say please!'

He looked at him and he couldn't muster up love. When he had looked at the sheriff he felt fear and respect, but looking at Stiles there was no love or even adoration. There was something there though, it felt like he trusted him. He didn't know if it was his face or his eyes, or maybe even that the only memories he had included him.

He turned back to answer honestly. "I don't remember anything before I woke up, and I don't know if we are together. I didn't even know my own name before he told it to me."

The woman spoke up. "I'm sorry wait a second, weren't you the one that found the body. Then you reported Mr. Hale? You reported your own boyfriend?"

Stiles looked at her and narrowed his eyes. "Wouldn't you report your boyfriend if you thought he murdered a lady? I was raised by a cop, not a monster."

His dad came farther into the room and showed obvious unease and pointed looks towards where their hands were still intertwined. "So why are you here now? If Derek really did murder that lady-" He gave Stiles a firm, but consoling look. "I will find out. And he will go to prison."

Stiles felt Derek tense, so Stiles tightened his grip. "He didn't. He didn't kill her."

The FBI agent gave him a cutting look.

His father pushed out a breath as he shook his head. "Kid, you're killin me here. You just told me he did. We literally just came from the crime scene you found and told us he did it."

Stiles set his shoulders. "And now I'm untelling you. Some new information came to light."

Stiles saw the glint of light that every once and awhile reflected off of his father's badge and into his eyes. "New information? Who's your source?"

"I am."

His father gave him a dubious look. "We can hardly take the word of a teenager over evidence. You, yourself found the other half of the body on his property! Stiles you're not dumb, look at the evidence. You might think you care for him and want to protect him, but we can't disregard evidence on the word of a significant other." It looked like every time he had to refer to their relationship, it pained him. "Much less an easily manipulated teenager with an older boyfriend." He gave a pointed, murderous look to Derek. "Which will be dealt with."

Derek turned to Stiles and now that he was more focused he could see the obvious youth that the curiosity in his eyes had hid before.

Stiles stood considering for a moment, then he let go of Derek's hand to face his father. "I know he didn't do it because on the way out I heard Ella say the time of death was a day earlier than you thought."

His father once again looked disappointed. "Stiles what does tha-"

"And he was with me that day."

The FBI agent looked skeptical. "The entire day?"

Stiles addressed her. "I went to school that Thursday, but he saw me right away after. And the medical examiner, Ella, said she didn't die till later at night anyway."

His father once again looked harsh and his face darkened. "How late did he stay?"

Stiles closed his eyes and hoped he wasn't pulling Derek out of the frying pan and into the fire. He looked into his father's eyes. "I knew you'd get off at four, so he left at three. So there was no way he could've killed her."

Derek looked shocked at the new information.

Stiles nervously went to scratch at his head with his still shaking hands and in doing so, brought his flannel away from his body.

The homicidal look his father had melted instantly into one of worry. "Is that blood?!"

Stiles looked down to his t-shirt where a spot of drying blood was causing his shirt to stick to his body. Stiles quickly pulled his hand back down so his flannel would cover it once again.

His father rapidly approached him and ripped his flannel away to inspect the large stain.

Stiles pushed his hands away. "Dad I'm fine."

He quickly grabbed Stiles' hands and looked at the blood still wedged under his nails and he pulled the almost dripping jacket from him.

He looked up with wide frightened teary eyes. "Where? Where does it hurt son?" His voice was commanding despite how it shook.

"I'm fine."

He shook his head and grabbed Stiles' arm.

He looked at the FBI agent as he walked past. "Watch the suspect." He thought to himself, 'So I can murder him later.'

Stiles was protesting being drug behind, but his father simply yelled out a very loud, distraught, "Melissa!"

Stiles saw her look to them right before he was shoved into a different room.

"Sit."

"I'm f-"

His eyes were wild. "If you say you're fine one more God damn time, I'm gonna lose it Stiles! Why the hell are you covered in blood with shaking hands then?"

Melissa came in with a concerned look. "What is it John?"

John just pointed where Stiles was standing near the bed before speaking, "Fix him." He backed away to give her space.

"I'm alright, you don't have to worry."

She turned to Stiles with a puzzling look, but as she scanned him she caught sight of the blood and her eyes went wide just like his father's had. "Oh my god!"

"It's okay."

She ripped his shirt up and away and in her panic she smoothed her bare hand through the blood. She searched for a moment longer and then turned to John. "There's nothing wrong with him."

"I told you I wa-"

His father started to pace and gesture as he talked, "No. No, you fix him! You find what's wrong. He's lying, or hiding it. I don't care if you have to strip him naked like you used to for bath time with Scott! You find what's wrong with my boy! I don't know what's wrong. He hid it from me, I didn't know he was hurting!" He looked at her with a mixture of desperation and concern. "He's covered in blood and he needs to be okay. You need to take my boy and make him okay! My boy is hurt Melissa." His voice broke as he said the last sentence.

Stiles grabbed Melissa's arm and looked into her eyes. "Go back to work, I have to talk with him. I promise you I'm fine."

She nodded, already knowing he was, and left.

"Dad."

His father came near as the door closed and once again his shirt was pulled up.

Stiles placed a hand on top of his. "It's not my blood."

His father looked at him bewildered.

Stiles sighed. "I followed the police car. I was there when the accident happened." He hesitated for a moment. "I didn't see the driver or the truck's plate number, I just saw a big black blur hit the car off the bridge from the side." He took some solace in the fact that at least that part was true. "They drove away as soon as they realized they hit something."

His dad still had a crease of worry in his forehead.

Stiles thought quickly on his feet as he pieced together his story. "I heard Ella on the way out and figured out that it wasn't Derek. So I followed the car to get everything straightened out at the station. But then the accident happened. I went down to check on him and there was just so much. It's not my blood, it's- it's his. I tried- I got there as soon as I could." Stiles thought about the blood pouring and  how the only reason Derek was even in that car was because of him and his eyes began to tear up. "There was so much blood dad. It was everywhere. I- I tried- I thought he would die-" His tears started to spill. "God I was so worried he would die in my arms- that he would die and it would be my fault."

His dad shook his head, but he just continued, "I turned him in for something he didn't do. I put him in that car. I-I - I would've been the reason he died." Stiles' words began to blur together as he spoke faster. "I would've been the one that killed him. His blood would've be- God the blood. There was so much blood. It was everywhere. The blood." Stiles' ears started to ring as he looked down at his hands and felt the sticky warmth he had washed off. "The blood dad. The blood dad. The blood. The blood." Stiles couldn't breathe.

His father pulled him into his arms. "Calm down son. Breathe. In and out. He's fine. You hear me? Derek is fine. You're fine too, you're here. With me. It wasn't your fault. You're gonna be okay. Just breathe for me boy."

"I- I can't. T-T-the blood. The b-b-blood dad."

His father pulled back out of the tight hug and gripped his hands. "Look Stiles. Look at your hands. There's no more blood here."

Stiles tried to focus on his hands and his father kissed his knuckles with teary eyes. "There's no blood Stiles. He's okay."

Stiles focused on his father's hands entwined with his and he tried to calm his breaths.

A few moments passed as he struggled with his lungs.

He nodded to his father and they both exhaled loudly.

Stiles crumpled in exhaustion and his father guided him to the floor as he pulled him back into himself. The sheriff rested his back against the nightstand and Stiles settled in between his legs.

The sheriff hooked Stiles' head underneath his chin. "We're going to have to talk about you and Derek, but right now I just want to know you're safe and out of trouble."

His voice was a soft mumble, "You can't protect me forever. I know it's your job, but sometimes I'm going to do things you don't like. That you think are too risky, but it's just me living my life."

The sheriff closed his eyes and felt a bone deep sorrow. "God, your mom would know what to do, because all I want to do is go into that room and shoot him. FBI be damned, he- he touched my boy."

Stiles internally freaked out and shook his head. He couldn't get Derek off a murder charge by setting him up for sexual assault of a minor charge when he hadn't done either. "No. He never- we never- Derek would never do that. We kept in touch long distance and when he came here that night was the only night I was able to see him. We just played video games and talked. I've never even kissed him."

The sheriff let out a relieved breath. "That still doesn't change the fact that he is twenty-three and you are sixteen." He could tell Stiles was about to say something. He thought about how upset Stiles got when he mentioned Derek being hurt. "But, I can tell how much you care about him. I am in no way condoning this. I am not okay with you being together, at all. I want this relationship to stop immediately. But I do see your care, so I won't kill him."

He tried for a joke, but they both knew if he ever found out that anything had happened he wouldn't hesitate.

"Okay."

"Okay."

They sat in silence for a moment longer.

Stiles worried at his lip and curled his fingers into his uniform. "Hey Dad?"

"Yeah?"

He decided not to look up at him. "Do you care? I mean I know you've said- but like sometimes it's different when it happens you know?"

"What are you talking about?" He asked with fondness.

"Do you care that he's..."

The sheriff pulled him tighter to his chest. "No. Don't you ever think that. If Derek was a nice boy your age and not a murder suspect I'd be inviting him to Sunday dinner. I don't care what your sexuality is- hell me and Melissa have a bet going of when you and Scott will get married. I don't care if you date boys instead."

Stiles relaxed slightly. "And if I want to date girls too?"

"I love you Stiles. Who you love won't change that." His father kissed the top of his head.

"I love you too pops."

They both basked in the comfort of the other for a few more moments.

"Alright we should get up. You have a lacrosse game later and I'll have plenty of paperwork I'm sure. Plus we have to take your statement, I don't know if it will clear his name though. His amnesia complicates things. Besides my back is getting sore."

"Will you need help getting up old man?"

His father pinched his side. "Oh it's like that is it?"

"Sorry I couldn't hear you over the creaking of your bones."

Stiles jumped up and away as his father swatted at him. The sheriff held out a hand and Stiles helped him up with a smile.

Stiles went for the door.

"There's still something you're keeping from me."

His heart sank.

"I don't know if it has to do with Derek or his sister or what, but Stiles you don't have to lie to me. No matter how grown you get it will always be my job, and my highest priority to protect you. I could never lose you."

Stiles nodded his head. "Yeah I know that Dad. I could never lose you either."

Stiles turned the knob and they walked out.

With all the questions his father and the FBI agent had for him Stiles was only able to catch back up with Scott right before the game.

He had decided not to tell Scott anything so he could focus on the game more. He decided it was a problem for another time. Now he needed to make sure Scott didn't shift or kill anybody.

The game went smoothly, well as smoothly as it could've. Stiles was just glad everybody was alive and Mr. Argent hadn't shot Scott.

Everything was great till his father got a call. Ella determined that the cause of death for Derek's sister was an animal attack. Stiles was relieved he was let go, but he knew he had to let Scott know. He wasn't looking forward to that.

Stiles didn't have enough information, and he definitely didn't want to get Scott involved in something he didn't know enough about.

He only told Scott that Derek was let go and he tried to push it from his mind.

He felt bad not taking to Derek after he had lost all of his memories and Stiles had claimed to be in a relationship, but his father was serious. If he so much as heard Stiles and Derek were in the same room as each other he would arrest him.

It was as forgotten as it could be, until Scott had a dream about killing Allison.

Scott wondered about maybe having Derek teach him and with his current state Stiles had to shut it down.

It only worked until Scott saw the man from the bus. Stiles tried to convince him to keep on like normal, to not do anything drastic till they could find out more. He convinced him to not cancel his, now group date, with Allison and to act normal.

But Stiles knew his best friend. If there was a chance Scott would hurt Allison and that Derek could help him not, he would take it.

That's why Stiles was disobeying direct orders from his father and parking Roscoe on the abandoned Hale property. He exhaled heavily. Best to get this over with.

The Jeep door creaked and slammed behind himself.

Derek quickly came out of the front door with a small smile already on his face.

"Scott is going to be here after he gets off work and he can't find out that you don't know shit."

Derek's eyebrows fell, but his lips quirked into a small amused smile. "Are you always this blunt and blatantly disrespectful of social decorum?"

He didn't even stop to be offended or consider. "Yes. We need to make a plan. He can under no circumstances know."

Derek easily jumped on board. "What does that mean? What can't he know?"

"He can't know that you don't know stuff. We went over this, keep up. We don't have all night." Stiles fidgeted.

Derek nodded. "Okay." He opened his door more. "Then you better come in and explain some things. Like who Scott is."

Stiles looked distrustful and unease set his shoulders.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just you well, you you is way more grumpy usually."

Derek frowned. "I'm grumpy to my boyfriend?"

Stiles' eyes widened for a second. He had forgotten about that for a moment. "You're grumpy to pretty much everybody, dude." They walked inside the house and he shut the door behind them.

Derek took a second to think as Stiles checked out the house.

Stiles spoke suddenly, "Oh! Yeah, don't forget to do that with Scott. Be grumpy, slightly mean, and entirely intimidating. Like you eat infants for breakfast."

"I act like I eat infants for breakfast?" He looked displeased.

Stiles didn't think before answering consolingly, "But in a hot way."

Derek opened his mouth and then shut it. He avoided eye contact and Stiles swore his cheeks turned light pink.

Stiles realized what he had said and cursed internally for when Derek remembered everything. That reminded him. He should ask how he's been, but first he had to figure everything with Scott out.

He told him everything that had happened so far. The game, Derek trying to help Scott, them accusing him of murdering his sister, assuring him he didn't kill his sister, the hunters, about Allison and her father, why Scott couldn't know about them dating, and especially about Scott's dream. Everything he thought Scott might talk about he covered.

Stiles took a few deep breaths after his info dump. "Any questions?"

Derek looked uncertain. "What happened with the accident?"

Stiles had left that part out, he didn't know if he could talk about it. Derek smelled the fear, and anxiety.

"We don't have to talk about it if you can't."

Stiles took a deep breath. "Nah dude, it's fine. I was following the patrol car when it hit you. This big- well I still don't really know what it was, but it was terrifying. It dragged you out of the car and- and it hit your head." Stiles' face looked confused. "Then it dug it's claws into the back of your neck. It-it looked up at me and-"

As Derek watched Stiles talk he got a distant look in his eyes. Derek reached out a hand and held onto his shoulder.

Stiles' eyes immediately snapped to his and there was a flash of fear before it melted to appreciation. Stiles took in a few breaths and continued more steadily, "It looked up at me after I threw a rock wrapped in wolfsbane at it. It said, 'Forget or you'll die like your sister.' I think it took your memories somehow. Whatever that beast was took them for a reason. You must've known something that it didn't want you too. I think whatever it took will be important. And it will be important to keeping Scott safe, so I'll help you try to remember. I think it had something to do with your sister. I think that thing hurt her and doesn't want you to figure out why. But even that doesn't make complete sense, why not kill you?"

Stiles was looking at the other side of the room with searching eyes that Derek could almost look through to see the cogs moving. He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth in consideration and pulled Derek's focus with it.

He released his shiny red lip and Derek looked back to his eyes dazed. "And this thing with Scott. His dream. The person that attacked the bus driver wasn't Scott, no matter what happened to him I know he would never. Well, I hope. I don't think it was you, but I guess I don't know that for sure. However, this beast, the thing from the accident could've done it. It's the most likely suspect, but I still don't see the motive. Or why Scott is involved. Maybe this thing knew he was a werewolf and wanted something. There's just too many blanks right now. We need more evidence. We need to figure out what, or even more terrifying, who the beast is. We need to find out what it wants with your memories and wanted from your sister and what it wants with Scott. All the while keeping the police, namely my dad, oblivious. Also Scott and you both have to stay away from hunters and not provoke them in anyway until we can figure out more. And Allison. We can't let Scott hurt her. I know my best friend, he would never kill her, but he did attack me, so may-"

Derek looked alarmed. "He attacked you?!"

"Yeah. It was soon after he was bitten though. He's gotten a bit better. I don't think he would attack Allison, but I won't bet her life on it. You need to help him."

Derek furrowed his brows. "How? I don't remember anything, much less have any of the answers to things."

Stiles started to pace. "Okay. You have better control than Scott. Even now. How are you doing it? Scott said it's getting more difficult the closer it gets to the full moon so how are you doing it?"

Derek looked down at his fingers. He had noticed that he had been feeling the urge to shift more. "I don't know how to control it really. It just happens. When I feel my claws about to come out I just stop."

Stiles made a frustrated noise. "Yes, but how do you stop?"

Derek thought about it. In the time since the accident whenever he's felt pain or been stressed trying to remember he's felt the urge to lose control, but he didn't. Derek focused trying to figure out what it was. He didn't know it just happened. He would calm down. He looked up to Stiles and opened his mouth to tell him that, but he stopped.

Stiles.

He closed his mouth again. Whenever he was stressed about the accident he thought about Stiles holding him. Whenever he didn't know what to do he wondered about Stiles and what he was doing. Stiles was his anchor.

He didn't know where that word came from, but it was the only one that seemed right. Maybe he was remembering it.

Stiles let out a breath. "Nevermind, I'll try and figure it out. Let's focus on something else. How are you? Have you remembered anything else?"

Stiles was still pacing.

He had tried to remember. To remember about his sister, or who might have hurt her. He tried to remember anything about his life, but when he looked himself up he stared at the picture from the article about the fire and felt nothing personal looking at the happy large family. He felt sorry for them, he felt sad at the injustice of so many dying, but they didn't seem like his family. He couldn't remember any of their names or anything about them. He tried to remember about other things too. Like where he was before he came here. If he had a job that was wondering where he was. He had a phone, but he couldn't remember his password. Thankfully his computer was unlocked, but all he discovered from that was his porn taste and that he watched a sad amount of Netflix.

The more he found out about his past he wondered if he wanted to remember. If he wanted to remember all of that pain, the misery, the loss. Even his own boyfriend said he was grumpy. Maybe this was a chance to start over, to be better. The old Derek didn't seem like he was doing any good for anyone. Maybe he could. He could protect Stiles, he could help Scott.

"Not really. But would that even be so bad?" He tried to joke lightly, but Stiles whirled on him.

If Derek didn't remember he wouldn't be able to teach Scott and that couldn't happen. Not to mention if Derek didn't remember what the beast took it could kill all three of them and the hunters would have even more of a shot at it. Besides, it was Derek's life. He couldn't forget that. "Yes, Derek! Yes it would be! You are the only person that knows anything about this shit! There are multiple people and things out there trying to kill my best friend and I! Scott needs to learn control or he could hurt Allison and that would destroy him! We need you. We need you to remember."

Derek still didn't look convinced and Stiles already felt guilty for what he was about to do. "I need you." Stiles came closer and grabbed his hand. "I need you to come back to me so you can keep me safe. To keep Scott safe." Stiles stressed about using his emotions like this and about when Derek remembered.

Derek's face softened. "You're right. I'll try my best. You don't have to worry." Derek pulled him into his arms. "I'll keep you safe." Derek picked up on the panic from the man. "What's wrong?"

Stiles allowed himself one more moment to freak out before pulling himself together. "Nothing." He relaxed and practically slumped against Derek as strong arms held him. Stiles gripped the man back just as fiercely. He didn't know the last time anyone had hugged him, but Stiles wanted to at least give him this one.

When they finally pulled back Stiles got back on track. "I've been looking up memory information and I found some things we could try. If you're up for it."

"Yeah we can try it." Derek led them to a soot covered green couch, that despite it's ratty appearance, was quite comfortable.

They both sat and faced each other while they went through multiple exercises, but all he got was vague notions or feelings and that he liked vanilla ice cream.

"I don't think this is working." Derek was frustrated. He put a hand to his aching head.

Stiles caught the movement. "Are you still healing?"

"Yeah. Most of the bruising and broken bones from the crash healed, but there are still some slashes and the back of my neck still hurts."

Stiles frowned in concentration. "I'll look into that too. Do you want to try another exercise? We have time for one more before Scott gets off work and I have to leave."

Derek nodded.

Stiles pulled his lip into his mouth again and Derek was so distracted by the spit coated red he almost didn't realize it was moving.

"Oh! I've got one. I think this one might work, but you really have to concentrate."

Derek nodded distractedly.

"We can try and remember your family." Stiles looked around the room and amended. "From before, before everything happened. Focus on the house. On remembering what it looked like before. What it sounded like. It was probably pretty loud with so many people in one house. Maybe the floor boards creaked." Stiles took in his blank expression. "Close your eyes and remember it."

Derek raised an eyebrow. "You really think that will work?"

Stiles looked exasperated.

"I'll look stupid just having my eyes closed."

Stiles rolled his before closing them. "There? Will that work?"

Derek closed his eyes. "Fine."

Stiles continued, "Picture a spring day, like now. The old leaves would've been dull crisp brown on the ground as new ones grew. You could hear the wind blowing through the trees."

Stiles was good at this. Derek could feel the wind on his face almost.

"People moving around in the house. Your mother maybe making something, your favorite cookies. You could feel the cool wooden floor underneath your feet. The house feels pleasantly warm. The sun peeking through the trees and streaming into the windows." Derek gripped the edge of the dirt covered velvety couch and tried to remember while listening to the sound of his voice. Stiles' heartbeat was another soothing sound as he tried to lead him through the scene. "You could smell the cookies baking along with the smell of your house, your home." Derek inhaled trying to get a whiff of it, but all he got was smoke and the enticing scent of Stiles. "Picture your family gathered around the table and eating all of your favorite foods. Tasting them all." Stiles swallowed and licked his lips before continuing. Derek wondered what he tasted like. "Everyone around the table. You're happy and surrounded by your family. Do you see it Derek?"

He didn't. He didn't see any of what Stiles described. He opened his eyes and looked at Stiles' face and closed eyes.

What was going on around him faded out and he got flashes of the woods. He was walking when he saw two people. Stiles. 'This is private property,' he heard his voice say. But that was all, he was already back in front of Stiles. "Yeah I see it."

Stiles' eyes snapped open immediately with glee in them. "Really?! You do? You remembered something?"

Derek nodded at him with a smile. "Thanks."

"Awesome!"

This was the first thing he had fully remembered and he wanted more. "Stiles, how did we meet?"

He was thrown for a second. "What? Why do you want to know that?"

"I just figured, might as well start with some memories that someone else knows."

This was a bad idea. Stiles didn't actually have any memories with him and lying could fuck up him remembering.

"The doc even said to listen to stories to help me remember, and I don't have anyone else that knows me."

Stiles' gut twisted in guilt. "I'm sorry."

Derek just shrugged. "Not your fault. I just want to hear something about myself, something about you. How did we meet?"

Stiles floundered for a moment. He didn't know what to do, but he supposed he better lie. He decided to try to stay close to the truth. "Your sister and you came home to visit. You found me on your property and basically told me to get lost. But I'm persistent and I don't really know, I guess we just kept bumping into each other. And when it was time for you to leave you gave me your phone number. We haven't been dating long. You didn't want to date someone so young, but I wore you down." Stiles winked at him and tried to seem confident.

"Oh." Derek sounded surprised.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just thought it would've been the other way around."

Stiles laughed. "You thought you would've been the one to chase me?"

Derek looked confused. "Yes?"

Stiles stopped laughing. "Wait, really? Why?"

Derek lifted an eyebrow. "I must've told you, you are exactly my type." He looked through his porn, sue him, and put two and two together and figured it was because he pictured Stiles. But then he found some with women and realized that was just what he liked.

Stiles' mouth dropped open. He was, sex on legs leather jacket wearing wet dream of a bad boy, Derek Hale's type?!

"Why do you look so surprised? We must've talked about it. The disheveled hair. The wide brown eyes. The moles. And fuck God, those lips." Derek stared down at his lips and Stiles licked them nervously. "You are beautiful."

Stiles swallowed and Derek lifted a hand to cup his cheek. He brushed a thumb along blushing cheeks. "I don't know how I didn't move back here immediately to be here. With you."

Stiles' heart was hammering. "Beacon Hills is quite boring. You'd get the man of your dreams, but at what cost? We don't even have a hot topic."

Derek laughed deeply and it made Stiles take a deep breath. "See, you're so funny. You're perfect. God, I could stare into your eyes for days."

Stiles tried to joke again. "What? I thought you said my lips were great. If you're so soon to forget all about them I won't believe you."

Derek smiled. He brushed his thumb along his bottom lip and Stiles held his breath. "Oh believe me, I could never forget these."

"Ironic considering you forgot ev-" Derek leaned in and Stiles cut his own words off before Derek even touched his lips.

Fuck. Derek was kissing him. He was kissing Derek. Derek couldn't remember anything and he was kissing him because he thought they were boyfriends. Stiles was kissing an amnesiac that he convinced was dating him. God, this was all so much like Overboard. Stiles tried to focus. Derek was kissing him, yup that was a thing that was still happening. He looked at Derek's face scrunched in concentration. He nipped at Stiles' lip and he realized he wanted him to kiss him back. God he didn't know what to do! It would hurt him if he didn't. But he didn't want to kiss him because he lied. Derek was insistent and as soon as his tongue swiped Stiles' bottom lip he made up his mind.

Stiles relaxed and closed his eyes. He cautiously started to kiss him back. Derek took that as encouragement. He pushed Stiles back to lean against a pillow and put his head on the armrest. The new angle was weird. Stiles lifted an arm to tangle his fingers in the hair on the back of Derek's head to adjust the angle. Stiles used his other hand to grip one of the arms Derek was using to brace himself over Stiles. Derek was kissing messy and clumsily. Stiles had the sudden thought that this was sort of Derek's first kiss. He was far from an expert himself, but this was Derek's first. Well, not really, but kind of. Stiles wanted to make it good for him. Stiles licked his bottom lip and Derek was eager for the change. Derek was one hell of a fast learner, or maybe he had enough muscle memory. Gripping onto his bicep Stiles thought, 'Yeah he sure has enough muscles for all sorts of memories.'

Stiles pulled back and gulped in greedy breaths of air. Derek was on his neck instantly. He licked and lightly nipped till he moved to his collarbones. Stiles felt a dull pain. "Are you leaving marks?"

He pulled his mouth back barely long enough to say, "No one will see."

Derek's hand crept up his shirt and Stiles gasped. Oh shit, this had to stop right now. "Derek."

He heard a hum before more kisses were left on his neck.

"Derek we have to stop."

Derek looked up at him confused. "What? Why?"

Stiles tried to get himself under control and breathing. "Because Scott will be here soon. He can't know about any of this, he has too much going on already. I also promised my dad I wouldn't see you. Hell, if he knew I was here he'd shoot both of us. And you're not you right now."

Derek's frown turned into a soft smile. He put and arm between Stiles and the couch and he pulled Stiles into a tight hug as he buried his head into his neck. "I'm so lucky I have you."

Stiles swallowed. "Why?"

Derek pulled back and stared at him with a look Scott sometimes got when talking about Allison. "Because, you're such a great friend. And you're a good son. You're even so loyal that you don't want anything to happen with me because I'm not the man you are dating. God you're amazing. You're the best thing in my life I can tell." Derek paused for a moment before looking appreciative and grateful. "The only good thing."

Stiles didn't know what to say back to that so he was glad when Derek pressed one final chaste kiss to his lips. "If not for everything else I don't know if I'd want to remember. Before you came, I was thinking of making a new life where I could forget all the pain. But I'll remember for you. Just for you Stiles."

Stiles smiled slightly. "I should go. He'll be off soon and it's not that far of a drive."

Derek nodded at him with happy eyes.

He walked him outside to his Jeep and even opened his door. "When can I see you again?"

He asked it so hopefully that the guilt twisted at Stiles' stomach once again. "I don't know. We'll see."

Derek reached through the open window to brush his wrist against Stiles' neck. "Don't let it be long. Please."

Stiles nodded with a tight smile. "Make sure Scott doesn't find out. Act mean remember." Stiles added something at the last second. "Oh and wear the jacket."

Derek raised an eyebrow.

"It's intimidating. And-" Stiles abruptly stopped.

Derek smirked. "And?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "And stupidly hot. But I don't think it will have that effect on Scott. Just wear the jacket."

While speaking with Scott Derek tried to do everything Stiles asked. When Scott wanted to know what happened Derek gave him Stiles' tip for remembering and hoped it would work. He didn't want to be so gruff towards his boyfriend's best friend, but Stiles said he had to act normal. And his normal was apparently being an asshole. He wanted to help Scott, but he also wanted to protect him and Stiles both, so if Stiles said this was best for them he would do it. Seeing Scott's defensive posture concerned him. Hopefully he could make that right. Scott needed to like him.

As soon as Stiles left he tried to figure out how to keep them safe. They needed to stick together. He'd read in one of the books in the house that pack was strongest when it was together and omegas were weak. He needed Scott to be in his pack to protect Stiles and himself.

But first he had to send Scott back to the bus. Scott couldn't hurt anyone or Stiles would be hurt. He needed to teach Scott how to control the shift, because Stiles said it was the best thing to do. He hoped Scott would remember something at the bus.

Stiles got home and let out a breath. He sped all the way back home feeling like the person that almost caught them at the bus was still behind him. He closed his bedroom door with a sigh.

Now Scott thought Derek killed the bus driver. Hell, maybe he did. How much did he really know about Derek? Not much. Maybe the amnesia was just some big ploy to get out of custody. But then why would he kiss Stiles? Why would he lie about that? It didn't feel like Derek would do something like that. Stiles still thought it was this beast thing. But if it was that, Stiles needed to explain that to Scott soon. He was keeping him from the worry and stress so he didn't shift before, but now he might not have a choice. Scott would be safer knowing what is after him. But for tonight Scott could go out on a date and enjoy being a teenager. Stiles would stay up and research everything to keep them safe.

Derek's jaw was set as he brushed the glass off his seat to drive his car over to the gas station vacuum cleaner. He almost lost it when the hunter mentioned his family. He didn't feel the love or know them, but that was a low blow. Derek wanted to punch him just on principle, but then he thought of Stiles and what he said about hunters. He had to think about Stiles' lips on his as the man smirked after smashing his window.

He had looked through some more books after Scott had left and found a notebook. It seemed like his sister, the one that came back, wrote it. I was research on hunters. It said something about trying to figure out what hunters started the fire. Derek wondered if the hunters were the ones that had killed his family, or if they had known. If they were the type to bring innocents into it. If they were the type to kill defenseless humans.

Derek put away the vacuum and sped to the hospital. The bus driver might have seen who it was that attacked him. Or at least have more information about what it was, but he just left with more questions.

Like why the bus driver knew his name.

Stiles stared at the picture on his computer screen in shock and fear. The beast was an alpha.

It was Scott's alpha.

Fuck. He had to talk about this with someone. Scott wasn't picking up, probably still on his date. It would be suspicious if Stiles just showed up and dragged him away.

Every time he would blink he'd see those red eyes. Every shadowy corner seemed to reach out with claws. He'd hear a noise outside and feel like it was coming for him. He needed to calm down, he needed to feel safe.

He crept out of the house careful not to wake his sleeping father.

As he was driving it felt like something was chasing after him through the woods beside him. By the time he pulled up in front of the Hale house he could barely breathe. The feeling of someone behind him just kept getting worse. He saw the Camaro with a busted in window and wondered if something happened to Derek. Just as he was opening the Jeep's door Derek came out still dressed despite the late hour even wearing his jacket.

"What? What is is?!"

Stiles got out of the Jeep and ran. He crashed into Derek's chest and tightly grabbed Derek's jacket.

"What is it? Is someone there? Are you hurt?" Derek's arms circled him and crushed him to his chest. Stiles shook his head against his chest and tried not to cry.

This was all so much. Fuck, his best friend was a werewolf now. The person that bit him wants to use him for power and to kill people. There are hunters after him. Scott made first line, but he didn't. Stiles made out with a guy for the first time. He didn't even like guys. Scott could kill Allison on accident. The alpha could show up and kill any of them at any moment.

Stiles could die. Scott could die. Allison could die. Derek could die. His dad could die. Every one he loves cou-

"Hey listen to me, you aren't breathing. You need to breathe. You need to calm down. I don't see anyone. You're safe. Breathe with me."

Stiles listened to Derek's heartbeat and tried to calm his own. "He was- it felt like- like he was there."

"He's not. I promise you he's not. But I am. I am here with you. And I'll protect you."

They stood there holding each other as Stiles slowed his breathing.

"Let's get you inside. It's a cold night."

Stiles smiled up at him. "Derek your house doesn't have heat. It barely has flooring."

Derek smiled. "Look at you, one moment you think you're dying, the next you're ribbing me. You bounce back fast."

"It's a gift. The panic response of a cat in a bathtub, but the elasticity of a rubber ball."

Derek laughed and guided him to the couch once again.

Derek sat down and leaned against the arm rest. He tried to pull Stiles to sit next to him, but he sat with distance between them.

Derek frowned. "Come here."

Stiles scratched the back of his head. "What happened last time, I don't want t-"

"That's okay. We don't have to do any of that now. Or even ever. I just want to touch you."

Stiles' mouth opened.

"Not like that. I just want to hold you. I can sense you are upset. I don't know there's just something that makes me need to make sure you're okay. To have you close."

Stiles nodded. He scooched closer and Derek moved his legs out of the way.

Stiles was hesitant. "Can I- can we, cuddle? I know it sounds stupid, but-"

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?" He tensed for being kicked out.

"Get your ass over here and cuddle me."

Stiles smiled and nestled in between his legs. He rested his head on Derek's shoulder and laid sideways. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles.

"You're good at this." Stiles sunk into the comfort of his warmth.

"What? Cuddling? Did you think I wouldn't be?"

"No. Well, yes. With the grr I wear leather and the general don't touch me attitude, also I thought the muscles wouldn't be the best pillow. But surprisingly, you're great at this."

"You're great at this too. You're warm and smell amazing."

For some reason that made Stiles blush. "Thanks big guy."

"Do you want to talk about it or to think about something else?"

Stiles did want to think about something else, but he had to talk about this. "The beast. It's a werewolf. That can do the full shift, which is very rare. That's the whole reason we don't know who it is. Werewolves that can do the full shift are more powerful, but can lose control and not shift back easier. I think it's an alpha. The alpha i-"

"Alpha?"

Stiles lifted his head up to look at Derek. "Yeah, why?"

"She, my sister, in her notebook wrote something about finding the alpha. It was very vague and I didn't understand until now, but that's what she came her for. To find the alpha. It's what got her killed."

Stiles smelled stressed again. "And now it wants Scott. No matter what he thinks, you didn't bite him. You're a beta, if what I read is right you couldn't have. The alpha did. And now it wants Scott in its pack." Stiles looked worriedly at Derek's eyes for a second, before thinking about Scott's safety instead.

Derek laced their fingers together after Stiles started to chew on his bottom lip in worry. "We'll deal with it. We'll make our own pack." Derek kissed his knuckles.

"Scott thinks you're a murderer. And that you bit him."

Derek smiled. "Something tells me you can be persuasive when you want to be. Besides, his best friend is the most important person in my life, he's got to come around some time."

Stiles squirmed and looked away. "Don't say stuff like that."

Derek smiled. "Why not? Does it make you uncomfortable? It doesn't for me. I know next to nothing, except how you make me feel. I woke up scared in the hospital with nothing but you. I had the memory of you holding me, taking care of me. I don't see any reason in not loving you with everything in me when there is so many things I'm unsure of, because you are definitely not one of those things."

Stiles looked at him with tears in his eyes. "No one except my family and Scott has ever spoken to me like that."

"Like what? Certain?"

"Like they could spend their whole life loving me and it would never be enough. Like I matter to them."

"It wouldn't." There was so much adoration in his eyes Stiles had to close his before a tear slipped out.

"Don't say that." The guilt and disgust at having lied to him tore at his insides.

Derek brushed the tear from his cheek. "Why? I told you I am not afraid."

"Because you don't mean it." Derek went to open his mouth, but Stiles continued, "You don't know enough to mean it. You hardly know anything about me. You don't know what our real relationship is like. You don't even know what you like to eat for breakfast. I'm taking advantage of you and I feel awful for it."

Derek shrugged. "I'm legally taking advantage of you."

Stiles scoffed. "Just because we're both doing it doesn't make it right."

Derek considered that. "That's true. This is what makes it right." Derek kissed him gently and Stiles was weak against it.

Stiles pulled back. "I should go. My dad could wake up."

"Or we could kiss some more and then you could go home."

That was a terrible idea. "That's a wonderful idea. Thank you for sharing. And like I always say sharing is caring. We should all be more caring. The world re-" Derek cut him off with a press of lips.

"Oh I'm sorry were you saying something?"

Stiles gripped his shirt and pulled him upwards toward himself. He kissed him in a way that made Derek feel like his brain melted while running his hands through his hair.

Stiles pulled back and admired the view. Derek's best look was definitely dazed and disheveled. "We'll have to figure out the Scott thing later. And the alpha thing. And the hunter thing, I'm assuming that's who smashed you window? How rude." Stiles kissed him again.

"And probably have to keep my dad out of it at some point."

Derek vigorously nodded. "Oh definitely, but not right now." Derek kissed him again.

Stiles got lost in it and soon enough he had a hand up Derek's shirt. He ran his hand up and down his muscles before remembering to be careful for the slashes. The ones he couldn't find. Had Derek healed? Stiles moved his other hand down from Derek's hair to brush along the back of his neck. Derek brushed his thumb along Stiles' hip right as Stiles felt the claw marks heal under his fingertips.

Derek pulled back and Stiles knew instantly from looking into his wide unsure eyes.

Derek remembered everything.

He pushed Stiles back harshly and stood up. "Wh-what. We're not- no. We're not." He furrowed his eyebrows at Stiles. "You lied."

"Derek please, just let me explain!" Stiles scrambled to get up and in the motion his shirt moved to show a mark. A mark Derek had left.

Derek's eyes went wide. "I- I kissed you." Flashes of a convincing woman and feelings of uncertainty but gratitude filled him.

Stiles was hurt by his tone. "Please, sound more horrified if you could."

"You need to leave."

Stiles took a step to get closer, but Derek took one back. He could tell he wasn't going to leave without a reason.

"Stiles this isn't some childish game. You tricked me, you lied."

Stiles looked down. "I know and I'm so fucking sorry for that, but I had to. I had to protect my dad. Then I had to make sure you protected Scott, but then I let it go too far. I'm sorry."

This was all wrong. Stiles wasn't the one who did something wrong. Derek was. "You need to leave and I don't ever want to see you again, unless it has to do with Scott." Derek set a look of certainty and anger he didn't feel into his eyes.

Stiles shook his head and reached for his hand. "I can fix this. Scott needs you, I need y-"

Derek couldn't hold back. "You need to leave! You needed to never come here. You needed to have never met me."

"You're not the bad guy here Derek."

Derek needed to push him away to keep him safe. Because if he was with Derek he would get hurt. Everyone Derek cares about gets hurt. "You're right. You are. You're the pathetic little bastard that tricked me into caring about you because it's the only way anyone ever would. I take back what I said, I take it all back. You aren't a good son. You got your father in trouble because you can't keep your nosey ass out of things too big for you. You are the one that got Scott bit. You took him out to those woods. If the alpha kills him, it'll be on your hands."

Derek was grateful he could hold out until he heard the Jeep rattle away before emptying his stomach outside. There had been screaming and tears, but mostly it was the choking sent of Stiles' hurt that Derek would remember. But after he slammed the Jeep door, gone was everything except the emptiness. He just felt hollow and disgusted at himself. Right before he hurled he thought about how now he was just like her.

Stiles drove home through tears. He was just coming up the stairs as his dad came out of his room.

Shit. Now he had to deal with this.

"What are you doing? I put out a curfew, damn it Stiles! Where were you?"

Stiles thought fast and hoped it was too dark and late for his dad to notice his puffy eyes. "Scott had his first date with Allison. He didn't want to wait to tell me tomorrow."

His dad's face softened. "Kid, one of these days you'll be the death of me. Did it go well?"

"Yeah, they're thinkin a spring wedding and six kids will be enough."

"He's that gone on her?" His dad chuckled.

"Worse." Stiles noticed his father's uniform. "Wait, why are you dressed?"

His dad opened his mouth, but Stiles cut him off. "You know I'll just find out."

His father sighed. "The bus driver. He's dead."

"Someone got into the hospital?"

"No. He succumbed to his wounds."

Stiles nodded. "So you have to go in."

His father kissed his forehead on the way out. "Sleep well kid."

He heard his father's patrol car leave and he waited a few moments before rushing to Scott's.

---

They never talked about Derek losing his memory. Derek went back to his asshole self and Stiles tried not to be hurt by it. All the while Derek felt guilty for being like Kate and Stiles was hurt from Derek's harsh words that he tried to remember weren't true. But for some god damn reason they never stopped trusting each other. He helped him with the bullet without talking about it. He held him up in the pool. Derek protected him from Issac. They even helped each other when they figured out it was his uncle, and that it was the reason he had tried to take Derek's memory. So Peter wouldn't have to kill his nephew. Derek was there for the nogitsune. Stiles saved him from Mexico. There were so many things they made it through together, and yet they could never get over it.

Sometimes he would look at Derek and feel like they were just a moment away from taking about it, but then it would pass and they would forget all over again.

Almost like amnesia.

A.N. So thanks for reading!!! It means a lot and I appreciate it. I don't know if I'm too happy with the end right now, but it is completed. I might do a part two idk yet. Have a great day/night!!!

Carter😊

[dearmrsawyer]

J A M I L A please i must ask you supernatural asks and NO I WILL NOT limit myself to just one. Please can i ask you! 12. what is your most memorable episode (and obviously WHY) and 26. Best side Character. ALSO free question because i want to PLEASE JUST TELL ME SOMETHING(ANYTHING) YOU LOVE ABOUT SUPERNATURAL PLEASE THANK YOU

LE you’re so indulgent thank you ;__; (edit to say this is so long i am just... well. it was inevitable i suppose, ty for your patience lol)

12. what is your most memorable episode (and why!)

AAH this is hard because obviously there are so so many memorable episodes over 15 years!!!! but i think i‘d like to pull out the season 8 (or as i like to call it, season gr8) finale, Sacrifice. midway through season 8 my brother and i moved into our grandparents place while my parents were separating and i used to sleep in their spare room. they had this old tv in there that pre-dates flatscreens and i lowkey used to loveee watching it. anyway during that period i would use up all my grandparents’ bandwidth downloading new Spn episodes and destroy their internet until it reset at the end of the month LOL, but Spn was one of the few things that really kept me going at that point in time. i think God was like ‘jamila’s having a hard year, let’s make this one of Spn’s best seasons ever’ because truly i cannot explain to you how much i love that season. how much thinking about it pushes everything else out of my heart so i can feel the love for it as fully as possible. i have this extremely vivid memory of sitting on the single bed in that spare room watching the season 8 finale on that little fat tv, and feeling SO much, like feeling so many feelings about everything that was happening in the episode, and forgetting everything else in the world because that episode swallowed me whole, and i remember - i remember SO clearly - the last scene of that episode, when the angels started falling, and being completely awed, like jaw agape, heart pounding, just full of wonder, because that scene was so beautiful and shocking and like, just an unbelievable moment? i just REMEMBER how it felt to watch that episode more clearly than the watching any other moment in the show, it was so powerful to me. i think it was a combination of factors, like the intensity of life at that moment, the build up of this unbelievable season of a show that had carried me through 8 years (including this hard year), the fruition of a storyline focused on Sam, a character i’d loved so much for so long, and a really staggering episode. 

26. best side character?

oh NOOOO howwww how how can i choose. i’m gonna pick 3 because I’M in control! and i’m going to pick these based on the value i believe they added to the show, and to Sam and Dean’s lives. 

1. Bobby. It’s crazy to me that Bobby died literally halfway through the show (mid season 7) and yet he still feels like a core part of the show to me? Like it’s been 7 and a half years lol but i still feel like he’s a foundational block! I love Bobby SO much, for many reasons but most especially because he was really a dad to Sam and Dean. Like no disrespect to John (some disrespect) but he was their DAD. He took so much care of them, talked them down from so many ledges, showed them so much love (even if it was in his own gruff way!), and felt so much pride over who they grew up to be, like i truly think we owe Bobby for who they are. and he really acted as a home base to them for those first 7 seasons! Spn was always supposed to be a road show, 2 brothers driving across country, staying in bizarre hotels, no home base. But Bobby really WAS the home they could come back to anytime. And they needed that so badly. 

2. Mary. How many times can i explain how AMAZING it was to have Mary become a fixture in the show 12 YEARS IN. Like!?!?!?! And the reason i think Mary is such an incredible side character is because for those first 11 years (and all the years pre the show) the memory of Mary shaped Sam and especially Dean in very specific ways. Like she was this phantom known mostly through Dean’s vague, 4yo memories, so insubstantial and so dream-like. And that image of her was so extremely formative for them. And then all of a sudden BAM here she is in the flesh! And she’s not that dream-like figure at all! She’s fully formed and complex and has a lot of issues and neither she nor Sam/Dean know what to do about each other, because they’re all adults! And watching them figure out how to be a family was the most INCREDIBLE thing, watching Mary figure out how to be a mother to 2 adults (missing the opportunity to be a mother to growing boys) and also not being sure she even wanted to be one?? watching Sam get to know a mother he had NO memories of, and knew only by proxy threw Dean’s infant memories, and watching Dean have to reluctantly scratch out that image he’d been carrying around for 35 years and let Mary be her own self, not the self he’d been projecting onto her all this time, was justttttt <333333

3. Jack. I can’t miss out on our collective son ;__; listen listen listen, this idea. to have Sam and Dean spent 12 seasons learning and unlearning all the traumas of their parents, to face every challenge imaginable, and then to round out their story by giving them the one extremely human challenge they’ve not yet faced (being parents) is so... unbelievably beautiful. like to give them this character, who was presumed to be the doom of all creation, and have them end up seeing him as a son, and loving him, and fearing losing him, and wanting to do anything - anything - to save him, to break whatever cosmic rule it took (exactly the same way they’d do anything to save EACH OTHER these past 12 years btw) is JUST!!!!!! IT IS JUST!!!!!!! THE MOST INCREDIBLE STORY!!!!!!!!!! AND the fact that all their doubts and fears about his ‘potential’ for darkness were mirrored within Jack himself, and for him to try to combat that fear by modelling himself after Sam and Dean as much as he could, because HE believed that THEY were his salvation, and if he followed in their footsteps he would only ever be good. LIKE THAT MAKES ME INSAAAAAAAAANE. AND THEN HE BECAME GOD. SAM AND DEAN RAISED GOD. HE DECIDED ON THE KIND OF GOD HE WANTED TO BE BASED ON EVERYTHING HE LEARNED FROM THEM. NEVER COULD THIS SHOW HAVE FOUND A BETTER WAY TO GO OUT IT DRIVES ME CRAZYYYYYYYY

oh my god i’ve been writing this post for over an hour because i have to keep stopping and feeling emotions lol 

special le question: tell you something i love about the show!! 

god okay!!!!! so many things to choose from!!!! let’s try not to be an emotional mess this time lol. something that i love about the show is the fact that it had the time to experiment. the gift of long-running scifi shows is that they have time to find their feet, and then they have time to find their voice, and finding their voice allows them to play. and playing is how you get some of the best moments in television. and my god, did Spn play. episodes like “Changing Channels” where Sam and Dean were sucked into satirical versions of other TV shows like Grey’s Anatomy and CSI Miami. or “Ghostfacers” which was a found footage episode from the pov of a group of awful paranormal investigators, and Sam and Dean were basically the side characters LOL! or “The French Mistake” where Sam and Dean were sucked into a universe where they were actually the actors PLAYING Sam and Dean SJKJKD or “Baby” when they had an entire episode from the CAR’S perspective, or when they’re in a black and white monster movie!!!! something i love about the show is that they had the time to play and they USED it! so well!!!! it’s been 15 years of wonderful stories, i am just so grateful for them all

[persephonescat]

Birds and other supernatural phenomenons

Okay, so I have no control over my life. Fine.

The characters are so out of character it’s funny. I’ve little to no idea about Batman, so I should apologize but I won’t, because I just lost all my remaining brain cells and I blame Tumblr.

Big thanks for LucyyJ26 on AO3 for fixing the Lucky Charm-problem, you should read her work too, its grammar is probably better than mine will ever be, and her stories are amazing. A little explanation: she took the Lucky Charm out of the story and instead, Ladybug’s power is the Miraculous Cure, which can re-do the destruction done during an Akuma-attack and can bring back the ones fallen by the villain’s actions. She’s changed other things in the Miraculous-world too, but this is the only one I’m going to use, except that in this story, it’s called Lucky Cure (don’t ask). For further explanation, visit her story: Miraculous: Darker Origins. The Daminette AU.

This is also posted on my AO3 account, under the same name.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187025/chapters/50433170

Follow #Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons if you don’t want to miss any of the new chapters. ;) 

Anyway, enjoy, I guess.

Next    Masterpost    AO3

————————————————

Ch. 1: The Inevitable Doom

Field trips should be fun.

Except if you’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of course.

The Dupon was the best high school in Paris, so the fact that they managed to plan a school trip to freaking Gotham out of all of America had to say a lot about Parisian schools. Or so Marinette thought. (Apparently, she was the only one.)

The best of all? Her classmates didn’t even notice the irony of it all. Well, Adrien did, but she was way more bitter than to give him that.

“Kids, I have great news!” - clapped Mrs. Bustier (happily married since last summer) cheerfully. “We’ve won the competition! We’re going to Gotham!”

The whole class broke out into excited chattering as Marinette glanced at Adrien sitting next to her. He was the only one besides from Marinette who didn’t seem very happy from the news. They locked eyes, and the girl could see the worry and exhaustion on his face.

***

/Two months, seventeen days and nine hours earlier/

With every day passing, the weather in Paris got colder. The Ladybug suit provided enough warmth even on the most algid nights but walking to school in the mornings or going home in the afternoons was getting more and more difficult for Marinette. She really didn’t understand why out of all things a ladybug could do, the only thing she got was the urge to hibernate. She didn’t have wings. No antennas. No four extra legs. Even Tikki wasn’t anywhere near similar to a ladybug. Basically, other than her name and the colors, Marinette was just as far from resembling a ladybug as one could be.

But no, she had to get ill and tired every time the weather was cool. Fantastic.

“Ladybug?”

Chat’s voice brought her back to reality. She was sitting on the roof of Adrien’s house, at one in the morning, with the stars shining at them brightly from the sky’s soft black. The stars always calmed Marinette. They reminded her that there was a whole universe out there, that she was small and didn’t matter compared to the real world. These kinds of thoughts usually terrified people, but not her. If nothing really matters then the best you can do is making sure you’re happy, right?

She turned towards her partner’s shadowy figure standing on the other side of the roof.

“Hi,” she started with a barely visible smile. “Is everything okay? You weren’t there yesterday when Glassterix attacked and it’s okay, but you missed school too and we were getting a little worried.” Well, it wasn’t entirely ‘okay’. It took her over two hours to defeat the Akuma and her Lucky Cure had to bring back twenty-three people from the dead, but she wasn’t mad at him. It wasn’t the first time one of them couldn’t show up, they learned to be patient with each other a long time ago. After all, they were best friends, especially since they knew each other’s identity.

About that: yeah, it was a wild ride. It happened the month before, and it still caused her nightmares sometimes. The way Ryuko was crying as a group of civilians fell from the Eiffel tower right before her eyes (she couldn’t save them) and Carapace’s screams when the Champs Elysées’ asphalt shattered into pieces sending flying cars all over the place was haunting her every time she closed her eyes. At some point, Rena Rouge’s costume was splattered with someone else’s blood and she freaked out so bad, she took a wrong step off the roof, dislocated her ankle and fell five stories before Ladybug could catch her. Marinette swore she was never going to ask for the other heroes’ help again unless it was absolutely necessary. When Chat’s ring started ticking in the middle of the fight and she saw the fear creeping to his face, making all his anger disappear, she grabbed his arm and took him to a relatively safe alley. For a moment, the green light made the shadows look like long, faceless opponents, but is passed just as fast as it came and Adrien was left standing there, panicking. Marinette wasn’t too surprised, she’s suspected it for a while and judging from Adrien’s face after she transformed back to her plain old self, he did too. She succeeded in calming him down enough so his breathing was mostly even and she told him to get Plagg something to eat (that seemed to clear his mind a little), but then she had to go back to fight. Half an hour later Chat was once again helping Viperion evacuate the civilians.

She stood up and took a step towards Chat Noir, who for some reason seemed to stop far away from her.

“There’s something I have to talk to you about,” he said, and Marinette once again felt the smell of inevitable doom lingering around them, but she stayed calm.

“Okay,” she told him carefully.

He stepped out of the shadows and now she could see he wasn’t wearing his costume. She felt a little panic in her throat, but he seemed fine, just… hesitant, maybe.

“I was thinking about… everything, really, and the thing is, I want to go to college. I would like to go to Cambridge, or maybe Yale, I haven’t actually decided yet, but the point is, that wherever I go, it won’t be in Paris. It won’t be in France.”

Marinette’s heart sunk and for the first time in months, her eyes started stinging a little. She hated to cry, but she didn’t want him to leave. All year, she kept telling herself that they were just in eleventh grade, that college was far, but she knew it wasn’t entirely true. Almost everyone in her class has already decided where they were going to go. The United Kingdom? America? No, these places were too far, too big, too scary to think about. Why would he want to go there?

“I know it sounds a bit overconfident, but I think I can make it. However, I’ve to learn. A lot. And I’ve to make sure I do enough work outside of school that I can put in my applications and I have to do a lot of things, I still don’t exactly know everything about it but the point is…” he stopped speaking and took a few steps towards her, so now the distance between them was normal but he was still avoiding her gaze.

“The point is,” he continued cautiously, “-that I thought long and hard about it, and I can’t be Chat Noir anymore.” He looked her in the eyes for a moment, but seeing her expression, he turned his gaze to the ground.

For a second that seemed like a lifetime, Marinette was just staring at him. She thought it was a joke, or a dream, or a fucked-up prank because it couldn’t have been real. It wasn’t possible, right?

Then she slowly opened her mouth to protest, to do anything, but Adrien was quicker.

“And it isn’t just that. I mean, the college.” He shook his head and sighed, annoyed at himself. In different circumstances, it would’ve been satisfying to see him not finding the right words for once. “It isn’t just about college. Marinette, I would like to live an actual life. It’s selfish, I know, but if I don’t quit now, I’m never going to be able to. I won’t be able to have a family, a job I like, I’m never going to have a dog because there’s always going to be something that keeps me from being home. I love being Chat Noir, but during the past two years, I learned, that the main reason that I like it is that it helps people. But it’s not the life I want to live in. I’m going to find another way to help, one that lets me be happy.”

It was a promise, and they both knew it. 'I’m going to be a good person. I’m going to help. I’m going to be happy. I promise.’

Marinette saw the world shatter all around them as he spoke. Her world. She knew that at the same time, he saw it grow and evolve, and the irony didn’t go over her head.

“I’m not going to leave you alone,” he told her, looking into her eyes. “In fact, I’m happy to help you or Ladybug anytime you want, but only as Adrien.” He grabbed her hand softly and dropped the Black Cat ring into her palm. “I’m sorry.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Marinette standing on his roof at one in the morning under the black blanket of the night. She wiped the tears that never fell out of her eyes and welcomed the numbness in her soul. She looked up to the sky one last time before swinging around the city until dawn. The stars no longer seemed so bright.

Later that night, wandering back and forth in his room, Adrien wondered if Marinette picked up everything he meant, but left unsaid.

'I’m going to be a good person. I’m going to help. I’m going to be happy. I’m here for you. I want you to be happy. I promise.’

He decided, that probably not.

_________________

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[theangriestpea]

In the Shadows : Twelve

Summary: Jughead Jones, resident werewolf, just wants to protect his family and his pack from the incoming doom of The Red Circle. Sweet Pea and Lily join him to help keep the Southside safe from human tyranny. Meanwhile a demon princess named Myra and succubus named Lavender had a plan to bring on the apocalypse. <ao3> <masterlist> <playlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Jughead Jones x OC, Sweet Pea x OC, Kurtz x OC

Warnings:  Very minor character death, kidnapping??, mentions of forced prostitution/sex slavery

Word Count: 5k+

A/N:  This took SO LONG for me to write. i was just very stuck for the longest time. But now I think I've got some good ideas for the future of this fic! I will likely be updating this series once a month from here on out as I am going back to work and will not have as much time to write. Apologies for that in advance! I wrote so much during the last three months though that the break will be a little nice.

Chapter Twelve : The Descent

“I’m not going to let it happen, Shanna.” Sweet Pea said as him and his soulmate argued for the dozenth time. Lavender was convinced that he’d keep his loyalty with his coven and not with her. That he’d willingly give up their child to honor the deal that Lily had made.

Sweet Pea had no intention of doing anything of the sort. While, yes, he had once aligned himself fiercely with Lily and that witches were more powerful together, she had spurned him too greatly this time. He loved Daisy with every fiber of his being and he fully intended on loving his second daughter with the exact same ferocity. As of now there was no one who he was more devoted to than the hybrid, but he was getting increasingly aggravated by her insinuation that he wasn’t.

Lavender was quiet, hand on her stomach as she continued to fear the worse. She trusted Sweet Pea, of course she did, however there was just this nagging feeling in the back of her mind that he was going to betray her. That she needed to get out while she could. That keeping herself rooted in Riverdale was a grave mistake especially now that The Red Circle had put a target on her back.

Feeding was becoming more and more dangerous. While she could disguise her identity with ease, disposing of bodies without the help of the Jones pack was becoming difficult. Before she never spent enough time in one place to really bother with the cover-up. She hadn’t realized when she decided to stay that life would keep throwing curve-balls. Her only saving grace was that Riverdale was the murder capital of the world. People died all the time under suspicious circumstances. Unfortunately the supernatural were the ones always blamed for the inexplicable deaths.

The more she showed, the more difficult it would be. She could only alter herself, she couldn’t alter the child within her. Whatever form she took would be showing just as much as she was, and while at eight weeks that wasn’t much it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer.

Sweet Pea parted the blinds with his fingers to peer outside. He had been expecting Lily and Jughead to show up all day. That night there would be a full moon. In order to keep the pack safe, they would need both Sweet Pea and Lavender to cast a spell strong enough to cover the entire. Lily was stronger now, sure, but not strong enough yet to do it all on her own.

Lavender was not on the side of helping. She thought the forest should just burn. Along with everyone else inside of it. Sweet Pea, on the other hand, feared for the safety of his first born. While he knew that Lily would protect her with her life, he still didn’t like the idea of her life being in danger in the first place.

And though Lavender adored Daisy and didn’t want any harm to come to her, she was fiercely upset with Lily too much at the moment to even want to see her face. Sweet Pea was missing his daughter more now than ever. He hadn’t seen her since the pact because Lily had taken her and they currently weren’t on speaking terms. He knew he’d have to break down eventually and call her or else risk ruining the relationship he had with Daisy.

“She threw our child away, Pea, why do we need to help her protect the forest?” Lavender asked, becoming increasingly frustrated with him. “I just don’t understand why you still want to cater to someone who was going to just give away your child.”

“It’s deeper than that, and you know it.” Sweet Pea said, his own aggravation starting to show. “They’ll come here too. They may take you next time instead of Lily.”

The demoness frowned. “You know that Myra would not let any harm come with this child. Not when she is so important to her.” Lav responded. “If they did take me, then they wouldn’t kill me. They’d let me live out the rest of my pregnancy at least.”

“And then what?” He snapped back, “They take her and kill you when you’re weak from giving birth? Then I lose both of you.” He wish she could understand how her carelessness was hurting him just as much as Lily’s stupid pact did.

Lav was quiet. She hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. Him being right for once did not make her feel any better about what he was asking of her. “Then we run away. We go somewhere else entirely.”

“And leave Daisy?” Sweet Pea asked, his tone turning harsh. “I’m not going to do that, she’s my daughter.”

She let out a frustrated sigh, clearly nothing she was going to come up with was going to satisfy him. The only path he saw was helping Lily which Lavender absolutely was not going to do. “Then you help her, Sweet Pea. You two can do it by yourselves. I need to go feed anyway.” She got up and went into their bedroom to get ready to go out as the witch fumed with fury in the living room still. He grabbed his keys and went to take his bike to the cottage.

When he arrived at his old home, he noticed the wind seemed to be picking up already. He figured Lily was working on conjuring another storm. Rain allowed for the hardiest of protection spells. It was easier to transmute magic through water rather than through air. The polar properties made it the best particularly for barrier spells. It would rain again tonight, he was sure of it.

He didn’t knock, just entered through the door and slammed it behind him. “Daddy!” He heard his little girl squeal as she ran to greet him, clinging to his leg tightly. He couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his features as he bent down to pick her up.

Jughead approached him cautiously. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” He murmured, not wanting to feel the witch’s wrath. It was harder to contain his own visceral emotions so close to the full moon. “She’s already set up.”

Sweet Pea nodded his head silently as he walked into the living room. He saw there were places set for three. “She’s not coming.” He said as Daisy babbled on in his arms in some unknown language.

A hurt look crossed Lily’s face. She had hoped to try and patch things up with her friend, maybe make some kind of peace offering. However, she should have known better. If someone had bartered with Daisy, then she’d be on a warpath too. What she did was unfair, but she had been backed into a corner. What was she supposed to do? Really?

“I’m sorry,” She said softly, not sure what else to really say. Her best friend wouldn’t even look at her. He simply stared at the middle of the sigil on the floor. Sweet Pea knew he’d have to forgive her eventually, for Daisy’s sake, but right now he just wasn’t ready to take that step.

“I know.” Was all he said back, unable to articulate through his anger towards not only Lily but also towards Lavender. She was acting so selfishly but he could not get through to her no matter what. She was hell bent on doing things her own way, including how she gathered souls. He found spell work he could do to make something close to what Myra had made. It wouldn’t be as powerful and he wouldn’t use innocent souls, but it would be better than her risking her life going out every night.

She couldn’t give up the hunt. Not yet, it seemed. She was determined to do it without help, saying that it would be a waste of his magic. That he needed to reserve it in case of an attack. His reserves were filled to the brim now that they were together, now that their souls were together. He didn’t need to save anything when all he needed to refill them was to fuck her.

But she insisted over and over that Myra wouldn’t let anything happen to her. That Myra would protect her. That she didn’t have to worry. But where the hell was Myra when she was stabbed? When she almost died before Lily could save her? If she was so great, then why did they bother releasing her soul in the first place?!

Sweet Pea set Daisy down as he got into place, taking a seat on a small cushion. It was going to be a long night.

Lavender was on the Northside, looking like a pretty little redhead with nowhere to go. She walked into a bar and ordered a virgin drink, something that looked as though it could pass for alcoholic. The hungrier she was, the less control she had over her influence. The bar seemed to be flooded with men. Men that all seemed to want a piece of her .

They offered to buy her drinks, offered phone numbers and pick-up lines. However, none seemed to quite suit her fancy. At least, no single one. She needed more tonight. One soul just simply wouldn’t do. She was growing a child, after all.

She settled on two men that were somehow linked with The Red Circle. One would only call himself Moose and the other was a rather smooth talking fuck-boy named Chuck. While neither were really her type, jocks, she figured that beggars simply couldn’t be choosers.

They took her to a nearby pay-per-hour motel where Chuck graciously paid for a room. For once in her life, Lavender had no desire to have sex. Whether it was from the sadness of losing her friend or the intense love she felt for Sweet Pea, she wasn’t sure. The only thing that kept pressing her forward was the simple demonic drive to feed. Maybe she should have let Sweet Pea try that spell after all...Maybe she could be at home with a cup of tea in bed instead of in this bug infested room.

But the stars and moon were just right tonight, Lav could feel it perfectly in her soul. She wouldn’t need to bed these two. She could force out their souls through sheer will, and while that wasn’t nearly as fun it was just as effective.

Lavender smiled at the two, grabbing each by the wrist before letting her eyes fade to black. They two instantly attempted to pull from her, but were unable to break free from her grip. Lavender reached out with her energy and forcibly yanked their souls away from their mortal tether, taking them into herself through their skin-to-skin contact.

While the two did not die from the soul removal, they did fall unconscious from the force of it. Lavender pondered whether or not to kill them. True, they were outlying members of The Red Circle, however they were in no positions of power. Though, she figured two less meatheads to carry torches and pitchforks would be better overall.

She slipped a pocket knife out from the inside of her purse and slid it open. In a quick, sweeping motion, she slit the throats of both men before painting a message on the nicotine stained wall. If Archie Andrews wanted a war. Then he’d have a war.

As she left the motel, having carefully cleaned her hands of blood, she noticed that the air seemed...different. There was a kind of static electricity about it that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. True, she knew the witches would conjure a storm to protect the southside with, however she was north of the tracks. It shouldn’t be able to reach this far. There would be no reason for her to sense magical energy on the Northside. Not when magic was strictly prohibited here.

She knew she needed to get home fast. While she had taken a new face, somehow Archie had seen through her last time. If she ran into him then he may be able to do it again. While she was sure Myra would somehow keep the minimum protections around the child, that didn’t stop her from letting the human stab her the other week.

The demon princess needed the apocalypse to happen, and for that she needed Lavender. In theory she could always have another child if she were to lose this one (Satan forbid), she herself could not be replaced. And hybrids weren’t a common occurrence.

Lavender just had the sinking feeling that she wasn’t as safe as she thought she was. It suddenly occurred to her that there was nothing stopping Myra from just taking what she wanted. Whisking her off to hell and forcing her to sit alone in a cell, force fed innocent souls, until she gave birth. It wasn’t as if anyone could rescue her there. Taking a physical being out of the realm that was the underworld was virtually impossible for anyone besides a high ranking demon.

The intensity of the air intensified and Lavender felt her senses go into overdrive. Every small change of environment was making her jump. As she attempted to make her way back to her home, she noticed that the atmosphere seemed to get more and more dense. It was becoming harder to breathe and storm clouds completely blocked out the setting sun.

Crackles of energy were starting to surround her, tiny flecks of light that acted as a window into another dimension. A dimension that only her soul seemed to recognize. She fought to avoid them. No one else around her seemed to even see it. The rifts became more and more prominent until the fabric of reality appeared to tear right before her eyes and static overwhelmed her, shooting through her body while she was plunged into darkness.

Everything went cold and black. She couldn’t even see her breath condense in front of her face as every source of light disappeared until a small blue flame budded and blossomed to her left. Once it was bright enough, her eyes adjusted and Lavender found herself in a freezing jail cell with solid metal walls.

An illusion? Lavender wondered to herself as she dared to touch the seamless wall that the torch appeared to be attached to. It didn’t feel like magic. It felt familiar somehow in some way. Something was chilling about this place. Not just the lower temperature but just the heaviness that seemed around it.

“Welcome home, Shoshanna.”

Miles away, deep within Fox Forrest, Sweet Pea’s concentration suddenly broke as he felt something ethereal being ripped away from him. The air was knocked from his chest as the knowledge of what this feeling meant swept over him.

A cry erupted from him as he stood, unable to stop the tears that flooded his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. She was gone. Completely and totally gone. Their bond was completely broken and he no longer felt any connection to the love of his life.

Lily could feel a fraction of his pain as terror struck her deeply. She gasped for air, wishing that Jughead were here to help them. Sweet Pea’s pain was so incredible that his magical energy totally stunted. The spell was broken and the forest was no longer a safe haven.

“Sweet Pea!” She yelped, attempting to bring him out of whatever personal hell he had been sent into at the sudden loss of his mate. “We have to protect the forest! For Daisy!” She cried, trying to get through to him in some way.

But all Sweet Pea could think about was his unborn daughter. The little girl that never even made it out. She was gone just as Lavender was and his fractioning mind couldn’t think of a way to bring either of them out. The worst came over him, the sheer dread that they were dead. If he could find them, maybe he could resurrect them. Maybe he could give his soul for him. Maybe-

Lily attempted to regain her strength as she invoked the spell one more time. To cover the entire forest, she had to spread herself incredibly thin. It wasn’t nearly as strong as she needed it to be, but it was something. She needed him more than ever but there was a phenomenon that deeply depressed witches lost their connection to their magic. It was possible that he couldn’t help her.

Rage filled the witch as he punched anything that got into his way, trashing the living room as Lily continued to work. He screamed to his patrons, begging for them to bring her back or to take him instead. Anything to not feel the way he was currently feeling.

Daisy hid under her bed, afraid of the tornado that was currently her father. She whimpered as she curled tightly into a ball, trying her best to make herself invisible so as to not be hurt even by accident.

Lily was pulled between trying to calm the bull and trying to save the forest. Unfortunately her loyalty laid fully with her daughter as she dropped what she was doing. She sprung up from her place on the floor and grabbed Sweet Pea by the arm, forcing her white magic into him in an attempt to calm him.

His incoherent screaming ceased as she brought him back to reality. The reality that was just too painful for him to bear in the moment. “She wouldn’t kill her,” Lily said in an attempt to lessen his pain. “She’s not dead, you know that. She’s just hidden somewhere from us.”

He furiously wiped his tears and snot away, not wanting anyone to see him in such a disastrous state. “I shouldn’t have let her go alone.” He said through heavy puffs of air. “I should have followed after her like I always do. Or make her come here. Oh god, why didn’t I-”

“Pea,” Lily said, forcing more magic into him. “You were trying to protect Daisy and me, it’ll be okay. We’ll get her back as soon as we can locate her, okay? Myra needs that baby more than anything in the entire world and the only one that can bring it to term is Lavender. She would get nothing if she killed her.”

Sweet Pea stared at her, “what if she thinks I chose you over her?” He asked, beginning to feel numb from his loss. “She will hate me.”

“She will not think that.” Lily consoled. “She will know that you needed to protect Daisy. I’m sure she’s more worried about getting out of whatever situation she’s in. If anything this is my fault for offering her up on a silver platter to begin with.”

He was silent, unable to counter that. He did still blame Lily for making the agreement she had made, however none of them could have expected for this to be the outcome. Lily returned to her spot, determined to try and still protect the pack with what energy she had left while Sweet Pea went to fetch Daisy to make sure she knew everything would be alright.

“Lavie?” She whimpered as he pulled her out from under the bed. His heart felt as though it had fallen deep down inside of his chest. All he could do was hold Daisy close as he tried his best not to cry again.

Three days passed on the mortal realm, and with each one Sweet Pea became more and more weary. He didn’t eat, he barely slept, and most of his time was spent hunched over a desk, speed reading through magical manuscripts on how to look through a magical veil. How to locate someone who had been hidden from all normal sights. He was tempted, so tempted to offer his soul back to Asmodeus for the return of his soulmate. The only thing stopping him was Lily’s reminder of how much he had hurt both of them during the time he was soulless. He couldn’t expect her to stay with him if he abused her any more than he already had.

It was late afternoon when Lily called him with somewhat good news. She had managed to locate the hybrid in a deep part of Hell. However, pulling a physical being out of one realm and placing them into another took a lot of magic. A lot of black magic that Sweet Pea just didn’t have.

And that is where Jughead Jones came in. There was a member of the pack that needed to be taken care of. Punishment for something terrible that he had done. While pure souls were more sought after, typically any old one would do in a pinch. If they offered one life for another, then a trade could be made with a demon other than Myra. It would give them enough leverage to get into Hell and get Lavender out.

But who to call upon was the problem. The decision was left to Sweet Pea. While in the past he had obviously catered to Asmodeus, another prince could be called upon to enact a trade. Sweet Pea had chosen Asmodeus as he used sex magic to fulfill his needs. Invoking the demon of lust to give him power through his sexual conquests. It was only fitting for him to have taken Sweet Pea’s soul through the very thing he used to gain power.

But Myra was his daughter. And she was acting on his will. Asmodeus wanted Lavender in his clutches (she was a sex demon after all, the epitome of a lust-filled being) just as much if not more than the blonde princess.

He would need someone of equal power that would take a soul of any condition. As he drove to the cottage, he knew who it had to be. He would offer this rogue wolf to Prince Mammon, the embodiment of greed.

He parked his bike out front before going inside. This was perhaps the most dangerous thing he had ever done in terms of magic. The need to see his lover again somehow overpowered the incredible amount of anxiety he felt. He walked in, seeing a tall and bulky man tied to one of the wooden kitchen chairs. Lily must have cast a silencing spell on him, as his lips were moving furiously but no sound was coming out.

Sweet Pea wore a dark expression on his face as he slipped off his leather jacket before pulling off his flannel shirt and white tank top. Lily picked up a jar of paint that had been colored black with mountain ash. She began to paint different runes across his torso, embedding her protective white magic into the symbols to help keep him safe when he went into hell.

“Who did you decide to call upon?” She asked, her voice a low whisper as if the question itself was forbidden. Sweet Pea had done plenty of idiotic things when it came to magic, but this was an entirely new level. She feared for his safety more than Lavender. Even a half-demon could survive hell. A human, witch or otherwise, could not. He’d need to be swift.

“Mammon.” Sweet Pea replied gruffly, knowing she would not like that answer. Lily stiffened, her touch slackening against his pectoral. Green eyes stared up at him, full of worry and doubt. If he didn’t know any better then he would have thought he saw love in there too. Jughead also seemed to notice and let out a small, feral growl in return.

Lily glanced at her mate before shaking her head. She really didn’t need him being possessive at a time like this. “There, it’s done.” She said, choosing not to comment on what she felt was a bad choice in demons. Not that there were any good ones they could call upon. She placed an old brass compass in his hand. “This will lead you to her. If you lose focus, then so will the needle. Your soul should be able to sense her once you’re there. You won’t have much time so you’ll need to hurry.”

She paused, looking back up at him as her hands trembled. “Pea, he’s going to ask for more. You know that, right? One wolf will not be enough. You do this once, he will want you to do it again and again.”

His expression steeled, “I’ll give him whatever the fuck he wants if it gets me Shanna and our daughter back.”

“And if he wants the apocalypse?” She dared to ask.

“Then the world as we know it will burn.” He replied, completely stoic.  

Lily heaved a heavy sigh. The whole point of this was to stop the world from ending, but she couldn’t deny him this. She couldn’t stand to see him spiral downward anymore. This had to be done regardless of consequences.

They took each other’s hands, closing their eyes as Sweet Pea began to chant. He called for Mammon, told him to take this wolf as sacrifice to do as he pleased, and in return to open a gateway to hell.

The cottage shook as Jughead held Daisy protectively in his arms. His hair stood on end as the air pressure within the room started to increase. There was an infernal pop along with a gusting of air that came with the flapping of wings.

The witches opened their eyes to see a tall man with shaggy beard and hair. His eyes were clouded as if he were blind, however both witches knew fully well that he could see just fine. His black feathered wings pulled in close to his body, partially shielding him as he observed the scene in front of him. The tarnished crown on his head was lopsided as if it had been placed there without care. The only thing glittering on it were the rare gemstones fastened within the blackened metal.

He peered upon them with his glossy eyes. “My, my, if it isn’t Asmodeus’ little headaches.” He said, clearly amused by the two mortals that had been giving his brother such a hard time. “Offering me just one puny soul for the entrance to hell? Do you not know how to temp the god of greed?”

“I will give you whatever you desire, Mammon.” Sweet Pea spoke distinctly. The only defensive power he had over the demon was the knowledge of his name. “I must get her back.”

“The little succubus.” He mused out loud, “pretty little thing. Apparently, my brother plans to pimp her out after she’s brought about the end of times. Something about demons loving a mortal that can take their damned cocks.” He waved his hand around as he spoke, as if he were conjuring his words with the motions. “I have to admit, I am a little jealous. How much more rich he could become using her.”

Sweet Pea sneered. “Well, he can’t have her. I’ll make sure of that.”

Mammon gave him an amused look, sizing him up as if he were nothing but a fragile puppy. “It is always sad when the faithful lose faith, isn’t it?” He probed. “Once so devoted to Asmodeus and now here you are, at my feet, begging for my help to strong arm my brother into giving you back your love. It would be amusing if it weren’t so damn tragic.”

Lily had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Their offering wasn’t nearly enough to appease him. It was all that they could manage. Why in hell’s name did he choose the demon on greed? She wished she could stop this, however she knew that it was too late. Mammon would not leave without taking his fill.

“Are you going to help or not?” Sweet Pea asked, a fire raging in his eyes as his hands clenched tightly over Lily’s making her wince in pain. “Or should I call someone else?”

“Oh no, dark witch. I will help. You see, I want what Asmodeus has. In fact, I want it all . And you can help me, small mortal. I’ll find a use for you, I’m sure. Give me time to think. I will take this soul and body back to hell with me, and when I leave the doorway open you may slip in to get that delicacy of a soulmate of yours. You will have one hour to return. One Earth hour. If you’re not back by then, then the gate will close.”

“Is that all?” Sweet Pea asked, knowing that demons tended to slip in unnecessary bullshit with their contracts. He knew he was being asked for more than what he was already giving. He wasn’t that dense.

“Be ready when I call on you, dark witch.” Mammon said. “I can see a great destiny with you if you were to indeed stop the impending doom of the mortal realm’s destruction. I can teach you so much more than what you’ll find in your little books. Give me time. I’ll ring when I’m ready to take you on.”

Naturally it didn’t sit well with Sweet Pea that he was being asked to give something so vague as his loyalty and devotion. It wasn’t something tangible and that could be tricky. Still, it was better the possible alternative of giving his unborn child to him. This was what he thought to be a best case scenario. Sweet Pea nodded, his mouth suddenly dry as if he had been sucking on a mouthful of cotton.

A pleased and cruel smile twisted upon Mammon’s dark features as he used a blackened claw to tear open the fabric of reality, much as Myra had done on the night of the moon. “One mortal hour.” He reminded, voice echoing with a sinister tone as he stepped into the void, wings flexing behind him to fit through the narrow pathway into hell.

Sweet Pea released Lily’s hands. He grabbed the compass and a pocket watch. He started towards the sparking entryway.

“Pea,” Lily called out to him, her voice wavering. He turned his head to the side to look at her from the corner of his eye. “Be safe.” She murmured, “and hurry .”

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[orionsangel86]

Vicious Circles - Part 3

Where things come to ahead in this alternate 15x09 fic.

(Also on AO3)

 “Do you know what I love most about humans? You’re all so damn hopeful. So desperately clinging on to this idea that you’ll get a happy ending. It pleases me. Of course, you are all deluding yourselves. I didn’t create this world, or any of the others, to be happy. Life, as I’ve created it, is tough. It’s tragic. All men must die in the end. And the best stories? The ones that really stay with you? They are full of suffering, and of men going to extreme lengths to defeat death, only to end in a poetic tragedy anyway. Because that’s life after all.

 Don’t you agree, Sam?”

 Sam had been tied to this chair for hours. His head was still fuzzy from Chuck’s mind games, but he had managed to get a good idea of his surroundings. It looked like a casino? But the scent of blood was thick in the air, and aside from Chuck’s voice, the room was filled with silence. No bells or chimes from the slot machines, no clattering of dice on the table, no shuffling of cards. Whatever happened here, it wasn’t good. Eileen still sat opposite to him, also tied with her hands behind her back. Her expression was full of concern and fear.

 Chuck was staring at Sam, impatiently waiting for an answer. Sam blinked.

 “What? I don’t care Chuck. If you want your story to continue so badly, then let us go so we can keep playing it out.”

 Chuck rolled his eyes.

 “Ah, but then you’d just keep trying to find a way to stop me. Which you won’t be able to do, because I’m God.” He smirked, and Sam glared at him defiantly.

 “If that was true, then we wouldn’t be here, tied up, having to listen to your bullshit right now.”

 Chuck’s grin dropped, and he leaned in close to Sam, their noses practically touching.

 “You ought to show me some respect. I own you, Sam. Don’t underestimate me. Or my power.”

 He stood up straight and picked up a pink-coloured drink, swirling it around before taking a sip.

 “The reason you and your little friend are here Sam is because I was hoping to talk some sense into you. To encourage you to get back on script. Seeing as you didn’t take my advice before, it seemed more forceful measures were necessary.”

 Chuck glanced at Eileen, who had been sitting quietly, watching him and reading his lips.

 “For instance, I know that you’ve taken quite a liking to this pretty lady.” He reached out and stroked Eileen’s cheek making her recoil in disgust. “Bringing her back, that was off-script.”

 Chuck sighed dramatically and took another sip of his drink.

 “You know, when I first wrote magic into the story, when I decided that it might be cool to have some loopholes, some cheat codes to my world… it was always supposed to be limited to a select few witches, and always in a way that would ultimately doom them. Like magical karma. You wanna play around with my universe, you better be prepared to pay the price.

 Some, like Rowena…well, I turned a blind eye for a long time.” Chuck shook his head, and Sam felt a chill run through him. He glanced at Eileen who was shifting in her chair, clearly trying to break free of her bonds.

 “My biggest issue was when magic started to interfere with my starring characters. Those loopholes… they weren’t for yours or Dean’s use. Especially not when it allowed you to take the story in the wrong direction.”

 Chuck was distracted with his monologue, and Sam’s eyes darted between him and Eileen, who was signalling him to keep Chuck’s attention on him. To keep him talking.

 “But surely a story with magic, and getting us to believe we can manipulate or beat the system, is more interesting? Has more depth?” Sam asked.

 Chuck nodded thoughtfully.

 “Perhaps you’re right,” he said.

 Eileen had managed to get her hands free and shook herself out of the rope bonds. Chuck wasn’t looking, instead, he was smirking at Sam.

 “But only to a point. Bringing back people for your own selfish benefit, who have no place in my story, though…”

 Eileen had managed to jump up and pull out a concealed knife. She made a run at Chuck and--

 Chuck held out an arm, freezing Eileen on the spot.

 “…that’s something that I plan to correct.” He stared at Eileen with cold, angry eyes and a sinister smile on his lips. He had known what she was planning all along. Sam yelled her name and struggled with his bonds.

 “Chuck, please! Let her go! This is nothing to do with her. Just let her leave, and you can do whatever you like with me.”

 Chuck sighed. “You’re just not getting it, are you Sam? Didn’t you pay attention to the vision? To the other versions of you that I know you saw… My various drafts, all the different ways it could have ended for you and Dean?”

 “What has any of that got to do with Eileen?! She’s not a part of this!” Sam pleaded.

 “That’s right. Exactly! She’s not a part of this. She doesn’t belong in this story.”

 Sam looked desperately between Chuck and Eileen. “No. Chuck, even if your story is about Dean and me, and us killing each other… there still has to be other people, other characters! It can’t just be me and Dean all the time! Why can’t she just be a--a side character in the story? Doesn’t it raise the stakes to have us care about other people, outside of each other?”

 “Oh Sam. That may be true, but you didn’t want Eileen to just be a side character in your story. Did you?”

 Sam glared at Chuck, but his shoulders dropped as he looked back at Eileen. She was still frozen in place, watching him helplessly. He slumped back in his chair, defeated.

 “No,” he said sadly, still looking at Eileen. “I love her.”

 Eileen’s surprise was evident, but she flashed a small smile. “I love you too, Sam.” She replied.

 Chuck frowned. “You see, this is just not working. The only love story in Supernatural is the one between the brothers! There’s no romance in Supernatural!”

 “Between the brothers?” Sam pulled his eyes away from Eileen to scrunch up his nose and stare at Chuck in horror.

 “Well, not like THAT… eww. Though I have glanced at some pretty freaky fanfiction in the past…” Chuck stared into the middle distance for a moment as if remembering something terrible and horrifying. Then he shook himself off and grinned at Sam. “No, I mean, you and Dean are my leading men, the love you share is what drives and powers this whole story. The drama of one brother, having to kill the other, and then kill himself… the co-dependency… the TRAGEDY. It’s the perfect story!”

 Sam shook his head.

 “You’re wrong. There are plenty of brilliant stories out there. Stories that end happy.”

 “That’s not how this is going to work, Sam. I get MY story. And here’s why…”

 Chuck snapped his fingers, and Sam watched in horror as Eileen instantly turned to dust and disappeared.

 “NOOOO!” Sam screamed. Chuck smirked at him. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!” He cried.

 “Don’t worry, Sam. She’s not dead. She’s just… gone away.” Chuck waved his hand as if this explained Eileen’s whereabouts at all. Distraught and horrified, Sam stared icily at Chuck.

 “Bring. Her. Back.” He growled through gritted teeth.

 “Oh, I will, Sam. Don’t worry. If you comply, Eileen will get to live a perfectly normal happy little life. Just, not with you.” Chuck sipped his drink smugly, and Sam felt his hatred for the man fill his veins.

 “How do I know you’ll keep your promise?” He asked.

 “Because, when the story plays out, right before my grand finale, I’ll come to you, and to guarantee your compliance AND the compliance of your brother, I’ll bring her back. I’ll erase her memory of you, and I’ll set her on her way. She will get a fully human life based entirely on her own choices. I won’t meddle in her story at all.”

 Sam felt the tears fall down his cheeks, and he blinked through them.

 “She’ll get to be happy? You promise me that she’ll be happy. Promise me. Make sure that she lives, and she is happy.” Sam sobbed.

 Chuck grinned coldly.

 “Promise.”

 …

 Dean sat in the library, staring into the darkness. His fifth glass of whiskey was finally starting to numb the pain in his chest. His eyes were red and sore from his earlier tears, but now he sat silently. He had no tears left to cry. He didn’t know where Sam was, his brother wasn’t answering his phone, and Dean knew he had to investigate that in case something was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Everything was damn hopeless now anyway.

 The metal creaking of the bunker’s front door pulled Dean out of his trance. He turned to see Sam slowly stumble down the stairs. He could tell from his brother’s posture that something was wrong.

 Swaying as he stood up, he staggered to the war room to greet Sam.

 “Sammy?” He called out to no response. When Sam finally looked up at him, he saw that his eyes were just as red as his own. His brother’s face filled with an eerily familiar look of grief and defeat.

 “What happened?” he asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

 “I could say the same to you,” Sam said.

 Dean found a chair and slumped into it. He clenched his jaw and fought to say the words out loud.

 “We lost, Sammy.”

 Sam sat in the opposite chair and considered Dean’s demeanour. “So did we,” He replied, voice breaking.

 “Sam? Where’s Eileen?”

 Sam looked up, and his eyes filled with tears. “She’s gone, Dean. Chuck-“

 “Chuck?!” Dean stood up in a panic. “What happened, Sam? Are you hurt?”

 “No. But we… we gotta stop trying to beat him, Dean.”

 Dean furrowed his brow.

 “Chuck took Eileen. He’s using her as leverage. If we stop fighting him and ‘play our roles’, then she gets to live.”

 Dean shook his head.

 “No, Sam. We can find a way to save her. If he’s still got her, then we can get her back… Hell, we have to try. I want at least one of us to have a chance at happiness!”

 Sam stood up and reached out to grip his brother’s shoulder.

 “Dean, he’s not holding her prisoner. He made her disappear, like… dust. She’s gone.”

 Dean regarded Sam’s tired face, his brother looked broken, like the fight had left him. He looked exactly like how Dean felt.

 “Well then, we play our roles, and when Chuck brings her back, then the two of you can be together again?” Dean asked.

 Sam shook his head sadly.

 “This only ends one way for us, Dean. Neither of us gets a happy ending.”

 Dean’s eyes widened, and he stepped back, sitting back down in the chair and closing his eyes. “So that’s it? We’ve lost?”

 Sam mirrored Dean’s movements and nodded, his eyes still teary and red.

 “Where’s Cas?” Sam asked. “We should let him know.”

 Dean’s face dropped, and he swigged back the last of his whiskey.

 “I guess we both lost something special today Sammy.”

 Sam froze, and he stared at Dean, not wanting to know the truth but knowing he had to ask anyway.

 “Dean… what happened to Cas?”

 Dean gripped the empty glass in his hand, refusing to look at his brother.

 “He’s… dead.”

 Sam drew in a breath and sat back.

 “How?” Sam asked in horror. “Are you sure? He can’t be! It’s Cas!”

 Dean shook his head.

 “It was my fault. I should’da done more to get him out of there. Damn fool sacrificed himself so I could get back.”

 “Get back from where Dean? What happened today?”

 Dean wiped his eyes and scrubbed his hand over his face.

 “Michael. He told us about a spell to trap Chuck. It needed this flower from purgatory, this leviathan blossom, so Michael created a door, and we went and got it.” He stood up while telling the story, needing to move as he felt the anger boil up inside him. “Cas was stubborn, we were both angry, we fought. Benny was there… we got caught out by leviathans, they had us surrounded. Cas managed to hold them off, but…” Dean stopped and looked back at Sam, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “There were too many. Cas used himself as bait.”

 “What if he’s still there, Dean? If he managed to fight them off-“

 “He didn’t.”

 “How do you know?”

 “Because I saw them rip him to shreds!” Dean yelled.

 Sam froze and watched as Dean visibly shook with anger and emotion.

 “I saw everything, Sammy. I saw those sons of bitches eat him alive. My best friend… and the person I--“ Dean broke off and clenched his jaw. Unable to say the words again.

 Sam felt helpless. Still dealing with his own grief, he didn’t know what to say to make any of this better.

 “and now… Chuck… and Eileen. We can’t even do the damn spell because you went and made a deal. So Cas died for nothing. He died for NOTHING!” Dean shouted and, in his anger and frustration, threw his empty glass across the room, watching it shatter as it hit the wall. Sam jumped at the sound but remained silent.

 Dean breathed deeply, trying to control his anger.

 “I’m sorry, Sam.”

 Sam shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m sorry too.”

 “I need to be alone,” Dean said. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and headed to his room. Leaving his broken-hearted brother alone in the darkness of the war room. Sam blinked away another tear and watched him leave.

 …

 After everything that happened, Dean needed to clear his head. At least Sam was safe, even if he was in just as dark a place as Dean was now. They both had lost any shred of hope of winning, and Dean wanted nothing more than to drink himself to death. Screw Chuck’s story, screw saving the world, screw everyone else. He was done with it all. Feeling the weight of the day finally defeat him, he collapsed face-first on his bed. He breathed in deeply and tried to push down all of the painful memories that continued to haunt him.

Cas always comes back, Dean thought. He’ll be in the Empty now, and he’ll find a way back just like before… He just needs something to fight for. Dean sat up straight as soon as the thought came to him.

     I need to give him something to fight for.  

 So Dean wiped his eyes of the tears that had stubbornly kept flowing. He clasped his hands together, and he prayed.

 “Cas…” Dean whispered into the dark silence of his room. “Castiel.” Another tear fell down his cheek as the pain welled up inside him again.

 “I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can… I’m so sorry, Cas. This was never meant to happen. It all went too far, got too much. And I couldn’t-- “

 Dean took a deep breath and shook his head. He needed to get this right. No excuses.

 “We’ve been through so much together. You are so important to me, I know you don’t believe it right now, and I know I haven’t shown it, but you are.

 “You were never… dead to me, Cas.” He struggled to repeat the words, hating himself for ever saying them in the first place. “I’m sorry I ever said that. And I don’t blame you for m--  for mom. I’ve been so angry. At you, at everything, at our whole, messed up shit show of a life. Where anytime I even attempt to hold on to something good, I lose it.

 “I’m scared, Cas. Because I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. You said we were real, But how do I know that for sure? Even before all that, before Chuck, before Mom… I was angry back then, at Jack, and at you for always putting Jack first. Hell, I think I was jealous of the kid…”

 Dean huffed a laugh and paused, thinking back to one of the darkest times of his life.

 “You died before, and it broke me. I don’t think I ever told you that. Your death… it snuffed out a light.

 “Then you came back, and I was so happy. I figured… I actually allowed myself some hope that you and I could – well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? But you were distant, and I was too damn scared to bring it up. Too scared I’d lose you again, that you’d get fed up with me, take Jack and leave.

 “That fear, the fear of losing you… it eats at me. And it makes me lash out, push you away like I’m trying to protect myself from feeling that way again… like I can shut off my feelings for you, so it won’t hurt when you inevitably leave me for good. And I get so angry that I scare myself. It’s a vicious circle. I can’t stop it. No matter how bad I want to, I can’t stop it.”

 Tears were falling down his face, and Dean took in a staggered breath to try to compose himself. He had to voice the one thing that scared him more than anything else, not knowing if Cas could hear him or not.

 “I love you. I love you so damn much. And I should’da told you so many times while I still had the chance.”

 Dean felt the weight of the words finally leave him, and blinked away the tears.

 “You can’t be gone Cas. You gotta come back. We’ve both gotta keep fighting, because I can’t do this without you. I can’t do any of this without you. You gotta come back to me. Please come back to me.”

 Dean bowed his head and let the tears fall freely. He didn’t know where to go from here.

 …

 Far away in a dark empty void, tear-filled blue eyes stare widely into nothingness, having just heard the prayer that set his heart soaring.

 “Well now,” A husky female voice drifted through the void, cutting into the silence. “Now that’s all cleared up, perhaps you’ll re-join the fight.”

 Castiel turned to look at Billie. Standing next to her were two people. On her left, a woman Castiel had only just started to get to know. Eileen. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears but she had a hopeful smile on her face. On Billie’s right stood someone he loved with all his heart. His son. Jack held up his hand and waved.

 “Hello Castiel.”

 Cas smiled.

 END.

[millennialzadr]

WHY I LOVE ZADR!!!

HEY GUYS WHASSUP? LMAO

So this is a whole ass giant long post of me absolutely spewing my feelings of love for ZADR, it was the very first thing I wrote when I made this blog and I think it’s a nice, positive thing for my fellow shippers to inhale and enjoy 👌👌

it was originally a reply to mitarashiart’s post about why HE loves ZADR (link in replies) but I decided to delete that and make my own post since MY WHOLE ENTIRE TEXT WALL WAS SHOWN IN THE REPLIES and drowned out anyone else who was trying to talk (thanks tumblr mobile u fuckin idiot)

I had also posted a summary of an AU that I’m working on in the original post, but decided to remove it since it just about doubled the length (I’m thinking about posting it separately along with the wips I’ve been putting together, we’ll see 👀)

But ANYWAY, here is about a million reasons why I think ZADR is the fucking best, so if you like reading gushy gay ship feelings, please enjoy ❤️❤️❤️

[Posted June 2019][WARNING, LONG ASS THOUGHT BARF]

SOOO, holy hell y’all my journey back into this fandom has been a wild and unique experience for me, i went from adding invader zim to my bookmarks on kisscartoon, rewatching the series, finding out theres a movie coming out, finding out there was a shitload of content i’d never seen before (commentaries, lost episode scripts and audios, panels, the COMIC, episodes i’d never seen because the dvd i used to watch was scratched!! and a FUCKLOAD of quality modern fan art like oh my GOD) and finally curiously googling ‘zadr’ (which i was way into when i was maybeee 13/14) to see if there was any interesting new art, and holy hell, mita (the artist above) singlehandedly THREW me down the hole into modern zadr hell, first with his absolutely stunning IZ art (all his art is dope tho check him out yo), then reading the above explanation put the final nail in the coffin like, 100%

so i wanted to add onto his post here on why this ship got me so fucked up, both for anyone who might be wondering why on earth i’m shipping two characters from a kid’s show (i’m very aware how weird that is at first glance trust me) and also so i can get some ideas down for possible future reference (will i ever draw them? maybe)

(first of all, a disclaimer, and this is not pleasant to write but it’s important to address for clarity’s sake: I have no interest in romantic or sexual relationships between minors, and do not ship zim and dib as they are presented canonically in the show (as children). what i’m interested in is the conceptualized relationship they may have as modern adults, and i view zadr more as taking the concepts of existing characters and experimenting with them with different interpretations, which i personally think is a constructive and fun creative outlet, especially if these characters hold personal significance for you (childhood faves of course). growing up together is an important facet of their relationship, and certainly they were important to each other even as children (see: mopiness of doom) but as an adult i’m personally curious about what kind of adults they might’ve become, and that’s the focus of my interest. i’ll still be reblogging regular IZ art because it’s dope but if you see shippy looking art of them as tiny lil beans its either friendship or chibis (and i personally headcanon zim as getting taller with dib but some people stick with his canonical height when drawing them as adults, which is super short. it still doesn’t mean he’s a kid). aaand i wish i didnt have to write this and it would just be obvious but we live in a sick sad world and it is sourced from a children’s cartoon so i feel its necessary. end of disclaimer)

NOW THAT THAT’S OUT OF THE WAY

- ok, first reason’s a bit obvious - the nostalgia. holy hell, the feeling of rediscovering a ship that was popular when i was a preteen during the mid 2000s and discovering a totally new perspective on it as an adult comes with an almost totally overwhelming sense of nostalgia and comfort, as well as inspiration!! the kind of art that seems so common for zadr, these sketch pages of scenes and expressions and visual gags where artists would just scribble every idea they had and LOVE doing it, this was exactly the kind of art that made me so passionate about drawing as a kid, and it still sparks such a powerful feeling of love and admiration for me to this day. fan content of iz and zadr is simultaneously achingly familiar and totally new and fascinating, and it just makes me SO damn happy to consume, it is most definitely my new comfort content. and just, GOD. THE ART!! SO GOOD. FUCK

- now for the characters themselves: for some reason i just really love the thought of a mid twenties, modern Dib?? lanky goth dork, disaster bi, depressed as shit, uses bad sweaters and memes to cope?? when i was a kid i didn’t even LIKE Dib, but now i totally sympathize with him! he’s just a hyper obsessive nerd wishing there was more to life than the situation he got stuck with, how wildly relatable. he was a pretty big asshole as a kid (even to people besides zim) but he was also totally isolated and constantly bullied, so there’s a lot of room for growth. i feel there’s a lot of juicy character development potential for that boy, and there’s always been a special place in my heart for characters who are totally sad and screwed and hopeless, but there’s one thing, or person, that means the world to them and could possibly save them…

- aliens. Zim. i love nonhuman characters, i love monsters, i love aliens, i love characters that don’t understand human shit (and thus have much less room for shame or fear bc theyre just totally oblivious the negatives of modern society) and need guidance (bonding!!) from their human. i also love morally grey characters and characters with skewed logic, they’re always really interesting, and Zim himself just has such a unique personality and set of mannerisms, he contradicts himself a lot and you can never quite expect how he’ll behave, and i love that in a character, it makes them super versatile and fun, especially since there’s so many different possibilities for their development. Also, Zim is a gremlin, a little shit, and a disaster. I also love those traits in a character. And don’t even get me started on his character design?? big sparkly eyes? expressive antennae? monster teeth? complimenting colors? he’s adorable.

- mutual obsession. for someone like Dib, who seems almost repulsed by how boring and slow the people around him are, Zim quite literally personifies Dib’s  escapist fantasies, both as an inhuman entity from beyond the stars, and as a person who’s knowledge, charisma and mystery far exceeds that of anyone Dib has met in his entire life. (so basically what i’m saying is that for a shunned, jaded misanthropist, an actual alien is terribly alluring, even if said alien is dangerous, stupid, and possibly insane). not to mention Zim vindicates Dib’s entire life passion, the supernatural! Even when their relationship is totally negative, there is not a single inch of room for Dib to get tired of Zim. as mita explained, they validate each other. for Zim, WHO AGAIN, IS TOTALLY SHUNNED, ISOLATED, AND HATED BY EVERYONE HE KNOWS, Dib is the only person in the universe who gives a single shit about him!! he gives Zim credit as a threat, a capable invader, which if you ask me is the sole thing Zim is after (he’s hellbent on his mission because it would win him the approval of the tallest, all he’s ever wanted is recognition from the people he thinks so highly of). He literally gets depressed when Dib isn’t around to pay attention to him, not even the tallest were enough to motivate him before Dib came back. these two have no one and nothing without each other, and while lifelong nemeses is fine and dandy, i personally prefer friendship, affection and love, cause i’m a softie like that. how could they possibly get there after years of actively trying to kill each other?? well, i think under just the right circumstances it could become a possibility after a long, long time.

- growth. i. love. me. some. good. character growth. especially for characters with trauma/mental illness, bc again, relatable. these boys have issues, and as mita mentioned, their canon stories are actually INCREDIBLY sad! but the happy thought is, they could recover! they could help each other recover, for little reason other than the two are the only source of happiness for each other. now of course this also opens the gate for angst lovers, but at the same time offers potential for comforting, uplifting content of the boys supporting and inspiring each other, maybe even to the point of becoming happy and healthy enough to create the lives they want for themselves (as in appreciating life and doing things that make them actually happy instead of the delusions of grandeur they both sought when they were younger). gimme that positive shit and let the poor beans be happy  щ(ಠ益ಠщ)

- LITTLE THINGS. LITTLE THINGS THAT ONLY COME WITH CHILDHOOD FRIENDS. WITH HUMAN/NONHUMAN. WITH THE SHOW’S WEIRD LOGIC. Zim being the person Dib knows best and vice versa. Zim having an involuntary respect/admiration for Dib because he’s tall. Learning each other’s needs, limits, and communication methods, both emotionally and biologically. Sensitive antennae. Affectionate bickering. Being less insecure bc your partner literally has no idea why you see your flaws as flaws. Laughing at the flaws they do notice because they make no sense. Zim only wanting to eat waffles and chow mein. Dib being forced to overcome his depression lethargy and stay hygienic/keep the apartment clean because Zim has a sharper sense of smell and is afraid of germs. Endless conversation about anything and everything because they’re from literally different worlds, and endless intrigue. TOUCHING. TALKING. DOING EVERYTHING LIKE ITS THE VERY FIRST TIME AND ALWAYS NEEDING THE OTHER TO GUIDE THEM. HOLY HELL THERE IS SO MUCH POSSIBILITY FOR TINY LITTLE MOMENTS THAT MEAN THE WORLD. FUCK. GOT ME FUCKED UP.

so that wraps up the why. fuck man. its just such a good ship. if you read this big ass text post, thank you for indulging me, i hope you enjoyed it! because i enjoy it very much 👀 so stick around if you’d like to for a shit load of IZ and zadr content on this blog, possibly (MAYBE) even from me!! come roll around in alien hell with me why dontcha ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ its a fun time! thanks for reading!!!

-

SO THAT’S MY MANIFESTO Y’ALL, FEEL FREE TO REPLY WITH YOUR OWN REASONS!! I WOULD LOVE FOR THIS POST TO JUST BECOME A BIG GIANT PILE OF LOVE AND YELLING!! GO NUTS! SCREAM ABOUT IT! INFODUMP! DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! I’LL READ EVERY LAST REPLY! Y’ALL DESERVE TO ENJOY YOUR SHIP BC IT’S LITERALLY THE FUCKING BEST!!! LOVE Y’ALL!!!!!!

[andersunmenschlich]

Episode 11: Dreamer

All right, I'm trying something new here: doing this one in bits and pieces during packing.

I'm absolutely positive it'll slow the packing down, but hopefully not too much, since I can listen while packing, then pause the episode and write out my comments, then play again and go back to packing. At least, that's the idea. We'll see how well it works.

Okay! Tonight we have the statement of one Antonio Blake, a liar.

Well, he lied to get into the Institute, anyway. I didn't know they had rules regarding the sort of statements they'll accept.

"Any supernatural or unexplainable experience or encounter occurring within the realms of apparent reality. No out-of-body experiences, visions, hallucinations or dreams."

That's interesting.

Makes sense, too. How would you verify any of those last four? I imagine it'd make research pretty difficult. Antonio Blake, however, is certain that the previous archivist, Gertrude Robinson, needs to hear this dream—because it was about her. He also says that in his dream he saw the Institute, the building, and the room he's giving the statement in. Hmm. I assume he's never been here before? Neat.

Apparently Antonio is a down-on-his-luck economist who had—oh. More than just the one dream. Okay. He had these dreams while sleeping on a friend's couch on account of he'd broken up with his boyfriend (Graham... probably not Folger...) and needed a new place to stay.

He'd also had a nervous breakdown. Something to do with the stress of the job.

Yeah, I could see that leading to bad dreams.

He says that the dream starts out with him standing on... on the tallest building in Canary Wharf? I guess? Overlooking the Barclays building where his stress-inducing job was.

Behind him I guess there's a tower with a light on it. He can feel it there, and see the light (he says it pulses), but he can't actually turn around and look. So he looks down at the city instead. I guess it's night, because he says the streetlights are on. He also says the lights are orange. This strikes me as absolutely splendid, because the streetlights around here are blindingly bright white LEDs, and I'd like them all to go kaput.

Warmer lights are always so much less painful. Reds and oranges for me, please!

In any case, there's also a web of dark tendrils just all over everything. Antonio compares them to blood vessels. Some of them are as wide as roads. Some of them are as thin as telephone wires. They're thick and dark, and throbbing in time with the beat of the light behind him.

...So would that make the lighthouse the heart?

Antonio Blake, like me, wants to get a better look at the tendrils.

Luckily for both of us, the dream allows it. Sort of. He moves forward, falls off the roof, plummets to the ground, and goes splat.

He doesn't wake up, which reminds me of the dream I had in which I fell out of a ski lift. My dad told me that if you die in a dream you die in real life, but clearly he was having a joke with me, because after I fell through all those pines (breaking more limbs than just mine) and landed on the jagged rocks so imperfectly hidden beneath the cold snow, I didn't wake up either: just lay there, broken, and slowly bled out. I remember thinking the sky was really beautiful, framed by pine needles and broken branches. I could even see the thread of the ski lift, carrying empty chairs and other people on up the mountain.

I couldn't call out, though. My ribs were broken and my shallow breathing bubbled with blood, and the strange mix between fiery pain and icy cold was just too much for proper processing. Antonio Blake talks about "the knowledge of pain without the white heat of nerves"—I wonder if that's what it was. After all, I've never fallen out of a ski lift in real life. How could I possibly imagine it properly?

My dream ended with my eventual death, though. Antonio Blake's carries on.

After a while, you see, he recovers and is able to keep going. I get the impression that he's sort of floating forwards. He says he's not walking, anyway.

Oh, there are people! Each one seems to be frozen in an instant of time, with black tendrils wrapped around them. One's got a thin vein wrapping around their arms and going into their heart. One's got a thick, heavy vein lying across their legs. The veins are alive, but the people don't seem to be—and they all look surprised, terrified, hurting, and confused.

Hmmm.

Yeah, I don't know what to make of that.

Antonio Blake eventually ends up at the scene of his horrible job, where the lights are *also* orange for some reason, and... oh, all the lights match the beating of the heart-light, too? Interesting.

There don't seem to be any people in the building. His office is 23 floors up, but he takes the stairs because the idea of taking the elevator freaks him out. It's okay, though—his legs don't get tired because even if his dream-self has legs, he's not using them. So he floats on up all those stairs to his office, which it seems he hasn't worked in for weeks (probably because of the nervous breakdown). It's just the way he left it.

Oh, and his manager is in the manager's office.

Apparently he got hung by one of the tendrils, or maybe he hanged himself on it, who knows. Anyway, when Antonio sees that, he wakes up. And he's not a sweaty mess! Actually he's very well-rested. It's like it wasn't a bad dream at all.

Now he's looking for jobs online, so I guess he dropped the one at the Barclays building. Probably a good move, given what it did to him....

He's also curious about his manager (John Uzel).

Turns out John Uzel hanged himself after he lost his kids to his ex-wife. Well, now.

So those tendrils are visible signs of death? The chappie with the veins wrapped around their arms and going into their heart died from, what, an injection with a syringe that had a bubble in it or something? And maybe a tree fell on the other one, or they got their legs run over by a car and died?

Looks like it's a Sabbath dream: every Saturday, like clockwork.

He starts on Canary Wharf, smashes down into the city, then floats around and looks at everybody. Apparently the human-statutes fade out after a while, but the tendrils stay nice and dark and healthy.

...He's totally going to die from jumping off a building, isn't he. Antonio Blake, you might not be able to see any tendrils on yourself, but I bet you're doomed.

Okay!

Antonio's starting to get a feel for what's going on.

Stroke victims get tendrils clutching their heads, smokers get them wrapped around their lungs, car crash victims get buried under big, heavy ones—that kind of thing. He could probably get some good data from visiting the hospital, but he avoids it.

...I wonder whether he can float through the tendrils, or if he won't be able to move when there're too many of them.

Oh, wow. Eight years of this?

I guess you really can get used to anything, because apparently Antonio's life goes on just fine. Not that he's an economist anymore! Nope, to avoid stress he's now working selling crystals and tarot cards in a magic shop. We have a couple stores like that in my town, though I've never been in them. Sure, I like tarot cards—they're cool-looking and I like tarot solitaire games better than the ones played with a regular deck, they're more complex—but it seems like things are always overpriced in those places.

He says he also took advantage of his new job to read every book ever written on esoteric dreaming, which seems like a very solid move to me, but apparently he wasn't able to find anything that came even close to his dreams. Unfortunate.

Oho, and then one day his dad turns up in a dream.

"Walking down Oxford Street"? Wait, so some people in these dreams move? Or do you mean he was frozen in the act of walking?

And then he's not dead in real life? Even though in the dream the tendrils went up his leg and into his chest? ...I thought all the people Antonio saw in his dreams were already dead. If they're not... well, I guess that explains Gertrude Robinson, because she obviously wasn't dead when this statement was given, and if he saw her in his dream—

Right. So he tries to warn his dad.

Obviously he doesn't tell him, "Hey, I have these spooky dreams where I see how people are going to die," because there's no way he'd be believed, but he does ask about his health and even book him a doctor's appointment.

It doesn't help. His dad dies of a heart attack right at the very end of 2014. All the preparation in the world couldn't save his life.

...Whee.

You know, I didn't really think about Gertrude Robinson all that much. I guess I just assumed she retired. Now it's looking like she bought the farm, isn't it. But why would Antonio Blake try to save a total stranger? Especially when apparently warnings don't work and the deaths are inevitable. They are inevitable, right?

Come to think of it, where are these dreams even coming from? Is he the first person on earth ever to have them? Surely not! But none of the books had anything even close....

Ah, I don't know.

Anyway, he says his dad's image turned up about ten days before the actual death. A ten-day warning isn't much, but I guess it might give you time to get your affairs in order. Maybe that's what Antonio's trying to give Gertrude: a little time to wrap things up. But, again, why?

Oh, he says he can see her in the next room. Apparently she's reading a book.

I approve. I like books.

...Of course, it's no good if you're so busy with other things that you can't do your own job properly! Even if the distraction is books, I still can't approve of that. It isn't tidy.

So. Antonio Blake says his latest dream was two nights ago. It started out the same, but he had a sense that something was deeply wrong. Things were darker and the tendrils were everywhere, and sometimes there are dark red lights traveling inside them, all going the same direction. He decides to follow them—and oh, I get a question answered! He can't float through the tendrils. He's got to float above them.

Sometimes he thinks the red lights show faces and shadows inside the tendrils, but the light moves so fast he can't be sure.

It's moving towards Vauxhall, which is apparently a rich part of the city because when he notices that there are fewer people here he wonders whether rich people die less, or have the ability to pick their own places to die, or maybe fight off death so long they're just buried in tendrils when it finally comes.

He crosses the Thames, and most of the tendrils are on the bridge, only a few in the water. That makes sense. I'd expect most of the deaths to be in the places where there're the most people.

Oh, and there's a building on the other side of the river. A small, old building, but with pillars. So... like a small bank or something? And all the red lights are going into it. Every door and window's completely crammed with black tendrils, but Antonio gets inside somehow.

Gah, my question's been unanswered!

Stupid inconsistent dream rules. Well, whatever—I wanted to see inside anyway. Especially after Antonio Blake read the bronze plaque outside the door. "The Magnus Institute, London. Founded 1818."

...Wait, hold up. That number rings a bell, and not just because it's pretty. 1818. 1818....

Episode four: grbookworm1818!

Gertrude Robinson. Reading a book. Magnus Institute founded in 1818. Wait, how long has she worked here? Surely not since the beginning! Then again, this *is* a supernatural horror podcast. Maybe she has. At the very least, she obviously identifies with her place of work quite strongly. So you'd think she'd do a better job, wouldn't you!? Geez louise, Gertrude Robinson! Confuse the bejeebers out of me, why don't you?

Anyway. Antonio follows the red lights to a room marked "Archive," which seems... oddly appropriate, somehow. It's like they're archiving all the red lights, or everything being brought by them, whatever that might be.

...Life?

Ugh, but the shelves are coated in this sticky, black tar-blood, which is just gross. Veins shouldn't leak! Why aren't they properly insulated?

...Whoa. Okay.

So all the veins are headed to this one desk at the front of the room—or, more precisely, into Gertrude Robinson, who's sitting at the desk. All the red lights are flashing into her. Only her face is showing: all the rest is covered by pulsing, black, red-light-transmitting tendrils.

Antonio does a terrible job of describing her expression.

He just says, "far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city." That's not helpful! You do realize that the word "fearful" can mean "full of fear" *or* "frightening"? Which one do you mean?

...You know what, I'm just gonna assume he meant both.

In any case, he decides he's got to try to help her. He thinks probably he can't, but he says he couldn't live with himself if he didn't at least try.

This is baffling. Let me see. So the red lights... I got the impression they were being sent by the lighthouse or whatever's always behind Antonio that he can't look at. And they're definitely going into Gertrude Robinson (and not, so far as I can tell, coming back out). Which means... what? That the red lights are death and the lighthouse pumps them into whoever's got veins stuck to them? And Antonio just couldn't see them until now because things weren't dark enough? Or are the red lights a genuinely new thing?

And where are they coming from? Like, is the lighthouse producing them or just pumping them along? I feel like it ought to be an extraction process—the tendrils pull something out of the dead people and the lighthouse-heart pushes it down to Gertrude—but just because I like the idea of that doesn't mean that's the way it is.

Hmmm.

Maybe Gertrude Robinson's trying to live forever and the process she picked's going to end up being too much for her, so she'll overload and die and then Jonathan Sims'll get hired to replace her.

Anyway, according to Jonathan Sims, his boss (Elias Bouchard) was vague about what happened to the last head archivist.

He said she "died in the line of duty," apparently.

Yeah, I'm with Mr. Sims here: that sounds like having a heart attack during work hours or something like that. Unless it was her duty to try and live forever by taking in a whole bunch of red lights, which I somehow very much doubt! Pretty sure her job was archiving, not "being the focal point of some kind of supernatural event."

Honestly, who could you hire if you put that in the job description? Especially if you included the facial expression our statement-giver apparently saw on Gertrude's face in his dream. Bit off-putting.

Mr. Sims thinks that, of his three assistants, Tim's the one least likely to pull a prank like this on him.

So he had Tim look into it, and apparently "Antonio Blake" is a fake name, and while the Magnus Institute does ask statement-givers for their contact details those were all fake, too. Jonathan Sims concludes that the whole thing's probably a practical joke, but says he might have a word with someone named Rosie and have her get him copies of new statements right away instead of after the researchers are done with them.

Oh, so that's why he's always got research on hand: it's not that he's telling his assistants which ones he's going to do, it's that he doesn't get the statements until they've already finished verifying stuff.

...Head archivist, my eye.

He's not really doing anything, is he? His supposed "assistants" do all the research and checking up, and it looks like it's this Rosie who takes the statements in—all he does is transfer statements from writing to audio, which hardly seems necessary for archival!

I suppose he might be in charge of seeing that things get filed properly. But you don't need an archivist for that, you need a filing clerk.

I could do this job.

...I wonder how much he gets paid?

No, wait. Something’s off here. He assigned Tim to research this statement, read the statement, was unsettled by it, then decided to assign Tim to research this statement as the least likely to play this kind of prank on him? That doesn’t make sense! Is time travel actually a thing in this universe?

[kurowrites]

Hello! I've got a ship for the ask meme, which is, unsurprisingly: wangxian. But if you've already got it, then how about NieLan? :3

Why not both??

Wangxian

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter: So I have already written WWX as a werewolf, I guess I have to stick to that. And man, I just like the image of LWJ as the hunter who feels more and more compromised the longer he is hunting WWX.

who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman: LWJ is the mermaid. He occasionally helps WWX with his catch, since the poor man doesn’t eat enough and has half a village that is dependent on him, and when WWX realises that his recent good fortune is thanks to a little supernatural help, he goes on a mission of thanks. Only LWJ doesn’t want any (he was just smitten by those pretty eyes).

who’s the witch and who’s the familiar: LWJ is the constantly distressed rabbit familiar to witch WWX and tries to keep him out of trouble and from breaking every single law of magic. One day, trouble ensues with another witch, and in his attempt to shield WWX he accidentally gets turned into a human. After the first shock, it’s not so bad, because now he has opposable thumbs to stop WWX.

who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict: As funny as LWJ as a barista would be, I have to go with WWX on this one. LWJ likes to pretend his taste is fancy but in reality he just craves the hit of coffeine in whichever form it comes (it’s a stress thing). And no one knows his needs better than WWX (because, let’s face it, WWX is just as bad, he knows a coffee goblin when he sees one).

who’s the professor and who’s the TA: Professor LWJ has my heart. But I guess I’d make WWX a lecturer or sth who keeps getting denied a tenure track position because he unafraid of speaking truth to power, despite the fact that he is one of the best in his field.

who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss): Let’s face it, WWX is already a princess and LWJ his knight in shining armour. Maybe it’s time to reverse that. Only princess Wangji takes one look at WWX and decides that thank you, he is fine, no need for that.

who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent: DAD!WANGJI HAS MY ENTIRE SOUL YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND. WWX would be so great as a kindergarten teacher for one of these special schools where the children go out into the forest to learn etc. Of course LWJ would send his child to one of these kindergartens.  

who’s the writer and who’s the editor: WWX is the incredibly talented and creative writer who also hands in terribly messy manuscripts, and only LWJ’s strictness and minuteness manages to save them from certain doom.

NieLan:

who’s the werewolf and who’s the hunter: LXC is the werewolf, NMJ is the hunter, NMJ has long since given up actually catching LXC (don’t tell anyone). 

who’s the mermaid and who’s the fisherman: LXC is the mermaid. NMJ is the poor fisherman who goes to catch LXC and sell him to JGS to feed his brother, but in the end, he can’t go through with it. 

who’s the witch and who’s the familiar: LXC is the witch, NMJ his excessively grumpy familiar who jealously keeps people away from LXC.

who’s the barista and who’s the coffee addict: NMJ is the grumpy barista who hates making those ridiculous elaborate orders, LXC is the coffee addict with a ridiculous taste and at least three extra shots in his coffee. NMJ is abso-fucking-lutely smitten but that coffee is a monstrosity. 

who’s the professor and who’s the TA: Both of them are professors, I’m sorry, the power imbalance would be too much for me. Both are absolutely crushing on each other and have no idea what to do about it.

who’s the knight and who’s the prince(ss): Okay, I mean, imagine NMJ as the princess. Clearly it must be LXC. He’s been in love with NMJ since forever, but apparently NMJ is denser than a rock. LXC gets promised to another prince and is like “if I have to marry someone I don’t love, at least spend the last night before my marriage with me (and deflower me properly)”.

who’s the teacher and who’s the single parent: NMJ as the harried older brother/replacement dad of little Huaisang, LXC as the patient kindergarden teacher who helps NMJ with his troubles (and his non-existent love life).

who’s the writer and who’s the editor: Oh man. NMJ is a boor until he has a pen in his hand, and LXC is less busy with correcting NMJ’s drafts (they’re amazing, he’s won so many prizes) than keeping the rest of the publishing world from murdering NMJ and his stupid, blunt mouth.

[ramblesanddragons]

Of Monsters and Memories

An idea based on this comic by @artsymeeshee that I just ran with.

It has been years since I’ve written anything. I’m so rusty but I’m trying to get back into it. I have no editor and I am terrible at grammar so please let me know what I missed. I’m writing more fan fiction to get back into figuring out how to write.

EDIT: Now with Ao3 link!

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, angst. (Also please let me know if I missed one.)

Ford had told Stan about some of the dangers they would run into in the arctic. Krakens, selkies, freezing cold. Some sort of thing that was the unholy offspring of nightmares and a squid wasn’t one of those things. The problem was the thing seemed to made out of smoke and they were having the damnest time pinning it down but it had to have some sort of physical form. It sure as hell was holding on to Stan tight enough.

Stan was wrapped around the mast of the boat as the arctic wind howled or maybe it was the creature, he had no idea.

“Hey anytime with that fancy space gun Sixer!”  

“Aiming is proving to be difficult give me a moment!” Ford yelled back.  

Stan did his best to wiggle out of the tentacles that had him but stopped the struggle when he noticed that Ford had all but been swallowed by a plume of smoke. Only his head was visible in the cloud of darkness. Ford’s eyes were tense with pain and tears were streaming down his cheek.  

“Ford, snap out of it. Whatever you see ain’t real!”

Ford had been looking forward to taking notes of the creature made of smoke that floated above the ice. He had never even seen something like this before. It had to be some sort of life form as it weaved around the boat almost playfully. Things had taken a sharp turn for the worst when Stan tried to take a picture of it for the kids. It screeched and started to climb up the side of the boat with long tendrils extending. Stan grimaced and slide on his old pair of brass knuckles.

“Want to bet I can punch smoke?” Stan yelled leaping at it with full force.  

In a flurry of shouts, punches, and missed shots Ford found himself trying to save his knuckleheaded brother who was wrapped around the mast. Aiming was proving to be a problem as the smoke wouldn’t stay together into a shape. It had spread itself thin onto the deck of the boat only forming parts of itself it to tentacles to hold Stan.

Ford could feel panic rising into him. He cursed himself for thinking that it had been playful earlier when it had clearly been looking for the best time to strike. He had let his enthusiasm get to him again and now Stan was in danger again.  

Chastise yourself later Stan needs help! Ford tried to find a target but froze as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

A dark malevolence engulfed him in a plume of smoke. The chill it brought to Ford’s body made the cold of the arctic seem like a walk in the park. He physically shook himself to clear it away and focused again on his brother but Stan was gone. He was alone in some sort of inky void. He looked around and realized with horror his clothes had changed. He was wearing Stan’s old suit. In his hand’s was the wretched memory gun.  

Seeing it again made Ford’s stomach clinch tight. The urge to drop it to the ground and smash it was strong but he had to...to do something with it. He looked up again to see he was no longer alone in the void, Stan had appeared, on his knees and unconscious. Just like the last time. Tears started to burn at the corners of Ford’s eyes as his arm moved on some sort of autopilot pointing the gun at Stan’s head.

“Please...I can’t...not again...” Ford’s body shook as whispered to the void. His vision blurred with tears as the world started to become dark.

“Hey Poindexter! Did you know the world was flat?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m one of those flat earth people.” It was Stan’s voice coming from somewhere. Not the body before Ford kneeling and awaiting its fate at his hands, but outside of the void.

“Stan...the world isn’t flat?”  

I’ve gone mad, Ford thought completely lost.

“Oh yeah it is. I kept meaning to ask when we were going to hit the edge. Also, you know we didn’t go to the moon in ‘69 right?”

“S-Stan we watched it on the damn TV together!” Ford’s voice echoed and for a moment the sounds of the sea seemed to reach his ears.

“I mean yeah we did but it was faked. Although that was a good day, right? Ma let us stay home to watch it. Remember?” Almost at Stan’s beckoning the void changed around him and the image of two small boys watching a small TV formed in front of Ford. It wasn’t as clear as the one of Stan awaiting his doom and it disappeared as fast as it had appeared. It was one of Ford’s favorite memories besides the two of them finding the original Stan of War.

“Yeah I do.” Ford whispered softly. He could now feel ocean spray on his face. The cold in his soul was being melted by the warmth in his chest growing. The creature shrieked and withdrew from around Ford. He was now fully back to the deck of the ship and before him was Stan still tied to the mast by smoky tendrils.

“Oh yeah and uh did you know that the government is putting chemicals in the water to brain wash us? Or that the government is actually a bunch of lizard people actually hold on you might believe that one let’s see...”

“Stan.” Ford wanted to both hug and smack his brother at the same time.

“What? Oh hey welcome back now can you shoot this fuckin’ thing?”

“Gladly.” Ford growled.  

The thing had gathered back into a smoke ball but it seemed to Ford less intimidating now, slightly smaller, weaker. There was no way to really tell where the thing’s body was so Ford just started to fire on the thickest gathering of grey and black he could see. There was going to be a few holes in the deck of the ship but it was worth it to hear the thing let out one last scream before collapsing into a pile of goo. Stan was freed from the mast as the smoky tendrils disintegrated. Ford ran into the hull of the ship and returned with gloves, a scraper and a container.  

Dinner was sandwiches that night as Stan was too tried to cook. He eyed Ford as he ate and let out a heavy sigh as he realized he had only taken a bite of his dinner. Ford’s forehead was knit together like it did when he was thinking too hard.

“Wanna talk about it?” Stan’s voice seemed to shake Ford out of his thoughts.  

“Well we do need to talk if you believe the world is flat. I have failed as a scientist if my own brother believes that.” Ford let out a weak chuckle.

“Nah I’m not the brightest but I’m not that dumb. Look, I was just thinking of the craziest things I could to snap you out of whatever trance that the smoke thing had you under. Nothing pisses you off more than bad science.”

“Stan, I want to apologize. I feel like I wasn’t paying close enough attention and let my curiosity get in the way of your safety. I will aim to do better.”

“Sixer it’s okay you...”

“No, it’s not okay!” Ford cut Stan off. “My mistakes keep getting you hurt.”

“Look I was getting myself hurt plenty before coming out here with you.” Stan had recently gotten a lovely memory of spraining his ankle while running from some dogs when he was about 25 back a couple of weeks ago which could be good proof of that but he knew that wouldn’t exactly make his brother feel better. Ford pushed his plate away and leaned his head into his hands.

“What exactly did that thing do to ya?”  

“My running theory is that whatever it was prays on a victim's memories. Their worst moments causing them to freeze up. I was about to...I was about to erase you again.” The tears were coming back into Ford’s eyes. Stan slid him over a napkin.

“That’s you’re worst moment?”

“O-of course. I’ve faced plenty of horrible things but that was my mistakes coming back to bite me in the ass. I’m fine with that. But when my arrogance and stupidity hurts other people, people I care about...first there was Fidds and then you were the one who could have lost everything for my carelessness and...”

Stan slammed his fist onto the table and that startled Ford enough to break him out of his rant. “I pushed you into that hell portal I...”

“A hell portal I built!” Ford interjected loudly.  

“You were conned. Manipulated. Ford you’re stubborn and yeah maybe a little arrogant but so am I.” Stan got out of his chair and kneeled by his brother.

“If there was an award for who could hold on to guilt the longest, I could probably win the gold medal. So, listen to me here. Please don’t let this mind erasing thing eat you alive. I know I’m the poster child for healthy coping but please don’t be so hard on yourself. I have enough self-loathing for both of us.”

“Stanley.”

“Look being out here with you watching you get all excited and doing nerd stuff has been the happiest I’ve been in years. I don’t need you to be worrying about what might happen so much that you stop enjoying it ‘cus then I’ll stop enjoying it and so what the hell else do we do huh? Soos is in charge of the Shack and I wouldn’t really want to go back. So, what, do we spend our next few years playing bingo in an old folks' home?”

“Hell no.” Ford responded somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“Right. So, relax. There is no where I’d rather be.” Stan grinned when a small smile placed itself on Ford’s face.

“What are the qualities of a Pines man? Braveness, boldness, curiosity, creativity, stubbornness, and deep self-loathing.” Ford said counting on his fingers.

“Let’s hope Dipper skips out on that one.” Stan got back up and poured himself and Ford a drink of the good stuff they kept for special occasions. He figured dealing with a smoke monster was occasion enough.

Ford looked at the amber liquid and drained it in one gulp. “Stanley has is ever occurred to you that perhaps we could use a little therapy in our lives?”

“No shrink is so understanding that they would believe half the shit that’s happened to us.”  

“Perhaps we should look. Even if we have to go a more supernatural route to get an adequate one I-I think we should.” Ford began to scribble what Stan guessed to be a list of idea candidates. He smiled as he watched the wheels in his brother’s mind whirl.

“Yeah. Sure, I’ll talk to a fairy about my problems.” Stan spent the rest of his night listening to Ford tell him why it was an awful idea to let the Fae know your problems and enjoyed every minute of it.