#you can just tell they saw an article that said this was improvised and now fully believe the scene they watched was the spontaneous moment

[riosnecktattoo]

i need society to learn what improvised actually means

[parentplus]

GETTING PICK EATERS TO EAT (At home and School)

It's the beginning of the week again and my pickey little eater has school. For me that means waking up early, making breakfast and packing his lunch box. There is only one problem with this, I'm not a morning person, waking up early isn't as appealing to me as it may be to other people. As much as I love my little guy and I would do anything for him I don't always look foreward to this, especially now that i'm carrying baby number 2. I am a single mother so I don't have a significant other to pick up the slack when i'm feeling to sick or tired and i'm having a difficult time rolling out of bed. Due to that fact, I have to get creative and find ways to make his special meals easier and quicker to make in the morning. In this article I am going cover some things i've found that have made my mornings a little bit easier and get my son to eat better.

My son is a very pickey eater and I don't care what shape, color or picture the food comes in he would rather starve than eat something substantial. Here's an example for everyone when it comes to that: I know hes a pickey eater and has texture issues but I didn't think that he would actually starve himself. He's 5 1/2 now but last year he was in preschool and I really thought he was eating at school and they thought he was eating here at home, we were both giving him food. After a while I noticed he was losing alot of weight, he wasn't gaining anything. He is naturally very tall and skinny and has always been somewhat underweight. It's hard to tell sometimes with kids who are naturally that skinny when it's just beginning to become a problem. I'm a very attentive mother but I do get busy and i'm not perfect, I thought it might be another growth spurt making him look extra skinny. One day he started telling me his tummy hurt and was constantly pushing on it so I took him to see his doctor. The doctor told me that he had lost alot of weight since the last time he saw him and gave me some techiques and such to help him with his weight gain and to help his stomach issues get better. I talked to the school and they said he wouldn't eat anything they gave him. Nobody told me that he was refusing to eat anything at all. This year is different though, I have learned from my mistake and created ways to get him to eat at home and at school.

First thing I did was get a copy of the schools breakfast and lunch menu so I know the days he's going to refuse everything and I could see when and what he was and wasn't eating. Next, I thought since he basically just picks at everything he eats that if he got both the school lunch and a packed lunch that he could just pick at both and he would be getting a meal and not even noticing it. I communicated with the school about it and have them give him both, that worked better than I thought it was going to. Sometimes parents just get lucky with some of the ways we improvise to try and keep our kids healthy and well cared for.

BENTO BOXES:

Putting together special meals every morning is kind of a task in itself but it doesn't have to be difficult or time consuming, so I put together bento boxes. I can put a variety of food in there so he has a larger choice of what he might eat (well, pick at I guess). You can make them ahead of time and freeze them if you want but I don't freeze mine, I make and put them together in the morning. Since I do it this way the cooking and packing of these meals has to be quick and easy, I dont want to spend 30 minutes or more cooking in the morning while at the same time getting my son ready for school and fighting morning sickness. I have an article coming out about bento boxes you can check out, on how to put them together and what I put in my sons. I also make sure he eats at least some breakfast here at home (even if it's only a few bites) before going to school so i can be sure he has at least a little bit of food in him, just in case he refuses school breakfast.

BRIBERY:

There is no shame in bribing a picky eater to eat, whatever works is whatever i'll be happy I tried... lol... If you know there is something that your kid will do almost anything for than by all means mama work your magick. When it comes to my son it works about 80% of the time. With some things he would rather give up everything he loves in life than to even take one bite of it. He acts as if i'm trying to poison him and death is surely to befall him if he even looks at it. I think he's an extreme case of picky little monster though and very dramatic at times but that just means I need to get more creative and improvise better.

MENU PLANNING:

Planning a menu for kids who refuse to eat anything new or substantial is extremely important. It doesn't have to be a chore though. Just because special conciderations have to be taken for some children doesn't mean it has to be difficult. At the beginning of each week I will post my picky eater menu (I coordinate it with the school menu) and please feel free to use it as needed. Remember everything can and most times has to be tailored to fit a childs specific needs. Communicating with your childs nutritionist or doctor is also never a bad idea. It's not an embarassing one either, you don't have to feel ashamed or like your failing as a parent just because you need a little extra help or advice. When I had to take my son to the doctor over his eating and weight issues I felt terrible and like I hurt and failed my baby by getting to busy and not noticing his special care needs earlier. I'm here to let you know that noone is perfect and even though a special care handbook would be nice for picky eaters every child is unique so there isn't one. Hopefully this is helpful and useful for you so you can avoid making the same mistakes I have. If you have made the same ones than you can see how I was able to recover from them. Trial and error was a big part of this, and I'm not in any way an expert on nutrition I just know what I can and can't get my little guy to eat.

PREPERATION IS KEY:

In order to get your child to eat at school the preperation has to start at home. Trying to send your kid to school with something new probably isn't going to work. You have to introduce it at home first and make sure they will at least eat some of it if they get hungry. You can again take a look at the school menu and introduce some of those items more frequently so that eventually if they aquire a taste for it you may not have to pack a lunch on those days. I coordinate my lunches with the schools because some of the stuff they serve I know he will at least pick at. Like hamburgers and french fries, he will eat the fries but not the hamburger (he's not real big on any meat that isn't chicken). In that case I buy the chicken patties that he likes and add that to his lunch box on those days. There are a couple days during the week that I get a break from packing a whole entire lunch for him because every wednesday they have pizza day and who doesn't like pizza. My saving grace on that one though is they serve either pepperoni or cheese pizza. My son will only eat cheese pizza, like I said, hes not big on meat.

CUT OUT SNACKS:

I had a difficult time with this at first and couldn't do it so I basically just switched up the kind of snacks, amount and changed what time of day I gave them to him. I give him things like a cereal bar sometimes, but not to close to mealtime as this is very filling for him. More along the lines of if I know dinner will probably be a little later than he usually eats. Depending on how late dinner might be you could always just give your kid part of one to hold them over just a little longer and put the rest in a sandwich bag for later or to add to their lunch box. I also give him cereal bars in the morning sometimes because I know he will eat those and sometimes thats all the energy I have You could also do this if you woke up late, they are a good meal replacement and have alot of nutrition in them. I also do things like slices of apples, grapes or a banana for snacks. If your kid isn't big on fruits, like mine isn't, I found out that if they are hungry enough for a snack then they will at least take a bite or two. This was difficult for me as well because denying my son (who already doesn't like to eat) any food or snack made me feel like a terrible mom and like I was starving him during the only time he decided he was hungry.

EASY AND QUICK MORNING MEALS:

At the beginning of this I mentioned that I am not a morning person, well i'm not. My child is an extremely picky eater and the meals I have to make in the morning consist of breakfast and school lunch. I also hate clean up so what I make requires very little to almost no clean up as well. When I do it this way school mornings don't have to start as early and I can still get everything done quickly. Buying things like instant rice for his lunch and hard boiling eggs the night before or even a few nights ahead helps me out alot. Instant rice takes a total of a few minutes to boil water then about 5 minutes to make, so it's super fast and there is virtually no clean up. When it comes to breakfast I buy pancake mix, hashbrown patties and stuff like that. If your kid has no problem with eating sausage they also have precoooked links, those and the patties can be cooked in the microwave and I use a small egg pan to make a pancake for him because the frozen ones taste funny to us. Buying those frozen pancakes works to and will speed the morning process, I make my own because my son just doesn't really like those. This is also a small amount of clean up, it really only consists of the bowl, pan, plate and silverware. You also have the option to premake your own pancakes or waffles and freeze those if you'd like, it's much cheaper than buying the premade frozen ones, even less clean up and probably taste better than them to. Mornings don't have to be a big rush and even if you're not a morning person they can still be enjoyable and a good way to start out your day. Another plus on this is you get to spend that morning enjoying it with your kids. No rushing, fighting or yelling, just having a morning breakfast together and enjoying each others company. Sounds to good to be true but I believe it's very possible and extremely benificial to the parent child relationship.

With all of that being said I do have a weekly picky eater menu coming out, bento box ideas and creative ways I help my son eat healthier. He's an overactive child so he will probably always be tall and skinny but at least doing things like this he's a healthy, tall, skinny, overactive child... If your able to contact one, a licensed nutritionist can be very helpful also. They have excellent techniques and little tricks they can provide you and your family with. Nutrition is very importand but with children it can become harder than it has to be. Children have their own personalities, likes and dislikes just like adult do (I personally can't stand fish) but unfortunately they don't understand that it's important to get the right nutrients into your body so you can grow up big and strong. If you enjoyed this or it was helpful in any way remember to like, share and follow for more.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Hey! Why (Defenestratte) here. Remembered you're keen on the John Oliver bits of the Horne Section TV Show, so wanted to send you this: https://www.chortle.co.uk/interviews/2022/10/24/51964/i%E2%80%99m_definitely_a_lot_odder_in_the_show_than_i_am_in_real_life

It's an interview with Alex Horne and does have a sneak peek on Mr Oliver's involvement in the show. Hope this is useful/fun for your interests!

Well shit. I am very interested in the mystery of why John Oliver is doing this show, and I have to love any mystery where every bit of information that shines light on the situation brings up more questions than answers. For example:

How did that work with John Oliver on the laptop calling in?

We had to be really clever with that, I had a day with him over Zoom and we had to record everything. We had to go through every script and lots of costume changes, we had to improvise quite a bit and then we had to fit round his bits in the room.

So, we had to pretend he was there, someone had to press play, that was really odd, but it worked. Hopefully I think when you’re watching it you presume that he’s actually there but he’s a man that doesn’t have much free time. He also nailed everything first time. We’re all so used to people being on Zoom now and you don’t really bat an eyelid, I think.

The main question this brings up is what is he going to be on the show? Before seeing this article, I assumed they'd come up with some reason for a fictionalized John Oliver to talk to the characters in the show over video chat, and that would be his role. Which I still think must be the case, because I'm not sure the alternative is technologically possible. This paragraph seems to suggest that the actor John Oliver filmed his parts over video call, but the character John Oliver will be physically in the room with them, like CGI. Which, as I said, I don't think can actually be done. But then why would the other actors have to pretend he's there? I guess what this means is just that it's hard to talk a screen that'll be playing pre-recorded footage, and pretend you're having a live conversation with the person on it. But it's worded in a way that implies they're all in front of green screens, pretending a tennis ball on a stick is John Oliver.

So that's an entirely new question for me, though it's one that will be answered as soon as the show starts on November 3rd. For the mystery I was wondering about before, of why he's there, this article offers: "It was quite a long process and I think now we’ve done it hopefully it’ll be easier in future, but we’ve got Big Zuu, Dr Ranj Singh, John Oliver who is in every episode and he’s enormous in America, he’s won a million Emmys! So that’s odd, he said yes straight away."

Thank you, Alex, that tells me nothing and leaves me more baffled than before. I am beginning to suspect that John Oliver agreed to do this just because he found my Tumblr blog, learned that someone has decided to become an historian on everything about his career that ties him to Britain, saw this person trying to put all the pieces together and find connections that make sense in an overall picture, and decided to fuck with me by doing the most inexplicable thing possible, that clashes with everything about his previous relationship with British media of any kind. That's my current working theory.

Anyway, thank you for the link, @defenestratte! I'd not seen this before, and I appreciate the baffling information. Really looking forward to November 3rd now, to see what this is about. Oh, and for anyone who wants to read the article without copy-pasting the URL, here's a link. It does contain a bunch of non-John-Oliver-related information about what the show is like, and to be honest some of it makes it sound less like the sort of thing I'll enjoy than the Guardian article from last week did. This article has a bit more focus on how it'll be a live music/variety show, which doesn't hugely appeal to me. I'm hoping the show will be more 30 Rock than TGS, you know? More Flight of the Conchords sitcom than just a filmed Flight of the Conchords gig. I mean I'd love to see a Flight of the Conchords concert, but I don't think that alone would make a good TV show.

Either way, I'm sure I'll enjoy the sitcom elements, and I do find Horne Section songs funny, and to be honest even if every other moment of it were shit I would still watch all six episodes just for the John Oliver mystery. Which I guess is the exact intention behind the move of attaching really famous guests to projects like this, and in this case it will 100% worked on me.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Love On-Set (Pt. 07 of 10)

Pairing: Dacre Montgomery X Reader

Summary: You knew acting on Stranger Things season 3 would be a challenge, and you also knew, from the start, you'd have to work closely with Dacre Montgomery. But is wasn't a big deal for you, since this is your job and you're determined to act professionally. You had it all figured out, or so you thought, until the moment you were out face to face with Dacre. Then, this job became a lot harder than it was supposed to be, since you can't seem to focus whenever you're around Dacre. And you'll have to be around him a lot until the end of production.

Word count: 3 K

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{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

×

Kisses

The only reason why you didn't talk to Dacre at the airport was because you thought you'd have a couple of hours before shooting. But you were wrong. The flight was terribly late, and you had no choice but to go straight to set, and as soon as you got there, you and Dacre were pulled apart so you could get ready.

Already in your outfit, you stare at the mirror as your hairstylist gives the final touches, mumbling in response to whatever she's talking about. Your leg is bouncing nervously, as you regret not having called Dacre yesterday night. Or driven to his house. Anything really. Maybe it would a lot easier if you two had some time, but life has a way of complicating things.

“And you're ready,” Laura says and you manage to smile and thank her. “Now go before James comes yelling at us again.”

“Alright.” Mumbling under your breath, you stand up and leave the dressing room only to be rushed into the parking lot. Dacre is already there, talking to James. The wind makes you shiver and you brace yourself... Well, you think it's the wind that makes you shiver, what else could it be?

“...despite the delay, we'll get everything done in time so–” James swallows the words when he sees you. “(Y/N), great. Hope you made a safe trip here. I was just talking to Dacre about the upcoming scenes you two will shoot. There's just so much chemistry that I had to add more kisses.” Oh... You should've read the new script. “But I'm sure it won't be a problem since you two seem to be getting along very well.”

“Yeah, of course...” The first thing you'll do when you get to your hotel room is read every single line of this scrip. It'll be better if you're mentally prepared for what's to come.

But you're not prepared for this.

“Alright, everybody into position.” The director announces before walking away, leaving you and Dacre alone. Well, not exactly since you can't ignore the camera guys, the microphones... All the rest.

“Sorry, we couldn't talk before... This.” Dacre apologizes, but you shake your head slightly.

“But we will.” Nodding more to yourself than to him, you hope nobody is listening to this conversation. “Right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright, guys, c'mon,” James says and Dacre walks away as you take a deep breath. Thinking over the lines, you let yourself fall into character, remembering the backstory that leads to this moment. “Everybody set? Ok... Action!”

Turning around, you look at Dacre as he crosses the parking lot. “I can't believe you took almost an hour to get here, Hargrove!” You yell, walking to end the distance between the two of you. “There's a freaking Demidog in the pool!”

“The thing is dead. So why the hurry?” He flashes Billy's a cocky smile, and you struggle to keep the irritated expression on your face. “Chill.”

“Don't tell me to chill. Can't you miss one single date?” Giving action to Amy's jealousy attack, you punch Dacre in the chest, and he gives a small step back as he rolls his eyes. “Not even when there's an interdimensional monster involved?”

“Why the hell you always think I'm with some girl?” When you move to push him again, Billy grabs Amy's wrists. This was improvised, you think. Or is it on the new script? Dacre's grip is soft though, and you put on an annoyed face as you try to set free, uselessly.

“Because that's where you always are.” Putting a frustrating undertone in the sentence, you sigh. “But it doesn't matter. We have a much bigger fish to fry.”

“The damn thing is dead, it can wait.”

You get why Amy falls for Billy. Or are your fellings for Dacre clouding your judgment? Putting up a fight, you try to free yourself of his grip, making sure to stumble backward until your back hits a car. “Let go of me! I'm tired of this shit.” Slowly, Amy gives up fighting. Physically and emotionally. The moment you stop moving, Dacre let's go of your wrists, his arms coming to trap you in between the car and his body.

“I know you're jealous. I just need to figure out why.” Billy leans closer, and you can feel yourself drowning in Dacre's eyes, more beautiful than the ocean.

“I said it once and I'll say it again. I won't be one of your many flings...” Your voice is low, and as the cameras move closer, you know it's about to happen. God, it's so damn hard to keep up the act. You can feel Dacre's chest every time he breaths in, and you want to pull him even closer. “...so... Back the hell off.” Putting your hand on his chest, you know that the action that would make more sense here would be Amy trying to push him away again... But you fail to do that, Amy slowly disappearing as you break character for the hundredth time. Instead of pushing him away, your fingers slowly clench around the collar of his jacket, grabbing it. Dacre's eyes burn on you, and you know he wants it to.

“Who said I want you to be a fling?”

Then you don't know who moves first. If it's Dacre who leans forward or if it's you, pulling him. But it happens, fast and needy. First kisses shouldn't be like this. They're supposed to be short and sweet, shy even. But part of you is thankful for the situation you're in right now, because it justifies how you cling onto him, how deep the kiss is, hot and passionate. Billy and Amy were both craving for this moment, but so were you. And so were Dacre because his grip around you is tight, his lips keeping a quick pace, one that you're more than happy to follow. You hand find its way to his hair, as he holds the small of your back, needing to have you closer, if that even possible. The cameras are long forgotten, and there's no set, no show, nothing. Just his taste, fresh and sweet, inebriating. There's something in the background, some familiar sound trying to reach you, but you push it away, ignore it, tiptoeing even more to try and match Dacre's high, wishing he would lift you up.

“CUT!” James' voice sounds like a freaking thunder, and it wakes you up. With your heart beating insanely fast, you suddenly go back to reality, probably blushing harder than ever as you step away from Dacre. He takes a while to let go of you, intense eyes locked on yours as he tries to catch his breath, falling out of the stupor too. “That was... Good. That was good.” James says, and when you look around, you notice people staring. That wasn't... Discreet, and now you know that what you heard was James yelling ‘cut’ half a dozen times.

Running a hand through your hair, you have to fight back the urge to touch your lips, the kiss burning in your head... You really hope James will need another take.

“Are you ok?” Dacre asks, taking a quick look around before taking your hand in his.

“Yeah...” Biting your lip, you nod, staring at him. This just gave you a rush of adrenaline, making you feel brave. “More than ok, actually.”

Dacre's lips break into a smile, his thumb caressing the back of your hand. “Well, judging by James' obsession with the perfect lighting, I bet he'll need a couple more takes to get it done.”

“I really hope so. I–” You're cut short for a commotion. Several people move to surround James, who soon starts cursing. “What's going on?” You mutter, exchanging a glance with Dacre before walking over the sea of people. That's when you see the rest of the cast, and you just now remember they were here too... And they just saw everything... Millie won't let you hear the end of it.

“Who the hell did this?” James shouts, and a lot of people start apologizing. Giving the others a glance, you notice they have their eyes glued to their phones.

“Oh, no...” Something leaked, you're so damn sure. Rushing to the guys, you stand beside Noah, taking a look at his screen. “What happened?”

“The kiss. The first you shot. Someone here recorded and published on YouTube ten minutes ago.” As Noah speaks, he hands you over his phone and you read the news article he was reading. ‘Exciting scene from Stranger Things 3 leaks: Amy Halpert and Billy Hargrove are definitely a couple’.

“Shit.” You mutter, leaning closer to Dacre so he can read it too. “Who did it?”

“We have no idea,” Natalia answers, looking up from her phone. “But I watched it. Whoever did this stopped recording right before the cameras fell.”

This sucks. Giving Noah his cellphone back, you sigh. “It's really mean to do that. There's a lot of operations to keep the set free from curious eyes and someone from the inside leaks it? That's ridiculous.”

“James will sue whoever did this,” Dacre adds.

“Excuse me, guys.” Ryan comes, a tablet on his hand and a very worried expression on his face. “James wants you to stay here until we find out who did this.” He says, giving you a quick glance before looking back at his tablet. “You got the trailers here so... I think you'll be comfortable. Sorry, but James is–”

“RYAN!”

“James' orders. Sorry.” Rolling his eyes and sighing, he gives his back at you.

“We'll have to stay? I didn't do it.” Gaten exclaims, clearly pissed.

“Me neither. I was too busy watching the kiss with my own eyes.” Natalia complains but gives you a glance.

Well, you would like to get to your bed, but complaining won't help and you're exhausted from the flight. “I'm calling it a night.” You mutter, upset that this whole thing happened. The leaking, of course. “I'll take a shower to wash the 80's from my skin and I'll go see my trailer.” You haven't seen it yet, since it's meant for the Battle of Starcout scenes, which you'll probably shoot throughout the night.

“Me too,” Dacre says, then turning at you. “I'll find your trailer after if that's alright.”

“Sure.” Smiling, you blush to feel all those eyes on you. “See you soon, then.”

• • •

You're lucky to have your baggage here. Maybe the flight being delayed wasn't so bad as it seemed. After showering and handing the outfit back to your stylist, you follow her directions to where the trailers are. They're in the very back of the set, in a large area, set side by side. You're surprised to see the trailer doesn't look like a trailer on the inside, but like an actual house, only a little tiny. There's a main space with a couch, a table, and a TV, then a kitchen with a stove, an oven, and a sink. A bathroom with a shower. And on the very back, the thing you needed the most after this long day. A well-equipaded room with a huge bed. Smiling, you let your piece of baggage fall as you climb on the bed, lying on your back and sighing in relief.

Jumping back to your feet, you decide to change into something more comfortable. So you exchange your jeans for light gray sweatpants and a black spaghetti strap tank top before lying back down. You're happy you ate on the plane, or else you'd be starving right now.

But despite all the thoughts in your head, you can't help but come back to the main event of the day. Your fingers come to touch your lips, as you close your eyes to bring the memory back. You're upset you didn't get to do more takes. The cold and nervousness you were feeling vanished so quickly, at the same moment his lips collided on yours. So hot and intense. Breathtaking.

You're dragged away from your thoughts by a knock on the door. Dacre. He told you he'd come. Taking a deep breath and fixing your simple clothes the best you can, you make your way to the door, thinking you should've picked something better to put on. “Hey.” You mutter when you swing the door open, gesturing for him to come in. “Did you see your trailer?”

“Yeah. I stopped by to leave my luggage.” He answers, stepping inside and looking down at you. “These things look bigger from the inside.”

“Definitely.” Clearing your throat, you gesture at the back of the trailer, to the bedroom. You know how awkward it may be, but there's a burning on your back that won't let you sit on the couch. “I hope you don't mind but could we talk while I lie down? My back hurts real bad from the five hours we had to spend at the airport.”

“I don't mind at all.” Nodding, you walk back to the bedroom, throwing yourself on the bed. “So. Who do you think leaked the video?” Dacre asks as he sits on the edge.

“I have no idea. All I know is that is wasn't me. And it wasn't you.” Staring at the ceiling, you try not to feel very self-conscious right now. “I was too busy on scene.”

“Me too.” He mutters. “Where does it hurt, by the way?”

“On my shoulder blades.” You answer, looking at him. He looks very handsome, as usual, despite wearing a simple white T-shirt. “Those airport chairs weren't very nice to me.”

“I can give you a massage if you want.” Dacre stares at you dead serious, which means he's not joking.

You wish you had the adrenaline rush from earlier, so it'd push the words right off your mouth, and maybe you wouldn't be blushing. “Uhm... If you want to.”

“Alright, lie on your stomach.” He says, taking off his shoes and climbing on the bed.

“Fine.” Mumbling, more to yourself than to him, you roll over, grabbing a pillow to rest your head. Breathing deeply, you feel the mattress moving under Dacre's weight as he places himself beside you.

“Let me know if it hurts, alright?” The moment you nod, you feel his hands on your back. And he must know what he's doing because it does feel good. The butterflies on your stomach are wide awake now, since Dacre has his hands on you, strong but delicate at the same time, rubbing and softly pushing your muscles.

“If I knew you were good at this I'd have asked.” You say with a smile, pulling the small amount of hair that still falls on your back out of his way. Dacre gets this as a permission to put a little more pressure, just enough to make you relax. His fingers slide under the fabric of your shirt, but you don't mind.

“Glad I can help.”

You just mumble in response, suddenly feeling your tiredness taking over as you close your eyes shut. Falling asleep now is the last thing you want because it's so good to be around Dacre, and you think you may finally understand where you both stand in all this situation. What you're feelings are and if they can take you somewhere.

“It's ok, I'm alright now.” You speak up, moving to lie on your side. “If you continue I'll fall asleep in a matter of seconds.”

“If you're tired I can go.” He gestures at the door, already moving.

“No. Stay.” Bursting out, you sit up, grabbing his arm. You can't believe what you just said. What you just asked of him. “If you want, of course.”

Dacre stands still for a while, frozen before he settles down on the bed again. “Alright.” You can tell he's tired too, by the way his eyes are heavy.

“Let's play a game. Who sleeps first loses.” The idea comes suddenly to your head, and it seems to lighten up the mood.

“And what will I get when I win?” He has a cocky smile on his lips as he lies down, facing you.

“When? Don't get overconfident.” Moving a little to get comfortable, you take a deep breath when your eyes set upon his. Blue and calming. “I'm gonna win.” You say, winking at him.

“I really doubt that.” As he speaks, Dacre brings his hand to your face, fingers sliding from your forehead to your eyelids, forcing you to close your eyes. “You'll lose, so better start making peace with that.” His voice, low and deep, sends a shiver down your spine.

You were just about to answer, to say something, when you notice how his hand lingers, moving to caress your cheek, thumb rubbing the soft skin on your jaw until it reaches your chin. Slowly, painfully slow, it comes to your lower lip. His touch burns, making your head spin around. The memory of the kiss fills your head, and you know you want to do that again.

Swallowing hard, you gather all the courage you can to move closer to him, ending all the space between your bodies and, being really brave for once, going for the thing you want. That you need the most right now. You connect your lips to his, feeling relieved as if a burden was suddenly lifted when you feel him kissing you back. Dacre's hand remain on your cheek, and yours rest on his chest, feeling his muscles under the soft fabric of his shirt. The kiss is slower this time, as if you're both discovering, unrevealing each other. But you don't mind. You love it as much as you loved the other one.

It sucks when you have to break apart to breathe. But when you do, you remain close, your foreheads touching because you just can't force yourself to pull away from him now. “Sorry, I... I had to.” You mutter under your breath.

“It's alright.” Dacre's hand comes to encircle your waist, keeping you close. “If you didn't, I'd have to.” He giggles. “I've been dying to kiss you, (Y/N).”

“Me too.” You whisper. “What you said in the message... I feel the same way. That kiss... I really wanted it and that wasn't Amy, it was me.” Maybe it's the sleep winning over you, but the words just come out. You need him to know. You need to let it out and you hope it means something to him. “Dacre, I... I really like you. A lot.”

You blush when he smiles, but soon enough a giggle escapes your lips. “Then I'd like to take you on a second date. As soon as James lets us out of this set.”

“I'd love that.” Giggling like a teenager, you kiss him again, a peck on the lips that linger a little too long. But not long enough. “Uhm... You can crash here if you want.” You decide to offer since you just noticed you're already on the bed, all tangled on each other. “I think we already reached the point of no return here.”

“I agree...”

“Are we... Are we going to sleep like this?” You ask, putting a strand of hair behind your ear.

“However you like.”

Biting your lip to hold back a smile, you turn around. Dacre is fast to hold you, a strong arm pushing your back against his chest. “Is this ok?”

“Yeah.” You both move to get more comfortable and you lay your hand on top of his, on your stomach.

You've never been like that with anyone, so close, so... Intimate. But you like it. And you can't believe it's Dacre who's holding you this way.

×

@baker151910 @shinydixon @dreamin-of-dacre @hanoi15 @lickmymelaninn @foccus @multific @uncookspaget @kellysimagines @peakascum @thisbreakableheaven

[mrsdeanwinchester19]

The Interview

Steve x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: The Avengers have interviews with a news outlet and it doesn’t go as expected

Type: Fluff and humor

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: This was inspired by the Jiminy Glick/Jimmy Fallon interview

The Avengers compound was almost completely quiet, Steve was the only one awake.  He doesn’t normally stay at the compound anymore, preferring to stay at his house, but they got in late from a mission last night and fell asleep after taking his suit off.  The only noise came from the drip, drip, drip of the coffee maker as he mentally tried to prepare for the interviews the whole team has today.  Everyone had been assigned a journalist for a news outlet called The New York Sun.  They were doing a piece on the Avengers, hopefully they won’t try to turn it into an exposé, but it’s not like they would find any information that isn’t already on the Internet after Natasha decrypted and released SHIELD’s files.

Bucky stumbles into the kitchen in a long gray and purple striped robe, looking like he just woke from cryo.  “Good morning sunshine,” Steve jokes.  Bucky glares at him before taking the cup of coffee that Steve had prepared for himself before walking back out.  “FRIDAY,” Steve says to the air.  “Set an alarm for everyone’s room.”  He smiles slightly when the loud alarm starts blaring in all their rooms.  

Sam slams his door open and looks around frazzled.  “What the hell, man?” He clearly woke up thinking there was some kind of attack happening.

Steve simply shrugs his shoulders in response.  “You need to get ready.”

Once everyone had gotten up and gotten ready, they all have a meeting in the common area.  Tony orders them not to say anything the people don’t know about already, don’t say anything about each other, and definitely don’t talk about relationships or family.  

The journalists are spread out around the compound, each in their own room, so Tony tells them where to go to meet their journalist.  Steve goes into the conference room to see one chair turned away from him.  When he closes the door, the journalist spins their chair around and sets their papers on the table.  Steve is immediately struck by how beautiful the interviewer is. Long Y/H/C hair tumbling over her shoulders, bright Y/E/C eyes staring into his baby blues.  She’s wearing a tight black skirt and a white blouse that Steve can slightly see her lacy bralette through.  

��Steve Rogers, nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand.  Steve grips her soft hand in his rough one and shakes it.  He can’t help but notice the lack of a ring on the hand he didn’t shake.

“Nice to meet you too Miss…” he trails off.

“Y/N.”

“Miss Y/N.  It’s not often we do interviews, just press conferences,” he says, sitting down across the table from her.

“Well, normally I interview celebrities, so this is a nice change of pace,” she answers.  Apparently Steve isn’t a celebrity in her eyes despite the fact that he’s a national icon and has been since World War II.  

“What would you like to know?” Steve changes the subject.

“I want to know about your journey.  I want to know how-” she checks her notes, “-Steve Rogers got to where he is today; but not too much detail because I don’t actually care.  You were born where?”

“I was born and raised in Brooklyn-,” Steve explains, but she cuts him off.

“-Isn’t that wonderful? Poor Brooklyn or Newsies Brooklyn?”

“Uh, it was more poor Brooklyn.”

“Poor Brooklyn, okay. And I’m assuming from the grammar…limited education.”

Steve nearly has to keep his jaw from dropping at her audacity.  To keep his mouth from opening, he clenches his jaw as she continues with the questions.  He may not be a genius like Tony, but he’s smart.  While Tony’s head is filled with ideas for inventions, his is packed with military strategies, fighting styles, and a lifetime of wise advice that the team never wants to hear.  Then, at night, what takes over his mind is how embarrassing the Rappin’ with Cap videos about hot lunches and tooth decay are.

She continues before he has a chance to respond, “There are a lot of words you don’t say.  Rumors are you don’t swear, is that true?”  Steve nods his head in affirmation.  “Why?  Are you scared of saying the words or something?”

Steve sighs, used to this kind of response.  “I just think it sounds unintelligent and unprofessional.”

“Ah, and with your lack of education you want to sound as smart as possible.  So, moving on, you stopped producing weapons.  You said ‘I’m not gonna do it anymore’.  Why is that?”

“Yeah, that uh, that wasn’t me, that was Tony.”

“And you are…?”

“Steve Rogers.”

She gasps, “These questions are not- I’m not prepared for this!  Alright, improvising.  Here’s one, how are you alive?”

“I beg your pardon?” Steve asks, not quite understanding if she’s referring to his age or a certain mission he shouldn’t have come back from.

“You went into the ice. Human cells are mostly made of water. When water freezes, it expands. Your cells should have burst.”

“They think that the serum prevented it from happening.  The doctors said that instead of the water in my cells expanding that when it got cold it clumped together and turned solid.  I’m not a scientist though, that’s something you would want to ask Bruce or Cho, they tried to explain it to me.”

“Bruce isn’t a medical doctor, right?” she asks.

“Right.  But he studied the serum, attempting to replicate it and now that I’m here again he’s trying to learn more about it.  I was basically a pin cushion for him in the beginning, he took so much blood.”

“Alright, last question. I wanna ask you about your relationship with Bucky Barnes.”

“He’s a very good friend-“ Steve begins.

“Lover.”

“What?”

“Is he your lover?” she asks again.

“No, he’s just a friend; basically my brother,” Steve defends.

“Admit it in this interview, he’s your male lover!”

“You’re just trying to get a reaction out of me!” Steve says.  He knows he shouldn’t let her rile him up at all, but he can’t help it when the entire interview has been to hold.

“I’m not trying to get a reaction.”

“Yes you are, you’re trying to get a reaction out of me by saying ridiculous stuff like this!”

“I’ll tell you the reaction that I’m trying to get over, I’m trying to get over the fact that I thought this was with Stark!”

“You gotta be shitting me.”

“Oof, Rogers, you kiss your wife with that mouth?  Or should I say you kiss Bucky with that mouth,” she says.

Steve pulls at his own hair before walking out of the conference room.  She’ll find her own way out.  What the hell kind of interview was that?  The questions were almost nonsensical, followed no pattern or sequence, and apparently she thought she was interviewing a different person.  He’s been angered by interviewers before, especially when they try to work in “gotcha” questions, but never straight up insulted like this with the education comment.  He’s not sure if the others are done with their interviews yet but if he needs to talk to them, he can text.  He’s headed home.

  You unlock your front door and drop your purse after closing the door. Before you even get a chance to turn on the light, a voice calls out.  “Limited education?”

You jump a bit and put your hand on your chest.  You look over to see a dark figure on the couch.  He stands up and slowly walks over until he’s in the light shining through the front windows from the street lights.  “I think you deserved it,” you say.

“Oh really?” he asks.

“Yes.  Texting your wife that you’re getting in and then staying at the compound?”  You walk closer to him.  “I stayed up for hours worried that something happened to you in the last few minutes of the flight and you said I’m not allowed to call you during missions.”

“I’m sorry babe, my phone died and I passed out when I went to go take off my uniform.  Can you forgive me?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You look up at him then at his chest.  “I mean, a massage would definitely help…”

He laughs.  “I was about to ask the same thing of you, especially after FRIDAY showed Tony the full recording of my interview and then had an almost two hour phone call with me about it.  He’s gonna kill me when he finds out the interviewer was my wife.  Actually it’s gonna be when he finds out I got married and didn’t invite the team.”

“Well don’t worry about it,” you say, setting your hands against his chest and feel his strong heart beating beneath his skin.  “He’ll understand since you two weren’t on good terms at the time. In other news, I wrote you a shining review about how you’re smart, selfless, brave, kind, and how sexy your ass is.”

He laughs and leans down to kiss you.  The kiss is chaste but sweet.  “We’re having dinner with the team on Thursday.”  

It’s Monday today so that gives me only 3 days to mentally prepare to meet the people most important to him. “Are you sure?” I ask nervously.  

“Of course!  You already know Bucky and he loves you.  I’m sure the rest of the team will too.  Besides, how else will we explain the great article about me when Tony saw the interview.”

“Did you tell them they’re having dinner with you and your wife?” I ask.  I have hung out with Bucky and Steve dozens of times.  He comes over for dinner at least twice a week and he was the best man at Steve’s second wedding.  Because Tony and Steve had been split apart, he really wanted Bucky at his wedding, even though he wasn’t fully recovered yet.  I think Steve would’ve put him in a straight jacket had it meant he could be there.  Bucky also wanted to be there more than anything, he was just terrified he would ruin Steve’s day.  So after telling Bucky, you had a small, second ceremony that Bucky was able to attend, along with Steve’s Wakandan friends. We may end up having a third ceremony that the team can finally attend.

“Nope.  I just told them team dinner on Thursday and they have to be there.  But for now, how about we head to the bedroom and get reacquainted?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows and biting his full lower lip.

“Yeah, you need to take care of your wife that you left alone for a week.  Otherwise you’ll get an article about your secret addition to glazed donuts and soap operas!”

Taglist: @imanuglywombat​

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 1 of 2 Summary:

Takes place in the aftermath of Mag 92. Recently cleared of murder, Head Archivist, Jonathan Sims, takes a moment to decompress in the archives after a hellish week.

[CHAPTER 2 HERE]

It throbed

Ached

Burned

The events of the past few days came crashing down on Jon as soon as he left Elias’s office.  Lord, he hurt.  

Vagley, he wondered at the events that had led to working in a place where “not dying” was considered an accomplishment.  Yet alone one where a sociopathic boss allowed him to take the wrap for a murder Jon did not commit, and spend the preceding week being stalked by the circus, having unpleasant interviews with the lightless flame, being cast into the vast and hunted down by Detective Tonner.

A sense of being watched sent a jolt of fear through Jon.  He cast about for signs of Daisy.  Was she gone?  Was he safe?  He didn’t think he could deal with her now, not after-

Stop it.  

Jon sagged against the wall of the decidedly deserted corridor, the world shifting in swirling bursts.  Alone, at last and again; he was alone.  His good hand constricted around his wrist in a vain hope the pressure would alleviate the pain.  It didn’t.

A distraction, that’s what he needed.  

Perhaps he could get some work done.  It might be enough to take his mind off of things-  He recalled several articles on ADHD outlining how quickly they picked up on the presence of pain stimuli, especially when it was the most interesting thing happening at the moment.  There were a few other journals that indicated ADHD people had a higher pain tolerance than their peers.  Jon snorted.  He was still on his feet so there must be some truth to it.  

Good lord.  If he was supposed to have a high pain threshold, what must something like this be for a normal person?  Then again-he wasn’t exactly a person anymore, was he.  The way Daisy had- Stop it, now.  

The last thing he needed was to dwell on Detective Tonner and the events of the Past several hours. 

Jon all but collapsed into his chair, allowing the exhaustion leading his bones to pull him down.  He held his burned hand close.  Too close as the heat radiating off his body set his hand burning anew.  He hissed, forcing it as far away as physically allowed.  Practically prostrating himself across the marred surface of the desk.  Causing a small avalanche of paperwork and statements to slide to the floor.  

He cursed under his breath.  Why did he always have to make such a mess of things?  Why couldn’t he do anything right?  He’d driven Tim and Martin away, put Georgie in danger, couldn’t keep Melony or Basira from getting ensnared and...Sasha-  Jon swallowed past the lump in his throat, disgusted with himself.  He could barely think straight yet alone work.  His breath hitched sending a sharp jab of pain from his throbbing ribs.  Detective Tonner’s baton hadn’t...agreed with him.  Acrid saliva pooled in his mouth, for a moment Jon feared he was going to be sick.  

Jon forced himself to still and breathe.  It passed.  The insistent burning sliding back to the surface.  He did the only thing he could do, and turned attention to that all consuming pain.  Attempting to capture the feeling with objective detachment.  It was a technique perfected after the Jane Prentiss incident.  Cataloging the sensations as though they were happening to someone else, another statement for the archives.  That academic veneer had given him some modicum of control, of understanding.  

He desperately wanted that now-

Then again, that was the reason he was in this mess, wasn’t he?  Always having to know?  He sighed, sliding back into memory.

Once, while living with his grandmother, he had scalded his hand ladling out soup.  It had ached for a week and flared up if he touched anything so much as tepid.  This was so much worse.  

Unbidden, Elias’s words came floating back ‘The Archivist observes and experiences’.  Jon groaned.  Right, and what good would that do?  Distastefully, he eyed the improvised bandage of t-shirt strips.  He should change it, he knew but his stomach soured at the thought.  Recalling kneeling on the hard earth, frantically prying off the molten wax.  In his hast he hadn’t registered the blistering skin tearing away with it, leaving his palm raw and exposed.  Part of him didn’t want to face the grotesquery behind the bandage- to see what monstrous form it had taken.

It burned.

He knew it burned.  He knew it needed looking after and he begged his brain to stop sending the signals.  After all:

Message received.

End the bloody statement.

Burns were nothing at all like cuts.  Cuts were well behaved.  Delicately, Jon probed the ragged edges of the gash at his neck.  Cuts were predictable.  Pressing down till he felt the sickening twinge slice through.  For a moment there was this known experience, this expected outcome.  He forgot about the burn, replaced only by the sharp sting in his neck.  Then it all went sideways.  

Jon was looking back into the cold eyes of Detective Tonner as she pressed the blad to his throat.  She had wanted to cut him, to hurt him, to kill him.  She killed monsters, and she’d made it clear where he stood.  His pulse jumped and his chest started to restrict as he saw once more Michael Crew, prone on the forest floor.  The muzzle flash burned itself once more into his retina and Crew was dead.  Daisy had done that.  Daisy had done that right in front of him and Daisy had meant to do that to him and the fear threatening to spill over.  It was too much, just too much!

“Will you stop it!” he shouted out loud, pinching the burn with all his might, abruptly returning to the physical experience of pain in the here and now; the nausea coming back with vengeance.  He whimpered, pressing his face into the cool of his desk.  Breathe.  Just, breathe.  What good was it to be a monster if it hurt so badly?  

Once more he wraped fingers about a slim wrist, attempting to cut off the circulation.  Anything to dull that burning.  He longed to submerge it in ice.  If he couldn’t stop the pain, maybe he could numb it, a little at any rate.  

With heavy eyes, he calculated the distance between himself and the door.  Funny, it never seemed like it was that far away before.  Jon wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and rest for a few moments, but his body simply protested too much. 

Ice, right, ice would help.  

He pushed himself upright on elbows and forearms.  Jon’s legs felt heavy, as though he were borrowing someone else's.  It was hard to move, much harder than it had moments ago- he glanced at the clock, jared to see hours had slipped by.  How had that happened?  

He couldn’t understand why his body was having such a hard time moving when he’d been fine this morning.  He couldn’t understand why the world wouldn’t stop spinning.  The door to his office was closed, meaning he’d have to let go of the burn to open it.  For an insane moment, he considered surrendering and curling up under his desk.  But Jonathan Sims never knew how to give up, did he?  

Martin had had a bit of a day.  

Why wouldn’t he of?  It wasn’t every day that you find out your very life is tied to your place of employment, your coworker had been killed over a year ago replaced by a supernatural imposter and that your “double boss”, to use Tim’s turn of phrase, was a cold blooded killer.  

And Jon-

The man knew how to make an entrance, stumbling into the archives, covered in grime, flanked by Detective Tonner and Basira.  And core, he looked bad.  

After the, Martin had been whisked away by Basira and Daisy to...answer a few questions.  It had felt more like an interrogation than anything else.  He wondered why it had been so difficult for them to accept that he had been as much in the dark as the rest of them.  Tim hadn't helped matters by continuing to make a string of dark comments and Melony had started to genuinely unnerve him.  Which was saying something considering he literally worked among Eldritch horrors.  

After everything, he needed a moment to himself.  Away from angry coworkers and murderous bosses and prosecutorial police detectives.  He retreated back to the old cot in document storage, mulling things over late into the day.  For once he didn’t worry about wasting institute time.  If Elias was to be believed, Martin could no more be fired than he could quit.  Always, his thoughts returned back to Jon.  He hoped the man had good enough sense to go home and rest up.  

“I need a cup of tea-” he said to no one in particular, scrubbing a wery hand down his face.  As far as he could tell, the others had left hours ago.  Just as well, he didn’t feel up to peacekeeping at the moment.  

Martin froze at the door of the employee lounge.  Jon was there!  Standing with his forehead pressed against the fridge.  Looking for all the world like he was about to fold at any second.  Even from his vantage point across the room, Martin could tell he was trembling.  

“Jon?” he regretted speaking at once.  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jon lept like a spooked cat.  

“M-Martin-'' his voice was faint, frayed at the edges with exhaustion.  Concern gripped Martin’s chest as he took the man in properly.  

Even covered in ruddy mud; the bruises under his eyes were stark, stretching his gaunt features in agonized lines.  He had a death grip on a thin wrist of a badly bandaged hand.  It reminded Martin of the aftermath of Jane Prentiss and having to chase him away from the tunnels to ensure Jon had time to heal.  

Only this was worse, somehow.  Then, Jon had been angry, driven by the single minded purpose of finding out who had it in for the archivist position.  But now- the fight was gone, leaving him small, vulnerable and lord, he looked defeated.  

“Can I help you?” 

Jon made a complicated spazam of a movement Martin couldn’t make heads or tails of.  Muttering something about getting some ice as he listed to the side.

[CHAPTER 2 LINK]

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part four Word count: 4475± words Episode summary: When  Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part four summary: Dean closes in on the location that the coordinates lead to, and soon begins to grasp the magnitude of this case. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!  Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury   and  medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of   demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and   flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies,   depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     Darrington, Washington      December 2nd, 2005 - Present Day

     Two days later, Dean and his Impala roll down a two-lane highway through Stillaguamish Valley. Mountains rise from the earth as if they are still growing, overshadowing the villages beneath. Rays of sun pierce through the clouds, spotlights of the sky shining down on the land below.  

     It’s not nearly as warm as it was in Texas. In fact, Dean has the heaters on to cast out the cold. The radio started jamming some time ago, not because of the presence of a ghost or some other supernatural force, but simply because the high mountains are interfering with the radio signal. To break the silence, Dean threw in an old Metallica mixtape, one he used to listen to whenever he was on the road alone. Enter Sandman rages through the speakers as Dean taps his thumb on the steering wheel in the rhythm of the drums. 

     He needs his music right now. It’s the only thing that can keep him sane. The evident empty space next to him and the silence that filled the car before the screaming guitars did, had him almost turn around at least half a dozen times. The knot in his stomach hasn’t exactly loosened ever since he left Sam on the side of the road, but with his father’s orders in mind, he kept pushing north. You’re here now, Dean. Might as well solve this case.

     When he crossed the Texas - Oklahoma state border, he stopped at an internet cafe and traced the location of the coordinates. It turns out that 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W isn’t an abandoned factory building in the American wastelands or a graveyard which happens to be the final resting place of a not so peaceful spirit. These coordinates are those of a pass on the south side of a mountain range, west of a small town called Darrington, located in Washington State. 

     When he searched for articles on anything out of the ordinary in that area, he stumbled on a bunch of missing person reports and killings in the local newspapers. The growing population of grey wolves and bears, plus the city closing in on nature, are the causes of this unusual animal behavior, according to the wildlife services. Apparently Dean’s father doubts that the animals have anything to do with it. The missing people and casualties are random. Dean couldn’t find a link between any of them, so he went on and eventually got himself on Arlington-Darrington Road, heading for the small village. 

      As far as Dean knows, the last attack took place nine days ago. It happened at the exact location of the coordinates, where a family was hiking. The teenage daughter and the father were killed by God knows what, only the nineteen-year-old son survived. He expects the local police will know more about his state and current whereabouts. Having a word with the poor kid is on the hunter’s to-do list, once he finds him. 

     Dean looks over to the right, where a high peak stands out from the other mountains surrounding him. It seems ominous and beautiful at the same time, intimidating anyone who enters the valley as it reaches for the sky. That’s the place where it went down; Whitehorse Mountain. 

    The hunter carries on and passes a church and a short airstrip, then he enters the town of Darrington. Not quite sure where he’s supposed to go, he follows the main road, and soon spots the police department on his right. The Impala turns to the curb and through his windshield, the driver takes a look around. The benefits of a small town; everything is close by. Across from the police department he finds a diner and a small hotel, no need to drive around to find a place to stay and to eat. First things first, though, he has to figure out what he’s up against. 

     Somewhat carelessly, the hunter rummages through the several false ID’s and badges in the glove compartment, choosing one that his father printed a couple of months back. As he gets out of the car and walks around it, he checks out the ID as he mouths the false name.      “Glenn Frey. Brilliant, Dad,” he chuckles, instantly recognizing the name of one of the founders of the Eagles.

     Confident, Dean steps inside the governmental building.      The deputy, who’s reading a file by a large desk in the corner of the room, looks up from his work. “Can I help you?”      “Yeah, I’m Glenn Frey from Wildlife Services,” Dean flashes his identification as he walks up to the counter.      “Ah, you’re here for the attacks.” The officer stands up and walks over, after which he shakes Dean’s hand. “Deputy Steven Morson.”      “Is the sheriff in?” Dean wonders, getting straight to the point.      “Not at this moment, but he will be later on,” the young deputy replies.

     The hunter purses his lips, letting a sound of discontent slip past his teeth. “I was hoping to gather some more information about the Cleveland family.”      “Your colleague missed something?” deputy Morson assumes.      Oh oh, the real rangers got here first? Quickly, Dean improvises, the slight hesitation barely noticeable. “We just don’t want to miss any details, make sure we know what we’re up against.”      The deputy nods at that. “No problem. I’ll get the documents for you.”

     He moves over to the file cases against the back wall, opens one of the doors with a key, and leafs through the files. As he’s working, Dean takes his time to have a look around  the small police station. Pictures of officers decorate the bleak walls, together with a collection of medals and declarations. The sheriff’s office is separated from the main desk. A bit further in the back, Dean sees the door that leads to the holding cells. It looks pretty much like every small town’s department he’s been in; way too familiar. There have been several occasions that he saw places like this from behind bars.

     “Here you go.” The deputy interrupts his thoughts as he hands the file to Dean.      With a grateful nod, so-called Glenn Frey from Wildlife Services lays out the documents on the desk. Attentive, he scans the pages as he flips through them, but there isn’t much there.      Puzzled, Dean faces the policeman. “This is it? No imaging, death reports?”      “The remains haven’t been brought down the mountain yet. Three hunters went up to track them down, bring the bodies back and shoot the animals if they get the chance, but it snowed for quite a while a few days back, so I think they got delayed,” the deputy explains.      Dean hums at that, but doesn’t say anything. And I think they got killed, he ponders quietly.      “So all you have is an eyewitness report of ...?” Dean concludes, leaving the line open for the deputy to fill in.      “David, the oldest son. Poor guy,” he sighs.      “Got hurt bad?” Dean presumes.      “No, not at all. He didn’t have a scratch on him. But what he saw… Well, read for yourself,” The policeman nods at the page on the counter, and gives the ranger some space.

     Dean scans the eyewitness report intently, taking out the details that matter to him most. Tear wounds, bite marks, limbs shredded off, major blood loss. By the looks of it, the two victims were torn in pieces. The description of the suspected killer is rather poor, though. Apparently Deputy Morson notices the change in Dean’s facial expression, because he comments on it right away.

     “The kid lost his entire family, so I can imagine it was all a blur, but he said the animal was ‘invisible’. He also claimed he heard a wolf-like howl right before the incidents happened, but nothing like any grey he has ever heard, apparently. It seems unlikely, doesn’t it? One lone wolf attacking people? I think he kind of lost it, if I may speak honestly,” he says with a little chuckle. 

     Dean, however, doesn’t find it funny at all and keeps a straight face. “Why don’t we both stick to our fields of expertise, shall we? Is he still in town?”      The deputy clears his throat awkwardly. “He is, Sir. He refuses to go back home until his family is recovered from the mountain.” 

     The hunter nods, able to get behind that reasoning. Foolish, but understandable. Either way, for his investigation on this case it’s quite convenient that David is still here. The report doesn’t give him a lot to go on, and he really needs to know more before he sets foot onto the creature’s hunting grounds.      He straightens his back and looks the deputy in the eye before he exits the police department. “Tell me, where can I find David?”      “He has a room at the Inn, but I’ve seen him in church a lot,” the young officer says.      “Thank you, I’ll see if I can find him.” Dean knocks on the wooden counter before he turns away.

     When he exits the building, he halts on the doorstep, narrowing his eyes to shield them from the bright surroundings outside. Snowy mountain tops reflect the sun, a chilly wind rolling through the valley. The hunter adjusts the collar of his leather coat to protect himself from the cool breeze.

     “You’re a ranger, aren’t you?”      He glances aside, finding an older man on a bench by the grass. The grey-haired local glances at the badge in Dean’s hand, before he makes eye-contact.      “I am,” Dean confirms, despite it being a lie.      The elder nods at that, averting his gaze to the peak on their west. The deep wrinkles become more evident while he folds his boney hands around the handle of his cane. “That missing family? You won’t find them.”      Frowning at that, Dean watches him, curious if he knows more. “What makes you say that?”

     “Three of this town’s best hunters have gone up there, they should’ve been back by now,” the senior says with a voice raw from age. “If you’d ask me, I’d say they befell the same fate.”      Dean tilts his head slightly in agreement, beholding the menacing scenery as well. The wise man seems to know that there is more going on than meets the eye at the treacherous slopes.      “Have you seen anything up there?” he wonders.      The old local shakes his head, his stare turning to the icy pavement. “No one has seen anything. It moves too fast. I’ve heard it, though.”

      Intrigued, Dean turns his head to face the man on the bench again. There is a fear in his eyes that seems out of character for the old soul who has without a doubt seen so much in his long life.      “I’ve lived here for seventy years. Have protected my cattle from quite a few predators during that time. Grizzlies, mountain lions, coyotes, wolves. But what I’ve been hearing lately is unlike any animal I’ve ever heard,” he tells.

     Plenty might think the local has gone mad, but Dean has a growing respect for the senior. If he ever had any doubt that this was his kind of deal, it is taken away now.      “Well, whatever is up there, I’ll take care of it,” he claims, sure to succeed.      “You’re not the first one to say that, and yet no one has returned, but that boy,” The old farmer nods in the direction of the church. “If I were you, I would leave the mountain be.”      “Can’t do that,” Dean shakes his head. “More people will disappear.”      “So will you if you go to find that beast.” 

     The elder’s blue eyes surprise Dean when they meet his green ones. They are so piercing and weary, that it startles him, but he manages not to flinch. Instead, he tries to read the man of age, who has one last message for him.      “There is something evil in those woods.”

     The much younger hunter can’t stop himself from swallowing thickly at the intense stare that comes his way. The local is desperate to change the ranger’s opinion, pleading with him to reconsider. Dean won’t, however, although he takes the warning seriously. The hunter might not know what he will be up against once he heads up, but it’s beginning to dawn on him it’s something unlike he has ever faced before.

     On the corner of Commercial Avenue and Riddle Street, Dean halts in front of a small church. The sign in front of the house of God, which is called St. John Mary Vianney Catholic, has his stomach reacting in a way he didn’t expect it to. The fact that both his parents’ names stare back at him, gives this place a whole other meaning. A strange feeling comes to him as a chill runs down his spine. It bothers him, because he’s not one of those new-agey kids who believes in destiny. Of course, this is just an odd coincidence, but somehow it feels like he was meant to be here. 

     Cautiously, he steps up the porch and enters the building. The church seems deserted, even the priest is nowhere to be seen. Light from outside falls through the stained glass and brings color to the house of the Holy. Candles are lit by the altar and have been burning for a while, given the way the wax has dripped down the silver candleholders. Several smaller flames flicker at the sidewall, worshipping the statue of the Virgin Mary. 

     As Dean enters the small church and walks through the central aisle between the rows of wooden benches, he spots a figure on the front row. Although the hunter’s footsteps echo through the old building, the guy apparently doesn’t hear him coming in. He absently stares at the statue of Jesus, nailed to a cross. And so Dean halts at the end of the aisle, trying to judge the situation and how to approach. Either the young man on the bench is ignoring him, or he’s so trapped in his thoughts that he has shut himself out from the world around him. Dean decides to say something to break through to him.      “Are you David?”

     Slowly, the young man glances aside, but doesn’t look Dean in the eye. His gaze is empty and beholds immense devastation. As if he has cried so much over the last couple of days, that he’s unable to express himself any longer.      “Who are you?” he asks with a raspy voice.      For a moment there, the hunter considers taking out his ID, but then he changes his mind. Sam is always far better in these situations, so he tries to imagine how his little brother would approach David. He decides to be upfront.      “I’m Dean,” he answers.

     The introduction doesn’t trigger a response, though; the only living member of the Clevelands continues to stare into the nothingness absently. Dean exhales, pondering. How the fuck is he going to get through to this kid? It’s clear as day David doesn’t want company, and right about now, he could use Sam’s people’s skills. His little brother can work miracles with a few kind words and a pleading gaze.      A bit ill-at-ease, Dean looks down at his feet. “I heard about your family. I’m sorry.”      The silence that follows is even more evident under these high ceilings. The acoustics should allow every sound to be amplified, yet it remains eerily quiet.      “I know how you feel,” he continues carefully.      David scoffs. “No, you don’t.”

     His firm answer catches the hunter off guard. The young man is right, he doesn’t know how he feels, not entirely. Dean didn’t see his entire family die, but the sound of his mother’s horrifying scream still rips through his mind every now and then. 

     For a moment he goes back in time. He doesn’t remember much of his early childhood, just bits and pieces, stills taken from a movie. But what went down on November 2nd 1983, the one day he wishes he could erase from his memory, he can recall in detail. 

     He remembers how he was comfortably sitting in his mother's arms. She held him close, she always did. She carried him into Sam’s room and they wished his little brother goodnight. Dad was there too, it was the last time he remembers him truly smiling. He remembers being tucked in by both of them. ‘Angels are watching over you,’ Mom said, right before he drifted off. Then he was awoken by the chilling cry that would continue to haunt him until this day. He remembers rushing out of bed and into the hallway, where he froze to the ground. From Sam’s nursery, a rage of flames heated up the entire house. Then his father appeared from the fire, holding little Sam in his arms, handing him over.

     Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back! Now, Dean! Go!

     Even though the heat was unbearable, as was the toxic smoke that filled every room of the house, he ran downstairs as his father told him to and eventually found himself in the front yard, looking up at his burning home. Then Dad came out, snatched both his sons from the grass, and carried them away from the house, after which moments later the second floor exploded. As he looked over his Dad’s shoulder at the burning remains of their house, he knew: he would never see his mother again. 

     Dean swallows with difficulty, coming back to the present. “Believe me. I know.”      A bit surprised by that statement, David looks up into Dean’s eyes, holding his gaze for a few long seconds. “You’ve lost your family too?”      “My mother,” he replies. “She was murdered.”

     Dean looks away for a brief moment. His Mom’s death was hard on him then, it still is now. It might have happened twenty-two years ago, yet avenging her is what motivates him to keep going. She is the reason his father is willing to go to the edge of the earth and beyond to catch the son of a bitch that killed her. That defining moment kickstarted the hunt that would turn out to be his life’s work. That night, he lost so much more than just his mom. 

     Dad never recovered from her death, condemning his boys to a career of hunting. They are soldiers now, fighting a war of which they can’t grasp the magnitude. A crusade against the monster that tore the family apart. Ironically and sadly, that same crusade seems to have driven the Winchesters apart even further than Mary’s killer ever did. 

     Look at him; he has no idea where his father is and he got into a huge fight with Sam. He is truly on his own right now, unsure if his remaining family will return. What if right now, Sam walks into a trap? What if Dad gets killed by the same thing that killed Mom? 

     Suddenly it strikes him. David is what Dean is afraid to become; he’s alone.

     “What happened on that mountain?” Dean asks, trying to focus on the case again before his mind spirals out of control, but the only survivor cuts him off immediately.      “I don’t wanna talk about it.”      “I think you do, but you’ve given it up because no one believes what you are saying,” Dean replies, seeing right through it.

     Perplexed, David looks aside, eying the stranger who is still standing in the aisle, in the middle of the church.      “Like I said, I know how you feel,” Dean repeats, reading the question from his face. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”      The young guy shakes his head, defeated. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”      “Try me,” Dean encourages.

     With a sigh, David looks down at his feet while the hunter observes him. His dark hair is a mess and he has a stubble growing. Blood and dirt has embedded in the prints of his fingers and around his nails, the blood of his family that seems impossible to wash off.

     “Dad, Ruth and I were hiking on the north side of Whitehorse Mountain. We started out early in the morning and everything went smoothly. We had about an hour of light left, when me and my sister reached the location where we planned to set up camp first. Then it started…” he tells as he folds his shaking hands together. “Ruth and I heard a cry of some sort of animal. For a moment we thought it was a grey wolf, but I’ve heard them before, this… this was different. It took Dad ages to get over the Lone Tree Pass, I thought he might have some equipment trouble or something, so I went back.”

     His jaw clenches and he takes a breath, now he has come to the hard part. Tears fill  his eyes, but he is able to hold them back.      “I found him, against a tree. There was blood everywhere, his chest was… he was torn into pieces. He - he had bite wounds and nail scratches all over him, so deep that I - I could see the bone, his - his intestines. His arm was s - severed,” David stammers.      “And your sister?” Dean asks sympathetically.

     A short pause and he can see in David’s eyes that he relives the haunting memory every time he talks about it.      “Same thing... I heard her scream, but by the time I got there, it - it was too late. There was barely anything left. She was only sixteen,” he reveals with a trembling voice.      David rubs his face and wipes away the tears, but he stays strong.      “Then I heard it, this deep growl. It felt like it was right behind me. When I turned around I didn’t see it, but I heard the call again. Then everything returned to normal,” he remembers.      “What do you mean, back to normal?” Dean questions, curious about his choice of words.

     The young guy looks up at him again from the bench. He hesitates, as if what he’s about to say will just confirm that he’s completely losing his mind. “The mountain came back to life. Birds started singing again, the wind blew through the trees. Right after the first cry, everything went dead. You could hear a penny drop in that forest,” David tells him. “I don’t know how to describe it. It… It was surreal.”      Intently, Dean listens to him and doesn’t give any sign of disbelief what so ever. “Then what happened?” he asks, intrigued.

     “I ran. I knew I needed help and the only place where I could find it was down in the valley. So I ran.” David drops his gaze again, ashamed. “I’m such a coward. I should’ve called it in with the satellite phone. I should’ve stayed by their side.”      “There’s nothing you could have done for your family. You would’ve ended up dead if you had stayed,” Dean says, trying to relieve him from his guilt.      Carelessly, the lone survivor shrugs. “Maybe that would have been better.”

     Dean keeps quiet, because he understands where he’s coming from. If your entire family ends up dead, what is there to live for? He wouldn’t want to stay behind either.

     “You - you know what the worst part is?” David stammers. “I have absolutely no idea how to explain what happened. It wasn’t an animal, I know that much. But if it wasn’t, what the hell was it? There’s just no explanation.”      “There is,” the hunter states.      “What? That it was bigfoot?” David scoffs sarcastically.      “There’s no such thing as bigfoot… I think,” Dean answers, doubting his own words the moment he says them.      “Then what killed my family?” the young Cleveland wants to know.      “I’m not sure yet, but I can tell you, it ain’t no wolf. It’s not from our world,” Dean states.      “I don’t care from what world it is. I want it dead,” David makes clear.

     “I’ll track it and get rid of it,” the man next to him promises.      Determined, the mourning teenager gets up from the bench. “Good. When are we heading out?”      But Dean holds out his hand in front of him, stopping him. “Whoa, dude. I don’t think it’s wise for you to come along.”      “Do you know anything about that mountain? Do you know anything about the trails? About hiking?” David questions.      “I’ll manage, that’s beside the point. This is gonna get ugly, David. You don’t want to be a part of this,” Dean makes clear, trying to discourage him.

     “Trust me, that mountain is one big monster by itself. If you don’t know her paths, you’ll get lost and die. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Together we’ll have a chance. I’m not gonna sit here while you go up there and get killed just like those three hunters,” he argues, his voice gaining strength.      Dean huffs. Smart kid. He’s got spunk, alright.      “Whatever it is, it killed my family. So don’t tell me I can’t be part of this,” the young guy insists firmly. “If you had the chance to face who killed your mother, wouldn’t you take it?”

     Dean doesn’t have an answer ready for that one, he wasn’t expecting a curveball. David is right. If he had even the smallest opportunity to have a share in the fight against the monster that killed Mom, he wouldn’t even have to think about it.      “Alright,” the hunter sighs. “But if anything happens to you--”      David doesn’t even let him finish and walks past him towards the exit. As he does, he looks over his shoulder. “What? Like I have anything to lose?”

     Dean watches him leave, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small smile. He recognizes himself in the kid; hands on, not cowering in the face of danger, willing to do everything for his family. He won’t be able to stop the only remaining Cleveland, and so he follows.

     As he descends down the steps of the church, he finds David standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky. Before them, Whitehorse Mountain stands tall, looking down on them like a dark, looming thunderstorm. That’s what they need to overcome, that’s their challenger. 

     It is going to be a difficult climb, but fighting a vicious creature along the way makes things a little more complicated. Dean wishes he had Sam to back him up on this one, because he’s sure his smart brother would have an idea what they are up against. Even though he’s not fond of having a civilian to worry about on a hunt, David does know this terrain. Dean has to face reality here; he’s going to need a guide. He only hopes that he can bring the kid back down, safe and sound. Enough people have died on that mountain already.

Story fact: the church mentioned in this chapter was the actual name of a church in Darrington in 2005. Came across in during research, and just had to use it!

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate  every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love,  you are free to reblog my work or  buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part 5 here

[intubatedangel]

Out of Body: Chapter 3

Didn’t really feel like writing much of a resus scene after recent events, but I already had some stuff written so I worked it in where I could while expanding the story a bit more.

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

************

Jane The ambulance swung into the emergency bay of the major trauma centre, stopping a few feet beyond an assembled team of doctors and nurses. They were already in blue surgical gowns and with the coordination of professionalism and experience, they spread around the back doors and pulled them open, dragging the gurney out. Dave was still pumping the ambu bag while Jane, her sweat slicked fringe sticking to her forehead, handed over the IV bag and monitor to waiting hands before the team ran inside. “What have we got?” The trauma lead asked as he ran his eyes across Laura’s restrained body. His eyebrows raised slightly at the improvised chest tube. “Laura Beckett, 23. Involved in an RTC, sedan vs motorcycle. Fractured femur, query dislocated hip and knee. Fractured wrist as well. Multiple broken ribs and punctured lung, leading to severe haemothorax. Resulted in cardiac arrest, downtime of approximately 25 minutes, reversed after the pressure of the haemothorax was relieved. BPs still low and O2 sat’s barely over 80. Currently sinus tachy at 120.” “Beckett?” The doctor asked, not asking the question out loud. Jane simply nodded. “Ok, lets get her inside, fast beep radiology we need to get a full trauma series ASAP. Let’s get a proper chest tube in, get her on the vent and pack the rapid infuser with TXA, platelets and 2 units of O-neg.” “She’s A-positive.” Jane cut in. “Good, lets get 6 units of that up from the blood bank. Get in touch with cardiothoracics, orthopaedics and neuro for consults.” The rest of the team confirmed their orders as the gurney was pushed into the primary trauma room. After a 3 count Laura was lifted across onto the table, a flurry of action surrounding her as doctors and nurses perform the assigned tasks. The lead eased Jane back. “We’ve got it from here Jane.” She shook her head defiantly, but her voice came out in a whisper. “I’m not leaving her.” “You’ve done your job. And done it well, but you can’t help her in here. Go get cleaned up, you’ll be the first to hear when we have any news.” Jane lingered for a moment, gazing at her sisters body as nurses rapidly stripped away her clothes, discarding them into a bloody heap in one corner of the room. Then her shoulders slumped and her head bowed as she retreated from the trauma room, discarding her gloves into a bin. Dave tried to catch her attention, but she ignored him, heading towards the ladies restroom while pulling out her phone. Ashir Ashir sat at his desk, much of the room shrouded in the late-night darkness. The desk itself was lit by a powerful lamp that starkly highlighted thin tendrils of smoke as they were drawn into the small extraction unit mounted in the window. He peered through the microscope, gently applying more solder to the electronic circuit board he was working on. It wasn’t work that needed to be done right now, but he needed something to occupy his mind. He made a satisfied grunt and shifted the microscope out of the way. He leaned back, stretching and rubbing his eyes, while spinning on his chair. His gaze fell on the other desk in the room. Laura’s desk. It was cluttered, stacks of newspapers, photographs and journals were strewn about in a system that Ashir couldn’t recognise, but his journalist roommate seemed perfectly at home with the mess. The pin board hung on the wall behind the stacks was a different story. It was laid out like a true conspiracy theory board. Over a dozen profile pictures formed the centres of different sections and various colours of string linked articles and reports in a web that looked chaotic at first glance. Looking closer, and with only a small amount of guidance, it began to come together into a cohesive whole. Ashir sighed. He really hoped his roommate was wrong about all this. But even he had to admit the evidence was compelling when presented in the way she had laid it out. That was part of what worried him. She should have been back by now. Or at least have dropped him some form of message. At least she’d told him where she was going. He’d been able to get his own backups into place. She’d probably kill him if she knew about them. As that thought crossed his mind his phone began to ring. He let out a relieved sigh as he prepared to make his concern clear. That was when he saw the caller ID. His hand trembled as he answered. “Ash you were right. She’s in over her head.” Jane’s voice was tight. “What happened?” Ash was already on his feet looking for his keys. “She’s hurt Ash. She’s really hurt.” “I’m coming down there.” He pulled on his jacket then flicked off the light. “Hurry Ash.”

Laura

I heard the noises first. Alarms sounding. Orders being given. I opened my eyes, once again struck by seeing the world in that strange brightness. A nurse was above me, rocking backwards and forwards, her ponytail flicking to and fro with the motion, until she paused for a brief moment. I followed her arms, down to her hands that rested in the slight valley between my breasts.

“Still nothing, resume compressions.” Someone said. The nurses hands suddenly disappeared into my chest. CPR, I was getting CPR again. My heart had stopped once more. The way the nurses compressions passed through my ethereal form was still incredibly disconcerting, so I sat up and looked around. Doctors and nurses surrounded me, but there was a gap at my feet. I managed to scooch past them without passing through anyone, then turned to look my body.

I was naked on the table. And I didn’t look good. My chest was heavily bruised, with tubes sticking out of either side, Jane’s impromptu effort having been replaced by a proper chest tube, an identical one mirroring it. My broken arm and leg had both been splinted and bandaged, though the bandages were already stained through. A urinary catheter had been placed. I was slightly glad I hadn’t seen that happening, someone touching me in such an intimate place.

A large bore IV was in my leg, with other lines into my arms and another one near the base of my neck. Blood and saline were flowing into my body, though as I watched, a nurse pushed some drugs into the central line.

The ecg wires trailed across my chest, leading to a monitor that hug above the trauma table. The line on the monitor was flat. I looked down at my chest, seeing my lifeline still strong and thick. I also saw that my ghostly form was naked too. I instinctively tried to cover myself, despite no one being capable of seeing me.

I looked around for my clothes, shredded and discarded into one corner. I reached out to them, but of course my hand passed right through them. But there was something. A strange feeling, almost like a memory of sensation across my whole body. I reached out again, letting my hand linger within the bundle. The sensation became stronger, growing steadily, and it was almost like I could feel the clothes on me.

I took a deep breath, recalling the meditation techniques my therapist had taught me years ago. How visualising a result can help it happen. I had no idea if it would work, but I’d rather not walk around naked, even if no one could see me. I tried to hold on to the memory of my clothes as I pulled my hand out. I could still feel the clothes on me, and focused on that feeling, blocking out everything else. Slowly, I let out the breath and opened my eyes, looking down at myself. I was clothed. My dark grey t-shirt and similar coloured pants were whole, despite their real counterparts being little more than shreds before me. My black hoody was also on me, unstained by blood like the genuine article.

“We’ve got V-fib.” Someone shouted, dragging my attention back to my body. The alarm had changed, it was familiar enough that I knew what was going to happen next. A doctor, fully gowned and masked, held a pair of black paddles down against my chest. “Clear!” He said, a moment before my naked body jerked on the trauma table. I cringed at the way my legs spread slightly.

“No change. Let’s do another minute of compressions and shock her again.” A nurse immediately had her hands back on my chest, pressing it down, seemingly quite easily. Given how petite the nurse was, my ribs must be really soft.

It was almost enough to turn my stomach, and I instinctively took a few steps back. There was a momentary feeling of resistance, and suddenly I couldn’t see anything. I paused, realising that wasn’t quite right. I could see, there just wasn’t anything too see. Except the papery texture of the back of the plasterboard sheet in front of me, and the treated timbers that were the drywall studs. I was inside the wall. I took another step back, emerging into a corridor.

It was a quiet corridor, empty except for a cleaner at the far end. Yet I could still hear a voice. Quiet, but clear. It was counting. “15…16…17…18…” I grimaced slightly, then plunged back through the wall. The nurse was still pressing down on my chest, and she was mouthing the words, but more to herself. She wasn’t shouting by any stretch, in fact I would be surprised if her words would even carry to where I stood.

So, I can still hear what is happening to my body. Helpful. I glanced down, concentrating slightly to look at my lifeline. It was still strong and steady. How far can it stretch? I remembered Keith telling me to stay close, but the lifeline was thin then, insignificant compared to the almost cable thick line I could see before me now. I made up my mind. I strode across the room, towards the doors, unable to stop myself from hesitating just slightly before I walked through them. Again that slight resistance, more a reminder the wall was there, than something really stopping me, tugged as I passed through. And then I was in a different corridor, busier, but still quiet.

 I looked around, hoping to see Jane, but she was not there. I walked down the corridor, trying to figure out precisely where I was, or where I should go. I glanced at the signs, but most of them were mainly just numbers, hanging in front of cubicles or other offshoot corridors. Coloured lines were on the floor, branching out down the corridor behind me. Presumably, I thought, they must all come together at one starting point. I followed them back, dodging a nurse pushing a young man in a wheelchair, a large boot on his foot. Neither of them payed me even a sliver of attention.

 “Ok, that’s a minute. Let’s shock her again.” It was the voice of the doctor working on me. “Clear” he said a moment later. I stopped walking as I wondered if I was about to be wrenched back into my body. “Still no change. Load her up with epi, bicarb and amiodarone.” I considered going back, but my lifeline hadn’t changed. I was close enough to see the name plate on the nearby doors, ‘Reception’. Seemed like a sensible place to look for my sister.

I passed through the door and immediately sidestepped out of the way of a porter. It was much busier in here. I retreated to an out of the way corner and looked around for Jane. I couldn’t see her anywhere and was beginning to wonder if she had abandoned me and gone back to work when I saw a high-vis jacket come around the corner. It was her partner. Dave. I remembered. He held two coffee cups, putting them on a counter before reaching for his radio. I crossed the room, weaving around nurses and patients, cringing when a small girl ran through me.

Dave was already mid conversation. “…anks for sorting it. I’ll tell her then I‘ll run the rig back to base.”

“How’s she doing?” A voice said from the radio.

Dave blew out a breath between clenched teeth. “Honestly, not good.” He seemed to stare across at a pair of doors across the room. Toilets. “I mean, it is her sister after all, how many of us would be alright after seeing someone we love in that …” I left him behind as I crossed the room and plunged through the wall into the ladies restroom.

Jane stood there, leaning over a sink. Her high-vis jacket lay on the floor at her feet. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edges of the sink. She was murmuring to herself, enough to earn a sideways glance from another woman who quickly scurried out.

“…stupid. Stubborn. Why couldn’t you just listen to me. I begged you. ‘Don’t go after him.’ But you didn’t listen. You never listen.” As I stepped closer, I could see her aura. There was a bubbling of red, but it was mostly that sickly green. As the door swung shut behind the fleeing woman, Jane let out a great shuddering sob, and tears began to fall from her face. I reached out, but my hand passed through her shoulder.

I could still hear the distant sounds of the attempt to resuscitate me. A third shock delivered. “Back in asystole. Ok, hang another round of blood products and chase up the surgical consult, if we don’t get anything back in two minutes we open her up down here.” That sounded just delightful. I glanced down at my lifeline, but it didn’t look like it had diminished.

That’s when I noticed the traces of red in the sink. Blood. My blood. As if to distract herself, Jane washed out the bowl of the sink, tears still dripping as she took deep steadying breaths. I’d seen her do it before. Fighting to assert an iron control over herself. It had always driven me crazy, especially after what had happened to Mum and Dad. But then, something happened that I had never seen before.

She lost.

Her whole body was wracked with sobs as she sank to the ground against the wall. Her hands covered her face and she drew her knees up tightly. I didn’t know what to do. So I sat down beside her. For just a moment I passed into the wall, but I grabbed that moment of resistance, held it my mind for a few seconds, and suddenly the wall felt solid. I leaned back against it, looking at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I whispered. As expected, she didn’t respond. She continued to sob, and I could see tears leaking out. I sighed. “It was him. If you can hear me at all, hear that. It was him. Patterson. I was right. He’s a murderer, and he tried to kill me. Just like he killed them.” I could feel the anger building. I turned to look at her, as she lowered her hand, her sobs easing. “It was never your fault Jane. It was always him. He had mum and dad killed.”  

[talesfromthesnogbox]

Stuck Here With you

Rating: M (Rating for explicit conversations about sex) 

Words: 3,586

Summary: Richie and Eddie are stuck quarantining themselves together... what could possibly go wrong? OR based on this tweet: "@cjkasulke: APPARENTLY you have all just been *waiting* for this moment to confess your love to your roommates, so many of you live with people you have been silently in love with for y e a r s"

Notes: This is so stupid. Yes, I wrote a quarantine fic. Yes, this whole thing is a serious matter and I am an adult who's working from home and it all sucks, and there are people dying all over the world, and I do care, but I just thought people needed a little bit of a laugh, ya know? Anyways, this is wildly out of character and not good in general, but drop a comment if you like it, or if you think I'm a horrible person, whateves.

AO3

*~*~*~*~*

Richie woke from his catnap with a startled jump as he heard the front door slam shut.

“Jesus Eds, is it 6:30 already? Did I sleep all day?” He asked with a laugh.

“No asshole, it’s noon.” Eddie slammed his briefcase on the breakfast bar and worked his tie open. “This pandemic bullshit has gotten out of control.”

“Is that why you’re home right now…”

“Yes! Jared that fucking lunatic went off and brought some girl home last weekend and now he’s got a fever, so we were all sent home, and I’m stuck in isolation.”

Eddie was pissed, but Richie could see through his thinly veiled layer of anger; there was fear.

“Oh. Do you hang around Jared a lot at work?”

He sighed. “No, no I don’t, but it’s just a precaution until he can get tested properly.”

“That’s good then, right?”

It was good. After seven full days, Eddie finally emerged from his room with a cheery smile. “Jared’s in the clear, turns out he just picked up some STD, and I get to go back into work tomorrow.” He plopped down on the couch.

“That’s great Eds, but I hate to break it to you…” Richie pointed towards the TV where the headline read “California officially shut down”.

The first few days felt like any weekend would. They had extra groceries delivered, they binged some true crime documentary on Netflix, they had a group Skype session with the Losers, they did pretty much anything that took their minds off the current situation. But then the fifth day hit.

It was only 7am when Richie dragged himself out of bed for a coffee. Sure it was early, and he had nowhere to be, but time meant nothing anymore.

Usually Richie’s clamoring about the kitchen woke Eddie up. The first few nights that Eddie moved in after Derry were rough; turns out, Eddie was a pretty light sleeper, and Richie was loud. But today, there was no Eddie in sight.

He continued on his way, pouring himself a bowl of cereal when he saw it through the window to his backyard… and promptly spilled milk all over the counter.

On the bright side, Richie had found Eddie. The only downfall was he’d found him in a pair of tiny running shorts and a tank top doing squats on his deck.

“Fuck!” Richie swore, grabbing a tea towel to clean up the mess he’d made.

“Richie?” Eddie stopped his squats and ran into the house. “What the fuck happened dickwad?”

“N-nothing, nothing happened, it’s just early and I lost my grip.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“So um… what’s happening in the backyard there, Jillian Michaels?” Richie giggled.

“Fuck off. I usually go to the gym before work, but now that the gym’s closed, I had to improvise.”

“Ahh, I see, trying to pick up the new future Mrs. K with…” with thighs I want to wear as earmuffs and that tight ass? He was glad there was an entire counter between them to hide the fact that he was currently at half-mast.

Eddie gave him a strange look and shook his head. “Shut the fuck up. I’m a divorced 40-year-old living with his best friend, I don’t think I’m going to be picking someone up that easily at the gym. Besides, Santa Monica women aren’t really my type…”

“Oh? Well when this is all over, I know a few places we can go pick up chicks. West Hollywood, Beverly Hills, hell even Studio City. Name your type Eds, we’ll find her.”

“Aren’t you gay? How do you know so much about picking up women?”

“Closet case my boy.” Richie winked and took a bite of his cereal. “I’m as good of an actor as I am a comedian.”

“No wonder there were never any articles about how much of a playboy you were then.” Eddie said straight-faced, walking back out to finish his work out.

“Eds gets off a good one!”

*~*~*~*~*

After that eventful morning, Richie tried his hardest to stay in bed until after Eddie’s morning routine was done. One almost-embarrassing situation in his pants was enough to last a lifetime around his best friend of however-many years, he did not need it to escalate from there.

As the days passed on, the two of them found ways to entertain themselves. Eddie took to reading on the deck in the mild April weather, and Richie decided to pick up his guitar again for the first time in years.

He was a little rusty, but after a few hours of practice, it was like riding a bike, and before he knew it, he was back playing the tune he’d spent hours playing as a teenager.

Richie hummed along to the tune of “Eddie My Love” as his fingers formed the familiar chords with ease. He didn’t even realize Eddie walking in from the backyard, a stunned look on his face.

“Rich?” He jumped, startled at the sound of the other man.

“Hey Eds, sorry was I being loud?”

“N-no.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know you played.”

Richie chuckled. “Yeah, I picked it up in high school after Went agreed to teach me a bit. I was in a band in college, but we kinda sucked.”

Eddie scoffed. “You don’t suck, that tune is lovely. What is it?”

Richie’s face felt hot all the sudden. “Uhh, I can’t really remember the name, just something I used to play a bunch. It’s an oldie my mom really liked.”

“Can you teach me?”

His eyes widened. “Y-yeah, here, come sit.” He moved more away from the body and more towards the neck of his acoustic, allowing Eddie to sit nestled between his folded legs. “Okay, um so you hold it like this, and your fingers go here.” Richie curled Eddie’s fingers around the neck of the guitar, placing them in the correct spots on the frets. “So we start with a G chord.” His other arm snaked around Eddie’s shoulder to show him how to strum the chord.

Eddie shivered, completely engulfed by his best friend, noticing for the first time how much he loved his arms being wrapped around him like this.

“Then we move to an E minor.” Richie shifted Eddie’s fingers again and strummed. “Then A minor, and up to D.”

Eddie moved his fingers, pliant beneath Richie’s big hand. His heart beat fast, and he could feel Richie’s breath warm on his shoulder as he played.

For a moment, Eddie could convince himself that Richie felt the same way about him, but only for a moment. They were best friends, and just because Richie was gay, it didn’t mean he was interested in Eddie, no matter how hard he wished that he was. He would never have Richie, but he’d always have this moment.

*~*~*~*~*

“Alright, that’s it. We’re getting drunk.” Richie pulled out a rather large bottle of vodka and a few other spirits. “I’m mixing you up a quarantini.”

“A what now?”

“Quarantini, Eds. We’re getting shitfaced.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Rich, there’s no way in hell I’d—” he paused. Maybe this was the perfect way to come on to Richie. Lowered inhibitions were a great excuse to do something potentially stupid, and if it all went sour, he could blame it on the alcohol. “You know what, fuck it. Mix me a quarantini.”

“That’s the spirit!” He mixed the drinks and dragged Eddie over to the couch. “Alright, we’re indulging tonight. I want not a peep from you. I never got to do any of this gay shit before, and now is the perfect excuse to start a new series. We’re watching RuPaul’s Drag Race.”

Eddie nodded his head. “Drag racing, okay cool, I like cars.”

Richie burst out laughing. “No asshole, drag race… like drag queens.” He popped on a random season and hit play.

Four episodes and many quarantinis later, both Eddie and Richie were yelling at the TV.

“How could they send April home, she’s like the hottest one there!” Eddie put his hands up.

“Right? Look at how hot he is ugh I just wanna…” Eddie glanced over at Richie with a smirk. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I see it.” He pulled out his phone, April’s instagram profile already loaded. “The scruff is driving me mental.”

Richie chuckled. “Eds, that sounds kinda gay.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” Eddie said, face heating up. “Um, surprise?”

“Oh… shit dude, yeah, um, congratulations. Thanks for telling me.” Richie brought his friend into a tight hug, the alcohol running through his system making him feel a little light headed.

“Thanks for being cool about it.” Eddie mumbled, pulling away a bit, but still resting within Richie’s grasp.

“Hey man, I get it… I’m a closet case too.” He laughed.

The two were silent for a moment, content in each other’s grasp, until Eddie couldn’t handle the silence anymore. “Come on, next episode. I hope Laganja gets booted, I can’t stand her.”

Many episodes and quarantinis later, Eddie was fully shitfaced.

“Come on, bedtime for Eds.”

Eddie giggled. “Yeah Rich, take me to bed.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Richie’s heart stutter.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough from you.” Richie deposited Eddie onto the bed, helping him with his shirt, when Eddie pulled him down hard.

“Oops, sorry Rich.” He giggled. “’s not my fault, you’re trying to get me out of my clothessss.”

“You’re wearing jeans, I can’t let you go to bed in jeans Eddie. What kind of asshole wears jeans in quarantine.” Richie giggles, undoing Eddie’s zip and pulling his jeans down his hairless legs. Fuck, his legs are amazing. “Eds, do you wax?” Richie giggled, rubbing a hand up his thigh.

“Pffftt, we’re in isolation shithead, I haven’t been to my wax girl in weeks.”

A jubilant laugh bubbled from Richie’s chest. “Shit, I’ve learned more about you tonight than I have in all the years I’ve known you. You really are a twunk.”

“A what now?”

Richie planted himself down on the bed beside Eddie. “Twunk, hunky twink.”

A look of realization dawned on Eddie. “Ohhhh, that makes a lot of sense. The dude at the checkout told me I was a twunk when I went to buy those underwear without the butt.”

Richie’s brain went blank. “Eddie, do you wear thongs?”

“No asshole, the other thing without the butt. Jock something, I can’t remember.”

“A jockstrap? Eddie are you trying to kill me right now?”

“Shut the fuck up asshole! They’re good for working out in. And they don’t give me lines in my nice suit pants.” Richie was speechless. “So if I’m a twunk, what are you?”

“I—I—I think it’s time for bed.”

“Oh.” Eddie said sounding dejected. “O-or we could just hang out?”

Richie was at an impasse. He knew they were walking a thin line right now, and he shouldn’t stay, but he wanted to see where this would take him, he didn’t want to leave Eddie’s side.

“I think I could hang out for a bit.”

Their “hanging out” didn’t last very long. Within ten minutes, the two men were out cold.

Richie woke up first the next morning and left the soundly sleeping Eddie to go make a pot of coffee. His head was pounding, and as much as he knew the bright sunlight was going to burn his eyes, the fresh air couldn’t hurt.

He’d never been more thankful for his manager who also happened to be a fantastic decorator. The outdoor couch may have seemed stupid to him when he first bought the place, but at times like this, it was a great choice. He could relax, and look out towards the ocean, and forget everything that happened the night before.

That is until Eddie decided to join him.

Richie’s breath left his lungs once he got a good look at his friend. It was like a blast from the past seeing him in a pair of tiny red running shorts, much like those he wore when he was a kid, but now… now they were so much more. Richie’s mouth watered when his eyes caught a good look at how Eddie’s ass filled out the shorts. A large tank top donned his torso, one that Richie had been gifted, and definitely not been too comfortable wearing himself judging by how low cut the arm holes were. He looked hot, not that he wasn’t always attracted to Eddie, but this felt like something had changed, a sexual awakening of sorts, and Richie would never look at his friend the same way.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungover.” Eddie complained as he sat beside Richie. “That stupid drink went down like water.”

“Yeah man I hear you, I feel like shit.”

“I had fun though, it’s been a long time since I’ve had that much fun.”

Richie looked over to him. “No regrets about spilling your guts then?”

Eddie winced. “Okay, maybe you didn’t have to hear about what kind of underwear I prefer.”

Richie burst out laughing. “No, I definitely appreciated that tidbit of information, Eds. I’m proud that my twunk theory was right.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward.” Richie mumbled to himself.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“N-nothing.” He said, darting inside. “Going to work on my new show, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Richie had to get out of there. Last night was a lot, sure, but something felt different today. Seeing Eddie in his boxer briefs felt almost safer than whatever the hell he was wearing today. It’s almost like… almost like he’d purposely dressed up for Richie, and it was killing him. He didn’t know how much more he could take before he combusted.

Unfortunately for Richie, this new look seemed to be Eddie’s new uniform. Richie could tell that now Eddie was out to him, he felt more comfortable being himself, but Richie hated every second of it.

He dreaded seeing Eddie in the morning, dreaded knowing what fresh hell lay beyond his bedroom door in the form of a 5’9 firey bundle of sex personified.

Nearly a month into their quarantine, it was finally warm enough for Richie to sit out by the pool. He donned the brightest swim trunks he could find and rubbed his pale skin down with sunscreen, soaking up some vitamin D.

He’d been out there for just under an hour when he heard (and felt) a splash from the pool where Eddie jumped in.

“Okay, I take back everything bad I ever said about you having a pool when the ocean is right there. The pool is definitely more relaxing than the beach.”

Richie giggled. “I told you, asshole.”

“Oh, and I totally figured out what you are now. If I’m a twunk, you’re an otter.”

“A what now?” Richie removed his sunglasses and moved to sit on the edge of the pool.

“An otter.” Eddie rested his elbows on Richie’s thighs as his calves framed his torso. “At least that’s what I think. It’s like a softer bear. You’re not quite as big and not enough hair to be a bear, and you’re still too thin to be a cub, so you’re an otter.”

“I understood exactly none of what you said except for ‘bear’. I met a bear on Grindr just before Derry that made me realize I like being the bigger body in bed.” Richie winked saucily.

“So you’re a top then Trashmouth?”

Richie’s brows rose into his hairline. “I—I—we are not talking about this right now, not when you’re this close to my dick.”

“Oh come on, you used to talk about your dick all the time.”

“Yeah, I was a closeted kid who’s balls hadn’t dropped yet, obviously I wanted to come off as heterosexual as I could.”

Eddie laughed. “Okay, good point.”

The two sat in the same position for a few minutes, exchanging no words between them. It felt intimate, it felt like Eddie was flirting with him, but he’d never been good at picking up signs. Could Eddie want this too?

“I am though.” He said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

“You’re what?”

Richie’s heart thudded in his chest. “A top, I guess. I don’t mind bottoming, I like it, but I guess I just…”

Eddie grinned. “You like being in charge?”

“No, fuck no.” Richie laughed.

“Really? Huh, okay.” Eddie nodded, mostly to himself.

“Hey, what the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing, nothing at all Tozier.” Eddie pushed off of Richie’s legs and floated on his back towards the inflatable lounger.

*~*~*~*~*

The week that followed was agonizing. All Eddie wore was those stupid shorts and a variation of t-shirt/tank-top/fucking crop top, and it was driving Richie mental. He felt like a teenager again, he’d never had so many hard-ons in one week in his life.

It was only a matter of time before Richie snapped.

Richie was descending the stairs from his room one fateful morning and groaned rather loudly when he saw what was waiting for him.

The shorts seemed shorter, tighter on his ass (damn all those squats he does) and his already short shirt seemed to rise up, showing the lovely dimples on his lower back as he reached for a bowl from a high shelf.

“Hey Rich, can you help me… what’s wrong?”

He huffed out a laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Wh—did I do something?”

Richie stared at Eddie in disbelief. “Did you… did you do someth—the shorts man, what’s with the shorts!”

“The shorts? I always wear the shorts.”

“I fucking know you always wear the shorts, that’s the problem!” Richie’s stomach rolled. He thought he was going to throw up, he’d never been this candid about his feelings in his life.

“You have a problem with the way I dress? Fuck you, dude.”

“Fuck me yourself you coward!”

Both men fell silent. The tension could be cut with a knife, it was so thick between them.

“Richie?”

“Fuck man, I’m sorry I freaked out on you like that, I just don’t know if I can take this anymore. We’ve been cooped up for a month and I swear I’ve done more jacking off in the last month than I ever did as a teenager.” As good as it felt to spill his guts, he definitely thought he was going to pass out any second.

“I—I don’t…”

“The worst part is, it’s not even just that I’m horny. It’s you! Shit man, I’ve been dreaming of you since we were fucking teenagers. And now… now here you are looking like a goddamn… a goddamn what’s the word… a goddamn snack, telling me shit about the sexy underwear you buy, and asking me if I’m a top. Eddie, I don’t know if you’re flirting with me or not, but Jesus fucking Christ, it’s taking every single fiber of my willpower to not rip your clothes off right now.”

Eddie held back a smile. “Wait, I’m sorry, what? You couldn’t tell I was flirting with you? Are you fucking blind? Actually don’t answer that, I know you’re fucking blind.”

Richie was sure he was gonna get a nosebleed any second. “S-so you were flirting with me?”

Eddie laughed out loud. “Yes you idiot! Literally since the moment I got here, I have been flirting with you. You didn’t get the hint that I have feelings for you?”

“What the fuck, no man! Like you said, I’m fucking blind. I thought you were straight until a few weeks ago!”

Eddie moved to lean against the island, closer to Richie. “You dumbass, I tried so hard the night I came out to you, why do you think I told you about what fucking underwear I wear?”

“I don’t know man, I’m not good at this shit.”

“Clearly!”

Richie cast his eyes down. “S-so, so you really like me?”

Eddie reached for his hand and interlaced their fingers. He pulled Richie closer to him, so he was pinned between Richie and the island. “I love you, dickwad.”

Richie huffed out a laugh. “I love you too.” He blinked rapidly, looking up towards the light. “Oh god, why am I crying.”

“Get over here you big baby.” Eddie detangled his fingers from Richie’s and brought his hand up to the other man’s cheek, bringing him in for a kiss. It was sweet, it was chaste, it was everything Richie wanted from Eddie when they were younger.

But he wasn’t a teenager, and he wanted more.

He dove forward, tongue clashing with Eddie’s. It was hot, it was toe curling good. He snaked his other hand down Eddie’s side, curling around his hip and moving to squeeze his ass. Eddie groaned and ground himself into Richie’s thigh.

“Fuck.” Richie said pulling away. “Fuck, how are you so hot? We’re fucking forty man.”

“Me? Dude, look at you. Your arms… your chest…” Eddie snaked his hand under Richie’s shirt, scratching at the smattering of hair on his pecs.

“Jesus man, I’m not gonna last… fuck… bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

*~*~*~*~*

The two men finally emerged from Richie’s bedroom for dinner later on with kiss bruised lips and satisfaction plastered on their faces.

“Anything good on?” Eddie asked as Richie turned on the TV. “Rich?”

Richie laughed. “You better come see this.”

“QUARANTINE LIFTED” The headline read as news anchors happily recounted the fall in new cases, and the rise in recoveries.

“You’re fucking joking.”

[oscar-piastri]

improvised nurse [peter parker x reader]

title: improvised nurse

pairing: peter parker x reader

summary: you find a wounded spiderman in your bedroom

words: +3.6k

taglist: @borhapparker (i figured you’d want to be tagged in my marvel ones as well c:)

notes: i’m really proud of this! feel free to tell me what you think!

Spider-Man remains one of the biggest mystery of the moment. Everyone is dying to know who that masked superhero is, his name is all over the news to relate his latest exploits. Tonight wasn’t any different, Spider-Man was on TV to show his last arrest, but this time, something changed: it was the first time he was shown hurt. You were eating with your family when the footage of Spider-Man being stabbed was shown, it was so unexpected that you dropped your cutlery when you saw the scene. There was no way of knowing what happened next, because the video cut, to slide back to the news’ presenter. The rest of the dinner was in a big silence, you could only hear you brother’s sobs because he saw his new hero being hurt.

After dinner, you went upstairs to put your brother to bed, seeing his puffy eyes made you think about what happened and even thought you did your best to tell him that Spider-Man was fine, you knew he wasn’t truly believing you.

You went back to your room, you shivered when the cold air hit you as soon as you opened the door. You often forget to close your window, you never really cared because you knew Spider-Man was always around to watch over the neighbourhood, but after tonight’s incident, you knew nobody was looking after criminals. Switching on the light, you made your way to your window to close it. But you couldn’t help but scream when you turned around and noticed an unknown figure on your bed.

“Honey what’s wrong?” You father asked loudly from downstairs. 

You looked at the red and blue masked superhero, lying like dead on your bed. “N-nothing, I just… Saw a spider on my bed” You replied, bringing your hands on your heart to make sure he was still beating after you almost died of scare.

You ran to your bedroom, carefully closing the door to prevent your parents from seeing what was happening in your bedroom. You slowly walked back to your bed, not being able to look away from the masked superhero but you clearly had no idea of what to do. The only thing you knew was that he was stabbed and probably bleeding to death on your bed, or even worse, he was probably already dead.

His chest was lifting up and you took that as a sign that he was still breathing, but it wasn’t erasing the part that he was still hurt and that he could soon stop breathing if you stay still. You walked closer to your bed, before kneeling in front of it, so your face was on the same level on his. You slowly brought a hand to his neck, to the separation of his face mask and bodysuit, to lift up the mask in order to find out if he was wounded on his face. Yes, just like everyone you wanted to know what was Spider-Man, but you also wanted to make sure he was fine.

Your fingers finally touched the soft red fabric and as you were going to take his mask off, you felt a strong grip around your wrist, making you lose your balance and falling back on your butt.

“Don’t” He grunted in pain, placing his hands on his wounds as he felt a terrible pain rushing through his body.

“I-I’m sorry” you blurred out, blinking your eyes to make sure that everything was real.

“Sorry for barging in like that” He apologized as well, but you could tell that speaking was hurting him. “Saw your open window and I was too tired to-” He tried to explain but you didn’t let him finish.

“It’s okay. Don’t speak” You ordonned as you gave him an old piece of fabric that was laying around. “Apply pressure on your wound” You said as you took your phone out of your pocket. “Now you’re here and I’ll try my best to keep you… alive” you told him, hoping you’d reassure him a little. But in all honesty, he didn’t seemed worried at all, not like you who were shaking because let’s face it, you didn’t know what to do at all, hence the fact that you were using your phone to make some research. You’ve watched some tv shows were they would deal with this kind of plot; someone helping another person wounded, but reality could be quite different.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a low voice.

“Googling ‘how to treat a stab wound’, because as you can see, I’m a student, not a doctor” You snap at him “Sorry, I can come off as mean when I’m stressed” You apologized in a more calming voice. 

You quickly read some articles trying to memorize the most important gesture. You needed to be quick if you didn’t want him to bleed to death, and what was worrying you was that you had no idea if any organs have been touched. “Take off your suit or whatever that is” You asked him and he executed right away.

“Ouch” He grunted every time he was moving an arm.

“Let me help you” You proposed, helping him get off from his suit. “Oh, I’m sorry” you apologized when you had to pull harder because the fabric of his suit was sticking with the blood. You stopped pulling away his suit right under his waist, the wound was visible and you didn’t want to find out what was under his waist. Just thinking about this made your cheeks turn into a slight shade of red. Your eyes wandered over his abdomen, you could only feel his pain when you saw many bruises next to the fresh cut wound. According to his abdomen and some fresh research, no organs have been touched, and you simply need to clean the wound and stitch it.

“Focus. It’s a life or death situation” you mentally said, trying to find the boost of confidence you needed to help him. “Okay, don’t move” You told him before realising what you just said “Yeah, sorry, I know you can’t go very far” You apologized as you got up, you asked him to be quiet as you left your room, closing the door behind you. You tiptoed to the upstairs bathroom, trying to make no noise to avoid many questions from your parents. Taking back your phone, you looked at the listed items you needed to treat Spider-Man’s wound: you luckily found a saline solution, after searching in many drawers, you found a small stitching kit and you mentally thanked your father for being a fan of camping, because he had a kit for any situation. You grabbed some bandage before going back to your bedroom.

“Still alive?” You asked, closing the door with your legs because you hands were full. You carefully dropped the items on your nightstand when you saw the superhero lifting his thumb to tell you that he was still with you.

You gave him one of your stuffed animals, in the movies that’s what they do, they give something they can hold and squeeze if they’re in pain while they’re being stitched up. “You might want to hold on to that” You advised him, and he grabbed it right away, already holding it with a strong grip.

“Thanks”

You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to find the best position so you could treat his wound. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, which was a big relief to you “You know, taking off your mask would be useful, like knowing if you’re turning white because you’re dying” You said as you carefully poured some saline solution on the superhero’s wound. You saw him quiver in pain, making you apologized as you kept cleaning the wound.

“I will never take it off” He let out, once you had finished cleaning the wound, feeling less pain. Of course he couldn’t take off his mask, especially with you around. He wasn’t ready for you to discover his true identity; Peter Parker, also known as your best friend. If Peter could tell you the truth, he’d say that he ended up at your house because he knew you’d be the best person he could trust with that, perfectly knowing you’d help him without asking questions.

“I’m Y/N, by the way” You introduced yourself, you had just read that talking with the injured person was a way to keep him conscious. You were ready to talk about anything as long as it will keep him alive.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Spider-Man” he replied and you chuckled at his words, and you could tell by the sound of his voice that he was proud of himself for joking around like that.

You were about to start the worst part, stitching him up, when you heard a loud knock on your door. “Y/N? Are you okay? What’s with the noise?” You recognized your mother’s voice and you started to freak out. There was no time or place for you to hide Spider-Man, so you knew you had to come up with some lies so your mother wouldn’t come inside. You ran to your door, and opened it slightly, stucking your head in the small opening. “Y/N, it’s late! What are you doing?” She asked, trying to open the door so she could enter.

“I’m… uh…” You hesitated, not finding any believable lie. “I’m watching… porn?” you blurred out, crossing your fingers she’ll believe you. Her eyes were wide open, blinking more than she should, her mouth in a “o” shape.

“Oh my dear… Okay, that is totally normal, if you-” 

“It’s okay. I’ve got it. Good night mom” you told her before closing the door. You were quite surprised with your own lie, and even more surprised that she believed it.

“Nice one” He slowly laughed

“Yeah well laugh while you can, the next step is gonna hurt like hell” You warned him, sitting back to your previous spot. You looked at your phone once again but just reading the many articles made your vision blurry, and you felt like you could throw up at any moment.

“Hey, you can do that” The superhero tried to reassure you. You nodded your head, and started preparing for the following steps. You sterilized the tools you were gonna use, you put on some gloves your mother used when she was cleaning the bathroom. But even the words of encouragement from the masked hero wasn’t enough, you hands were shaking like crazy and you struggled to put the suture material to the needle. But you had to hurry, and when you looked at his wound once again, you felt the boost you needed and you eventually succeeded.

“Don’t hesitate to destroy my stuffed animals and I’m sorry for what’s gonna happen” You warned him, and he nodded, giving you the signal to start. You took a deep breath and started working. The superhero flinched in pain as soon as you pushed the needle in his skin and you bite your lips as you saw him in deep pain. The you twisted your hand clockwise so the needle was coming up on the other side of the wound. You tried your best to have the needle coming out straight across from the first needle hole, as you had read on an article. 

You weren’t even thinking anymore, you just tried to reproduce whatever was on the pictures to your best, and you managed to suture a few inches, hearing the muffled groans of the mask hero. You were completely proud of yourself, but you didn’t had time to congratulate yourself, because you hadn’t stitched the whole wound, so after taking a big breath, you repeated the same steps, still talking to the superhero, mostly to calm yourself and distract you from the butchery that was happening on your bed.

To finish, you used the bandages to wrap and protect the wound. “Promise me you’ll see a doctor soon, I’m not sure how it’ll look in a few hours” you said, as you packed everything back in the suture kit. You quickly realised that you heard no answer and his body hasn’t moved either. “No! No wake up!” you half yelled, shaking him a little to wake him up. You knew he wasn’t supposed to sleep, well you didn’t know but you assumed, because he was just weak and if he was sleeping, his state could get worse, and you frankly didn’t want to have a dead man on your bed.

“I wasn’t sleeping, I was just thinking” he answered, trying to lean against your bed frames and pillows.

“Oh”

“Give me your phone” he asked and you executed right away. He thanked you and typed something before handing your phone back.

“What’s that? A superhero’s number?” You jokingly asked as you looked at the written digits.

“Someone that works with me, tell him to pick me up and he’ll take care of me” He explained in a low voice.

“Why didn’t you give me that sooner?” You asked raising your voice.

“Because I was gonna bleed to death on your bed? And I was too weak to move. At least now I can use my web to get out of your room.” He retorted and you had to agree.

You called the number and talked to a certain Happy Hogan, he seemed pretty worried about the superhero’s safety, but you heard a big sigh of relief when you told him he was fine. And just like you’ve been told to do, you asked Happy if he could come as soon as possible at your address, to pick up the masked vigilante and drop him off to a proper doctor.

“He’ll be there soon” You said as you hung up. You carefully moved your desk chair to bring it closer to your bed so you could keep an eye on your patient. Your alarm clock was showing that it was close to midnight and you could sense that the two of you were totally exhausted.

To keep yourself awake, you grabbed a book from your nightstand and dived in reading. From your position you could still clearly look at the printed letters and survey his breathing. 

You eventually found yourself distracted from your reading, when your eyes were glued to his body. You didn’t had the occasion to take a closer look earlier because of the rushed attempt at saving his life, but you had all the time until Happy shows up.

His chest and abdomen were covered in bruises, some were fresh, others were a few days older and it pained you to see his bruised body, you couldn’t imagine the pain he must be in. Your eyes stopped at his abs and your cheeks went red again, then your eyes went all the way up again to look at his arms. Strong arms, with nicely shaped biceps, you couldn’t lie, it was a really nice view. You stopped at his mask, you let your imagination to find out what person was underneath the mask. 

“Don’t stare” You heard someone chuckle and you felt your face going all red.

“I wasn’t” You mumbled, hiding your face in the book. You couldn’t say if he was mad or happy about it, because the mask was blocking every movement from his face. “Your voice” you blurred out, trying to create a new subject so you could move on from that awkward staring moment.

“What’s wrong with my voice?”

“It’s a weird voice” You replied.

“I know, it’s not my real voice” He explained, he was indeed using a technology that was changing his voice’s sound, to avoid being recognized by his voice, especially with you around, who clearly could recognize your best friend, if he was using his normal voice.

Your phone vibrated and you saw a text from signed from Happy, saying that he was outside. You got up from your seat to take a look at the window, where you a saw a parked car in front of your house. “Looks like your ride is here” you said, turning around to find a already up Spider-Man, he was walking funny due to his injuries but he looked in a better shape than when he came here earlier that night.

“Thank you, for everything” He said, walking to join you next to the window.

“Just did my best” you shrugged “And be careful, okay?” You asked, now that you’ve seen how wounded he was, you couldn’t help but worry about his next fight.

He nodded and threw his web on the other side of the street. “See ya!” He said before jumping out of your window, he landed next to the car, it wasn’t a perfect land but he didn’t tripped and fell, and you were glad to know him safe, in good hands.

You closed your window and changed into your pajamas. As you were about to climb into your bed, you noticed big blood stains on your bed, you let out a long sigh before taking away the bed sheets, tossing them at the other side of your room. You were too tired to change the sheets, and you decided to sleep without sheets and covers for this one night.

You woke up a few hours later when your alarm went on, surprisingly, you weren’t too tired even though you slept less than usual. You hurried to get ready to school, dropped the stained sheets in the laundry machine, and went straight to school. You were dying to find your friend Peter, to tell you all about your crazy night, but at your biggest surprise, he was nowhere to be found. You assumed that he was either late or already in his class, and decided to look for him again during the lunch break.

“Peter, you will never know what happened last night” You exclaimed, a giant smile on your face as you were running to the table he was sitting at, in the refectory “Hey, what’s wrong? You look unwell…”

“Oh don’t worry.. I wasn’t looking and tripped in the stairs back in my apartment building” he lied

“You should call May, she needs to pick you up!” You suggested, worried about your best friend’s health.

“I’m fine as long as I don’t move too much.” He assured you, hoping you wouldn’t add two and two and find out about his secret identity. “Anyway, what did you wanted to tell me?” He asked, changing the subject to avoid any questions.

“Spider-Man was at my house yesterday!” you whispered, bringing your face closer to his, so only him could hear that.

“No way!” Peter faked a surprised face. Of course he knew what happened last night, because he was here! But he really wanted to hear what you were about to say.

“It happened after he got hurt! I helped treating his wound and he stayed a few hours before one of his friends went to pick him up” You explained, you didn’t go through all the details because it was lunch hour and you knew you weren’t ready to have some flashbacks from what you did last night.

“It’s like you saved his life” Peter pointed out, bringing a new smile on your face

“Yeah, I guess you could say that” you said, sensing a feeling of pride rushing through your mind. Before attending you next class, you asked Peter to call his aunt because he needed to rest at least this day, after his fall in the stairs. 

On your way back home, you stopped by at a kiosque to take a look at today’s press articles. There was no update on Spider-Man’s situation in the local news, and most of the newspapers were worried, already planning an hommage, thinking he died somewhere in the street. You knew that he was safe and he was probably resting somewhere, to be at the top of his form to starting catching criminals again.

A few days had passed since you played an improvised nurse for the masked superhero, and he still hadn’t made his comeback, but you were probably the only person not worried about that. You decided to left your window open every night for a few hours, hoping he’ll swing by some night, to tell you that he was back.

He eventually came one night, as you were working on some homework by your desk. He cleared his throat to announce his presence, which made you jump out of scare. But when you turned around towards the noise, you were relieved to find him crouching on your window ledges, holding a stuffed animal in his hands. 

You walked up to him and he handed you the animal “It’s because I almost destroyed one of yours” he babbled. Peter was mentally thanking himself for wearing a mask, so you couldn’t see him blushing.

“You didn’t have to!” You thanked him, holding the stuffed animal closed to your chest and closed to your heart. “I love it” you continued, slightly blushing. “By the way, how do you feel?” You asked for an update on his wound. He managed to come back here so you figured he was feeling better, but you’d rather have his confirmation than making your own assumptions.

“I’m doing awesome, thanks to you!” He began, watching your face going from worried to happy. “Don’t worry,I’m being careful. And if I end up hurt again, I know where to go” He continued “You’re a really good nurse” He said, using his webs to get out before you could say something.

You watched him swinging in the air, holding the stuffed animal pretty tightly, hoping he’d come back soon.

[elisaphoenix13]

Winter Vacation

Tibbs was making his weird chattering noise when Stephen left the master bedroom one morning, and that usually only meant one thing. Diana was feeding him treats, but not in the conventional way. Stepping into the living room after walking down the stairs and observing the small cat treat floating just out of the cat's reach was confirmation enough. Dia was cocooned in a couple of blankets on the couch and the cat was on the floor standing on his hind legs. Stephen watches quietly as his daughter levitates the treat closer to Tibbs and he chuckles when the feline bats it out of the air with his paw. Tibbs purrs loudly as he eats his well earned treat and the sorcerer moves over to Diana to gently brush her hair back with one of his hands.

"How long have you been up?"

"An hour." Diana replies with a happy chirp as she enjoys the shaking fingers in her hair.

"I take it you're excited about our trip?" Stephen asks softly and digs his daughter out of her cocoon and picks her up.

"Peter and Harley too!"

Diana clings onto the sorcerer, ever mindful of Stephen's hands, and he grabs the bag of cat treats on the coffee table to return to the cupboard through a small gateway. After that, he carries Diana back up to her room and sets her back on the floor and points to her dresser as he walks over to her closet.

"We need to pack your bag. Grab warm clothes." He tells her as he grabs her suitcase.

"Mommy?" Stephen hums in acknowledgement. "Will Peter be okay in the snow?"

"I have a special spell for him so he can enjoy it like we can. He'll still get cold but it won't be dangerous."

Diana was always worried about her brothers, especially Peter since she knew he was different because of his powers. They all of course fought like normal siblings but they also looked put for each other. Stephen smiles at the thought as he opens the suitcase, and Diana pulls out some clothes when Tony raps his knuckles against the door.

"I woke up our teenage trolls. They have requested breakfast from their favorite donut shop." The engineer announces.

"Sugar on a three hour road trip?" Stephen snorts and Tony waves his hand around.

"You're the one that wants us to drive instead of portaling us all there."

"It's a normal life experience and the kids agreed to it."

"Yeah, so did all twenty some of the rest of the kids." Tony says dryly and Stephen looks up in confusion. "Our family trip turned into a team trip."

Stephen sighs. "Of course it did. Did you call and make more reservations at the lodge?"

"Some of the rooms have to be shared but it's taken care of." Tony helps Diana pick out her clothes and throws them to Stephen who folds them and packs them away neatly. "We can always throw Quill outside if there's an issue."

"Tony."

"What? He's a walking furnace! I guarantee people will be gathered around him instead of the fire."

Stephen shakes his head in amusement and shuts the suitcase once they help Diana finish packing, and the little girl announces that she's going to go help Cassie before running out of the room. Tony takes Diana's suitcase down to the elevator when one of the boys yells for the sorcerer, and Stephen walks into Harley's room, immediately side stepping the pants tossed in his direction. He watches as their oldest son digs furiously through his dresser and sighs as he uses his magic to gather the discarded articles of clothing to fold and place on the bed.

"MOM-" Harley shouts and Stephen cringes a little at the volume.

"Vishanti's sake...I'm right here. What are you looking for?"

The teen whips his head around to look at the sorcerer with frantic eyes. "I can't find my green hoodie!"

"I told you last night I was washing it. It's probably still in the dryer."

Stephen barely finished his sentence before Harley was darting past him and giving him a mild heart attack when he vaulted himself over the railing to the living room below. It was one thing when Peter did it, but when Harley did it, Stephen was just waiting for the moment when he wouldn't land correctly and hurt himself. Harley wasn't enhanced, but he was still a teenage boy that had absolutely no regard for his personal well-being. Thankfully, today wasn't that day. Harley landed in a crouch and then darted over to the small walk in laundry room while leaving Stephen the pinch the bridge of his nose as he returns the folded clothes on the teens bed to their rightful place with a wave of his hand.

Tony was not being dramatic when he said the boys were going to give him a heart attack one day. Stephen was right there with him.

"Hey Mom! Will I be able to move or do I need to bundle up like Randy in A Christmas Story?" Peter yells from his bedroom door and Tony laughs loudly from somewhere downstairs.

"I'm honestly surprised you know that movie exists." Stephen says as he walks past Peter and his doorway and toward the stairs. "I will be casting the warmth spell on you again. Garage, twenty minutes."

Meaning, Peter and Harley had twenty minutes to finish packing, get ready, and be down in the garage. He told the kids to pack the night before, but he knew he was wasting his breath. They always waited until the last possible second to pack, but always managed to get it done in time so Stephen didn't complain. He already packed for himself and Tony last night while his husband confirmed their reservations and whatnot...and then added to those reservations because someone caught wind of the trip. Probably Clint. He had a weird obsession with crawling through the vents.

Twenty minutes later, Stephen, Tony, and the boys found themselves in the garage where they found the other team members backing their bags into cars and Diana skipping around...Bucky? She usually stuck to Cassie if she wasn't with her family, but that didn't mean she didn't love her assorted aunts and uncles. Diana was rambling about something Stephen couldn't make out as the winter soldier threw his bag in the trunk of the car he, Steve, Sam, and Natasha were taking, and then the man scoops her up with his metal arm.

"Alright princess, I'm pawning you off on Spacecase with the promise to let you use Uncle Steve's shield as a sled. I snuck it into the car." Bucky grins when the captain sighs, and makes true to his promise.

Diana giggles when Bucky holds her out toward Quill who had his back to them, and the space outlaw doesn't even acknowledge the little girl when she attaches herself to the Celestial's back. She didn't seem to care. He and Scott just continued throwing bags into their own car as Diana chattered even more about what she wanted to do when they got to the lodge. Stephen only knew that because she was closer than before so he could hear her now. The way Quill continued on while the little girl spoke endlessly, and riding piggyback told Stephen that this was somewhat of a regular occurrence.

After a few minutes and everyone was ready to leave, Tony finally relieved the god of Diana and took her over to the car the family would be taking.

"How about we quiet your mouth with donuts Little Miss?" Tony asks as he helps her buckle in.

"I want a maple bar!"

"Mama Bear, we have to stop and get a maple bar for the baby!" Tony says over the hood of the car and Stephen raises an eyebrow when Peter and Harley high five. "Nothing for the other two."

"Hey!" The teens shout simultaneously as they clamber into the car.

"We're getting donuts for all of the cubs, love." Stephen slips into the passenger seat and Tony into the driver's side.

"Then you can deal with them while I focus on driving."

______________________

They were barely checking in at the front desk before the kids all ran back outside to play in the snow. The three sets of parents weren't worried though. The kids would stay together until the adults came out and they also knew to stay close by. The first thing Stephen saw when he and Tony left the lodge after putting their things into their rooms was a trail of decapitated snowmen and murder scenes, and he sighed heavily. Some of the adults follow the trail while others leave to do their own thing, and Natasha looks down at Harley, Peter, Cooper, and Nate when they find them posed among the biggest murder scene. They were of course the victims of killer snowmen and it had Clint bent over laughing his ass off, and Stephen was glad to see the girls a little further off making snow angels. It looked like this murder scene was Harley's idea.

"Is this ketchup?" Tony asks as he closely inspects the closest snowman.

"We had to improvise." Harley says from the ground and Stephen shakes his head.

"Destroy these before you move on to your next activity. I don't want to get complaints from other parents because this gave their kids nightmares."

Peter looks up from cleverly placed snow that made his body look split in half. "Is it really that good?!"

Laura shakes her head from beside Stephen. "Our children might need therapists."

"I'm afraid their therapists will need therapists after they finish with them." The sorcerer says dully, making Clint laugh even harder.

"Good point."

Tony and Clint took a few pictures of the scene after the archer settled down, and the boys destroyed the nightmare fuel before moving on to other snow activities. Peter and Harley eventually moved on to snowboarding (something their parents weren't aware they could do), and the rest of the kids stuck to sledding. Bucky did actually come by to give Diana a chance to sled with Steve's shield, and as she flew down the hill giggling madly, the captain stood to the side...facepalming. Tony and Bucky found it hilarious, and Stephen kept a spell handy in case his daughter went too fast or too far. Steve looked prepared to step in if needed too. The shield was made of metal after all.

When it got dark, everyone went back inside for hot chocolate and sat on the many couches near the fireplace and the indoor fire pit. There was also the living furnace for those that couldn't get close enough to the fires. Quill got a little grumbly about being used as a heat source for someone other than Scott, Cassie, or Diana, but he didn't argue since it didn't last long. Board games that the lodge provided were played, dinner was had, and they all returned to the couches to talk about anything funny or good that happened that day.

The murderous snowmen was well liked by everyone, especially since Tony and Clint showed the pictures.

"...and then BAM! Right into the tree!" Sam exclaims and Bucky immediately points at Scott to direct the attention away from his embarrassing moment.

"Scott knocked over a rack of snowboards and then tripped over them!"

"Oh come on!"

Harley cackles. "Peter faceplanted into the snow once he buckled himself into his snowboard."

"Yeah?! Well you slid right into a family trying to take a picture!"

"This family is a disaster." Stephen groans quietly and Wanda smiles and gently pats his back.

"But we're still a family." She says. "You're a big part of that. If you didn't tell Tony to give us another chance...we wouldn't be here. Tony wouldn't be friends with us again, Scott and Quill might have never met, Bucky and Steve wouldn't have been permanently reunited…" Wanda looks at Stephen. "Peter may have given you the role of a mother, but you gave it meaning."

Stephen chuckles quietly. "I guess I really am the matriarch."

"Yes you are. Without a doubt." She kisses his cheek and then gets up to herd the girls to the stairs with the promise of a makeshift slumber party.

Cassie, Diana, Lila, Laura, and even Natasha follow Wanda upstairs to one of their rooms for their girls night, and some of the guys elect to stay downstairs to tell more stories. Stephen was content to sit back quietly and listen after telling the remaining kids to go upstairs and watch a movie. The boys didn't even argue. The sorcerer knew they were tired and being allowed to rent a movie on pay-per-view was enough for them. They were even tired enough that there was a low chance of them getting rowdy. Once they disappeared upstairs, Tony and Rhodey took a spot on the couch on either side of Stephen, and the sorcerer lays his head on the engineer's shoulder. Tony wraps his arm around Stephen, gently rubbing his thumb across his shoulder, and grabs the sorcerer's hands.

"Your hands okay?"

"Yes. Just enjoying time with this disaster we call family."

Rhodey snorts. "Disaster doesn't seem like the right word. What's a step up from that?"

"An apocalypse." Tony says dryly.

"Yeah...that sounds better."

Stephen hides a smirk. "I was going to say Quill but apocalypse works."

Tony and Rhodey burst into laughter, and the others give them a weird look until Stephen motions for them to ignore them. If they knew what the three were talking about, he wouldn't put it past them to start a friendly argument over it.

...that did sound like a fun idea now that Stephen thought about it. Maybe he would file that away for a day he wanted to sit back and watch the chaos unfold. Chaos he caused for once.

[arcticdementor]

The battle for the survival of the United States of America is upon us. It has not come in the form of traditional civil war. There are no uniformed armies, competing flags, or alternate constitutions. The great showdown is not being fought within the physical limits of a battlefield. It is instead happening all around us and directly to us. It defines our culture, sustains our media, and gives new shape to our public and private institutions. In this fight, there is no distinction between what was once known as the culture war and politics rightly understood. The confrontation stretches through time and space, reframing our distant past even as it transforms the horizon, erupting from coast to coast, and constraining our lives in subtle and obvious ways. And it’s happening too fast for us to take its full measure.

For partisans, it often feels as if everything stands or falls on the ideological battles of the day. But this is different. This is objectively real, and it’s remaking the nation before our eyes.

We know it’s different this time because the stakes are continually articulated by the enemies of the current order. They are demanding, and in some cases getting, a new and exotic country. The police are indeed being defunded. The statues are coming down. The heretics are being outed. The dissenters are being silenced. The buildings are burning, and the demands are ever growing.

…

If it wasn’t clear in late May and early June, it should be well understood by now that we are in the throes of a genuine revolution of the most extravagant sort. Like messianic revolutionaries of the past, the revolutionary mob of the 21st century is out to “remake the world.” Their compass is “no longer pointed at one thing.” It’s aimed in all directions at once. As Thomas Paine said approvingly of France in 1791, “it is the age of revolutions, in which everything may be looked for.” A mission so grandiose demands the most radical assault on the current order, and changing the world begins with changing one’s country. So it was in France in 1789, Russia in 1917, and China in 1949. And this is especially so if one’s country is seen as the seat of the present evil and is also the most powerful nation on the planet. This is, then, most fundamentally a revolution against the United States of America and all it stands for.

And yet, we seem to be treating the great unraveling as something less than a revolution. Apart from the boasts of the revolutionaries themselves, we are apt to hear characterizations of the moment as either “an opportunity for change” or, among those who are wary of it, a “fever” that will blow over in time. But what we are living through now is more consequential than any period of recent unrest, and it’s not just another leftist wave destined to roll on until it loses strength. Indeed, a revolution’s ultimate power comes from its being underestimated, tolerated, or accepted by those outside its ranks. The speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi, has adopted the language of the revolution, calling federal agents “stormtroopers.” For New York Representative Jerry Nadler, anarchist violence in Portland is but a “myth.” And the media’s abiding sympathy for the revolutionary cause has become mainstream journalism’s new North Star. The great unraveling has won the tacit approval of the press, influential policymakers, and a great many ordinary Americans. It is, therefore, already remaking the world.

We tend not to recognize the revolution for what it is—first of all because it seems to lack a proper paramilitary element. Popular notions of insurgency involve images of AK-47s, organized bands of armed men, and the general flavor of war. But in truth, the current revolution has drifted much further into this territory than the media care to admit. The Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone (CHAZ), the anarchist territory formerly established in Seattle, boasted a provisional armed “security” force. Weeks after CHAZ was dismantled, Seattle police responding to a riot uncovered a cache of weapons including explosives, bear spray, spike strips, and Tasers. Antifa members not only routinely dress in similar black garb but have come to rely on a crude but dangerous arsenal of improvised fire bombs, fireworks, rocks, bricks, and frozen water bottles. In New York, three rioters were arrested for throwing Molotov cocktails at police vehicles. Revolutionaries in cities around the country have shown up to “protests” with rifles and assorted arms.

The revolution lacks martial discipline but not a body count. Three weeks in, some 20 people had been killed during riots alone. The number has climbed steadily since. Within the brief life of Seattle’s CHAZ, there were four shootings and two deaths. You can add to these the hundreds dead (overwhelmingly African-American) in major cities due to new policing restrictions. And this is to say nothing of the multitude of nonfatal injuries, including hundreds suffered by law enforcement. Among these is the likely permanent blinding of three federal agents in Portland whose eyes were targeted with high-power lasers.

The cost of revolutionary violence in destroyed property and ruined livelihoods has been gargantuan, somewhere in the billions of dollars and climbing ever higher. And if you don’t think vandalism is a sufficiently revolutionary act, you’d do well to note that the term “vandalism” itself was coined during the French Revolution to describe the ruination of the country at the hands of the sans culottes.

…

Some have been prone to discount the revolution as a mere by-product of seemingly larger national woes. In the run-up to the riots, the nation suffered from a dispiriting pandemic and a paralyzing lockdown. As a result, we went from 3.5 percent unemployment to 14.7 percent in two months. For more than a decade, political polarization has been growing and faith in American institutions has been plummeting, both trends sped up and magnified exponentially over the course of the Trump presidency.

But these overarching conditions don’t vitiate the sincerity or salience of the revolutionary cause. To the contrary, they mimic precisely the classic circumstances under which revolutions have been birthed. It is in soil fertilized by decayed public trust that revolutions take root—whether or not those revolutions actually address the source of destabilization. One year before the onset of the French Revolution, France saw a totally failed harvest. One month before, a devastating hailstorm nearly wiped out national yields again. These disasters along with broad French distrust of the church and other institutions outside the monarchy all contributed to the fall of the king. Illness and disease have also been classic contributors to revolution. In 1917, St. Petersburg, ground zero for the Russian Revolution, was considered the unhealthiest major city in Europe. Its ongoing woes included a deadly cholera epidemic only a few years earlier.

…

The revolution’s left-liberal targets, in the media and the academy and mass entertainment, have been quick to adapt—some out of genuine sympathy with the cause, others hoping to protect their political standing, and still others out of abject fear. In China, few dared criticize violent Red Guard gangs for fear of seeming unsympathetic to the revolution. In the United States, rioters are furnished with every excuse the elite can muster. And the broad acceptance of the revolution in liberal institutions has resulted in a widespread pressure campaign of accusation, confession, and reeducation.

Mao sought to eradicate what he labeled the Four Olds: old customs, old culture, old habits, and old ideas—the established mental life of the country. Our own pressure campaign is shaped by similar goals. The revolutionaries have deemed American customs, culture, habits, and ideas racist. And instead of Mao’s Little Red Book to guide them in the ways of the proletariat, they have Robin DiAngelo’s White Fragility, which shows them all the hidden places where racism is to be found and rooted out.

…

For those not being re-educated by the state or canceled by the media mob, that is, for ordinary low-profile Americans, there are other channels of coercion. In the New York Times, writer Chad Sanders recommends interfamilial blackmail. In a June 5 op-ed, he suggested to white people: “[Send] texts to your relatives and loved ones telling them you will not be visiting them or answering phone calls until they take significant action in supporting black lives either through protest or financial contributions.” This, too, is straight out of the Cultural Revolution, during which Chinese were compelled to shun and turn against any family members with even the most remote connections to the wrong ideas.

_____________

What to do? Those of us who stand opposed to the revolution and its aims harbor the hope that the revolutionaries will “eat each other alive” or that their mixed motivations, outlandish ideas, and repellent actions will ultimately blow up the movement from within. But such internal dynamics can serve to refine, not kill off, revolutions. Revolutionary France was a perpetual and bloody power struggle between parties such as the Hébertists, Thermidoreans, and Jacobins. Such competition ensured that, in the long run, the fiercest elements came out on top. The same can be said of the battles between the Mensheviks, the Left SR, and the Bolsheviks of Russia. The Cultural Revolution was itself a sustained effort to wrench and secure control of the Chinese Communist Party. And in all these cases, important nonrevolutionary fellow travelers found reason to make common cause and go along with the winners at any given moment. Judging from history (and the present), it is unlikely that the revolution will self-destruct.

[abdulraveman]

shikuta @ lj on Why Ryo decided to leave Kanjani8

That edition of bunshun that came out this March has been proved to be 100% correct (from the timing, to the decision itself, to what he said) so it's not like there's much more left to say, just pieces to scrap all together. And this is my theory. The points bunshun made with that article have been: 1. Ryo wanted not to quit alone at first but to get everyone to quit KANJANI, the reason being the group not being able to keep up the usual the standards after what happened with Subaru and Yasu's situation; 2. Some members agreed on going hiatus, none of them on leaving; 3. Since that decision Ryo has been in bad blood with both Yoko and Hina, to the point of Yoko saying 'I can't work with that jerk anymore!' 4. The final decision has been made in March From now on it's just a matter of fixing our timeline using the infos we do know. 1. Subaru leaves, Ryo is the first one to regroup the members and decides to take the lead. He's still on board with having a six members group: plans an entire concert with six people in mind and even creates an extra for a single release. No problems in sight, tour still has to start. 2. Tour preparation is over and tour begins, we're around mid-September if I don't remember wrong. Ryo is is still on board with the band, does the majority of opening speeches, seems to have no problems to cover for Subaru simply by splitting his lines between himself/Yasu/Maru. Tour is at the beginning. 3. Around December/January (I suppose, since KJ8 clearly stated they had around 5/6 meetings about the issues and I like to think the split them in two months, at best) Ryo announces his decision to leave, to be official then in March. Six months have passed, so what could've changed? Directing that concert, that's what has changed. Many fans, and even Kanjani, talked about how both KJ8 and Ryo had different opinions about the direction the band should've taken, with basically KJ8 being 'yes' and Ryo being 'no'. None of them, however, even bothered to mention the reasons behind this point of views. If Yasu was fine and KJ8 had found a way to replace Subaru (as we saw them during during GR8EST) then why Ryo felt the need to split them up? Mind you that at first he didn't say he wanted to leave as a member, but that he wanted them to leave as a group, as a whole, while also keeping their positions in the agency. My best guess is that, while directing and organizing GR8EST he realized the limitations the group had to face due Yasu's condition and the astounding amount of stress they were putting on him. That's why the decision came midway the live and not before; that's why he proposed the group to quit all together, that's why (but I'll explain this later) he didn't even leave a note when he left. He realized KJ8 had nowhere to go without putting Yasu at risk and probably told the others 'well, that's it. We've already reached our peak, now let's quit before doing any disasters'.

And from this point on, hell got loose. According to the article both Hina and Yoko had ATROCIOUS fights with Ryo, with the two of them probably being in favor of keeping the band as it was and Ryo instead suggesting for them all to disband before it were too late. The fights kept going on and you could almost, barely taste them even during the varieties: during the whole year Ryo and Yoko almost never interacted with each other except when asked to; the last Telehone Game happened in January (back when he told them all his decision), after that no more. None of the two factions reached a compromise and so, by the end of march, Ryo announced his decision: not in order to go solo but to not betray his principles and part of the promise he made to Subaru. A band that keeps moving forward while sitting on the back of an ill guitarist should not exist. By the time Ryo left in September, KJ8 went once again against his suggestion of taking things slowly, and decided instead to start a 47 tour so improvised and desperate they didn't even have the venues booked per time. Ryo took this last blow and left without even a note or a sign of life on his jweb. This, in my opinion, also explain how does it come both KJ8 and Ryo gave almost no explanations or kept things vague at best: for KJ8 it would mean to admit they're trying to carry on while also overworking a man that is in deep pain; and for Ryo would admit spitting on the whole group. So, no press conference for them all together, really vague interviews to the point even Jin (Akanishi on twitter) pointed out how pointless they were and Ryo being out of the door in one day and with almost zero explanations. Honestly this seems to be the most reasonable explanation to me.

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2nd reply by shikuta @ lj

Point is... members proposed to go hiatus. If you manage to get your hands on previous ANN episodes you'll hear Ohkura talking about how in the past, some members proposed to stop activities for a while. Some of them agreed, Ohkura included, some others did not. Ryo was certainly in favor. One of the first Boku, actually, had Yasu talking about concert preparations for GR8EST, how at some point he told to the members, crying, that he didn't feel like he was up for this tour, that he didn't want to take any part on it. Again, some members agreed on stopping this carousel, Yoko and Hina did not. Tour was made. So, it's not like Yasu's opinion held really any value in this particular stance: deciding whether to put a group on a stop is a decision that the band as a whole should made. Ryo tried to get them to this point, considering Yasu's health, two of them were deaf apparently and decided to carry on, hence Ryo had enough and left. It's really simple as that. Because, let's be honest here, Yasu is not fine, will never be fine. Don't let J&A fool you, they're going to work this horse to the death. It's been two years since the surgery and he still does experience both phono and photophobia. Can't sit on an hard chair without a cushion. Had to drop scuba-diving. The network has been forced to change a lot of Chronicle segments simply because Yasu wasn't up to the task anymore: no more long walks for the 'looks like this/is like that' segment, no more Dodge Game, no more Ikemen Camera. They put, instead, segments where he can sit and talk, like the cuisine one or the manga panel or the one with guests talking around a table. All those moments you've seen during concerts, the so called 'Yasuda Moments' are simply speech impediments, him forgetting words, confusing similar sounds. 'Post surgeries moments' that still affects him and probably will never entirely leave. All of this would pose no treat for your average office worker that is back to work after a year of rehab. But for a machine that is programmed to jump, to sing, to run, to play, to move from one location to the other, months after months, your doc's definition of 'fine' holds no meaning. Yasu knows that, Ryo knew that, Yoko and Hina knew that, the youngest ones knew that as well.

We're one year post surgery and three months after personal hiatus when this happened. The man that according to KJ8 and the agency is 'fine' has even trouble to carry the weight of his own guitar. Has to move, take a deep breath and relax shoulders in order to dissipate the pain. Ryo's eyes, trained on him, notice all of this and take a mental note to tell others to slow a bit. KJ8's response, the day after he leaves, is a simple 'fuck it, we going touring again you asshole'

[jarienn972]

A Simple Spell - Chapter Twelve

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

I honestly did not plan for this latest @cssns​ chapter update to take so long. I had the majority of this finished over Thanksgiving weekend, but then an awful upper respiratory infection started making its way around my household. The past few weeks have been a blur and I feel like I've been completely out of touch. I finally managed to get the haze out of my head and finish up this chapter.

There are two chapters left in my outline so expect some big reveals coming! I really appreciate everyone who has read, shared and commented along the way. Thank you so much for sticking with me with my first AU!  Thank you @kmomof4​ for being such a great cheerleader and I’m sorry I made you wait so long for the next chapter.  And as always, thanks to @lassluna​ for her beta assistance along the way and to @cocohook38​ for her incredible artwork!

Read from the beginning or get a refresher:  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven           Also on AO3 and FF.net

In such a remote area, the process of extricating the unconscious Captain Jones from the root cellar had been a time-consuming challenge. Since the ambulance wasn't off-road equipped, the paramedics had been forced to hitch a ride in Graham's 4x4 and utilize the SUV as an improvised transport vehicle. After a few tense minutes of concern as the team determined the best way to carry the wounded man from the cellar, Emma finally breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her friend loaded safely into the back of Graham's vehicle.

She would have been happier to accompany Killian to Storybrooke Hospital but since space was limited, she remained behind to return the borrowed ATVs and then returned to the Sheriff's station with David. He parked the cruiser in the alley behind the station and they entered through the rear door near the break room. David ducked into the break room to start a pot of coffee brewing, needing a caffeine boost after their busy morning. Emma continued into the squad room, dropping her gear atop her desk as she collapsed her weary body into her chair. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but she was incredibly relieved as they'd managed to locate Killian quickly and best of all - alive. Of course, the outcome hadn't been entirely perfect as they had no idea who had abducted the captain or why, but at least they had a few leads.

After delivering Killian and the paramedics to the ambulance, Graham returned to the house in the woods to gather evidence. David wanted fresh eyes on the crime scene - to search both the main house and the root cellar, primarily tasking the deputy to find the identity of the current occupant. David would have handled it himself, but he was worried about his little sister and what her state of mind might be after finding the man she was dating unconscious and injured in a hole in the ground. And he became even more concerned when he strolled into the squad room to see her tossing items out of her desk, frantically hunting for something.

"Problem?" he asked quizzically.

"Yeah - my mother's journal… I can't find it…," she replied, emptying what remained of the top drawer onto the floor. "I put it in this drawer before we left - I know I did!"

"You sure? Maybe you put it in the bottom drawer instead?" he suggested, but it only earned him an unpleasant glare from his sister.

"I put everything in here together - the box and both books. The box is still here," she said as she lifted it for him to see. "And so is the other book, but the journal isn't anywhere to be found…"

"Well, I doubt it just vanished. You're absolutely sure it was in your desk?"

"Yes, David - I'm sure. Someone must have taken it off of my desk."

"Emma, come on… Who would break into a Sheriff's station to steal a diary?"

"I don't know. It makes no sense, but then not much that has happened this week has made any sense. What if this was just another part of our so-called warlock's sick game? What if he kidnapped Killian as a diversion so he could get his hands on that journal? He was probably afraid that mom might have left clues."

"Considering she lost, I can't imagine they'd be good clues," David quipped, but she didn't appreciate the sarcasm.

"Maybe she left clues about what not to do?" she retorted, her frustrations nearing the boiling point.

"Maybe… Look, why don't you head over to the hospital and get an update on Captain Jones' condition? I know you're worried… I'll keep searching around here and see if the book might have just been misplaced. The rest of the paperwork can wait until Graham gets back here."

"Fine. Just please, let me know immediately if you find it?"

"I'll bring it right to you. I'm sure it will turn up. Now - go. I'm trusting you to get the Captain's statement when he wakes."

"I will. Thank you, David." Wary of leaving any of her mother's other items behind lest they vanish along with the journal, Emma scooped up the box and the spellbook. She wasn't going anywhere without these now, certain that Gold had hung onto these things for a reason. She hoped David was correct and the journal was around here somewhere, but she wasn't feeling particularly positive right now. She was certain someone had taken it while they were rescuing Killian, but why? The answer to that question would likely be the key to unraveling this entire mystery.

**********

Emma arrived at the main entrance to Storybrooke General hospital a little after 2pm and, after a brief spat with the head nurse, was directed to Killian Jones' room and provided a synopsis of his current condition. He'd needed some minor surgery to repair the damage to his wounded shoulder and he was also being treated for some mild hypothermia after being in the damp, chilly root cellar for an unknown length of time. The staff was baffled by his lingering comatose state as none of his injuries would explain why he remained unresponsive. Dr. Victor Whale, the lead physician overseeing Killian's treatment, suspected that drugs might be involved and and ordered blood samples taken and sent to the laboratory for processing. Until they had those results, everything was pure speculation.

She found herself staring at the shell of a man laying before her on the hospital bed, one who bore little resemblance to the brash Captain she'd first encountered days ago. Maybe it was the flimsy hospital garb he wore in place of his dark leathers, or perhaps it was the silence of his sharp tongue, but either way, she felt as if she were in the presence of an entirely different person. There was a vulnerability to the man in front of her and Emma couldn't help but feel a little bit of sadness for him - both for his ordeal and for the fact he had no family to be here with him.

She had already spoken to his first mate, Mr. Smee, to advise him that the Captain had been located and was currently hospitalized. The skittish little man had stopped by briefly to check in and say thank you, but hadn't stayed. In the Captain's absence, the task of running the Jolly Roger fell upon him so he couldn't stick around long. His crew was likely the closest thing to family that Killian Jones had but there was still distance. It was another bit of kinship that Emma felt with Killian. She'd spent years alone after her mother died, and yet even when she'd found David and the rest of her ever-expanding family, she wasn't as close with them as she'd been with her mother. She and Killian were both essentially orphans and her gut was telling her that she needed to be here for him.

As Killian lay sleeping beneath a pale blue blanket drawn up to his bandaged shoulder, Emma sat quietly in a padded wooden armchair in front of the room's large window, focusing intently on her tablet screen. She may not have her mother's journal, but that wasn't going to stop her research. She was fiercely determined to make sense of all of the week's strange events. Nothing about the things that were happening sat right with her and she needed to figure out why.

She'd received another message from Belle not long ago which fueled her study. The librarian had uncovered a few articles that she believed would be helpful to the deputy, emailing Emma copies of anything she could send electronically. She also advised that she'd located a few books that were pertinent to Emma's interests. After returning Belle's call and arranging to have the books delivered here to the hospital, Emma had started perusing the electronic files immediately. There were quite a few scans and links to look at, but she figured she had some time to read before Killian woke.

But she also had plenty of time to think - maybe too much. All of the week's events seemingly stemmed from her casting the true love spell - the spell that was now mysteriously missing from the book she'd recited it from. How had she seen it in there before when Zelena had recited another from the same book? Had it been visible only to her or had it existed within those vellum pages only to disappear once recited? And then there was that stupid spell itself… She'd felt so compelled to cast it, but had she now drawn innocent bystanders into its mix? Unlike her mother's situation, she knew that both Killian Jones and Walsh Gibbons were real. Unless Killian's entire crew was an elaborate ruse, they'd been sailing with him for years so Captain Jones wasn't imaginary. And Walsh - she'd known him for a while now. They'd dated when she lived in Boston so he was real enough. Now both men's fates were intertwined with hers and for what? So some greedy, needy warlock could cheat her out of her powers if she couldn't figure out which man was her true love?

The whole damned situation irked her. She certainly wasn't the first witch to cast a spell to find love. The very fact that these spells exist was evidence that others had been every bit as hopeful (or maybe desperate) as she'd been. But had she stumbled onto this particular spell by accident or had it been predestined? Had the warlock chosen his victims in advance or was it mere coincidence that both she and her mother had become his victims?

No one had yet mentioned who the warlock's first chosen opponent had been or whether that person had been kin to Emma's family so that had been one of Emma's questions for Belle. There had to be some sort of record as to who that unlucky person had been and fortunately for Emma, Belle had been successful in locating a name. The first opponent had also been a woman - a powerful witch by the name of Ursula who had arrived to Storybrooke from the West Indies in the early 1900s. Belle hadn't been able to uncover any information about what the warlock had used to trick her, but the reports from the time stated that she'd not only lost her powers, but also her voice. A month later, she'd been found floating in the bay, apparently having drowned herself to end her suffering.

What sort of sadistic bastard was she dealing with? He clearly enjoyed preying on women, but why? Were they easier targets or were their powers stronger? Knowing she'd fallen pretty easily for the trap, Emma assumed women might be easier to coerce, although her powers certainly didn't seem to measure up to her mother's or to what she'd read about Ursula's. Had Emma been targeted because of some weakness the warlock had observed? And why did he feel it necessary to resort to so many games?

Magical deals be damned - something wasn't adding up here.

Emma had entirely lost track of time when she heard a faint rap on the room's door. Glancing up, she was somewhat surprised to see David's face peeking around the doorframe. As he passed through the entrance, she could see that he had a stack of books tucked beneath his left arm and a carry-out bag from Granny's clutched in his right hand.

"I figured you'd text me first," she greeted her brother as he deposited the books on a narrow counter beside the sink and dropped the bag of food onto her lap.

"Mary Margaret insisted that I bring you something to eat and as I was leaving Granny's, I ran into Belle who said she was bringing these books over for you. Since I was already on my way over, I figured I'd save her the trip and brought them myself. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to find the journal you were looking for."

"I didn't figure you would," she replied dejectedly. "I'm quite certain that someone took it while we were searching for Killian."

"Pretty bold to steal something from a deputy from inside the station."

"Even bolder if they abducted and stabbed Killian to provide themselves a diversion," Emma added.

"Agreed. How's he doing anyway?" David asked, jabbing a finger in the direction of the slumbering man in the bed behind him. "Any change?"

"No. He's still unconscious, his heart rate is extremely slow and his breathing is unusually shallow. Dr. Whale said that there's no real medical reason for it so he's running some tests to check for drugs or other substances that might be in Killian's system."

"Could be some really strong knockout drugs, but I guess we'll have to wait and see. I really would like to get his statement and get this crime linked to a perp…"

"There's no way to know how long it will be until he wakes, but in the meantime, I've got some reading to do."

"I see that. What's the subject?"

"Some history and some stuff about warlocks and wizards, but without the magical school and British accents… Well, al least no accent until Killian wakes."

David shook his head at the exhausting thought of doing this much reading. "I'll leave you to your studies then but I'll check back in a few hours."

"Sounds good. Thanks, David."

"You're welcome. And I do hope your captain here wakes up soon."

"Me too," she said as David strolled through the doorway and turned out of her line of sight. As she stood, she inhaled the tempting aroma of onion rings as she placed the take-out bag on the windowsill and took a couple of steps over to the counter to retrieve the books. Her eyes were drawn to the figure on the bed and she couldn't help but stare at him while picking up the first book from the stack. Mythology of Supernatural Beings was the title and the book cover was emblazoned with a devil's trap pentagram. This wasn't going to be light reading but she was ready for the challenge. She had a few suspicions about what was really happening in this town but she wasn't yet ready to share her theory - or the choice she'd made. She fully intended to put an end to these silly games permanently but she needed to be sure.

**********

Emma hadn't realized that she'd dozed off until she felt a tap on her shoulder. She woke with an involuntary shudder, stunned for a moment until she recognized the face of the brunette nurse who'd been in and out of the room all afternoon.

"I'm sorry, Deputy Swan. I didn't mean to startle you, but you have a visitor downstairs in the lobby."

"Oh… Alright then… Thank you, Michelle." Emma closed the book on her lap and placed it over onto the windowsill before pushing herself to her feet. Maintaining a vigil at a hospital bedside wasn't the most comfortable way to spend a day. "Would you have Fred keep watch on this room and page me if anything changes while I'm gone?"

"I'll be happy to, Deputy, although any changes in Mr. Jones' condition don't seem likely at this point."

"I know. Wishful thinking on my part. His case is still active and I still need to get his statement." Emma was reluctant to leave Killian's side, especially when they'd yet to identify his abductor but she knew that Fred the security guard wouldn't let anyone past without proper authorization. Killian would be fine for a few minutes while she went downstairs to see who was waiting for her so she stepped into the elevator and took it down to the ground floor. When the doors parted, she made the left turn into the main hallway, strolled past the security checkpoint, gift shop and snack bar into the open space of the entrance lobby, not expecting the person she found standing there.

"Walsh? What are you doing here?" she asked incredulously.

"I hadn't heard back from you all day so I got a little bit worried - especially when the other deputy said you were here."

"I'm fine. It's just been a very hectic day. I've been waiting here all day waiting for a kidnapping victim to wake up so I can get a statement."

"Is that why you had to leave the diner this morning?"

"Partially," she replied, not wanting to divulge too much information. "Just the usual chaos that is the life of a deputy sheriff in Storybrooke."

"I'm sure," he chuckled before sighing with relief. "I'm just glad you're alright and… well, I was going to see if you would like to join me for dinner?"

"I'm sorry, Walsh. I really can't. This is still an open case and David and Graham will really need my help to catch the kidnapper." She was trying to let him down easy, using work as an excuse so she didn't have to reveal that she really just wanted to be here with Killian. "I would love to, but maybe another night?"

"Of course. I understand," he replied in a quiet, dejected tone, his posture now echoing his visible disappointment. "Please, call me tomorrow. I really would like to have one more evening with you before I head back to Boston."

"I'd like that, too," she insisted.

"Well, I hope he wakes up soon so you can close your case."

"Me too," she said as she gave him a quick hug that turned out far more awkward than she'd expected. She'd wanted it to be a nice, friendly gesture, but she wasn't feeling as though her sentiments were being reciprocated. Walsh had wrapped his arms around her back, but she sensed no emotion from the embrace - at least not the sort of emotion one would expect from someone claiming to be concerned about her. "I'll see you later, Walsh."

Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into things after everything she'd been reading. As Walsh vanished out of the hospital's front doors, the little gears inside Emma's head were going into overdrive so she decided to call one person who could help clarify things a bit - Graham.

She yanked her phone out of her jeans pocket and dialed his number, worried that she might get his voicemail, but he finally answered on the fourth ring. "Hey Graham. Turn up anything?"

"Not much," he replied. "The place was pretty bare. I pulled a few fingerprints, but those will only help us if the person is in the system. Oh, I did find some interesting scraps in the fireplace that lead me to believe that those dust voids on the mantle were from photographs. I bagged the scraps as evidence but I want you to have a look at them."

"I'd love to see what you've got. Can you bring them by the hospital?"

"Yeah. I just got back to the station, so give me a little while and I'll be over."

"Sounds good. Oh, Graham - did you happen to talk to someone and mention that I was here at the hospital with Captain Jones?"

"No. Only people I've spoken with were David and the search party, but as I said, I just got back. Any particular reason?"

"No, that's okay. Just had some curious people stopping by and asking questions, you know?"

"Probably just someone trying to get the scoop for tomorrow's paper… Any changes though?"

"'Fraid not. Seems like it's going to be a long night."

"Alright. Well, I'll see you in about an hour or so then."

"See you then," she said as she disconnected the call, strolling over to an unoccupied, quiet alcove off of the entrance hall, needing to make another call with more privacy. Walsh was long out of view, but her conversation with Graham left her ill at ease. Graham hadn't spoken to Walsh so how the hell had Gibbons known she was here? And how had he known that the kidnapping victim was a man? Something smelled rotten here…

She scrolled through her contacts to find the number belonging to Mayor Regina Mills, dialing it even though Regina would be none-too-happy to hear from Emma again today.

"Hello, Emma," Regina's voice greeted her in a flat, disinterested tone.

"Regina, I need your help with something," Emma stated, keeping her voice low in case prying ears were nearby.

"Again? What spell did you cast this time?"

"Yes, again… And I didn't cast another spell. There have been some odd developments in the case."

"Such as? Robin told me that you found Captain Jones. Was there something odd about that?"

"Nothing specifically about finding him, but there are a lot of other things that aren't making sense… Regina, if I'm right, this town is dealing with something more powerful than a warlock…"

"You're probably jumping to conclusions, but just what do you think is going on?"

"I don't want to get into it over the phone. Can you come down to the hospital? I don't really want to leave here until he wakes up."

"Then call me back when he does."

"That's the thing, Regina - no one has any idea when he might wake up. He's been unconscious since we found him, but Dr. Whale can't find any medical reason why."

Regina's ears perked up at those words. "He's not injured?"

"He was stabbed, but not severely enough to be unconscious this long."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

***********

Regina seemed to have a permanent scowl etched onto her face today but at least she showed up promptly. Emma had advised security that Mayor Mills was on her way and to let her pass, not that anyone really would have dared to stop her. Emma wasn't really sure where to begin as Regina pushed open the door and entered the room, taking a side-eyed glance at the dark-haired patient on the bed as she passed.

"Well, at least he's good looking…," Regina quipped. "Now, just what the hell is going on, Emma? What was so secretive that you couldn't say anything over the phone?"

"I'm not sure it's safe to talk here…," Emma said as she pushed herself to her feet. "I'm worried that someone might be watching…"

"Then we make some privacy," Regina stated as she withdrew her ebony wand from inside her pantsuit jacket and waved it with theatrical flourish, producing a force field that sealed the room off from the rest of the world. "There - problem solved. You know how to set up a protective spell. Unless your magic is slipping, you're really distracted by this."

"Look, Regina, let me preface this by saying that this has probably been one of the most overwhelming weeks of my life. I've been here in Storybrooke for a few months, but I've been bombarded with more surprises and secrets this week than I could ever have imagined, so if what I have to say sounds crazy, imagine what has been going through my mind for the past several days."

"Noted," Regina replied without emotion as she sat down in the chair Emma had vacated.

"Okay, so I've been told by everyone this week that my mother was once a powerful witch who was tricked out of those powers by losing a challenge set up by a warlock, but what if that story isn't entirely true?"

"What about the story do you think is false? We've been told for generations that the warlock gave this town it's magic. It's our town's legacy, Emma. You've known that story for a few days and you already think it's wrong?"

"It just doesn't seem like a warlock would be powerful enough, not to mention that he'd have to be immortal to keep coming back here after all these years… I think we're dealing with a far more powerful being…"

"Seriously, Emma? A few months into the study of magic and you're suddenly an expert at identifying warlocks and magical beings?"

"Don't berate me, Regina! I may not be a magical expert, but I'm not an idiot and I'm a good enough detective to know when the clues don't add up. After skimming through my mother's journal and researching some stuff Belle sent me, I think we might be dealing with some sort of trickster."

"A trickster? You think that Loki is running amuck in Storybrooke?" Regina scoffed, rolling her eyes at the deputy.

"Loki is just the Scandinavian name for a trickster," Emma stated firmly, the irritation in her voice increasing. "There are other names for them in other cultures, but whatever you want to call it, a trickster fills in some of the holes in the story. Tricksters like to play games so these ridiculous challenges make more sense. This crazy true love spell… Killian being kidnapped to try to throw off my decision and whatever is affecting him now that's keeping him unconscious…"

Regina stabbed a finger in the direction of the sleeping Killian Jones. "That? That's magic - dark magic."

"What?" Emma wasn't sure she believed what she was hearing. "Magic? What does magic have to do with this?"

"When you called and said that they couldn't find any medical reason, it reminded me of a dark potion I'd only ever heard of before. A sleeping spell."

"Sleeping spell? Those are a thing?"

"We're not talking Sleeping Beauty here. It won't make him immortal and sleep forever. If this is the potion I think it is, he's stuck in perpetual sleep. He can only be awakened with the antidote - assuming whoever cursed him made one - or by a kiss of true love."

"A kiss of true love? So it is like Sleeping Beauty… And if he is my true love, he'll wake up, but if he's not…"

"You lose your powers and he'll stay like this forever," Regina deadpanned the obvious.

"Thanks for not making my decision any easier…," Emma sighed as her eyes drifted over to Killian's peaceful-looking face. She had no idea if he could hear what they were saying. Was he screaming at her on the inside? She hated that so much hinged on a seemingly impossible choice.

"So you haven't determined which one of them is your true love yet?" Regina questioned.

"No, I haven't. Every time I think I have it figured out, my brain thinks up something that changes my mind… It's incredibly frustrating and there's no way to just wave my wand and fix things…"

"If you had asked, I would have told you that matters of the heart generally aren't best served by magical shortcuts," Regina reminded her.

"I know - I screwed up… All the good it does me now…" Emma lamented as she sat down on the bottom corner of the bed. "It's my fault that he's stuck like this…"

"How is this sleeping spell your fault?" Regina chastised her. "You may have cast a spell that brought him into your life, but you didn't make the potion or give it to him. You don't even know for sure that your love spell is related to what happened to him…"

"I'm pretty sure they are," Emma replied defensively as she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. "Hold on a moment…," she said to Regina as she fished out her phone to see Grahams name on the display. "It's Graham. He has some evidence for me to look at." Regina nodded, uninterested in whatever evidence the two deputies were going to discuss. "Hi Graham… Yeah, room 306… Okay, thanks… See you in a bit."

Emma disconnected the call as Regina stood up brandishing her wand to lower the conjured protective barrier. "Better drop the protection spell so your partner can get in. Was there more you wanted to tell me or can I go now?"

"You're not going to weigh in with an opinion on my theory?" Emma wondered.

"I'm reserving my opinion until there's more evidence," the mayor insisted, seeing Graham's face in the doorway. "I'll talk to you later."

Emma nodded as Regina traded places with Graham, her heels clicking on the tile floor as she strode into the hallway while Graham took a tentative step into the room.

"Why was Regina just here?" Graham inquired quizzically.

"We had some coven business to discuss," Emma told him, which was only a partial lie. The conversation was about magic and spells. Graham didn't need to know more than that. "So - what did you find out there?"

Still hovering next to the door, Graham reached into his coat pocket and removed three sealed evidence baggies that he passed to Emma. "I found these scraps in the fireplace. Somebody tried to burn some photographs and I think you'll find these interesting…"

"Well, let's see…," she replied as she took the plastic bags from his hand. The remnants of the photos weren't very large and they were badly scorched, but Emma could make out some of the detail. The first black and white scrap showed a portion of a woman's face. She appeared to have dark skin and jet black hair, but the photo was so coated with soot that it was difficult to tell. Emma didn't recognize the woman in this photo but her eyes lit up at the familiar face. "This is my mother," she announced, pointing at the burnt image of a blonde haired woman with long, flipped bangs that were vintage 1970s. "It proves Ozmund Welch or whoever was living out there did have a connection to my mother."

"You may want to look at that last one…"

Shifting the two images she'd already seen to the bottom of the pile, Emma's jaw fell slack at the third imagine. "Son of a bitch…" she muttered, yanking out her phone and tapping one of the contacts. "Graham - stay here and don't let anyone through that doorway…" She darted into the corridor with the bag still clutched in her fist, leaving a bewildered Graham behind. She had the phone to her ear awaiting an answer, bypassing the normal greeting when the person on the other end answered. "Regina - are you still in the hospital?"

"I just walked outside. What is it?"

"Meet me in the lobby. There's something I want you to see," Emma implored as she stepped inside the elevator.

"Fine," Regina replied, pivoting on her heels to return to the lobby. "This had better be good…"

"It may answer one of our biggest questions…" Emma explained before her phone lost service inside the elevator.

Regina was waiting for her when the elevator doors parted at the ground floor and as soon as the other passengers came and went, Emma ushered Regina over to the still-unoccupied alcove she'd called from earlier.

"Alright, Emma… what is this about?"

"This," Emma stated as she held up the evidence bag for Regina to view. "Look at this… Graham found it in the fireplace at the house where we found Killian."

"What am I looking at here?" Regina queried, squinting her eyes as she glanced at the scorched photo, trying to make out the image.

"It's a photo of me." Emma said as she showed Regina the other two remnants. "And here's one of my mom and a really old one of a woman I think was the first victim… I understand the possible connection to my mom, but if he's got photographs of all of his opponents?"

"That's a little disturbing, but you said this would help give some answers. I don't understand…"

"Regina - this isn't a recent photograph of me. It was taken in Boston a couple of years ago. The dress I'm wearing was from an undercover sting - the same case I was on when I met Walsh!"

"Could it be a coincidence?" Regina asked, but she already doubted that herself.

"Do you believe in coincidence?" Emma retorted. "If this warlock or trickster, or whatever the hell he is, was stalking me then, he had to have already known who I was. I didn't even know I had magic back then, so how did he? Only someone who knew my mother could possibly have known that which meant they had to be connected to Storybrooke…"

"Which means…?"

"I think it means Walsh is no innocent bystander. I don't think my true love could possibly be someone who was already plotting this game years before I knew I was playing."

"Well, there's only one way to know for sure…"

"And that is?"

"You make the choice that Captain Jones is your true love and then you get back up there and kiss the holy hell out of that man."

[mtchstick]

hello all, time to meet my latest nuisance, michelle ‘mitch’ novak, 34, investigative journalist, chaos magnet, megagalactic pain in the ass. full bio + hcs & wanted connections below the cut! 

“ alone in your car, the violence you imagine: it hurts so hard, a memory you can’t forget. wherever you are, why’d you ever concede it? as if, if a god would ever care, and if it did, then nothing unpure is ever complicated, and nothing undone is ever done or said by chance, and nothing unsure has ever resonated — i float through the walls. i float through the walls. ” .  

name : michela michelle maria novak. the last is a taken name: not her birth father’s (pasqualino “lee” ferrante) but the name of the man who married her mother after her divorce with lee. as much of a shithead as he was, sometimes mitch regrets the novak name (only keeps it as a token of her ties with her siblings). her pen name, however, is mitch lennox — a very male, very white name that she believed would help her articles get some credit in the world of journalism (and that helped her distance herself from her red ridge past). age : thirty-four (born october 20th, 1986). pronouns : she/her. gender : cis female. location : red ridge, nv.  occupation : investigative journalist.  sexual orientation : pansexual, demiromantic. religion : agnostic (mostly a non believer, though she tends to find comfort in the thought of a higher power in dire times, and keeps her grandmother’s crucifix in her car). affiliation : none, although she’s never shyed from asking favors to valencia or law enforcement alike (and has often owed favors to both, and more). _________

personality :perhaps in order to understand the full range of mitch’s character one would require a century, perhaps a degree in archaeology. the short version of it is, what you get is mostly an act. not a genuine character, but a persona crafted, layer by layer, for survival, for self-preservation. on the outside, mitch novak is close to a hurricane: can’t be predicted, will show up unannounced, spread havoc all around, disappear again when the sun has set. one might call her volatile, fleeting some, never sticking to a plan but shifting constantly, as if the very essence of staying still was a risk far too big for her to run. it might look like evidence of a poor character, material perhaps — it is instead the proof of her determination, which barely knows any obstacle, surely not one of a human kind. she’s resolute, far too proud of her own beliefs, pushing ever forward with barely any thought over consequences or just the general, common sense awareness of danger. reckless, one might call her, but not for lack of a will to live, rather an attitude she’s developed in being extremely resourceful, constantly finding ways to get out of the corners she’s backed in (so far: there’s no telling how long this will last). this ever changing, constantly moving nature reflects itself in her dynamics with others, too: do not count on her to stick around, whether tied to a familial, friendly or romantical relationship — it is far more likely for mitch to disappear and then return as rapidly as the moon changes. the outer side of her is a shifting tide, never too still, never calm enough for anyone to dive. beyond that layer, however, she is passionate — alive with burning ideals, nursing bravery with seldom any comparison, a protector of those who are defenseless, someone who’s devoted an entire life to the ideal of truth. and yet the choices she’s made, the paths she’s walked in order to get to where her ideals prompted her to be, they have all piled up inside of her: while she’ll appear to have little to no moral compass, little to no care as to the consequences of her own actions, deep within mitch is the harshest of her own critics. she keeps herself busy, constantly moving so that she won’t have to stop and think — reckon with her graveyards of mistakes, deal with her own, deep-seeded self loathing. she’ll much more easily crack a joke instead, defend herself with the use of irony and sarcasm, and at the same time put people to the test, give them the sharpest corners of herself so their allegiance will be proved. but all of this, all her shifting and sharpening nature, it has led to a deep, sometimes unbearable loneliness — it is ever present and still sneaks up on her sometimes, the endless void around her scorched earth, the inability to bridge that gap between her and the rest of the world. perhaps there lies her love for stories: within the distance from her and others, trying to understand them in order to shorten it. but it stays there, separating her from the world, and so self preservation must be the only principle leading her forward. at the end of the day, mitch is as unpredictable as stormy weather: even those who believe they know her, most of the time, only really know the persona she’s allowed them to meet. she can be manipulative, a skilled liar, an unparalleled improviser — perhaps one day she will finally stare in the mirror and ask herself who she really is. positive traits : headstrong, clever, resourceful, brave, protective, witty, open minded, passionate. negative traits : impulsive, proud, self-destructive, fleeting, mutable, unreliable, arrogant, reckless, annoying. ___________

BIOGRAPHY —

trigger warnings : disappearance, death, abuse, child abuse, cults, substance abuse.

red ridge, nv, 1988. pamela rizzo is done with her boyfriend’s antics: never able to hold a job for more than a couple weeks, constantly wasting his pay in booze and boobs and whatever shit he feels like shooting in his own body. her youngest, michela, is two years old; her oldest, tommy, is seven years old: old enough to understand what’s going on. for a while he becomes the man of the house, making sure his little sister is okay when mom comes late from work: for a while, this broken up family makes it work. pamela meets andy novak when mitch is four — four months later they’re married out of a casino’s chapel, and she looks at her kids, bright eyed, and said: see kids? you got a daddy again, now. everything’s gonna change for the better.

red ridge, nv, 1995. everything starts changing for the worse, but none of them can see it yet. there’s two new siblings, jericho and liv, the lovely offspring of the novaks. adjusting to this new family is hard, and mitch sticks around her older brother: he’s good, he’s protective, he watches her back. she picks up from him, her fight and her curiosity and her boyish recklessness — five years apart, yet sometimes they look like twins. she loves her younger siblings, yes, but sometimes she looks at andy’s eyes and remembers this is not my father, and this is not my family, and all i really have is tommy and by tommy i will stand. but over time he gets tired of playing babysitter, one day he simply grabs her and says c’mon mitch, get off my back. don’t you have any friends?

red ridge, nv, 1996. mitch grows restless and reckless, too many hours spent in detention and not enough befriending kids her age. she thinks something’s lacking, a specific code that will allow her to bridge the distance with the other kids: she searches for it in comic books, studying the behavior of characters wondering how a hero is made. she searches for it in other kids, and sometimes she stays out entire afternoons spying on her brother and her friends, wondering what it is that makes people friends, what it is that she’s lacking. that’s when she starts seeing them spending their afternoons in mr. carlow’s house; they say he lets them do some handiwork around the house in exchange for some money, money for tapes, money for gas. tommy comes home full of new stuff every day — one day he brings home a cassette for mitch, jagged little pill. three days later, he goes to carlow’s and never leaves.

red ridge, nv, 1998. thomas j. novak is declared missing on november 1st, 1998. search parties begin, national attention brought to the case. there are errors in the investigation, leads mistakenly pursued. mitch talks to pam, talks to andy, talks to anyone: go to mr. carlow’s, she says, i saw them there. but mr. carlow is an old wealthy man, he’s given more money to the church than the vatican itself: and he was so concerned when they asked him about tommy that he passed out. nobody listens, so tommy isn’t found. they listen to pamela, her face plastered on every news segment, begging for her boy to come home: at night mitch holds her younger siblings close, and fears something will be coming for all of them.

red ridge, nv, 1999. the body of thomas novak, 17 at the time of his disappearance, is found in a ditch three miles out of red ridge, exactly nine months after he was declared missing. the police say he must’ve been trying to leave town when he was robbed, or maybe assaulted, or maybe a coyote got him. nobody seems to have a clear answer, nobody really cares to look for one. pamela finds some comfort in speaking to the nation of her child: every night her face is on tv, until the story of the grieving mother is boring too, and pamela disappears in the background, perhaps like her child did. that’s about the time andy taps into his anger, begins lashing out with his kids, with mitch too. he’s loud, he smells, he comes home and takes it out on the three of them. mitch tries to keep her head up, keep the small ones safe. she keeps yelling, nobody listens. nobody ever fucking listens.

phoenix, az, 2004. she finds another voice. she has parts of tommy that have stayed with her. the curiosity, the bull-headed quest for knowledge. she holds them close to herself, puts them all in the art of the written word, and somehow it gives her a purpose. in her mind remains the need to find an answer, connect the dots around her brother’s disappearance, but they never match to any coherent drawing. still she keeps on, and the moment she becomes a licensed journalist she starts travelling the country chasing stories, chasing mysteries and, above all — chasing answers. 

montréal, canada, 2013. red ridge fades in the background, a dull nightmare unwilling to re-emerge to the surface. she finds new stories instead, she drowns in them. good stories, with martyrs and heroes who die for a  cause (those are the ones she stares at in admiration, wondering if a good spirit is transmittable via osmosis). she finds bad stories, the ways men will make themselves wolves and devour their young (those are the ones she gets deep in, like the bloody entrails of a carcass, turns them inside out until she can make every accurate comparison between them and herself and say it isn’t me, i have nothing to do with people like this). she builds herself a kingdom of sorts, kings and queens and pawns to turn to in her quest for truth. (she asks favors too, sometimes she finds herself under the thumb of criminals and shady characters who can help her quest along, but will ask things of her: her shining moral character begins darkening now, she begins to understand the battle between good and evil must be fought along the line in between). while investigating a dark, morbid story of murder and finance, she meets priscilla — clever, arrogant, bright. selfish enough to drag her out of her own head when mitch lets her investigations swallow her whole. the two get married in a small ceremony with mostly just colleagues from priscilla’s work at the university — for a while mitch toys with the idea of belonging to someone, of a happy life, of a family, of a home.

sam’s cedar, mo, 2017. it lasts exactly four years, though it began rotting right in the honeymoon phase. colliding characters turning to sparks, the fights far outweighing the good they’d found in each other’s company. the crippling blow comes when a story breaks out about an odd, peculiar cult spreading its venomous tendrils around the plains of missouri. an old friend, head of a mainstream newspaper, says it’s just the kind of report she’d be great at. she finds an odd fascination in the idea of entering the cult, seeing evil from the inside: priscilla, of course, thinks it’s foolish, it’s guerrilla journalism, it’s just the pop culture rendition of what a reporter’s work is supposed to look like. her protests echo in the background still, while mitch packs her car and leaves. five days later she is entering the premises of the cult’s church under the alias of rebecca jean wasserman, knowing that this will change things. never once, for her stories, has she gone this deep: there is a fear within her, as she dyes her hair blond and crafts a new identity, that there will not be a way out. 

phoenix, az, 2019. the way out is found by fighting teeth and nails. the way out is found through a dark, morbid journey that spits her out a paler self. her permanence in the cult amounts to eleven months, three weeks, four days: a long time to note down every creepy corner she steps in, every gruesome detail she collects. she sees minds reshaped, she sees crimes committed and barely keeps herself from giving in to the craze like the rest of them. being rebecca wears her out, being rebecca sometimes comes too easy: by the time she’s collected enough material that the point isn’t just an article anymore, but a criminal investigation, she feels herself slipping out of her own mind every night. her reports are so detailed they start a widespread investigation. somehow, she makes it out of the cult into one whole, rotten piece. her reportage gets mitch lennox (the pen name she’d chosen at the beginning, wanting to cut ties to whatever ties michelle novak had been living) two awards, good, it looks, has won over evil. but her mind is frayed, the shadows have come too close sometimes she wonders whether they haven’t gotten in somehow, become a part of her too. at night she lies awake and thinks of tommy: she’s found so many stories, so many villains have been given a name, but her brother’s is still just a ghost story.

red ridge, nv, 2020. sometimes she feels like a pawn on the board of a funny, twisted game. she gets a call one night, about a murder (one in a few) in the town she once badly tried to call a home. by then she’s tired, worn out, overly dependant on liquor and painkillers: but she’s lost herself so tragically she hasn’t thought to look for the pieces of herself back where everything started. she comes back to red ridge on a much too hot day of early may; she wears her identity like a costume, putting on a brave face because red ridge, she knows, has a tendency of swallowing people whole. and she’s been swallowed before, she’s been spat out too. what’s left is a half digested remain of a person. what’s left is someone who’s hungry for truth — and barely has anything to lose anymore. 

_____________________

HCS:

when not undercover for any reason, mitch drives a purplish red ‘83 alfa 6 alfa romeo. not the most inconspicuous car, but a piece of her heart nontheless (stolen from her father as a ‘payback for him being a shithead’, or so she says). she had it slightly altered to fit a music cassette player so she could keep listening to the tapes her best friend sent her.

her biological father, lee, is a rather well known drug dealer in red ridge. he’s also, coincidentally, her main drug dealer.

currently, mitch lives in a motel, refuses to go back to her mother’s house, would rather sleep in her car. 

she absolutely adores spicy food and has been known to have no chill when it comes to deadly spicy peppers, in fact she’s entered at least a couple competitions for pepper tasting and, though never winning, always managed to come up pretty high on the podium.

she’s almost constantly listening to music (mostly blues or grunge), although her heart belongs to alanis morissette, and evidence of that is her vast collection of concert t-shirts and the many cassettes in her car. 

she used to be on the school soccer team but got kicked out after an unfortunate accident with one cheryl d. (the accident being mitch purposefully kicked her in the shins after she called her a psycho bitch).

_____________________

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

below i’ve listed some connections i’d love to get for mitch — if you’re interested in picking any of these up, please don’t be afraid to message me!! 

priscilla — mitch’s ex wife was an academic she met while working on an article in montrèal in 2013. they got married a few months after they began dating each other, but it was short lived. their characters don’t match, they just fought constantly, and eventually mitch left to go undercover in a cult / pursue her career. overall their marriage lasted four years, and it’s safe to say they hate each other now, probably barely tolerate one another at best, and it’s unlikely they’ll ever be together again, but i’d love to explore their colliding, nerve-wrecking dynamic. suggested fcs: ruth negga, lupita nyong'o, leslie ann brandt.

jimmy — her best friend, the one person in red ridge who always knows when she’s coming around again. he used to be one of tommy’s closest friends, which brought him and mitch together once tommy was gone. they dated very briefly, eventually found they worked a lot better as friends. they went to college together for a bit there, he, however, eventually quit college around the time mitch graduated. he owns a record store and is the one who provides her with all the tapes she plays in her car. he’s mitch’s person and the one guy in the world she confides everything to (same goes for him, obviously). they’re kind of in a rough patch right now, considering she never told him about her undercover stint and he ended up not hearing from her for about a year. reconnecting with him is also one of the reasons she decided to come back to red ridge. suggested fcs: joshua jackson, jake johnson, john krasinski.

fwbs — clearly mitch isn’t made for stable relationships but she does have her fair share of one night stands and occasional flings. it would be great if it was something that has happened before, maybe while she was still in college and sometimes came home to red ridge.

fwbs from inside valencia — people she could sleep with that might provide information on valencia’s dealings and just generally be fruitful for her career (of course, they could ask favors of her too; it could be as casual or as tense as we want it to be).

affair (tw: cheating) — i’d love love love for her to have a painful sort of affair with someone who’s already in a relationship with someone. something sad, painful, that they both wish they could do without but can’t. gimme angst.

friends — either childhood friends from before she left red ridge or people she���s just meeting again, she needs someone she can have simple fun with, maybe even someone who can tell her to chill the fuck down sometimes.

enemies — there’s a lot of people who just can’t stand mitch at all, so gimme those. people who find her annoying, people from valencia who find her dangerous, old schoolmates who just never got her thing. give me also people who have stuff they can hold over her head, people who can threaten her and that she generally loathes. 

friends in low places — mitch makes frequent use of recreational drugs and painkillers, plus her job often needs her to find various sorts of illicit goods (be them heavier drugs, weapons, surveillance equipment, etc). she’d need someone who can provide her with these things, maybe even someone she can be friendly with or something.

[writingpaperghost]

I Would Offer It Happy With a Smile On My Face (Chapter 7)

Chapter 7: You Don’t Need a Shooting Star, the Magic’s Right There in Your Heart

Asahi meets an old friend of Tomomi and the three of them talk about a lot of things.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24860734/chapters/60990913

Tomomi ended up working sort of odd hours, so he and Asahi mostly saw each other in the mornings and the evenings. Asahi spent a lot of time during the day running around the city. She wasn’t really the type to stay inside all day, but that had really increased the longer she was in Kurokita. Sometimes, she tagged along with Tomomi, but that was only every once in a while. Still, today, Tomomi had a bit of time today, during lunch, so he ended up dragging her to a cafe.

Asahi had been to this cafe before, it was the one by KPaRS base. It was... well a bit of an odd choice. It was a bit out of the way, Asahi had only stopped there before because she’d been walking in the area. Regardless, Tomomi was the only person she actually talked to regularly, she was a bit... wary about people around the city, so she was fine with spending some more time with him. Honestly, he was kinda like a cool uncle or something. At the very least, he didn’t constantly worry about her whenever she fought a Kaiju, which was kinda nice. Her family worried a bit too much.

They were sitting at a table, a bit before the lunch rush. Tomomi had a cup of what coffee, though Asahi was pretty sure it barely qualified as such, given about half of the coffee was actually just creamer. Alongside that was a salad, which he would passively (aggressively) stab with his fork. Asahi had her, according to Tomomi, “ridiculous sugary abomination” that she’d had before. In front of her was a bowl of soup and a cookie. Despite what Tomomi said, Asahi thought this counted as a perfectly good lunch.

They talked about this and that for a bit, in between bites of food and such. Then, Tomomi, who was facing towards the the main part of the cafe, smiles and waves at someone. Asahi turns her head to see who he was waving at. She watches as a man, the one who Tomomi had waved at, walked over.

“Tomomi,” The man greeted with a smile, a pastry in one hand, what appeared to be a smoothie in the other. He had a KPaRS jacket on, though Asahi noted it was different than the other ones she’d seen. “I’m surprised to see you here,”

Tomomi gave him a smile in response, “Yeah, but I had some time and thought I’d drag Asahi out here.”

The man looks over at Asahi, then looks back to Tomomi, “Hm... Is she you’re younger cousin? I believe you mentioned one of uncles had a daughter about her age.”

Asahi wasn’t sure how to feel about that comment. Tomomi, on the other hand, judging by his face at least, was surprised at the comment. Either he was surprised that the man remember him having a younger cousin, or surprised that she got mistaken for said younger cousin. Asahi wasn’t exactly sure.

“Uh, Kaoru,” Tomomi said, “She’s not related to me. She’s just, uh, staying with me since, she’s a, a family friend.” It would be hard to say that his statement was at all believable. With all the “uh”s and such, Asahi would be surprised if the man believed it.

“Hm... I see, sorry about that.”

Tomomi quickly gestures to one of the extra chairs at the table, “You should sit with us, we haven’t talked much in a while.”

“I can’t intrude on the two of you,” He seemed hesitant, but Tomomi kept insisting, so soon he was sitting with them, placing his smoothie down.

“Oh!” She hasn’t introduced herself yet, “I’m Asahi Minato by the way!”

“Kaoru Matsuoka,” The response is returned with a smile.

There’s a lull in conversation for a moment before Tomomi takes a drink of coffee, prompting Matsuoka to make a comment. “You still drink that with half creamer?”

Tomomi looked at him with mock offense, “I’ll have you know,” he said, “That it is otherwise too bitter. Besides, why are you giving me flack, look at Asahi’s drink. It’s nearly entirely sugar!”

While Matsuoka looks at her drink, Asahi gives Tomomi a look, “What are you talking about?” She asked, “This is perfectly fine. Besides, it’s got fruits, so it’s healthiness balances out.”

“I... don’t think that’s how that works,” Matsuoka commented, “Though I am curious as to how you manage to drink such a thing.”

“Honestly,” Tomomi adds, “I think, what with all the sugar she consumes on a daily basis, she just uses all the sugar to keep herself cheerful.”

“What? That’s not-” Despite her best efforts, Tomomi was giving her an amused smile and Matsuoka did the same, though a bit less noticeably. “Geez, you’re as bad as my brothers!”

“Do you brothers tease you about the amount of sugar you eat too?” Tomomi asked, somewhat teasing though still genuinely curious.

Asahi huffs, “Katsunii always says how I shouldn’t eat so much sugar and Isanii just keeps teasing me about it.” As if to spite her brothers, even from another universe, she takes a long and slow drink. Matsuoka let’s out a mostly hidden chuckle while Tomomi doesn’t even bother trying to hide his amusement.

“Well,” Matsuoka began, “It sound like they care about you.”

Asahi’s annoyance ends at that point, replaced with something else. She gives a small smile, “Yeah, they do.” Her smiles grows when she thinks about not just her brothers but her parents too, “They’re great. Even if they might worry a bit too much for my taste. I always know they care.”

“Having family who cares about you is good,” Tomomi states, “You... You miss them, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” She laughs, “I guess I’m not used to being this far from them and not texting them like twenty times a day.”

Matsuoka hums, taking a drink of his smoothie, “I have to ask you, Tomomi, what sparked that article you wrote? About Ultrawoman Grigio.”

Tomomi quickly and gently (violently) stabbed a piece of lettuce and shoved it in his mouth, if only to buy himself more time before he had to respond. Asahi knew the answer to the question, but it was a bit trickier to answer without outing Asahi as Grigio. As it turned out, most of the people that Tomomi worked with were used to all his slightly unusual Kaiju articles and apparently hadn’t given the one on Grigio too much more than a second glance.

“Well,” Tomomi began, slow enough that he could still think, but not so slow it was noticeable. The wonderful thing about the human brain, is that it was pretty good at improvising on the spot. The downside, was that it usually needed a bit of a preexisting plan. Something that Asahi was pretty sure Tomomi didn’t have. She just hoped he was good at improvising. “She managed to stop that Kaiju and she showed up twice, so I didn’t think it was a one off thing... I figured it would be best to spread awareness, get the word out.”

“Why give her a name? And why Ultrawoman Grigio?”

“Well, we couldn’t keep calling her the grey and yellow giant... So Ultra because she, uh, can do really cool stuff, woman because well, that’s obvious, and Grigio because... Well it’s Italian for grey.” Asahi could tell that Tomomi was doing his best and frankly, she didn’t think she’d be able to come up with a much better answer herself, so she figured it was good enough. Hopefully Matsuoka would believe it.

She couldn’t really tell, but Matsuoka seemed to believe it. He seemed to be mulling over the response before giving a nod, “I suppose that makes enough sense.”

Quietly, Asahi let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Tomomi did the same, though she was pretty sure his was a bit more noticeable. If Matsuoka noticed, though, he didn’t say anything.

“What do you two think about all the Kaiju attacks, then?” Oh boy, he was full of questions.

Tomomi responded first, “I mean, it’s not good, all these Kaijus just inexplicably rampaging through the city.”

“Same, really, it’s very not happy... Personally, I think that there might be...” Asahi wasn’t sure if she wanted to finish the thought. She’d been thinking about it for a while now. It was odd that the monsters, at least the ones that didn’t seem to be rampaging for the normal reasons, always focused on her right away when she appeared. That and the Kaiju that appeared in Ayaka before that portal she fell through. She had a feeling that the Kaiju in Ayaka, the portal, and most of the Kaiju attacks on this Earth were all connected. But she didn’t have much proof, it was mostly observation and a sort of gut feeling. But Katsumi always said to trust your gut. Of course, she wasn’t sure if she should voice it to someone who didn’t know she was Grigio. “Well I think that a bunch of those attacks are connected. Maybe their all being controlled.”

“Being controlled,” Matsuoka seemed surprised at her idea, which was fair, it was a bit out of left field. “What makes you say that?”

“Uh, well, in a bunch of the Kaiju attacks, they just randomly start rampaging for seemingly no reason. They can’t be stopped through normal means... and when I-Ultrawoman Grigio shows up, they focus on her right away.” She shrugs slightly, hoping she was believable, “It just... seems like there’s someone else behind it all.” It wasn’t like she could list all of her reasons. But she could list enough of them.

Matsuoka considered her words, “You may have a point, though it’s hard to say.”

“But why would someone even bother? It’s such an odd thing to do...” Tomomi wondered, placing a hand on his chin.

“Because there are things out there that do stuff like that just for the sake of it, I guess.” Asahi sighed, taking a drink. “I mean, it’s not exactly unheard of.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of someone using Kaiju in such a way,” Matsuoka says, “But you are right. There are some people who do horrible things for no real reason.” Oh right, they haven’t had a “fate of the planet” scenario or something here. At least not one involving Kaiju.

“Anyway...” Tomomi seemed to be trying to change the subject, “It’s a real roadblock, but I’m sure given time and effort everything will work out.”

“Yes,” Matsuoka agreed, “Hopefully, after this people won’t just lose all trust in Kaijus all together.”

“You guys really want to see a world where Kaijus and people can really just live peacefully, huh?” Asahi comments, “I mean, that’s pretty cool.”

Tomomi grins, “It’s been Kaoru and mine’s dream for... Geez, I’m not sure how long. That’s what we bonded over in highschool, actually.” He leans back and closes his eyes, a wistful expression, “I mean, we knows it’s pretty unrealistic, but still... I guess that’s what dreams are for.”

“I think it’s good that you two have such lofty dreams. It’ll make every step closer feel all the more happy!” She insisted, “My brothers have... someone they’ve worked with who always says that you should never stop trying to reach your dreams. That even if they seem impossible you should still try and never give up, because dreams can always come true.”

Matsuoka chuckles, “Well, I suppose I have to agree with that person.”

“What about you?” Tomomi asks, poking (stabbing) his fork through his salad, “What’s your dream, Asahi?”

“My dream?” Asahi hums in thought, then responds, “I guess… I’m not sure… Really, I’m just happy if I can be around my friends and family!”

Tomomi chuckles a bit before saying, “I guess you must miss them then, huh? Since you’re so far away from your home and your family.”

She’s quiet for a moment, before answering, “… I mean… Yeah…” She trails off, “ But it’s okay! I’ll see them again soon enough! Worrying about that would be really not happy.” 

Matsuoka laughs, not even trying to hide it, “You’re very cheerful, aren’t you?” He asks, then adds, “Well, that’s good. There’s so can be so much negativity in the world.”

“Exactly,” Asahi grins, “The way I see it, you can’t control the world, but you can control how you’re feeling! And I choose to feel happy!”

Their conversation continued on various topics, but Matsuoka had to return to KPaRS and Tomomi had a few other things to do, so they all had to leave.

---

Today’s Kaiju of the Day (a title that isn’t entirely accurate, but neither is Monster of the Week, as monster don’t appear daily, but still more than weekly) was apparently called Gudon. It’s appearance was more akin to a bug than a reptile, though resembled both. Spike decorated it’s body, barring the stomach area and the neck up, with long horns on the top of it’s head. Instead of hands, Gudon had whips.

The most advice Tomomi had given Grigio before she began the fight was something along the lines of “Same as most Kaiju, tail and teeth, but also those whips”.

So yeah, there doesn’t seem to be anything particularly unusual to worry about, which Grigio was pretty grateful for. It seemed, in order to attack her, Gudon would have to get close to her, which Grigio could avoid just by keeping her distances and shooting her arrows. As long as it doesn’t break building’s too much, it shouldn’t have much ammunition to throw at her. She’d learned last time that that was something that some Kaiju’s did (like the one she’d fought, then, which she was told was a Red King).

She’d been doing pretty well with her plan, or at least she thought so. She was pretty sure that it would have continued going pretty well, but, unsurprisingly, there was a wrench thrown into her plans. KPaRS’(... You know, she still hadn’t figured out the best word to describe it. Plane? Jet? She really never knew, she’d have to ask someone later. Maybe Tomomi had an idea. Anyway.) Their jet (That’s what she was going to call it until proven otherwise, because plane sounded a bit wrong) had flown near, trying to assist. In the past, that’d... Well if it didn’t work, it didn’t hurt. Today though, was a bit of a change of form.

When KPaRS got close, Gudon took the chance to try to grab something. That something, being probably the worst possible thing it could have grabbed. KPaRS’ jet.

Crap.

Grigio knew that she couldn’t just stand there and hope for the best. The biggest issue was how to make sure that KPaRS got free of Gudon but stay pretty safe. She honestly wasn’t sure what to do. Should she just launch an arrow at Gudon? Would KPaRS be fine?

KPaRS was trying to pull free of Gudon’s grip, finding little success.

She needed to do something. But she didn’t know what! What would be the best thing to do! She didn’t want to mess up and make things worse! What if instead of letting go, Gudon tightened it’s grip?!

She was snapped out of her thoughts by an irritated Jun, who didn’t even sound like she was meaning to be heard by Grigio. “She’s not really making me think she’s not behind this!” It sounded like a response or maybe just a comment made with the knowledge that Rin would understand who she was talking about.

“Performance anxiety?” Rin offered in response, then let out a groan of frustration, followed by, “I’m sure she’ll do something.”

“Well I’m not so sure!”

Grigio really needed to do something. She needed to stop thinking so hard and move! Do something! Anything! At that point, she hadn’t even realized she was running at the monster until she was nearly close enough to touch it. And then she tackled it. Not her preferred way of attacking, but seeing as Gudon was preoccupied prior, it hadn’t noticed her coming and was thoroughly startled. It released KPaRS as Grigio was left to come up with what to do next.

In something of a panic, she punches it,trying to stall to make sure that KPaRS got a far enough away. Now she needed to put some distance between her and Gudon before- Shit. Okay, new plan. Gudon had a grip on her wrist with it’s whip, using the other to attack her.

She tries to wrench her wrist free, wincing with every hit of it’s other whip, but found that her attempts weren’t effective. Grigio shifts slightly and kicks it in the stomach, causing it’s grip to loosen, at least enough that she was able to practically throw herself away from Gudon.

Her color timer was beeping now, she didn’t really have a lot of time left to finish fighting the monster. With KPaRS flying farther away now, keeping their distance, she was able to use her bow to keep Gudon occupied long enough to tie it up with Grigio Bind.

Grigio hoped that Rin and Jun were alright, she wasn’t sure if Gudon had done any damage when it grabbed them. Although she was sure that it wasn’t going to stop them.

She did wish that she hadn’t panic so much before though. She didn’t have a lot of experience fighting, and as it turned out, there was a lot to take into account when a Kaiju grabs something with people in it.