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dwobbitfromtheshire · 1 year ago

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I started reading FOI again during the power outage, huddled up next to a lantern like in the olden days of yore. Anyway, I still fucking love it. So much drama, so much angst (are we really going to pretend like we don't enjoy that shit?) and so much action. I fucking love the drug heist. This book feeds my delusions further into think that Eddie's going to come back as a vampire to either get revenge OR save the assholes who wronged him and make them guilty for the rest of their lives for treating him like shit. Anyway, here are my notes because I took notes of why I love it so fucking much and some of the mistakes can easily be explained away. These are just some more thoughts I had while re-reading it. It's kind of long. Oops. The notes:

The trailer thing: some of Eddie's stuff is probably at Wayne's because over the years he probably did live on and off there over the years but he always made sure to go back to the house on Philadelphia. He probably kept his guitar there every so often so he could show off his music to Wayne, so yeah, his guitar would still be in the Upside Down as well as some of his stuff. Wayne made sure that Eddie had a room at his trailer, all set up. Said so in the book and everything.

Officer Moore probably had an affair with Eddie's dad, and it ended badly. That's what I think anyway.

At first, I was neutral about Paige, but now I like her, and I do like the fact that she looked at Eddie like an actual person. I still don't like that she encouraged him to make it without his band, but she was trying to make it just as much as Eddie was. They both had their head in the clouds, and she did appreciate Eddie for who he is and what he liked.

I still 100% believe that there are two Tommy Hs, and Tommy Hagan was not the guy pinning Gareth up against the locker. Also, Tommy Hayes has a sister, Jennifer, and she cried at Will's funeral.

I still absolutely love FOI, and I do absolutely think that people are absolutely childish about hating it. I also believe that with my whole heart that Eddie is bisexual, there's a definite attraction there. The fact that he recognized Chrissy, not based on looks, but on personality also leads me to believe that he's pansexual as well as bisexual. That's just me, though.

And the Charlie Greene drug heist thing has potential for a good Steddie story, too. Like maybe Al once again fucks up and pins it all on Eddie, not knowing Eddie's dead. Charlie doesn't believe he's dead though so he has guys watching the grave. Everyday Steve comes by to talk, leading them to believe that Steve meant something to Eddie so they kidnap Steve. It draws Eddie out alright and it's revealed he's now a vampire. He saves Steve. . . Steve thanks him generously and all is well.

Wayne definitely went to jail because of one of Al's schemes. Like uncle, like nephew. Eddie thinks he's like his dad, but his huge heart comes from his uncle, and he's a dreamer just like his mama.

HIGGINS IS STILL A CUNT. SO IS TOMMY HAYES (not to be confused with Tommy Hagan) AND JASON CARVER AND ALSO that other dude who's Eddie not sure what his name might be.

Paige is risking so much to make other people see Eddie the way that she does. She's been hanging onto that since the Talent Show. That girl has had a crush on him since middle school. Can you blame her? She's risking her entire career for this guy, and all the while, her grandmother just died. And she spent 300 dollars on this boy that she wholeheartedly believed in. Maybe she was just as naive as Eddie into thinking this could work.

Sometimes in your life when you get knocked down so many times, sometimes you have to choose the selfish route, and I totally get why Eddie wanted to leave his friends behind. Sometimes, when you watch someone walk out the door and away from you, it's hard not to walk out the door too. (Do I like it? No. Do I understand it? Yes.) It's hard to stay in a place where so many people hate you. He just doesn't want to be an asshole like his father, but he tries so hard not to be that he ends up becoming like him anyway. Sometimes in life you are an asshole or a bitch and that goes for everyone including Eddie. Trust me, I was trying so hard not to be like my mom but I ended up almost becoming like her until my dad gave me a metaphorical bump on the head. I still struggle with that sometimes so I definitely relate to that.

While I do think Al loves Eddie and he loves Wayne in his own shitty way, and he also loved Elizabeth, he definitely uses not just his own love but their love for him as well to manipulate them into getting what he wants, to get himself out of trouble. That's the fucked up thing about Al Munson and at the end of the day, it's going to cause him to die alone. He burned all his bridges. Wonder if the regrets will hit him like a freight train when he hears about his son.

Ugh, whatever you do don't think about the fact that Wayne's probably been working his ass off to pay his own bills and the bills on Al's house so that Eddie could have a place to live. Like, how else could Eddie still live there if his dad was always gone?

He totally White Fanged Ronnie, pushed her away so she wouldn't get hurt by people's hatred of him. Ugh. So much angst. And it would be just like Eddie to push people away so they don't get hurt. There's so many fanfictions where he does that and they are so good. As good as this.

I love Ronnie. She's either aromantic or asexual but I think she could be both. I love her friendship with Eddie and the fact that she was his first friend. There are so many things that Eddie and Steve could bond over. The love of their platonic soulmates are one of them.

Also, in the book, Eddie implies that there is more than one bar in town, so yeah, the Hideout is a different bar from the Hideaway.

Although I do wish that they had mentioned his tattoos but maybe he didn't get them until after he started to work for Reefer Rick.

Paige asked him to move in with her. Don't tell me that girl is not in love with him. She looked at Eddie and said, "Yeah, I want to spend more time with him." I don't care what anyone says. I didn't care at first about Paige, but the more I reread it, I like her and feel sorry for her because she more than likely ruined her career for Eddie. I love Eddie, but it wasn't all Higgins' fault that he's a third time senior. He had to make mistakes himself like his grades, for instance. He's only human, and like the myth of Icarus, he flew too close to the sun. Sometimes, you break hearts, and sometimes your heart gets broken yourself.

The sad thing is that Paige wasn't trying to get him to be someone other than himself, Eddie decided that he needed to be someone else. I fucking love this book. Angst!

You know, Lucas didn't tell the other jocks that he was in Hellfire like Eddie told Paige's parents that he didn't mess with that stuff. Lucas was trying to fit in, to escape being bullied the same way Eddie was trying to escape the name Junior. They both denied a part of themselves so they wouldn't be hurt. The parallel. . . Maybe it's just me.

Wayne Munson likes to garden and collect coffee mugs and hats. . .he's adorable.

Eddie's angry at Wayne for caring like a dad should, knowing full well that really he's mad at his dad for not making more of an effort like his uncle.

I can sympathize with Wayne. I know what it's like to have a sibling who breaks your heart, and I've got two who do that. I can relate so much to both Wayne and Eddie in this book. I have siblings who break my heart and a parent, my mom, who has no interest in being a part of my life. Another reason why I love this book so much, I relate to them so much. And Eddie. . .just refusing to run away like his dad does. It's so much harder to think about him feeling guilty about running away from Chrissy's body because he thinks he's being like his dad.

And even after all the things Eddie said to her and even after she risked her career for him, she still used her own money to bail him out of jail. Yeah, this second go around, I fucking love Paige. She still loves Eddie and she sees him as she's always seen him. . .a person. Not his father, not a fuckup, not Junior. . . Just Eddie. Ever since the Talent Show, he's always been Eddie to her and she's seen what we've seen in Eddie. Something real.

The fucking scene with Will. . . I'm so glad that's when Eddie started to be like Eddie again. "Jonathan looks too appalled for someone with that haircut" Fucking still kills me. Eddie's such a bitch and I love him.

Do I still not like how he treated Lucas? No, but I do understand that when he looked at Lucas, he saw himself abandoning the party like he did for greener, safer pastures, and that scared him. I still don't like it, but I get it.

God, I still fucking love the book. He's still so undeniably Eddie. He's a nerd, he plays D&D, he named one of his songs fucking "Fire Shroud", he went on about Tolkien Politics, and he had dreams of making it big even if he let it cloud who he was. He just let what people thought of him get to him so much and that's such a hard thing to let go of. I felt for Eddie and he realized that he was becoming what everyone thought of him. I'm glad it was Wayne who pushed him on the road to not giving a fuck and Ronnie, who showed him the way of looking after their lost sheep. Anyways, still love it.

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie stranger things #stranger things flight of icarus #flight of icarus #stranger things foi #i fully believe that this books is canon

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the-firebird69 · 8 months ago

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Wiz Khalifa - See You Again ft. Charlie Puth [Official Video] Furious 7 ...

youtube

This applies to a lot of Macs these guys are out here swinging dicks during the war all sorts of things are happening a lot of them get stranded and they realize the nature of the plan and Mark Debussy his body has been possessed his brain is somewhere if he gets it back together he has a chance if you joining as to all the max have a chance to rejoin and they know about it and it's like a trial and court and everything that they go through the facts and one of them is these people surround people and to make it so you can't inflation or make a move and that's the process that we're talking about where things got a little dicey Mark Debussy cause the accident the rooster had and that's what my grandpa Obama was calling him because he was out there first on the hammer and it let's 50 caliber fully automatic and everybody else would begin firing that's what this job's been for a while and dad has a summary retire but he got dumped on his bike and he blamed a bunch of people and he was wrong but it was really this guy so he dumped it on his bike and he took his body and he was using it for a while I guess he got caught and it's been a nice for quite a while but he used it for the surgery to try and pin it on them when the family had him do it cuz they knew the body was missing now the max orchestrate this stuff to get it out and say that they're out of control there's too many and they did on purpose and a lot of them do that but they did notice it's out of control and it's still out of control and there's a lot less of them these guys are spoiled rotten and they did not miss the psychology they want them to be dangerous. So there's a point of redemption they say and they're going to say to Debussy if he ever gets it back together and he gets his body gets cut in half and they're going after Trump's cryogenics facilities and think about it he has Mac bodies and Mac brains and they know what the plan is and they're very high up that guy is higher up okay in Wentworth I believe it was Trump imitating him and he was not a Mac so he's kind of screwed himself with this with that whole scenario you can't tell who people are and you imitating him and he ends up taking the body and he's exposing himself and his people by doing so and it's really a much bigger deal than just exposing him up in Brandon and Tampa it's much bigger than exposing him doing it to me and taking power and so forth which is a big deal cuz he's using it on center rings ringleaders infiltration and to anti-inflation and it works to a degree and they have full position in Saturn and they have a fleet that is very powerful with very very powerful weapons and ground bases that are unmatched and nobody is looking at the right way huge underground facilities that are not compromised right now gigantic stores and cashes and cashes and stashes just humongous numbers of weapons and they're down any caverns and finally people are paying attention and it took having Trump getting exposed and somebody exposed him on purpose to lead in and they're saying back and then you see me anything and when I say it's no there's trillions of concern people on the planet even your own people like Brian that's smart enough to know you're going to sit there and be this idiot and you're going to get up the butt in your rectum as you're sitting there and you won't notice because so many things have gone in and out

Zues

Okay that last part that's enough

Hera

Weeew thought we were going to get through it we're through it we're out of it thank God

Thor

Oh my god look who I was jokes he says you're not fooling me that was Hera she's a terror and jealous not a second not a second I wish she'd let me sleep on the floor for Christ's sake. She said she heard him say that once to her she's going okay he's down she's a little nicer and things went a little smoother

Freya

Good God that was horrible he says like Spock says pure energy and you guys just keep on talking it doesn't stop dingleberry it just keeps on going

Cassandra

Olympus

#Youtube

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zepskies · 7 months ago

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Ooh I'm glad I could surprise you!! 😘

And I'm also glad you thought the time jump worked! I wanted to get the plot of 1x12 in without having to write out the whole episode lol.

I knew Charlie was going to get dragged into something bad and it seems like it's gotten even worse based on that ending (I could blame you for that tease but as a fellow writer I love the cliffhanger choice 😂).

Ahhh yep, damn it, Charlie loll. It's def going to get worse before it gets better. And LOL yeah, sorry about that. I love me a good cliffhanger! 🤣🤣

(And there may be more "cliffs" in store.)

I got to say, I really like how you've brought in all of the Shaw siblings for this effort. Colter would be the obvious call but there's something sweet about how she went to Russell first even though Colter might be better at this sort of thing.

Aw thank you, my friend!! That's exactly what I was going for when she called Russell first. 💕

Also I really love this family moment. You really nailed Colter to me and how this is his version of being really happy to have his brother and sister back.

I really tried my best to get Colter's stoic, taciturn nature right, even in this family moment lol. Like you said, this is his version of actually being very happy.

I said it last part too but I'm really liking how Russell was down for having the reader join them at the museum, like when she punched the guy at the bar before, he knows she's tough enough to handle coming along and hearing maybe some not so great things about her brother.

Ahh yep, he's game to let her come to the museum, especially since she used to work there herself. But he does draw the line when it comes to pursuing Eddie.

Colter's teasing of Russell and that moment with giving back the knife were really nice too, a very subtle moment of healing that bond a bit more between the boys. 🥰

Aww I'm so glad you thought so!! I thought they needed that broment with the pocketknife, also putting a pin on the 1x12 events. 💜

And I really liked the questioning of the guard between the boys and the reader. Everybody felt in character, especially with making sure the reader left when the danger started to elevate since the brothers know what happened last time with Doug.

Yeah that sequence took some tweaking, but I'm glad you liked how it came out! I'm trying my best to keep the bros in character while balancing the reader in all of this.

Aaaaand why do I sense Russell losing his shit when he realizes what happened to the reader? Ugh, boy never catches a break with the people he cares about. 😭

Oh God yeah. 😭😭 I debated putting part of his reaction as the teaser, but then I thought it would be better to let you guys find that out when Part 3 comes out. 😜 And he really doesn't lol. Not unlike someone else we know...

Oh yeah and the way he answered the phone sweetheart to her when she first called? And she was completely fine with it? Yeah, y'all need to talk through some feelings when this whole situation is resolved please and thank you.

He's the one "sweethearting man" she'll allow. 💓 Oh and believe me they will be having some "words" eventually lol. 😂

Thank you so much for your lovely review on this chapter!! Reading them put a huge smile on my face. Can't wait to bring you Part 3 soon!!

Every Second Counts - Part 2

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him.

AN: I decided to put this chapter out a bit early due to some Father's Day stuff tomorrow. I was blown away by the response from you guys on Part 1!! Thank you so much. 🥰 I had some trepidation writing a new character, but I'm so glad you guys seem to enjoy where this little series is going so far. It makes me even more excited to bring you the next chapter of ESC! 💜

Song Inspo: “Too Late” by The Paper Kites

Word Count: 5.3K

Tags/Warnings: Shaw family feels, a bit of mystery, tinge of fluff and mutual pining, and a twist…

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 2: “Family Reunion”

The next day after he left, you finally managed to get Charlie on the phone. He implored you not to try and find him.

He claimed he was staying with a friend for now, and was picking up some odd jobs through a connection at the museum—another security guard who knew how to get extra work.

“What kind of extra work?” you asked. You sunk back into the couch in your living room and held a hand to your aching head. You had already lost sleep over this, worrying about where he was and what the hell he was doing.

“It’s better that you don’t know,” Charlie said.

He really knew how to frustrate you to the nth degree.

“Charlie, just come home. Please,” you said. Tears burned in your eyes, choking your words. “I’m sorry for what I said, okay? We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”

You heard him sigh.

“You had a right to be mad,” he said. “I’m the big brother, remember? But I’m…I’m a fucking mess. You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

“We take care of each other, and you know that,” you said sharply, wiping at your eyes in frustration.

“Listen, I’ll come home when I can, okay? Be good.”

“Charlie! Ch—” The call ended, and you nearly tossed your phone in aggravation.

“That stubborn fucking idiot,” you muttered.

Four months later, your worry was eating you alive.

Charlie refused to come home or tell you where he was staying. The only time you got to see him was when you visited him on his night shift at the museum. You tried to talk him into coming home, but your brother remained stubborn.

“You get that from Dad,” you’d told him once, while watching him eat some leftover meatloaf you’d made for him. The two of you stood outside the museum on his break.

Charlie had smirked at you. “Yeah, well, you share the disease.”

You’d rolled your eyes at that.

But just when you thought you were starting to get through to him, now, he’d stopped answering your calls. For that matter, the museum hadn’t even seen or heard from him in a week or so.

So here you sat, in the living room of Dory’s apartment, crying into a jar of Nutella that you’d long ago stopped spreading over the strawberries she’d laid out. You had a chocolate-covered butterknife in one hand and a used Kleenex in the other.

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t want necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

You hadn’t had a chance to meet him when he dropped in a couple of months ago, but she’d told you about his brief visit to find a graduate student who had been kidnapped, and nearly killed by a professor in the Sciences department for uncovering a flaw in the man’s research. That flaw would have costed him his entire grant, and possibly his career and reputation.

The terrible incident had caused an uproar on campus. Students were released from their classes for an entire day after the professor was arrested.

Now, Dory considered your question with a thoughtful nod. “I’ll call him.”

You were grateful, but your face became pained as something occurred to you. You held up a hand.

“Wait, I just realized I can’t pay him,” you said. You didn’t have more than a thousand dollars in your savings account, and that was for emergencies. Like the time Charlie nearly burned the house down after a lighting mishap with his bong.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that,” Dory said. She laid a comforting hand on your arm. “He’d do this as a favor to me.”

“I don’t know,” you replied, your brows furrowing. “That’s a pretty big favor.”

She’d told you what some of Colter’s fees could run up to, but she tried to quell your reservations and promised to call him regardless.

However, the more you thought about it, you already had a phone number in your cell…for the one person who would understand the part of your brother that you might never be able to.

After you left Dory’s apartment, you debated the idea in your head for the entire drive home.

And when you got to the house, you picked up your cell, and you called him. Your nerves had you pacing back and forth across the living room as it rang.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help smiling just at the sound of his voice, smooth and pleased, and a hint surprised.

“Hey,” you replied, biting your lip. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You’ve got good timing too. I just came off a job,” he said.

“Oh really? Where are you?”

“Well, I’m states-side now. Just got back from South America.”

“Oh, wow,” you said, blinking incredulously.

What the hell was he doing there? you had to wonder. Maybe he was protecting some Latin American emissary. Or maybe, he was doing things you didn’t want to think about. Your brother had filled you in a bit about civilian contract jobs in recent weeks, as he’d considered going after those himself.

“They can pay very well, from what I hear,” Charlie had said. “The problem with that is, it kind of defeats the purpose of leaving the military.”

Despite that mildly troubling thought, you tried to focus on the fact that you had this man on the phone at all.

A smile formed across your lips. “Did you get yourself a nice tan?”

“Eh, not really. Was more of a night job,” he said. “But uh…how are you doing? Not gonna lie, I’m surprised to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m not all that good, if I’m honest,” you said.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You heard the concern in his voice. You steeled yourself before you answered.

“Russell, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you for a big favor.”

“Hmm, this sounds serious,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. When you next took a breath, it came out unsteady. “My brother’s missing.”

It was a bright Saturday morning when you welcomed Russell Shaw into your house. He looked around, finding family pictures, bookshelves, paintings, candles, all things that began to shade in who you were in the comfort of your home.

“It’s nice,” he said. “It’s uh, homey.”

You smiled and closed the door behind him.

“Well, it’s the house we grew up in,” you replied.

You and Charlie had of course inherited it after your parents’ passing. Their life insurance policies had helped pay off the three-bedroom house while you two were still in school. Your grandparents helped a lot back then too, and had even moved in for a time. Now they each had plots beside your parents at Grandview Cemetery.

“You want some coffee? I know you had a long drive,” you asked.

“Sure,” Russell agreed. He followed you to the kitchen, where you put on the coffee pot. You made a discreet glance at him. He looked virtually the same, with that familiar green jacket, jeans, boots, and a Jimi Hendrix shirt. You'd had a feeling he was a classic rock guy.

“Look, not that I wasn’t glad to get your call,” Russell said, “but you do know that I’m not the tracker in the family, right?”

“Dory did offer to call Colter, but I can’t afford to pay him,” you said.

“I could help with that,” said Russell. You raised up a hand to stop him there.

“I don’t want that kind of help from you,” you said firmly. “I didn’t call you for money, Russell. I called you because you’ll probably understand where Charlie’s head’s at. Better than me, anyway.”

He hesitated, but nodded in understanding. When the coffeemaker dinged, finished percolating, you turned to make him a mug with cream and sugar, as per his request.

While he waited for the coffee to cool, he admired you for a moment. Even in a plain V-neck shirt and a pair of jeans, your hair swung up in a ponytail, you were still a sight. (Your lipstick did match your shirt though. That made him smile.)

And Russell could admit, it was good to see you again.

“Me and Colter reconnected recently. Did Dory tell you?” he said.

Your brows raised high in surprise. “Oh yeah?”

The two of you found your way back to the living room with your mugs.

“Yeah. We talked for the first time in…shit, over twenty years,” Russell laughed, raking a hand through his hair.

Not only had he been able to say his piece to Colter about their…family issues, they’d also solved a case of their own, with Colter agreeing to help him find his friend Doug, who worked for the same black ops contract agency as Russell. The Horizon Group.

The aftermath of that still left Russell with a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of how Horizon would’ve left Doug to rot, if it hadn’t been for him and Colter pressing their luck and digging deeper into who’d taken his friend.

That whole mess had also made Russell begin to wonder if maybe he needed a new line of work after all. But, because the money was just that good, he’d ended up on a new job by the end of the month.

Your voice soon broke him from his thoughts.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you said. You reached over and touched his arm, with warmth in your eyes.

Russell gave you a smile. The closeness between you brought up memories of that dusty bar, and the taste of lime and tequila on your soft, supple lips. But you subtly cleared your throat and took your hand back. He hid a twinge of disappointment.

“So what’s going on with your brother?” Russell asked.

Get back on track, he reminded himself.

You sighed. “Damn Charlie.”

Over coffee, you explained that Charlie took off a few months ago, the night you got back from the bar. You had seen him only briefly, whenever you were able to catch him at the museum after work. He’d been keeping in touch with you on a weekly basis, but now, he hadn’t called in almost two weeks. You couldn’t get ahold of him on any of the numbers you had. They all seemed to be burner phones. Plus, he’d been let go from his job at the museum after not showing up for the past week.

“What’s he into, extracurricular-wise?” Russell asked.

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me,” you said in frustration. Tears prickled at your eyes, and your lower lip trembled. “He said it was safer that way.”

Russell laid a supportive hand over yours, earning your watery gaze.

“And you haven’t gone to the police?” he asked.

“I think he’s gotten into something…dangerous. I don’t want to get him in more trouble than he might be already,” you said. “I just want him to get help for his problems. Physically and mentally.”

Russell nodded. He understood that you wanted to protect your brother. Sometimes though, getting into “trouble” was the rock bottom someone needed in order to face their problems.

“Does he have friends?” he asked. “Some kinda crowd he hangs around with?”

“Not anymore. I think he’s lost touch with his Air Force buddies,” you said, though you tried to think. Your brows furrowed as something occurred to you. “He knew someone at work, at the museum. Another security guard on his same shift. After they cut his hours down to part-time, Charlie said the guy knew how to get extra work.”

“Okay, that’s definitely where we start,” said Russell. “Let me just give Dory a call. If I don’t let her know I’m in town, I don’t even wanna know the consequences.”

You laughed through your tears and tried to brush them away.

“Yeah, do that. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

Russell took one look at you, and he tightened his hold on your hand.

“Hey,” he said.

You glanced up at him, as tears clung to your lashes. His heart couldn’t help but clench for you. He really didn’t like to see you like this.

“We’re gonna find him. You’ve got my word,” he said.

You were desperate to believe him. So you nodded, sniffling as you tried and failed to keep yourself together. You were scared, for the first time in a long time.

“All right, come ‘ere,” Russell said. When he guided you into his arms, you went willingly. You pressed your face into his chest to hide your weeping. His hold was warm and strong enough to make you feel secure. Just for this moment, you didn’t have to pretend you had everything handled.

“He’s the only family I have,” you reminded him. He nodded.

“I hear ya. We’ll get him home,” he said. “And I am going to call Colter. Don’t worry about the rest. I’ll square it up with him.”

“Russell—” you protested, but he just squeezed you playfully.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pull big brother rank. He’s got no choice,” he joked.

You shook your head, but you allowed him to comfort you for a bit longer. Because all too soon, you’d have to steel yourself again. You’d have to be the version of yourself that you always had to be, ever since you were fourteen years old.

You invited Dory over to your house, where the three of you were soon joined by the last of the Shaw siblings: the one you had yet to meet.

Colter made it in time for dinner that afternoon. The tall blonde took up your doorway with his broad shoulders and offered you a polite smile, along with his hand.

“Hi, I’m Colter,” he said.

You mentally tripped up a bit as you shook his hand and gave him your name. Did all the Shaw siblings have to be so damn attractive?

“Uh, yes, please come in.” You ushered him into your home and led him into the living room, where Russell stood from the couch.

“Ahh, there he is,” Russell grinned, slapping his younger brother on the shoulder.

“Here you are,” Colter gestured at him. “Where the hell did you take off to after last time?”

“Ah, you know. Argentina was fun.”

“I’m sure it was.”

You paused in the doorway, just watching the brothers in mystification. Dory shot you a questioning look as she came over from the kitchen. You met her with raised brows.

“What?” Dory asked. A smile played on her lips.

“Do all of you have to be so unbelievably pretty?” you whispered over to her. Dory smirked and bumped your shoulder, nodding at Colter.

“What, you wanna make out with him too?” she teased.

Your mouth dropped open in disbelief. Dory just laughed and moved on to say hello to the other blonde. She pulled him down into a hug, and he reciprocated warmly.

Russell then laid a hand on Colter’s shoulder, as well as Dory’s. He wore a big, proud grin.

“Hey. Look at us, huh?” he said.

Dory sniffed as tears welled up in her eyes, looking up at both of her brothers. Colter wore a more reserved smile, but he did wrap an arm around his sister and thump his older brother on the back.

You smiled. You were lingering by the kitchen doorway. If nothing else, you were glad that this whole mess had been able to bring Dory back together with her family.

You decided to give them a moment, and you wandered back into the kitchen. There you took a beat for yourself, mainly to breathe.

When you again thought of Charlie, you had to wonder just what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

Later, the four of you sat in the living room so you could explain everything you knew so far to Colter. He took all the information in with a pensive expression that didn’t reveal much to you.

“So you said he was struggling?” he said.

“Yes, after he got out of the military,” you confessed. “He had a hard time figuring himself out. I got him the job at the museum, but I don’t think it was enough for him.”

“Why is that?” Colter asked. He saw that you were reluctant to explain. “I need to know the full picture of who Charlie is if I’m going to be able to figure out his probable moves.”

You sighed. “Well, he was seeing a VA psychiatrist for a while. They wanted to put him on antidepressants, but he stopped going. He…started self-medicating instead.”

That part was hard to admit, but it was the truth. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t any longer.

“What substances?” Colter asked.

“Alcohol, mainly,” you replied. “At his worst, there were hard drugs, but I got him to tone it down just to weed every now and then.”

You bit at your thumbnail out of habit, but you forced yourself to stop, folding your hands in your lap. You didn’t see judgment in Colter’s eyes, just him taking in the information. You couldn’t help but glance at Dory, where you found her sympathy. She knew enough about what you’d been dealing with for the past few years. Russell seemed understanding as well.

“Anything else I should know?” Colter asked. You shook your head. You felt bad about revealing Charlie’s business like this, but you knew it was the only way to help him. Still, you felt you had to defend him a little.

“Look, my brother has his problems, but he’s a good man,” you said. “He, um…he basically half raised me, after our parents died.”

Dory also knew this story. She rested a hand on your back, and you gave her what smile you could.

“How old were you?” Russell asked. He earned your attention, and you met his sympathetic gaze.

“Fourteen,” you answered. “It was a car accident.”

He took that in, nodding slowly. “I’m sorry.”

The way he met your eyes when he said it, you believed him. You subtly cleared your throat and directed the conversation back.

“So, I don’t have a lot of money. But I can give you something for your services,” you said to Colter. Both Russell and Dory met you with similar looks.

“I’ve got it,” Dory says, before Russell had the chance. Colter waved her off though.

“In this case, it’s not necessary,” he said, focusing on you again. “So Charlie was working at the local museum?”

You breathed a note of relief at his generosity. Dory, Russell, and now Colter…they were all good people in their own way. You felt emotion rise in your throat.

“Yes, it’s about ten minutes away,” you managed to reply. “It’s closed now, but his coworker could be on shift. They always have security in place.”

You grabbed your purse to go with them when Colter and Russell stood, but the former raised a placating hand.

“It’s best if you stayed here,” Colter said.

Your brows rose. “I don’t think so.”

Colter’s mouth parted, and he blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to push back quite like that; calm and matter of fact.

“Ah, well, it’s really for your safety—”

“I’m not going to sit and wait,” you said. “That’s all I’ve been doing for months. I may not be an expert tracker, or have been in the army, but I do know my brother. And we are going to find him.”

Behind you, Dory was giving Colter a warning shake of her head. She knew just how stubborn you could be. Meanwhile, Russell came up on your other side with a smile.

“What’s the harm in her coming along to the museum?” he said, sliding his brother a teasing look. “Unless the T. rex wakes up all the mummies, Ben Stiller style.”

You wanted to point out that that wasn’t exactly the plot of Night at the Museum, but you held it in with a smile. You gave Colter an expectant look.

He sighed at Russell’s antics, but he turned to you with a nod.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said.

“I’ll head home then,” said Dory. “Call me if you need anything.”

You gave her a hug after she gathered up her purse.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, rubbing your back. “Colter’s the best.”

“All right, fine. And what am I? Chopped liver?” Russell remarked, gesturing wide with his hands. You all filtered out of your house, and you locked the door behind you.

“Oh, you’re special, all right,” Dory quipped back, but she gave her eldest brother a warm hug as well, then patted Colter on the arm before she left.

Russell shot Colter a playful smirk. “I got the hug.”

Colter rolled his eyes and pointed over to his big pickup truck.

“Just get in the car, please.”

You had to smile at all their sibling teasing. It reminded you of how you and Charlie used to cut up, when things were good. On your way down the driveway, you hesitated by the Chevy Chevelle parked next to your own car. She was still black and sleek and beautiful.

You happened to glance up, and there was Russell, getting into his brother’s pickup. He winked at you across the driveway. You turned your face to hide your smile (and your blush) as you climbed into your car.

Colter noted the exchange when he buckled up into the driver’s seat. He watched Russell do the same on the passenger side, all while wearing a certain smile on his face. When he noticed how Colter was looking at him, his brows raised.

“What?” said Russell.

“What was that?” Colter asked.

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” Colter chuckled. He began to pull the car out of the driveway after you in your car, so he could follow you. “What, do you two have a thing or something? Is that why she called you before me?”

Russell shrugged, but his smile was telling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mhmm. Convincing,” Colter said, but his lips tugged upward as well. His good humor diminished though, when he considered the last time he saw his brother. “How’s the arm?”

Russell gave a thumbs up with his left arm—the one that previously had a bullet run through it. It was still healing, even now.

“It’s good,” he said.

“Did you see a doctor?”

“Sure did.”

Riiiight. Another thing Colter wasn’t sure was the truth, but he’d give Russell that one.

“And that unfinished business?” Colter asked.

Russell’s smile faded, but he nodded. “Finished.”

After a moment, Colter nodded as well.

“Okay,” he said.

Something occured to him then. He paused, and he reached into his pocket. He held up a small, closed pocketknife with a wooden handle, and he gave it back to Russell. It had the man's name carved on the side.

Russell's smile returned as he flipped the old keepsake through his fingers.

"Thanks for keeping it safe for me," he said.

Colter smiled back. "Thanks for trusting me with it."

Colter parked next to you at the museum. It was closed, but the security guard, Jimmy, did know your brother.

“I haven’t seen Charlie since he quit last week,” Jimmy claimed.

“He quit?” you said. “They told me he just never came back.”

“Yeah, well, same thing,” he said.

The front doors of the museum opened, and out came Dr. Feinman, your former boss, and the Head Manager. You left Jimmy’s questioning up to Russell and Colter with a meaningful look, and you went to intercept Feinman.

“Hi, sir, how’re you doing?” you asked. Your name fell from his lips in surprise.

“My dear, it’s good to see you, but why are you here after hours?” he asked, his British accent lilting.

“I’m trying to find Charlie. He’s been missing, well, officially for about a week,” you said. “I was actually surprised to see you here so late.”

The man cleared his throat. He smoothed a hand over his tie and suit jacket.

“Yes, well, we could’ve used Charlie’s help. We’ve had to double our security efforts,” he said. “We’re currently dealing with a sensitive issue, so the museum will be closed until it is resolved.”

“You’re doubling your security efforts… Was something stolen?” you asked.

Feinman clearly didn’t want to tell you this, but you knew you’d hit the nail on the head by the look on his face.

“Please, keep that information to yourself,” he said.

“What was stolen?” you asked in concern.

“I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information. Not even for you, dear,” he said. “I do hope you find your brother though.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that, and as a matter of fact,” you began, but Feinman waved an apologetic hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m in a terrible rush just now. But call my office tomorrow and Brenda will help you with whatever you may need,” he said. “Good evening.”

“Wait, Dr. Feinman,” you tried, but he was already breezing past you and heading toward his Mercedes in the parking lot.

Meanwhile, Colter and Russell weren’t having much better luck with Jimmy.

“Look, I really don’t know where Charlie is,” he said. “Haven’t seen or heard from him since he took off.”

“He said you connected him with someone who could give him some work on the sly,” Russell said, leveling a hand at the man’s chest. “Who did you connect him with, and what kind of work are we talking?”

Jimmy blew out a breath, like this was really inconveniencing his day. (Or night, at this point.)

“What, you’ve got somewhere to be?” Colter said. “You’re getting paid to stand right here, and we have no problem sharing your shift all night. You might as well just tell us what we want to know.”

Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance.

“All right,” he snapped. “I hooked him up with this guy I knew through a mutual acquaintance, who just needed some muscle. I guess you could call it private security.”

“A mutual acquaintance?” Colter repeated.

“What’re you, James Bond? Who did you connect him with?” Russell pressed.

Jimmy was reluctant to talk. You came back over to join them, and the security guard became even more tight-lipped.

“You guys should go. I don’t have to talk to you, and I’ve got a job to do,” he said.

When he tried to continue his patrol around the museum, you stepped deliberately in his way. You didn’t have the patience for this, and you would no longer be a doormat, letting the Goldsteins and the Feinmans of this world push past you.

“Look, Jimmy, if you don’t give us something we can go on to find my brother, you know where I’m going to go?” you asked. But you spoke before he could respond. “To the police. And your name is the only one I have to give them. Now, if you don’t want that to be you, then give me a different name.”

Jimmy looked down at you, and then over at your intimidating shadows, Russell and Colter. Jimmy sighed.

“Eddie,” he gave, finally.

Russell raised his hands, as if to say, Is that it?

“What, Eddie Vedder? Eddie who? Come on,” Russell said.

“Eddie Mendez,” Jimmy replied in a lowered voice. “I don’t know where he lives. I don’t have his number. And that 'mutual acquaintance' is doing some time in lockup. But Eddie hangs out at a bar called Howley’s.”

You and Russell shared a meaningful look at that. You turned back to Jimmy.

“Okay. What was stolen here at the museum?” you said. “That’s why it’s been closed, right?”

“I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “I wasn’t on shift, and Dr. Feinman keeps a tight lid on that kind of thing.”

“We’ll need to get into his office then,” Colter said.

You blinked wider at Colter. Wait, was he really suggesting you guys break into the museum?

Jimmy pointed to the black device attached to the ceiling above them.

“See the cameras?” he said. “That's not happening on my dime.”

Colter looked up, and he saw the cameras strategically installed across the front of the museum.

“Then take us where the cameras don’t see,” he said.

You, Colter, and Russell were able to break into the museum via a storage unit door, thanks to Jimmy’s texted instructions. You couldn’t believe you were actually doing this, but it was for Charlie, you reminded yourself.

You remembered where to find Feinman’s office. You paid for a lot of your undergrad expenses, namely your books and tuition, by working full-time as an office assistant here, and the occasional tour guide.

You led them to the room where the inventory records were kept. Colter gave you his gloves so you didn’t leave prints, and you were able to pinpoint what was labelled as missing from the latest shipment.

“Oh great,” you muttered.

“What was taken?” Colter asked.

“A collection of Native American weapons. Dated almost eight hundred years old,” you said, shaking your head. “The collection is valued at $1.5 million dollars.”

Russell and Colter shared a look.

“That’s some big motive,” Russell said.

“When did they go missing?” Colter asked.

“Almost two weeks ago,” you said. Your brows furrowed the more you read, as you realized something. “Just a few days before Charlie left the museum…”

The timing wasn’t lost on anyone. But if Charlie was a suspect, Feinman hadn’t let on to that at all. You checked the exact date the artifacts went missing again: a Tuesday night. Charlie didn’t typically work on Mondays or Tuesdays, you realized. And he’d left after the artifacts went missing. So maybe they hadn’t thought to question him yet. One small blessing.

You sighed. With that information gathered, the three of you put back everything you uncovered and left the building the same way you came in. Jimmy was nowhere in sight, probably patrolling the other end of the museum on purpose.

When you all made it back to the parking lot, you turned to Colter and Russell.

“Okay, what’s next?” you asked. “Howley’s right? To find Eddie.”

“Actually, I think it’s best Russell and I take it from here,” Colter said. “We don’t know what kind of character Eddie Mendez is, but from how reluctant Jimmy was to tell us, it doesn’t sound good.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Russell drew closer and touched your arm. You could see in his face that he agreed with his brother, even though he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Look, you’ve been a huge help,” he said. “But let us work on this, okay? We’ll call you when we find something.”

Still, your lips pursed. “Russell, he’s my brother.”

“I know. Punching out drunks is one thing, but this might be a little different,” he said, grasping your arms gently. “Will you give me some peace of mind, knowing you’re home safe?”

He brushed one of his thumbs along your skin. Already you had goosebumps. From the cold chill on the air, or from him, you weren’t sure. But that simple touch, along with his earnest, imploring gaze broke you down.

“All right. I get it. I’m not the Special Ops guy,” you said. “But call me afterward so I know how it went.”

“Okay, will do,” Russell agreed. He let you go so you could go to your car. You shot the brothers one last look before you climbed in and peeled out of the parking lot.

Russell expelled a sigh of relief. He got into the passenger side of his brother’s pickup while Colter started it up.

Thanks to the late hour, and how little traffic there was on the road, it didn’t take you long to get home.

You’d debated whether you should just go to Howley’s anyway, but you didn’t want to get in the way, or make Russell worry for that matter. You smiled, despite yourself.

His touch had tingled across your arms, and whenever he absently laid a hand on the small of your back, supportive or guiding.

Thinking about him just made your heart ache. Because after this was over, he’d be gone again—on a new mysterious job, perhaps on the other side of the world.

You’d been regretting how you left things with him at the bar for months, but now you were glad you hadn’t gone any further with him that night. Your heart was too easily ensnared, it seemed, and Russell didn’t seem to be a “strings attached” kind of guy.

When you parked in front of your house, you let out a tense breath. Russell and Colter would find Charlie. You believed in them. You just hoped your brother was all right, wherever he was.

You pulled your cell out of your purse to call Dory as you headed for the front door. You wanted to give her an update and let her know that you were back at home.

The call began to ring just as you slipped your key into the lock. Unfortunately, you never got a chance to open it.

A strong pair of arms wrapped around you from behind and yanked you back, and a firm hand over your mouth smothered your scream.

AN: 🫣 *Whispers* Sorryyy. But hey! What did you think of the reader's reunion with Russell, as well as the little Shaw Family Reunion? Plus, we got a bit of the reader working with Russell and Colter on the case.

Now, the real timer starts...

Next Time:

You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.

Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement.

“No…”

That voice was all too familiar.

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#reader appreciation #lovely mutuals #ESC feedback #lovely review! 💖

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angelkurenai · 4 years ago

Text

Imagine having a crush on Charlie Hunnam and Dean, your bodyguard, getting extremely jealous when, during an interview, you can’t stop flirting with the man who is also there as a guest.

“You know, all jokes aside, you seem a lot more calm this time. You're usually stressed out to go on interviews, no matter the host.” Dean remarked, his eyes taking in your figure.

Seriously, why don't you spread your legs a little more, I didn't quiet get the message yet. you almost said, and you most certainly thought, but only bit the inside of your cheek and looked away from Dean.

Your bodyguard leaned casually against his seat, knowing fully well just how distracting he was to you like that but not giving a damn. The suit did wonders, not that he needed it to. Though you had a growing suspicion he was well aware of it and was doing it on purpose just to get you back for everything you'd put him through.

“Well, for one I've had time to relax.” you shrugged, looking away, finding it easier to speak when you weren't looking at him “And I did plenty of it, to the point I'm looking forward to get back on the spotlight. Maybe you should try some of that? You are more stressed tonight.”

“You mean vacation?” he raised an eyebrow as you hummed.

“The kind of vacation that's meant to make me relax?” another questioned which you nodded your head at.

“Oh that kind of vacation, I see. So-” he paused, giving you a look “Not the kind of vacation that's a torture for me, filled with ice-cold showers and morning shots of whiskey because you're walking around in your bikini all day long and refuse to change unless it involves dressing down more? That kind of vacation?” he paused, eyebrow raised as he expected an answer to that before adding “Mind your own business.” he muttered, voice deeper as he glanced at the driver who had been not-so-subtly listening in.

“I-” you parted your lips to answer but ended up shrugging anyway “Guilty. But also, sorry not sorry. Besides, that's not the point here. I mean it, you could really use some vacation. Lately it seems that whenever I have an interview you're more stressed than me and my manager combined.”

“Do I? I wonder what the reason might be. Oh maybe it's the fact that last time I remember, you took part in a game that involved buckets of water being poured on you while wearing a white dress and what I rather vividly remember very little coverage underneath. And you-” he pointed a finger at the driver “If you dare google that, you're fired. Trust me I will know.”

“Yes, sir. I didn't hear a thing, sir.” the driver said with almost wide eyes, knowing fully well not to challenge Dean. It didn't matter how, he wasn't going to risk it.

Meanwhile, all you could do was roll your eyes “It was not buckets, only glasses of water. We were playing water war and just because you were giving me looks all night, I lost and Jimmy won. So yes, I blame you for that. Besides, I was wearing underwear, alright?”

“At this point I really wish you weren't. Wouldn't have been as... traumatizing.” he struggled a bit to say the word because if he really used the one he felt like, the one he wanted to, then he didn't know if you'd make it to the studio. But given the snort the driver gave then it couldn't be more wrong of a choice for a word.

“Social media didn't see it that way, as far as I remember. Including several celebrities I know of.” you shrugged, smirking “I don't know about you, I had plenty of fun.”

“And I had plenty of heart-attacks.” he muttered instead, mostly to himself.

“Either way, you don't have to sweat it this time. Graham doesn't have any sort of games, not of that kind anyway.” you brushed him off “Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about. Nothing my ass. Son of a-” he sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face.

At this point he would certainly take all the water the ocean had to offer, instead of whatever that fancy colored liquid that sat in the glass on your hand was. A glass you hadn't missed the opportunity to refill at least twice so far. And while that on it's own wasn't such a bad thing, combine it with a ridiculously attractive man who happened to be your celebrity crush – as you never failed, not for a second, to point out to Dean every time you got the chance – and a lack of inhibition and you had the perfect recipe for a catastrophe. Or Dean's death, whichever came first.

“So as you can imagine, now there's a bit of a problem there now. Mostly whenever I'm on a flight and what not.” Charlie explain as Graham nodded his head and you looked at him with a concerned frown.

“But it's not like it's left a problem with your hearing in general, right? You- you can hear well from that side of-” Graham started speaking.

“Well, generally speaking I can- I'm sorry what?” but as he was talking, Charlie started speaking at the same time only to pause and ask the question back instead, which made all of you burst into laughter.

“Wait- hey you!”

“Ah gotcha huh?” he grinned, his smile only getting brighter when he glanced in your direction, your giggles a tad louder and more easy thanks to the alcohol in your system. It was exactly that which had Dean on edge. One of the many signs that the alcohol was doing its job.

Much like the easy and inviting smiles. Much like the way you'd bite your lower lip at times, when he spoke. Much like, even when you were speaking, instead of looking at the host, your eyes would constantly jump on the man next to you on the couch. Much like when you laughed at something funny he said, your hand would rest on his shoulder or, worse, when it rested on his thigh. And if that wasn't driving Dean mad as it was already, when the actor only seemed to relax under your touch and lean in closer, it felt like he could only see red and that the tie around his neck was choking him. He was about to loosen it only to remember he had done that long ago. If there weren't people there, he'd have long ago jumped from his seat and started pacing around like a lion in a cage. His jumping leg was certainly proof of that, what with all of his twitching. He huffed, shaking his head before he narrowed his eyes at the scene before him. Every little action that unfolded before his eyes was proof of why he hated not being able to intervene when you had a little too much to drink.

“Territorial much, aren't we Deano?”

He remembered you asking with a smirk on your lips, which had very quickly and easily turned into a grin - if not a slightly drunken one - when you'd clearly seen the way his eyes had only darkened and his jaw, clenched and all, had twitched. The look he had given you was of a warning one, telling you not to test him further but after a party where you've had a little too much too drink and even more to flirt, with all those actors and celebrities around, you only saw it as a challenge. He knew real well he was being territorial, he didn't need you to ask. He had nearly punched a guy when he got his hands on you, and it was expected after he had been fuming in the corner and watching like a hawk when said hands lowered even further down your back and you leaned into him all giggling and touching. He was bound to explode and it came as no surprise that, even drunk, you would take notice of it and use it to your advantage. Granted, he couldn't pin you on the wall and mark you down nor slam you against the bathroom wall and have his way with you, but he could come up with ways to get in the way.

Not that the alcohol seemed necessary anyway. Snapping back to reality, the scene before him verified his thoughts. The way the man was looking at you, his undivided attention all yours, his eyes on you at all times and, even worse, his lingering touches could have very easily made you fall into his orbit without even a single drink needed.

“And here I thought that walking away with a bruise or two from the set of Marvel was too much. Oh how I love green screen now!” you laughed “I mean I've had several injuries before, but most of the time they're far too stupid to talk about. Besides, I always look one step away from total meltdown doesn't make much of a difference if you add an injury or two to the case, so- Cheers to that!”

Your words, as you raised your glass, earned a laugh from everyone around you, Graham not missing the opportunity to speak “See? That's exactly why she is my favorite guest! This is what everyone now calls is a total mood!”

The man next to you, who threw his head back and then looked at you with absolute adoration written all over his face “Oh I doubt that even at your worst you could look anything short of perfect, darling. In fact I feel like I should have received a warning, to make sure I was more properly dressed or something. I didn't know I'd be sitting right next to an angel tonight.” his accent wasn't making things easier as Dean could practically see you swoon.

“Oh, look who's talking. Please, don't have a single doubt Mr Hunnam, I can't take my eyes off you tonight!” you smiled, or more like smirked, at Charlie, whose smile only got bigger when he heard your words.

“Now it's my turn to blush, please.” he offered you a smile which you could only describe as adorable, if not irresistible given how you bit your lower lip “I mean, I'd say it's just me but I believe that everyone will agree when I say that I don't think there would be a single injury that can take from the beauty sitting next to me right now.”

“Why you flatter me so much, Charlie, but you say that only because you're too good and because you haven't seen me in the morning.” you pointed out, loving to see him raise an eyebrow “The whole rise and shine is the exact opposite of what I do. One, because I don't rise, I could stay in bed all day long, and two, because I can only shine as much as a black hole does.”

“While I could definitely argue with you on that one, dear, I'll only say that it's impossible to believe. I don't doubt for a second that you're any less beautiful. That could be just my imagination, sure, because I have no personal opinion or experience but-” he shrugged while the audience cheered for him and you laughed behind your hand, and the man lowered his head in slight embarrassment and rubbed the back of his neck “Besides-” he cleared his throat “In all seriousness, now, there is nothing wrong wanting to stay in bed till late.”

“And even more when there's good company for cuddles, right?” you raised a suggestive eyebrow at him, making him bite his lip in return as he lowered his head while laughing “Besides, I am never one to deny a man his chance at seeing how I really am in the morning.” you shrugged not in the least bit innocently, because Dean knew that look and the whole body posture you had and it had him gritting his teeth, before the audience cheered even more loudly at you “For- You guys! For research purposes, clearly. So that Charlie can testify that I am indeed the... human equivalent of a black hole in the morning! That's all.”

Your giggles could barely be heard as the audience clapped once more, some of them laughing as well. You instead bit your lip before taking another sip of your drink, Charlie doing the same.

As if by some miracle, or at least for Dean, this time it was Graham who spoke up “Why, for some reason, I feel like I am third-wheeling here? And I thought it was my show. I feel like you won't even realize it if I'm gone.”

“No Graham, of course not!” you reassured him with a smile “You know you're my favorite host! You're the star of this show, the one that makes the rest of us shine and bring out the best in us! The one who makes us laugh and have the time of our lives in the show! The one who makes us look forward to this! The one-” you paused , snickering as you glanced at Charlie “Boy am I drunk already?”

Everyone along with Graham, laughed. Well, everyone except for Dean, who looked like he was going to pounce any given second now, especially with how his arm was casually resting on the back of the couch, almost over your shoulders “It's alright, I think we all realised it by the second complement in a row.”

“Well, at least let's all be honest. It's at least slightly less embarrassing than me recounting mildly gross if not horrifying stories of all the injuries and infections I've gotten. Which, thank you, by the way, for, Graham. It's-” Charlie paused, nodding his head “Exactly as I pictured spending my night. Speaking about the times I got a moth in my ear and ran down a forest naked, while such a lovely lady is sitting next to me.”

“Oh trust the lady, she is very much enjoying the conversation, worry not!” you giggled and he grinned, finally resting his arm on your shoulders and giving you a squeeze.

“You're mostly welcome!” Graham laughed “But, speaking of- I noticed this and I wanted to ask you myself, this seems like a reoccurring pattern with you Charlie, isn't it? Like, I always hear you saying that you got sick this or the other way and you- correct me if I'm wrong, but you are someone who takes pride in their personal hygiene.”

“I- I'm a germaphobe, you can go ahead and say it.” he laughed “Yes, it's one way to describe it. Of course I- I do take pride in my personal hygiene but I do think it's exactly that which gets me. You know how these kinds of things end up turning against you? Well, yeah, that's what happens with me. I get sick all the time.”

“There is a saying about that, isn't it? I think I've heard it somewhere but I can't, for the life of me, remember it right now.” you mumbled with a deep frown.

“Oh yeah, you attract the most that which you fear the most.”

“Ah, yes! Yes.” you nodded your head, pausing only half a second before looking back up at nobody in particular “Oh how I fear Charlie Hunnam!”

And that was all it took for the crowd to erupt into cheers and for Dean to groan as he let his head fall into his hands. There was no need to look any more, the way the actor's eyebrows rose in interest and a smile spread on his face. He knew what was to follow, and he didn't mean just the interview, and that meant he had to prepare himself for whatever he had to do to keep and... if need be, maybe finally, mark his territory. But unlike any other time, he knew, it wouldn't be as easy.

“You- what? You guys! I was only... I'm just saying what every lady and gent here is thinking, that's all. Me? I'm just more or less... drunk. Drunk more than I initially assumed.” you laughed, shaking your head despite your burning face “Aah Graham, how I hate you.” you gave a sweet smile to the host and friend of yours as all he did was laugh at your misery.

“Ah Graham, how I love you.” Charlie said, laughing “Can we-” he looked away and around at the crew as he lifted his glass “Can we get come more of that here? Lovely drink. Truly lovely.”

“Lovely night.” Dean grumbled to himself, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, eyes hard as he glared at the man before him and next to you. But truth was he knew that it was only the beginning of the night if not the beginning of a very long and tiring journey, which he didn't know if he'd make it through. Why?

Because as if on cue, as if he'd read Dean's thoughts, Charlie's eyes met his. The smile vanished from his lips for barely a few seconds, making Dean straighten his back and narrow his eyes at him. Because he'd, maybe, finally met his match. That's why.

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years ago

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Anger and Love

I can tell you this. I still hurt over the ending of this show and the reasons roll into each other, like tangled yarn tossed in a bin. (In this metaphor, I am the bin.)

Castiel

The BURY YOUR GAYS trope. My GOD when will this show learn. (The answer is never. Never, because it’s over.) In 15x18 Cas confesses his love and then dies. Guess who else dies in this episode? Charlie and Stevie! The writers said, “Who will hurt the most to lose? Ah, yes. Charlie in the new and terrified bloom of love.” We can ASSUME that Charlie and Stevie come back, but we don’t get to see it or hear about it. And we get the barest throwaway line that Cas comes back in 15x20, but not seeing him physically return after over a decade on the show feels like a blow that just won’t stop.

More EMOTIONS below the cut.

On Thursday, I said to Boris that it would have been better if we’d never been tossed that crumb about Cas’s love. Why give us this FEAST and then take it away like Chuck poofing away a dog? Many people have pointed to network cowardice, and that’s certainly a possibility. Some people have put forth the theory that exposing Cas’s love for Dean was simply a season-ending ratings move. Either of those could be true, or some mix of them. Listen, I can spin myself around that stupid knot for days and we’ll probably never get the whole story. Instead, I have to look at the core of what Castiel coming out means for me. And the truth of it is, it means A LOT. It means I love him a whole lot more. Cas is mine, he’s ours, he’s one of us. And I’m angry as hell at how it went down, but I’m still glad we got Cas’s side of the story. I have a pride pin on the lapel of my Cas trench, and it’s never felt more perfect.

So I’m angry, but I’m also incredibly glad. Ugh. Knots.

Boris: We’ll never know what actually went down during the production of this season and the hiatus changes or the show’s narrative arc, but I have to believe that Robert Berens was given some kind of go ahead and planned for a lovely and beautiful ending for Dean and Cas. That his story was taken from him at the end (much like Wayward’s eventual ending), is so unfair. Because Cas’s story wasn’t completed. Dean and Cas’s story will forever float out there for us to ponder. Like Natasha, I will cling to Cas’s confession and see it as a beautiful coming out moment for a character I love very much. I’ll be forever despondent that we didn’t see Dean’s story play out on our televisions.

Dean

I didn’t come out as bi to more than three people until my late 30’s. It was something I was first in denial about, and then it just seemed “not relevant” for a large swath of my life (married for 18 years now). Talking about that with my family and friends surprised me - how relieved I felt. How free. As I was working through this, I was also slipping into Supernatural fandom, and watching a show where Dean COULD BE bi. Reader, I projected myself right onto Dean Bean. Maybe he was like me. Clueless, then in denial, then thinking that part of himself irrelevant. So giving us Cas without Dean, given the scenes we watch on the show, feels like a personal affront. I know I’m projecting here, so I’ll acknowledge those feelings and move on to the next…

I am also PISSED about Dean’s story. All his life he’s been “daddy’s blunt instrument” and ready to die bloody on a hunt. It’s spoken about so often that we think surely - at the end - we’ll subvert that. SURELY he’ll survive. The last couple of seasons, he’s fighting for control - freedom from Michael, freedom from Chuck. He finally achieves that freedom and then loses everything anyway. There are no rewards on Earth. He died solving one last case from John’s journal. Daddy’s little soldier to the end. It’s disgusting to me to take this beautiful, complex character who is textually SO FULL OF LOVE and then take a pass on imagining what he might do with a real life on earth. It’s lazy writing, used for a cheap, fast, emotional reaction. The more I unpack Dean’s fate against the rest of the series, the angrier I get.

Boris: I think so many of us confused and discovering things about ourselves later in life see Dean as a character that matters. His story, had it been told fully, would have mattered. I don’t buy his death or his peaceful afterlife. It’s still too raw to process because he deserves happiness in life!

Billie

“I know Supernatural has a history of killing off characters of color,” I told people, “but Billie’s a main character now!” W O W 15x18 is the kick that keeps on kicking. I did actually enjoy Billie’s arc quite a bit, but losing her still makes me angry, in the broader context of the show.

Women

“Supernatural isn’t great with women,” I said. “But we have Mary now! And Billie!” Please picture me as Olaf when I say. “Mary DIES. Billie DIES. Only sad men remain.” Sure, we get some throwaway lines. We know Donna’s alive in 15x20 because of the call to Dean’s phone. Actually, scratch that, we know someone talked to Donna…because this show didn’t want to address that literally no other hunter knew about or mourned Dean’s death so they had a random stranger call Dean’s “Other other phone” for help. Great. Now I’m mad about Dean again.

We can probably blame some of how the final episode shakes out on COVID. Presumably, the final scene in Heaven would have been a party with Mary, the roadhouse crew, original Charlie, maybe Eileen? Kevin? etc etc. Instead, it’s an empty, lonely end on screen.

Which brings me to Eileen. Sam’s romance was laid out carefully throughout season 15, so what the fuck happened here? We assumed we’d at least get some confirmation that Sam ends up with the woman he brought back from the dead and then dated as recently as a couple episodes ago. Instead, there is literally NOTHING. No attempt is made to say that Eileen’s the one Sam ends up with other than his son having dark hair. There are no family portraits. No sign language to the faceless mother by the house. (Standing in a floral dress, like a good housewife.) Is she dead? Did Sam end up with someone else? Even without dialogue, there are ways to show Eileen’s presence that weren��t used. I’m so angry that she was an element of the season and then…hand waved away as irrelevant. The faceless wife MY GOD, SHOW.

Boris: Yikes, I cynically see the reason to not include Cas in the end because homophobiaTM but to not even give us Eileen and Sam? Clearly, they wanted to erase every person that mattered to the brothers from the end. Ugly.

Heaven

The funny thing is that I’m constantly trying to write a “happy eternity in a now-free Heaven” in my own fan fiction. If anyone should like 15x20 it should be me! I’m always trying to argue that it isn’t major character death, because their souls are infinite and now free, blah blah blah. So ultimately, my problem isn’t with peace in Heaven. It’s with Dean’s EARLY DEATH, and how empty Heaven feels. How desolate and devoid of life. Dean leaves the Roadhouse and drives alone until finally Sam dies and joins him. It reads like the ultimate fuck you to the “family don’t end in blood” storyline. If COVID filming got in the way of filling Heaven with life, then we have all suffered a great loss. It should feel ecstatic and full of community. Instead, it just feels wide and lonely.

Ultimately, boiling the season finale into an intimate portrait of brothers should work on paper. It SHOULD, but the show leaves so much unsaid and unshown about the community and family they’ve built along the way, and tells us to be happy with the scraps we’ve gotten instead. It tells us they were never that important, in the end.

The Future

I’m still going to watch the show. I’m still going to enjoy the show and the characters. There are reasons I have watched all along, and they don’t have anything to do with needing the show wrapped up in a neat bow. I’m angry with Supernatural’s conclusion, because I love it. And I’m okay with that.

Boris: I love this show so much, and I know I’ll continue to love it. I need time to lick my wounds and forget about this episode. This show is about the characters and the journey and that’ll never end.

#spn spoilers #supernatural season 15 #spn 15x20 #carry on #spn 15x19 #inherit the earth #spn 15x18 #despair #spn thoughts #about us

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shutterbug2012 · 4 years ago

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Cursed Euro Report Time!!!

Well, we all know by now that England dominated the field once against and really pinned the Ukrainian team on the ground, with a final result of 4-0. FOUR-ZERO!!! Phew 🥵

MOST IMPORTANTLY Daddy Gareth said in the post-match press conference, re: people celebrating the win:

I know what will be happening at home and that’s great. It’s lovely to send everybody into a Saturday night. Beer in the air wherever it is. And they should enjoy it.

I 💦 know 🍆 what 👅 will 💦 be happening ✊ at 💦 home 🥵 and 👄that’s 🤌 great. 😏

I have no further comment, Your Honor.

Note that at least 3 players (including your fav Kane) are fans of One Direction as their reaction to winning was tweeting "What a feeling!"

But... it's so fitting???

What a feeling to be right here beside you now Holding you in my arms When the air ran out and we both started running wild The sky fell down But you've got stars, they're in your eyes And I've got something missing tonight What a feeling to be a king beside you, somehow I wish I could be there now

A gay song for a gay sport 💫!!! I hope Louis thought of his masterpiece while scrolling through Twitter!!

As always, the latest interesting, double-entendre Tweets from Team England:

Brilliant performance by the boys tonight! Another clean sheet (clean sheets... yeah right 😏)(*no control starts playing in the background*)

Some night, huh?

A match made in heaven.

And then there were four... (they really have a thing for orgies)(or it was a reference to zexit 😔)

No messing around! (that's about locker shower sex)

SO GOOD, SO GOOD, SO GOOD! (that's what he said 😏)

Together. Let's go, lads. (gay, gay orgies)

What else... I'm convinced Mr. O is a footballer based on the following pics:

What do we have here???????? SOCKS IN ADIDAS SLIDERS!!!!!! WHO IS ALSO WEARING THIS ATROCIOUS COMBO??? LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON. (I will never forgive him for that)

So... talking about Mr. O, we did get footage of Louis watching the game yesterday. While Louke Stans were more than happy, I would like to point out to this mysterious, tall, muscular and BALD certified hottie who seemed to be sitting in front of Louis and is in the background of L's selfie with Charlie. Hmmmmm 🔎🧐 THE PLOT THICKENS.

Louis was on his best whore behavior, but who could blame him??? He was surrounded by loud, intoxicated men admiring the muscular bodies of men running around, competing against each other in a totally straight manner. What a feeling, again! So whatever Luke said that made Louis laugh so much, I chose to believe he was trying to impress Mr. Bald Guy (who doesn't look that much impressed sadly 😔 keep trying Louis!)

As this Twitter user summarized perfectly:

So who won with that footage??? Louke stans? Loli stans? Loutt stans (that's for Matt)? Bald men stans??? Alas... it's impossible to declare a clear winner, as it's just part of #louieculture:

😌😌😌😌😌

Anyways, back to football! We have a bit of a break before the semi-finals. England will face Denmark at Wembley on Wednesday. Unless Charlie shares that video his took yesterday in the pub, we will probably have to wait to see if Louis appears in the wild on Tuesday to watch IT-ESP.

In the meantime, Louies have to mentally prepare for the end of all this football loutent 😭. What the Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away 😔😔😔😔

Ok I don't want to end on a bad note so, don't forget to vote for KMM at the Euro and also why not give What a feeling a listen, that song slaps hard.

xoxo,

Gareth Girl

(lol)

Just going to leave it here because I'm too busy admiring the magnificence of this cursed essay

#clem's mission reports my beloved <3 #BESTIE U HAVE OUTDONE YOURSELF JSKFLDHGLDDHFJ #have a drink on this behalf you deserve it <3 #there's. so much. to unpack here.#kane my fav so true im actually in love w him i fear #there's just something abt blue-eyed britishers hehe #also this counts as mr o discourse too!!#mr oxfordshire #<3333 #i need to go jogging soon so i'll add more tags later when i log on properly #but i needed the people to see this it is AMAZING #ty for ur service clem #<33333 #wake up guys new mission report dropped and it's FIRE #mail #berlinini #also brilliant touch w the gareth girl signoff 😏😏😏#every1 thank clem for her service to the community

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

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

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 44: Tim

Tim can pinpoint the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Later, when he takes the time to think about it, he’ll be able to trace the progress of things and see all the signs, from his fear for them to his instinctive desire to reach out for them when he’s scared to the quiet comfort he feels when they’re together. He’ll remember that weird knot of jealousy he felt the very first morning when he saw the Primes cuddling and realize that it wasn’t a general I-wish-I-had-someone-to-love-me thing, it was specific to who was involved. He’ll figure out that he’s been quietly in love with Martin probably since the moment he saw him trying to apologize and look contrite with an armful of spaniel doing its level best to lick his face off with its tail going like a windmill, and that if there’s a moment he can point to later and say is the one where he completely fell for Jon it’s probably the soft look on his face as he tucked a quilt around Martin’s sleeping form.

But that’s all going to be in retrospect. The moment he knows comes a lot later and is a lot easier to detect.

After an exceptionally extended lunch that only ends when the afternoon crowd starts shuffling in, they part, Melanie with a promise to come by the Archives on Monday, Georgie with an offer to stop by and tell her story after she’s put her next episode of “What the Ghost?” to bed, Sasha with a cryptic reference to some sort of appointment and a promise to see them later. They discover what she means later that night when the doorbell rings and Tim opens it to find her and the Primes on their doorstep. Neither of them seem surprised to learn that Elias is forcing Jon on his grand tour, but they don’t seem pleased about it either. Jon Prime warns Jon, over and over again, to be careful. Tim would almost expect Jon to get exasperated, but he doesn’t. They actually have a pretty pleasant evening; Jon Prime cooks for them while they take turns telling him about dealing with Elias. He does seem pleased to hear Jon has reconnected with Georgie, and he and Martin Prime make the others laugh by sharing stories of dealing with their Melanie and Georgie. They pull out some board games after dinner, and while they all agree that with at minimum three people at the table who can literally access the sum total of human knowledge at a whim, Trivial Pursuit is right out, Monopoly is fair game.

Charlie comes over Saturday while his grandmother hosts one of her bridge nights. He’s extremely distressed to learn that Jon is going away again already, to the point that he throws himself into Jon’s arms and starts to cry. It takes all three of them the better part of an hour to get him calmed down, and it ends with Charlie curled on Jon’s lap, the two of them sandwiched between Martin and Tim. Tim looks at Charlie’s tear-streaked face and the heartsick look in Jon’s eyes and the tender concern in Martin’s, and he tightens his arms around them and tucks his chin over Jon’s head and hopes.

It rains pretty much all day on Sunday. Martin makes breakfast and brings it into the bedroom on a tray, and they sit close together and eat quietly and don’t talk about what’s bothering them. Finally, in desperation, Tim reaches under the nightstand on his side of the bed and fishes out a book he’s been meaning to read for years. He wraps his arm around Jon and manages to get a hand on Martin’s shoulder; Martin, evidently taking the hint, scoots closer and does the same, and Tim begins reading out loud. It transpires that the book is one of Martin’s childhood favorites, but Jon’s never read it before and is both delighted at the novelty and enraptured by the story. They spend the whole day curled up together, rain lashing at the windows, underneath the apple-leaf quilt Tim’s grandmother made him, heads touching as they take turns reading aloud. It’s a stolen moment of peace in a world gone crazy and Tim tucks it away in his memory to cherish later when he needs it.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and rolls onto his side, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The first thing he’s able to make out is Martin, doing the exact same thing he is—just watching. Jon, curled into a knot between them, is still asleep, but from the twisted, pained look on his face, it’s not an easy slumber.

Tim meets Martin’s eyes over Jon’s head and reads there the same worries and fears he has himself. Jon’s nightmares are bad. They’ve known that from the beginning, when Martin was recovering from the worms and they were all camping out in Tim’s living room, and they’ve only grown worse as time goes on. The screaming terrors from reliving what he went through with Orsinov have stopped…for now…but Tim knows in his heart of hearts that what’s making it easier these days is him and Martin bracketing Jon and doing their best to physically shield Jon from the Eye. There’s no real stopping it, but they can at least help.

But now Jon is going to Beijing, and God knows where after that, and he’s going alone. They won’t be able to help him with the nightmares if he’s not there to protect. And that’s besides the fact that Tim knows they’re both trying not to consider the possibility of some other monster trying to take Jon away from them when they’re not there to protect him. It doesn’t even have to be a supernatural one. As easy as it is to blame every horrible thing that happens on one of the Fears, there are ordinary people that are perfectly capable of being horrible on their own, and it would be just Jon’s luck to be caught up in something at random and get hurt, or worse. And they won’t be there to help. Again.

“I guess we could just…go with him,” Tim says, keeping his voice low. “Whether Elias wants us to or not.”

Martin shakes his head slowly. “I still don’t have a passport. And…I don’t think we can leave Sasha alone in the Archives. You can go, maybe.”

“I’m not leaving you behind.” Tim sighs and gently tucks a strand of hair back from Jon’s forehead. His skin is damp and clammy. “It’s a mess. He might be safer away from the Archives than we are, but…I worry, you know?”

“I know. I do, too.” Martin closes his eyes for a moment. “We just got him back. And we’ve got months to the Unknowing.”

Tim hesitates. He’s been thinking about that. “I don’t know that we do, actually. I—I don’t think it’s time-sensitive. I mean, I don’t think they have to wait for a certain time or anything. I think they just have to be…ready.”

“How will we know when they’re ready?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what they’re waiting for.” Tim stares down at Jon’s face. “I can’t decide if I’m afraid they’ll be ready before he gets back—”

“Or hoping,” Martin completes. “Because if the Unknowing happens while he’s overseas…at least he won’t be caught up in it. At least they’ll leave him alone.” He’s quiet for a moment. “At least it’s one thing we can protect him from.”

“God. I just…want to wrap him in bubble wrap and a blanket and fight off the world with a stick. Or at least keep him right here with us. I wish we could just stay here and let the world sort itself out for a change. Why do we have to be the ones doing all this?”

Martin reaches over and brushes Tim’s cheek with his fingertips, ever so lightly. “Anything worth having is worth fighting for,” he says softly.

Tim reaches across Jon’s sleeping form and pulls Martin closer, but he doesn’t say anything further.

The alarm goes off not long after; Jon is taking an early-morning flight by virtue of it being the cheapest available option, and he’s got to be there close to three hours early to check in. It’s too early for any of them to be properly hungry, but Martin makes tea while Jon takes a shower and Tim…sits around feeling useless.

As if sensing that, Martin glances over his shoulder at Tim. “Does he have any statements with him?”

“Oh, God, yeah, let me check.” Tim heads over to where Jon’s bag is. It’s a simple messenger bag he’s probably had since university, if not longer, frayed in spots and festooned with patches and pins. Jon never brought this to the Institute, instead using a professional faux-leather laptop bag, which isn’t surprising; it’d be pretty hard for him to sell the “serious academic” persona if he’s walking around advertising that he listens to Sinner’s Gin.

He opens the bag and looks through it. Jon’s packed a couple changes of clothes, some toiletries, a couple of paperback books, and of course the tape recorder, his personal one. But no statements.

Quietly, Tim goes over to the end table and opens the drawer. Inside are two tapes and a slim folder. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his hold on his powers, bracing for the colors to pop up. It’s surprisingly easier to filter out the Eye and see the beneath colors than usual—whatever’s in the folder glows orange around the edges but green in the middle, and one of the tapes just seems to have indigo stripes through the green rather than them being layered on top of each other. Like the Eye isn’t hiding the truth from him anymore, like it’s letting him really See.

He files that information away to deal with after he’s got some caffeine in him and nudges the Stranger tape out of the way; it’s probably the one he and Martin listened to, so it’s no good, it’s already been used. The other one is pure, blinding green—an Eye statement that Gertrude recorded, which is unusual. Tim seals off his ability and reaches for the tape. It takes him three tries to pick it up without dropping it—his hands are shaking, he guesses because he’s upset about Jon leaving—but he finally carries it and the folder over to tuck them into Jon’s bag, then seal it up again.

“He didn’t,” he tells Martin, heading back into the kitchen. Martin sighs and hands him a cup of tea. “But you never took back the ones you brought home after that whole thing with the Not-Diana, so I put them in his bag.”

“God, I can’t believe I forgot about that,” Martin murmurs. “Still, it’s been a hell of a week.”

Tim pauses, cup halfway to his lips. “God, how has it only been a week?”

Jon comes into the kitchen, hair still damp from the shower; it’s down to about his collar now and takes a while to dry. Martin silently hands him a cup of tea, too. None of them speak while they drink. It’s as if these last few minutes at home are too precious, or too heavy, for words. At last, though, Jon glances at the kitchen clock and swallows hard. “Time to go.”

Pure devastation flashes through Martin’s eyes, but he simply nods and takes the cups from him and Tim to put them in the sink. Tim worries at his lip as he studies Jon. “You’ve got everything? Passport, wallet, phone?”

A faint smile tugs at Jon’s lips briefly. He reaches into his pockets and produces the requisite items—a burgundy passport in near-pristine condition, a black billfold that’s seen better days, and the new phone they picked up for him Saturday morning that he’s gone to a lot of trouble to set up. “Charger’s in my bag.”

“Okay. Okay.” Tim takes a deep breath. “I guess that’s it, then.”

They take Tim’s car, not because Jon minds them driving his car but because Tim’s has a column shift and a bench seat in the front, which means Jon can sit between Tim and Martin for the journey. Traffic isn’t too bad this early in the morning, at least not until they get closer to the airport, but Jon is apparently far from the only person traveling today, so there’s a bit of a snarl before Tim is able to navigate up to Terminal Three.

He hesitates at an intersection and looks at Jon. “Do you want me to drop the two of you off at the door or—”

“No. There’s time,” Jon says softly. “You can park first. Then you’ll both know where it is.”

There’s more to that than what Jon is saying, but Tim doesn’t question it. Instead he finds a space in the short-term lot for Terminal Three, and if it’s one of the farthest spots from the terminal doors, well, there might not be a lot of people here dropping off or picking up at this time of day, but who knows what the situation will be by the time they go to leave? Jon slides out of the car and doesn’t take Tim’s arm or Martin’s, but they walk close enough together that it doesn’t really matter.

The doors open up into an enormous space. Martin, who’s clearly never flown before, looks around him with wide eyes, and Jon shrinks back slightly. Tim gently ushers them to one side of the door, where there are a couple of benches, and heads off to the departure boards to make sure they’re in the right terminal. Once he’s located Jon’s flight on the boards (on time, unsurprising for an early-morning flight), he makes his way back to where he left them. Jon has edged closer to Martin and Martin has an arm wrapped around Jon’s shoulders, and both of them look both terrified and heartsick. Tim looks at them, unobserved for the moment, and he’s struck by the urge to drag them both home, shut the door of their bedroom, draw the curtains, and stay there until the Unknowing collapses on its own. As badly as he wants revenge, as much as he wants to hit back at the thing that murdered his brother, he’ll give that up in a heartbeat if it’s the only way to keep Jon and Martin safe.

The penny drops then, bounces off just the right pegs, lands squarely in the right cup and oh.

Tim stands stock-still for a moment, stunned by the swift and sudden revelation. In retrospect, he doesn’t know why it surprises him so much; it’s not like he hasn’t known he’s polyamorous since he was fifteen, and God knows he’s wanted to kiss both of them more times than he can count. But, somehow, he’s been convincing himself they’re just friends, as close as brothers maybe, but nothing more than that. And, well, maybe they are. It’s more than that on Tim’s end, though.

He’s in love with Jon and Martin both, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses either of them. And Jon’s about to go haring off across the world alone, and Martin keeps accidentally coming to the attention of things that want to hurt or kill him, and oh, God, Tim is so incredibly screwed.

He shakes himself out of the stupor. He can deal with this later. Or never, as the case may be, but he promises himself he’ll deal with it later and heads over to the other two. Jon sees him and pulls, with obvious effort, away from Martin. “Is this the right terminal, or—?”

“No, you’re good. Your check-in counter is down this way.” Tim indicates the large sign for the airline Jon will be flying on the first leg of his journey—he’ll apparently be changing planes in Copenhagen.

They stay at Jon’s side all the way up to the check-in counter, where he provides his identification and credit card to the rather stiff old man behind the counter, who keeps sneering at the three of them in a way that makes Tim very much want to hit him. The man asks rather more questions than Tim is used to, even for an international flight, and he’s about to step in and explode when the man finally, finally hands Jon his boarding pass and moves on to the next person waiting.

“How did he manage to make ‘have a good trip’ sound like a curse?” Jon says under his breath as they turn towards the security checkpoint.

Martin snorts. “It’s like ‘may you live in interesting times.’”

“I’ll pass. After this, I would like my times to be as un-interesting and quiet as possible, thank you.” Jon smiles, but it melts away almost instantly.

There’s virtually no wait at the security checkpoint, Tim notices, or at least not compared to how it would be later in the day. Jon will be able to breeze through it in a matter of minutes. And according to the signs posted everywhere in huge letters, Tim and Martin won’t be able to accompany him. Martin stares at one of the signs boldly declaring TICKETED PASSENGERS ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT for a long minute. His face is implacable, but Tim knows what’s behind it, because he’s feeling it too.

Jon looks at the queue, and the security gates, and the signs telling him to remove his shoes and have his ticket and passport ready. He turns to face Tim and Martin, opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then suddenly gives a small, choked sob and lunges forward, clutching them both by the front of their shirts and burying his face in the narrow dip where their shoulders touch.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispers.

Tim wraps one arm around Jon and the other around Martin; Martin does the same, and the three of them cling to one another tightly. He can feel Jon trembling and hear Martin’s breath hitching in his chest and he almost dares to let himself hope, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. He can’t let himself think that, not now, or he’ll drive himself crazy with wanting and fear. And if he’s wrong, if they don’t…it’s better to assume they don’t and possibly be surprised later than believe they do and almost certainly be crushed.

There’s soft music coming from somewhere, a gentle and soothing melody in a choked and broken voice, and it takes Tim a second to realize that it’s Martin, singing quietly so that just Tim and Jon can hear him. It’s a plaintive melody and the lyrics are a little melancholy, but the line when I return united we will be does at least warm Tim’s chest, just a little.

Jon gives a deep, shuddering breath and pulls back, almost reluctantly. “I—I’d best—I shouldn’t miss the flight.”

“We’ll wait,” Tim says, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. “Until—until you’re through.”

Jon nods. “I’ll let you know when I get to the gate, and when I board.”

“And when you land,” Martin insists. “I don’t care what time it is.”

“I will. I promise. I—” Jon swallows hard, looking from Tim to Martin and back, then steps forward and hugs Martin tightly. Martin hugs him back, and they murmur something to one another before Jon eases back, turns, and hugs Tim just as fiercely.

Tim hugs him back. He’s still too thin, feels too frail, somehow. He’s barely recovered from the hell Orsinov put him through and now they’re sending him off on his own, and Tim wants to keep him here, but he knows he can’t.

“Please look after him,” he whispers in Tim’s ear.

“I will,” Tim promises. “You be careful, you hear me?”

“I hear you. And I’ll be as careful as I can. I promise.” Jon squeezes him briefly, then slowly, almost reluctantly, lets go. He takes a deep breath, slips out of his shoes, and heads over to join the queue.

He doesn’t say goodbye. Tim’s strangely relieved by that.

True to their promise, Tim and Martin stay where they are, side by side, watching as Jon inches ever closer to the metal detectors and security checkpoint. When Jon places bag and shoes in a bin to go on the conveyor belt, Martin reaches over without looking and grabs Tim’s hand. Tim grips his tightly in return, and they only…watch.

They can barely see him on the other side of the security gate, but for a brief moment, Tim sees Jon hesitate and look over his shoulder. Tim waves, Martin does too, and Jon raises his hand in farewell before slowly turning and walking away.

Martin lets go of Tim’s hand, but before Tim has time to regret its absence, he puts his arm around Tim’s shoulders and pull him closer. Tim slides his arm around Martin’s waist. They don’t need to say anything; they just turn and walk away.

People mostly ignore them, although one or two give them inscrutable looks. Tim doesn’t know if they think they’re a couple and disapprove or think they’re mourning something or what, but he decides he doesn’t care as long as they leave him alone. They make their way slowly back to Tim’s car, but don’t get in; Tim leans against the back of it, and Martin joins him, arms folded as they look up at the still-black sky.

“What song was that?” Tim finally asks. “That you were—before he left.”

Martin rubs a hand over his face. “It’s called ‘The Leaving of Liverpool.’ I think. It’s—it’s the song my dad always sang the night before he left, when he was putting me to bed.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then adds softly, “I fell asleep.”

“What?” Tim turns to look at Martin, frowning.

“The night he—we had this whole routine at bedtime when he was about to leave for the fishing run, and one of them was him singing that song to me. I sang along on the chorus, once I learned it, which didn’t take long.” Martin isn’t looking at Tim, his eyes still on the sky, but Tim can see the glint of tears in them. “Normally I’d settle down and close my eyes after he left, but that last time…I was tired. I don’t remember why, but I fell asleep before he got to the last verse, so I wasn’t awake for the whole song.” He turns to look at Tim. “And then he never came back. I thought it was my fault. I thought—it’s stupid, I know it’s stupid, but at first I thought it was like a-a magic charm or something, and I broke the ritual and that’s why he didn’t come back. I thought something had happened to him and—”

“Oh, Martin.” Tim reaches over and pulls Martin into a tight hug. Martin hugs him back, and Tim can feel the tears spilling over. “It’s not your fault. And—and Jon’s going to be okay. He will. He’ll be back soon.”

“I know,” Martin says softly. “It’s just…”

Tim doesn’t need Martin to finish. “I know.”

They don’t go anywhere. They probably should, probably don’t need to sit in the parking lot, but they do. They lean against Tim’s car and watch the stars, occasionally punctuated by the lights of planes taking off or landing. Jon texts them both to let them know he’s through customs, and then that he’s at his gate. Still they don’t leave, and still they don’t speak.

Finally, finally, the text comes to both of their phones. [Just took my seat on the plane. Have to turn my phone off now. Will text you when I arrive.]

Martin’s hands shake as he sends the reply. Tim waits for it to pop up on his own phone. [Have a safe flight.]

Jon’s next text comes almost at the same instant; he must have been typing it to send while Martin was trying to reply himself. Three simple words. Their meaning can’t be clearer. Still, Tim has to stare at them for a long moment.

[Miss you already.]

Slowly, Tim raises his head to look at Martin and finds Martin staring back with a look that’s probably identical to the one on Tim’s face. He’s pale, his eyes red-rimmed, but he’s not crying. They’re probably both past tears at this point. It’s just fear and longing and the ache of missing a part of themselves.

Tim fishes out his keys and holds them up; Martin nods, and they both climb into the car. When Tim turns the ignition on, the entire dashboard flashes for a moment—there’s a short in the electrical system somewhere; he’s been meaning to get it looked at, but he doesn’t drive much these days and this doesn’t happen every time, just occasionally—and the radio kicks on of its own volition. A reedy American tenor belts out the last line of the first verse. Already I’m so lonesome I could die…

Tim scowls at the radio. “It should be illegal to play this song within ten miles of a major airport.”

Martin gives a soft, slightly broken laugh. “Breakfast?”

“I don’t know that I can eat, but we can give it a shot.”

“Yeah, but…” Martin gives Tim a sideways look. “I promised I’d look after you.”

Tim grins and tries, once again, to kill the sudden flare of hope in his chest. “Same.”

“God, he’s such a worrywart.” Martin holds up a hand. “I know, I know, pot, kettle, et cetera. Want to call Sasha and see if she’s up?”

“No, I don’t want to die today.” Tim puts the car in gear and backs out of the space. “Come on. There have to be a few places open this early that won’t be too expensive for us to not eat at.”

Martin reaches over and puts his hand over Tim’s, not squeezing or holding, just resting it there. Tim slips his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand and rubs it gently, feeling it catch against the very, very slight roughness of Martin’s skin. The scars from the worms have faded as much as they ever will, mere pale circles against his skin, but there’s one on his right pinkie finger where the worm very nearly went all the way through, and there’s an ever-so-faint ridging there that Tim keeps rubbing at, over and over, as if he can erase the hurt and the marks from Martin’s skin.

It’s not until they get to the café that it occurs to Tim that what they’ve just done is exactly what the Primes did in those early days when they were still trying to conceal their relationship. It seems too dangerous to consider the ramifications of that, though, so Tim settles for sliding into the same side of the booth as Martin and leaning against his shoulder, needing some of his strength and warmth and softness.

Martin lets him.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartim #WE'VE GOT TWO OUT OF THREE REALIZATIONS FOLKS #angst #pining #heartbreak #look Jon's leaving for America and Tim has just figured out he's in love #what did you expect to happen

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danideservedbetter · 4 years ago

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Alright so, here’s how things are gonna work.

First off, welcome to this side blog. Since it won’t be jolly fun fandom content and will be a little more personal I decided to separate my health and writing journey from my fandom stuff, although all my fandom content will still be linked on my main blog here.

(I write Izuocha/bnha content which isn’t super popular so if you’re not here for that then yeah, I don’t blame you. But if you are I have a link to our discord and community content pinned so def check it out if you’re interested.)

Secondly, you guys will hear details about stuff relating to my health like what kinds of things affect my disorder based on the tests some doctors are ordering, how I’m trying to improve my diet and activity, and routines and goals I’m attempting for myself. I am underweight, and that’s something I’m going to be talking a bit about, so if that’s triggering following this blog might not be the best thing for you. Details under the cut.

So, what kind of disorder do I have and why did I decide to make a health journey blog? My disorder is called idiopathic hypersomnia. Basically what that means is that when my disorder is acting up (based on factors like stress especially or my generalized anxiety rearing its ugly head) I have the capacity to sleep. And sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep. My longest recorded uninterrupted “sleep-attack” was 26 hours long and ever since I caught Covid in January, my body had been slowly growing weaker to the point I was starting to develop atrophy. I’ve had this ten years and my neurologist suspects inactive cells from mononucleosis I caught at 14 was the cause, because other IH patients have linked their sleeping problems to a case of mono or have had it at some point in their lives.

This disease stole many years and many things I’ve looked forward to from me. I lost friends and experiences and failed so many college classes I had to drop out.

I’ve decided I’m taking them back.

It’s not going to be easy. Just as it took ten years to convince myself that my tiredness was something I chose to give into, it took several extra years and many fights with my family to convince them that I had a real actual neurological disorder and that I need help sometimes. My parents and grandmother finally understand that I have to finish college and find a very special boss willing to work around my erratic progress on projects, but the outsiders they married are not as convinced. My grandmother’s husband kicked me out of their house because he wants to be the center of attention and doesn’t like that some days I’m so weak that I needed my grandmother’s help, and my father’s wife thinks I’m a lazy and ungrateful leech who “gets anxiety just being around” me. Both told my father I’ll never be happy so why even bother with me, but my dad is actually striving to understand his own recently-diagnosed PTSD so while we still butt heads he’s understanding that I have to take things day by day because every tiny circumstance affects my disorder.

Now, why did I decide to air all this out? Well, being open about my disorder and how it affects me has helped at least two people that I know of find out that the tiredness they experience isn’t the typical “American work force exhaustion” they were trained to believe is normal. So if I can help even one more, I’ll gladly talk about what this entails and how I deal with it day to day. Another reason is that I’m also one of those big advocates who believes talking candidly about mental health destigmatizes it and sharing ideas can help us grow as people and maybe make it a little easier to deal with.

So now that you know a little bit about me and my disorder, here are my big goals for the next three months provided my university takes pity on me and actually lets me go back.

First up: create routines to train my body to get used to living a full day fully awake. This includes waking up at the same time and going to sleep at the same time. It means getting dressed and going out and doing things, even little things— which I’ll get to in a sec.

Second: I write. I have a novel in limbo and I write fanfics. Writing is a big part of who I am and I’ve written one thing this year, which for a whole six-month stretch is upsetting and disappointing. Today is my reset. In the next 569 days I want to to finish the six stories I have in limbo (except the larger one) and finally reach my goal of posting 200k words in a single year. I wont be hard on myself if I can’t accomplish this because honestly finishing anything in the chaos of my life is going to be a miracle but. There ya go.

Third: go back to freakin college. I don’t care what it takes. Sit down with every official, every lawyer, and every professor it takes to get me back enrolled in classes in the fall.

Fourth: I have several smaller things I have to do, short term goals, stuff like that. I’m gonna create a to do list each day of small tasks I want to get done and while some of these things will be part of my daily routine I am throwing in like one or two things a day that just need to be done. My writing goal will change daily and I’ll keep y’all updated on that with every post I make.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Dani! That’s so much!! Well, a few months ago I remembered hey!! I basically have a computer in my hand, why make it hard on myself. So I downloaded certain apps to help me out. This isn’t me saying “hey go subscribe to these apps because I said so” it’s just that through a lot of trial and error I’ve come to find that these certain apps work for me and I’ve yet to come across one that has the functionality of everything I need.

Tiimo — so this is an app I found developed by people with autism for people with autism to help them develop good habits and routines. It has preset daily schedules (things like morning routines or nightly routines or work routines) and an internal alarm to let you know when to move on to the next task. I myself have extremely low-level aspergers (to the point where my doctor won’t give me an official diagnosis because I didn’t want people think that *it’s* the reason I have issues with school), so moving from task to task can be difficult sometimes and I also deal with getting distracted. This widget also appears on my home screen so I know what I have to do at a glance. You can program in weekly and daily tasks to fully customize your schedule, which is fantastic for someone like me who wants to for example rotate chores. This is hopefully going to help me get my body in the habit of adjusting to routines and transitioning from one task to another, as well as getting important things done responsibly.

Promptly Journals — I’ve been told for a while that journaling is helpful mentally to kind of recenter yourself, so a bit ago I downloaded several journal apps to add to my morning routine. Now some will prefer more creatively free journals, but I prefer this one that gives me small prompts I can do in a short amount of time that just allows me to get my thoughts down. I can even add pictures at the bottom that go with the theme! I’m scared I’ll run out of prompts eventually lol but until then this app works very well for my needs.

Stretchingexercise — Now idk if it’s from lack of sleep from my disorder, the position I sleep in when I do sleep, all the physical labor I’ve had to do in the past couple weeks, my medicine, or w h a t but I suffer from body aches like no one would believe. I know stretching is supposed to help with that, so I downloaded this app to help me do non-demanding physical activity that wakes me up in the mornings and helps relieve pain so I don’t keep having to take pain relievers. This one has different plans for things like muscle tension, back pain, warm ups— and it also gives you rudimentary weight updates (I’m underweight lololol so we’re looking to fix that) or plan updates. It’s worked really well for me so far and gives you animations and descriptions of the workouts (some taken from yoga) as well as timed breaks and a narrated guide. It’s been pretty helpful in temporary relief and if nothing else gets my blood flowing in the mornings.

Widgetsmith Step counter — in addition to the stretching thing one thing my doctor and I discussed that helps with the sedentary lifestyle is simply walking. I’ve needed so bad to relieve my stamina and reverse the atrophy, and walks have been stellar for that. Now I live in the New Orleans area so humidity and heat force me to go at the crack of Dawn, but honestly my weenie dachshund Charlie really enjoys our time out so he goes with me! The CDC recommends 10,000 steps a day which seems like a lot and it is if you don’t get out much. But this gives me an excuse to get dressed and do the hygienic thing and help Charlie be healthy too, as well as give me time for brainstorming because we walk in a truly beautiful area. I’m sure everyone installed widgetsmith with the last iOS update (Apple users anyway) and while at first the step counter was just interesting I’ve since come to rely on it! We do our 5000 in the morning, which of course is half, and I find that other things I do throughout the day typically drive the counter higher. Anything leftover can easily be accomplished by an evening walk in our neighborhood. Now the caveat is that I have to remote have my phone in my pocket because I don’t own a watch or anything fancy lol, but honestly I need to keep it on me anyway so that serves as a good reminder.

Todoist — this one is my FAVORITE. Ever since I’ve decided that I have trouble keeping track of things I need to do and small stuff I need to keep in mind and appointments, etc, I decided to find a list app. This is the one I found that absolutely helps me for everything from my list of room supplies I need to buy, to my reading list, to general tasks I have coming up I need to complete. And its widget functionality keeps it right on my Home Screen! More organized individuals can just use tiimo, but I’m definitely not one of those individuals so this app is sorely needed and appreciated.

And of course, I know building habits the first few weeks is HARD. So for days my body doesn’t respond to my alarms, I have a checklist of the key things I have to do to keep my life as functional as possible.

So that’s that on that. I’m going to try to keep writing updates and my daily goals in a post in the morning, and reblog what I accomplished in the evening. It’s gonna be tough. But I’m thinking if I can start small I’ll be able to build my stamina enough to return to college and be successful when I do. I hope that anyone watching this journey draws some kind of meaning or inspiration from it. And you guys can even follow along if y’all want! Especially for writers or people trying to get healthier. I can’t promise what works for me will work for you (and honestly I expect things to change especially if I get accepted into college again) but hey, I figure it’s worth a shot.

I hope you guys enjoy watching this journey, if nothing else I hope it’s entertaining. And maybe it’ll be successful. I do know that I’m just gonna try for it, and hope it works out.

First daily update to follow

Xoxo

Dani

#idiopathic hypersomnia #health and wellness #writing challenge

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bluewhale52 · 4 years ago

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- Love & Zombies -

Aaah I know I’m late to the party but this literally came to me today at work after watching Train to Busan with my hubby yesterday 😅

Summary: you and your boyfriend stay in for Halloween for a movie night, and the movie of choice is Train to Busan! Not only your boyfriend is a scaredy cat, he also asks you a pretty heavy question that may affect your relationship.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x reader

Genre: fluff, domestic, established relationship au, idol au

Word count: 1600

Warning: none other than it’s heavy with plots and spoilers of the movie Train to Busan! And of course depiction of JHS in the story is pure of my imagination.

—

Halloween has always been one of your favorite events in the year. You like cosplaying, making your own costumes and putting on an alter ego even for just a couple of hours. You even came up with this year’s costume right after Halloween last year. You were excited when you found a beautiful red trench coat in a vintage shop just a few days after, complete with the red wide brim hat. Unfortunately because of the pandemic, your Halloween plans are cancelled, and your debut as Carmen San Diego has to wait for another year.

Fortunately, because of the pandemic, your boyfriend’s travel plans abroad are cancelled, and for once he is able to spend Halloween with you. Despite his busy schedule for the upcoming comeback, he has made sure he has 31 October free. You both are pleased to spend the night together at your place, away from the other members, for your Halloween movie night. He even bought matching Snoopy pyjamas- yours has Snoopy and Woodstock jumping out of a pumpkin shouting ‘Boo!’ and his has poor Charlie Brown clutching his heart in shock.

You know your boyfriend is the jumpy type, screaming and squealing at the smallest sound. And he has been very adamant that you will not be watching any horror movies of the supernatural type. So you have chosen Train to Busan and Shaun of the Dead. Although both are zombie movies, there aren’t many jump scare scenes and the gore level is pretty tame. You are quite sure your boyfriend won’t be hanging on to you for dear life throughout the night.

Hoseok settles on the sofa with a big bowl of popcorn on his lap as you start the first movie, Train to Busan. He claimed he has seen it before, albeit he covered his eyes 99% of the time.

He is still quite relaxed over the opening scene, until the dead deer on the road came back to life. He sits closer to you, pressing his side tightly against yours.

“Hobi-ah, it’s not even 5 minutes into the movie!” You tease him.

“The deer, YN, it’s a zombie deer!” You chuckle and pat his head. He laughs and tries to relax, but you feel your body starts leaning to one side with Hoseok pressing so much onto your other side.

Hoseok makes some comments as the movie unfolds- how cute the little girl playing the daughter is, how good looking Gong Yoo is in his suit- and you know it is just his way to calm and distract himself over what is to come. He hides behind your back when the injured young woman gets into the train and squeals when the little girl saw a person getting jumped by a zombie at the train platform.

Everything goes downhill from there. He keeps telling the characters to run, to hide, to fight the zombies, all the while with a deathly grip on your hand. You even had to save the bowl of popcorn from falling off his lap because he is moving too much, agitated.

“It’s ok Hoseokie, I will protect you,” you coo at him.

“Ah, YN, I should be the one protecting you but I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything.” He laughs nervously.

“No babe, we’ll work together, right. I’d arm myself with a baseball bat to smash the zombies’ heads.” You tilt your head. “You know, I don’t understand why they don’t just aim at their knees. Break their knees, they wont be able to chase after you.” You wonder out loud.

“Wah YN, you’re really thinking seriously about this.” Hoseok is practically sitting behind you know. His hands are on your shoulders, massaging them gently except for the few times when the zombies get too close to the characters and he squeezes your shoulders hard. Super hard.

“Of course, in an apocalypse we must think critically to survive. I’d kill the zombies, you can be in charge of food. Rationing, cooking. You’re much better at planning than I am. And when I’m tired of killing zombies, you can give me shoulder massages.”

Hoseok chuckles at that, and kisses the back of your head.

You both continue the movie, Hoseok now sitting behind you and you between his legs. You crack up a few more jokes, pointing out some of the mistakes the characters in the movie commit, and promising your boyfriend all those errors have been etched on your brain to ensure you wouldn’t do the same in a zombie apocalypse. Hoseok is more relaxed now, laughing and teasing at how serious you are planning your and his survival.

Until you come to the scene where the selfish executive pushes the high school girl to the zombies to save himself.

“Poor Wooshik,” Hoseok says, “he has to see his girlfriend turn into a zombie!”

  You scoff at the scene, especially at the part where Wooshik’s character is cradling his girlfriend and apologising to her. “It’s stupid,” you comment, “he’s gonna die soon.”

And sure enough, once the girl has stopped convulsing and truly turned into a zombie, she bites her boyfriend.

  “See!” you shout. “He’s so stupid, he’s survived all this while only to die because he can’t leave his girlfriend!”

Hoseok pulls your body aside, half turning it so you can face him.

“Babe, if I got bitten by a zombie, you’d stay with me, right?” He asks, eyes serious and voice earnestly worried.

“Of course not! You’ve been bitten!” You answer, perhaps too quickly.

“So, you’d leave me behind?” His voice is rising, full of disappointment and hurt.

“Well, do you want me to die with you or to continue surviving?”

Hoseok looks puzzled at your question, and unable to answer.

“I mean, if I can put you in a place where you’d be confined after you become a zombie, yeah I’d stay with you,” you think out loud, “but say in that same situation like in the movie, where you’d easily jump me and eat my brains, I’d probably kiss you goodbye right after you get bitten then I’d run to save my ass.”

“I am seriously hurt, YN. I can’t believe you’d leave me.” Hoseok pouts.

“Well if I don’t leave, YOU would kill me! Is that any better?” You counter.

He huffs and you both continue watching the movie in silence. You find it funny that Hoseok would take it so seriously and you want to laugh at the silliness of it. But you also know you need to do some damage control to cheer up your sunshine.

“Hobi, in an apocalypse, we have to think logically and critically. We can’t let emotions make decisions for our survival.” You turn slightly so you can drape an arm around your boyfriend. Your position has shift so now you’re sitting sideways in his lap, and you kiss his cheek tenderly.

“I love you, and I’d never ever leave you, you know that. And even if I had to, because you’re turning into a zombie, I’d be crying and crying over losing you for days, months, and even years. I won’t stop thinking of you. And I’d be blaming myself for failing to protect you. And I give you permission to haunt me to my dying days as my penance.”

You turn his head to face you, and you kiss him softly on his lips. “I love you, Jung Hoseok.”

“I love you too, YN,” he replies, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you back sweetly.

Then he suddenly lets go of you, and you stumble back on the sofa. “Oh my god YN! Gong Yoo! That evil executive bit him!”

Hoseok is practically fuming, “Ah, that selfish man, I hate him! Why does he have to bite Gong Yoo? That poor girl, she now has to see her father turn into a zombie!”

You right yourself up, staring at your boyfriend in amusement. “Aish YN, I can’t believe Gong Yoo is turning into a zombie.” Hoseok is truly looking very, very affected by the turn of events in the movie. And when Gong Yoo’s character throws himself off to save his daughter, you are pretty sure your boyfriend is in the brink of tears.

Hoseok is now leaning forward, and asking you if the little girl will survive. You feel like telling him that no, the girl will become a zombie too just to tease him. But he is gripping your hand so hard at the ending scene of the movie, shouting at the soldiers not to shoot the girl and the other survivor. And when the girl starts singing while crying, Hoseok is shaking your shoulders while still screaming for the girl to survive and live.

Once the end credits roll, Hoseok plops back on the sofa, breathing heavily in relief. You look at him, and announce, “OK, let’s not watch Train to Busan anymore. This movie does not do you, or us, any good.”

“I agree, YN, it’s just too sad. Too sad!” He laments.

Too sad? You scoff and swat your boyfriend. He reacts in his typical manner- eyes wide and face full of innocence while asking you what he has done to earn a smack on his arm. You jump on him, tickling him and pretending to eat him like a zombie would, and he trashes around, laughing hysterically, trying to escape you.

He finally manages to flip you and pin you down. His laughter dies down to a soft smile, and he leans down to kiss you.

“I love you, my zombie killer. Happy Halloween.”

—

Thank you for reading! 💜

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #jhs x reader #bts x you #bts fluff #bts x y/n #bts fan fiction #jung hoseok #jung hobi #hoseok fanfic #hoseok imagine #jhs fluff #bts imagines

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nineteenninety-six · 5 years ago

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Steps Forward and Back

REQUEST: Can I request a Thomas imagine where he married graces sister after her death. They have a kid and Charles but Lizzie tries to ruin it. Xx

Changed it so that the reader wasn’t Grace’s sister

TAG LIST: @captivatedbycillianmurphy @futuristicslimemongerbanana @dayna041101 @sweetgoodangel @shadow-of-wonder

Tommy was happy, he had Charlie, (Y/N) and their daughter Lily. It had taken a lot of time, but he had his family and was content with life.

(Y/N) had been a teacher at Charlie’s school and that’s how she met Tommy and things were slightly weird at first as Tommy was still trying to get over the death of Grace but as the months passed, things got easier and Tommy was able to move on. (Y/N) was a great woman and she got along splendidly with Charlie but Tommy was hesitant, he didn’t want to fall in love and start a family with (Y/N), only for her to suffer the same fate as Grace and he didn’t think he could go through something like that again but the more time he spent with her, the further he fell in love.

They had just celebrated Lily’s second birthday a few days prior when Lizzie came knocking at their door and told them news that flipped their world upside down.

It was early in the evening when she knocked, interrupting the family as they had dinner and she refused to wait until the next day, demanding that she spoke to Tommy and (Y/N) that very evening. Lizzie paced in Tommy’s office as she waited for them, running the lie over and over again in her head, making sure that the lie and plan were foolproof because she couldn’t afford to mess it up.

When they entered the office, Lizzie barely spared a glance at (Y/N), only focusing on Tommy,

“Right Lizzie, what’s so important that you couldn’t wait till tomorrow?” Tommy asked as he pulled out and lit up a cigarette for himself.

“I’m pregnant, Tommy and it’s yours.”

The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Lizzie looked calm and pleased, Tommy was shocked, cigarette almost falling from his mouth that was open in surprise and (Y/N) felt sick to her stomach.

When she saw that Tommy wasn’t going to say anything, Lizzie spoke up again, “I’m keeping it and I’m expecting money to help support me and the baby.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help the sob that escaped her nor the tears that ran down her cheeks and when Tommy saw his wife in so much pain, he turned on Lizzie,

“Lizzie, leave.”

“Tommy, we still need--”

“Fuck off, Lizzie!” Tommy roared, causing both of the women in the room to jump in shock.

“We still need to discuss the future and about our child. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Lizzie said as she picked up her coat and bag.

Tommy didn’t say anything or move until she left and as soon as she didn’t, he rushed over to where (Y/N) sat, falling onto his knees in front of her.

“I didn’t sleep with her, (Y/N). I would never do that to you, you know that” He tried to hold her hands but she quickly pulled away.

“(Y/N) please. I love you and I would never cheat on you.”

“I don’t know who to believe Tommy. Do you know how many times I’ve seen people make promises like that and lie? I know you had a past with her.” (Y/N) spoke through her tears.

Tommy didn’t know what to say to her, he knew her words had truth in them, he had seen it plenty of times, where a man would vow to his wife that he would be faithful forever, only to cheat on her months later and he did have a past with Lizzie. While Tommy may not have betrayed her trust or done anything in the past that would make her believe he did cheat, Tommy couldn’t fault her for her suspicions and doubts.

“I love you Tommy and like ninety percent of me believes you but that ten percent won’t stop nagging me.” (Y/N) confessed.

“We’ll get through this together ey? The truth will come out and we can focus on us and our family.” Tommy took her hands in his, smiling when she didn’t pull away this time.

The following months were awkward, to say the least. They,- well Tommy, were receiving judging comments and looks from family members and close friends who had heard what had happened and Lizzie had clung to them like a leech. She had even demanded to be able to move into Arrow House and live with them but Tommy put his foot down, he wasn’t going to let her near his children, especially since he knew that he wasn’t the father of Lizzie’s child.

While they didn’t tell Charlie what was going on, the seven-year-old wasn’t blind and he could tell something was up and Lily, thankfully was too young to understand what was happening.

When Lizzie finally gave birth, (Y/N) felt relief as it meant that they were closer to finding out the truth but it was too early to guess who the parents were, they would have to wait a few more months until the baby developed their features more and six months in they got their answer.

Polly, Arthur, John and Michael were with (Y/N) and Tommy in Tommy’s office in Arrow House, they were waiting for Lizzie so that could finally get a confession out of her. Lizzie looked unnerved when she saw everyone in the room when she entered, “What’s this about?”

“Lizzie, I’m only going to give you one chance, to tell the truth about who the baby’s father is.” Tommy kept a cool appearance.

“Tommy--”

“Speak the truth Lizzie because you don’t want to know what I have planned if you lie,” Polly spoke this time, her glare heavy

Lizzie didn’t speak, her lips twisted as she thought of a way to get out of the situation she was in.

“You and Tommy both have dark hair and blue eyes. The baby has light hair and dark eyes, he takes after his father doesn’t he Lizzie? And the father isn’t Thomas.” (Y/N) spoke this time.

Lizzie growled and rolled her eyes, “I hoped he’d take after me since Tommy and I have similar features and it would be easy to pass him off as Tommy’s…”

“Why lie Lizzie?” Tommy asked

“I’ve been there for you since we were kids! Whether it was working for you or when you use my services, I was always there and just for you to push me to the side for her” Lizzie pointed at (Y/N) as she finished her sentence.

“So you thought, you’d lie and try to ruin a relationship?” Polly scoffed, “What gives you the right?”

“I deserved to be Tommy’s wife! Me!” Lizzie proclaimed

“You don’t deserve anything, Lizzie.” (Y/N) told her.

“Who is his father Lizzie?”

“Some client of mine, he doesn’t know I was pregnant” Lizzie sighed.

“You better take good care of that kid because as soon as we hear even the tiniest whisper, we’ll take him away from you and give him to a couple who will love him,” Polly told her

“You can’t do that!”

“Then you better take care of him, then.”

“Lizzie, if you even come near anyone in the family or the business then I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.” Tommy threatened, “Now leave.”

Lizzie quickly left and the rest of the family soon followed, allowing (Y/N) and Tommy to have a moment alone.

“I’m sorry Tommy, I should have believed you from the start.” (Y/N) began to cry.

“Don’t be sorry, I don’t blame you for being cautious.” Tommy wiped her tears away, “Let’s move past this now. We’ve dealt it, okay? Let’s focus on our family.”

“Okay. I love you.”

Tommy smiled and brought her in for a brief kiss, “I love you too.”

#tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #PEAKY FOOKIN BLINDERS #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #x reader #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder imagine #imagines #fanfic

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

Text

The Miys, Ch. 98

I hope everyone is ready for Warlord Bowl!

Warnings in this chapter for violence and blood. Also food, although I think my entire story needs to be flagged with that one.

If you like this chapter, @baelpenrose was a huge help with the fight scenes, which I - quite frankly - stink at writing. If you don’t like this chapter, well - I stink at writing fight scenes.

Despite my best efforts - and multiple denials to Charly’s requests for concession stands - the gym area was packed shoulder-to-shoulder for the duel between Jokul and Arthur. People I had never seen populated the stands, while I was surrounded by my family. Conor sat to my left, with Maverick behind me and Tyche to my right.

Cronch, cronch. “Charly,” I sighed. “What did I tell you about the popcorn?” Daggers shot to my right, if I managed my sister’s glared correctly.

Apparently not. “No concession stand for the duel,” Charly recited just before she stuffed another handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“And where did that come from?”

“My quarters.” Cronch.

“Swear you aren’t selling it?”

“Naw e’en…” Swallow. “The recipe. This is my personal popcorn, thankyewverymuch.”

“Then why is it blue?” I asked, not completely assured she wasn’t running a black market popcorn ring.

Which made me sound entirely paranoid, but still. This was Charly.

“I wanted it to be blue,” she shrugged, holding a handful up to me.

I glared at the snack, wary. “Does it taste blue?”

Her response was a shrug. “Not really? It tastes like kettle corn. The food consoles are still trying to figure out popcorn, I think, and I wanted kettle corn, so I made a whirly pop on my own.”

Warily, I took a few kernels and gathered my courage to test them. After swallowing, I frowned. “That’s… actually really good kettle corn....”

“Of course it is. I made it. Like I said, I don’t think the food consoles understand ‘popcorn’ just yet.” Cronch, cronch. “Wasn’t risking it.”

“And you wanted it blue why…?”

She shrugged again. “Personal popcorn, why not?” With that, she tossed a few kernels of blue fluff in the air and caught them neatly in her mouth.

With a similar shrug, I snagged another handful. “So why are all these people here?”

To her credit, Charly scowled at me. “Warlord Bowl 2044? Do you really think anyone is going to miss out on this?”

“It was supposed to be secret,” I tried in vain, remembering Arthur’s point about that.

Almost as if she could read my mind, Charly snorted. “Eyeah. Hokay. Your personal warlord bestie issued a challenge in front of close to a hundred people and you really thought it would be kept a secret…”

“Not my personal warlord,” I tried, not even believing my own objection.

To my relief, a welcome voice popped up to my side. “She’s worked in call centers, she knows secrets don’t exist in closed systems,” Tyche interjected. “Oo! Popcorn?”

“Bad kettle corn,” I warned.

“Not blue-flavored, so I’m okay,” she clarified as she reached for a handful. “And anyway, this is less than I expected.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, there isn’t a stream to the entire ship.”

“Tyche!” I scolded for such an idea.

“Look, Miss-I-love-UFC-Fights-more-than-the-dudes-hitting-on-me, don’t act like this isn’t right up your alley,” Tyche pointed out with an arched eyebrow and a slurp through a straw

Hanging my head, I muttered. “Not my fault if they couldn’t appreciate B.J. Penn.” If I groaned, no one else heard it.

Tyche smacked my shoulder roughly. “Then you should love this fight. Judo versus… whatever the fuck Jokul says he is.”

“Unarmed grappling,” I supplied unnecessarily. Because who the fuck knew what that meant.

I was spared any further conversation by the arrival of our combatants. Zach Khan appeared to be having the time of his life, hamming it up as the announcer. I had no clue where he got the microphone, and honestly just wondering if I should wonder about that gave me a headache. When he was announced, Jokul managed to earn both cheers and groans as he whipped off his robe and threw it to the side, leaving him standing shirtless like some over-dramatic anime villain. His only concession to practicality, it seemed, since he left his hair braided in a queue down his back, practically begging for someone to use it as a handle in a fight.

Arthur managed to resist any similar shenanigans. Instead, he just nodded when he was announced, flexing hands that were either taped or wearing gloves - I couldn’t tell at this distance. From what I could tell, he was wearing what he was picked up in: dark t-shirt, black jeans, and sturdy boots. His glasses were nowhere to be seen, which made sense with a target as big as Jokul. Where his opponent was prowling around, seeming to be itching for the chance to fight, Arthur was standing eerily still.

And he looked deadly serious about this. I was starting to be grateful I made him promise not to kill the guy.

Finally, Zach seemed to run out of steam and announced the start of the match. Both of them were unarmed, thankfully, but that didn’t stop Jokul from charging headfirst at Arthur the moment he was allowed. He made it about three steps before Arthur calmly sidestepped and simultaneously reached for an elbow and shoulder while planting one boot against his knee. A quick full-body twist on Arthur’s part sent the larger man tumbling ass over teakettle.

Jokul managed to glare from his place on the floor, panting in either anger or adrenaline, while Arthur tilted his head like he was trying to figure out what he was looking at. “Can I just point out that, as one of the Ten Thousand, you are perhaps Darwin’s greatest failure along with being living proof that Miys is a terrible judge of character?”

I groaned and dropped my face to both hands while everyone around me snickered. “You got your fight, dork,” I muttered, knowing that Arthur couldn’t hear me and wouldn’t have listened even if he could. “Stop antagonizing him…..?”

A full-throated roar snapped my head up just in time to see Jokul launch himself from his place on the floor, only to end up right back there when Arthur threw him again. And again. Jokul repeatedly charged at his opponent, despite it getting him nowhere. It was a bit ridiculous, and it seemed Arthur agreed. After the third time throwing Jokul, he followed behind at a light jog and, as Jokul sat up, aimed a kick squarely at his jaw. Before I could close my eyes to avoid the slightly-excessive violence, my jaw hit the floor when Arthur landed on his ass with one foot clenched between Jokul’s hands and shoved at an awkward angle.

“That son of a bitch….” Tyche muttered beside me, while Charly just growled. Maverick and Conor were gripping my knee and shoulder hard enough that I just knew it would bruise.

To my horror, it only got worse as Jokul wrapped his own legs around Arthur’s thigh and started trying to break the leg at the knee. Before he could get enough leverage, Arthur managed to kick with his free leg hard enough to break the hold, but wasn’t quite able to get up fast enough to avoid Jokul pinning him to the floor. Blows started raining down, with Arthur barely able to get his arms in place to protect his face.

I didn’t even realize I was biting my lip until I tasted blood. Threats against Jokul’s life were flowing from Charly’s lips like a prayer, and I was starting to wonder if I had enough hands to hold Tyche, Conor, and Maverick back from jumping in the improvised ring. But still, I couldn’t look away. I wouldn’t let myself look away, blaming myself for what I was watching.

It was Jokul’s turn to taunt, although they came out in staccato grunts instead of his usual crowing as he never let up his attack. “Better - fight - than - that - toothy - whore - but - you - aren’t - stopping - me - either. That - lying - bitch - is off - the Council - and - the rest - of you - will know - what a - real - leader - is.”

As soon as the last word was out of his mouth, Arthur lunged forward, taking a blow directly to the mouth but reaching for Jokul’s shoulder. The attached arm spasmed and went limp, forcing Jokul to reach with the other one to try to pry Arthur off. Instead, Arthur grabbed that hand and peeled the fingers back towards the wrist, twisting out from under Jokul as he stiffened in pain. As he got to his feet, Arthur twisted harder and further, with Jokul clenching his teeth to avoid screaming.

I lost all dignity at that point, surging to my feet and shouting. “Come on, Arthur!!!” My sentiment was echoed by Charly screaming like a demon and incoherent cheers from Conor and Maverick.

Arthur showed no evidence of hearing us, his face full of the closest thing to rage I had seen on his face. There was no sign that he even realized his lip was split and blood dripped from his mouth. Rather than the burning fury I was used to seeing on other people, he seemed possessed by this cold stillness that chilled me to the core - and it wasn’t even directed at me.

In what looked like a Hail Mary, Jokul snapped his free hand around to grab Arthur’s ankle. The attempt was in vain, because right as we could hear the wrist in Arthur’s hands snap, his foot slammed down on the other hand with a sickening crunch. It took every ounce of willpower in me to keep from revisiting my evening meal when I saw blood trickle from beneath my friend’s boot.

When Jokul’s screams paused so he could take a breath, Arthur issued his ultimatum. “I can keep this up as long as you want to try, but I’m going to suggest you find a brain cell worth listening to and concede. Nod if you understand me.”

Slowly, in small increments, Jokul bowed his head before raising it to look Arthur in the eye.

“Say you concede. Because if you don’t stop now, we are going to find out just how much damage Hujylsogox technology can repair. And remember - that so-called lying bitch on the Council has already put it to the test a few times.”

Silence roared through the gymnasium as it felt like everyone present held their breath. One, two, three panting breaths later, Jokul’s mouth moved and his head nodded.

The next thing we knew, Arthur threw his opponent’s broken limb to the ground and stepped away. “Take him to a medbay.”

Charly’s cacophony of animalistic glee threatened to shake the Ark apart, while every bone in my body seemed to abandon me at once. Conor caught me with a speed born of much practice, while Maverick started to steer Charly in a path behind my sister so we could leave. I couldn’t even remember actually leaving the gym, too dazed from relief and the loss of adrenaline I hadn’t even realized flooded my system. Charly’s blow-by-blow recap of the fight - in case any of us hadn’t been present for the event, apparently - turned into white noise as I fought the sudden urge to sleep.

At some point, I remembered hearing Tyche and Arthur’s voices arguing, which confused me because they both seemed insistent that I needed a medbay. Why do I need a medbay? Arthur’s the one who got punched in the mouth… “Arthur needs stitches,” I mumbled.

“Sophia! Can you hear me?”

“Tyche, you are screaming. Of course I can hear you,” I retorted. “Why do I need to go to the medbay?”

“You… “ Arthur growled before being cut off by my sister.

“You passed out, Soph,” she explained in an aggrieved tone. “We didn’t know what happened. I said you just fainted from stress, Arthur was worried you were in shock somehow…”

“I said you needed to eat,” Maverick pointed out.

“Ding ding,” I joked half-heartedly. “I haven’t eaten recently.”

I could feel Conor tense up around me. “How recently have you eaten?”

“Evening meal?” I said sheepishly. When I felt him take a deep breath, I answered the inevitable follow up question as sheepishly as I could manage. “Evening meal yesterday?”

Thump! “OW! Goddammit Conor,” I grumbled, rubbing my backside where it hit the deck. “You fucking dropped me…”

“You told me, if I caught you eating less than once every ten hours, you weren’t allowed cuddles until you had eaten two full meals.”

Tyche’s eyebrows flew as close to her hairline as possible. “Seriously, Sophia?”

“I forgot to eat for five days,” I admitted. “And…. Yeah. I passed out. I’m trying to take care of myself, right? Although that didn’t mean you had to drop me.” I tried to scowl at him, but my eyes really couldn’t make it beyond his waist at that angle.

When I turned to get some help off the floor, Arthur was glaring - at me. “Eat.”

“Stitches,” I responded. From this position, I could see at least one tooth was either broken or gone entirely. “And dental. That can’t feel good.”

He tried to scowl, but the flinch betrayed him. “Fine, you have a point. I’ll hit a medbay, everyone else find some food… Sophia, no cooking. You have - let’s see, it took Miys something like an hour and a half to fix a machete blow and an arrow in the chest, so I’ll be around ten minutes behind you. Fifteen, tops.”

My turn to make a face, apparently. “Not fair. I was chopped in half - it took three days to fix that!”

“I didn’t need organs cloned,” he replied airily, waving as he turned toward the closest medbay. After three steps, he stopped, did an about face, and walked back past us and on ahead. When I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing, he held up one finger. “Not a word. He’s in that one, so I’ll find another.”

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#the miys #earth is space australia #humans are weird #aliens #apocalypse #post apocalypse #science fiction #found family #tw blood #tw violence #hfy #humans are space orcs

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 5 years ago

Text

Prayer In A Bottle

Cas.

Castiel jerks to attention, as a familiar voice nimbly enters his thoughts - almost as if it’s brushing the curtains away to see if he’s there, and he is, and he lets it in. That’s not how prayers are supposed to work, but the Winchesters have a way of doing things their own way.

Cas?

It’s a tired, heavy voice; just not the one he’d thought. This was Sam.

Voices tend to get mangled when they reach you as prayer - something about allowing for anonymous benefactoring of kindness, but probably more about impartiality. But Cas can tell. He knows the brothers too well, has heard their voices too many times - this has to be Sam.

However, Sam isn’t supposed to get intoxicated and pray to him. That’s so much more Dean. Sam’s not supposed to sound this broken, or unsure, or wistful in his prayers. Sam isn’t supposed to be sad.

I think you can hear me. But I wish there was some way I could tell.

Cas pauses. He sighs - well, he’s wished so more than once, before. Now, he’s an angel who can’t fly, but can hear prayers. It’s a cruel paradox.

Nonetheless, his surroundings melt away, just like the disregarded plate, for he listens hard. Even if it’s all he can do.

Okay, you know what? I’m just going to believe that you can hear me. Belief’s supposed to do the trick, isn’t it? Just like I believe you’ve read my texts. And listened to the mails.

He hasn’t. He’d had no clue. Almost instinctively, Cas reaches into his coat for his phone, but when he clicks the button, the screen doesn’t blare to life. He scowls at it, for he needs to check these messages that have Sam so upset with him - or so he sounds. He’s trying to will it to come to life, clicking the button repeatedly, when it strikes him. Of course, it must be completely discharged. Not on purpose - he just never remembered. There have been many other things to think about.

Back at the bunker, most times, one of the boys would plug his cellphone in, when theirs were done. It was mostly Sam. He should’ve known this would happen.

And I’m just going to get this clear. It’s alright if you don’t it respond. I get it.

Cas pauses.

I got Dean to tell me everything. And I get it.

Except for the occasional rambling, and the rare distracted lull in his voice - he wouldn’t even have been able to tell that Sam was drunk. But he had to be.

Because these weren’t things Sam Winchester would say to him, otherwise.

I miss Jack, Cas. I miss him, and his voice, and his pencils and everything. I miss having him around so much that it’s crazy, and what’s crazier is that I don’t even think of not having Mom around those times. I know Dean doesn’t feel the same way. He thinks about her all the time.

Cas clenches his fists. He knows Dean thinks about her. He knows that’s what’s made it worse. But he’d never thought of Sam not thinking about her like that.

He almost sounds guilty, and that’s a feeling that this man should never have to experience, but Cas can’t do a thing about it.

He hangs onto every word Sam’s offering him, finally letting it out. Everything he says, punctuated by endearing rambles and random questions about Cas’s general well-being, makes his head reel.

I never apologized to you for that day. For the coffin. For Jack. You kept saying you’re sorry, Cas, and that’s all I could hear. I was lost, and it was such a horrific thing to do. It was Jack, our Jack, and we almost locked him away for eternity - there’s things Dean says to try and forget I ever did, but I will never forgive myself for that.

And then, I couldn’t think past God - you walked out, you were brave enough, and I didn’t follow. If I had, today could’ve been different, so much better - but I didn’t, and every day, I think about why I couldn’t do it. I still can’t tell, but I suppose it’s because I still believed in God.

Cas is almost dizzy, at this point. He can’t think, or move. He can only let every word Sam utters, wash over him - and he does.

Sam doesn’t stop speaking. He goes on, about god, and confides in Cas how he’s never felt so alone. He tells him how he wishes he could believe in a superior Good, though it’s exactly Him they’re battling. He almost chokes telling Cas about Rowena. Those last few moments in the crypt.

Castiel cries with him, at that, but Sam doesn’t know it.

Belphegor was a goddamn jackass, and there were none of us who didn’t know it. Cas, what happened between you two in hell, I don’t know - we never talked after that, but I know what happened in that crypt.. Rowena - she chose that path, she kept telling me that - and I didn’t believe her then, but I’m trying to now. Please, Cas, believe it too.

On that day, I made the same decision you did. You chose to save the world, over the last bit of Jack you had left, and I chose to save the world over her. They were tough decisions, but if Dean can tell me it was justified, then so was yours.

A tear slips down Cas’s cheek. He’d had no idea that he’d needed to hear this so much. It’s strange for him to cry, seated alone in a diner - thankfully facing away from people, since he’s completely tuned out of the setting. All he can think about is Sam.

He’s never wanted to answer a prayer more.

Know what, Cas? Sam’s tone had grown harder. Or was it softer? I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to say this, because I’ve already said it in those calls you didn’t pick up - but you left, Cas. We lost so many friends, that day. Ketch, he’s gone. We lost Rowena, Cas, and then you were gone, too.

Cas shakes his head, denying the true allegations to the wall. Sam sounds drained, as he says it. It’s like he’s suddenly more tired.

I cannot believe you chose to leave us then, Cas.

Sam breathes it out, quiet - and if Cas had been a few feet from him, he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. But, because he’s miles away - and Sam’s still praying, he does hear it, and something shatters inside of him.

How had he been so heartless as to abandon Sam that night, needless of whether he’d needed him there or not. It didn’t matter that Dean was enough for him, and Sam was enough for Dean - it didn’t matter that Dean was still furious with him, that he was never going to be forgiven, that he didn’t feel like he could breathe in the bunker anymore - how could Cas have decided to desert Sam Winchester, that day?

Suddenly, he didn’t care about how much it would’ve ached to stay another day. The disdain in Dean’s rare glances his side, the apathy which made him ache seemed inconsequential, all at once. Sam had lost a friend that day. Castiel had compelled him to lose two.

Sam had been quiet for a long time.

Cas wonders if Sam’s stopped praying - it’s always been mysterious to him, how dialogue stops being a prayer once the attachment is gone, though it’s within the same revolution of the clockhands and the same two persons. Maybe Sam doesn’t want to speak to him anymore.

He doesn’t blame him.

Castiel doesn’t deserve his kind words. The forgiveness, the acceptance, and the redemption that he’s starved for. He doesn’t deserve anything from Sam.

But here’s the ridiculous part. I can’t believe you’re gone, but I can believe it too. We’ve been awful. Dean doesn’t know what he’s like, when he’s like this. I - I’ve been there. He thought I was the reason Charlie got killed. I’ve never known him to hate me more, and there might have been a lot going on then, but I’ve never worried more that he’d not look at me the same again.

So there. I know why you felt like you had to go away. I just can’t believe that you did.

Cas swallows. He’s never thought about it like this. Sam sounds like he’s given this some thought - his words touch Castiel’s heart, and wrench his gut at the same time. He waits for more.

You know this, Cas. Dean’s Dean. He can be angry, he can be mean, and he can be terrible, but he’s Dean, so it doesn’t matter. He’s always going to come around, because he loves us, and misplaced rage can only last so long. He needs us, and we need him - all we’ve got to do is wait, and not walk out while he’s being ridiculous like this. Try to knock some sense back into him, prove our intentions, and -

Sam chuckles, suddenly. Cas’s ears perk at the sound, it’s breathy and beautiful, and a little sigh of relief overtakes him at the short huff of laughter. Sam’s okay.

He sounds like a villain, when I say that. No, Dean’s anything but that. He’s my brother, Cas, and I’m sorry on his behalf. I know that doesn’t make up for all he said, but tell me that you’ll let it go sometime, please. That someday, you’ll not hate us anymore. Because this is Dean, and you know him too, and - you get it, don’t you?

Cas purses his lips. Yes, he does. But this is different - Dean’s the one who won’t let it go, and they’re the ones who don’t need -

Cas had forgotten Sam can’t hear him. So Sam continued, after a deep inhale.

You’re kind of the only person who does.

Sam trails off of Dean, just as sudden as he’d come upon it. Now, he’s recounting days from before. Suddenly, he’s telling Cas about his discussions with Jack about cereal, and Cas is listening so awfully keen, that Sam’s voice might as well be that of the angel radio which pierces through the barriers of his mind - except he’s welcoming this.

Of course, Cas isn’t eating anymore, so the waitress comes to ask him if she should fetch his check - but Cas couldn’t possibly move. He’s pinned to his spot, just as his ears are pinned to Sam. So he orders a coffee, black - hoping the bitterness makes it past his senses. And then he keeps listening

Sam keeps talking. Cas doesn’t remember when he last had a conversation like this with someone. If ever, at all. And, he doesn’t think Sam’s had one of these conversations recently either - and he feels a dreadful kind of happy, to get to listen in to one of those rare times Sam Winchester truly shines through the cracks in his armor.

Sam occasionally drifts off, settles into a sadder tone and confesses things that make Cas’s heart heavy. But he always finds his way back, almost to a conversational tone, and continues to talk.

It’s so good to hear from him, Cas realizes, when a couple hours have passed. He hadn’t realized how much he’s missed the younger Winchester, either. It’s been oddly satisfying to hear his voice.

And further so, that Sam talks to him now. It’s surreal, and he’s never thought about how much he’s wanted this, over the years.

It’s different, from Dean.

How, he wouldn’t be able to explain.

But it’s very different.

Sam’s voice is soft, growing drowsier as the minutes fly by - he pauses occasionally, too, praying not in a monologue, but as if Cas might be speaking at the other end.

Cas wishes, surprising himself only minutely at the thought, to be able to pray back to him. Sam Winchester’s far more deserving of being prayed to, than he is - and that way, he could tell him his side. Thank him. Apologize profusely, and then thank him again. Do all of it, and maybe feel a little less contrite in regardance to how terrible a friend he’s been to a man who’s been good to him, since they first made each other’s acquaintance, all those years back.

Anyways, Cas.

Cas frowns at the tone. He knows it’s been very long, he knows Sam should sleep now - but he can’t help but wish this went on some more. He wants Sam to keep speaking to him.

I guess this is where I say goodbye.

Cas expects him to go on, actually say the words, hoping it’ll have him linger for a little longer. He sulks, when Sam goes silent.

Cas hadn’t realized how lonely he’s been, before this. Sam’s familiar, comfortably used-to voice has managed to do wonders to his anxious state of mind. He doesn’t want him to leave, not at all, but the pause is too long, and he begins to wonder if Sam left with just that bit of preamble.

He misses him already.

But Sam comes back, words newly accentuated with an inebriated slur.

You never even said goodbye to me, you know that, right?

Cas freezes.

I mean, you just - you never did. You’re moving on, aren’t you? Couldn’t even bother to see me before you move on. Maybe I matter too little, maybe you couldn’t stand the thought of being with us any longer - but I deserved that goodbye, alright? I’m sorry, but after all this time, I fucking did.

Cas screws his eyes shut. The guilt comes thundering back. Sam sounds awful, too.

You didn’t say goodbye, Cas. Sam repeats, and sounds devastated, and that’s what pushes Cas over the edge. His voice trembles like it might crack, and Cas swears to himself that if it did, he’d break down too.

There’s another long, long pause.

Again, Cas dreads that Sam is gone - that Sam will never pray to him again, and has left already to enhance his point - because Castiel still doesn’t deserve any of it, he doesn’t deserve to be Sam’s friend, and maybe Sam finally realized it. But he’s still stuck there, waiting for Sam, because his heart refuses to believe it.

And Sam’s not gone.

You know, he’s back, it’s a small voice, and he’s drank some more. If you’re going to come back, Cas, this would be the perfect moment to do so. Show up - right here in front of me, come back, Cas - and tell me that you didn’t say it because you were never really gone - and I’ll believe you, if you show up.

Sam, completely drunk now, seems to have forgotten that Cas cannot show up at places anymore. He’s lost his wings. Oh, how he wishes he could, though - for he’d have complied immediately. There’s no other place he wants to be right now.

But for that matter, anything Sam asks him to do, within his abilities of doing; in that voice, sounding like he needed Cas, begging him to show up, desperate and pleading - was as good as done.

Alright.

Cas feels oppressed by the two syllables. Sam must hate him that much more.

So, that’s not happening.

Cas holds his breath.

Of course, it isn’t. I’d say, worth a try, but it’s idiotic to think you’d just be here like that. For me. Dean’s the one who should’ve been calling you. S’always worked in the past.

Cas shakes his head, emphatically, desperately, with tears in his eyes. “It’s not that.” He says out loud, not even capable of feeling foolish for it. “I can’t come back. I cannot -”

Nevermind.

“You’re wrong! I want to be there.” Cas argues. “You think you’re right, I can hear it, but you’re not. Sam, I want to be there for you.”

Sam can’t hear him.

I get it.

“You’re getting it wrong.” Cas pleads. “Sam, I -”

So, that’s that. I guess. I should go. Don’t, uh, don’t be a stranger. And take care of yourself, Cas.

Cas hates how prayers work. He detests the entire institution of praying. He’s never been so repulsed by the mechanisms of heaven, and he’s rebelled plenty.

Just so you know, I’ll stop with the calls now, uh, I know why you want to stay away. And I’m going to respect that.

Cas doesn’t want him to stop. He’s going to call him tomorrow, when he’s got his stupid phone’s battery back. He doesn’t want to stay away, anymore. He doesn’t think he even can.

And hey, last thing.

Cas waits, anxious.

We’ve talked about this, all those years back - and I know you only care about Dean, but just remember - try to remember that he’s not the only one who cares about you. Alright?

And all goes silent then, snapping the link and rendering Cas speechless. He wants to yell at the wall that that’s not true, that he loves Sam, that he needs him - he wants to beg him to pray again, to not hate him for saying goodbye, to plead him to keep talking about Jack - but he can’t do any of it. He can’t do anything at all.

Sam’s stopped praying.

And back at the bunker, the younger Winchester doesn’t even get to dwell on his words, repeat his prayers to himself and think about Cas - because he passes out too soon, crashing into the mattress, bottle at the bedside; it’s been a long day. He dreams of being killed by Dean again; this time, Sam’s one of the bodies he’s slashing up in hell, and he wakes up panting and cannot look Dean in the eye through breakfast.

Moreover, he doesn’t recall a single speck of his prayers from last night.

Taggy the list says: @ctrl-alt-destiel @emmii4 @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @styggtroll @adventurous-blob @petrichoravellichor @all-or-nothing-baby @moderatelypanickedbiromantic @elvenlicht @legendary-destiel @noemithenephilim @galaxy-charm @trenchcoatsandfreckles @naitia @ladywaywarddsc @zoerayne2426 @thekidsmaybealright @hellfire37 @screamatthescreen @guesstimating-life @3dg310rdsupreme @impulsivedandelion @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect

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bleachanimefan1 · 4 years ago

Text

Oblitus Part 29

T.N.T

Alastor narrowed his eyes as he glared at the other deer demon who had his arms wrapped around Anna hugging her, tightly. His shadow watched as well beside Alastor's shoulder. (Who does this fella think he is?!) It made a malicious grin. ( You know, you could always eat him?)

"Yes, I guess I could. There's something hinky about him that I do not like." Alastor muttered under his breath as he glared at the man standing next to Anna with a strained smile.

"What's got you steamed, Smiles?" Angel asked. He noticed Chris standing next to Anna, eyeing him up and down. "Ooh, who's this hot stud?"

"Who's this Anna?" Charlie asked.

"Guys, this is my boyfriend believe it or not." Anna introduced Chris to everyone.

"I'm Chris." Chris announced himself. He wrapped his arm around Anna's waist, pulling her close to him, smiling. "I suppose my Anna banana here has been keeping you guys busy?"

"Wait a minute, if you're her boyfriend, then how are you here?" Vaggie questioned.

"I don't remember." Chris shook his head.

"The same as Anna. She can't remember how she got here as well!" Charlie explained. "This is too much of a coincidence."

"Yeah, how did you get here?" Alastor pressed, narrowing his eyes.

"I told you I don't know." Chris replied.

"Give the guy a break, Smiles." Angel said. "He's probably just as confused and scared just like Anna was."

Chris turned to Anna "How about we go somewhere private, just the two of us." he said. "We have some catching up to do."

"S-Sure!" Anna said, nervously. "I can't wait to tell you everything!"

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Angel called out as the two of them walked away. Alastor stared as Chris and Anna left. Nope! There was something wrong about that guy! He silently followed after them.He

Chris and Anna walked through the city as Anna told him everything that has happen her. Chris listened as they continued before the two passed through an alley. Anna noticed that Chris had been quiet for a while as he had not said a word.

"Is there something wrong?" Anna frowned, wondering.

Chris sighed. "You know, I'm hearing a lot about this Alastor fellow but nothing about me. Didn't you miss me?"

Anna's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't know!" She answered. "Yes, I did miss you. I would think about you often. Why did it take so long for you to find me?"

"Well, it's a big city." Chris laughed. He thought of the times he stopped at some of the clubs and bars. He had fun with some of the ladies here and there. But, what Anna didn't know, it wouldn't hurt her, as long as he had a little fun.

He looked back Anna who was still waiting. "But, never mind that. All that matters is that we're now, together again." Chris pulled Anna's face closer to his and kissed her, unexpectedly. She squealed in surprise, but brushed it off, and kissed back. Anna felt her back pressed against the brick wall as Chris pressed in closer for a deeper kiss. Then she felt Chris's hands grip her sides, starting to move down towards her butt. Anna quickly moved them back towards her sides. Something felt wrong about this. She was uncomfortable.

Then Anna shivered as she felt a hand slid down then slowly it started to go downward. She pulled back and pushed Chris's hand away from her. "Chris? What are you doing?"

"Come on, don't tell me that you don't want this?" Chris snaked his arm around Anna's waist, pulling her closer to him. His hands moved down placing them at her sides. Anna's heart began to jolt not with excitement but repulse. She stood frozen. Anna shook her head and shoved Chris away from her.

"No." She said. Chris stared at her with wide eyes.

"What?" The man said in disbelief.

Anna shook her head. "I said no. I'm sorry." She said, still a little shaken. As she managed to calm down, Anna raised her head and looked at Chris. "I'm just not ready. Do you understand? Perhaps in time, we can-"

"You stupid bitch!" Anna's eyes widen. She backed away from him shocked by his raised voice.

Chris narrowed his eyes at her as his lips turned into a scowl, looking angrily at her. "After everything, I've done, nothing's changed. You still refuse me! In time, in time, that's what you always say!" He shouted his voice get higher.

"Chris, stop your scaring me." Anna replied, nervously.

"This is all your fault to begin with that we're both here!"

"Wait a minute," Anna's eyes widened. Suddenly, a sharp sting burned in her head. She remembered.

Anna remembered her and Chris having a wonderful time on a date. Then Chris for some reason made her follow him into an alley. Suddenly, she was slammed up against the brick wall as Chris forcibly pressed his lips against hers. He pressed his body up against hers, pinning her. She felt him trying to pull up her shirt to get it off. Anna tried to push him away until she felt something cold jammed into her side. A gun.

For a split second, Anna screamed as she shoved the gun away from her. She and Chris struggled with it until Anna accidentally squeezed the trigger. Pop! The gun fired and the bullet ricocheted bouncing off the metal cans and drain pipes. The bullet hit Chris right in his back, killing him.

However, the weight of his body was too heavy to Anna as she struggled to push him off. She took a step back. Into an unopened manhole cover. She fell.

It seemed like an eternity until she was the red sky and Pentagram City. Her head smacked right into fire escape after fire escape, tumbling down stairs, landing her head, again, right on the lid of a garbage container. Her vision went dark and she met with solid ground.

Anna looked back at Chris. Her eyes widened in shock. She backed away from him but was cornered as her back met against the wall.

"You have no one to blame but yourself." She snapped. "It was because of your actions that we're here, not mine."

Anna screamed as Chris slammed his hands beside her head, his face close to hers.

"Get off me!" Anna screamed. She tried to pry his hands off of her but Chris slammed Anna against the wall, pinning her body against his.

"Shut up!" Chris shouted.

Anna felt Chris's hand dig into her jeans towards her lower body. She screamed and tried to shove him off of her. But, Chris silenced her as he slammed his lips against hers. Anna shut her eyes and bit down, hard, at Chris's lower lip. He yelled and pulled back, his lip now bleeding. He narrowed his eyes at Anna with a dangerous look.

"You bitch!" Chris pulled back his hand and backhanded Anna across the cheek, knocking her down.

"Alastor!" Anna cried out. She curled into a ball as Chris came closer.

Chris froze where he stood as someone let out a dark, wicked laugh. A loud static was emitted which made Anna and Chris cover their ears. The sound of footsteps echoed on the ground as they trotted towards Anna and Chris. Anna looked up, while Chris stared in horror at the monstrosity before him. Alastor's tall, lanky form stared directly back at Chris with dark black eyes with sharp talons ready to strike.

"You know, I...really...hate...people like you!" Alastor growled deeply, furiously. Anna shut her eyes and she heard Chris scream as Alastor lunged at him. Alastor bit down on Chris's neck, tearing a chunk of it off, soon followed by various ripping of body parts as they were thrown all over the place. Then it there was a dead silence.

"No!" Anna cried out as soon as she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders. She shoved them away. She gasped when she saw that it was Alastor.

"Let's go and get a drink." Alastor said. He scooped Anna up and walked away, heading back towards the hotel.

At the hotel, Husk pouring himself a glass. He nearly jumped as the door suddenly was suddenly kicked open as Alastor walked in, carrying Anna.

"Husker, a couple of rounds, if you would?" Alastor ordered. "It's been a rough night."

"I'm not-What the fuck happened to you?" Husk stopped when he saw Anna, her clothes were disheveled. Anna teared up. Alastor shot Husk a glance, telling him not to say anymore.

"Chris-he-" She cried. "It was all him! He did this to me! It was all his fault!" She bawled into her hands. Husk growled.

"Where's the little fucker now? I want to have a talk with him!"

"No, need. I've already taken care of him." Alastor replied.

Husk huffed. "Good." He reached down and set out a couple of glasses pouring some liquor into it and slid them over to Alastor and Anna.

"Let's drink our pain away." Husk said.

After a couple of rounds, Anna felt like the whole room was spinning. She looked at Alastor to see him slightly tipsy as well. It was always him. Whenever she was in trouble, Alastor had always been there. He had made her feel differently than she ever had with Chris or anyone. She was in love with Alastor.

Slowly, Anna's lips met with Alastor's. Alastor completely froze. His eyes widened as his whole body tensed up. Now, this was new. It frightened him. He had never been kissed before. Only his mother was allowed to. But, with Anna it was different. Maybe, it was the booze talking but he didn't mind it one bit, surprisingly. Anna was the only woman whom he actually felt anything with, more than platonic relationship. A relationship that was dangerously getting in the way of his plans.

"Husker, my friend, I think it's time to cut us off." Alastor said.

He stood up and Anna could barely stand on her feet. She was drunk. He was drunk. Both completely wasted. Alastor picked Anna up, heading up stairs, taking Anna to her room, so he can return to his.

As Alastor carried Anna down the hallways, Anna wrapped her arms around Alastor's neck. Alastor's whole body tensed at her touch, with uncertainty and confusion.

"Please stay with me tonight." She struggled to keep her eyes open. "I don't want to be alone."

Soon, Alastor's and Anna's voice echoed in the hallways from Anna's room. They made merry all night. The two, thinking that it was a strange vivid dream, as they both went to asleep.

Not knowing of the consequence that would soon befall the two.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #alastor #alastor the radio demon #angel dust #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fanfiction #hazbin hotel fan art #charlie magne

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condorclaw · 4 years ago

Text

[This is about Phil and Wilbur’s life exchange, and Wilbur’s following death in 30smp. Take note of the warnings.]

TW: Major character death, implied suicide, blood, vomiting mention, death by explosion and burns

“What did you fucking DO!?”

The boy’s hands shot up to his brunette hair, gripping the roots tightly and tugging, his eyes blown wide and practically bloodshot due to strain. In front of him stood his little brother, bruised legs wobbling as he stared downward at the still, unmoving form between the two of them. The blood from the wound was beginning to pool into a pitiful red puddle, not big enough to draw attention, but still enough to be tinged with the scent of copper. The scent was revolting, making the older brother collapse to his knees, jolting the hands from his dark hair, which immediately slid down to cover his mouth, keeping him from screaming.

His voice still slipped out, shaky and full of terror, “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t think he’d-!”

“Shit, shit, shit-!”

The younger jolted his head in the direction of the settlements, where the faintest sound of whirring machinery and exhausted snorts could be heard. The shriek of surprise mixed with pain, followed by the heavy thud of something hitting the floor, had been enough to wake him from his slumber, but it hadn’t seemed like anybody else felt the same sensation. They wouldn’t know what the eldest had done to their father figure, how he caused him to slip and strike the floor.

If it had only been his neck snapping, the siblings could write it off as a tragic accident, one that the others would buy after all, since the sky builds were quite risky. But it didn’t look like the man had died from falling, but rather died from a blow to the side that caused him to stumble and lose his balance.

And that was exactly what had happened. Nobody would see this as an accident, which it had been.

“Ooh…” The little brother groaned, it being his turn to grab at his own blonde locks. His claws scraped along his scalp, not drawing blood, but causing a stinging sensation to crawl upon his skin, one that was comparable to how his insides were practically doing somersaults. “Ooh nooo…”

Back at home, everybody would laugh off such a pitiful strike of the weapon, but the brothers had frequently miscalculated the fragile nature of mortals, with this scenario never entering the possibility of their minds. Normally, it would be their friends accidently yelping out of both pain and surprise whenever the brothers would playfully nudge them, or them being accidentally buried underneath piles of dirt the duo would quickly dig up. Those had been harmless mistakes resulting in a bit of injury, but never anything life-threatening or crippling, and the two of them had tried as hard as they could not to hurt anybody.

Even when it came to the monsters and beasts of the land, knowing that the eyes of their new group were always upon them, it made the brothers wary to show their strength, preferring to dash away from the “threats”, faking their cowardice. In a way, it was still cowardice, but it wasn’t directed towards the creatures who threatened their home, but rather the lingering knowledge that though the siblings still possessed their birth powers, they were now in mortal bodies, and were extremely easy to kill if anybody got a good hit in.

The older brother had been cautious about the setup initially, not a fan of what appeared to be factions forming, wanting to avoid any possibility of conflict arising that could result in him, and his little brother, being forced to reveal their abilities for protection. It seemed like nobody had malicious intent for the most part, aside from a very dedicated man who greatly misunderstood the meaning of “communism”, which placed the brunette at ease. Well, for the most part at least, since his little sibling appeared to be quite concerned about the eccentric man after he had murdered a fellow prisoner imprisoned in the land. It didn’t require the brothers to reveal their abilities yet, however, so for now, everything was alright.

Until now.

“Tommy,” the brunette raised to his feet in unsteady, yet determined movements, his eyes aglow with both grief and hope, tears slowly trailing down his cheeks like rain. “I know how to fix this.”

If the others found the trained survivalist dead, with a large axe wound sliced across his flesh, they’d be able to track it back to the older brother, which was already bad enough. There would be no way for him to explain in time, no way for him to share the full story, no way for him to get away without calling upon his powers. That was terrifying enough, and the older brother deserved it for the sin he had committed in murdering the man who cared for the brothers as if they were his own, but there was one other component to the possible future that terrified the eldest more than anything: what would happen to Tommy?

No matter the scenario that played out within his thoughts, there was no ending where Tommy would survive if the brunette were discovered, which was an inevitable fate. If he insisted his little sibling had no part in the killing that took place, they would believe Tommy was the true killer, with the eldest trying to take the blame for him. If he just let them end his life naturally, however, due to the close bond between the eldest and the youngest, Tommy would be blamed as an accomplice and likely meet the same fate as his big brother.

He couldn’t even blame the others for taking the lives of the brothers if it were to happen. The eight- well, six, of them were complete strangers, him and Tommy being the only exception. In this bizarre scenario, the only one you could fully trust was your instincts, and the eldest knew instincts well. Neither of them was safe in this situation.

Which is why he had a plan.

“Wilbur, I swear, if you say what I’m fuckin’ thinking of-“

“Take mine.”

The knot of guilt in Wilbur’s gut only expanded when the pained look in Tommy’s eyes grew in intensity. His little brother’s fists clenched at his side, his claws digging into his palms. His teeth were gritted, and Wilbur knew he was going to argue back.

“Absolutely fuckin’ NOT!” The blonde roared out, thin tears copying Wilbur’s own, dripping all the way down from Tommy’s cheeks to his chin. “You can’t just-!”

“SHUT UP!” Wilbur hated screaming. He hated being forceful with those he loved, especially if it was his family, and sadly, Tommy was the only family left. But Wilbur was determined Tommy wouldn’t be left alone, he’d make sure of it. That’s why bringing back their father was top priority above all else.

If Wilbur were the one who had died, it would simply be seen as an “accident”. A miscalculated fall, just like the one that had taken the explorer’s life only minutes before. There would be no external wounds, nothing that could be used to pin the crime on either Tommy or their father. Tommy wouldn’t kill his brother like that, and there was no way their father would turn against the boys he had grown fond of so quickly.

Tommy didn’t have the energy to argue, hobbling towards Wilbur on shaky legs, soft hiccups escaping from his mouth, and Wilbur didn’t have the energy either, allowing the blonde to press his face into Wilbur’s chest, the boy letting out a muffled scream. After what felt like an eternity, Wilbur gently pushed his little brother away from him, offering a pained smile, “we can’t die, stupid. Remember? I’m sure I’ll just end up back at home. I doubt this land actually kills any of us, it’s probably a massive ruse.”

If Wilbur were being truthful right now, all of what he said wouldn't have been spoken. Wilbur and Tommy were no longer of immortal status in this form, and Wilbur believed beyond a doubt that their companion, Charlie, was really dead. Tommy didn’t need to hear that right now, though. Wilbur needed to pretend for his brother’s sake, and he was incredibly good at doing so.

“I’ll see you after all this is over, okay?”

---

Dull blue eyes gazed into the similarly clouded ones staring back at him. The man outstretched his hand, cautiously, as if he couldn’t believe what was real, or what just happened. Seeing his concern, Tommy took his shaky hand in his own, lacing the fingers together in a quiet reassurance of “I’m here”. His father’s eyes softened, a smile steadily crawling upon his face as he let out a soft bark of laughter, something that sounded like it would be used if somebody else was telling an unbelievable story. Yeah, Tommy couldn’t believe it either. Tommy’s stomach was too empty for the contents to be twisted in an uneasy manner, having been emptied out just moments before the older man had awoken.

“Hey, mate, how long was I out for,” his laugh was slightly hollow, his lungs still intaking all the air that had been lost while he was… passed out.

“Phil,” Tommy whimpered out, bringing up an arm, dirty with fresh blood, to wipe away the new batches of tears that were beginning to form. Though his sight was blurry, there was no mistaking the look of terror that spread across Phil’s face.

Before Tommy could protest, he was enveloped in a tight embrace of both strong arms and soft feathers, holding him close. “Shh, hey, it’s okay…”

It wasn’t okay though. Despite Phil’s smothering embrace, there was enough space for Tommy to peak over the man’s shoulder, seeing what laid beyond. Phil hadn’t noticed him yet, and though Tommy wished his father would never turn around, and that Tommy would never have to explain what just happened, it was inevitable. Noticing that his youngest son appeared to be focused on something else, Phil slowly turned to see for himself, and was faced with a horrifying sight, one that made him squeeze Tommy even closer to him.

“What the fuck.”

A broken laugh from grief escaped from Tommy’s mouth, the boy gripping onto Phil’s sleeves just as tightly as Phil was gripping him in turn. The silence was deafening, with only the unsteady breaths coming from the two blondes filling the air. Tommy let out a soft yelp when Phil accidently dug his own nails into Tommy’s back, making the older man flinch from the sound. He needed to know how this happened, he needed to know why Wilbur was-

“Phil.”

Phil was quickly snapped out of his overwhelming thoughts, questions and demands still rattling against the walls of his brain. He loosened his hold on Tommy’s back, instead making sure to rest his hands on his adoptive son’s shoulders to balance the both of them. Phil wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but he didn’t want to set the younger boy off, not when he was already in such a bad state of shock.

“Phil.”

“I-I’m here. What is it, what do you need?”

“I… I need to tell you something.”

---

Wilbur’s body had never moved as fast as it had in the last second, his mouth open and gulping in the thick, smoky air of their outdoor prison. His hand instinctively grasped for anything to clutch onto, to ground him from the nightmare he had experienced. Thankfully, a rough hand quickly came to his rescue, grasping onto the shoulder of Wilbur’s sweater, and pulling him into a clumsy hug. The crushing grip immediately told Wilbur that it was Phil, that Phil was here for him and not wanting to let go.

Wait, Phil?

With a startled cry, Wilbur shoved Phil away from him, the force making him stumble slightly backwards, knees shaking. The smell of blood clinging to the back of Wilbur’s sweater told him all he needed to know about where he was, and that no, this wasn’t a dream.

“H-How!?”

“Mate-“

“How the fuck are you and I both here-!?”

Phil lunged forward in silent desperation, digging his fingers into the bloody material his son was coated with, silently begging for him to just shut up for a moment and understand that Phil needed to hold him now more than ever. Letting out rapid breaths accompanied by confused cries, Wilbur allowed Phil to embrace him once more, even trying to clumsily wrap his arms around the older man to reciprocate the affection.

For a moment, the two held each other in silence, Wilbur still trying to catch his breath. None of this made any fucking sense, and after a few heartbeats of quiet, Wilbur couldn’t stand not knowing anymore. He opened his mouth to demand answers, but he was cut off once more.

“Tommy told me. I know everything.”

Those words felt like Phil had just reached out and clutched his hand around Wilbur’s throat, tightening his grip, cutting off the brunette’s air supply. Wilbur could feel his mouth gaping open, silently mouthing words that had no sound to them. It was as if he was trying to form some kind of excuse, some kind of explanation that would make Phil spare his life, that would make Phil see that he wasn't a monster and that he just couldn't control himself. But instead of anything else, only guilt-filled pleads and begs emerged from his throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-"

"Shh… It's okay, Will. It's okay."

"-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Let it all out, it's alright…"

At some point, Wilbur's words became more like garbled sobs, with only the faintest sign he was still repeating his words coming from the soft "-ry" that Phil would hear being whispered amongst the tears.

It took quite a bit, but soon enough, Wilbur's lanky form was curled up in Phil's arms, his eyes still wet and his body covered with dried bodily residue, as Phil whispered comforting words into his son's ears.

Phil didn't hate Wilbur, and especially not Tommy. Wilbur had made a stupid mistake in an effort to joke around, no malice visible in sight. He had been trying to play in a way both he and Tommy were familiar with from their homes, but it didn't translate well when it came to mortals.

Wilbur and Tommy weren't the monsters they believed others would see them as, but rather two confused beings in a world they didn't fully understand. Wilbur was even willing to give his own life up for Phil, a man he had only recently met, because he believed the murder to be cruel, unfair, and accidental.

The only reason Wilbur was even alive himself was because Tommy sacrificed "part of himself" to bring him back, believing he didn't deserve to meet a terrible fate over a mistake he wanted to fix. Phil wasn't fully sure how the brothers' powers worked, but based on the panicked expression that Wilbur had worn upon learning what Tommy had done, he had a feeling it would have its own set of consequences in the future.

For now, Tommy was curled up in his shared house with his roommate, Sneeg, unconscious. There had been no time to try and clean him before Wilbur had woken up, and by now, the others were sure to rise from their own slumbers shortly. Upon hearing that Tommy was safe, Wilbur's sorrowing cries were accompanied by ones filled with relief.

Phil would never ask Tommy and Wilbur to reveal their true abilities, or even their true forms, to anybody else, and due to all the pain the three of them had gone through today, none of them were in a proper state to reveal such a big secret. So a cover story was formed between Phil and Wilbur, one that they'd let Tommy know about later. A story about how they'd gone out to gather resources early on, and were ambushed by a number of horrific creatures. Tommy had struggled back home, injured and exhausted, yet insistent he could manage, while Phil had to help Wilbur get back to the base due to the eldest brother's inability to walk steadily.

All of this was a lot to take in for Phil, and how could it not be? He had just met a gruesome end, one that fate itself hadn't even planned, and here he was, still standing, yet still shaky, as if he had fallen from a kitchen counter and damaged his knee, rather than falling from a tower and breaking his neck. The wound at his side had stopped bleeding as well, likely drying by the time the revival took place, or maybe something else mystical ceased the bleeding.

Whatever it was, Phil was incredibly grateful for what the boys had done for him, and though things wouldn't be the same as they had been just a few hours ago, the three of them could push on, and Phil would do whatever he could to protect them from now on.

---

Wilbur couldn't feel his face.

His ears were ringing loudly, the sensation shrieking inside of his head as he tried to grip at the floor beneath him, needing something to steady himself onto, so he could regain control.

But he couldn't move his arms. Gravity had them pinned to the ground, and no matter how much Wilbur's internal screams of desperation cut through the sharp ringing, begging and pleading with all his might, his body wouldn't move an inch.

Tiny pricks of heat began stinging his skin, as the initial numbness died down, and Wilbur tried to inhale as much air as he could to just stay alive, get back home.

I can't die like this!

In the distance Wilbur could hear the shocked cries of anguish and guilt from the one responsible, Ranboo, and it felt like a knife twisted into his gut. The others that had witnessed the accident had already accepted Wilbur's fate, it appeared. He wanted to scream at them.

FUCKING HELP ME!

Even though he'd never admit it, Wilbur knew they wouldn't be able to do anything. The only possibility of him coming back, good as new, as if nothing had happened, was if Tommy revived him once more.

And Wilbur would rather die a hundred more deaths than let his little brother push his own mortal form closer, and closer to the edge. Wilbur wouldn't be able to save him when that happened, and Tommy's visions had only got more vibrant over Wilbur's raw revival, showing signs of vulnerability.

The air was thick now, Wilbur's desperate attempts to gulp at it began slowing down, and Wilbur knew what that meant.

I'm really going to leave them all alone, huh? What kind of sick fucking game is fate playing right now?

Only a few hours ago, Wilbur had been watching Tommy work on his little mud hole. A home "worthy for mortals such as himself", as the blonde phrased it. Even though Phil was still resting from all the shock that he faced earlier, Wilbur knew he was okay, and he really believed that, yeah, the three of them would make it out of this weird place. Maybe Tommy and him could even take Phil back to their home, showing him where they grew up.

All that was just a dream now, though. Wilbur would never see it happen.

Letting out a final breath, Wilbur shut his eyes, the shouts from the witnesses dying out as the world became silent.

You two idiots better look out for each other.

#this is more intense than what I usually write so be careful ok?#anyway the angst train has pulled into the station. choo choo bitch #30smp #30 days smp #free trial smp #30!tommy #30!wilbur #30!phil #tw death #the other warnings are on the top so I think it's okay to just tag this one since it's the focus #my writing #my post

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