#went into a fugue state and this popped out

[vipermenace]

Art trade with @orostele xoxo

Paimon the demon prince 💋

[cosmicvaca]

Wip

Wow that wave came out really well *looks at the rest of the canvas and sees how much i need to render* oh

[yandere-daydreams]

well since you brought up gojo…

geto (who has been with a girl before) teaching gojo (pussy virgin who is eager to pop his cherry) how to fuck a woman using y/n (the cute little girl they roofied at the bar and brought home to be their demonstration doll)

just... UGHHHH. suguru showing satoru how to eat. telling him to watch close while he does it. pay attention to how he's using his tongue as he makes you cum. they sit there for hours as suguru lovingly instructs his boyfriend on how to tongue fuck you, running his fingers through his hair and reminding him that he needs to be gentle because girls are more delicate than boys. cooing all sorts of sweet nothings to his good boy as he makes you cum for the fifth agonizing time. (practice makes perfect~ suguru says)

and satorus so eager. too eager. he has a hard time containing his excitement on a normal day, but he’s going to fuck a girl for the first time tonight so he’s just that extra bit more animalistic (he is humping the bed like a bitch and snarfing up your cunt like a dog that hasn’t eaten in a year. you never know if his teeth or tongue are going to be grazing your clit at any given moment. you can no longer tell if it feels good or bad.)

by the end you’re so overstimulated you feel you might pass out, the pleasure in your tummy boiling so violently you feel nauseous. so when suguru coos out to satoru you’ve been so patient baby. such a good boy. look at how nice you made her feel~ i think she should return the favor, hm? something inside you dies

and then suguru walks satoru through fucking you step by step, instructing him on when to go faster and slower (although not even suguru can keep him from being too rough at this point), showing him how to rub your clit so you feel nice while you “make love” in that stupid saccharine voice.

when you ask why they won’t let you go the next morning, suguru tells you rather solemnly that you deflowered satoru so you can’t just leave him. you basically owe it to him to stay

i hate them (im foaming at the mouth for them. sorry for the second long ask ive been thinking about this for weeks)

okay so i read meant to respond to this normally but accidently entered into a fugue state and absolutely went hog wild all over a word document. anyway come back in exactly five hours and fifteen minutes. the lose virgin of it all got to me i suppose.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 8

part 1 | part 7 | ao3

He finds himself on Cherry Drive by muscle memory alone. Quarter mile past Maple Street, take the third left, the second right; drive straight through the next stop sign and suddenly the Hagan house is coming into view around the bend, bathed in dim yellow light from a flickering street lamp. A 50s era ranch house, painted brick with a detached one-car garage, weeds sprouting through the crooked old stones of the front walkway and leaves scattered across the lawn in mushy browns and orange-reds.

It's not as nice as Steve's place is.

Was.

Whatever.

Steve blinks, shakes himself fully awake; feels a jolt of fear at the idea that he just drove here in some kind of fugue state because he doesn't know what he's doing here. Tommy left for college, and fuck Tommy, anyway.

He pulls up to the house. Slows the car to a crawl.

It's dark inside, all the lights turned off except for a single table lamp in the entryway window; shaped like a sea turtle, its belly full of blue-green light. Mrs. H. loves the sea.

He wonders if they're out of town or if they're just asleep.

The Hagans go to bed early, he remembers. He spent so many nights talking in a hush in Tommy's room; 8:45pm and they'd be lying side by side on the floor beside his bed, reading comic books or sports mags and whispering about nothing. Tommy'd always thank Steve for coming over because he knew his house was a little boring; he was the kid with old parents who went to bed early and kept the radio turned down and wouldn't let them have sugary snacks even on the weekends. Steve would always just knock their shoulders together and smile 'don't mention it' because he'd hang out with Tommy anywhere.

"Anywhere?" "Yeah, anywhere." "What about in a cave?" "Sure." "Under a bridge?" "Don't see why not." "In the belly of a whale?" "Now you're just being dumb." "Am not!" "Are, too." "Oh, yeah? Well- shut up!"

That was usually the part where they got in trouble for making noise, caught red-faced and laughing while they wrestled on the floor.

There's warmth in his chest at the memory, and that part, he expects.

But also...

Something about it makes heat flare in his gut, shameful and feverish as it flashes through his mind: the phantom press of Tommy above him as he pinned his shoulders down; the way the flush on his cheeks made Tommy's freckles pop; the breathless smile he gave, so close their noses almost brushed...

A light turns turns on in the Hagans' hall.

Steve hits the gas.

He drives for a long while, feeling like an asshole for burning through their precious gas money, but too— too something to fully care. He's alone on a highway with dark pastures blowing by, with the heat on and windows down, and he's circling back toward home when Bruce Springsteen starts to play, all croaky static over the spotty radio.

Born down in a dead man's town. The first kick I took was when I hit the ground.

Steve cranks it up and sings along. The song is cheesy, and he feels stupid, but he also feels free. Like there was a shackle around his throat and he didn't notice until it was gone. He shouts along to the chorus and then just shouts in general; long, guttural screams that feel like poison being purged. Tommy, his dad, the Russians, his mom. All of it, all of it spewing out of him into the cold night air.

He misses Carol suddenly. Her acidic attitude. The way it always ate through the worst of his sullen moods.

He can picture her now: perched on someone's lap in the crowded backseat, no seatbelt, manicured hand braced on the ceiling. She'd be smacking bubblegum and twirling a lock of her hair, and she'd roll her eyes at Steve's dramatics and ask whether he was done untwisting his panties yet. Steve would say something dumb and pervy in response, like, "Too busy dealing with girls' panties to focus on my own," and she'd roll her eyes harder and go, "God, you're fucking gross."

Carol's not here, though, so he just screams about her, too.

When he get back to Forest Hills his voice is hoarse. His body is tired; his soul is light. He's thinking, like: maybe he'll be okay. He'll channel his inner Claudia or Joyce and soldier on. Resilience, and all that shit.

He's almost smiling to himself when he turns into the park.

And then he sees the flashing lights.

There's an ambulance on his lot.

—

part 9

just gonna start tagging whoever commented the day before (if your settings will let me) bc i have the memory of a goldfish @a-little-unsteddie @slowandsteddie @pennyplainknits @thesuninyaface @hotluncheddie @messrs-weasley @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @blackpanzy @disrespectedgoatman @i-have-three-feelings @sirsnacksalot @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium

[taelonsamada]

I practically went into a fugue state when writing this 🤣 it is fully unedited, all but vomited up, but @dawnofiight got this into my head and I had to get it onto paper as soon as I could 🤣 (paper being figurative in this case) I’m sorry if it feels a bit rushed or out of character, I just had to get it out!! So have livestreamer/blogger Sam on his homestead he lovingly tends with horror gamer Darlin 😁

~~~~~~~~~

“I’m particularly excited about this one, we just finished renovating the chicken coop, so now—Ah! George! Knock it off! Hey!”

Sam did a quick side step to dodge the goat head that had snaked out at his ankles, stopping in his tracks to point a warning finger at the brown and white beast that barely came past his knees. The two of them locked in a standoff with Sam’s work boots as the prize for the victor. Never mind that they were still on Sam’s damned feet, or that the entire thing was being captured by the phone currently in Sam’s hand, which was of course being livestreamed to the twenty thousand followers he’d managed to amass the last couple months.

Because that was absolutely Sam’s luck.

The stare down lasted a moment longer before ‘George’ decided the boots weren’t quite worth what the glint in Sam’s eyes meant, plodding off to likely find something else to chew on. Sam shook his head with a heavy sigh and a crooked grin, raking his fingers through his hair before resuming his walk. “I swear, I’d have made that bastard into a stew ages ago if he didn’t give his some of the best damned babies I’ve ever seen in my life. Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, this is the chicken coop we just finished redoing.”

Flipping the livestream to the front camera, Sam began panning the phone across the large chicken run he and Darlin’ had just finished yesterday, pride heavy in his voice. “It’s got twice the floorspace now, so they got a proper run they can explore while still havin’ a roof over their head, which’ll keep ‘em safe from the hawks and eagles. And we got this thick wood along the base to keep the coyotes from gettin’ too nosy as well. Still gotta watch for ‘em cause they’re tricky bastards, but at least we’re making their job harder on em.”

The phone turned a bit more, revealing Darlin’ crouched down inside the actual coop itself, cooing at some freshly hatched chicks as they changed out their feed and water. Their head popped up to smile and wave at Sam, who immediately waved back, a fond, warm look in his eyes. His chest aching with happiness at seeing how well they’d taken to the ‘homesteading’ life.

Knowing how drastic a change it was from the city life they were used to, the fact that they seemed to be thriving in the countryside with him only had him even more convinced he must have done something damned impressive in a previous life to be rewarded like this.

Of course, one could also argue he was equally punished for whatever he did whenever they asked him to join him on on of those horror games they would play on their own stream. Darlin’s fans loved it when he showed up, mainly because of all the cursing and yelling he’d let out during said games. He wasn’t sure what it was; horror movies were a delight for him, but there was just something about the games that had him sweating up a storm. His own subscribers also loved it when he joined in, though it was moreso to see a different side of him, since he was usually more reserved on his own channel.

That thought had him glancing to his phone to check on his livesteam, and he cursed as he saw his thumb had hit the camera flip button at some point while he was staring at Darlin’. The entire chat was losing its mind over the look he’d had on his face while he was watching Darlin’. Countless messages about being ‘moony-eyed’, ‘starstruck’, ‘down bad’ and ‘the ultimate simp’.

Instantly his face took on his usual stern, furrowed huff, shaking his head with a dramatic sigh. “Y’all are bigger fuckin’ animals than the ones I feed, I swear. Keep that up and I won’t show you Moonpie,” he warned, referring to the newly born calf that the chat demanded daily updates on. He smirked crookedly at seeing all the panicked gif reactions, pleas for forgiveness and accusations of being a bully. “Mm… lucky for y’all, Moonpie is a huge diva and loves the attention, so—Dammit, George!”

The camera swung wildly, dropping to show an angled view of the brown and white goat with his teeth locked around the tongue of Sam’s boot, tugging and yanking in an attempt to tear a hunk of the expensive leather free. “I swear, I’m cookin’ you tonight!”

[unremarkablehouse]

Love and Lasagna

WC: 3038 | PG | MSR | S6 | Domestic Fluff | A03

Summary: Mulder decides to cook for Scully in an attempt to discuss their living arrangements and future plans.

Tagging: @today-in-fic

The rich smell of marinara sauce permeated throughout Mulder’s apartment as he checked his well-worn recipe book for the next step. With the béchamel and red sauce ready, all Mulder had to do was layer the sauces over the lasagna noodles and bake. With an awkward care he spooned some red sauce on the bottom of his foil pan and spread it around to make a base layer, smoothing it out using the back of his spoon with a sense of pride. Cooking in general was not an activity that Mulder did often, but tonight was a special occasion and he wanted to show his guest of honor that this simple act of domesticity was something he was capable of. He wondered whether Scully would judge him for buying a disposable foil tray instead of having a casserole dish; but if tonight went as he hoped, all future lasagnas would be made using her pans. Mulder allowed himself a few moments to daydream about what this future life with Scully could look like as he absent-mindedly opened the box of dry lasagna noodles, getting ready to place them in the tray.

The familiar jingle of keys in his lock snapped him out of his fugue state as he nervously checked over the apartment to make sure that everything was in order. Mulder admonished himself for the butterflies that filled his stomach with the anticipation at seeing Scully and talking about the changes in their relationship. Countless dinners and sleepovers had already occurred between them, yet Mulder never stopped being excited to see her. Intercepting Scully as soon as she walked through the door, Mulder kissed her a little too enthusiastically, pressing her up against the closed door in a dramatic sweep.

“Down boy,” Scully said with a laugh as she broke their kiss and pushed his body off her.

“Something smells good in here,” Scully commented as she removed her coat to reveal a snug low-cut top and jeans.

“That’s probably me, I showered this month,” Mulder joked, earning him a beloved Scully eye roll.

Glancing around the apartment, Scully noticed it was cleaner than usual, and Mulder had even set his small table. Scully followed Mulder into the kitchen, fascinated by this new side of him.

“Seriously, Mulder, what’s all this?”

“I told you, Scully, I’m making you dinner. I even got your favorite wine,” Mulder proudly displayed the bottle and filled two wine glasses.

Taking a sip of her wine, Scully popped herself up onto the kitchen counter while Mulder washed his hands, preparing to get back to cooking.

“What are you making?” Scully asked, glancing over the different pots, straining to see the recipe book from her current position on the counter.

“Lasagna, but I still need to assemble and bake it, so it’ll be a while.”

Mulder took the dry lasagna noodles out of the box, getting ready to lay them in the foil pan when Scully stopped him.

“Mulder, those need to be boiled first,” she says, holding up the pack.

“The recipe didn’t say to cook the lasagna sheets though?”

Mulder questioned, re-examining the book again. Jumping herself off the counter, Scully examined Mulder’s worn book and explaining that they were probably using fresh pasta sheets when it was written. Grabbing another pot, Scully filled it with water, passing it to Mulder to place on the stove to boil.

“Nice save Agent Scully, what would I have done without you?”

“Eaten crunchy lasagna?”

“Would you have eaten it if I hadn’t cooked the noodles?”

“I would have tried it. There’d be no way to tell if noodles were cooked until you'd bite into them.”

“The taste of disappointment—”

“Exactly!”

Biting off a dried lasagna noodle, Mulder held it out for Scully to try, but she waved him off.

“I think I like them uncooked. It’s like a flavorless chip.”

Shaking her head, Scully took the box of lasagna sheets from Mulder before he ate any more, carefully placing them in boiling water. Setting the timer for 10 minutes, a thought intruded Scully’s brain, and her forehead crinkled in contemplation. Seeing her pensive state, Mulder prodded, “What?”

“Oh, just working out what we should do with the pasta once it cooks.”

“I have a spaghetti strainer. Shouldn't we just dump the water and noodles in that?”

“No, because they’ll stick together and it’ll be tricky for you to grab one or two at a time to layer them without tearing.”

“So, we need to extract them individually from the hot water...Maybe hang them before we use them?”

Glancing around his small kitchen for utensils, inspiration suddenly hit Scully.

“Mulder! Your chopstick draw!”

“Genius!”

Mulder opened his kitchen drawer filled with extra chopsticks and soy sauce packets from his heavy diet of take out. Mulder moved his recipe book out of the way and started to carefully lay out glasses, placing chopsticks across them to act as a makeshift drying rack. Without words Mulder handed Scully a pair of chopsticks at the timer beeped, signaling that the pasta was cooked. Holding his breath with anticipation, Mulder watched in awe as Scully worked, a smile on his face at the marvel that is Dana Scully. With surgical precision Scully delicately extracted each floppy lasagna noodle from the pot and placed them carefully on Mulder’s chopstick racks. Once the pot was empty and all the lasagna sheets were hanging, announced her success with an exaggerated ‘ta-da’ and bow, receiving an applause from Mulder while laughing at her theatrics.  

Taking her seat back on the counter, Scully refilled both their wine glasses while watching Mulder assemble the lasagna. The care he’s took and the confidence he exuded while cooking was frankly sexy, and Scully wondered if he’d be offended if they skipped dinner all together. He’d only reached the middle layer when Scully spotted him sprinkling cheese and béchamel sauce over the tray.

“A little early to be adding the cheese and béchamel, isn’t it, Mulder?”

“No Scully, that’s my trick to a good lasagna, I add a secret cheese layer in the middle.”

“I’m not going to lie, that sounds amazing. My stomach’s growling.”

“There’s salad in the fridge if you want to start on that.”

As Scully grabbed the salad bowl from the fridge and removed the plastic from the top, she was happy to see Mulder had finished constructing the lasagna and now covered it with foil to place in the oven.

“Alright Scully, 30 minutes and it’ll be cooked. I just put some herb bread in there, too, that should be done in about 10.”

“Sounds good to me,” Scully said, raising her glass in appreciation. Mulder topped off their wine glasses again, amused that they had almost finished the bottle before they’d even managed to eat their salads.

“Scully, do you want to get us some salad bowls? We should probably eat something, given how much wine we’ve had.”

Scully looked up from the large salad bowl that she’d been picking at with a pair of chopsticks and waved off the bowl suggestion.

“I’m fine with chopsticks, but we should probably stay near the kitchen, the bread will be done soon anyway. Here—”

Scully used her chopsticks to grab a bell pepper, feeding Mulder. Getting his own pair of chopsticks, Mulder joined her on the counter. Mulder poked his chopsticks into the salad bowl and struggled to pick up a cherry tomato. Laughing at his difficulty Scully deftly intercepted the tomato and picked it up motioning to feed it to Mulder, but at the last minute popped it in her own mouth with delight. Mulder begrudgingly speared a piece of lettuce and chewed it with contempt. Scully’s skills with chopsticks always surpassed his and over the years she never missed an opportunity to remind him of it. Taking another sip of wine, Mulder was roused from his mellowed state by the oven timer.

“Bread is ready Muldah,” Scully’s voice had taken on a slight slur, betraying her tipsiness. Mulder wobbled over to the oven and awkwardly used some tongs to retrieve the loaf of Italian herb bread. He dropped it haphazardly onto a plate to be sliced later. He was definitely a little buzzed.

“You’ve got to take the foil off the lasagna so the cheese will brown but be careful—” Scully warned a little late as Mulder cursed, clutching the hot foil with his bare hands.

“Probably should've used a dishcloth,” Mulder said, making his way to the kitchen sink to run his burnt fingers under cool water. After a couple of minutes, Mulder decided they were fine and turned the tap off, drying his hands.

“Let me see the Muldah,” Scully commanded, and Mulder dutifully held them up for her inspection, standing between her legs as she checked his injury. Satisfied that it was just a superficial burn, Scully placed tender kisses on each of his knuckles.

“Better?”

“Much,” Mulder smiled, closing the small distance between them with a kiss. Pulling him close to her, Scully locked her arms and legs around Mulder, invading his mouth with her tongue and getting lost in the moment. Instinctively, Mulder lifted Scully off the counter, but with no real plan of where to take her and his coordination affected by the wine, he rocked a little off balance and slowly landed on the kitchen floor. Both of them sat in shock on the floor for a few minutes before bursting into laughter. Mulder’s plan to romance Scully with his cooking had gone off the rails.

“I think we need to eat something to soak up this wine.”

“Agreed, we’re definitely imbrevey...inebro...inebriated,” Scully smiled, proud she got her words out, but also decidedly drunk. Mulder blindly reached a hand up to the kitchen counter and groped around until his hand came in contact with the warm bread. Dragging it down to them Mulder pulled off a chunk and proudly offered it to Scully. Even while drunk, Mulder encouraging her to eat a chunk of bread he pulled out of nowhere gave Scully pause and she looked at it skeptically. The decision was made for her. Mulder, amused by her hesitation, decided to speed up the process and pushed the bread into her mouth. Despite the volatile way that it was delivered to her, the warm bread and herbs hit the spot, and Scully found herself moaning appreciatively.

“This is really good, Mulder!”

Having finished her wedge, Scully couldn’t contain her laughter as she watched Mulder holding the remaining loaf vertically between his two hands, taking bites from the end like an overgrown raccoon. The sound of her laughter made Mulder look up from his meal, cluelessly offering her a bite of the bread. When she refused, Mulder resumed happily munching on the loaf of bread once more. The oven timer dinged, and Scully awkwardly got up to remove it from the oven, impressed by the smell and beautiful brown color. Placing it on the counter to cool, Scully grabbed both wine glasses, plonking back down on the floor next to Mulder. With only a small hunk of bread left, Mulder eagerly set their wine glasses aside, shoving the chunk into Scully’s face before wiping his greasy hands onto his jeans.

“Mulder, you’ve really got to stop shoving food into my face,” Scully halfheartedly scolded.

“But it’s romantic to feed your lover!”

“It’s not romantic if I choke,” she warned with a laugh.

Snuggling into Mulder’s side, both relaxed into each other’s arms.

“So, Mulder, you never did tell me what this night was all about?”

Mulder had wanted to use tonight’s dinner to discuss the logistics of starting a family with her, but given they were both a little drunk, he decided to try to put the conversation off until after they’d eaten. Attempting to throw her off the scent, Mulder declared, “Happy Anniversary Scully!”

“Anniversary of what?”

“I don’t know. We’ve known each other for over six years, take your pick. The anniversary of destroying your clothes while chasing a mutant?”

“I don’t think we should celebrate that.”

“Well from now on, it could be the anniversary of us getting drunk in my kitchen the one time I attempted to cook for you.”

With a laugh Scully raised her wine glass to Mulder, “Now that, I’ll drink to!”

Cuddling back into Mulder’s chest, he placed a soft kiss on her head before asking, “do you think the lasagna has cooled down enough to eat? I’m still hungry.”

“It should be. Just be careful when you go check on it.”

With a groan, Mulder pushed himself onto his feet and over to the lasagna tray. Using his index finger, he cautiously poked into it.

“Mulder! Use a fork or something,” Scully admonished with an amused laugh. At least he wasn’t eating evidence at a crime scene again.

Mulder grabbed a fork and stabbed at the lasagna, satisfied it made its way through with minimal resistance. He speared the little section he’d prodded with the fork, capturing a chunk of the lasagna, and putting it in his mouth. The flavors were perfect, and to his relief, it had cooled down enough not to burn him. Looking over at Scully on the floor he teasingly asked, “okay woman, should I attempt to get this on some plates, and we'll move this party to the table?”

“I’m comfy. Just grab me a fork and we’ll eat it here.”

At that moment Mulder couldn’t have loved her more. Scully always managed to surprise him, but their romantic evening deteriorating into drunkenly forking the contents of a lasagna pan from his kitchen floor was just the kind of chaos he cherished. Grabbing some extra dish towels and a fork for Scully, Mulder proudly presented the pan to her, setting it on his lap while encouraging her to try some.

“Mulder, this is amazing! Great job,” Scully said, enthusiastically savoring her bite while Mulder watched, before eating more himself.

They contentedly ate in silence, managing to consume a sizable portion of the tray before Mulder finally spoke.

“Scully, what’s going to happen if we have a kid?”

“I think we’d probably eat at the table, but I’m sure you’d still manage a few kitchen floor picnics with us.”

That thought made them both smile, but Mulder pushed forward, needing a clearer picture of what the living arrangements would entail.

“No, I mean, would you move in here? Do I sell my apartment and we get a place together?”

“Do you want to live with me?”

“I do, but I’m worried you’ll get sick of me and need your space.”

“Oh, I know I’ll get sick of you, but I don’t think space is a luxury you get, as parents. To put it in basketball terms, I see our best strategy is a zone game instead of man on man. Or are you worried you’ll get sick of me?”

Reaching over to give her a kiss, he replied, “you just made a perfect basketball analogy to describe parenting styles, I could never get sick of you. Maybe I could move into your place, and we’ll rent out my apartment, or use it as storage?”

“Fox Mulder, you just want to avoid packing!”

“Of course, why do you think I bought this place when the building converted to condos?”

Standing up off the floor, Mulder offered Scully a hand and they made their way to the couch. Scully grabbed them glasses of water while Mulder took command of the VCR.

“Scully, your choices are that Hungarian documentary you wanted to watch, or The Breakfast Club?”

“I’m still too tipsy for subtitles, let’s watch The Breakfast Club.”

Satisfied with her choice, Mulder took his position lying down on the back of the couch while Scully snuggled in front of him. Handing him his glass of water Scully silently instructed him to drink it.

“Scully, who did you relate to from The Breakfast Club? Molly Ringwald?”

“Just because we both have red hair? No, I was never the spoiled princess type. I was more of an outsider like Ally Sheedy. I didn't get detention though; I was smart enough not to get caught. What about you Mulder? Wait, let me guess. Everyone saw you as the Emilio Estevez type, but you were secretly a rebel like Judd Nelson at heart?”

Scully’s guess elicited a genuine laugh from Mulder.

“Not even close, you give me way too much credit. I was Anthony Michael Hall; gangly nerd all the way.”

“But I saw your yearbooks, you were a big basketball star. Your mom showed me all your high school pictures.”

This little tidbit of information was news to Mulder, since when did Scully hang out with his mother?

“When did you even see my Moms? Where was I?”

“That time you stranded me at her house a few years back.”

“I was drugged!”

Scully chuckled at Mulder’s response. He nuzzled her neck, offering a soft apology with a kiss.

“Even though I played basketball, I was still an awkward nerd. I hung around lots of girls who only liked me as a friend.”

Scully giggled at the picture Mulder painted of his nerdy high school past. Silently, she hoped that any of their future children would inherit his sweetness and good heart.

“Scully, did your high school have Saturday detention?”

“I don’t think so, did yours?”

“No, but if I was a teacher and I had to come into work on a Saturday to supervise a detention I’d be pissed off, too.”

“You’re officially old Mulder, you're sympathizing with the adults in this movie.”

Mulder playfully swatted Scully’s hip at that comment.

“Watch it Scully, or you won’t get  any dessert!”

Mulder had uttered magic words and Scully suddenly perked up.

“Dessert?”

“Mm-hmm...I have a tiramisu in the fridge. When the room stops spinning, I plan on eating it off your chest.”

Rolling around to face him, Scully solemnly said, “actually, I think it would taste better if I ate it off you, Mulder.”

Scully raked a hand through his hair and nipped at his lower lip, eliciting an excited groan, “either way, this is turning out to be a messy night!”

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

hey frank, what do you think of hit single love from the other side by chicago pop punk band fall out boy from their new album so much (for) stardust out march 24th

An excerpt -- I wrote this in a fugue state last night, and am not entirely sure why I wrote it or what it was trying to do

It is the voice in your head you'd be ashamed of, the voice that you'd feel bad about being possessed by. It doesn't speak. You can't make it speak. The voice tells you a story. The voice is not your own. You don't speak or think, except when you do -- in the voice's story, you are someone, something with an identity and agency. Even when you feel like the voice is telling you how your life would go, you can do things that seem to contradict this.

Your name is David Severa. You live in a house in [town], in [state]. There's a lake nearby and you have a good relationship with your mom. She's [wife] and makes a lot of art -- mostly in the form of paintings -- and you hang them on the walls. Sometimes she lets you come upstairs. When you go downstairs, you hang out in a room that your friends [M] call the library. You don't really like to be around your friends. They're your age, but they're also [older], and you don't know what it is about them. It's something about the way they talk sometimes, but you can't think of what it is. One of your friends gave you a bottle of whiskey once. He said that it was for your birthday. He did it a few days early, though, in a way that you didn't know was his style. Sometimes you get scared, and then you ask for whiskey. You do that a lot. It doesn't make the bad feelings go away, but they get easier to deal with.

The voice speaks to you sometimes. It doesn't feel like you have a choice. Sometimes it is loud, sometimes it is soft, sometimes it is not the voice of a human at all. You know it is the voice of something with an identity and an inner life and maybe even consciousness, but you don't really believe in that stuff. You can't even feel a connection to the words the voice tells you, because those words are not your words.

You're not sure if you should believe it. Sometimes the voice says something about the world, something about the future. Other times it talks about the past, or your childhood, or the things you did or thought. Other times it just tells you what you should want -- what your desires should be, or your thoughts should be.

You know you have a good memory. You can remember a lot of things very well. You don't know how or why this is so, but it's the case. Sometimes you remember things just because they're so clear in your mind -- you can still see the house on the lake, where you took your mother's old car to pieces and rebuilt it into your own, for example. She didn't believe in the car because she was a hippie (she liked to drive to the nearby town every now and then, because it had the closest place where you could buy drugs). You told her this and she looked at you with a confused smile. She didn't understand what you were doing.

You always hated school. You knew you were learning things, but that didn't mean they had any importance. It's hard to remember all the things you remember, because the things you remember are so clearly connected to the things you don't. You remember your friend giving you whiskey once. You remember how the whiskey tasted, but you don't remember the things that went with it. You remember what it was like to feel high, you remember what it was like to feel so free. You try to get high just to understand how that felt. It's like trying to fly or fall through a window. (This is a metaphor for being scared. You know that it's a metaphor for being scared, but sometimes the metaphors get blurred and you can't tell exactly what is going on. You don't have trouble with your ability to do things like get high -- you just don't understand that this is your brain.)

Your mother has cancer. She told you this while your friends weren't around, and you were still able to process that. She said it was incurable. She said you would have to care for her -- not that you did not have the option of letting her die. She said that she'd been waiting for this moment for a very long time. She wouldn't have been able to wait much longer. She said that there were things that only you could do.

Sometimes, while you're thinking, your mother comes upstairs. She brings you tea or coffee or cocoa. Her voice is kind. She says things like "good job" and "I like your friends." She doesn't talk much. It's not that she's uncommunicative, just that she has nothing to say.

You're not sure what else to say. Your friends aren't around, so you don't ask them what they know. You don't want to talk about your mother's condition in front of them, not when they're all so far away.

Sometimes the voice will speak in full sentences. Some of these are about the world and others are about your past. None of it makes sense. It's not the voice of a human in control. You have no idea why any of this is happening.

In the library, there is a book about [your friends M] who live in a house on the lake. You don't know why the book is there, or what the voice wants you to do. You want to open it and read a little of it, so you get up and take the book to the kitchen. The voice says, "Don't open the book, you'll just get more confused."

You open it anyway. You think there are some kind of secret symbols in the book, and it makes you feel dizzy to think about what they are. You think the book has a secret world in it, and it makes you feel dizzy in a different way. You take the book back to the library, and read the first sentence. It says:

"We will be talking about the nature of the book in a way that may make it clear that our intentions are not sinister or mysterious. We are talking about the book and the secret it contains, not about your life or the meaning of your life. We are not trying to tell you anything about that."

There's a second sentence. You'll try to write it down later, but for now it doesn't seem real. You'll think about it later, and maybe you'll understand it better. Then you'll have to keep quiet, because you can't tell anyone else about what you've seen.

That's when the bad things start to happen.

[mollyrolls]

white cat and tuxedo for the ask game!

White Cat: Are your f/o’s eyes particularly striking to you? In what way? Do they find themselves captivated by yours, in turn?

dont play w me anon. you know who we're talking abt, right? AKAASHI FUCKING KEIJI???? DONT PLAY WITH ME.

yes akaashis eyes are particularly striking to me LOOK AT HIM. im foaming at the mouth thinking abt it. thinking abt how furudate cant decide if theyre blue or green so they change all the time but theyre pretty regardless. thinking abt how he definitely has pretty eyelashes that make me violent. thinking abt him looking down at me bc hes 6 feet tall and i am not and IM ILL!!!!!

i think he'd like my eyes too, theyre my favorite feature about myself. i have green eyes bc im quirky and different and cool and i also have green glasses which make them pop more so i think he would be equally obsessed with my eyes as i am with his.

jesus christ im sorry i went into a fugue state

Tuxedo: Do you both prefer fancy dates where you dress up, or casual dates?

i think it can go 30/70? we're definitely not opposed to dressing up and going out but it's not the one we'd gravitate to first. its kinda hard to describe but we probably "go on dates" all the time, we just dont think abt it like that? like if we're up studying together and then need to get dinner its just something that we'd automatically go to do and not call it a date. getting ready for a nice thing? that's a date. does that make sense?

[fiction-is-the-new-reality]

Pt 1: Searching for Spector

word count: 3k

warnings: violence, language, afab!reader

summary: You’re asked by Fury to track down Moon Knight and keep an eye on him.

second part here

a/n: this is basically just setting things up for the next part. I didn’t want to put too much in this first part because it felt like it was too long winded. Pls reblog and interact and give feedback!! Thank you!

Even though Fury “retired” and made it seem like he wasn’t involved in the matters of heroes anymore, he still stayed up to date with new candidates and threats. Which is why when a new vigilante appeared in an all-white suit and used magical moon-shaped weapons, he believed it warranted close attention.

This is where you come in. As one of his recruits (and closest friend according to you) he trusted your skill set to keep an eye on this “Moon Knight” and stop him if needed.

Walking into Fury’s man cave is like walking into a mini Avengers compound, full of weapons and security footage of different locations. The man himself sat in a chair at the head of a table.

“Jesus Fury, paranoid much?” The joke was met with an unamused face.

“Can’t be too safe these days. Without Shield or the Avengers, there are a lot of people who think it’s a free-for-all. I like to remind them that there are still heroes out there.” His words make you wonder who else he’s worked with recently.

“I have a mission for you. There’s a new man on the scene. Dressed in a white hooded get-up, and goes by the name Moon Knight. Seems to be supernaturally powered.” He presses a button on a remote, filling the screens with sightings of Moon Knight. You watch his fighting style and try to learn his rhythm. But it was difficult. In some videos, the fighting style differs completely from the others. It looks like two different people.

He turns to you. “I want you to track him. Figure out why he’s doing what he’s doing.” He stares at you, waiting for a response.

“Are we sure it’s just one guy? His technique switches in some of the videos.” You say out loud, but it’s more rhetorical than anything.

“Meet Marc Spector. Born in Chicago, the son of a rabbi. Enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps and served for three years. While in a fugue state, he went AWOL, got discharged because of it. The last he was seen was with Raoul Bushman. While Spector is a little harder to get on camera, we know Bushman’s last known whereabouts are in Egypt. He’s not the type of guy you have as a friend. If our guy runs with him, it could mean trouble.”

The image that pops up throws you off. You lean on the table, getting closer to the screen. He’s beautiful. He looks like nothing you were imagining. His brown eyes have sadness and something mysterious about them. His dark brown curly hair was somewhat frizzy and his jawline was so sharp it could cut diamonds.

“Bushman isn’t my concern here. Get to Marc and figure him out.”

“I got a guy who owes me a favor in Egypt. I’ll see if he’s heard about Bushman. When do I leave?”

“Now,” He slides an envelope across the table. Inside is a passport, some currency, and a picture of Bushman. “You’re going in deep. The reason for this stays between us.”

“Of course, Fury, this ain’t my first rodeo.” You boast with a slight smile. He rolls his eyes and while his tone is dry, you don’t miss the slight smile on his face as he tells you to leave.

Before you take the intel and step out, you turn back to Fury.

“Why are you trusting me to do this?”

He looks at you for a second before answering. “Sage you’ve always been skilled at what you do. You’ve always gotten the job done. I don’t think there’s been one person you haven't been able to take down. When I got back from being dusted, I learned about what you occupied your time with during the Blimp. I saw the footage.” He pauses for a moment. You hold your breath as you wait for him to finish.

“It was you, but you were different. You’ve changed. Gotten a sharper edge to you now. That’s what I need nowadays. I’ve seen the way this guy handles business, and I need someone I know that can stop him.”

You let out the air in your lungs as you grab the envelope off the table. You give Fury a small smile before turning to leave.

Reaching out to your connection pays off. He gives you the name of a club that Bushman frequents and that he had been seen at a few weeks ago. You waste no time after landing. It’s late and this is prime time for a crime-lord to be out. Taking a taxi, you find yourself in front of a seedy club.

The heat of the building is enough to make you feel like you’re suffocating. The music’s so loud that it’s thumping in your ears. You take note of the shady characters lurking around the club. Trying not to draw attention, you quickly get to the bar and order a drink. You watch the crowd as you wait for Bushman. You’ve moved on to a second drink and have opted to watch from a small table towards the front of the bar.

When the back door of the club swings open you have no doubt that it’s Raoul Bushman. He’s massive, and the look in his eyes tells you that he has no problem dirtying his hands. People like him always have that look in their eyes, like they could snap at any moment. You sink further into your seat to be certain he wont see you. You’ve already formed a plan. You'll follow him out of the bar. Maybe he'll lead you to Moon Knight. Or at least find you a better lead. Someone who knows where Marc Spector has gone.

The night drags on as you watch him drink and get friendly with a few women.And while the place is full of criminals, the atmosphere isn’t hostile. You decide to leave and wait outside. The longer you stay in there, the more likely he is to notice your face. As you debating going outside, you hear him mention to his men to be ready to leave soon. You take that as a sign to leave.

Outside, the streets prove to be much quieter. You breathe in deep, trying to get as much air as possible after being in the stuffy club. Once you feel you can breathe properly again, you take in the full moon and how it washes everything in an almost unnoticeable sheen of silver. Walking across the street you blend in with a crowd at a food truck as you wait for them to exit.

A few moments later, the door swings open as Raoul and some of his men leave the club. You keep your back towards them, and use your enhanced hearing to know what they're doing. As they all walk towards the parked cars, you make your way back across the street.

Back in the same lot with them, you swiftly move around cars and avoid the drunken fools wandering outside. Quickly pressing yourself against a truck that wasn’t too close to them, you hold your breath to hear them. Bushman stands at the head of the circle, his men flanking his side.

He begins to speak to the men, discussing their upcoming mission and the approach to obtain their reward. He doesn’t mention Moon Knight or Marc Spector; he doesn’t even hint at them having any added help from someone who is superly inclined. The meeting quickly ends and everyone starts making their way to their cars.

Silently crawling away and doing some peekaboo from behind cars, you spot Bushman’s car. Crouching down, you pull the small tracker gun out of your pocket. Loading the tag and setting the tool up on the ground gives you the perfect shot at the tire. As you focus the scope and breathe out, you hear a small tink as the tracker leaves the barrel.

It emits a small yellowish glow, like the glow of a firefly, before it attaches to the tire. You slink into the shadows of the night as he climbs into the car and wastes no time driving off. Gravel and sand fly into the air as the tires spin. Now all you have to do is wait for him to stop moving and see if he’s led you straight to Moon Knight.

After Bushman has sat in one spot for long enough, you hail a taxi and give an address up the street from his location. The location on the device leads you to a small lodging place on the outskirts of the city. It’s close to the vast desert that you can see the silhouettes of the pyramids looming behind the little shack.

Wanting to get a feel for the little area, you begin to sneak around. Making sure that the only patrolmen are the ones who are all drinking and smoking a funny-smelling cigarette. You stay close to the ground as you get closer to the men.

Coming up behind them, you quickly disarm the two with guns. In one swift motion, you snatch the gun from one and deliver a forceful strike to the owner’s head with the stock. He stumbles backward and you send him tumbling backwards with a kick to the chest. The other one with the gun tries to point it at you but his moving too slowly and it’s comical how easily you disarm him. Taking hold of the barrel of the gun, you shove it at him, hitting him square in the chest. You pull the weapon towards you, which brings the man who is still holding on to it. As he enters your personal space, you slam your head into him. He quickly drops the gun to hold his broken nose. But before he can, you backhand him, knocking him out.

You’re moving too quickly for the other two to call for help. Grabbing one by the collar of his shirt, you drive him down on the ground, before picking him back up and throwing him a few feet into the desert. You watch him to see if he’ll get back up, but he doesn’t. He just lays there, sprawled out like a starfish. The last remaining guy tries to put up a fight, but you drop into a squatting position and sweep your leg under his. Once he lands on his back, you straddle him. You position your hands firmly over his mouth and nose, cutting off his oxygen. A few moments pass and finally, he falls unconscious.

Making it to the back of the small building, you jump up to grab ahold of the edge. Latching your hands on you pull yourself up on the roof as quietly as possible. You hear three heartbeats inside the shack, you wonder if any belong to Moon Knight. You’re about to crash through the roof until you decide to just wait for Bushman to be alone.

You lie down on your back and watch the stars. You can’t stop your mind from wandering back to before the Blimp. Everything was going great, you had gotten out of the superhero life and had finally started seeing a therapist. Albit state mandated, but nonetheless you were still going. But then everything with Thanos happened.

You shiver as you remember when he had made his appearance in Wakanda. The feeling of absolute terror he had caused as you watched your friends turn to dust right before your eyes. Bucky had went to reach out for you right as he fell, barely touching your hand before he was just gone. Thinking about it for too long made your left hand itch. And then those years after still show up in your dreams. The emptiness of it all, most of your friends being gone and the how it was quiet all the time. It continues to haunt you.

You’re shaken out of your memories when you hear the door to the shack close.

Creeping over to the edge, you see his bald head. He strikes a match and lights his cigarette. Moving quickly, you scale down the building and appear beside him on the porch. He has his back to you and you know from his body language, he’s unaware of your presence. You lunge forward, kicking the back of his knee and gripping his arm. He stumbles forward and you pin him against the wall. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and angry.

“Alert your men and you’re all dead. I just have some questions and then I’m gone.” He considers your words for a moment and you can feel him twitching, trying his hardest to get away. He tries for a few more moments before realizing he can't overpower you. Years of doing this have led you to be great at reading people. So it doesnt surprise you when he tries to yell. Twisting him around, you grab his head and yank it down in contact with your knee, with a loud smack. He goes cross-eyed and slacked jaw for a moment. You give him a second to collect his thoughts.

“Let’s try it again. I want information on someone and I know you have it. Give me the information and I forget that I saw you.”

“What type of information are we talking about?” His words are slightly slurred. You most likely fractured a few teeth.

“I need the whereabouts of someone that you ran with.”

He grits his jaw. “I help a lot of people. You think I remember all of them?”

You pull out a small piece of paper that has Marc’s military photo on it. You hold it in front of Bushman’s face.

“What about this guy? You remember him?”

He glares at the picture for too long before looking back at you through his brows. Anger is all over his face. “Never seen that prick in my life.”

“Hmm, that was so very believable.” Your voice is laced with sarcasm. “I know for a fact that you know this guy. I have evidence of you two getting into some shit together-” You pull out a knife and tap it on the side of his head, “so, you want to try again?”

A staring content has started to take place as you wait for him to decide what he wants to do.

“What’s in it for me? I’m not giving free information, I dont do charity.”

You roll your eyes. Everyone is always so greedy.

“I’ll give you six months of immunity.”

He eyes you skeptically, “You don’t have that power.”

“You’re right, but I know people who do. Tell me what you know and you’ll be protected.”

You bring the picture back into his vision.

“His name is Marc Spector. We had a job together a while ago. Marc got greedy and wanted all the treasure for himself.” You hear his heart skip a beat and you smell the lie on his skin.

“You’re lying. Tell the truth.” You chide. He gives you a look that is supposed to be intimidating but has no effect. You raise an eyebrow and touch the blade of the knife to his neck.

“I got greedy and wanted all the treasure for myself. I was killing everyone around me, and I was doing wonderfully till Marc decided that killing was too horrible. He tried to stop me. So I killed him, can’t have any witnesses. I left him for dead in the middle of the desert.”

There was no lie.

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“What part of leaving him dead do you not understand? He’s dead. I shot him twice. If that didn’t kill him then bleeding out and starving did.”

He truly has no idea that not only is Marc very much alive, but he’s Moon Knight.

You let out a grunt of acknowledgment.

Letting go of Bushman’s arm, it snaps towards his gun. But before he even realizes it, you’re already swinging your fist down towards his head. The contact stuns him before you wrap both arms around his head in a chokehold. Holding on as tight as you can as he begins to claw at your arms. He starts thrashing his body around, trying his hardest to get you off of him. It was all a wasted effort. You continue to squeeze his neck. His body starts relaxing and once you hear his heartbeat calm down and feel him fall limp, you release him.

Wanting to give yourself time to think, you begin walking. Once you dodge the last few men at the front of the property, you start your long walk down the rural road.

The sun begins to graces the world with its light as you get closer to town. You’re hit with memories, but this time you don’t fight them. You allow yourself to remember all those overnight missions you had with the Avengers. The times that you would switch watch with Nat. The late nights you'd stay up training instead of sleeping, and how Steve always seemed to know and would join you. Which would lead you to grab breakfast at a fast-food joint. The early morning coffee you’d share in silence with Tony as the sun lit up the Avengers compound. The smile on your face is sad. You’re lucky enough to have these memories with those you lost, but also damned to have to live with them just as memories now.

Your vision blurs as your eyes sting with newly formed tears. But you can’t let yourself cry, so you swallow the lump in your throat and shake the memories from your head. A ping is heard from your phone. Unlocking it, you see a notification.

From one of the surveillance cameras that you had programmed to scan faces and match them with Marc’s. Stating: Face Detected.

Your heart thumps faster as you see the face. It’s Marc Spector in broad daylight. In the middle of London.

Taglist: @suddenlysteven @skyesayshi @akirashindou @nefix99 @the-last-spoken-word @flowercrownonapegion @norasgalaxyart

[thathusenfulhu]

the fall of the house of sushi

i remember when in the late 00s, a restaurant near STELCO called cafe mignon popped onto the scene serving sushi in male, likely for the first time. they only made sushi on order and you'd have to wait about 45 minutes for the rolls. they were big fat maki, with centres of either vegetable, teriyaki chicken, beef, or canned tuna. OK, not the best, yes, but finally, there was sushi in male. and like those of us with some experience of the culinary realms abroad, especially in east and south east asia, i welcomed this development wholeheartedly. things could only get better, right?

but the place closed down and male was sushi-less again. a giant step back during a time of progress – the first multi-party elections, the first democratically elected president, free health care, etc. things were silent on the sushi front until a young man and his russian partner (i think) opened a restaurant on rah dhebai magu. the sushi there was more than edible and i was starting to become hopeful again. but this place too had to shut its doors because, the guy told me, there just wasn't enough demand. people were still too conservative when it came to food.

so i waited. i was waiting on the naruto generation to mature and start earning, hoping that would end it once and for all.

the wait lasted a few years. and then sampaafulhu showed me something on instagram. it was maybe 2014 and a little place in hulhumale was doing sushi. we went almost immediately. it was in a guesthouse, on the ground floor. and the sushi was good. but i had been let down too many times so i didn't let myself get carried away. and just as well because that place went down.

but then in 2018, when greater male was getting funky with its cuisines (gg's kitchen, blood orange, the goat fish cafe) a japanese place opened up again. oishii by young chef fatheen and his then-girlfriend, the culinary artist shifu, started stirring things up almost from the get go. in an interview with lonumedhu (written by yours truly), fatheen – who was brutally trained under a japanese chef licensed to prepare fugu – said their restaurant was getting mostly maldivian customers.

yes. the tides had finally turned. and the food was GOOD.

a few years later, something happened. things started going downhill in the period right before their move to male. it was a slow descent and easy to chalk up to a string of off days. but by the time they moved to the portside in maafannu, it was starting to show. even then, there were plenty of customers. but i heard fatheen and shifu had gone their separate ways.

then a week back, i saw oishii in henveiru, near the post office. i was surprised by this move, but it seemed logical. there's a lot more going on here than over in dingy north maafannu. i wondered about the quality of food. there was only one way to find out.

so, i went with moosaalhu and took our seats upstairs. it was pleasant, with a good view of the docks from the floor-to-ceiling windows. however, when it was time to order, i found out that half the things i wanted weren't available. including miso soup! that should have been a red flag. but i asked for salmon maki and a stir-fried beef don and moosaalhu a katsu kare.

the food didn't take long to arrive. moosaalhu emptied a forkful into his mouth, chewed and grimaced. 'the chicken is dry af and bland as cardboard,' he said.

the maki was encrusted with sesame seeds and the rice was tasteless so i tried the beef. dear god. it was like biting into little bullets.

it was too much. i asked for a discount. they gave me 20% plus an apology. but it's like they aren't even trying to keep up a pretense anymore. it's clear. oishii is no longer in the game. it's just sushi zu now, and a sad state of affairs for those who love japanese cuisine in the city.

[liquid-luck-00]

Safety Net 4

Part 4

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 17: Court of Owls

Ao3 *** Part 1 *** Part 2 *** Part 3 *** Here *** Part 5

~~~~~~~~~~

So, getting my memories back, meeting my long-lost twin and then being thrust to meet said long lost twin's new family is a bit much. So of course, when this was happening, she didn't know how to react all while her brain played catch up.

Grayson, no Marinette, kept getting bombarded with information from Dickie. Each time she thought she understood something he had already moved on. The entire way Dickie talked while Damian didn't let her move an inch without him noticing. She had taken to fidgeting with a hair ribbon. The moment they entered Gotham's city limits her hands stilled and she shut her eyes.

The last time she was in Gotham she left that place. She left as a shell, she left, where did I leave from? Before that, her memory of Gotham was while she and her family were in the circus, then when she and Dickie were at the orphanage. Why were they at the orphanage.

"We're here!" Dickie called out.

She took a breath and stepped out. Dick immediately at her side and Damian to the others.

"So, this is." Dickie started bout was interrupted.

"Stephanie. Oh, you are so cute, like a female Dick." A blonde butt in.

"Duke." A boy with dark skin and hazel brown eyes spoke up next.

"I'm Tim and this is Cass." A younger boy with black hair and blue eyes spoke and I gestured to a girl with short black hair and dark multicolored eyes.

"Name’s Jason." A taller guy with black hair and a white tuft introduced.

"Tt." Was Damian’s only response.

"Bruce Wayne." The final person introduced.

Wayne, Wayne. Kill the Wayne’s!

"You were there that night." she spoke softly. Everyone looked at her.

"Nettie are you okay?" Dick moved to comfort her.

Her eyes snapped to Bruce. End the Waynes "You were there. You were in that place." she spoke, but every word came out more panicked. She continued to back up.

"Marinette." Dick continued to approach, everyone else continued to watch.

"Don't bother Grayson, she's a monster." Damian spoke. The others looked over to the youngest for his choice of words, but Marinette, no she was Grayson now, didn’t register that.

You are truly a monster Grayson, very good.

"I... I..." She turned. She ran. She ran without looking back, her feet and arms moved on their own. Throwing her easily over buildings and ledges. She didn't have an idea at where she was going, but she didn't stop. She was faintly aware of the footsteps following her, but she didn't slow down.

That was when she saw the opening in the underground pathways, she went in. She went in and immediately one thought was swimming in her mind. I'm in the labyrinth. And you can never drop your guard in the labyrinth, or else you die. If I die, then they’ll go to Dick. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

She continued to run when a figure jumped out at her. She kicked and punched until she got away. Unfortunately, another figure jumped into her path and she fought to escape again and again. Her mind wasn't registering who or what was attacking just that she had to fight, she had to win, she had to survive this to keep Dickie out of this hell hole. She made it to the center and that was when she dropped her guard, and someone was able to grab her and hold her back. Nightwing came into the central clearing.

Nightwing came into the central clearing. Dickie is Nightwing. Nightwing is in the labyrinth. Dickie is in the labyrinth.

"No!!" She screamed and fought against the arms holding her back. "He shouldn't be here! You promised! He shouldn't be here!"

"We need to calm her!" Was shouted behind her.

Sedate her, she is being emotional.

Emotions that's right. She took a breath and forced her body to still. If not for the slow rise and fall of her chest could you tell she was alive.

"She calmed down why?" A voice spoke but she didn't register it.

"She's trapped in her mind. She is in a fugue state." A faraway voice sounded.

"What does that mean exactly?" Another voice.

"Think of her In Jason Bourne situation." The first voice stated.

"What so we are just going to dismiss what just happened?" A third voice.

You are dismissed.

She started to walk a familiar path, footfalls and voices followed her.

"What's causing it?"

"Tt. She has 10 years of repressed memories forming a gap."

"So, you think this is where she was?"

"It's possible she seems familiar with this place."

"Okay so what are we doing to trigger this?"

"Her panic at the manor set her off and here she has just fought until... It's what we say. She is reacting to our words." Another voice.

They arrived at her quarters. She pushed the door open and everything was just as she left it. As the door closed behind her everything that happened slammed into her like a freight train. "Anyone know how to actively repress or erase memories." she chuckled after a few minutes, no one had moved everyone stood on guard.

No one answered her, but two arms wrapped around her. "If we did, we wouldn't be here dressed like this." Dick, she finally placed the voice, spoke next to her ear.

A humorless chuckle escaped her. "That's true."

"So, what is this place anyways?" Red Robin spoke up.

"The proving grounds and labyrinth of the court." she responded dryly.

"When you say court are you referring to the Court of Owls?" Batman asked,

"Yes."

"But they haven't been active for a few years now."

"That's because they are all dead and everything they ever learned, used, or researched was destroyed."

"How do you know that?" Dick voiced.

"Because I was the one to do it." She sighed. "I guess I should explain."

"Maybe, we should do this in a more secure place." Batman offered, the bats and birds nodded, and they made their way back to the manor. There she explained and a weight lifted off her she didn't know was there. The court couldn't control me anymore and never will again.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @adrestar @miraculouspenta @vixen-uchiha @animegirlweeb @jumpingjoy82 @thedragonbug

Taglist: @alysrose-starchild @buginetye @mizzy-pop @wolf-for-life @user00000003 @frieddonutsweets @jayjayspixiepop

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 2, Episode 2: Shape Shifted

check out the series masterlist!

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader

Warnings: mentions of abuse 

Notes: our fav curly haired boy finally makes an appearance!! even tho he’s on the struggle bus rn I’m so excited to finally have him in the series 

                                                  ————————

I winced as my back slammed against the concrete floor of the jail cell, a twinge of pain rolling up my spine. A snarling face appeared above me only a moment later. He caged me in with a clawed hand on either side of my head, growling only inches away. 

“Isaac!” I barked, trying to snap him out of it.

There was just enough space between us for me to brace my hands against his chest. I shoved him away with all the strength I could muster and, surprisingly, he stumbled up onto all fours a few feet away.

Isaac growled again from his crouched position, pupils blown wide, making his eyes look completely black. He snarled, revealing his sharpened teeth, and glowered at me dangerously. In the blink of an eye, he hauled me up to my feet and pinned me against one of the brick walls. 

He leaned close, roaring loudly, and my eyes pinched shut as a fear-induced tremor wracked my body. I pressed my back firmly into the wall behind me, my heart sputtering in my chest. I peeled my eyes open when the room went silent and stared ahead with wide eyes, my breath reduced to trembling gasps. 

I should probably take a moment to explain how I got myself in this ridiculous situation.

Stupidity, mostly. My intentions had been mothing but good and still, everything somehow managed to fall apart. But that seems to be a trend in my life, doesn’t it?

Earlier that day...

“You really don’t remember anything?” Allison pressed, despite being told the same answer several times on our way to school.

“They called it a fugue state.” Lydia quipped, swaying her hips as she held her jacket tightly beneath her crossed arms. “Which is basically a fancy way of saying ‘we have no idea why you can’t remember running through the woods naked for a week’.”

She rolled her eyes with a huff, as if the whole thing was nothing but a minor inconvenience. I watched her closely as she bounced up the stairs in her heels. She’d been acting way too...normal since we found her. She kept insisting that she’s fine and doesn’t remember a single thing but somehow, that seems so much worse.

“But, personally, I don’t care. I lost nine pounds.” She shrugged with a satisfied smile, and Allison chuckled.

I couldn’t help but frown. There was no way she didn’t have any lasting effects from being lost in the woods for a week, or that Peter’s bite had done absolutely nothing to her. There was just no way.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I peered at her with concern, and she just rolled her eyes.

“Please, it’s not like my aunt’s a serial killer.” She turned on her heel, flicking her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder, before either of us could respond.

Allison’s lips parted as she stared at her retreating figure, her brows lifting in surprise. I rubbed a hand over my lips to hide the smirk that was threatening to break through. While completely and utterly inappropriate, I couldn’t deny that the comment was pretty funny.

“Yeah, she’s fine.” I followed after her quickly through the front doors of the school.

My steps faltered as I saw that every single person in the hallway had stopped to stare at Lydia. She stood froze in place, her eyes wide as they flickered around the space. Quiet footsteps sounded behind us, the only noise in the otherwise silent hall.

“Maybe it’s the nine pounds.” Allison joined us at Lydia’s other side and leaned down to whisper the jab into her ear.

She squared her shoulders and flattened her features into a practiced boyeed expression before flicking a stray piece of hair away from her face and strutting away. I narrowed my eyes at her back, the persistent feeling that something was going on with her beneath the surface nagging at me. Allison and I shared a quick glance before following her toward our first class of the day.

————————

I let out an annoyed sigh, for once trying to actually focus on the assignment in front of me. We were doing partner work today and since there were an uneven number of students, Mr. Harris put me, Stiles, and Scott together. We were all surprised by that choice, but I honestly think he wanted us to get distracted so he’d have an excuse to give us detention again.

“Why would Derek choose Isaac?” Scott whispered harshly, continuing the conversation the boys had been having around me for the last several minutes.

“Peter told me that if the bite doesn’t turn you, it could kill you.” Stiles’ eyes briefly flickered toward me, and I avoided his questioning gaze. I was already painfully aware that we were no closer to figuring out what’s wrong with me. I didn’t need any reminders. “Maybe teenagers have a better chance of surviving.”

“Does being a teenager mean your dad can’t hold him?” Scott’s voice became urgent as he leaned forward in his chair.

They’d both been freaking out all day. Apparently, one of their teammates was pulled during their morning practice by the police for questioning. His father was killed mysteriously a few nights ago, and he was the prime suspect. Now, that wouldn’t usually be anything more than news-worthy gossip, but it conveniently happened moments after Scott realized he’s a werewolf.

He had to have been turned recently, because Scott only sensed that there was another werewolf on the team this morning. I’d never really noticed the guy before, but he was definitely on my radar now.

Unfortunately, it was most likely Derek who turned him, unless there’s another alpha running around Beacon Hills that we don’t know about. Honestly, I’m not sure which scenario would be worse.

It also just so happens to be a full moon tonight, because heaven forbid a day go by in this town without a supernatural disaster. Scott and Stiles were stressing the fuck out about what a freshly turned werewolf will be capable of, especially while stuck in a jail cell. 

“Well, not unless they have solid evidence. Or a witness—wait...” Stiles’ eyes widened as a thought struck him and he abruptly turned around to face the table behind us. “Danny. Where’s Jackson?”

Scott and I peered back toward him as he glanced up from his paper, the pencil in his hand coming to a stop as his eyes flickered over the three of us slowly. They were swirling with a strange emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. It was almost as if he’d been listening in on our conversation.

“The principal’s office talking to your dad.” He answered slowly, seemingly surprised that we weren’t up to date on the latest developments.

“What? Why?” Stiles whispered harshly, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Maybe because he lives across the street from Isaac?” Danny shrugged, as if it were obvious.

My shoulders stiffened at his words. We all turned back toward the front of the room quickly when it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate, not wanting to be caught talking. I glanced between Scott and Stiles, waiting for the inevitable. I could practically see the gears turning behind their eyes. They were coming up with something that I undoubtedly wanted no part of but would get roped into anyway. 

“Witness.” Scott sighed, looking defeated.

Stiles’ brows pinched as a look of determination flickered over his face. “We have to get to the principal’s office.”

“How?” Scott leaned toward him expectantly.

Stiles’ wide eyes flickered around our table before landing on the assignment we were supposed to be doing. He practically lunged toward me so he could slide the paper out from under my hand.

He glanced to the head of the room where Mr. Harris was standing, his back to us as he wrote equations on the chalkboard, before crumpling it into a ball. I let out a huff, instantly realizing that he was about to do something incredibly stupid, and snatched it back.

“Wait a minute.” I glanced between the boys with narrowed eyes. “We literally just closed the door on the whole almost being murdered by two psychopaths thing. Can’t we sit this one out?”

“Not when we can help him.” Scott whispered earnestly, his eyes rounding as he silently pleaded with me to understand.

I groaned at his damn overactive conscience and sunk down into my seat, already giving in. I didn’t want to get involved in another problem already, but it was clearly important to him. Stiles held out his hand expectantly and I pursed my lips, hesitating.

He winked and blew me a kiss, the edge of his lips twitching into a smirk. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. He was having way too much fun with this already. Finally, I dropped the paper ball into his upturned hand.

He wasted no time in chucking it toward the front of the room. It smacked right into Mr. Harris’s head and bounced to the floor. The room erupted into restrained giggles as he quickly whipped around to face the class.

“Who in the hell did that?” He snapped, his brows furrowing in anger.

Scott and Stiles both lifted a finger to point at each other, and I sank further down, making myself small. I had yet to get into any trouble at school, and I wanted to keep it that way, despite whatever potential supernatural crisis we were dealing with. 

“To the office. Now.” The boys instantly popped to their feet at Mr. Harris’s curt demand, failing miserably at hiding their satisfaction that the plan went so smoothly. “You too, Ms. Y/L/N.”

I jolted upright in my chair and gaped at him, my eyes widening in shock. “But Mr. Harris, I didn’t even do—”

“Unless you’d like to finish that thought in detention, I suggest you get moving.” His eyes narrowed into a hard glare.

My jaw clenched at his patronizing tone, but I scooped up my things and followed the guys out into the hall anyway. I shouldn’t have been this annoyed, but I was already a full two weeks behind after missing so many days of school while recovering from Peter’s bite. For once, I actually wanted to focus on school and bring my grades up.

Less than a minute later, we found ourselves sitting outside the office, one of Scott’s ears pressed tightly against the window. Jackson was visible through the glass, his arms crossed lazily over his chest as he sat comfortably in one of the plush chairs. His eyes flickered slowly over Sheriff Stilinski, seemingly bored by their conversation. 

Scott was reciting their every word as he listened in. It wasn’t like Jackson to care for other people, so exactly no one was surprised to find out that he knew about the apparent abuse Isaac was subjected to at the hands of his father for years without telling a soul.

The office door suddenly sprang open without warning, and I jumped in surprise. Stiles spazzed beside me, arms flailing as he grabbed the closet thing he could find to hide behind. Despite getting in trouble intentionally, he didn’t want his dad to see him. He’d been cracking down lately about his record of almost weekly detentions which were always, unsurprisingly, with Mr. Harris.

He slid down in his seat and lifted the magazine he found to cover his face. A moment later, Sheriff Stilinski walked out of the office with another officer in tow. His eyes trailed over Stiles slowly, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Hi, Scott. Y/N.” He drawled slowly, his attention still firmly planted on Stiles. 

We both waved awkwardly and he just shook his head with a sigh, accepting that his son was a lost cause before brushing past us. We barely had a moment to breathe before a deep, gravely voice fluttered from the open door. 

“Kids.” My eyes widened as they swept up to the older man we’d seen at Kate’s funeral. Allison’s grandpa. Time seemed to slow as we all stared at him, equal parts surprised and confused. Just yesterday, we had a different principal. So what was he doing here? “Come on in.”

Hesitantly, we all stood and followed him into what was apparently now his office. We sat down in the chairs opposite his desk and waited anxiously for him to begin our lecture. He tooka few moments to ruffle some papers around on his desk before opening a small manila folder. 

“Scott McCall.” He said slowly, his dark eyes flickering over the pages inside. “Academically not the most accomplished, but I see you have become quite the star athlete.”

His gaze swept up to meet Scott’s, who’s lips twitched up into a half-grimace half-smile sort of thing. He was stiff as a board beside me, clearly uncomfortable being this close to someone from Allison’s family.

“Mr. Stilinski.” He continued, attention moving to another folder. “Oh, perfect grades...but little to no extracurriculars. Maybe you should try lacrosse.”

Stiles perked up in his chair, eager to talk about his growing role on the team. “Oh, actually, I’m already—”

“Hold on,” Mr. Argent held up a finger, and Stiles visibly deflated before falling back into a slouch. He pointed to Scott, his eyes narrowing slightly. “McCall, you’re the Scott that was dating my granddaughter.”

Scott’s eyes widened, instantly pancking at his words. The two of them were still sneaking around, since her dad’s threat to literally kill him if he caught them together was very much active. “We were dating, but not anymore. We’re not seeing any of each other or...doing anything...with each other.”

I let out an irritated huff at his rambling. For as often as these guys lie, they should be much better at it by now. Mr. Argent chuckled, but it lacked any humor. It was honestly kind of unnerving, like when a super villain laughs just before killing someone in cold blood. 

“Relax, Scott. You look like you’re about to crack a cyanide pill with your teeth.” The three of us just stared at him, unsure of how to respond to that weirdly specific and alarming metaphor. 

“Now listen, guys.” He sent us a tight lipped smile, only slightly breaking the quickly mounting tension. “Yes, I am the principal, but I really don’t want you to think of me as the enemy.”

Stiles scoffed harshly from beside me, squirming back and forth in his seat. “Is that so?”

I jammed my elbow into his side at that ridiculously obvious reference to the supernatural. He twitched dramatically and rubbed at his ribs, furrowing his brows at me as if I were the one messing everything up. There was no telling what he already knew. He might not even know that Scott is a werewolf yet, and we didn’t need to be giving him any clues. 

“However, this being my first day, I do need to support my teachers. So, unfortunately, someone is going to have to take the fall and stay behind for detention.” He continued, eyes immediately sweeping toward Stiles. 

He was momentarily unaware of all the attention on him as he played with a frayed string on his red flannel. As much as it may suck, it just made sense for it to be him. Scott needed to figure out what to do about Isaac, and there was no way I was sitting in detention for a stupid plan that I had no part in.

After a few moments of tense silence his eyes flicked upward. They widened knowingly and he sighed before sagging back in his chair, ready to begrudgingly take one for the team. 

With that decision made, Scott and I were dismissed. He instantly bolted upright and practically ran to the office door. I followed as quickly as possible, squeezing Stiles’ hand reassuringly before I went. Scott frantically tumbled down the small flight of stairs just outside the office before rounding the corner and throwing the side doors open. 

“Scott!” I called, urging him to slow down. He wasn’t even using werewolf speed, he was just freaking the fuck out and going way too fast. “Scott, what are you doing?”

I ran outside after him, feeling a chill run up my spine as a gust of cold wind blew past us. He suddenly staggered to a halt and I swerved to avoid ramming into him. My eyes widened as I finally saw what made him stop so abruptly.

There was a police car pulling away from the curb, and Isaac was sitting in the back. 

“So what’s the plan?” I breathed, feeling my stomach churn with anxiety. 

I didn’t necessarily care what happened to the guy, especially if he did kill his father, but this couldn’t mean anything good for us. Everything just got a hell of a lot more complicated. It was one thing if they were just questioning him, but if they were arresting him our job would be much harder than we anticipated.

Scott let out a huff of annoyance and turned to face me. “Go back inside. I’ll figure this out.”

“Absolutely not.” I crossed my arms, offended at the mere suggestion that I walk away.

There was no way I’d be leaving his side anytime soon. They’d sufficiently dragged me into this problem with them, and now I was here to stay. Plus, I was honestly way too nosy to turn back now. There was only one more period left before school let out anyway, and I wouldn’t be able to focus with all of this going on. 

Just then, a black sports car peeled up to the curb with a high pitched screech. I jumped back in surprise, the sight of the tinted windows making me nervous, but almost immediately relaxed when the passenger window rolled down to reveal Derek. 

“Get in.” He ordered gruffly, not wasting any time with pleasantries. 

“Are you serious? You did that. This is your fault.” Scott raised his voice in frustration and pointed toward the retreating police car. 

“I know that.” Derek barked through clenched teeth, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. Well, I guess it’s confirmed that he was the one who bit Isaac. “Now, get in the car, and help me.”

Scott rolled his eyes and stood firmly in place. “I’m gonna call a lawyer. Because a lawyer might actually have a chance at getting him out before the moon comes up.”

“Not when they do a real search of the house.” Derek shook his head solemnly, although it was hard to tell exactly what he was feeling behind his dark sunglasses. 

“What do you mean?” I spoke up for the first time, utterly confused by his characteristic vagueness. It honestly wouldn’t be the least bit surprising if he’d been in Isaac’s house since the murder, but if there was something damning in there, he just needed to come out with it. 

“Whatever Jackson said to the cops...” He let out a tense breath and pursed his lips. “What’s in the house is worse. A lot worse.”

He leaned over and popped the passenger door open, peering at us expectantly over his black frames. Scott and I shared a long glance, unsure if we wanted to get tangled up with him again already. Despite the fact that he wasn’t an immediate threat to us, he was an alpha now. That made him dangerous. And if he’s going around turning people, there’s no telling what his agenda is. 

With a sigh, Scott stepped forward and got in the car. I chewed on my bottom lip nervously, but followed after a few seconds. It felt like we were opening the door to something much worse than a newly turned teenager gone rouge. I couldn’t place it, but that nagging feeling was back. There had to be something I was missing. 

                                                      ————————

“If Isaac didn’t kill his dad, who did?” Scott asked anxiously, waving a flashlight around the dimly lit space. 

Derek was adamant that we wait until the “right moment” to enter Isaac’s house. After a couple hours of sitting around and ducking down to avoid any living thing that crossed his car, I was convinced that he was stalling. The moon would be up soon. We were running out of time. 

The goal was to break Isaac out of the station before he has a chance to shift. There’s no telling how many people he could kill while stuck in there and although they wouldn’t be innocent deaths, the last thing Beacon Hills needed was more bodies. 

“I don’t know yet.” Derek huffed, seemingly annoyed. 

“Then how do you know he’s telling the truth?” I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, feeling the chilly evening air sinking into my skin. This house had absolutely no insulation and I was freezing already. 

“Because I trust my senses. And it’s a combination of them. Not just your sense of smell.” He peered around me to glare pointedly at Scott.

I cringed at his disapproving tone as we continued through the house. I swear, sometimes he acts more like a disgruntled father or older brother than a random werewolf we con into helping us sometimes. It was equal parts endearing and off-putting. 

“You...saw the thing at lacrosse this morning.” Scott grimaced, his shoulders stiffening as he realized he’d been caught. 

“Yeah.” Derek quipped, letting his eyes scan over the disaster of a house in front of us. 

There was nothing...wrong with it, per se. It just wasn’t well maintained. There was a mountain of dishes in the sink, clutter everywhere, and dust covering almost every surface. It was just kind of gross, overall. I was surprised that anyone would want to live like this, but after learning about what a dickwad Isaac’s dad was, I didn’t think he had much of a choice. 

“Did it look that bad?” 

As we made our way around the house slowly, I was beginning to question whether there was even anything here at all. It wasn’t that I thought Derek would intentionally lead us to a dead end, but I didn’t really trust him, either. 

“Yeah.” He clapped a hand over Scott’s shoulder and pressed his lips into a firm line before coming to a stop in front of a door. “You wanna learn? Let’s start now.”

He popped the door open to reveal a narrow staircase that led down to a basement. Only a few feet of floorspace was visible through the darkness, but I could already tell it was a cluttered mess. 

“What’s down there?” I asked tentatively, squinting my eyes in an effort to see more of the room.

Scott started walking down the stairs slowly, looking from side to side as he went. I chewed on my bottom lip as I watched him disappear into the darkness. Part of me wanted to follow him, but there was also a terrible feeling of dread churning in the pit of my stomach. There was something evil down there, I could just sense it.

“Motive.” Derek nudged my back gently and I sighed before following behind Scott.

“And what am I looking for?” He called over his shoulder, sweeping his flashlight over the space quickly. 

“Follow your senses.”

There were piles of junk everywhere. That was the only word one could use to describe the stuff lining the walls. There were tools, random knickknacks, and a bunch of things that honestly looked like forgotten trash. There were big heaps every few feet, making it hard to walk through the room.

“What happened down here?” I breathed, my chest tightening with each step I took. I hugged my sides tighter, needing something to ground myself. It felt like my skin was buzzing, as if I could actually feel the raw emotions that had been left in this place. The air had this thickness that I couldn’t place.

“The kind of thing that leaves an impression.” Derek murmured ominously, and I turned to send him a glare. 

He was being the opposite of helpful, as usual. If he knew what happened, he just needed to tell us so we could get the hell out of here. There wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to be here any longer than necessary. 

Scott moved a shower curtain that was somehow hanging from the ceiling as he continued on his path around the basement. He fidgeted with a few things as he passed them by, walking around a disgusting, stained couch before kneeling down in front of a shattered TV that looked like it was from the eighties. He ran his fingers along the concrete floor beside it, his brows furrowing in concentration. 

His head suddenly jerked upward, his gaze settling on a large freezer against the wall a few feet away. He slowly rose to his full height and stepped toward it. He stopped directly in front of it, his breathing labored. I rushed to his side at the sight of his heightened anxiety, more curious about the odd reaction than anything. 

My lips pulled into a frown as he toyed with a lock that hung from a latch on the freezer. That definitely wasn’t normal. Scott’s eyes flickered to me briefly, but it was long enough for me to see the concern bubbling beneath the surface. We both jumped at Derek’s sudden presence beside us a moment later. 

“Open it.” He encouraged, his eyes firmly planted on the freezer. 

Scott lifted the lid at a painstakingly slow pace, the rusted hinges squealing in protest. He shined the flashlight inside, and my breath instantly caught at the sight of the interior. There were claw marks along almost every inch of the inside. Bloody claw marks. 

The worst part was that they clearly weren’t from a werewolf. The scratches were dull, barely perforating the smooth metal. They were human. My heart dropped into my stomach at the thought of Isaac—or anyone, for that matter—being locked in something like this. 

“This is why he said yes to you.” Scott’s voice was barely above a whisper as he peered down into the freezer. His eyes were dark, swirling with a stormy slew of emotions. 

“Everybody wants power.” Derek quipped, crossing his arms with a shrug as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

I scoffed in disbelief as Scott slammed the lid back down. He couldn’t honestly think that turning a tortured teenage boy was a good idea. He could’ve killed him, for starters, but instead may have given a vengeful human all the power he could ever ask for. Either way, he was screwed. And now, so were we. 

“If we help you, then you have to stop. You can’t just go around turning people into werewolves.” Scott’s voice was hard as his eyes narrowed angrily. 

“I can if they’re willing.” Derek lifted his eyebrows casually, completely oblivious to the seriousness of this situation. 

There was no way of telling what anyone would do once transformed into a powerful beast. It was downright irresponsible for him to run around making his own werewolves, but as we learned, alphas are stronger with a pack. And if there was one thing I knew about the Hale’s, it’s that they’re power hungry.

“Did you tell Isaac about the Argents? About being hunted?” Scott’s voice rose incredulously, and Derek just shrugged again. 

“Yes, and he still asked.”

“Then he’s an idiot.” I snapped, over this whole situation. It seemed that our problems always started with Derek. He was a walking magnet for supernatural horrors and I was more than ready to be done with him. It’d barely been a couple weeks since our issues with Peter.

I jumped as my phone suddenly started ringing in my back pocket. I hastily pulled it out, my eyes widening as I saw that I had several missed texts from Allison and Stiles. 

“Hell—”

“We need to do something right now.” Allison’s urgent voice fluttered into my ear as she interrupted me before I could even get a word out. I put the call on speaker and held my phone out so the guys could hear. “My dad and grandpa were asking me all these questions about how Lydia was bitten by Peter and then they sent this guy out.”

“Wait. What guy?” Scott asked frantically, his eyes widening with anxiety.

“He was dressed as a sheriff’s deputy.” 

I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. Did that mean the Argents had a man on the inside? Or did they somehow fake a uniform? I glanced up toward the Scott and Derek, who didn’t look any more pleased than I felt.

“They’re sending him to the station for Isaac.” Scott confirmed the fear nagging at the back of my mind. 

“He was also carrying this box with him with something on it. Like a carving or something.” She rushed the words out quietly, probably hiding from her family somewhere in her house. 

“What was it?” I pressed when she didn’t continue.

“Hold on, hold on. It’s in one of these books. I’m gonna send you a picture.”

My phone vibrated in my hand a moment later and I instantly clicked on the notification. It confirmed what all of us were surely thinking. “Wolfsbane.”

She paused for a moment, most likely wondering what the hell I was talking about. There was still a lot she didn’t know about the supernatural. “Okay, what does that mean?” 

“Just come meet me at Isaac’s house. Hurry.” Scott ordered, taking my phone from my hands before ending the call abruptly. 

I raised my eyebrows in question, and he sighed. “I have a plan.”

It was only when he dropped the phone back into my hand that I noticed his nails had extended into pointed claws. My eyes widened with the realization that the moon was coming up. That meant Scott and Isaac both would be losing control any minute. 

We were officially out of time. 

                                                    ————————

My legs bounced anxiously as I sat on the front steps of the house. They were falling apart, the conceete all cracked and dirty. I let out a slow breath into my hands as I tried keeping them warm. My eyes flickered up toward the sky, my heart sinking further into my stomach with each inch the moon rose.

I let my eyes sweep back to the front door, wondering what was going on inside. The loud squeal of tires against the asphalt had me jerking upright in surprise. I turned back toward the road and let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Stiles’ Jeep lurching to a stop at the end of Isaac’s driveway.

I popped to my feet and jogged toward the car as he threw the passenger door open. His wide eyes flickered over my frame from head to toe quickly, a gesture he’d started after I was released from the hospital. It honestly seemed like a habit at this point, an uncontrollable urge he had to check for some kind of psychotic break every time he saw me. 

“Where’s Scott?” He breathed, still leaning across the bench seat. 

“Doing something really stupid.” I mumbled, moving out of the way as Derek appeared at my side. 

He and Stiles exchanged a tense glance as he wordlessly got into the back of the Jeep. I slid into the passenger seat and let the door fall closed behind me. We were leaving Scott and Allison—who’d arrived a few minutes ago—in the basement to figure out his wolf hormones or whatever. If he was going to be helpful tonight he needed to stay human, and she could assist with that better than anyone. 

Stiles eyed me suspiciously, but eventually jerked the car into drive and sped off. The ride to the sheriff’s station was short, but painfully awkward. Derek and Stiles were taking turns glaring at each other in the rearview mirror and I wanted nothing more than to remove myself from the situation and let them work through whatever the hell was wrong with them. But I was stuck, so I sat in silence until we pulled up at the back entrance of the station. 

“Okay.” Stiles sighed and threw an arm over the back of the seat so he could glance between both of us. “The keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father’s office. The problem is getting past the front desk.”

Derek huffed from the back, as if personally offended by that statement. “I’ll just distract her.” 

He leaned forward to push me out of the way so he could get out, but Stiles lunged across the seat to grip his leather jacket tightly. “Whoa, whoa! Hey. You’re not going in there.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed before flickering between Stiles’ face and the hand balling up the fabric of his jacket. 

“I’m taking my hand off.” His voice rose anxiously as he lifted both arms in surrender. 

“I was exonerated.” Derek snapped, clearly annoyed at being labeled a criminal for the lie that Stiles and Scott had come up with a few weeks ago. In their defense, Peter did have us trapped in the school with a bunch of people who knew nothing about the supernatural. Framing him for the murders Peter had committed was the best option at the time.

“You’re still a person of interest.” I tried to reason with him, but it didn’t look like we were making any breakthroughs as he rolled his eyes in aggravation. 

“An innocent person.”

“You? Yeah, right.” Stiles scoffed with a chuckle, but instantly sobered up at the glare Derek cast his way. 

“Alright, whatever. It’s fine. Let’s just go.” I rushed out, starting to get impatient. 

I just wanted this night to be over already. We had Scott probably shifting at Isaac’s, Isaac definitely losing control inside the jail, and Derek causing way more problems than he’s worth. It was a lot for one day. 

Derek went inside first, shamelessly flirting with the woman at the front desk. Stiles and I waited a few minutes to make sure that she was sufficiently distracted before slinking inside and quietly ducking past the lobby. Stiles ran toward his dad’s office, and I was right on his heels. Once inside, he found the small lockbox mounted onto one of the walls and punched in the code. 

He lifted the front panel off and instantly froze. “Oh, no...” 

He bolted out of the office so fast that I had to stand there for a moment, processing what the hell just happened. After coming to my senses and realizing that someone had taken the keys, I ran after him, easily catching up within seconds. My body slammed into his back harshly only a moment later as we rounded a corner and nearly barreled into a police officer. 

“Whoa.” Stiles breathed, staggering back a step. His eyes widened in alarm, knowing that we weren’t supposed to be here right now. “Uh. We’re just looking—um...”

His awkward attempt at lying trailed off as his eyes flickered down to the man’s leg. I did the same, my breath catching at the sight of an arrow sticking out of his leg. Allison must’ve gotten Scott under control, since before we left she promised to help if she was able. My panic only grew as I noticed the syringe grasped tightly in one of his hands. 

“Oh, shit...” Stiles gripped my arm and started running down the narrow hallway. 

We only made it a few steps before he was violently jerked backward. My eyes widened as I felt his hand leave me and I whipped around to see what happened. A startled gasp tore past my lips as I watched the man wrap an arm around Stiles’ throat and haul him against his chest. 

“Hey! Let him go!”

He started dragging Stiles down the hall, and I instantly ran after them. I had no idea what I could possibly do to help, but I wasn’t stopping for anything. All I knew was that I couldn’t let him get hurt. His arms flailed wildly and he kicked his legs, trying anything to break free. My eyes swept the area for anything that I could use as a weapon. 

“Y/N...go!” Stiles gasped through his struggle. 

With a grunt, the man brought a hand up to cover Stiles’ mouth as he used his free hand to land a few punches at his ribs. His eyes were wide as they silently urged me to run away. But I couldn’t. There was nothing that would make me leave him right now. 

He somehow managed to pull the fire alarm as the man dragged him through the doorway to the cells. I cringed at the loud ringing, but quickly forgot the inconvenience as the man dropped Stiles into a heap on the concrete floor. 

I instantly rushed to his side, placing a gentle hand on his back as he rubbed at his chest and gasped for air. There was barely enough time for relief to begin bubbling in my chest before a low growl echoed through the room. We both stilled at the sound. 

Eerie silence blanketed the room for only a split second before Isaac emerged from a dark corner, teeth barred. He lunged at whoever the Argent’s had sent, wrapping a clawed hand around his throat before slamming him down onto a metal interrogation table. I winced at the harsh sound, but could do nothing but watch as he threw the man across the room. 

His head met the brick wall first, the impact instantly knocking him out cold. Isaac’s head then whipped in our direction, and my breath caught. A bolt of fear surged up my spine as his empty eyes caught mine. They weren’t even glowing, which was somehow much worse. I’d barely noticed the guy when he was a human, but the sight of him as a werewolf right now was terrifying. 

My heart lurched in my chest as he suddenly sprang toward us. Stiles gripped my elbow and tried to pull me with him as he scrambled away, but Isaac got to me first. 

“No!” Stiles yelled frantically, flailing up onto his feet as quickly as possible.

And that brings us back to the present...

I peeled my eyes open when the room went silent again and stared ahead with wide eyes, my breath reduced to trembling gasps. Isaac’s beastly face was only inches from mine, our close proximity only making my heart beat faster. 

Suddenly, a loud crunch echoed through the room. Isaac whipped around, momentarily forgetting about me, and I peered around his shoulder shakily. Derek’s eyes slowly rose from the syringe he’d just stomped to pieces, landing on mine and Isaac’s compromising position with a glare. 

Suddenly, Isaac turned around and lunged toward him with a growl. Derek snarled, revealing his sharpened canines, and growled loudly. My eyes pinched shut as the walls vibrated from the sheer volume of it. I sagged to the concrete floor, my knees giving out as I suddenly felt faint. 

My vision blurred as I slid down the brick wall, but I could still make out the way Isaac dropped down and cowered into a corner. Derek finally stopped roaring and easily shifted back into his human form, his teeth and finger nails retracting. Within a second a pair of strong arms were wrapped around my shoulders. I was hauled into a warm chest, and I let my eyes fall closed with relief. 

“How did you do that?” Stiles breath fanned the top of my head as he ran a hand down my back soothingly. 

I let my eyes flutter open to look at Derek, only to find that he was already studying me curiously. I already knew the answer, and it did nothing to calm my nerves. He was not only an alpha, but the alpha that bit Isaac. They had a connection, just like Peter and I. I couldn’t help but wonder, as my gaze flickered toward Isaac’s crumpled frame...

If Derek had that kind of power over him, what did that mean for me?

Episode 1, Part Two Episode 3

[revasnaslan]

Give us your Thane thots

how i feel about this character: thane my beloved 💜💜 he is not my first choice of romance option, but i still adore him with my entire heart. his design is great, i love the drell as a species So Much, even though it's clear they only exist because he does (but we won't get into that today). his backstory is heartbreaking to me, and i'm not just talking about his family, i'm talking about all of it. and the worst part of it is that he doesn't seem to realize just how mistreated he actually was by this system he was raised in, like he made his first kill as a twelve year old thane what the hell. i'd get really REALLY heated if i started going on about the compact, so we also won't get into that today but sufficed to say thane sweetie you need therapy. i do think it was uh... shitty?? of bioware to cut his mlm romance in development.

all the characters i ship romantically with this character: love him and irikah to bits, especially how they met. or well, "met" cause she didn't know who he was at the time. but if there wasn't so much ship hate and die for our ship in this fandom i think they'd be way more popular, considering they're canon. as for other ships... i really like the idea of him and garrus too! idk why but it compells me. him and shep (any gender) is good too!

my absolute favorite for him that isn't him and irikah is him and kaidan though. i'm honestly shocked that this one doesn't pop up more considering they're stuck in the hospital together in 3 for several weeks, and thane outright states they were together when the coup started, implying they hung out during that time. there's also thane promising shep to watch out for him. it has all the makings of a slowburn, one that you can make as tragic as you want depending on if you want thane to die at the end. but i guess it's more fun to write them squabbling over a girl like a pair of teenage boys when they're both in their mid-to-late thirties?? *cough*

my non-romantic otp with this character: looooooooove him and kolyat. they have such a compelling relationship to me, i just wish the fics made it as deep as it actually could be. people seem to skip past the work they'd have to put into fixing their relationship because i guess it's not fun to write about or something.

i also love him and fshep just being friends too! like i like them in a romantic relationship just fine, but ohhhhh my god, the idea of them being best friends who are super close but have no actual interest in getting together is just *chef's kiss* i would love to see this more in fics where she has another romantic relationship going tbh.

my unpopular opinion about this character: he has short person energy and i will not take criticism on that, i see so much fanart where he's like a foot taller than fshep but i personally headcanon him as being around 5'6, or roughly the same height as her per my headcanons. irikah towers over him and he's only interested in people taller than him, don't @ me, he just is.

one thing i wish had happened with this character in canon: this might seem a bit confusing, but i don't actually mind his death so much as how it went down. we knew thane was dying of a terminal illness, so like, we were kind of prepared for it. but i do find it questionable how he just went to c-sec headquarters simply because. idk what he thought he could accomplish there, considering he didn't even know the councilor was there until shep was in the building. and i think this can be chalked up to the writers knowing how they wanted him to die, but not actually thinking of a reason for him to get there. i think they missed a golden opportunity to show his growth by having kolyat be in danger at headquarters, because he's still working on his community service. like it's not a perfect solution, but it makes a hell of a lot more sense for him to be tearing off across the citadel to save his kid than to just go???? when he's literally struggling to breathe???? also sir how could you miss kai leng, he was three feet in front of you and you are an infamous assassin.

my otp: oh god... my favorite ships for him are him and irikah and him and kaidan so

my cross over ship: don't have one

a headcanon fact: after the war, he takes up crocheting. everybody gets a sweater. did you just announce a pregnancy? well congrats because he made you a baby blanket and a set of booties because he went into a crocheting fugue state at 1 am as soon as he heard.

[grimark]

i went into a drawing fugue state for ??? period of time and when i snapped out of it my wrist and my back both went crunch crunch crack pop crunch. so i guess im doing some more stretches today.

[iwanthermidnightz]

“The generation of consumers who grew up parallel to stars like these are also grappling with similar themes in our own lives; we’re all looking back on the last decade and trying to figure out what the f*ck went wrong.

What happened to us? Well, we grew up, which is traumatic enough. But we grew up in the nightmarish media landscape of the early 2010s that was still, unfortunately, telling us to stop being gay, fat, or different. It wasn’t until the last few years that TV shows, movies, pop culture in general really began diversifying narratives, promoting stories that weren’t just tolerant or inclusive, but celebratory of people who aren’t straight cis white men. Regardless, the damage had been done. A generation of young adults lived through harrowing real-life circumstances in the late aughts and early 2010s — the financial crisis, the final push for marriage equality, the birth of the #BlackLivesMatter movement — in addition to the little microaggressive messages that were transmitted into all of our TiVos and iPods and Blue-ray DVDs.

I’m sure I speak for others when I say that, as a teenager, I invested holistically in pop culture success stories; the Jonas Brothers skyrocketing out of a small town in New Jersey, or teenage Taylor Swift trading in her Pennsylvania blues for international stardom was a means of escapism for me. I dissociated from the real traumas I was enduring in my own life, mainly, repressed sexuality, financial stress, and resulting depression. Spoiler alert: Entering a Disney Channel fugue state did not help; I still ended up being gay and depressed. (Same)

It’s impossible to ascribe one, or even a handful of reasons, as to why the stars of the 2010s are not OK. I think it’s a mish-mash of issues as a result of a challenging socio-economic landscape. I’m sorry to hear about the horrors many of these stars have suffered through, most of which were aggravated by and magnified by fame and social media. But it’s helpful to have these conversations, especially with stars like Taylor Swift, Justin Bieber, Demi Lovato — celebrities who are representative of an entire generation of fans and consumers who are still hurting.”

[owxanimorphs]

Animorphs Re-read 2020 Megamorphs The Andalites Gift

Obsidianwolf X Re-Reads Animorphs 2020 Megamorphs Book One: The Andalite's gift

Okay so here I briefly pause reading the main series to read Megamorphs #1. I have to say this is one of my favorites and does the best job of taking advantage of the multiple points of view. The Veleek is a credible threat and one that is actually defeated for good. Now there are few things that bug me but that's pretty normal for this series and are all things that just bug me in general. The idea of the Valeek is very interesting including the idea that it's a lifeform from Saturn.  The problem arises in that Visser Three never went and got another one or more than one.  Now there are possibly explanations but it wouldn't have hurt to put them in. Say they'd gone looking and only found the one. hell say this one was originally injured and that was why it was close enough to the top layer of Saturn's clouds to be found. Or show Visser three saying if the thing failed the scientist involved would all be eliminated. The fact this creature never appears again is a bit odd.

However, the biggest flaw is the Hollywood Amnesia plot involving Rachel. I have never cared for the badly done takes on Fugue states that often show up in pop culture as easy Amnesia so it detracts from the book. That said the plot does lead to some potentially interesting world building. The unbalanced former host in the woods and the popular fan theory that she's the woman they rescued in book one comes to mind. The idea that some folks escaped and fell through the cracks is a good one.

This book also does a better job of showing the kids being kids without the slightly forced feel that some times lurks around the edges of the main book series. The pool party and the stolen truck sequences are among the best examples of it in the whole series.  

The multiple narrators set up actually helps cut down on some of the biggest problems of the individual narrators for example Cassie is a lot less irritating in smaller doses and it cuts down on the character shilling when others need to encourage her. This plot line also much better than most because for once she actually screws up and acknowledges it and the plan they came up with works with the rules established so far. I mean I still don't care for the Hollywood  Dolphins and Whales but it was nice to see her normal moralizing about the morality of morphing species she deems worthy of respect be reduced to just a sentence for once. It also is one of the few times that the constant shilling of how she's the best at morphing is actually relevant and plays a role in the climax.

Though once again I have to point out how odd the way Cassie's parents treat her is. They don't seem even slightly phased that their daughter walked her friends out to the road and then didn't come back.  

Ax is another one that benifits from the more stream lined narration as there is less room for some of the repeating sequences he tends to get. This one does a much better job of showing his desire to avenge his brother contrasted with the fact he's a kid and that Andalite propaganda has screwed him over than his own books do at times since there wasn't time for too much comedy of errors.

Now let's discuss how this is one of the first books that makes direct mention of Rachel having a thing for Tobias. What makes it interesting is that it doesn't come up in the Rachel or Tobias section but instead in Jake's section. We learn that Cassie thinks Rachel has a thing for bird boy and that she's mentioned it to Jake. Quick aside this is one of the few books that even remotely works as a Jake and Cassie like each other book as little moments like this show they actually do more than just narrate how they kind of like each other. They actually seem to have potential for a real connection even as it shows how fundementally incompatiable they are in their reaction to the idea of Rachel and Tobias. Jake brings up how Cassie thinks it's romantic that Rachel might have feelings for Tobias where as Jake just sees it as sad given that Tobias is possibly never going to be human again. It just highlights the maturity disparity between the two of them and how one of them changes and the other doesn't.

Anyway that's it for the first Megamorph book next we head back to the main series with Ax's first book.