on the hunt for a wooden watch

The Hunt (Ch. 5)

Info: TMR & OUAT | Newt | Word Count: 2,481 | Ch. 5
Summary: At Glader Prep, a group of boys called the Lost Boys have all the girls of the school wrapped around their fingers. They keep a watchful eye over every student, until a new girl moves to town. Intrigued, the Lost Boys begin the hunt for her… Until they realize they might just be her prey instead.

Originally posted by glader-tribute

[ Previous (Ch. 4) ]

Just after I knocked, Newt promptly opened the carved wooden door. “(Y/N)!” He smiled brightly. I sucked in a breath as I took in his messily fluffed hair, his crisp black shirt, and adorable brown eyes. He watched me too, as he stepped aside to let me in, eyes following the length of my dress and legs. I blushed slightly, saying “Thank you” and nothing else as he let me in. I mentally kicked myself. I hated appearing shy.

“You have a beautiful house,” I managed painfully, as I followed him through the marble hallway and up a spiral staircase towards his room.

“Thank you,” Newt replied equally politely. “It’s been in my family for years. Hopefully it wasn’t too hard to find your way here?”

“No, actually,” I said thoughtfully. “You only live ten minutes away from me, to my surprise.”

Newt opened his bedroom door and let me in first. I stepped in, unsurprised at how neat and clean everything was. All his belongings seemed to be in place, and there were no clothes scattered across the floor, or books littered around. Everything was, well, perfect. Newt broke my thoughts, “Well that’s good! Guess it’ll make seeing each other really easy, then, won’t it?”

I turned in his direction sharply, surprised. Then I realized he was just talking about seeing each other for the play. I smiled sheepishly, hoping he didn’t notice. “Oh yeah, yeah it does. Speaking of which, this script is killing me. I’ve looked it over a bit, and I’m awful at playing this character. She’s nothing like me.”

Newt laughed and flung himself across his bed lazily. He patted on the space next to him, indicating I should join him. Forcing myself to relax and act naturally, since Newt did not seem remotely interested me despite what Peter told me, I joined him. We both pulled out our scripts, looking them over.

“Here love, acting’s not that hard. You simply have to let go of who you are, and think of taking on someone else’s skin - their thoughts, their emotions, their insecurities, their life. It gets easy from there. You just have to find something that links you to them.” Newt spoke with great passion, his eyes lighting up brilliantly as he talked about acting.

I raised my eyebrows a little, surprised at his skill. “Well, you’re obviously a lot better than me. I bet you love acting, huh?”

Newt shrugged, returning back to his normal stoic facial expression. “I did, yeah.”

“What happened?” I asked curiously.

He eyes glared in pain. “I guess as I grew up acting didn’t seem so fun anymore.”

I watched Newt with furrowed brows, struggling to understand. Did this have anything to do with his parents’ divorce, and how he changed after? “I suppose people change. It just seems like you’d be great at acting, that’s all.”

Newt sighed and said only, “Once the mask you wear becomes a part of you, you change.” I nodded, I definitely understood that. Every day, facing the world with the face they wanted to see, or trying to show only the parts of you that you wanted them to see. I understood that well, it was so natural to me, what with hiding my problems at home from the people around me and now becoming the new girl who had to prove she was tough.

“I understand that,” I said softly. “Probably better than most,” I admitted.

Newt looked down at me curiously, a wicked amusement glimmering in his eyes. “Really? What mask do you wear, (Y/N)? Who are you really?”

I stared back with equal resolution, wagging my finger with a teasing smile. “There’s no point to a mask if you reveal who you are underneath. Besides, I’m not sure there’s even much there anyway. I’m not a mystery, as everyone might imagine.”

Newt smiled humorlessly, understanding my meaning all too well. “Oh, I think that you are. Come on,” he urged jokingly, his eyes brightening again. “I don’t know a single thing about you or why you moved here or what your life was like before.”

“And I don’t know a single thing about you,” I retorted back challengingly. “All I have is rumors and whispers to go on, and frankly, I’d rather hear things from you.”

Newt’s eyes took on almost a fearful glare. “Tell me some of these ‘rumors’ you’ve heard about me.”

I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. I didn’t know what would be too sensitive to talk about. I decided to go with the one I believed couldn’t be true. “That you took an interest to me,” I replied quickly, secretly hoping he wouldn’t scorn the idea.

To my complete and utter surprise, Newt took on a poker face and tilted his head. “It’s not a rumor love, if it’s true.”

My mouth fell open slightly as I stared at Newt in shock, wondering what on earth would drive him to say that. Was Peter really telling the truth, then? I stammered, unsure of myself. “Um, I actually really didn’t think it was true. I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise, you must think I’m –”

Newt laughed and leaned forward a bit towards me, placing two fingers on my jaw to raise my eyes to look up into his. I gulped. “Do you wish it weren’t true?” He asked softly. He refused to look vulnerable.

I stumbled on my words. “No, I don’t wish that, I mean, it’s not like that, I just –”

Newt smiled, clearly amused watching me squirm. “So you hoped I would like you?”

I shifted my expression into a glare, trying to compose myself again. “Why on earth would I not want you to like me?” I challenged.

That made the blonde laugh. “Oh, I dunno, I thought you hated me, with the way you behave.”

I scoffed. “What do you mean, the way I behave? You’re the one who was so rude at the game.”

“And you as well,” Newt added calmly.

I groaned in frustration. “Okay, you know what, forget I brought it up,” I threw my hands up in defeat.

Newt frowned. “Well, that’s not fair, love. You know how I feel about you, but you still haven’t told me what you feel.”

I blinked and burst in astonishment, “How can I feel anything, especially when I just met you and you’re proving to be the most confusing person I’ve met!”

“Well,” Newt started slowly. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out then…” he glanced towards my mouth, a smiling creeping up to his mouth slightly. My stomach turned… what had I gotten myself into?

I looked at him skeptically. “Oh come on, there’s other ways to find out, such as just getting to know you –”

“Look how well that’s gone,” Newt replied, smirking.

Or we can just practice our lines, which is what I came here for,” I gritted my teeth.

He made a face and leaned in closer to me, his eyes again dropping to my mouth. “We both knew we weren’t going to be doing much practicing.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling betrayed. “I hoped. I’m not one of your silly little conquests, Newt, or one of those girls you toy with and toss out when you’re done.”

Newt drew away and rolled his eyes. “Here you go again, with your judging. You rely far too heavily on the rumors you’ve heard.”

“Do you deny it?” I asked, biting my lip, hoping he would say no, hoping he would prove to me he’s not that kind of guy.

Newt’s eyes darkened, and he turned away. “What I’ve done, I’ve done.”

My heart cracked, my eyes falling in disappointment and hurt. I made my way to stand up, to leave, to… I didn’t even know.

The boy looked up to me with shining brown and eyes. “That doesn’t mean I can’t do differently.”

“At least you’re honest,” I replied, not wanting to hear more. “And I’m not going to ask you to change, Newt, because I don’t expect you too. ‘The mask you wear becomes a part of you’, right?” I smiled bitterly. “Bye, Newt,” I nearly whispered, my voice faltering, before I turned away and rushed out of his house, flushed, struggling not to look back.


Newt flung himself off his bed and rushed outside. He saw Y/N running down the stairs, skipping one at a time. “Y/N, wait!” He called out to her. But she didn’t turn. She continued until she was at the front door, pulled it open, and shut it behind her with a loud thud. The heavy sound echoed into the empty house, vibrating against the walls, and hitting Newt like a brick. He collapsed at the foot of the stairs, shaking, cursing himself for what he’d done. Why couldn’t he just change? Why did it have to be so hard?

He pressed his palm to his palm to his forehead, distressed, his head beginning to hurt from overwhelming emotions rushing at him, making his head feel like it’s going to burst. He didn’t know why, but it hurt him to see Y/N distressed, and winced at the idea of him being the cause of it. No one had ever called him out on his behavior as much as she did, and though it irritated him, if he was being honest with himself, he knew she was right. She had a right to be wary of him, to want to avoid him, to listen to what everyone else said about him.

But he hated that, he thought angrily, gritting his teeth. He wanted to trust her, so badly that it hurt, but every time he opened his mouth the wrong thing came out. He was having trouble defining the blurred line between what he felt and what he revealed. But he couldn’t act around her, not anymore… Y/N made him feel exposed, like he had to be honest with her, because she could see right through him anyway. Pulling himself up with a heavy heart, he rushed down the stairs and got into his car. She couldn’t be far, and his street was always empty at this time: he’d find her.

Revving his car viciously, Newt sharply turned out of his driveway and saw a solitary sleek black car waiting at a stoplight. He rushed to follow the car as soon as the light turned green, and trailed her car at a safe distance. She was right, her house wasn’t far. Before he knew it, she was pulling up to a quaint little house with brick walls and a small driveway. As Y/N pulled her car up onto the driveway, Newt parked on the sidewalk and waited for her to come out of the car. Quicker than he thought, she was out of her car and walking towards him angrily. She already knew he had followed her.

“What are you doing here, Newt?” Her voice shook with resentment. She didn’t even sound angry; he winced. Knowing he had caused her sadness made him feel much worse than her anger would.

Newt stepped out of his car and ran his hand through his hair nervously. “Look, Y/N, I’m sorry. Since I met you, I felt something towards you beyond what I’ve felt for anyone else. Hearing you say those things about me, about what I’ve done, it hurt me more because they were coming from you. It’s hard for me to show that, to let people in. But I want to trust you more than anyone in the world, despite everything.”

Y/N stared at him with an unreadable expression, her arms crossed in front of her, waiting for him to finish. Once he did, she began speaking in a level voice. “Newt, I’m sorry I judged you. I know I do that, to everyone I know, and that makes it hard for me to trust people. But I have to be honest with you… I know you’re more than what you just show. I’ve spent most of my life hiding what I feel, and though I wanted to be your friend, I had to be sure of your motives before I did so, to see if you really are as you seem, or if there’s more.” She took a step forward and placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t care about the things you’ve done, Newt. I just care about the way you treat me. I don’t want to be your amusement, when I actually care about you.”

Newt stared at her with impossibly large and longing eyes. “I do care about you, Y/N. That’s why I followed you here. But I just… I can’t be the person you want me to be.” His eyes darkened and he turned away, the side of his jaw clenching as he held back how much he hurt right now. “I will never be able to be that perfect, loving guy, Y/N, as much as I want to, I don’t have it in me.”

Y/N took a step closer to him and held the side of his face, turning it gently to face her. Newt’s eyes were filled with broken sadness. She shook her head, “I refuse to believe that Newt. I don’t want you to change for me. I like you for you. But you also don’t always have to keep things in, you know. You can start by just telling me things. I just want to know you, I-I don’t know why… I can’t help it. Please, just don’t shut me out.”

Newt’s eyes flashed with darkness as he glanced away slightly, before locking his gaze back on Y/N’s. He couldn’t be around her any longer, it hurt too much. He fought the urge to kiss her, seeing as her face was so close to his and she tugged at his arm with such a loving touch. He wanted to take her face into his hands and tilt her head back to capture her mouth in his… but he didn’t. He turned back to look at her, and with stony resolve and dark eyes, he said only, “You should stay away from me, Y/N. I can never tell you all the things I’ve done, you’d hate me.”

Y/N shook her head stubbornly. “You don’t know that. I promise, I won’t judge you this time. Tell me, just tell me.”

Newt groaned in frustration, wishing he could shake Y/N to see sense. “God damn it, Y/N, why do you have to be so stubborn? Just stay the hell away from me, otherwise the only person who’ll get hurt will be you.” Newt turned around brusquely, getting inside his car. He drove off without another word, leaving Y/N in the middle of the road, confused and alone.

[ Next (Ch. 6) ]

Three Men and a Ghost

From this request: platonic TFW oneshot where the reader is a ghost that helps them hunt another ghost that’s in the same place she’s in?


Vacations were supposed to be relaxing.

There’s nothing relaxing about having the roof collapse on you when you’re sleeping, wooden beams and plaster crushing you to death, leaving you to struggle against their weight for hours until the rescue team managed to uncover your corpse.

It had hurt at first, but then your body slowly felt like it was melting away. You felt yourself rising from the ash (or, you know, plaster dust), watching everything sink below you. You watched as the firemen pulled the broken bits of ceiling away, revealing your bloody and dusty body, face a bit mangled from the pressure.

You watched as your body was placed on a stretcher, carted from the room with nothing but a white sheet covering it. You knew you were dead, living in ghost form.

‘I’m probably going to be stuck here for eons,’ you thought as you floated out into the hallway, watching the safety workers examine other nearby rooms. It sucked, yes, but as far as hotels go, this was a nice enough one.

You saw a small child, a girl, peering around the corner at you. She had a strange luminescent quality to her skin and her hair was styled in a way that was not typically seen on a child that young nowadays.

You carefully stepped closer. “Can… can you see me?”

The little girl nodded, her curls bouncing around her face. “Did it hurt?”

You shrugged. “A little, I guess.” You studied her dress– frilly and full-skirted. “How long have you been here?”

“Madame Suzanna says I’ve been here for a hundred and thirty years.”

Almost as long as the hotel itself had been standing.

“What’s your name?”


You held a hand out, wondering if ghosts could physically touch each other. “I’m Y/N.”

The girl slipped her hand into yours, feeling strangely warm, almost like flesh.

“Are there others like us here?”

The little girl nodded again. “I can show you.”


That had been four years ago. You’d grown accustomed to the afterlife here at the hotel. You liked to listen in to the other workers tell stories of thinking they saw a ghost. Occasionally, you would try to help some of the nicer ones, rolling a can of cleaning powder or pushing their cart closer. Your room (after having been fixed and inspected by the safety board) was a hot-spot for thrill-seeking guests and paranormal investigators.

The other ghosts had told you that it really depended on their mood as to whether or not they interacted with the ghost hunters and their equipment. You found yourself following their footsteps– sometimes, you were extremely active, scaring the living daylights out of people. Sometimes, if the hunter seemed particularly arrogant or had a problematic attitude, you were as silent as the grave.

None of the ghosts really ‘haunted’ the guests. Some would play small pranks on them, brush up against them in the hall, but no one was really vicious.

Except for Teddy.

Teddy (named after the great Teddy Roosevelt, as he often bragged about) loved nothing more than to be malicious to the guests, tripping or shoving them, hiding their belongings, dragging them from bed. He was also quite the jackass to the other ghosts, especially little Caroline.

Teddy’s attitude seemed to grow more horrid as the months passed. But things really crossed the line when he gave a little old lady a nearly-fatal heart attack.

‘I hope he gets what’s coming to him,’ you thought, watching as the woman was loaded into an ambulance, her husband clutching her hand. Teddy stood on the landing, watching from the big picture window on the second floor, laughing to himself.


You were hanging around the garden, watching the red and yellow leaves fall from the trees when you felt a small tug on your hand. Looking down, you saw Caroline staring up at you.

“There’re some strange men here,” she said. “They say they’re hunters.”

“Well, it is nearing Halloween,” you reasoned. Paranormal ‘experts’ often popped up around this time.

Caroline shook her head. “Not like those hunters. These men have guns and knives and potions in their bags.”

You followed Caroline into the hotel, walking through the wall in room 407. Three men stood there, two large duffle bags on one of the beds.

“All right,” one of the men said, looking at a piece of paper. “Most of the activity has been on this floor.”

“Including the woman who had the heart attack?” the tallest of the men asked.

The first man nodded. “Room 412.”

“See, Caroline?” you asked. “I told you they were–” You paused, noting the third man, the one who hadn’t said anything. He had a strange glow about him, but you knew he wasn’t a ghost.

And he was staring right at you.


The other two men looked up, turning towards where the third man was pointing in your direction.

“What?” The man apparently named Dean asked.

“Do you not see her?”

“See who?”

“A young woman. And a little girl.”

Caroline gave a small giggle and disappeared through the wall. You saw the men react to the giggle.

“Kid ghosts,” Dean said. “Great. My favorite.”

“She’s gone,” the strange man said. “But the woman is still here.”

“Where?” the tallest man asked.

The strange man stepped toward you, his head cocked to the side. He reached forward and put a hand on your arm.

You felt it.

He turned toward the men. “You honestly don’t see her?”

The men shook their heads. You let down your guard, the special sort of camouflage ghosts had in order to remain hidden when so desired, and watched the men jump back a few feet.

“What the hell?!” Dean asked.

“Who are you?” you asked.

“We could ask the same of you!”

“I’m Y/N. I live here.”

“You mean you… died here?” the taller man asked.

You shrugged. “Living, dying. It’s all the same to me.”

Dean reached forward and pulled a shotgun from one of the bags. He aimed it at you. “Don’t try anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I know how to waste a ghost and that’s exactly what I came here to do.”

“The hotel management called you in?”

“We heard about the string of activity here, including what happened a few nights ago to that old woman. We’re here to stop it.”

Your skin bristled at the idea of this man hurting Caroline or any of your other friends. “You’re here for Teddy. He’s the one who caused that.”

“Why should I believe you?”

You realized you didn’t have a good answer. “Teddy is the only vicious one here. Everyone else, myself included… we just give the thrill seekers and ghost hunters what they want.”

“Again, why should I believe you?”

You paused. “Let me help you find Teddy. I want him gone as much as everyone else. He gives ghosts a bad name.”


“He’s an asshole! I didn’t tolerate them well when I was alive and I’m sure as hell not going to tolerate them for the rest of my afterlife.”

The man who was standing next to you turned to the others. “I think we should trust her. And it would help to have one of their kind on our side.”

Dean finally relented. “Whatever. You so much as say ‘boo’ and I shoot.”

You rolled your eyes. “This way, gentlemen,” you said, disappearing through the bedroom wall.

“Bran preferred the hard stone of the window seat to the comforts of his featherbed and blanket. Abed, the walls pressed close and the ceiling hung heavy above him; abed, the room was his cell, and Winterfell his prison. Yet outside his window, the wide world still called. 

He could not walk, nor climb nor hunt nor fight with a wooden sword as he once had, but he could still look. He liked to watch the windows begin to glow all over Winterfell as candles and hearth fires were lit behind the diamond-shaped panes of tower and hall, and he loved to listen to the direwolves sing to the stars”

– Clash of Kings, chapter 4 by George R.R. Martin.

It’s finished! It’s finally finished. This is the piece that made me loose all motivation for art almost two years ago. I just couldn’t do it. It’s been such a struggle. I don’t like it, but it’s done! AH!


another meme I won’t finish: = [1/10 male characters] Bran Stark (Game of Thrones)

Bran preferred the hard stone of the window seat to the comforts of his featherbed and blankets. Abed, the walls pressed close and the ceiling hung heavy above him; abed, the room was his cell, and Winterfell his prison. Yet outside his window, the wide world still called.He could not walk, nor climb nor hunt nor fight with a wooden sword as once he had, but he could still look. He liked to watch the windows begin to glow all over Winterfell as candles and hearth fires were lit behind the diamond-shaped panes of tower and hall, and he loved to listen to the direwolves sing to the stars.


You hated the crappy motels, you hated the constant fast food, you hated staying behind on hunts. No, you weren’t injured, the boys had told you to stay in the motel because apparently the vampire you were hunting had a type–you were his type–and apparently Sam and Dean still hadn’t learned that you could take care of yourself. 

You sighed and shut the tv off, there was nothing interesting to watch anyways. You leaned your head back on the worn out head board and closed your eyes. You focused in on every little sound in the motel, the creak of the old wooden television stand which sounded as if it were about to give out from the weight of the old 90′s tv above it. The distant dripping of the faucet in the bathroom, the maintenance man gave up trying to fix it long ago. The rattling of the A/C providing constant background noise, not allowing you a moment of silence.

You focused inward, listening to the sound of your own breathing, the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each intake. Your eyelids felt heavier than they had five minutes ago despite already being closed. You quickly jolted upright, you had to stay awake in case the boys came rushing in and they needed to be patched up. You decided to take a shower, you needed something to bring you back to full consciousness.

You were just adjusting to the cold water when there was a hard knock on the door, you jumped out of the shower and looked around for your clothes, you sighed knowing it would take too long to get dressed in your pervious clothes. “Coming!” You shouted at the door, you didn’t know if it was one of the boys or some stranger. 

You reached into Dean’s duffle bag and grabbed one of his shirts. He was tall enough that it covered all your important bits. You sighed and pulled at the shirt trying your best to keep it away from your still damp body. 

“Dean! Where’s Sam?” You asked as you moved aside to let him in. “Sam’s at the bar, I came to pick you up.” Dean said as you closed the door. He turned to look at you and paused. “(y/n), are you wearing anything under my shirt?” He asked as he took in the sight of your barely clothed body in front of him. 

“I don’t know,” You said with a shrug and a smirk. “You’re gonna have to find out for yourself.” You said teasingly. You saw him take a deep breath and you bit your lip as you noticed the effect you had on him. “Sam can drink alone.” Dean said before he picked you up into his arms.

Requested by Anon.


Original Request

Hai yes I would like to request an imagine where the readers best friend died on a hunt and dean comforts her. With a side of cuddling plz. Thank.

Warnings: Death of best friend.

Word Count: 438

Summary: After the hunter’s funeral given for your best friend, you fall asleep in the back of the Impala. Dean carries you back to your room.


“Goodbye,” you whispered to your best friend.

The body wrapped in a shroud and placed on a pyre ready for a hunter’s funeral. You watched as Sam walked over to wooden platform and you tried to stay strong, god did you try. But as soon as he lit the body on fire you lost it. You immediately turned your head away from the sight. Finding Dean’s arms wrapping around you as you pressed your face into his chest. Letting the tears flow freely now, there was no holding it in. You sobbed uncontrollably into his warmth as he tightened his grip around you. Being the strength you needed until it was over.

Keep reading