#Graceless laughed

[ofwings]

the national are so much better when they let bryan devendorf cook

[beelze-the-bubkiss]

If I had a nickel for everytime I tripped over my mom's elliptical and nearly brained myself on the wall behind it. I'd have 2 nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird (and incredibly fucking funny) that it happened twice.

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Leap of Fate

Summary - A young woman's daring climb over a wall to escape an arranged union leads to an unexpected encounter with her betrothed himself. What begins as a night of escape becomes the start of an enchanting story of love and destiny.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2102

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

I took a deep breath, my gaze locked on the stone wall ahead. The sky, darkening with the approach of night, cast eerie, elongated shadows that flickered like ghosts on the rough surface. 

My palms grew sweaty, and a shiver of anxiety ran down my spine. The height of the wall seemed to mock my courage.

"Alright, if I can just make that jump and haul myself up, I should be able to manage the rest from there," I murmured to myself, my voice tinged with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

With a resolute nod, I steeled myself, my teeth clenched in a grimace of concentration. My fingers dug into the wall's jagged surface, desperately searching for any crevice that would hold. 

The coarse texture of the stone scraped against my skin, each movement sending a jolt of pain up my arms. I glanced down, and my heart skipped a beat. 

"Seven hells," I muttered under my breath as the dizzying height made itself known.

I pressed on, scaling the wall as best as I could. Halfway up, I dared to believe I was making progress, but fate had other plans. My foot slipped on a precarious rock, and I felt myself plummet to the ground. 

I landed with a jarring thud, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

A muffled cry escaped me as I lay sprawled on the ground, staring up at the indigo expanse of the night sky. The stars seemed to mock my plight. 

With a groan, I pushed myself up, brushing off my cloak in frustration. Realizing it was more of a hindrance than a help, I tossed it aside, my frustration evident.

Determined not to be thwarted, I tried again, managing to reach just under halfway before pausing to reassess.

"What are you doing, my lady?" a voice called out suddenly. 

I yelped in surprise, my fingers losing their grip as I scrambled to regain my balance. In a graceless tumble, I crashed to the ground.

I lay there, staring up at the heavens, lamenting my misfortune as the voice approached.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped, my voice sharp as he reached out to help me. He quickly withdrew, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, and I sighed heavily, glancing from the wall to him.

"Scaling the wall, what else does it look like?" I replied, my exasperation clear. He seemed taken aback by my tone.

"Why are you scaling the wall at this hour?" he asked, his tone genuine but puzzled. I considered his question for a moment before a sudden idea sparked in my mind.

"Yes, that's perfect!" I exclaimed, turning to him with a bright, hopeful smile. His sceptical gaze met mine.

"You could give me a boost up, and then I can navigate the tricky part," I suggested. He took a step back, extinguishing my hopeful smile with his reluctance.

"No," he said firmly and I groaned in frustration.

"You are truly a horrible person," I declared, my voice laden with annoyance. "How can you see a lady in distress and not offer assistance?" 

His reaction was a surprising burst of laughter, a reaction that did nothing but further annoy me.

"If you tell me why you're attempting such a daring escape, I promise I will help you afterwards," he said, crossing his arms with a look of genuine curiosity. 

I pursed my lips, contemplating whether to reveal my predicament.

"If you must know," I began, as he listened intently. "My family has betrothed me to the prince." 

I watched his eyes widen slightly. "I do not wish to marry him. I have never even met him. What if he's ugly or dull, or worse, a terrible person?" I finished, my irritation clear.

Instead of offering sympathy, he laughed again—this time, with genuine amusement. 

"I'm glad my predicament amuses you, but you promised to help me, so you must," I insisted, gesturing for him to come closer. He obliged, but then abruptly halted.

"I will not assist you over the wall," he said, his tone resolute. I sighed in exasperation, feeling as though this ordeal would never end, my patience quickly wearing thin.

"I will not help my future wife escape our union," he added. 

The weight of his words hit me like a blow, and my eyes widened, a mix of shock and disbelief swirling in my mind as the reality of the situation sank in.

"Prince Jacaerys?" I gasped, my voice barely above a whisper. He nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

The colour drained from my face as the realization settled. I had been scaling the wall to escape my own arranged marriage, only to find that the prince, my betrothed, had caught me and was now standing right in front of me.

My eyes swept over him, taking in every detail. He was nothing like I had imagined. Far from the monster I had conjured in my mind, he was undeniably handsome, with an effortless charisma that immediately dispelled my worst fears. 

I couldn't help but wonder how I had ever thought of running from someone like him.

"My prince, I truly apologize," I stuttered, attempting an awkward curtsy. 

I was painfully aware of how absurd the situation was, struggling to reconcile my desperate escape with the reality of facing my would-be husband.

He watched me with a mix of amusement and curiosity, clearly enjoying the irony of our encounter. 

I fumbled for the right words, my mind racing to understand how to address the man who was both my captor and the very reason I had been trying to flee.

He watched me with a new, softer gaze, and a genuine smile curved his lips. 

"No one told me you were this beautiful," he said, his voice warm and approving. "In fact, you might be too beautiful. People will talk."

My cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and I fumbled with my words as I attempted a modest, "Thank you." The compliment, unexpected and sincere, left me momentarily flustered.

He arched an eyebrow playfully. "Do you think I am ugly and dull?" His question, though lighthearted, made me acutely aware of how disoriented I was, struggling to maintain my composure.

"My prince," I stammered, my voice trembling with earnestness, "I spoke on impulse. I truly did not mean anything I said." My confession was met with a soft chuckle from him, the sound both reassuring and disarming.

"Would you still like assistance up the wall?" he asked, his tone now imbued with a teasing edge. 

I glanced from the daunting height of the wall to him, and then back to the wall, shaking my head in resignation.

He grinned, clearly amused by the turn of events. His expression softened, and he took a step closer, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and warmth. 

"Then perhaps we should discuss our next course of action," he suggested, the lightness in his tone making the situation seem less dire. He leaned slightly closer, his gaze both curious and engaging. 

"What troubled you enough to consider scaling a wall to escape me?" he asked, a playful edge in his voice that made it difficult not to smile at his jest.

I hesitated, then answered simply, "I do not know you."

He clicked his tongue thoughtfully, his expression shifting to one of contemplation. "You are correct," he said, nodding slowly. "We can change that."

He took a moment to gather his thoughts before offering a glimpse into his life. "I enjoy training with my brother Luke," he began, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

"Although he's not the best sparring partner, he tends to be too gentle in his approach. I also find great joy in soaring through the skies on my dragon, Vermax and, above all, I have a deep fondness for cake, especially lemon cake."

I stared at him for a moment, slightly taken aback by the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. His casual, almost endearing revelations seemed to defy the seriousness of our earlier exchange.

"Now, you must tell me something about yourself, my lady," he prompted, breaking the silence.

I shook myself from my daze and nodded slowly. "I enjoy reading," I began, trying to match his openness. "Occasionally, I like to go swimming in the open sea and most of all, I treasure the time I spend with my kitten, Biscuit."

He smiled warmly at my response. "We must arrange a meeting between Vermax and Biscuit," he suggested with a playful glint in his eye.

I raised an eyebrow. "And what if Vermax thinks Biscuit is his next snack?" The thought of my kitten being mistaken for a dragon's treat was not entirely comforting.

He laughed quietly, the sound rich and melodic. "I would protect Biscuit with all my strength," he assured me, his voice earnest.

"But," he continued, with a mischievous gleam, "if Biscuit were to take a daring leap onto Vermax's back, I might have to step in to mediate a peaceful introduction."

I chuckled, the image of Biscuit attempting such a bold manoeuvre brought a reluctant smile to my face. "Well, if you're prepared to play dragon diplomat, I suppose I can trust you with my precious kitten."

He placed a hand over his heart in a dramatic gesture. "Consider it my solemn vow," he declared with mock seriousness.

I couldn't help but laugh, the tension of our earlier conversation melting away. "I'll hold you to that, my prince. I'd hate to have to explain why my kitten became dragon fodder."

Our laughter was abruptly interrupted by a clap of thunder, and I jumped slightly at the sudden sound. The sky was now darkening rapidly.

"Perhaps we can continue this conversation inside," he suggested, his tone both practical and inviting. "Now that you've decided not to run off." I bit my lip, nodding sheepishly at the jeer.

As a small downpour began, I squinted to locate my discarded cloak. Before I could even bend down to retrieve it, he had already picked it up.

"Allow me," he said, his voice gentle and courteous as he approached me. 

With the grace of a true gentleman, he draped the cloak around my shoulders, his touch both tender and precise. The fabric enveloped me in a comforting embrace, and I nodded appreciatively as he deftly fastened the strings, securing it snugly against the chill of the rain.

As we began to walk toward the shelter of the castle, he glanced at me with a thoughtful expression. 

"Perhaps we should have a maester check you out," he suggested casually, his tone light but laced with concern.

I turned to him, raising my brows in surprise. "A maester?"

He nodded, his gaze shifting to me with a hint of amusement. "I saw you take a few tumbles," he admitted, a small, bemused smile playing on his lips as he gently pulled a small leaf out of my hair.

I swallowed my embarrassment, a flush creeping up my cheeks. Before I could react, I reached up and smacked the leaf from his hand with a playful swat.

"How mortifying," I muttered, trying to mask my chagrin with a sheepish grin.

He chuckled softly, the sound a gentle remedy to the lingering tension between us. 

"I assure you, there's no need to be embarrassed," he said, his eyes dancing with mirth. "In fact, this will make for a rather delightful story to share with our future children."

His words caught me off guard, and a deeper blush crept up my cheeks at the thought of such an intimate future. I quickly looked away, my gaze dropping to the rain-slicked stones beneath our feet. The steady patter of rain seemed to echo the rapid beat of my heart.

"Perhaps" I murmured the words barely audible.

"Could we possibly agree that this little escapade remains between us?" I asked, "I'd really appreciate it if this interaction wasn't mentioned to my mother or father."

He nodded, a knowing smile curling at the corners of his lips. "Yes, I believe it would be best not to announce your eagerness to escape me. Consider it a secret between us."

As we continued to walk towards the castle, the rain began to fall more heavily, but the shared laughter and understanding between us made the journey seem lighter.

In the years that followed, the tale of Prince Jacaerys and his wife would become a cherished legend, a story celebrated across generations. 

Our tale became a beloved fairy tale, told and retold to children and adults alike. 

It was a story of two genuine souls, intertwined in a narrative that captured the essence of love and destiny, our lives a testament to the magic of finding connection amidst the most unforeseen circumstances.

A/n - Yes this is inspired by that iconic scene of George and Charlotte in Queen Charlotte

[pucksandpower]

Sink or Swim

Charles Leclerc x lifeguard!Reader

Summary: in which Charles learns there are some sports he’s just not cut out for … but at least he got a date with a cute lifeguard out of the whole ordeal

Warnings: near drowning

The salty sea breeze whips through Charles’ hair as he paddles out into the turquoise waters off St Kilda beach in Melbourne. It’s a few days before the Australian Grand Prix, and he’s determined to catch some waves and soak up the laid-back lifestyle before the high-pressure weekend begins.

“You’ve got this, mate!” His surf instructor Brent calls out with an encouraging grin. The tan, stocky Aussie has been giving Charles private lessons, showing him the proper technique for popping up on the board.

Charles gives Brent a tentative smile back, gripping the sides of the board tightly as he bobs up and down on the rolling swell. He’s a world-class driver, but he’s way out of his element here in the ocean. Still, he loves a new challenge.

A decent wave starts to form up ahead. “Here comes one! Remember to pop up when I say!” Brent yells.

Charles takes a deep breath and begins paddling hard as the wave builds momentum. “Pop up! Pop up!”

With all his strength, Charles pulls himself up into a crouched stance on the board — and immediately loses his balance, tumbling head-over-heels into the cool saltwater.

He breaks through the surface, sputtering and laughing at his graceless wipeout. “I’m afraid surfing may not be for me!”

“Don’t give up yet, we’re just getting started!” Brent hollers back with a grin.

For the next couple hours, Charles repeatedly attempts to ride the waves, only to lose his footing or get pitched off every time. He’s soaked and exhausted, but utterly thrilled to be out on the ocean instead of cooped up preparing for the race.

You’re stationed on the beach in your red and yellow lifeguard uniform, watching Charles’ futile surfing attempts through your binoculars. He certainly gets an ’A’ for effort if nothing else.

A solid set of waves starts rolling in, larger than the previous ones. You can see the raw power behind them.

“Big ones coming through!” Brent shouts over the crashing surf.

Charles nods and makes his way into position, paddling furiously as a massive wave rears up ahead of him. He pops up on the board at the optimal moment — and immediately gets launched into the air, flipping upside down violently as the full force of the wave pummels him underwater.

You gasp, realizing Charles hasn’t resurfaced after the extended pounding. In a flash you’re sprinting across the sand and diving into the choppy water, your steely eyes scanning for any sign of him.

There — a limp figure drifting beneath the surface, sinking slowly.

You kick hard, swimming as fast as you can while the current batters against you. Finally you reach him, wrapping your arms tightly around Charles’ motionless body and kicking back up towards the air. You break through, desperately gasping for air.

“Help! Surfer down!” You rasp, hauling Charles’ dead weight towards the shore as Brent and another lifeguard race out to assist.

You lay Charles on his back in the sand, quickly checking for a pulse. Faint and thready … but there. You tilt his head back and seal your lips over his, exhaling two rescue breaths into his lungs to fill them with air.

Nothing.

You interlock your fingers and start performing hard, rapid chest compressions. “Come on, breathe!” You growl through gritted teeth, your powerful arms pounding against Charles’ chest.

Finally — he coughs and sputters, vomiting up saltwater as his eyes flutter open in a daze. You roll him on his side, patting his back firmly as he continues coughing and wheezing.

“Wh-where … am I?” Charles murmurs hoarsely, blinking slowly as he takes in your face hovering over him.

You give him a relieved smile. “Don’t worry, you’re safe on the beach now. I’m the lifeguard who pulled you out, you nearly drowned out there.”

He squints at you, still looking dazed and confused. “Am … am I in heaven? You must be an angel ...”

You can’t help but let out a little laugh at his muddled words, your cheeks flushing slightly. “No, definitely not heaven. Just good old St Kilda beach. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Charles groans, gingerly touching his heaving chest. “Everything hurts.”

“That’s what happens when you take on a 12 foot wave,” Brent chuckles, toweling off Charles’ soaked hair with a caring hand. “Let’s get you warmed up and looked over, eh?”

With your help, Charles is able to stand unsteadily. You wrap a thick towel around his shoulders, rubbing his arms briskly to get the blood flowing.

“I don’t think surfing is my calling,” he chuckles weakly, leaning into you a little.

“Probably not,” you agree with a smirk. “Best to leave it to the pros from now on. You saved yourself from becoming the first ever Formula 1 driver shark snack.”

Charles laughs, grimacing and holding his ribs. “Ouch … don’t make me laugh, everything hurts when I laugh.”

“Well then let’s get you looked over and make sure nothing’s broken or bruised too badly,” you reply gently. Keeping an arm around Charles, you begin walking him slowly back across the beach towards the lifeguard hut.

As you’re tending to Charles, cleaning the sand off his cuts and wrapping his chest snugly, he gazes at you with wonder. “I don’t even know your name, angel.”

You shake your head with an amused smirk. “It’s Y/N. And I’ll accept being called an angel just this once after saving your life out there.”

“Y/N,” Charles repeats, committing it to memory with a warm smile. “I’ll never forget it. You’re my guardian angel today.”

You can’t help but blush a little at his sincerity and charisma, even soaking wet and battered on the bench. There’s just something magnetic about Charles.

Once he’s patched up, Charles stretches out his legs with a wince. “Thank you for rescuing me. I very clearly should not have tried to take on that monster wave.” His eyes twinkle roguishly. “Though I have to admit, the thought of you giving me mouth-to-mouth was quite nice.”

“Oh stop it,” you laugh, playfully swatting at his shoulder. “I was just doing my job. But you’re welcome, even if it means no more surfing lessons for you.”

“Ah yes, my pro surfing career is tragically cut short,” Charles jokes wistfully. His expression turns more serious. “But in all honesty … you saved my life today, Y/N. I can’t thank you enough for that. I would be lying at the bottom of the ocean if not for you.”

You meet his warm green eyes, his face still holding the fading marks of his near drowning. “I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time to help.”

A charged moment passes between you before Charles clears his throat, looking almost sheepish. “So, uh … I know this might seem a little forward of me. But would you want to maybe come watch me race this weekend? As my personal guest?”

You blink in surprise at the unexpected invitation. “Oh, I-I don’t know, that seems like a lot of-”

“Please, I insist!” Charles cuts you off eagerly. “It’s the absolute least I can do to try and repay my own personal angel for saving me.” He gives you a playful grin. “Unless you make a habit of turning down devilishly handsome race car drivers?”

You roll your eyes at his playful cockiness, but you’re already smiling and shaking your head. “You know what, why not? It could be fun to see you in your natural habitat.”

“Fantastic!” Charles beams happily. “Then it’s a date — well, not a date exactly, more like ...” He stumbles over his words sheepishly.

“It’s a date,” you confirm with an amused smirk, putting him out of his flustered misery.

Charles lights up, reaching out to take your hand warmly in his. “A date it is then. Thank you again, Y/N. I’ll show you a much better time at the race than I did trying to surf today.”

You give his hand a squeeze with a fond smile. “I’ll hold you to that, Charles Leclerc.”

[cloudiinumaki]

like a faint ghost.

SCENARIO ! — you give them the silent treatment.

CHARACTERS ! — megumi fushiguro, yuji itadori, satoru gojo (separate, obviously).

WARNINGS ! — sassy man apocalypse strikes again (but not yuji he's safe)

REQUESTS OPEN !

MEGUMI.

— regardless of whether your argument was more his fault or yours, megumi will try (and fail) to make it seem like the whole thing doesn't bother him, hoping that his high-strung emotions aren't as obvious as it feels like. so, when you end up giving him the silent treatment, purposefully not showing him the affection you usually would and acting much more distant than usual, he ends up replicating that same behaviour.

yes, it's definitely petty on his end, but he'll match your energy when it comes to it, and if you're being petty, then so will he. honestly, you two aren't even the type to argue often, megumi much more willing to just speak plainly about whatever's bothering him than you might first think. why get into needless arguments? it'll sometimes be difficult, but he'd much prefer to just talk about it with you.

but, when you do argue? silly stuff like this ends up happening.

nobara and yuji were probably the first to notice this playing out between you, unable to ignore the sudden frigid atmosphere that would prevail the moment you two were in the same room as each other.

yuji and nobara will try to lighten the mood, though you notice them sharing glances every so often, almost as if they've telepathically come to the conclusion that you two had just argued. they don't worry about it too much, because even if it's quite clear that megumi has a much shorter tolerance for their mischief than usual, and your usual smile has been replaced with a slight frown, that one of you will eventually cave in. knowing that, they won't interrupt whatever's going on with you two.

honestly, if the argument was his fault, megumi would be the one to cave first. try as he might to act unaffected by your usual kind gestures and warm love, he does miss your smiles and is not a fan of this unwelcome silence that's settled between the two of you.

he'll head to your dorm room in the evening (not wanting to be noticed by any of the others), and whilst his words will be graceless as he's unused to this sort of scenario and expressing feelings in general, he'll apologise to you. and, despite your previous irritation, you do have to concede that it's clear his words are genuine. you know megumi, after all; when he means something, he means it whole-heartedly.

but, if you're clearly in the wrong when it comes to the argument, and then you decide to go silent on him… he'll be irritated, to say the least. in that case, he won't cave so easily, considering the whole situation, and it will have to be you to reach out and apologise.

he'll forgive you if you apologise, as long as you haven't done something insane, but you do notice that he's more reticent for a little while after. and, if you don't apologise, the silence will continue as long as you refuse.

YUJI.

— it's definitely not an understatement to say that yuji is genuinely heartbroken when he notices you disregarding him after an argument. honestly, he's not sure what it sparked from, but that doesn't temper the intense guilt he feels at knowing he's the one who's made you feel so upset.

if the argument's his fault, then he will immediately apologise, and it's quite clear that it's been weighing down on him. seeing your silence and your uncomfortably cold gaze regarding him, yuji honestly can't stand it. it's so unlike you, and whilst he knows you're clearly forcing it, it doesn't stop him from being uncomfortable with it entirely.

yuji's always been proud to be the one to make you smile the most, laugh the most, the happiest, and so you can see his genuine care for your relationship in how he apologises, picking his words carefully and saying them with sincerity.

i'm not even going to consider you not forgiving him, to be honest, but just know the concept of that happening terrifies yuji beyond belief.

when you inevitably forgive him and finally end your silent streak, the warm hug he gives you is near bone-crushing, and you have to remind him to be a little more gentle. quickly stumbling over his words of apologies, he gives you a little air, but it's clear that a weight has been lifted off of him from seeing your amused smile at that, knowing that you've forgiven him.

after that, whatever mistake that caused the argument, yuji will make sure not to let it happen again. he's always been considerate, but after any argument, he takes into close consideration what caused it and ensures that it won't happen again. he cares about you and what you feel, so he'll pay the extra attention and ensure that the mistake he made, doesn't repeat.

i think yuji's definitely a person who's open to self-growth, and strives to improve himself, not just for him, but also for the people around him so he doesn't affect them badly or cause hurt to them. he only wants to help people, after all.

and, because of everything i've described, it should be obvious that you two don't argue very often.

if the argument was not his fault, however, and you're decisively in the wrong— then, he'll still want to return to normal with you, as he much prefers hearing your laughter over the awkward silence of the room, and misses your kisses too.

but, at the same time, he does note that it's a little crazy that, after an argument where you're squarely in the wrong, you're the one who decides to go silent on him. nothing about that is lining up. he's not a fan of the pettiness, to be honest, and you'll notice from his demeanour that he's not happy with the whole situation (even as he tries to remain his usual upbeat self).

still, i don't think he'd go as far as to mimic that silent treatment. instead, he'll urge that you talk about it with him so you can clear up this stupid misunderstanding. he won't compromise on where he knows he's correct just to ease your irritation, but he'll try his best to reach a good conclusion to the disagreement for both of you, knowing that he much prefers seeing you happy.

given how he tries to have a calm conversation with you about it to try understand your point of view whilst not compromising on his own belief, it's difficult to not realise where you've messed up and apologise.

you don't like seeing him so dejected after all.

SATORU.

— compared to the other two, i do think that satoru would definitely take this silent treatment way less seriously. i think he would be teasing about the whole thing, trying to see how far he can push your buttons without you actually getting mad at him— the moment that you do is the moment that he stops— and he's honestly interested to see how long you'll last in being mad at him.

satoru definitely knows when he can or can't tease you, he's learnt to read your facial expressions so well, but it almost irritates you more how light-hearted he is about everything, trying to coax you back into talking to him by getting your favourite dessert from an entire different prefecture (one of the many benefits of being able to teleport…) and bringing up your favourite topics.

if you do end up cracking, he'll be smug about it, honestly, but he's not an asshole— and will probably try to actually speak with you about the argument to fix the problem. then again, he'll only do that depending on the argument, as whilst he's great at making jokes and bringing up the mood, conversations where he has to be emotionally vulnerable with you?

not as easy.

but, if, somehow, you manage to hold strong and continue to ignore him for a while, those earlier jokes of his start to fade and satoru honestly begins to feel decisively 'off'.

seeing you continue to brush him off so easily, noticing your clenched fists at your remaining irritation, it's all so unusual… and unwelcome to him. he doesn't want to ruin your relationship, one of the few things he truly allows himself to indulge in, so if the argument wasn't too big, he'll bite the bullet and apologise.

of course, that apology is said behind that usual cheerful tone of his (he can never truly be vulnerable), but you notice the slight hint of anxiety in his cerulean blue eyes as he waits for your reply. it's a concealed moment of weakness for him, rare even between your relationship, but he won't let something this good go down the drain just because of him. not again.

still, when it comes to satoru, it's way better that you just try to talk about it with him even if it's difficult, as he's much more likely to misread the situation as being less serious than it actually is if you decide to resolve to petty means.

[singswan-springswan]

ficlet under the cut

The crate tipped with a sudden lurch and broke open on the ground. Zuko spilled unceremoniously with the motion. Inelegant. Graceless. Normally his movements held much more regality, but he'd been kidnapped and stuffed in a scratchy box and out of the water for some indeterminable length of days, so cutting himself some slack here felt appropriate.

It wasn't much brighter outside the stupid box. His scales were dry, his head was killing him, and the floor held a pleasant cool against his mounting fever. He really needed water soon. Every part of his body felt... scratchy. Discomfort would escalate into pain, and then asphyxiation. He would suffocate if he dried out. Idly, he wondered how long it would take. The humans seemed to know. They hadn't acted worried yet.

"Our latest bounty." The voice looming over Zuko was muffled in weird places. "I thought it might spark an interest. You collect fire fish, isn't that right?"

Zuko bit down a hazy groan and fumbled to prop himself up. The loss of the tile's cool against his cheek was one he mourned, but there would be time for relaxing when he found a way out of this mess. He could barely think straight. The humans—the pirates who'd ransomed him from the girl in blue—were standing guard around him now. He could see their boots. They were facing all the same direction, same way the voice was talking towards, and Zuko turned to observe.

The surrounding space was large, a room, and very dimly lit. This wouldn't normally be an issue, being that he was a mer, but his headache made his eyes lazy and bad at adjusting to the dark. If he squinted, he could see the ripple of light along the walls. Blue. Weird. In the direction of the pirates' attention, something like the outline of a table was visible—as large and imposing as the room itself. A single shadowy figure occupied a seat on the far side. He looked weird with the backlight. Zuko's vision was getting spotty.

He didn't get much chance to scan the rest of the surrounding space, because the pirate captain decided to be a jerk and grab his hair. It'd long since escaped its neat topknot, now bunching and sliding strangely in dry heat. The pain and the change in angle made Zuko rapidly lose sight of the shadow man.

"This one's quite a specimen." The pirate tilted Zuko's head back, baring his throat—maybe as a joke; it was always hard to tell if humans knew the significance of such a display—and lifted him enough to catch the light. So their potential buyer could get a better view.

Zuko would like to rip the pirate's skin off and feed it to him, but he was weak with dehydration, and his previous struggles against the man's crew had left him exhausted. All he managed was a low hiss. If humans could understand mer speech, he’d be cursing them as soundly as possible. Someone was standing on his tail. Not that it made much difference. He doubted he could have swung it if it wasn't pinned.

"I've seen a lot of the fire mer in my day, but this one's real pretty. Don't feel bad turning the offer down. We'll keep 'im if you won't." His crew laughed. Bastards. Zuko could hear the leer in the pirate's voice. It made him dizzy with anger.

Then a low grind echoed softly, and the humans cut their chatter short. Zuko distantly registered the shadow at the table moving. What made that noise? Was it his chair? He stood, rounded the massive table, and drew closer. All Zuko could see was a dark, unfocused blob. Vaguely humanoid.

"Yeah, don't be shy! Come get a closer look!"

The fist in his hair tightened. His scalp burned. The fins all down his back shuttered, and a stinging ache began to form in his gills. He needed water. He needed to get out of here. He shouldn't have wandered so close to the shore, even if that pretty girl in blue seemed so friendly at first glance. She did sell him out to these pirate scum. He should have known way better.

Even standing an arm's length away, the lighting continued to cast shadow on the pirate's potential client. It could be reasoned, then, that Zuko and the humans around him were washed in the room's best luminance. Certainly his scar could be seen clear as day. Maybe his tail was pretty, but there were parts of him imperfect. Maybe the stranger wouldn't want to buy him for that. Maybe Zuko would be stuck with these idiot pirates forever.

A smooth voice came from the stranger. "Release him."

"Sure, sure."

The pressure on Zuko's scalp vanished. He collapsed to the cool tile with no more grace than before, even further disoriented, and with a worse headache. He grit his teeth in frustration. That bastard was still on his tail.

Cool fingers tilted his chin up before he could lift his head on his own again; he hadn't seen the shadow man crouch down. Startled, Zuko yanked back and hissed a second time. He made sure to reveal far more fang and fan far wider with his fins; he just wanted these stupid humans to stop poking and grabbing him however often they pleased. Was that too much to ask? He wasn't an ornament. And he sure as heck had no intention of being a pet.

The stranger's face was close, and shadowy, and out of focus. Zuko's head was killing him. The room spun.

"The shape of the fins—” The stranger’s voice began.

“Really something, isn’t it? Never seen a mer so fancy before.”

There was a beat of silence, then the cool fingers returned to Zuko’s jaw and held him firmly in place. He growled. It didn’t make a difference. He was exhausted and hot and vulnerable, and everyone could tell. There was no way to stop them from doing as they pleased. 

“There’s a scar.”

“Wasn’t us, mate. Looks like the beast’s had it for a while. I think it adds to the aesthetic, don’t you agree?”

Zuko glared. It was the sort of one-sided remark he’d only accept from Uncle Iroh, though Azula had made attempts to express similar sentiments in that weird way of hers. He’d always hated the scar. At least the monster who put it there was dead now.

The stranger gave no comment. He reached another hand out and pushed Zuko’s hair aside, away from his eyes. Zuko did his best to meet the unfamiliar gaze as steadily as possible, despite the awkward backlight. He was being stared at. He refused to show how unnerved it made him. His trembling and fever didn’t help much in that regard.

Finally, after a dreadful length of scrutiny, the shadow man spoke. “How much do you want for him?”

Zuko could hear teeth in the pirate’s smile. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“Ten-thousand.”

Zuko didn’t know how humans calculated their currency. He’d assumed mer in general to be expensive, but they called him a stupid something fire fish, and it sounded like exotic. Even so, the pirate captain seemed shocked. He let out a high chuckle.

“Well! Show me the gold and you’ve got yourself a deal!”

The stranger waved an uninterested hand over his shoulder, and another grinding sound reverberated through the floor. Zuko couldn’t see the source of the sound with multiple different shadows clouding his vision. Judging by the pirates’ hushed tithering, their payment had been offered.

“Excellent! Pleasure doing business with you, as always.”

“Zaheera will see you out.”

The group broke formation around Zuko and floated away, whispering excitedly. Though they’d been awful to him, he couldn’t help a flicker of fear at their absence. At least with the pirates, he knew they’d avoid causing permanent damage. He knew they’d want to sell him for the highest price possible. Now, he had no idea what to expect. This stranger could have any number of sinister plans in mind; Zuko had certainly heard the horror stories. All young mer were warned about the brutality of humans, and now he was at the mercy of someone who really wanted him. This was bad.

The stranger let him go, and the world tilted as Zuko crumpled. He was very dizzy. And angry. And he really wanted to sink his fangs into human flesh.

But when he turned (against his better judgment) to snap at his new captor, a firm hand was already pushing down the back of his neck. The same way one might handle an unruly pup. Zuko was too tired to be insulted by the gesture. He wasn’t a pup anymore, but a move like that with the human’s advantage was enough to subdue even a full-grown mer.

“Watch out with that one!” The pirate’s faint voice called back. “Quite a monster at full strength. He killed two of my men when we—”

“Get out.”

The heavy thud of the door confirmed their absence, though the human didn’t seem to pay any attention to it. He ducked another snap of Zuko’s teeth, and ignored his crackly snarl, and slid his arms beneath scratchy scales. The world tilted again. Zuko would consider puking if he wasn’t so close to blacking out. The human was carrying him. Impressive. Zuko was heavy outside the water. His fins trailed the floor as they moved, but he was very much in the air, solidly in the man’s grip. Almost cradled, even if he was too big for the pup-hold to have effect a second time. The use of such familiar techniques should have rung a bell in his mind. Zuko’s headache and exhaustion wouldn’t let him dwell on it.

After a dizzying stretch, something wonderful happened. Zuko heard water. The noise was still muffled, and it faltered clarity with every stray tilt of his head, but Zuko knew what water sounded like. He’d been fantasizing about it for the past few days.

There was a splash, and with distant elation, he felt his fins trail. He wasn’t lucid enough to hold back the happy trill.

“I know.” The man huffed, and it rumbled through his chest. “I know—those bastards.”

The water rushed up around him, deliciously cool, salty, clean. It took Zuko up to his gills to realize he’d been lowered into a pool of some kind. It was shallow, but not cramped. He drew a deep breath. That felt very nice. The hands were gone. 

He didn’t bother confirming he was alone before passing out soundly.

<~><><~>

Zuko was alone when he came to, and his headache had finally retreated to the realm of faint discomfort. Incredible what a good long sleep in water could do for one’s health. The pirates hadn’t put him in a tank. They were mad about what a fuss he caused the first time they brought him aboard, and they’d rightly concluded he’d be easier to handle if he was dehydrated and exhausted and dizzy. They’d doused him with lukewarm buckets every few hours, just to keep him from dying. Zuko was relieved to be back in water now. Even if trepidation about the uncertainty of his new circumstances wouldn’t let him relax.

The pool he’d been placed in was shallow; he couldn’t move without some part of his tail skimming the surface. It was still comfortable in spite of that. The edges spanned a decent length, so he could turn with ease, and the basin interior was cut from smooth, white stone. His fins shone stark against it. The pool itself seemed to be laid into the ground, flush.

Zuko scanned his surroundings while he waited for something to happen. He still seemed to be indoors. The walls here weren’t as high as the one from before—from the sale pitch—and most of them were made of a clear material. It shone with sunlight from outside. The rest of the space was occupied by greenery. The taller ones reaching the ceiling had been planted in beds in the ground, surrounded at the base with bushy, leafy shrubs, and brilliant flowers, and crawling vines. The faint sound of water also trickled through the maze, but Zuko couldn’t see the source of it from where he was. It was peaceful. Uncle would love this place.

But Zuko hadn’t forgotten how he ended up here, and he had no illusions about being treated fairly, even if he’d been left undisturbed in such a pleasant area. He had to keep his guard up. He was being held against his will. He was trapped on land with no way to escape or get home. He didn’t have much experience with humans, but so far they’d only beaten him, used him, or treated him like a pretty ornamental object, and he had no reason to believe this behavior would change soon. He had to be prepared for the worst.

In truth, he really wanted to murder someone. The urge had become so intense during his captivity with the pirates, and he hadn’t had a real outlet, being close to dying of dehydration. Now that he was rested, his jaw nearly ached to bite through bone.

He spent the time waiting for an opportunity by pacing around the pool. The space didn’t allow for much more than tight circles. Still, it was better than sitting around stewing in all his problems. 

Mother was probably worried by now. Him being an adult with a life of his own didn’t stop her from worrying that he wasn’t home every day. Azula didn’t feel the same. Azula would kill for him though; she’d done it before.

Eventually, after what seemed like an hour of thinking to himself and going crazy for it, the faintest vibrations thrummed through the water, and Zuko froze. Footsteps. Someone was approaching. 

He lifted his head above the surface. The sound drew closer, brushing through the plants with a practiced gait. Zuko coiled his body. There was deliberation in the person’s movement. They knew he was here. They were coming to see him. The likelihood that he’d be attacking an innocent servant or something alike was low, and that brought him a hint of reassurance.

When the human came into view, bathed in green filtered sunlight, stepping out to the pool’s edge, Zuko took an entire second to appraise the figure. Tall. Male. Dark hair, luxurious silk robes in green and pale yellow. When he spoke, it was the same smooth voice from the shadowy stranger that paid for him.

“Hello.”

Zuko didn’t wait any longer. He launched himself at the human with a vicious snarl. His vision was red. His heart was pounding. How dare they treat him with such contempt? He wasn’t some prized bounty. He wasn’t an ornament for some rich knave’s garden. He wouldn’t take this insult and abuse lying down, and if these humans continued to assume so, they were in for a shock.

To some degree of satisfaction, the man did seem shocked to be bowled over. The air left his lungs in a massive wheeze, and his eyes went very wide. He was also—however—quick. He reflexively shoved Zuko’s head away when Zuko tried to bite, and he managed to lurch free enough to dodge an elbow to the face. 

“Wait!” The man yelped.

But Zuko had a size advantage, and the man was on his back, and Zuko really wanted him dead. He slammed his shoulders into the grass, pinned his legs with his tail, made another attempt to remove the throat with his teeth. This time, the man brought his arm up in a hasty block. Zuko was too busy biting down to be upset he’d missed his target. Blood and the creak of bone filled his mouth.

There was a shout of pain. “Wait wait—Zuko, stop!”

The words pierced his hazy red anger like ice through fresh snow. Zuko froze. Even being slightly feral at the taste of blood and festered indignation, he rapidly came to his senses and dropped the arm. His mind spun. 

How did this man know his name? The pirates didn’t know. The pretty girl in blue didn’t know. And he wouldn’t be able to tell them if he wanted to (which he very much had not). It wasn’t a lucky guess. No one shared his name that he’d ever met. So why—how could a random human—

“Get off!” The human fumbled to shove Zuko’s face away. His sleeve was ruined, and rapidly turning red.

Zuko slowly obliged. The man didn’t seem angry. He only seemed annoyed, even as he bled profusely from an arm that might be broken. There was something unnervingly familiar about the twist of his scowl. He shuffled sideways and sat up.

“Spirits, kid, you’ve got a strong jaw.”

“I’m not—” Zuko cut himself off before he could complete the retort. The human wouldn’t understand him. The human knew he wasn’t a kid. Zuko was very obviously a full grown mer. 

“You could have let me explain myself before trying to kill me.” Why did his scowl look so familiar? The man untied a sash of his fancy outfit and wrapped his arm with clinical efficiency. Then he looked up to meet Zuko’s eye, and his scowl faltered. “Are you okay?”

What.

Zuko stared. Was he seriously… asking if Zuko was okay? There was blood in the grass and in his robes and he might have a concussion and his ribs might be bruised and Zuko would at worst have a sore jaw. He shifted back warily. In his experience, crazy men often did cruel things. 

When he made no move to respond, the man sighed roughly and looked away. “Guess I should have waited on that tea. Zaheera will be by with some shortly.”

“What?”

What on earth was he talking about? Tea? Of all things? How did he know Zuko’s name and why was he so relaxed about the bite on his arm and why did the slope of his nose look so familiar and why was he talking about tea in the blood and the grass?

“You were always more civil with it around.”

Okay, now Zuko was thoroughly weirded out. He wished he had an exit. An escape route. He was stuck on land in an unfamiliar house and the closest thing he had to sanctuary was a fake pool of water barely deep enough to sleep in. This was freaking him out just the slightest.

“You’re nuts.” He said. Just to say it. The man wouldn’t understand the words or the insult in them, but Zuko was sick of just sitting around not saying anything, waiting for stupid humans to come to the right conclusions.

For his effort, he was rewarded with the faintest thaw of the man’s grumpy expression. It looked amused somehow. “And why is that?” He asked.

What.

A trace of alarm made Zuko flinch. “...Because you’re… talking to me.” He probed. Just to see. Humans weren’t supposed to understand.

“Why would that make me crazy? You’re real, aren’t you?” He glanced at his sleeve, now mostly red. “I’m pretty sure you are.”

Zuko blanched. He considered backing away, back into the pool. The safety it offered was purely psychological, but it would be something at least. It’d be better than lying vulnerable on the ground next to a crazy person. His fins twitched.

“What—but—you understand me?”

“Of course.”

“But humans aren’t supposed to understand.” From what he’d heard, humans interpreted mer speech as primitive and animalistic: nothing more than a series of harsh vocalizations strung together. Zuko had demanded an explanation for the phenomenon when he was younger. After all, mer understood human speech just fine. No one was able to give him a satisfactory answer.

“Well, I’m not human.” The human said. “Technically.”

“Then what are you?” Possibly a witch? Zuko had heard of their strange abilities. Or maybe he was a spirit. In which case Zuko was screwed. He probably couldn’t get away with attempted murder on a spirit; he’d totally be cursed or something. It could also be a shapeshifter of sorts, from the myths.

But the man quickly dispelled any outlandish theories. For the first time that Zuko had seen, a flicker of hurt crossed his features. It made him look older than he likely was. Haunted.

“Wow Zuzu, you don’t remember your favorite cousin?”

No.

No, he definitely didn’t mean that. Zuko didn’t have any cousins. Not for eleven years. And there’d only been—one. Just one. Now there weren’t any.

But looking closer, Zuko could see why the scowl looked so familiar. He saw the same face in the mirror. And this man wasn’t human, clearly, even if he had legs in place of a red streaming tail. In place of the gold ribbon fins their family shared—that he must have recognized when he first saw Zuko. 

He knew Zuko’s name. Zuzu. Azula tried to call him that—maybe out of nostalgia—but it belonged to them both, and Zuko hated to hear her say it because there was only one person who tried to bring them together like that, and hearing her say it reminded him of… of… a dead man.

Except he couldn’t be dead. He was right here. His blood tasted very real.

“Lu Ten?”

He looked so much like his father when he smiled. “Yeah.”

Zuko gaped. That felt like the only appropriate thing to do. Maybe the dehydration actually got to him, and this whole series of events was an elaborate hallucination. Maybe Azula spiked his tea with a psychedelic for her weird sense of humor, and he was hallucinating. It was too strange. This didn’t make any sense. Zuko’s cousin was dead, and if he wasn’t, wouldn’t Uncle know? Would Uncle have cried so hard so many private times if this was real? It felt so real.

“How did you get that scar?”

“How are you not dead?” Zuko’s head was spinning, though thankfully not from dehydration. He wasn’t sure if this was worse, actually. “Uncle thinks you’re dead.”

The comment earned him a flinch. “There’s actually a good explanation for that.”

“Which is?”

“I’m cursed.” Lu Ten squinted into the middle distance, looking uncomfortably close to being emotional. “To live as a human. And I can’t… go near the sea. I tried. It almost turned me into sea foam.”

Zuko dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

[lovebugism]

hiii can i pls request shy!reader where eddie teaches her guitar but she keeps getting distracted by her crush on him and then they confess to each other 🥰 idk I'm just obsessed with eddie and guitars in general haha

ty for requesting!! — in which eddie calls his two favorite things sweetheart, his guitar and you (friends to lovers, fluff, 1.7k)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Eddie’s bedroom is heavy with an early summer heat. There’s one square window above his bed where the golden hour sun filters through directly. It spotlights the guitar hanging above his dresser, sparkling with bits of swirling dust in the air. 

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart,” Eddie greets the instrument, as though it were a real thing with feelings. You idle behind him and watch in the mirror as he kisses two of his fingers and presses them to the strings. A crooked smirk sits lazily on his mouth at the graceless sound it makes.

“Is that its name?” you joke in a mousy voice, clammy hands wringing as thoughts of nonbelonging strangle you. You feel utterly out of place here, in this mess of boyish chaos — with heavy metal posters of bands you don’t know and movie prints with references you don’t recognize. 

The boy standing beneath it all turns to face you. He looks at you with the smile he always looks at you with — distant, pink, and quiet — like he doesn’t even know it’s there. And you feel at home all over again.

“Huh?” Eddie chuckles.

“Sweetheart,” you add.

“Sure,” he shrugs, scratching at the wild curls coiled at the nape of his neck. Another laugh sputters from his smiling mouth. “Might as well be, I guess. I’ve been callin’ her that since I got her.”

“Oh… It’s a she now, too?”

There’s a foreign twinkle in your sheepish gaze. A mischievous sort of glint Eddie only gets to see when you’re feeling brave enough to show it to him — comfortable enough, anyway. It makes his chest warm with pride, knowing he’s cracking away at the shell you so often hide behind.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie cajoles, nodding as he scrunches the bridge of his nose. With his hands on his leans hips, he walks the short distance to you. His sneakers sound heavy on the worn carpet. “She’s got all the features of a beautiful woman, too, you know? Strong but delicate. Easy to understand when you get to know her, but always slightly complicated in her own way.”

You forget to blink until he’s looming over you. Until his towering form blocks the flow of the tiny fan whirring on his desk. Until you can smell the pine of his cologne and the mint of his aftershave with every trembling inhale.

The petaled smirk on his rosy mouth makes your breath catch. His dark eyes are round like buttons, and they glimmer like melted chocolate as he peers down at you — like he’s talking to you directly. 

You feel utterly see-through beneath his unwavering stare. With your heart in your throat, you turn away. “Well, you’d know better than me, I guess,” you falter, voice trembling as you force a breathy laugh. 

Eddie doesn’t seem nearly as fazed by the proximity. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “Wanna learn how to play?”

You flash him a wide-eyed stare in response. A distant smile wavers at the edges of your mouth ‘cause you figure he must be joking. Eddie only grins in response, raising his brows in an expectant look, and you cower all over again.

“Oh, I… I don’t… I don’t know,” you stammer hopelessly and twist your anxious hands into a knot. “I don’t think I have, you know, the— the deftness for it or whatever…”

Eddie scoffs a faint laugh and steps back from you. He plucks the instrument from the wall in a few short steps. “Well, how about we just pretend I know what that word means while I teach you?” he jokes with the guitar cradled in an expert hand. 

His rings match the silver strings and the metal dials you don’t recognize. The black paint pairs well with his leather jacket, and the cracked scarlet pattern with his Hellfire tee. It looks like it was crafted with only him in mind. 

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he plops along the edge of it.

You shift on your feet in front of him, visibly unsure. “I don’t wanna break it,” you fret.

“You’re not gonna break it,” Eddie laughs with a smile that reveals all his teeth. He tosses his chin back to shake wild curls from his face, then squints solemnly at you. “Unless you’ve got, like, some kinda super-strength I don’t know about… You’re not a superhero, are you?”

You tilt your cheek to your shoulder in a sheepish look. “I can neither confirm nor deny,” you answer in a sarcastic murmur.

“Hm. That’s exactly what a superhero would say…” he teases, just to make you laugh, then smiles as he pats the bed beside him. “Here. C’mon. Sit down.”

Despite your better judgment, you sit in the spare spot next to him. The mattress is hard beneath you, worsened by your inability to get comfortable with Eddie’s body so close to yours. It makes you tense, so aware of yourself and him and this moment.

You keep a couple measured inches between you, which Eddie closes with little effort. His thigh presses to your thigh as he ushers the guitar into your lap. He maneuvers himself behind you, with an arm wormed around your back, so he’s got your left hand in his. His chest is flush against your shoulder. His wild curls tickle your neck. You have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Put your hands… like this…” Eddie mumbles as he guides your fingers over the neck of the guitar. When he’s set them in a stair-step pattern over the strings, he ducks his head to look at you. His wide eyes dart over your face. “That feel good?”

You nod wordlessly, skin buzzing under his touch.

“Good. Now, all you have to do is strum.”

You lift your wrist and hope he doesn’t notice how your hand shakes. Your fingers brush the steel strings. A quiet, distorted noise fills the quiet bedroom. 

Eddie grins wide despite your feeble attempt. “See? You’ve already got the hardest part down,” he beams. When you don’t laugh at his futile effort to make you laugh, his smile wavers. “Hey… You can relax, you know? Sweetheart’s not gonna bite you.”

“No, I know,” you waver, then remember to breathe.

“Then why’s it feel like I’m sittin’ next to a rock?”

“‘Cause this is, like, your most prized possession,” you laugh. “And I’m… the clumsiest person on the earth, and you’re letting me touch it anyway.”

“‘Cause you’re my second most prized possession,” Eddie quips.

You meet his smile with a knowing squint. “You don’t own me, Eds.”

His eyes narrow similarly. “Don’t act like you’re not flattered.” 

His breath fans across your cheek at the proximity. A dizzying concoction of nicotine and spearmint gum. Your eyes flit to his lips, for a flicker of a moment, and you realize he’s close now enough to kiss. 

Something about it makes you panic. Words spill from your mouth in stumbled rambles accordingly. “I just— I know I’m not gonna be any good at it, and it’s just gonna be a huge waste of time for both of us, so—”

Eddie scoffs. “If you don’t wanna spend time with me, you coulda just said.”

The mattress squeaks when he starts to shift away from you. His chest moves off your shoulder and leaves you cold, even in the suffocating humidity. Your heart wrenches. “It’s not that— don’t go,” you plead in a tiny voice.

Eddie, who hadn’t really wanted to leave in the first place, gravitates to you again with little effort. “So you do wanna spend time with me?” he wonders, equal parts teasing and searching for assurance.

You swallow hard, then nod.

“Just, maybe, without the guitar?” Eddie presses.

“I think we’d both be better off if I just watched you play it, honestly.”

“Ooh,” the boy croons, brows bouncing beneath his fluffy bangs. “So you like to watch, huh?”

Your eyes roll. “Don’t be daft.”

Eddie laughs and presses himself against you again — chest against your back, arm against your arm. “Here. C’mon. Just try again, alright? For me.” You let him guide your hand back to the neck of the guitar. His warm, ringed fingers cradle your own. “Put your fingers like— there you go. Look at that, you’re a pro already.”

He tries to bite back a smile at the look you give him. He fails.

“Alright, now…” he trails off, shifting impossibly closer until he’s flush with the right side of your body. “Try not to be so scared, alright? Sweetheart can sense fear, so just… Act natural.”

You exhale a wavering breath. When Eddie feels you relax against him, he tells you, “Now strum again…”

You twist your wrist and bring your fingers down in a motion that feels more natural this time. The sound that fills the bedroom, then, is much more pleasant than the one that came before it.

“At this rate, you’ll be better than me within the year,” Eddie muses.

You squint and try not to smile. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m serious!” he argues, laughing despite himself. “You’re a fast learner! With some proper lessons, you could do my Master of Puppets solo in no time— with your eyes closed.”

“Lessons?” you echo, brows pinched.

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs and tries to play it cool. “I mean… You might have to come over from time to time. You know, so I can show you the ropes and everything, but… After a few months together, I’m sure you’ll be a total professional.”

You know exactly what he’s playing at. The notion makes your heart thrum hard against your ribcage.

“Well, what about after a few months?” you tease with a quiet smile. “What then?”

Eddie’s eyes flit to the ceiling for a moment as he ponders the question. “I don’t know… You keep coming around, I guess? And I make you the best damn guitarist this side of Indiana’s ever seen?”

A beam blossoms on your lips despite your attempts to keep it hidden. “Then I guess I’ll stick around.”

“Good,” Eddie grins.

“Good,” you parrot.

It takes you a second too long to realize he’s leaning in to kiss you. By the time you notice, his eyes are already fluttering shut and the tip of his nose is nearing yours. Your eyes widen. Your breath catches. You lick your lips in anticipation. 

You forget yourself too quickly, though, and your hand falls lazily against the strings of the guitar in your lap. You can feel the funny, distorted sound in your chest. Your heart lurches at the sudden noise, and you flinch back from the boy in front of you.

You sigh a second later, mourning the missed moment. 

Eddie chuckles to himself, cheeks flushed. “Told ya she could sense fear.”

[bambisspeckles]

Fool {Neighbor!Simon}

CW: nothing! just simon being cute, no gross simon shocker ik, neighbor!simon :3

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

Johnny constantly pesters Simon about moving out of his shitty apartment, always bombarding him with questions on why he chose to live in some subpar flat when he makes enough money for some decent housing. He always shrugged Johnny off, giving him some half-assed excused, 'Jus' don't see the point, got everythin' I need there.'

Simon would never dare tell Johnny the whole reason he insists on staying there is because of his cute little neighbor. You had moved in a few months after Simon and he was immediately infatuated with you. He had gotten back from a pretty shitty deployment the night before you had arrived and was woken up by all the commotion of your moving, in the early afternoon of the next day. He didn't pay any mind really, only taking one quick peek out of the peephole after he had been woken up, but after that, nothing. His mind occupied with thoughts of his last mission. It's only until later that evening that he sees you for the first time. He hears a knock at his door and he groans as he begrudgingly gets off his couch to open it.

God he's so glad he did.

He was greeted by the sight of your beautiful face, a bright smile plastered across your features, and a plate of freshly baked cookies in hand.

"Umm, hi! I'm you're new neighbor… I just moved in next door and I wanted to introduce myself." The cadence of your speech was a bit tense and awkward but you still had a smile on your face.

Ghost was too busy admiring your gorgeous to even answer you, not that he'd be able to give you a warm welcome anyways, he was much to strange of a man for a normal greeting. You break the tense silence by speaking again.

"I made some cookies for everyone, as a sort of peace offering I suppose, though no one who's opened the door seemed interested in them…" A graceless laugh escapes your lips.

Simon finally breaks his silence by grunting softly and clearing his throat to speak.

"It's good to meet you, m' Simon…" He can barely keep eye contact with you, his fingers tapping his upper tights anxiously.

Your eyes soften, seemingly picking up his tactlessness in the conversation department. You give him your name and god he swears it's the most beautiful name he's ever heard, he wants to say your name like a god damn prayer, like it's the only word he's ever known.

Apparently he zones out as he's admiring you because you have to clear your throat and fidget anxiously for him to snap back into reality. You only speak again when he meets your eyes.

"Well it was wonderful to meet you, Simon." His throat tightens at the way you speak his name. "Um.. Do you want a cookie or should I go back to my flat and eat my embarrassment away?" The lilt of teasing in your voice has the corner of his eyes crinkling.

"Sure love, I'll take a few." Your smile somehow grows brighter at his acceptance of your gift.

"Wonderful! Just an FYI these cookies are not allergy friendly so…" Your voice trails off as you pull back the plastic wrap to grant Simon access. He just hums in acknowledgement at your words.

There's a few moments of silence as Simon grabs a few cookies off the plate before grunting and pulling his hand away. You cover the cookies back up before meeting his eyes and speaking to him.

"Again, it was really nice to meet you, I hope was can chat again sometime." God your voice was so fucking enticing, it was soft and warm and he felt his insides melt.

"Mm, thanks for the cookies." You flash him a smile before turning and walking back to your flat.

He closes his door behind him, staring at the cookies in his hand.

Fuck, you were going to be a problem weren't you love?

─── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ────── ⋆⋅𐀔⋅⋆ ──────

Hi guys! I hope you enjoy my little drabble and I thank you for all the support <3 I'm hoping to turn these drabbles into a little mini series? I'm not sure I'll probably just write them when I write! Likes and reblogs are appreciated mwah!

[sthavoc]

hear me out bestie, an ex's to lovers. like enzo and his gf broke up for some reason but he is winning her back and not letting her go

☆ 🌃 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

𖥔 ࣪˖ pairing: enzo x fem!reader

𖥔 ࣪˖ summary: enzo and you have been broken up for almost a year now. the both of you hang out with the boys and you talk. he wants to win you back, and maybe he will.

𖥔 ࣪˖ warnings: beer. a few cuss words.

𖥔 ࣪˖ note: bestie ofccc!! thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy it!<3 also currently working on more requests so hang tight!! <3 juani and mati were a handful on this one lmao. hope I didn’t miss any grammar mistakes 🙏🏻.

“A ver, chicos ya por favor bájenle a la cerveza.” You grabbed Valentino’s and Juani’s can, but they immediately grabbed it off your hands again. “Ya es la media noche por Dios.”

“Ay no seas aguafiestas nena.” Juani took a long sip of his can as he looked at you, before he began to walk away.

“No, no es que sea aguafiestas Juan Caruso. Es que no tengo ganas de cuidar de nadie.” Your words were followed by a sarcastic smile while your eyes were set on Juani.

The boys and you found yourselves at a park near La Plaza. All of you had agreed to buy a pack of beers and just hang around the park. Though the boys lost count and were starting to get a little tipsy.

“Ay, ¡Es viernes! Se bebe.” Juani dragged the last syllable of his sentence. All of this before Matias spoke—

“Ay se me antojó una pizza ¿Y si vamos por una?” Even before you spoke, all the guys were already saying yes. You knew there was no point in saying no because there was not going to be a no for an answer. Plus a pizza wasn’t a bad idea.

Everyone walked to the nearest Pizzeria of where you were. The guys walked in front as you stayed behind and watched them goof around, doing silly little things. Your arms crossed over your chest as the wind hit you. You felt like the mom of the group right now.

“Dale que yo te ayudo si se descontrolan.” Enzo’s voice comes up behind you making you turn to look at him.

“Ay eso ayudaría. Gracias.” You sighed.

“No hay de que, son una carga. Lo se.” He winks jokingly making a laugh escape out of you.

There was a silence after that. Not peaceful but not graceless either. Like you yearned for to say something but you didn’t know if you should. Enzo felt the same way, but the dissimilarity was that he wanted to say something he just didn’t know what exactly. So he just went with the classic—

“¿Como estás? ¿Como te trata la vida?” His hands rested on the inside of his pockets. He didn’t know if he should mentally slap himself or not for asking that question.

“Pues bien. La verdad nada nuevo, más que cuidar de Blue.” Blue was your 3-year-old cat. Enzo had gotten him for you, for your 1 year anniversary. “¿Y tú?” You glanced at the guys before looking back at Enzo. “¿Como te sientes con tu nuevo estilo de vida?”

Enzo chuckled before he replied. “Pues me va bien. Las fans son-” He puffs out a breath letting his hand drop towards his thigh. “Maravillosas. Los eventos, increíbles.”

To you, it seemed like Enzo was doing amazing. You were proud, there was no doubt about that. “Me da gusto escuchar eso. Estoy orgullosa de ti Enzo.”

“Gracias, nena.” A soft smile crept on Enzo’s lips after his sentence. The both of you walked and walked behind the guys. When he felt like saying something again, Matias spoke—

“Dale pelotudo dame la plata.” He jokingly pushed Juani who just shook his head and picked his hand up in the air. “Como queres que pague ¿ah?”

“Juani, ya dale el dinero a Matías.” You sighed, walking over towards the two of them. You had arrived at the Pizzeria, Juani just had to give Matias the money to go order and pay.

“Ay ya que es joda.” He dragged the last syllable before giving the money to Matias who snatched the bills from his hand.

While Matias went inside and ordered the pizza, you and Enzo stayed with the rest trying to settle them down and avoid any trouble. You had both clutch’s on Esteban and Juani while Enzo had Blas and Agustin (Lain). Valentino had ended up going with Matias. The walk back after the guys came back with the pizza was the same as the walk towards it. Except this time Matias kept putting the pizza box above his head all because Juani wanted a piece.

“Me van a matar.” You sighed as you watched them sit down on the grass with pizza in the middle. You shivered as you felt the breeze of the night whistle on the back of your neck. It sent a wave of shivers through your whole body creating goosebumps.

“Toma, nena.” Enzo came up to you with his jacket in his hand. He noticed you struggling with the cold. This man was like your guardian angel.

“No, estoy bien. Gracias.” Your words made Enzo roll his eyes. He had a feeling you would say no.

“Dale, tenes frío. Toma.” He pressed, extending his hand out even more. This time you accepted and grabbed the jacket off his hand.

“Gracias. Ni cómo pagarte el favor.” A chuckle leaves your lips while a sigh of warmth follows, as you feel the warm heat cover your upper body.

Enzo smiled when he saw you with his jacket on. It had been a long time since the last time he ever did. He didn’t even realized he missed it. Though he did get an idea—

“Déjame que te invite a cenar.”

You looked at him with a smile as your hands rested on the inside of the pockets. You knew what he was trying to do.

“¿Me diste la chaqueta para poder preguntarme esto verdad?” A slight smile carved on your lips, and shortly one did on Enzo’s as well.

“Ya, me vas a decir que no funcionó.” He wanted you to say yes, and he knew it was not going to be easy. His eyes stayed on you as you shook your head still with your smile on. You were gonna answer when Juani called your name— you’ve got to be kidding me. Enzo thought.

“Dale T/N, vengan pa’ acá. ¿Qué hacen allá?” Juani hollered waving for the both of you. “Háganle que se acaba la pizza.”

You and Enzo walked towards the circle as they made space for the both of you. The boys had already eaten, and some still were. Others were on their second round, while you and Enzo barely started.

“Dale pero no seas puerco salame.” Matías pushed Juani’s head towards the side as he watched how the curly head stuck a whole slice of pizza in his mouth, almost choking.

These two were a mess.

After you finished your pizza you had a few sips of your beer and still tried to calm down anything the boys would be doing. For a moment you got on your phone to check the time and realized it was 1:30 a.m. Until from the corner of your eye, you caught a glance of Enzo sitting next to you.

“¿Entonces?” He darted. His hands rested on his knees that he somewhat was hugging.

“¿Entonces?” You repeated, but knowing what he meant. You wanted to see how long it would take for him to keep asking you.

He sighed with a shake of the head and a smile. “¿Me vas a dejar que te invite a cenar?”

Even though Enzo and you had been broken up for almost a year now, you somehow always felt like there was still a spark left inside your heart for him. Perhaps in the moment of your breakup, you felt like it was all gone. But maybe he was starting to dig deeper into your heart and he was beginning to pull the spark again. Though if he was going to ask you out again you were not going to make it easy for him. You were going to give him the same hard time you did as the first time he asked you.

“Mmm, no lo sé. ¿Será que puedes?” Your words made his eyes glow even more than the dimmed light from the street. His lips let out a chuckle.

“Has lo que quieras. Pero voy a robar tu corazón de nuevo, chiquita.” He smirked. His words with a more serious but yet playful tone.

Your lips pressed together trying not to smile. “Ya te quiero ver intentarlo.” He didn’t even know he was already starting to. But you also didn’t want to give him the privilege of knowing he still had a sort of effect on you.

“Te di mi campera. Eso debe de contar.” He motions towards his jacket that you are wearing, with a raise of eyebrows. You beamed down at it before you skimmed back at him and said—

“Oh, vas a tener que esforzarte más, Vogrincic.”

His eyes looked at you with the most sincere look his eyes could possibly give. You could get lost in them forever.

“Si me dejas-” His voice cut off as he heard a scream from one of the boys making him sigh before he tried again. “Si me dejas, te juro que esta vez no te suelto.”

Enzo was determined to do whatever he had to do to get you back. If he had to move the oceans for you, he was certain he would.

just for you.

And that was another reason for you to start giving him a second chance to win your heart again.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 54 (12.1)

part 1 | part 53 | ao3

cw: angst

Chapter 12

Steve drives to Chicago.

He wakes up to an empty bed and a sticky note by the kitchen phone, words scribbled over so the only legible thing left is the word sorry underlined in jagged black, and his breath sticks in his chest and he can't be here anymore. Epiphany ringing like a gong, sending ripples through his marrow, because the walls are closing in and Eddie decorated those walls — splattered himself over every inch of this place, and now he's just the newest haunt in a line of ghosts that Steve can't shake. He thought he’d gotten rid of them, but now he hears them louder than ever. In the hiss of the faucet, in the buzz of the fridge; they’re moaning in his bad ear and rattling his bones, and he can't be here alone with them he can't be here he can't—

So he drives.

Gets in his car with nothing but a spare jacket and a crumpled pack of cigs. If ever there was a time to pick the habit up in earnest. Eddie’s van is gone, and Steve’s heart is bruised; it's bleeding out inside him, pumping fresh hurt with every beat, so he lights a cigarette with shaking hands and heads north. Takes the back roads to the on-ramp of I-65, drives for hours; drives for years, speeding down empty stretches of highway with nothing but roadkill for company.

At some point he rolls the windows down until the icy wind makes his cheeks burn, but he can't really feel them. Can't feel his face, or his fingers, or his heart.

All the world is snow and asphalt, and Steve Harrington is alone.

He tries to drown it out with music. The radio mocks him with swooning quartets love songs — 'put your head on my shoulder' and 'life could be a dream' — and all the tapes he can reach belong to Eddie, so he pulls over on the narrow shoulder of an overpass bridge and screams and screams and screams while he chucks the cassettes over the edge.

Fuck Eddie.

Fuck him.

"FUCK YOU!!" he shouts to the foggy nothingness.

The words dig in sharp; pocket knife twisting in the space below his kidneys.

The fog doesn't respond.

Back in the car, his thoughts turn to his mom. Because he's driving to her, he knows — knew it in his splintering bones and haunted blood the moment he left town. He's driving back to his first ghost, as if confronting the original will somehow exorcise the rest.

Miles pass in silence, and Steve paints over the canvas of what-ifs again and again, oily streaks in the underpainting as he tries to set the scenes just right: quiet, tearful confrontations in his aunt's formal living room, graceless screaming matches out on the front lawn. In one version he never makes it past the guard at the front gate, and in another he just eggs the stupid lion statues leading up to the house while his mom silently weeps from the top of the stairs.

He doesn't know if his mom would laugh at that.

He doesn't know her much at all.

And that fucking hurts; that sits like acid in his lungs, because his mom was his first friend. When he was little — before the housekeepers and nannies, before his mom started tailing his dad on business trips like a trained dog on a leash — they spent so much time together. Trips to the playground, to the library, to the pool. He'd perch himself on her vanity when she got ready in the mornings, use her hairbrush as a microphone to sing along to 50s doo-wop, and she'd giggle and call him her little superstar, so he'd come up with stupid dance moves just to make her smile more.

He misses that. The script, the routine. How he'd spin around in his socks on the slippery bathroom tile and look up at her with her big hair full of rollers and her big eyes full of stars, and he'd say, "Hey! How come your eyes are all twinkly?"

And she'd grin and pinch his cheek and give the same answer every time: "Because you're the light of my life."

"I wish I knew what you'd say now," he whispers to the empty car.

For a moment he envisions that she's sitting there with him, that she's filling the blank space where the boy who broke his heart should be, but he can't remember her cadence well enough to mimic it; can't put words in her mouth when he no longer knows her lines, and with something a bit like horror and a lot like despair it occurs to him that he can't remember what she looks like. There's an apparition in his blind spot, but it's formless and unstable. The shade of its hair keeps changing; the texture, the length.

When he tries to make it speak, it shrugs and dissipates.

—

part 55

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Just Aether and Omega talking about love. Kinda. Look I'm bad at summaries.

"I need to be put down."

"Good morning to you too, Aether," Omega rumbles, handing him a cup of coffee while sipping his. There is a slight pause while the younger quint takes a long gulp, before Omega tilts his head toward him with a questionning quirk of eyebrow.

"May I ask why exactly do you need to be put down ?"

There's a smile in his voice to which Aether answers with a groan trailing in what sounds suspisciously like a whine.

"Don't make fun of me."

Omega shrugs, endeared.

"No promises."

Despite his eyeroll, Aether seems to need to vent, because he drops on the stool next to Omega's, eyes on the numerous pictures stuck on the fridge.

"Dew is going to kill me, is what's going on. I was just minding my own business, waking up with the appropriate amount of gracelessness you can expect from someone who's waking up, and he was there, looking so- perfect in the morning light and- urgh. Massaging Swiss' shoulder because it flared up again. Swiss wasn't even awake yet and Dew still knew that he was hurting- I need to be put down, I'm telling you, I cannot take more of this."

The second Aether stops to take a deep breath, looking terribly flustered while raking his hands through his mohawk, Omega can't help but laugh.

"So what i'm hearing, is that you're so in love with your fire ghoul you want to die ?"

Aether sighs in defeat, nodding. Omega's heart could burst with fondess.

"I can relate."

Aether blinks at him. He looks younger that way - fresh off his bed, sheets still imprinted on his cheek.

"Can you ?"

Omega sighs and smiles, cuping Aether's face.

"Yes. Always. When you come to me like this. When Alpha slips in my bed in the middle of the night trying not to wake me. When Mist forces me to take a break. When Earth brings me flowers. When Chain braids Lake's hair the way he likes it. When I can hear Sunshine and Dew bicker in the halls. When Swiss admits he's not okay. When Phantom barges in to show us something they're excited about. When Cirrus makes matching bracelts for everyone. When Cowbell shows up. When I can feel the pack, alive and well, going about their day."

For a moment, Aether is clearly looking for the right words, teary-eyed, before deflating with a sigh that catches in his throat.

"You can't do this to me you ancestor, not when i'm already in a sappy mood !"

Omega's fully grinning now, and it's oh so easy to tug Aether in his arms, or to let him tuck his face in the older quint's neck like he used to do as a newly summoned ghoul.

"Sh, sh, there you are pup," Omega mumbles in Aether's hair, "there you are lover boy."

They have all the time in the world after all, so they stay like this as sunlight slowly fills the kitchen, until Alpha walks in, and, running his hands through both ghoul's hair, huffs.

"Bad time to inform you that River flooded the chapel ?"

Omega groans, thumping his forehead against Aether's, horns knocking together.

"I take it all back."

Aether chuckles, unimpressed.

"Sure you do, bleeding heart."

[maxiemumdamage]

I’m impressed by the sheer audacity of having Christian Borle play the kind of utterly graceless prolifically-swearing fuckwit that Vox was while spectating Alastor vs Adam. You take one of Broadway’s greatest and have him all but masturbate onscreen to another guy’s near death. And you know what? It still made me laugh!

[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff [Part 2]

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 2: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Mr. Rogerson has awesome dalmatians and his wife makes even better cookies. Meanwhile, Crewel continues to be an emotionally constipated mess, and Crowley is... himself.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

You were met at the door by a pair of over enthusiastic dalmatians—the chaotically cute duo sending you ass-first to the office floor in a merry greeting that was more of a graceless tackle than anything else.

“You brought Poe and Perdy!” you exclaimed, laughing past the face kisses.

“Well, they’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” Mister Rogerson huffed good naturedly. “Do you know how much this little nutter cried when I came home the other day and he realized you’d been by? Ages, I’m telling you. Thought he was going to pout me into an early grave.”

You squished both of them affectionately and showered the lovely, spotted, beasts with every compliment under the sun.

“Oh! Before I forget…” the professor rustled around in his leather messenger bag and retrieved a neatly packaged pastry box all bundled up in a colorful, twine, bow. You accepted the treats happily and removed yourself from the dog-pile to take your usual place on the well-worn piano bench. “Annie made you some more cookies, seeing as you liked the last ones so much.”

“Did you help?” you asked.

“Hmm? What makes you say that?”

You held up the first treat from the pile—half-singed on one side and squishy with raw dough on the other.

“You caught me!” he laughed, and retrieved a second box. “These are from Annie. Those are my failures.”

“Such horrible lies,” you tutted, dramatic. “Trying to trick an innocent victim into ingesting poison just so that you can keep all the good ones for yourself.”

“Hey, they’re not that bad!” he defended, taking a large chomp out of one of the less charred looking of his creations. Immediately his cheeks went nearly green. “Or… maybe they are.”

You pushed a water bottle in his direction which he accepted gratefully. There was always a stash of them just to the left of his composer’s stand, and another hoard in a conspicuous looking storage cube closer to the piano at which you’d perched yourself. There were more sweets hidden in his desk drawers too, for when something stronger than water was needed to wash away whatever awful thing he’d tried to ingest. You knew where a lot of ‘secret’ things were in this room. It felt nice, to be so privy to all its little treasures.

“You know,” he smiled, finishing the last of his water with a final gulp. “Annie keeps pestering me to have you come by for dinner.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” you hesitated, looking around the room where so many of your little odds and ends had already started to accumulate. Empty mugs, the patch that had fallen off your jacket, the thread which you’d intended to use to fix said patch. Just… little footprints showing you’d been by.  “Well, any more at least.”

“Nonsense,” Mister Rogerson laughed. “You’re more than welcome! But we don’t mean to pressure you, of course! Especially if you’re busy! Just something to think about if you’d like. Anyways, how has your day been?”

And thus began your afternoon ritual. You would sit and split Annie’s delicious cookies as you rambled about your various grievances. Mister Rogerson would inevitably come and take a seat beside you on the piano bench and start playing some gentle strains of this or that—‘just little things he was working on,’ he’d said. Occasionally you’d accidentally lean on the keys, throwing the whole thing into a cacophonous mess. But he would just chuckle and replay whatever the piano had just screeched, calling it a ‘fascinating addition’ and merrily jotting bits of it into his notes. It was nice. Better than nice. And you didn’t realize just how comfortable you’d become in your daily chitchats until you’d become perhaps a bit too comfortable.

“It’s just been so exhausting. And on top of all the other ridiculous things, I’m so sick of that fact that it’s like my job to be their personal punching bags or whatever when they’re Overblotting all over the place, and—”

The piano cut off abruptly.

Mister Rogerson’s hazel eyes had gone wide, as if he was spooked. Immediately you realized that you’d said something that you should not have.

“There are students at Night Raven College who have Overblotted?” he asked, slow, like he couldn’t even believe the words were coming out of his mouth.

“What? No. Of course not!” you lied, like a liar.

“Kiddo,” he frowned, stern. “You just said—"

“—I mean, no one’s actually Overblotted, Overblotted,” you spluttered hastily, rifling frantically through your brain for every plausible excuse you could cough up. “It’s more that I’ve heard a lot about Blot, and how it becomes a—you know—Overblot. Which sounds really scary, and like something that I never, ever, want to actually see! And it’s just that everyone there is a mess, so I guess I should I have said that I’m more just worried about Overblotting.” 

A pause.

“Which, again, I’ve never, ever, actually seen.”

More silence.

“…Ever.”

Mister Rogerson sighed, apparently relieved by your bullshitting, and slumped forward over the piano keys.

“That’s… That’s good. You really scared me there for a moment, kiddo. Overblots are no small matter. They have to be reported to the proper authorities and dealt with accordingly. It’s a whole fiasco, and paperwork and legal proceedings aside, it’s dangerous.” He laid a gentle hand across your shoulder. “I’m just glad you haven’t been anywhere near something like that.”

You swallowed a chunk of wayward cookie, hoping you didn’t look horrifically guilty. But then some other part of what he’d just rattled off stuck in your head and that shame was wiped away by panic.

“They’d be taken away?” you whispered, something unpleasant and nervous curling in your gut.

Mister Rogerson looked down at you with a sympathetic wrinkle to his brow. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“I know it sounds scary, kiddo. But that’s what we have to do to keep everyone as safe as we can. Does that make sense?”

You thought of Riddle, crying into his hands after years of emotional neglect—and then of the pair of you sitting in the Heartslabyul gardens after all was said and done, eating strawberry tarts with your fingers like little children. You thought of Leona, miserable and bitter as he was, finally breaking after an entire lifetime of feeling like nothing but a failure who slunk about in his brother’s shadow—and then how just last week the beastman had been lounging in the sun with his head in your lap, grouchily demanding your leftovers. You thought of Azul, and his bullies, and his stupid desire to take on the world just to prove he could. You thought of all the friends you’d made, and of just how many of them really needed a goddamn therapist. You thought about them being taken away to who-even-knew-where. Where you’d probably never see any of them again. And where you wouldn’t even know what was happening to them.

General grumpiness with the lot of them aside, your friends were the one, genuine, beacon of warmth in this miserable, cold, new world. Sure, they were all assholes. Mega assholes. But you knew that they’d stand by you through anything—do anything, if you needed the help.

 And the idea of giving up on them? Just like that? Because it was protocol?

Your stomach roiled and you set the cookies off to the side.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Mister Rogerson frowned, taking in whatever unpleasant expression was no doubt twisting your face into knots. “We shouldn’t talk about it anymore. It’s not a fun topic.” He slid a new page of sheet music across the piano’s sleek, black, shelf. “Here. I started writing this the other day. What do you think?”

Strains of upbeat jazz threaded through the room and Perdy and Poe came over to mouth playfully at your ankles—no doubt begging for crumbs. Soon enough you were laughing along, clapping off beat and making jokes at the expense of his nonsense lyrics. You still liked Mister Rogerson. You liked him a lot. And you didn’t doubt that he was a genuinely kind person.

You’d just… maybe have to be a bit more careful about what you let slip.

.

.

“It’s kinda like being in therapy,” you explained to a very frustrated looking Deuce. “Like, how you want to say just enough to get help but not enough for them to throw you into an asylum. You feel?”

“What in the fuck are you on,” Ace gaped.

“See, if any of you actually even knew what therapy was, you’d get it.”

“I still can’t believe that’s where you’ve been every afternoon,” Deuce frowned, poking at his lunch with a consternated sort of look on his face. “Don’t you—I don’t know…”

“What?” you asked.

“Feel horrifically guilty and maybe like you should be burnt at the stake?” Ace complained, reaching over to swipe a fry from your plate. Grim hissed and swatted at his fingers—his little mouth stuffed too full of your half-eaten burger to yell much of anything else. “You’re a traitor, that’s what you are. Prancing around with those goody-two-shoes in their stupid, shiny, building every damn day like a—like a—”

“A frog?” Deuce suggested.

“What, no. Dude—”

“Frogs prance!”

“Frogs fucking jump, you ingrate—”

A heavy box landed on the table with a THUD, sending the quarrelling duo into silence. A mountain of homemade chocolate chip cookies stared back at them, nearly sparkling in their brilliance.

“Yes,” you intoned, stern. “It’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Grim and Ace agreed heartily, already busy swapping their lunches for sweets.

Deuce sighed and reached for his own cookie. “If you’re sure...”

.

.

Being called into the Headmaster’s Office was not something with which you were unfamiliar. In fact, Crowley not having summoned you into his gloomy chamber over the past few weeks was more of an anomaly than not. Normally he was hurling new jobs at you left and right—organize this event, Prefect. Pick up my groceries, Prefect. The main hall is looking a little dirty, Prefect. Go stop my students from committing mass murder, Prefect. Maybe your wave of insults had rattled him enough to leave you alone for that little while. Or maybe he’d just been biding his time until he could think of something equally as nasty to say back.

Of all the things you were expecting upon trudging back into that office, a scowling Professor Crewel was not one of them.

You blinked owlishly, taken aback.

“Good afternoon, Professor.”

His lip curled, sour, and you fought the intense and suicidal urge to ask him just who’d pissed in his cornflakes that morning because damn. You hadn’t even done anything. That you could remember. Maybe. And besides, if either of you had any right to be acting all bitter and pissy it was you. Not Mister ‘I Have No Intention of Playing Parent to Anyone.’ The memory had your eyes stinging and your blood boiling all over again. When neither of the men deigned to greet you, you cleared you throat irritably and crossed your arms.

“Can I help you with something, Professor? Headmaster?”

“It has come to our attention that you’ve been sneaking off campus in the evenings,” Professor Crewel declared, with all the civility of an off-grid hermit. “Which I’m certain that you are fully aware is against school policy.”

Crowley just nodded, stiff lipped and robotic, and his silence immediately had you suspicious.

“Well?” Crewel snipped. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You took a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Then another.

You smiled, icy. “Then I’m sure this is just another infraction to add to my file. Which I’m very sure totally exists. Right, Headmaster?”

Crewel’s dark glower swiveled in Crowley’s direction, and you watched the Old Crow audibly gulp.

“Because of course, you keep proper records on all your students here,” you continued, happy to push your luck. “Especially the ones in special circumstances, and whose documentation is therefore not automatically forwarded to you by their previous schools. Right, Headmaster?”

You’d never seen a more apt demonstration of the expression ‘sweating bullets.’ It was intensely satisfying. Professor Crewel looked like he was heavily debating turning Crowley into a feather boa. After a too-long moment where you were pretty sure you were about to witness a murder, the two-toned professor sighed and turned back to you with a stiff sneer.

“It’s not safe,” he said, and you gaped at him.

“What?”

“It’s not safe,” he repeated, practically grinding his teeth. “What were you even thinking? Leaving Night Raven when you know full that you have no other connections in this entire world! Running off with a complete stranger on top of that.”

“Mister Rogerson isn’t a stranger!” you defended, resentment bubbling beneath your skin. How dare he? Now he cared? Now you weren’t just a leech, or a brat, or—or—No. It wasn’t fair. “And it’s not like I ran off into the woods or something! I’m at another school!”

Crowley slammed his clawed hands down onto his desk with a metallic BANG!

“AH-HAH! YOU ADMIT IT!” he howled. “YOU’VE BEEN GOING TO THE ROYAL SWORD ACADEMY BEHIND OUR BACKS!”

“I left you a note telling you that was exactly where I was!”

“YOU’VE BEEN CONSORTING WITH OUR ENEMY! AND AFTER I’VE WORKED SO HARD TO RAISE YOU AS MY OWN!” He wailed, inconsolable. “ARE YOU TRADING OFF MY GRIMOIRE TO AMBROSE, TOO? WOULD YOU STOP AT NOTHING TO SHATTER MY POOR HEART?!”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I wish I was!”

“Enough!” Crewel snarled, cracking his pointer across the desktop. “Both of you!”

“But he—!” you defended.

“Detention!” he barked.

“What?! That’s no fair!—”

“Detention!” he snapped again. “Three weeks!”

“Are you joking?! I didn’t even do anything!—”

“Four weeks,” he growled.

You pressed your lips shut, feeling your mouth wobble and your eyes warm with frustrated tears.

“Yes, sir,” you finally managed to grit out, and then turned without another word and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind you.

.

.

.

‘That may have been too much,’ Crowley had the gall to say to him, after Crewel had just watched the man have an entire meltdown in his desk chair and accuse you of outright subterfuge.

‘That may have been too much.’

The alchemist had watched, carefully stone faced, as your eyes had welled and you’d glared him down with a look that was a step or two past betrayed. Something tightened uncomfortably in his chest, and he refused to put a name to it. Naming things gave them power, allowed them to grow and spread. Like a tumor. This was all your own doing, and the subsequent punishment was clearly for your own good. So, what? He steps a bit too far and says something that’s perhaps just a bit too cold, and you go running off to—to Cliff Rogerson of all people? Pettiness is not an excuse for making poor, stupid, unsafe, decisions. And he would have certainly responded to any other student in exactly the same fashion.

‘That may have been too much.’

Crewel grit his teeth and fought the urge to run his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally he could use Badun as a stress ball, but he’d stopped bringing the dogs to campus when you’d continued to refuse to show up to his office. It had stressed them terribly, and it was unfair to force them to sit through the same, dull, solitude that he had to endure just on the off chance that you may change your mind and come wandering in. Jasper hardly acknowledged him at all anymore—only grumbled at him miserably when he returned in the evenings before curling up by the fireplace for the rest of the night.   

‘That may have been too much.’

It… It really, probably, was. And he really should… apologize, shouldn’t he?

Divus Crewel could deny it all he liked, but he knew well and good that he wouldn’t have treated your classmates in such a manner. That unnamed twinge behind his ribs may have influenced his reaction a bit more than it should have, especially when he himself had so clearly relegated your place in his life to ‘by professional association only.’

So he forced himself to straighten his fur coat and start the trek to Ramshackle. It was a grueling walk, with broken pathways and rivers of mud. No wonder you were always running late to things. Perhaps he should bring this up to Crowley, and—

A familiar face stopped him in his tracks, and a wave of red-hot irritation worked its way through his veins as efficiently and viciously as one of the poisons he was so keen to brew.

“Oh,” Cliff Rogerson blinked back at him, “Divus! Good to see you.” It was not. It didn’t sound like Cliff thought it was either.“No need to call campus security or anything. I’m just here to pick up the Prefect for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Crewel repeated. It sounded bitter in his mouth.

“Annie’s making lasagna,” Cliff stage-whispered, like a secret.

“Can we get going?” you called and Crewel startled, noticing you off to the side for the first time. You looked so… small, for some reason. Hunched, maybe. Just, not your usual larger-than-life self—the Otherworldly Hero who showed up swinging to every fight, always armed to the teeth and ready to duel any monster, every horror. It made something in his gut twist unpleasantly. “I’m starving.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Cliff laughed and tossed an arm across your shoulders.

“How lovely,” Crewel interrupted, trying and failing to force the steel from his voice, “But I think that maybe you should reexamine your professional priorities. That hardly seems appropriate.”

“Oh, come now,” Cliff smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “It’s only dinner. And besides,” he chuckled, and gave your arm a fond squeeze, “Annie and I have always wanted kids.”

‘I have no intention of playing parent to anyone.’

A deep, cold, sort of dread rattled through Divus Crewel’s bones and settled all the way in the pit of his stomach. It was similar to the sensation that had been slowly clawing its way through him these past few weeks—the very same unpleasantness that he had refused to name.

‘You know,’ Crowley’s grating voice swam through his head once more. ‘That really may have been too much.’

.

.

[lady-phasma]

After the storm

Aemond Targaryen x gn!reader

Warnings: all ages, hurt/comfort

Summary: what transpired after Aemond's return to King's Landing? playing a little fast and loose with dragonflight times so let's just pretend it was raining the whole way back, okay? 900 words

Your throat tightened the moment you walked into the room. You had come to him as soon as you saw Vhagar circle the city. You had been anticipating his return, anxious about his errand. There was a chance he would come back betrothed to a Baratheon but you couldn’t care about that now. You saw his wet hair plastered to his head, his eye patch dangling from his hands, his shoulders slumped as he rested his arms on his legs. He didn’t turn toward you when you approached. He had heard the door open and close, you saw his violet eye flick toward you. But the only other movement was the sway of the leather strap between his legs.

“Did it go so poorly?” You walked slowly toward him, conscious that you didn’t want him to perceive your anxiety. He didn’t answer, he only dropped his head. You lowered yourself onto your heels next to him so you were eye level with him. His eye was closed. You caustiously laid your hand on his knee and stayed silent. His face wore a curious expression of pain and confusion.

“‘Poorly’?” Aemond breathed out something like a laugh, but when he looked at you nausea tore through your stomach. He had never looked at you like that. He noticed you flinch away from him and narrowed his eye. “What could you possibly know about it?”

“I..” you tried to reply but the words caught in your throat. He turned his gaze back to the floor and you let your hand slide off his leg. You stood and inhaled deeply, steadying your nerves.

“I couldn’t know anything about it, Aemond, if you don’t tell me,” you glared down at him. “So ‘poorly’ isn’t the word you wanted. What in the seven hells did happen?”

When he looked up at you your hands went cold and you felt a twinge of guilt at your harsh words. You had never seen him cry and you didn’t want to now. The pain written on his face made your chest ache. His violet eye flicked away from your face and you glaced at his sapphire, the skin around it was angry. You let out the breath you were holding. When you stepped in front of him he instictively rested his head against your stomach. You placed both of your hands on the back of his head and smoothed down his wet hair.

“Come,” you said as you slid your hands gently under his chin. You guided him to look up at you. “Come with me.”

You stepped back, took his eye patch from his hands, and dropped it on the table. You slid your hand into his and began to walk. He stood up, a defeated man, graceless and lumbering. Nothing like Aemond at all. You kept your face neutral and calm.

He followed you to the bed, but he wasn’t with you, he was far away. His gaze was on the floor when his eye was open at all. You stopped, turning to him. You reached up and unfastened the leather tie in his hair. You smoothed wet strands back from his face. You gently passed your thumb over his cheek. He glanced at you but it was fleeting.

You began to unlace his tunic and slide it from his shoulders. Aemond didn’t resist. He let himself be guided by you. So you proceeded to remove his wet garments and boots with very little help from him. This was so utterly peculiar that you moved as if this were a task that you had to do correctly and efficiently. You didn’t speak, only focused on each article of clothing. Your hands shook at first but then the cold of his wet clothes made them almost numb. He wasn’t shivering. He was long past that.

You left him for a moment to fetch some towels from the armoire. You gestured for him to remove his pants and you held the towel so that you could immediately wrap it around his waist. He stepped out of the sodden pile of fabric as you tied the towel around his waist. Aemond muttered something and you looked at him for clarification. Your brows knit together in confusion.

“Thank you,” he said, barely audible.

You give him a kind smile in return before he looked away again. You pressed gently on his shoulders so he would sit on the edge of the bed. Slowly and carefully, you dried his face, his neck and shoulders. You watched those same shoulders shake slightly as you pulled the towel away. He would tell you soon enough, but whatever had transpired was worse than you could imagine.

As you dried his hair he rested his forhead against you. It seemed to take a long time to dry, but when you were finally satisfied you dropped the towel to the floor onto the pile of clothes. You raised his face to yours again, this time his eye was pleading, searching your face. You kissed his forehead and smoothed your hands down his jaw. You let go and moved around him to climb onto the bed. You stacked the pillows and reclined against them. You didn’t have to instruct him. Without hesitation he laid his head in your lap and curled his knees to his chest. You let your fingers trace lightly over his head, his shoulder, his arm. Then he spoke.

“I didn’t mean for her to do it.”

Masterlist Aemond masterlist

[outsidersheadcanons]

hiii! do you have any hcs for the gang skating (either ice skating or roller blading)? i think they'd have a blast

Sure!!

A new roller rink is opened in the east side of town and it becomes a pretty popular hangout spot for the greasers. Before there was only the one uptown, but no one really went there that often because it was a soc hangout (and tbh most of the gang's probably been kicked out). So the gang was OVER THE MOON when they saw it being built :)

So Johnny and Ponyboy skated for the very first time on the opening day and they were so confused (Johnny almost fell facedown on the carpet putting them ON). Darry offered to get them those walker things, but Pony rejected them because they were "too babyish 😡" (fifteen minutes and countless bruises later he begrudgingly changed his mind lol). But they kept going and with the help of the older guys they got a lot better!

I think Ponyboy's fav part of roller skating is just. zoning out while he skates to the music <3 (and for Johnny it's the same. They can go for literally hours and just. NOT notice)

Also. Since Ponyboy's a hater he WILL push Johnny down. But he always regrets it tenfold because Johnny does NOT hold back (and it always ends in one of their famous fights 😭)

Two-bit and Dally are the best at it. Like scarily good (Two even has his own pair of roller blades with a shitty silhouette of Mickey Mouse painted on the side).

Two-bit actually scares the workers bc he can go so fast. he once entered a roller derby and came in first place (he ended up winning free food passes for like a year so. he couldn't have been happier)

Dally actually got kicked out of the other roller rink for pushing little kids over 💀

Soda LOVES the roller rink because a lot of cute girls hang out there. Him and Steve get super competitive, esp when it comes to trying to impress the girls by doing tricks

Steve tries really hard to impress Soda (bro just wants validation 😭) but unfortunately. Mr. Randle is graceless ☹️ but he does end up making Soda laugh so a win IS a win 🤷‍♂️ also Steve's favorite part abt the skating rink is the soft pretzels and cheese.

Darry's pretty good at skating too. He's the only member of the gang who's gone ice skating (his parents had him in an ice skating program for a while as a kid, and he has some friends who invite him to the rink sometimes) but he can do some pretty cool jumps and stuff. If he had more time he'd probably like being in roller derbies

[fanfictionalraven]

Dream Warriors Chapter 9

Title: Dream Warriors Chapter 9

Summary: A plan is devised and set in motion to bring the reader back.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, other original characters

Word Count: 3,170

Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril

Author’s Note: The penultimate chapter!!

Read Chapter 8 here.

Dean leads Rowena up to Y/N’s room. He stops at the door and looks at her. The others weren’t going to be on board with this at all. He sighs and holds a hand up for her before going in by himself. Sam looks up and smiles at him, sadly. 

“Hey. You made your decision?” He asks. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I want to try one more thing and if it doesn’t work then…” He trails off, unable to actually say it. 

“Try what?” Cas asks. Dean sighs and reaches back, pulling the door open. Rowena smiles as she steps into the room. 

“Hello, Boys,” she says. Sam shakes his head quickly. 

“No. Hell no,” he says. Dean runs his hands over his face and looks back at his brother, pleading. 

“Let’s just see what she knows. Hear her out. She says she owes Y/N and that’s why she’s here,” he tells him. Sam watches as Rowena walks over to your body and examines it. Dean looks over and frowns. “Don’t touch her.” Rowena rolls her eyes before walking over to the book on the table. 

“What happened?” She asks, picking it up and opening it. Sam looks at Dean before sighing and looking at her. 

“We were on a case. A witch. She put some spell on Y/N and disappeared,” he says. Rowena nods slightly. 

“Did you hear the spell?” She asks. Dean shakes his head. 

“No. There was too much happening,” he tells her. She nods as she flips through the pages casually. 

“Did the witch disappear or run away?” 

“Pretty sure she disappeared,” Dean says. Rowena closes the book and holds it close to her chest. 

“Has she been inexplicably injured?” She asks. Dean looks at her and nods, crossing his arms. 

“Yea. She got a burn randomly and then…a lot worse,” he says. She smiles and nods. 

“Somnium clipeum. It’s the Dream Shield,” she says.  

“Dream Shield?” He asks. She nods, setting the book back on the table. 

“It’s very complicated but a perfect escape route,” she says. The others wait expectantly as she walks back over to you. “The victim falls into a very deep sleep and the caster takes refuge in their subconscious.” The three men all stare at her. 

“You’re saying the witch is actually…inside Y/N?” Sam asks. Rowena nods once. 

“That’s impossible,” Cas says. The witch snorts a laugh. 

“Says the graceless angel,” she says. Dean shakes his head quickly. 

“How does this work?” He asks. “What’s happening in her head?” 

“Whatever the witch wants. If she’s smart, she’s just hiding in some fantasy world created to keep Y/N asleep,” she explains. “However, since she’s been injured, I’d guess she’s toying with her instead.” 

“What’s the point though? What happens if Y/N dies?” Sam asks. Rowena shrugs her shoulder. 

“Your witch can take control,” she says. Dean frowns quickly. 

“She’s trying to take Y/N’s body?” He asks. Rowena nods and Dean runs his hands over his face. “What can we do?” 

“Nothing. There’s no reversal spell. No true love’s kiss,” she teases, earning a glare from Dean. “Y/N has to kill the witch in order to regain control,” Dean frowns and looks over at your body. 

“Y/N’s smart. She’ll figure it out,” Sam says. Dean shakes his head. 

“So, we just sit and wait?” He asks. Sam frowns and Rowena glances between them. 

“Smart as Y/N is, the witch gains more control every minute she’s there. Killing her will be incredibly difficult,” she tells them. 

“Is there anything we can do? Anything at all to help her?” Dean asks. Rowena walks over to the window as she thinks. 

“There may something but it’s incredibly risky,” she says. 

“What?” Dean questions. 

“I could try to send her a message,” she tells him. Dean nods and looks at Sam who shrugs. 

“A message how?” The younger brother asks. She turns back to look at them. 

“I change the spell a little and I can send someone else in,” she says. Dean nods. 

“I’ll do it,” he says. Sam sighs and glances at him. 

“What’s the catch? The risk?” He asks. 

“If Y/N dies, Dean will be lost as well. If Dean dies in the dream, he dies in real life,” she says. Dean shrugs his shoulders. 

“I’ll do it,” he says again. Sam shakes his head and turns to his older brother, but Dean cuts him off before he can speak. “You aren’t talking me out of this. I can’t lose her, Sam. I can’t. She’s…everything.” His voice breaks and Sam sighs. He knew how important you were to Dean. He’d known long before Dean did. 

“What do we do?” He asks, looking back at Rowena. 

“I’ll need to gather ingredients and I won’t be able to do it here,” she says. Dean frowns and looks over at your body. 

“How do we get her out of here?” He asks. 

“I can help with that,” Arnold says, raising his hand in his seat. They all look over, having forgotten he was even in the room. Dean smiles a little and nods. 

“Alright. Arnold and I will get her to the bunker. You three go get the stuff for the spell,” he says, looking at Sam. 

Rowena gets a list of ingredients together. Sam splits it between himself and Cas before the three leave to get everything. Dean looks over at Arnold. 

“What’s the plan?” He asks. Arnold stands and straightens out his tie.

“Let me do the talking. You sit there and look heartbroken for your dying wife,” he tells him. Dean nods and falls into the seat next to your bed. Arnold presses the call button and a nurse answers over the speaker. He asks to speak with the doctor. A few minutes later, the doctor comes into the room. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks Dean, glancing at Arnold. He nods slightly and Arnold clears his throat, pulling a business card from his suit pocket. 

“Good evening, Doctor. My name is Arnold Freidman, attorney,” he says, handing her his card. She takes it and looks at it before looking back at him. “I represent the Winchesters.” 

“Okay,” she says, nodding. 

“Mrs. Winchester doesn’t have long left, correct?” He asks. The doctor frowns and nods. 

“Off the ventilator, she’d probably only have two maybe three hours,” she tells him. Arnold nods and sticks his hands in his pockets. 

“Mr. Winchester has made a decision. He’d like to take his wife home so she can be comfortable and surrounded by family,” he tells her. She looks down at Dean to find he’s grasping your hand in his.  

“Very well. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more to help,” she apologizes. Dean nods slightly and she looks back at Arnold.  

“The family has gone on to get things ready and make sure everyone has a chance to get there to say goodbye. We’ll need a few hours,” he says. She nods and leaves the room. Dean lets out a breath and looks at Arnold.  

“That was easy,” he says. Arnold smiles a little and moves back to his seat. “Now we just wait for the word that they’re ready.” 

The two stay at the hospital and Dean finishes up your paperwork with Arnold’s help. Sam eventually calls Dean and tells him they have all the ingredients and Rowena has begun to work. Arnold informs the doctor that they’re ready and she releases your body to them. Dean lays you in the back seat much to the doctor’s dismay and thanks Arnold for all his help.  

Dean drives back as fast as he can, constantly glancing back at you in the back seat to make sure you’re still breathing. As he approaches the bunker, you begin to thrash around once again. He looks back to find your side is bleeding. 

“Dammit,” he roars, punching the gas a little harder. He whips the car into the garage and jumps out as Sam comes in. “Something happened,” he calls to his brother. Sam runs back out the door as Dean pulls you from the backseat. He carries you all the way to your bedroom where the others are waiting before laying you on the bed. Ripping your shirt open, they all stare in horror at the wound in your side. 

“That’s a gunshot wound,” Sam says. Dean rolls your shirt up and presses it against the wound as Cas rushes from the room. He comes back a minute later with some supplies, alcohol, a needle, and thread. 

“We don’t have much time,” Rowena points out. Dean frowns and looks at Sam then back at the witch. 

“Can he stitch her up while you do the spell? Will that work?” He asks. Rowena nods and Cas takes Dean’s place, pressing against the wound. “What do I need to do?” 

“Drink this,” she tells him, holding up a glass. It’s filled with a thick, dark substance almost resembling cough syrup. Dean takes it and downs it quickly, no hesitation. “Lie down and close your eyes,” she instructs. Dean glances over at Sam who has just begun to clean your wound. He lies down next to you on the bed and takes your hand in his. 

“Be careful,” Sam tells him, looking up from his work. Dean nods once before closing his eyes. Rowena holds her hands above his body as she begins to chant in Latin. Cas watches her as Sam works, stitching up your side. She drops her hands then sits in a nearby chair. 

“Did it work?” Sam asks, rising to his feet as he wipes his hands off on a towel. She looks at him, insulted. 

“Of course it worked,” she says. Sam nods and looks at the bodies of two of the people who mean the most to him. 

“What do we do now?” He asks. 

“We wait,” she tells him. He frowns and shakes his head. 

“I need a drink,” he mumbles before leaving the bedroom. 

***

Dean opens his eyes and sits up, looking around. He’s on the ground outside a bar that seems vaguely familiar. He rises to his feet and brushes himself off before pushing the door open. Music greets him instantly, your favorite song blaring from the jukebox. He looks around and only spots you sitting at the bar, a bottle of whiskey and a glass sat in front of you. You look over and frown. 

“Great,” you mumble, looking back at your glass. You down it quickly and stand up. “So, who are you supposed to be this time?” 

“What?” Dean asks. You shrug your shoulders and cross your arms. 

“Best friend? Husband? Boyfriend? High school sweetheart who went away to the war?” You ask, mostly to yourself. Dean stares at you and shakes his head. 

“It’s me, Y/N. You’re under a…” 

“A spell. I know,” you tell him. He nods and starts to walk over. 

“Okay. You remember the spell and the witch?” He asks. You roll your eyes and turn back to the bar. 

“I don’t like this one. Can we hit fast forward?” You ask no one in particular. Dean reaches you and puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N, I’m here. You’re dying out there. Rowena showed up, said she owes you for something. She sent me in to help,” he says. You turn on your barstool before downing another glass of whiskey. Looking him over, you start to laugh. 

“This is the most convincing one yet. Although, you’ve never shown up here before. She only puts me here when she’s resting so I’m always alone,” you say, reaching up and touching his cheek. He turns into your hand and puts his own over yours. 

“You have to believe me, Y/N. We’ve got to kill her or she’ll take over your body,” he tries to convince you. It almost works but you know it’s too good to be true. You shake your head and lean back against the bar behind you.  

“You know I’ve tried to kill her. It never works. She knows what I’m thinking before I do,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. The music on the jukebox stops and you sigh, looking over. “Last call.” 

“What?” Dean asks, glancing over at it. 

“She’s got a new one ready to go. The music only plays when, ugh…I’m on hold,” you laugh. Dean looks at you and frowns.  

“Y/N,” he says. You put a finger over his lips and look around.  

“You remember this place?” You ask. He looks around the bar and shakes his head slightly.  

“I recognize it but I can’t place it,” he says. Your arms wrap around his neck and he looks at you suddenly, taken aback at your affectionate gesture. 

“This is where we celebrated my first successful hunt,” you tell him. He looks back around and nods, remembering.  

“Right. We got so drunk that night,” he says. You laugh and nod before yawning.  

“Here it comes,” you mumble, slumping against his chest. He frowns as he looks down at you.  

“Y/N??” He calls trying to wake you up. The room grows dark and he feels your weight slip from his arms. “Y/N??” 

Light begins to grow around him slowly and he realize he’s in a different room now. He’s standing just inside the front door of a house. Footsteps approach from the top of the stairs in front of him and he frowns, peeking up. You come down towards him, a big smile on your face and a hand resting on your suddenly very pregnant belly.  

“You’re home early. Everything okay?” You ask stopping in front of him. He stares down at your stomach. “Dean? What’s wrong?” You ask, reaching up and touching his cheek. Dean meets your eyes now and you smile. “Babe, you okay?” You ask.  

“You’re pregnant,” he says, voice shaky. You laugh and nod.  

“Yea. Congrats, it’s yours,” you say before standing up and kissing him. His eyes widen quickly when your lips meet for the briefest of moments. “I’m gonna go start dinner.” He stares after you as you go into the kitchen before shaking his head.  

“This isn’t real. Calm down,” he tells himself before following you quickly. “Y/N, we need to talk.” You glance over at him as you start to chop some green peppers.  

“What is it?” You ask. He takes a deep breath. 

“This is gonna sound crazy but…this isn’t real. You’re under a spell. It’s got you in a coma, dreaming like this. It’s gonna kill you if we don’t act fast,” he says. You stare at him for a moment, shocked, hands starting to shake.  

“What?” You ask, your voice trembling. Dean walks over and takes the knife from your hands carefully.  

“You have to believe me. We have to go kill this witch or you’re gonna die,” he says. Your eyes fill with tears as you look up at him.  

“Are you…are you really here?” You asks. He nods quickly.  

“I am. Rowena cast another spell so I could help you,” he explains. The tears slip over as a sob breaks through your chest.  

“Oh my God,” You cry, throwing your arms around his neck. He sighs and wraps you up in a tight hug. 

“You believe me?” He asks, rubbing your back soothingly. You nod your head as your cry. 

“You’re either really here or this is more elaborate than her normal dreams,” you tell him, wiping at your eyes. He looks down at you and his eyes fall to your stomach again.  

“This is weird,” he says. You look at him then down and run a hand across the significant bump. 

“You’re telling me,” you say. “I usually play along with the dreams now. It’s the easiest way to get to her.” He nods and reaches a hand out, hesitating.  

“So this…this is supposed to…supposed to be mine?” He asks. You laugh lightly and nod, allowing him to touch your stomach. 

“Our little miracle baby apparently,” you tell him. He raises an eyebrow at you. “I have my own memories and the ones that she plants. Several miscarriages and years of fertility treatments led to this little guy. Any day now,” He nods, eyes still glued to his hand on your stomach. 

“How, ugh…how do we find her?” He asks.  

“She always makes herself known. She’s never not been in one of these. Bit of a drama queen,” you say. Dean nods slightly and you reach up, lifting his chin to meet his eyes. “You can stop panicking. This isn’t real.” 

“I’m not panicking,” he says. You smile and shake your head. 

“So, what’s been going on out there?” You ask him. He sighs and his hands come to rest on your waist. 

“We got you to the hospital and they didn’t have a clue. It got even weirder when you started getting hurt randomly. Whatever happens here, happens to you for real. A burn, broken ribs…just before I got here, you ended up with a gunshot wound or something,” he says. You frown and nod. 

“Yea, that was a weird one. Very…Bonnie and Clyde,” you tell him. He nods slightly. 

“We don’t have a lot of time. She’s draining your body. You were on a ventilator, but we had to get you back to the bunker for the spell. We have an hour, maybe,” he says. You frown and shake your head, as you think. 

“I don’t know what to do, Dean. I’ve tried to kill her, I have. But she…” 

“Knows what you’re thinking before you do. Right,” he says, nodding. You sigh and runs your hands over your face. 

“Okay. Best way to find her is to play her game. So, we just…go about our business,” you tell him, taking a step back. “Dinner.” You turn back to your cutting board and pick the knife up before a pain shoots through your side causing you to scream out. Dean rushes to your side and wraps an arm around your waist. 

“What is it??” He asks. You shake your head, cradling your stomach. 

“Something’s wrong,” you say, dropping to your knees. Dean goes down with you, holding you close. 

“I’ll say so,” another voice says from the other side of the room. You both look up to find the witch standing in the entrance to the kitchen. “You aren’t the Dean I created.”  You scream out again and grab at your stomach. 

“Stop this!!” Dean tells her. The witch smirks and crosses her arms. 

“It’s only a matter of time now,” she says. 

***

Rowena’s sitting in the chair still, the spell book open in her lap. Sam and Cas are both standing in the room, waiting.

“This book,” Rowena starts, flipping pages delicately. “It’s…ancient.”

Your body begins to thrash in the bed and they exchange looks before rushing to your side. Cas tries to hold you steady as Sam checks your pulse. 

“She’s fading fast,” he says, frowning up at Cas. 

Read Chapter 10 here.

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