#This is not very sympathetic of me but I am so! tired! Of seeing people be blatantly suicidal over this

[bloodied-dagger]

not to be agro but like. Do not fucking kill yourself over that orange man. Over politics. Over this

I don’t care who you are or where you live. Nothing is worth dying over and this certainly isn’t either

[hotvintagepoll]

Peter Lorre (The Maltese Falcon, Arsenic and Old Lace, Casablanca)—to me he DEFINES scrungle hes the first person i think of every time the term comes up! i want to fold him up like a paper accordion and put him in my pocket. guy that spawned a million voice artists and impersonators. they made a ghost version of him for halloween cereal staple boo berry. bewitched by his nervous mania and tooth gap <3 (for the purposes of propaganda im linking a photo from his extremely short appearance in muscle beach party bc ive been obsessed w it for years and i couldnt find any video for it :/ anyway imagine youre frankie avalon spending the whole movie battling a bodybuilder faction thats taking over your beach and your girl and then you find out this fucking guy is their mastermind mystery leader and hes stronger than all the bodybuilders combined. like Huh. What.)

Tony Randall (Lover Come Back, Pillow Talk)—he's SO TIRED he's three-wheeling ALL THE TIME on rock and doris's shenanigans and he is always SMALL. PATHETIC. INHERENTLY FILLED WITH ENNUI. i feel like all these 60s comedies are very Straight Laced and Heterosexual and yet somehow tony randall is always there having the worst day ever.

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Peter Lorre

he's pretty much the archetype of the scrungly little guy. the blueprint. the example by which all other scrungly little guys are judged

The perfect sniveling character actor, “scrungly” is the first word that comes to mind when I think of him.

The entire point of his iconic role in Casablanca (apart from introducing the central plot mcguffin) was to be LITTLE and SCRUNGLY to make Bogie look even cooler. And Maggot in Corpse Bride - the littlest scrungliest guy in that film - was a parody of him.

I think Arsenic and Old Lace is his quintessential "scrungly" performance. He's so put-upon and tired...all he wants is sleep and some schnapps! I love the way his shoulders fall slowly when he thinks he's caught (he looks like a sad puppy!), only to gleefully sprint out the door when he realizes how dumb those police officers are.

Between his big eyes, wheezy laugh, short stature, and expressive faces, Peter Lorre achieved icon status as the scrungliest, littlest guy in Hollywood. His scrungly little guy energy was often contrasted with the more typical masculinity of the leading man, but whether this contrast was meant to make him seem especially sinister, comedic, or pathetic, it always left an unforgettable impression!

I'm sure somebody else has already submitted him (if not then ???) but he's a cute kind of scrungly little guy. He's got a distinctive nasal voice with an accent that is instantly recognizable and often imitated. His later horror movies are so much fun, especially when he's playing off of Vincent Price. He's so good at being unhinged, creepy, or manic, but also pathetic and sympathetic.

Classic scrungly hollywood golden age little guy who was friends with Humphrey Bogart and still played some of the wettest most sniveling characters ever committed to celluloid (complimentary) there is a deep despair and darkness in many of his characters that enhances his scrungly

To be clear, I am one of those people who will argue that Lorre is one of the most underrated film actors, but the POINT is that he's also just a scrungly delight. A delightfully pocket-sized man. Somehow endearing even when he is being actively amoral (see esp. Casablanca. "I found myself much more reasonable!") The faces he makes while doing the Russian cossack dance with a butter knife between his teeth in Silk Stockings make me laugh just thinking about them.

Wikipedia described his typical characters as "timidly devious", lots of weird little villains and evil sidekicks that are pretty horrifying but still manage to be sort of pathetic and the very definition of "poor little meow meow". His look and voice and mannerisms are so iconic they're still imitated

Cartoons for the next century have and will continue to include Peter Lorre-esque characters when needed to up the scrunge factor (see Bugs Bunny and so many more).

[editor's note on below link: I'm not actually sure how many of these characters are directly influenced by Peter Lorre, so take with a grain of salt. tw for suicide.]

The poster boy for Scrungly. Everyone who wants to draw a scrungly guy draws Peter Lorre. Gomez Addams of The Addams Family was based on him

Tony Randall

"you had everything going for you! poverty!! squalor!!!!" "girls again!!! what's this obSESSion you have with giRLS???"

[heavenlyvision]

hi lovely !! idk if your requests are open or not (if not feel free to just ignore this🤍)

okay so !! bi-han x fem!reader (or gn!)

maybe bi-han and the reader do not like each other (LIKE at all) and are always bickering/making snarky remarks at each other but maybe the reader sees bi-han hurt and turns soft on him, cleaning his wounds ect while also still making sarcastic and snarky remarks at each other? (maybe smut but if not that’s okay as well 🫶🏻)

My requests are open! And I am very happy to receive requests or any messages in general! I love your idea, I just hope I did it justice <33

Bickering

Wc: 3.7k

Pairing: Bi-Han x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, grinding, dirty talk, mentions of injury, I think that’s it!

The man makes you mad, Bi-Han that is, you can never seem to get along with him long enough. You try and create openings to better your relationship with him, but they always seem to fall flat, and you both end up at each other’s throats. Living at the temple and helping Liu Kang as an advisor of sorts, unfortunately, means you are regularly exposed to Bi-Han and his less than stellar moods. The man is unbearable, and you’ve tried so hard to tolerate him for Liu Kang, but he could put in some effort to respect you. Dear God, the man has the manners of a, well… there is no comparison, he is mannerless and rude.

Some people might disagree with you, but that just means they haven’t actually spoken to him before. Even his own brother Kuai Liang gives you sympathetic looks when Bi-Han starts having a go at you for things, that frankly, you were not even involved in. Today is no different, Liu Kang, Kuai Liang, Tomas, Bi-Han, and yourself are currently in the war room. Considering your next moves regarding a small group of ‘rebels’, they’re just some people throwing a fit and attacking the Lin Kuei. The whole thing is more annoying than it is daunting, Liu Kang has offered support, which means that you have offered support.

Bi-Han rolls his eyes dramatically, “Terrible, your plan is… terrible.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose in response, you’re getting tired of this. This is like the sixth plan he’s shot down; it is the first plan he has called terrible though. Probably because it was your plan.

“Maybe you should think up your own plan then, instead of shooting down all of ours.” You’re sharp with him, usually you wouldn’t snap back so quickly but today you’re tired, hungry, and sick to death of his entitlement.

“I thought you were here to be helpful; I would not have asked if I had known how bad your plan would be.” He doesn’t even look your way as he insults you.

You can’t help the massive eye roll he invokes from deep within you.

He grunts in your direction, “don’t roll your eyes at me, think of something useful and I will be pleased.” Then, because he can’t help himself, he adds, “Surprised, but pleased.”

A large groan is pulled out of you in response, “ahhhhhh! oh my god, stop being such a dick and make a plan, and then leave, preferably for ever.”

“I think, you would miss me.” where he got that idea, you have no idea, probably the same place he got that massive ego he drags around with him.

You make a gagging noise, “I am sorry, but you’re fully deluded by your own ego.”

He side eyes you with a knowing glance, what he thinks he knows, you aren’t sure, like you said, the man is deluded.

“Mhm, why don’t you become useful and think of a worthwhile idea, that or go make some tea.” He’s amused, you can tell in his tone, he finds himself hilarious.

“Why don’t you turn in for the day? I think you might be sundowning in your old age.”

“I am not that much older than you!” He’s turned to you fully, getting closer to you. You touched a sore spot, you guess.

“If we’re lying to each other, then sure.” You shrug your shoulders at him.

You’re both engaged in an intense stare down, both pissy with each other, it always ends this way. Both so annoyed with each other you end up glaring and hoping for the other to walk away. Usually, because you’re the bigger person, you will walk away but not this time, you’re standing your ground.

Your idea was good, and he knows it, he’s just pissed he didn’t think of it first. The group is small and they’re camping not far from the Lin Kuei’s base, the only trouble is getting to them before they can realise and either, kill themselves, taking anything they know about their orders and plans with them, or kill the suspected hostages they have. The situation is an upsetting one to be sure but it’s not a particularly difficult mission.

They’re only being so cautious because this group is being especially bold, but they’re stupid. They were spotted days ago, the only thing they have going for them is their audacity. The answer, to you, anyways is obvious, but you’re also not particularly emotionally invested. In fact, right now you’re bored and still hungry.

Liu Kang breaks the stare down up, ever the mediator, “Okay, I think that’s enough from both of you.”

A hand on your shoulder has you turning your head to the side and seeing Kuai Liang standing beside you, “I’m sorry about him.” He nods his head to Bi-Han.

“Do not apologise on behalf of me, I am not sorry,” He huffs out at his brother.

Ignoring Bi-Han you reply directly to Kuai Liang, “I am used to it.” You pat his hand on your shoulder in assurance.

You turn towards Liu Kang, “I trust I am not needed here any further?”

“No, you may go, thank you for your input.” He replies, his eyes also sympathetic.

Walking away you give a thumbs up to the group and when you lock eyes with Bi-Han you stick your tongue out at him, scrunching your face up in his direction, he raises an eyebrow at you in response.

As you continue towards the door you pass Tomas on your way out and he looks at you like you’re a kicked puppy. You give him a pat on the chest and smile on the way out. Bi-Han’s brothers are two of your favourite people so your disdain for Bi-Han himself is kind of hilarious to you, in a ‘the universe is one big joke’ kind of way.

❆˖°

You enjoy your time with Liu Kang, but you aren’t really an advisor; you think it’s more of a glorified assistant kind of a role, but you love it all the same. And though he doesn’t look like it, Liu Kang loves to gossip, to a certain extent anyways. He is adamant that it is not gossip and is just him keeping you informed on topical events occurring within the temple and amongst the people that could be relevant to you, but that is literally what you call gossip.

But his penchant for keeping you informed is how you know Bi-Han didn’t use your plan but spent almost all-day agonising over what he should do next, he was indecisive but had decided he wasn’t using your idea. You get satisfaction from knowing it took him longer to think of a plan solely because he refused to use yours.

“Try not to look so happy about it when they get back, I am sure he does not need you being glib after a mission that could result in casualties.” Liu Kang tells you; he’s basically telling you to have some decorum.

“If it were anyone else, I would not be feeling this deep sense of glibness.” You add, “Plus I am not that big an asshole, I genuinely hope all goes well, I won’t even say anything when he gets back.”

You sincerely don’t plan on saying anything to him about his plan, you want it to all go well. But just knowing that he bent over backwards thinking of a ‘better’ plan made by himself is really vindicating for you, internally.

“It would be better if you both could get along, he will be here more frequently, after I gather my champions of Earth Realm.” He reminds you, it’s not the first time he has brought this up.

“I am aware, and I have really tried but he’s sooo grumpy and mean. You know how much of a delight I usually am! It is literally just him.” You’re whining at him a bit.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, he finds you amusing, “Maybe you two clash because of a different… underlying reason.”

“I don’t like what you’re implying.” You don’t really know what he is implying but you don’t like it, “we clash because he sucks and is rude.”

He chuckles a bit at your sulking, “Well, if things go well, they will be back this afternoon or evening.”

It’s been a few days since the meeting in the war room and the boys have been gone for two of them. The timeline checks out, assuming all goes well on their end.

You nod your head in reply to Liu Kang, “sooo, lunch?”

“Fine, but I am not making it this time,” is his reply.

“Ughhhhh, fine.” You wanted him to make it, “only if you make the tea.”

“Alright.” He’s shaking his head at you, but you take the small victory.

❆˖°

The evening air is nice, a cool breeze freely flowing as you walk through the temple. You couldn’t sleep, the guys didn’t come back in the afternoon or early evening like you originally suspected they would. And you’ll admit it, you are a little concerned, for all of them, unfortunately. You are aware of how skilled they are but you can’t help but stress a little bit, you’d feel uneasy if Liu Kang was gone and you know he is more than capable.

You pace past the front steps of the temple for what feels like the fiftieth time in the last hour, and then finally, you see them walk up the steps. You feel a sigh of relief come from you at seeing them.

“oh, thank god,” you whisper out.

All three of them walk up to you, both Tomas and Kuai Liang put their hands on either of your shoulders, giving you a small smile. You sag with your relief at seeing them, it feels a little dramatic, but they usually are on time, compulsively so.

“I’m glad you’re all alright.” You tell them.

Bi-Han grunts at you off to the side but you ignore him, “It all went well, but we’re probably going to turn in for the evening.” Tomas informs you.

Nodding your head at the pair of them, “All good, I just wanted to see you guys get back safely.”

Bi-Han has already walked away from the three of you, but he’s oddly not walking towards his quarters.

You’re brought back to the two men in front of you when Kuai Liang says, “The mission was successful, but it wasn’t… smooth, Bi-Han’s in a bad mood over it.”

“Maybe you could talk to him, cheer him up?” Tomas adds.

You make a face at that, “I don’t really think I would be the best person for that.”

Tomas smiles a little, “I don’t know, I think he likes you; I mean he actually talks to you.”

“Yeah, but he’s an ass when he does talk to me.” Is all you can reply with.

They both share a knowing look between the two of them, a secret brother communication happening right in front of you, rude.

Kuai Liang breaks the moment of silence, “We are going to turn in for the night but thank you for worrying, good night.”

“Alright, I’m just glad you came back safely, get some rest.” You smile politely at them, and they both walk off towards their chambers. The interaction was quick but you’re just grateful to see they’re okay.

You consider for a bit if you should follow after Bi-han, an internal argument occurring. Your relationship with him at best is strained, so you aren’t sure it should be you going to talk to him and offering comfort. Well, you suppose if you cannot offer comfort, you can at least give him something to focus his anger at.

Letting out a large sigh, you turn around and follow after where Bi-Han went, as you walk through the temple you realise, he went in the direction of the medical room. There are no doctors here or anything, but they have basic medical kits kept in that room.

The pace of your steps increase to get to the room quicker, if he got injured why wouldn’t he say anything, god he is such a stubborn, loud mouthed, egotistical –

Your internal ranting is cut short as you get to the room and see him sitting in one of the chairs shirtless. Using his mouth to hold a bit of suture, trying to thread the needle with one hand, while simultaneously trying to keep pressure on the wound in his side with his other.

“What do you want?” Venom in his voice that would hit harder if he wasn’t mumbling around a piece of string.

You sigh at him, “Let me help.” Tentatively, you move closer to him.

He grunts at you, “don’t need your help.”

“You’re being stupid, just lemme help stitch you up,” placing your hands in front of him, you’re waiting for him to give you the needle and suture.

He stares at you for a moment, sizing you up before yielding and placing them in your hands. You look around for an extra chair, pulling it in front of him. As you sit down you shuffle the chair close to him, your legs between his spread ones.

It occurs to you now; just how large he is compared to you. Pushing the thought to the side, you put the needle and suture on the small table beside you, and instead begin looking through the first aid kit for something to clean the site with. You find a bit of gauze and rubbing alcohol, it’ll do, you think.

You nod your head in the direction of his wound, signalling him to remove his hand. He does so and you warn him before you begin cleaning it, “this is gonna hurt, quite a bit.”

“Mhmm,” he has a scowl on his face.

“Was just trying to give you a warning.”

“I’ve been stabbed before, I know what to expect,” he’s being short with you.

You’re too tired for his attitude, and as much as he annoys you, you don’t like seeing him physically hurt.

He sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling of the gauze on his skin, but other than that, silence falls over the room as you begin cleaning the area, you’re trying to be as gentle as possible while also attempting to adequately clean it. The whole thing is a lot more intimate than what you’re used to.

Grabbing fresh gauze you place it over the stab wound, “hold this for a second.”

His large hand places itself over top of yours and it makes you feel warm, you pull your hand out gently and move back to the needle and bit of suture.

Your hands shake as you try to thread the string, Bi-Han’s eyes are watching you closely, “this is possibly the most abysmal attempt at threading a needle I have ever witnessed.”

You roll your eyes at him, “shut up, I’m trying to help you here, don’t bite the hand that feeds you and all…” You trail off, placing your hands down for a second before taking a deep breath.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

You shoot back quickly, “You were not doing any better than me,” attempting to thread it again is successful.

You shoot him a spiteful smirk in response to your success and he rolls his eyes in response. With how often he rolls them, you’re surprised his eyes aren’t at the back of his head.

Leaning forward again you ask him to remove his hand, and you begin carefully suturing at the wound. It isn’t serious, and it doesn’t take too many stitches to close up.

It’s all over fairly fast, and it’s helpful that Bi-Han has what seems to be an amazing pain tolerance as he sits stoically for you throughout the whole thing.

Grabbing another piece of gauze and some medical tape, you cover the stitches and look up at him. Both of your faces close to each other as he looks down to you at the same time, you take in a sharp breath, before leaning back and looking away from his eyes.

“All done, it wasn’t that bad but next time, you should just ask someone for help.” You tell him.

“Would’ve been fine.”

You turn back to look at him, gaze scrutinising, “in these situations, usually the person who received help would thank the provider of help.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he shrugs you off.

“Arghhhh, how am I meant to put up with you for, god knows how long, when you can’t even manage a single thank you after getting my help.” You stand up to walk away from him, exasperated with his audacity.

His hand reaches out and grabs your forearm, “thank you, I guess, I mean I would have done better.”

From this position you’re looking down on him, “you’re unbelievable.”

“What? I said thank you!” He looks annoyed but he doesn’t get to be annoyed because you’re annoyed.

“What do you mean ‘what’? you immediately undid the ‘thank you’ by telling me I did a bad job!”

“I did not say you did a bad job.” He states simply.

“I am going insane; you are driving me insane.” You’re shaking your head at him.

The hand on your forearm drags you down, face closer to his now, “you’re the one driving me insane.”

“How??? I have repeatedly tried to reach an olive branch out to you, and I just stitched you up! I can’t believe I worried about your well-being.”

“You worried about me?” He asks.

“I did,” you confirm.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just did. It’s not like I hate you, I don’t want you to die. I care if you live.”

You’re so annoyed at him, is it such a foreign concept to him? A person wanting him to be okay, uninjured.

His eyes are intense as he looks at you, faces so close now you can feel his breath against yours. You aren’t sure why you do it, it doesn’t even feel like it’s you who does it, but you move forward that extra inch and place you mouth on his. Kissing him.

He doesn’t react straight away, and you pull away, “I– I don’t know why I did that, I’m sorry.” You feel embarrassed.

You go to move away but you don’t get far, both of his hands come up and grab your face, pulling you into a passionate kiss. His lips take your breath away, his thumb pushes into the hinge of your jaw, pulling your mouth open. His tongue is invading your senses, making you dizzy.

He doesn’t pull back from you, instead he starts grabbing at you, pulling you into his lap. You’re sat on top of him now, thighs spread over his. The shiver that rolls over your body can’t be helped when your heat makes contact with his crotch.

As he continues kissing your breath away, with you sitting in his lap, you feel him moan into your mouth. You realise, you’ve absentmindedly started grinding down onto him. He pulls back from you, head dropping to your chest.

His hands grab at your hips, and he slowly starts to drag your clothed cunt against his covered length. A small gasp of pleasure leaves you as he presses you down harsher against himself.

“Mmm, you’re a needy fuckin mess,” he hums into your neck.

His words effect you in a way you aren’t proud of, “shuddup.” Is all you manage at him, nowhere near malicious enough for him to actually shut up.

“You gonna cum in your panties hmmm?” he asks you, teasing you cruelly. “Gonna cum in the lap of the man who drives you insane?”

You shake your head at him, telling him no. He chuckles at your disagreement, full of himself.

Both of your hands reach out and grab onto his shoulders for leverage, his hands on your hips still encouraging you to grind down onto his cock. Small suppressed moans and whimpers leaving your lips.

He bites your neck, and it has a gush of slick leaving your cunt, a gasp pulling from you.

“Bet you’re so fucken wet right now, leaving a wet patch on my pants. Messy little thing.” His dirty talk is making your face hot.

“Bi-Han, I – ngh – need you–”

He cuts you off, “–I know you do,” you groan at him, he knows that isn’t what you were going to say. You were going to tell him to shut up again.

One of his hands leaves your hips and reaches behind you, threading into your hair, pulling you back by it. He takes the opportunity to bite and suck marks into your neck, it has you squirming down onto him.

“mmm I can feel your cunt fluttering on me through your panties,” he noses at your neck, taking in the smell of your skin.

His words are so filthy, you’re going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment. You hate how much he’s getting you off.

The hand on your head trails back down your body, reaching its previous placement on your hip. Then both his hands reach around to your ass, he pulls your cheeks apart and it has your pussy spreading on him more.

The feeling overwhelming, you keep rutting down into him, so close to finishing.  You look down to his lap, you’ve left a large wet patch on his pants. His hard cock straining harshly against the material of his pants.

Your hole briefly catches on the head of his cock, so close to penetration and so far. He keels over at the feeling, a moan coming from him in response. The moan he let out spurring you on.

“Bet you’re so fucken close, aren’t yah? Go on, cum in your panties.” He lifts his hips slightly to grind up into you.

His words and actions have you cumming, moans coming from your mouth, you bite your lip to keep them quiet. You’re shaking in his lap from your orgasm, it’s the best one you’ve ever had, and he didn’t even fuck you. After shocks thrumming through you as you come down, your panties feel so wet.

He pulls your face back and plants a wet kiss on your mouth, “such a good girl, there’s your fucken thank you.”

❆˖°

A/N: Is it hot in here or is it just me? I would’ve liked to have made the smut longer, but I am running on little to no sleep lol. Either way I hope you enjoy the story and thank you again to anon for your request <33

[chaosheadspace]

Hello! I'm sorry you're sick, and I hope you feel better soon! For the kissing meme, I would like to request Dreamling 23, in relief.

Hi, thank you for sending in an ask!

I did a direct continuation of this. Apologies for everyone who was waiting for the follow up, I am still sick and having not a great time. Enjoy!

Hob wakes.

He wakes with a feeling of doom, with a hopelessness he can’t quite place in his disorientation. His eyelids are heavy, his limbs even heavier. His ear hurts. The surface on which he’s lying is very hard. His cheek is sticking to it as he heaves himself up, slowly, carefully, wiping a bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and, yes, a voice. Talking to him.

A bottle of water swims into his field of vision and he clumsily grabs it, drinks.

It comes back to him mid swallow, and he coughs. Dream, hit. Dream, injured. Mangled and bloody and weeping—

Hob takes a deep breath, trying to hold his own tears at bay and, inevitably, fails after not even a minute. He exhales, hard, and drinks the rest of his water, not even bothering to try and wipe at his eyes.

When the bottle is empty he blinks and forces himself to take in the person next to him. It’s a nurse, his hair cropped short, flashy sneakers. Sympathetic smile.

“Hey,” he says. “Better?”

Hob resists the urge to snap at him with some difficulty. Better? Hob doesn’t give a flying fuck how he feels himself. All that matters is Dream, that he is still here. That he doesn’t hurt.

“Is he—” Hob asks instead of ripping the nurse a new one. He needs to know, desperately.

“Your friend?” he asks. “In recovery. Got there like five minutes ago, that’s why I woke you up. Was a tough bit of surgery, I tell you.”

He's alive. Hob takes a deep breath, relief almost making his tired limbs shake. Alive.

“Where?” Hob asks, ignoring the nurse’s chatter, willing his numb legs to function. He needs to see him. Now. Anything else is secondary.

“Whoah, easy. He's still out. Might stay that way. We don't know.”

“You’re new, aren’t you,” Hob says, batting the nurse’s hand away who’s trying to help him get up. “Just— get me to him.” He really doesn't care for smalltalk right now, save for anything that gets him where he needs to be.

Every single inch of distance between him and Dream feels like a chasm, a fissure in the reality of how things need to be, the hands of fate tearing Dream away from him. And all Hob has to try and hold onto him are his painfully human fingers.

Dream looks very small in the chunky hospital bed, young but in a disturbing, sick way, a dried trail of blood still crusting the side of his face. He's pale, hollow, battered, bruised. But he's alive, and Hob is so thankful he feels like fainting.

It has taken him a long time to get used to the inevitable loss of the people closest to him, but he was never prepared for Dream to be one of them.

Hob takes Dream's unresponsive hand into both of his, kisses Dream’s knuckles, his fingers, limp, cold.

He sits at Dream's side, not feeling his own body, waiting, hoping. Still grateful that Dream's alive.

Dream doesn't wake up.

Hob sits there, the sun moving shadows about the room until he is removed by no less than two nurses and someone who he suspects is security staff. They strongly suggest that he go home.

Hob sits down again in the waiting area.

But after a few moments, the very unwelcome base necessities of human existence knock at his consciousness, life and living crashing into him again, however unwilling to experience them Hob is.

He hobbles to the bathroom to relieve himself, and discovers that he is not only very hungry, but smelly and a fair bit dirty, too. Defeated, Hob takes the bus home.

Dinner tastes like cardboard, despite his belly insisting on more. Hob doesn't even know where he got it. Did he cook? Did he get takeout? His mind seems like a blurred photograph to him, highlighting only Dream.

The shower hammers more tiredness into his muscles until Hob almost trips on his way out of the bathroom. He can't possibly sleep, will most likely spend all night worrying, but he lays himself down nonetheless. His chest constricts with another wave of tears but his eyes stay dry, and so he curls into his pillow, waiting for his breath to even.

The next thing he knows is the sun shining in his face, oblivious, traitorous. The restful night feels like a betrayal, and Hob's thoughts immediately try to make it up by kicking his worry into overdrive.

What if Dream had woken up, alone, afraid? Or worse, what if he—

Hob packs two bags, one for Dream—clothes, toothbrush, hairbrush, the whole works—and one for himself; snacks, music, books. Then he takes the bus again.

Dream hasn't woken up.

Hob pulls up a chair and sits down beside him, taking his hand. Then he gets out their current book and starts reading aloud.

Usually, it's the other way around, Dream reading to Hob before bed. Now, Hob continues for him. Hob reads until his voice is hoarse, and then he plays music. He stays until he is politely told to leave again.

This goes on for a week, then two. Dream continues to not wake up, and Hob stubbornly continues to be there, as he was meant to be, as he needs to be.

Most of Dream's bruises fade. He continues to breathe, and Hob hopes. There is only one way this can go, only one way this will end, and it will end with Dream opening his eyes. It has to.

Then, on the morning of the sixteenth day, Hob walks in on Dream sitting upright, held by the propped-up upper half of the bed, drinking a cup of water with shaking hands, assisted by a nurse.

The bag falls from Hob's shoulder onto the floor, and then he is kneeling on Dream's bed, straddling his thighs, accompanied by the surprised shout of the nurse.

There's a wet spot on Hob's jumper, soaking through his undershirt, the paper cup clattering to the floor.

Hob doesn't hear or feel any of it, except for Dream's face between his palms, the long fingers cradling him in turn, stroking weakly through his hair, the raspy whisper of his own name from a throat that hasn't spoken in over two weeks.

“Dream,” Hob sighs, kissing his brow, his nose, his chapped, dry lips. “Darling.”

There are no words in him, too many of his feelings trying to push to the surface at once. Dream's hands have wandered to his wrists, not pulling Hob's hands away but caressing his pulse, and Hob feels hot wetness in the corners of his eyes.

He pulls Dream close carefully, like he was made of paper, an origami creature that would fold and crinkle and tear in his embrace. Dream's chest trembles against his own with shuddering breaths and Hob realises that he's crying, so he holds Dream tighter, murmurs soothing words into his ear.

“It's alright,” he says, “I've missed you. I'm so glad you're still here.”

“I am sorry,” Dream warbles out, clinging to him far stronger than Hob thought someone could be after being unconscious and bedridden for so long, “so sorry.”

“Nothing of that,” Hob shushes him. “You're here. You woke up again. You're the most incredible person I know.”

After a while, Dream speaks again, muffled by Hob's shoulder.

“Hob…”

“Shush,” Hob says. “It's alright.”

“Hob. Legs.” Dream sounds insistent, fond.

Blushing, Hob scrambles to move off of him, flopping down at his side instead. He finds that the nurse has gone, giving them privacy, having left a bottle of water on the bedside table.

“Water?” Dream asks, his voice still more gravelly than usual.

“Of course.”

Hob takes a new paper cup from the stack on the table and helps Dream drink. In a few minutes there will be nurses and doctors again. But now, for a few precious moments, there's only Dream and him, thirst and thankfulness and raw humanity, beating hearts and breathing lungs and life.

On the balcony outside stands Dream's sister, smiling, watching through the window. She will not enter this room today. She had felt the urge to visit these past weeks, to linger. Only when it had faded completely did she come.

Her eyes meet Dream's over Hob's shoulder, and she smiles and nods at him. Then she gives in to the pull she feels from two rooms over, and departs.

Read the other kissy prompts here

[b33zlebubz]

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER TWO - an interrogation

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

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TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

"You've got the wrong person."

"I can assure you we don't."

"Then what the fuck did I do?"

Price sits back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring out the one-sided mirror that separates him from the interrogation taking place.  The room is dark save for the mirror, the laptop in front of him, and the red-yellow embers of his third cigar in the span of an hour.  He fidgets uselessly with it, rolling the paper between the fingers in his right hand while the other clutches a pair of dog tags.  The metal feels twice as cold in his palm as he listens to the two people in the room in front of him.

Laswell looks tired—typically perfect hair beginning to fall from her bun and the bags under her eyes deeper than usual.  He doesn’t doubt he looks the same, if not worse.  Despite the majority of the day dead and gone, the only thing they have to show for the amount of time spent in this room is a quickly filling tray of cigarette ashes and a messy desk of conflicting files, open laptops, and empty mugs of both tea and coffee.

"Nothing.  We just have some questions regarding your birth family."

You chuckle bitterly, your voice strained from the day's events even through the intercom.  "You had me kidnapped and nearly killed for a couple of questions?"  

Laswell's mouth opens and then snaps shut again. 

Price flips the dog tags through his fingers like the world’s most unlucky coin.

"This isn't an interrogation,"  she eventually responds.  "We’re trying to help you.”

“Then why am I in an interrogation room?”

He thinks its hard to find anything surprising, nowadays.  Price thought he saw pretty much everything there was to see already.  He’s traveled the world, faced every obstacle with bared teeth and clenched fists.  He’s seen death in all its forms, he’s seen someone come back from death—and yet, this was a new problem.  One he hadn’t encountered before.  A mission he, for once, didn’t know how to approach. 

He sighs, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees as he watches Laswell shuffle through papers.  This is usually what the chief specialized in—getting intel—but it appears even she's left flustered and clueless with how to handle the iron will of a shell-shocked teenager.

You’re sitting in a similar position as Price himself as you sit across from Laswell; a too-big S.A.S. sweater on your shoulders paired with sweatpants of a similar fit, your previous clothes ruined with blood.  Eyes downcast, hands clasped and shaking; Price can’t imagine the things running through your head.  He felt even worse that they didn’t have spare shoes, leaving you in your untied sneakers stained red-brown with the blood from earlier that day.  

You’re lost in thought.  You try to focus on what Laswell says, but her questions seem to go in one ear and then back out the other if you don't snap with a sarcastic comeback.  Laswell swallows heavily, much more used to this routine involving adults with war crime lists as long as the very building is tall.  She’s being gentle—well, as gentle as she can manage given your sharp tongue—but you haven’t given them any answers since you showed up.

You're scared.  You want answers.  Anyone in your situation would be the same.

So, after a few more minutes of talking and getting nowhere, Laswell stands.  She spares you one last, sympathetic look before crossing the room to the door—where she leaves the room in favor of the small office Price resides in.  A long breath leaves her as she stops at the table, lifting her arms and then letting them fall back to her sides in defeat.

“Nothing,”  she breathes.

Price nods.  He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales the smoke in a heavy sigh.

“Figures,”  he says, leaning over to snuff the embers out in the dish.  “Simon scared ‘em shitless.”

Laswell scoffs.  Shaking her head, she drops the file on the desk with a slap before sitting down herself—rubbing her tired face.  Her gaze falls to you sitting alone in the room, her brow furrowed tight.  In all his years of working with her, Price doubts he’s seen someone get under her skin like this in a long time.  

“We can’t wait for answers—not with the news spreading like this.”

He hums.  “You’re right.  We can’t.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”  She asks, genuinely.  “Because this isn’t working.  The kid's not talking until we tell them what's going on."

Price is silent for a moment.  None of the team had expected anyone else to catch wind of your location so quickly—nor had they expected such an organization like the Shadow Company to get involved.  What was supposed to be a silent search-and-rescue mission turned into something more of an ambush.  Something Price knows Graves will eventually seek repercussions for.

He feels his stomach twist from the thought, but he shakes it from his head.  Right now, proving to you that you weren’t in any danger was his priority.  The sooner you felt safe, the sooner you would answer questions—the sooner Price could formulate some semblance of a plan going forwards.

He pushes himself to his feet.  “Then we'll just have to give 'em what they want."

Laswell sighs, “John—”

“We owe the kid answers, Kate,”  He insists.  "We have for a long time.  Far too long."

“And if Graves or someone worse gets to them?  What happens then…when they give up intel?”  Laswell argues.   “We’ll just have to keep them until they’re ready to give up answers.  It’s the only way to make sure we don’t get compromised if shit hits the fan again.”

Price’s brow furrows.  He looks back out into the interrogation room for a moment, at how you stare down at the table wiping your bruised face on your sleeves.  Laswell is right, of course—she usually is.  If you gave up sensitive information to save your own skin after everything you’ve been through, nobody would blame you.  It could ruin everything, and it would be his fault, but that’s a risk he’s willing to take.  

He turns to Laswell again, his voice low as he steps closer. Palms flat on the desk, he leans down to her level.  “Then we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

Laswell just stares at him for a second, her gaze hard in calm resolve.  She seems to consider his preposition, carefully weighing the pros and cons as she searches Price’s gaze for any hint of self-doubt.  As usual, she finds none.

She sighs again, shakes her head, and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table.

"Fifteen minutes, Captain."  She says, resolute, as she lights a cigarette between her teeth.  "That's all you get."

Fifteen minutes.  He’s saved lives with less, but yet he still finds himself taking a nervous breath as he grasps the doorknob anyway.  Up until this point he hasn't officially met you.  In a perfect world, he probably never would have needed to.

He swallows the lump in his throat and opens the door.

Immediately, your eyes dart up to meet his.  Your expression is a tangled mess of things.  Fear, maybe.  Anger, definitely.  There’s sadness and anxiety in there, too, as Price meets your gaze for a moment before padding inside.  He makes a point to leave the door open behind him as he walks forwards, pulls the chair out, and sits down with his hands on the table.  Your legs are pulled up to your chest now; arms hugging your knees as you stare up at him—defensive.

Like you're a cornered animal ready to bite.  

You are, but that's besides the point.

He regards you for a moment, attempting to look past how you have your father’s eyes—bright and focussed and unrelenting underneath the deep, puffy bruise on your left eyelid.  The wound looks old, at least by a few hours, so he knows it wasn’t caused by any of his men.  Even the Shadows wouldn’t swoop so low as to hurt you without reason.

"Nice eye,"  is all he says.

Immediately, you look away, suddenly self-conscious as you wipe at the aching, bruised flesh.  It hurts, that’s for sure, but you do a good job at hiding it.

"The other guy looked worse,"  you lie.

"A soldier?"

"No…"  you clear your throat and shift, your shoulders easing just a little from exhaustion.  "No.  Some kid.  Long story.”

"Ah,"  he chuckles a little, as if you aren't sitting across from him with your hands still stained in some dead guy's blood.  "Somehow, I don't doubt that."

"Who are you?"

Hm.  The dreaded question.  For a second, Price debates how much he should tell you—and he knows Laswell is holding her breath hoping he'll hold his tongue, but you deserve answers.  It's the least he could do.

The dog tags feel like they were burning a hole in his pocket.

"Captain John Price.  British Special Air Service."  He answers through a sigh as he sits back in his chair.  "But you can just call me Price."

That furrow in your brow loosens just a little.  Slowly, you remove your arms from around yourself, letting your shoes hit the linoleum flooring.  Maybe you recognized his name somehow, or maybe you’re just relieved to be talked to like a human and not a cornered animal—but you’re more relaxed than you have been that whole day.

"And the woman?"  You press.

"A friend,"  Price answers honestly.  "She helped us find you.  You can trust her, too."

"And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

Price hesitates at that, glancing towards the one-sided mirror where he can feel Laswell watching.  Then, he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out the dogtags.  He tosses them over and they slide across the metal table before landing in your hands.  You turn the metal chips over in your palm, tracing the enamel with shaky hands.  When you look back up at Price, it's in disbelief.

They're your father's.

"To make a very long story short: over a year ago he had a mission,"  Price begins.  "Your old man was tasked with disarming a missile.  He succeeded, changed the code...and died before he could deliver it.  As of a month ago, it's been missing.”

It's a grossly summarized version of what happened over the course of the past year and a half, but Price figures he’ll spare you the details.  Details like how your father was tortured for months before he was finally killed while escaping.  Details like while he was stuck in enemy territory—you were all he would write about.  Your interests.  Your face.  Your words.

You're silent for a moment, squeezing the cold metal in your palms.  When you speak, it's quiet.

"That's a lie," you argue.  "Dad died when I was five. In Mexico."

Price nods.

“Maybe,” he says quietly.  “But, like his kid—he wouldn’t go down easy.”

You let out a breath, sitting back against the chair as you digest the information handed to you.  He watches dots string together in your mind as you mull over your whole life up until that very moment.  He knows what you’re thinking of already; not because he ever met the man personally, but because with the past few months he spent reading and rereading every letter, email, and assignment report—he feels like he did.  He knows you’re rethinking every letter your father sent you right up until his supposed “death" and every call promising his return soon.

He knows it’s a lot to take in, and that aching guilt in his chest rears its ugly head.  He wished he could do more—apologize on behalf of your father, reassure you things would be fine, take you back to your home…but, alas, all of those things were impossible.  So, instead, he’d answer whatever question you asked.

Because that was all he could do.

Almost a full minute passes before you speak again, quietly.  "And why, exactly, am I so important?"

"Because your father kept a journal,”  he answers promptly.  “In that journal, he said you knew the code.”

You laugh bitterly.  “It’s not like he was around to tell me—I don’t know shit.”

“I figured,”  he sighs, nodding.  “So, until we figure things out…you’re sticking with me and my men."

You bristle again, shoulders tensing.  "I never agreed to that."

"I never gave you the choice,"  John hardens his tone, not leaving any room for argument.  "It's what your father would've wanted.  Those were his last orders."

At that, you fall quiet; your face scrunched with frustrated anger and unshed tears as you look away to steel yourself.  John sighs and softens again.

"You’ll have a temporary room for the next few days.  Then, Friday; you, me, and my team are moving to a different base to plan and gather intel.  Everyone here answers to me, and if any of ‘em give you trouble—I’m never far away.”

He leans in close.

"I'm sorry, kid.  Really," he says, "but you can't go home."

Finally, you nod in understanding, your gaze falling to the table.  Lost in thought again, another long moment passes.  He watches as you look down at the dog tags before, hesitantly, lifting them up and over your neck.  They fall to rest at your chest as you clasp them before looking up at Price.  You won’t ask the question—won’t admit what you’re thinking—but he meets your gaze with calm resolve as he speaks again.

"You'll be safe here," he says. “Alright?”

You purse your lips, thinking.  John almost holds his breath, waiting for your response.  Conflicting emotions swim in your eyes as you squeeze the metal on your neck. 

He pretends not to notice the tears pricking your eyes as you swallow heavily and nod.

“Yeah…yes,”  you choke out.  “Not like I have anywhere to go, anyway."

After that, things go smoother.  There were supposed to be more tests—more questioning, interviewing, and other supposedly mandatory things that would get everyone nowhere.  Instead, Price decides to bypass all of it with Laswell’s permission.  The walk to your room is silent, and he assures you, again, that nothing will happen to you here.  He apologizes profusely, but he’s not sure you truly hear any of it—simply nodding and thanking him before the door is shut, and the halls are quiet.

Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, slipping his hat off to run his hand back through his hair.  There’s paperwork he has to do, a briefing to attend to, and he still has yet to touch base with Soap and Ghost about what exactly happened earlier that day.  Despite it all, though—he feels somehow lighter.  Months of tracking down your father’s only family coming to a close now that you were found and safe.  Or, maybe, it was just because the dog tags were weighing him down.

Nevertheless, he barely spares himself a moment to recollect before his hat is placed back on his head, his expression is hardened again, and he finds himself walking back down the hallway—already itching for another cigar.

It was going to be a long fucking week.

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai

[nightcolorz]

Have been actually shocked by the takes of Louis and Armand’s relationship dynamic that I have been seeing in which people act like Armand’s subservience is manipulative and evil.

As someone who was also a victim of grooming in my youth (though obvs not like Armand level of traumatic events bc good lord that boy cannot catch a break) I always found Armand to be a really compelling character, and I loved how they were handling the psychological impact of his abuse on his relationships within the show and they all felt very relatable to a degree. I was like mind blown by the way they handled how Louis and Armand’s pasts related to each others and thought it was super clever and it made me go “holy shit” in a way that a tv show hasn’t made me go in a long time. Though I can see where some of the takes are coming from, it has been really disheartening as a victim of grooming to see people dismiss Armand’s behavior when he’s with Louis as purely a form of manipulation on Armand’s part or a fun silly sex thing 😭😭😭

YES ANON FR!!! also very disheartening and genuinely offensive to me how some ppl talk about Armand and his trauma (also am a victim of grooming lol). I’ve talked about this before, but the way ppl r saying with their full chests that Armand is being manipulative in his trauma responses is like actually fucked up, and it’s low key triggering to me 😭. Just bcus armand manipulates ppl doesn’t mean he is *always* manipulating ppl omfg 💀💀 some nuance pls I beg of u.

to me it seems very clear that Armand falls into subservience and behaves as the victim bcus the abuse he experienced was the closest he ever felt to feeling like he understood what he was doing and understood what he was needed for. For a lot of victims of grooming their abuse can cause them to feel safe in those types of abusive dynamics bcus it’s familiar to them, which def seems to be how it is for Armand. Armand feels constantly lost and confused and by being a slave again he returns to a time where he knew what he was, when he had someone there to tell him what he was. And it comes off very clearly to me that Louis sees this in Armand when Armand tells him about his trauma and (as he’s also in a vulnerable position) realizes that he can use Armand’s pattern of submitting to servitude to his advantage. Which!!! That is objectively fucked up im sorry 😭 and I’m tired of being in a fandom where ppl r acting like just bcus Louis is a likeable sympathetic character and Armand does mistreat Louis also, that means Louis isn’t capable of mistreating Armand. Bcus it sounds like when ppl make those excuses that they r saying sexual exploitation like that is ok 😭. Just bcus Armand agrees to and participates in it doesn’t mean Louis isn’t knowingly exploiting the trauma of a vulnerable person 😭 and it doesn’t make it ok. Like we can find it fun and sexy, but the “face down in the coffin” scene was still borderline non con sensual 😭 yknow what I’m saying? You can like Louis as ur fav and discuss how Armand is shitty to him without acting like it’s ok for Louis to pretend to be Armand’s abuser as he orders him around like an animal so he’ll do what he wants. This is an incredibly complex dynamic with two very fucked up characters who hurt and abuse each other out of fear, and some of u can’t handle that nuance 😭.

and I understand not being able to grasp the nuance of Armand’s character, it took me like a year to fully wrap my head around him. He’s got a lot going on and it’s hard to understand why he behaves the way he does, especially if you haven’t experienced sexual trauma or grooming. But just like, y’all have to remember that it can come off as pretty shitty and bad faith to interpret a character like this as always being evil all the time. Ur reducing someone very complex and ur making some borderline offensive (also borderline racist but that’s a different rant) implications

thank u sm for the ask anon ur so right and I relate so hard to ur annoyances ❤️❤️

[waywardxwords]

Chapter 7 - We're Not in Kansas Anymore

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: Some angst, language, Supernatural-y things (demons, exorcism, etc.)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~3.3k

[1][2][3][4][5][6]

Moments after Meg hung up the phone, your front door swung open. He looked pissed, and a little bit concerned, as his eyes moved over you. 

“You alright?” He asked gruffly as his eyes swept down your body, subsequently looking for any injuries. You nodded, unable to speak out loud from the confusion and terror coursing through you. His eyes returned to yours with a look that read as sympathetic, like he was sorry. 

Before he could move again, Meg returned her hold on you with a nod of her head. Your feet left the ground once more, and you couldn’t stop the scream that came up from your belly as you were pressed against the wall again. 

“Dammit, Meg!” Dean cursed. He took a step towards you and Meg stopped him in his tracks. 

“Uh, uh, uh,” she wagged her finger. “Not another step, Dean.”

“You wanted to talk? Well, you got me,” he held his hands out wide, and to you it looked like he was trying to show her that he had no weapons or wasn’t trying to threaten her. It made you wonder what kind of weapon could stop Meg, or a demon, rather. It also made you worried for your friend who, you guessed, was trapped in there somewhere. But really, you had no idea. 

“Yeah, well, something tells me that if I let her go, this won’t just be a friendly chat anymore,” she rounded the corner a bit as Dean shifted in the living room. Her back was now to the kitchen, which led to your laundry room and back door. Your eyes noticed movement in the shadows of the laundry room. You would’ve screamed if Meg still didn’t have her hold on you. 

“What do you want, Meg?” You knew Dean had to see the man slowly inching his way into the kitchen, but he didn’t falter. He didn’t even allow his eyes to pass over the shadow. Instead, he continued talking to Meg. 

“Word on the street is that you and your idiot brother are trying to close the gates of Hell,” she shifted her body so she was completely facing Dean. “You’ve got a lot of people looking for you, ya know.”

“Ah, come on. I shouldn’t be that hard to find,” Dean quipped back. 

At that very moment, the shadow stepped fully into the light. He was a tall man, and based on Meg’s comment, you assumed he may have been Dean’s brother, Sam. In two quick, long strides he was just a few feet behind Meg. You noticed the gallon jug of what looked like water in his arms. In one quick movement, he doused Meg with the liquid and she screamed. She writhed against the water, and fog or smoke started to lift off of her skin. 

As soon as the water had been tossed, you felt the weight fall away and gravity took over. You fell to the ground in a heap just like you had before. Dean reached you quickly, he tentatively put a hand on your shoulder and eyed the situation in front of him. The taller man in the room snapped what looked like cuffs on Meg's wrists. She sputtered as she looked down at them. 

“Devil’s trap on cuffs?” She tried to mock, but somehow you could tell she was frustrated. “Very clever, boys.” She spit out some of the water that she had ingested. You clambered to your feet and brushed your hair out of your eyes as you attempted to regain your composure. Dean moved in front of you and blocked your view. “Aren’t you tired of playing games? I sure am.” 

“You’re the one who started this,” the taller man pushed back as he held onto her arm. Even though her hands were locked in handcuffs, it seemed he was still nervous she would run off. 

“Oh, come on, Sasquatch,” she rolled her eyes. “You know you wouldn’t have listened to me if the circumstances were different.” Her eyes moved towards where you stood behind Dean. She peered her head to see around him. As soon as she made eye contact, you averted your gaze. 

“Don’t look at her,” Dean said firmly as he adjusted his stance. “You know what they say, Meg. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” 

“Yeah, well, what now, hot shot? You gonna use the demon blade on me? Take me hostage? What happens when I ditch this meat suit?” She bit back. Your eyes focused on Dean’s back and wondered what any of that meant. The memory of what Meg had referred to earlier surfaced: whatever happens to that body, happens to Jen.

“Jen’s my best friend,” there was a slight stutter to your soft voice as you tried to cope with everything that had happened. “Don’t hurt her.”

Dean’s head cocked to the side as he listened to you. You watched the muscle that lined his jaw flinch before he turned back to Meg. 

“We’re gonna send this bitch back to Hell,” Dean’s words came out strong and confident. It sent a shiver throughout your body. Before you could ask what that meant, Dean seemed to sense your question. “Don’t worry, it’s not gonna hurt your friend.” 

Meg seemed nervous, but Sam started speaking in a language you didn’t recognize. Latin, maybe? But as he spoke, Meg seemed to become very uncomfortable. She pulled against the cuffs, and then something happened that you had only ever seen in movies before—the kind of movies that gave you nightmares. You peered over Dean’s shoulder and watched as Jen’s head shook violently side to side. Her mouth opened and then thick black smoke began to funnel out of her. Instinctively, you reached forward and grabbed a fistful of Dean’s jacket. A tremble coursed through your body. 

And then just like that, your friend crumpled to the floor. Sam rushed to her with a key and undid the handcuffs. 

You pushed past Dean and dropped to your knees by her. She slowly opened her eyes. 

“Where the hell am I?” She blinked up at you and the two men standing over you and sat up quickly. "And why am I wet?"

“Jen, take it easy,” you breathed and tried to calm your shaking hands. “You passed out.” It wasn’t a total lie, and you already knew Jen would have a hard time believing any of this. You certainly did, until you saw it for yourself. "I splashed some water on you to try to get you to wake up."

“I…I don’t even remember coming inside. I pulled up to your driveway, and then something happened…” her words fell off as you could sense her trying to remember. “There was black smoke.” Her eyes widened and you panicked. 

“You must have hallucinated or something,” you quickly tried to fill in the gaps. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” she rubbed at her forehead before she took on the two men behind you. Her eyebrows went upwards as she tried to place the two of them. “Is that…?”

Before anyone could say anything else, you interjected. “Jimmy and Ben, my new neighbors. They, uh, they heard me yelling for help when you passed out,” you lied through your teeth. You had lied to her more than once tonight, and that didn’t sit well with you, but the alternative (the truth) was too complicated. “They came to help.” Dean and Sam both managed a small nod as they watched over Jen. “Here, let me walk you both out.”

“You sure?” Dean eyed you carefully as you stood and helped your friend to her feet. You led her to the couch, but her gaze stayed on Dean. 

“I’m sure,” you answered quickly. “I’ll get her some food and water. I’m sure it was just a low blood sugar thing.”

“I don’t have low blood sugar,” Jen’s voice was low but she plopped down on the couch anyway. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” your words were jumbled together. You just wanted to get Dean and Sam out. Jen had read the articles, you knew she would recognize Dean once she fully became aware of her surroundings, if she hadn’t already. The whole demon thing was hard enough for you to understand, and you had witnessed it for yourself. 

You gently placed a hand on Dean’s back and one on Sam’s as you ushered them to the door. Once you were through the doorway, you pulled the door shut behind you and closed your eyes. It felt like the first time you could take a breath since this entire ordeal started (and to be honest, since you had stumbled upon the articles about Dean in the first place). 

“Jimmy and Ben?” Dean’s voice was low as he eyed you cautiously. He didn’t know where you stood in all of this, but was dying to find out. To be honest, you didn't even know yourself; there was so much to wrap your mind around.

“I panicked,” you matched his volume. “I couldn’t tell her the truth. She just got done reading articles about how you’re both murderers and are supposed to be dead. I’m sure she’ll put it together once she sees your pictures again. I just have to figure out how to explain it to her. She’s never going to understand.” You nibbled subconsciously on your bottom lip. Once you realized you were doing it, your eyes popped up to Dean. His words from that night were all you could process: “What’d I tell you about that lip?” You released it immediately, though you could tell by the way he clenched his teeth and his jaw tightened, he had noticed. 

“Do you understand?” Dean asked gently. Whatever hold you had over him a moment ago, he had pushed it out of his brain and refocused on the situation you were currently in. 

“Not in the least,” you sighed as the weight of everything seemed to fall over you; you had to lean against the door just to hold yourself up. “But I’m realizing there are things I guess I just can’t understand. And maybe you aren’t a psychopath and maybe you were telling me the truth. Is Jen going to be alright?”

Dean offered a small smile, but his eyes still pierced through you—it was almost as if he was worried if he looked away, you might keel over. “She’ll be fine. She might have weird memories, but physically, she’ll be alright.”

You nodded, satisfied with that answer. “So what does this all mean? And that was a demon?” Your eyes danced between them and then steadied on Sam. “And you—how did you get into my house? I have so many questions.” You sounded exasperated, because that’s exactly what you were. 

Sam smiled cautiously. It seemed like these boys were worried if they weren’t careful, you might break. “It was way too easy. You really should lock your windows,” he chuckled lightly before he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m Sam, by the way. It’s nice to meet you,” he put his hand out for you to shake. You were hesitant, but you took it. After all, these guys had just saved your life. 

“We’re gonna stay close, once Jen leaves, let’s talk, alright?” Dean offered, still with a low tone. “I’m sure if Meg knows about you, others do too. Or they will soon enough. We’ll park a few houses down and keep an eye out.”

“And what about Meg? Is she truly gone?” You watched them nervously. 

“For now,” Dean answered. “She’ll find a way out of hell, she always does. If word gets out, which it will, about what we’re trying to do, she’ll claw her way out before she lets it happen. Most of them will…” his words were hard and serious. This was serious. 

“I have so many questions,” the words came out in a breath. Now that the shock was wearing off, the utter fear, anxiety and physical pain from falling twice was starting to set in. 

“I know you do, sweetheart,” it almost seemed like Dean winced after he said the word, but you ignored it. “We’ll get there, I promise. Just try to relax. You’re safe right now, and I intend to keep it that way.”

You knew he meant it by the force of his words and the look in his eyes. You nodded. 

“Okay, then,” you took a shaky breath and straightened yourself so you weren’t leaning against the door. “I’ll, um, I’ll call you?” You glanced back at Dean and he nodded. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, like there was something he wanted to do. But instead, he and Sam walked down your front steps and to the street to head back to the car. 

You took a deep breath before you went inside. 

“So, wanna know what’s weird?” Jen asked as you rinsed the dishes. You made her sit at the table and drink her water, even after she tried to insist on helping you. She hadn’t brought up anything that had happened, and you were thankful, though surprised. You had a twisting feeling in your gut that told you that was about to change. 

“Hmm?” You hummed as you put the rinsed dish in the dishwasher. 

“Your neighbor looks a lot like Dean…” she eyed you over her water glass. 

Thankfully, the dish had made it on the rack before it slipped out of your hands. You let a few seconds pass before you laughed nervously. 

“Really? I guess I didn’t see it,” you avoided eye contact even though you could feel her gaze. 

Jen stood from her seat and you eyed her carefully. There were uneasy feelings when you looked at her that you couldn’t forget. You knew it wasn’t her before—she didn’t have some crazy superpower and she couldn’t fling you against a wall. But still, it was hard to separate what happened with Meg from your friend standing beside you. 

“Oh, please,” she gave you a look that told you she knew you weren’t giving her the whole story. “The man you’ve been trying to forget for three days has an uncanny resemblance to your ‘neighbor’ and you don’t notice?” She folded her arms across her chest. 

“Jen, I can’t explain it,” you said simply with a sigh as you finally turned to face her. “I’m sorry for everything—I’m sorry you passed out, I’m sorry for dragging you into the whole Dean thing. I’m just sorry.”

Her gaze softened as you blabbed in the middle of your kitchen. “Hey, you don’t owe me any apologies, okay?” If only she knew the truth. “I’m your best friend. You don’t have to apologize for anything. And you can talk to me, alright?” You nodded once and focused your gaze on the tile by your feet. “Look, it’s been a long night. I’m exhausted. I’m gonna head out, but can we talk tomorrow? Please?” She tilted her head so you’d look at her. 

Tomorrow. At least it gave you some time to process everything. “Tomorrow sounds good,” you replied. Jen sighed and wrapped her arms around you in a hug. “You sure you’re okay to drive home?” Worry bubbled through you. Even though Dean had said she would be alright, you just couldn’t be sure. Hell, you weren’t sure of anything at that moment. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said as she pulled back with a small smile. “It takes me maybe five minutes to get home. I’ll even text you when I get there.”

“Okay, deal,” you smiled back. You walked your friend to the door and promised her a phone call the next day. Your arms folded across your chest as you stood on your front porch and watched her pull away, partially to block the cool night air in Virginia, but also to protect yourself from everything that had terrified you that night. Both sent shivers up your spine. 

As soon as her tail lights turned down another street, headlights illuminated behind you. Just as promised, it looked as though Dean and Sam had parked just a few houses down the block. 

As they pulled up to the curb in front of your home, you recognized that it wasn’t the Impala. 

Both doors opened at the same time, and you tried to manage a smile as they got out of the car. “How’re you doing?” Dean asked as they climbed the steps to your porch. 

A shrug lifted and dropped your shoulders. “It’s been a weird three days, putting it lightly.”

You opened the door to welcome them inside. 

“Ha,” Dean chuckled lightly. “I can imagine.” You realized how he must have felt after not hearing from you. While you had gone through your own misery and fear of losing him because you thought he was some psychopathic killer, to then realizing he was telling the truth, he must have been so confused and worried. 

“Hey, uh, could I use your restroom?” Sam asked as he cleared his throat. You nodded and showed him the way. It was pretty obvious he was trying to give you and Dean a moment. 

Dean hesitated, but came back to stand in front of you after Sam went down the hall. 

“I owe you an apology,” you said softly as you tried to calm your heart as it raced in your chest. 

“No you don’t,” he shook his head adamantly and shoved his hands in his pockets to busy them so he wouldn’t reach out and touch you. “You had every right to run for the hills. In fact, I owe you an apology.” Before you could say anything, he continued. “There are a lot of things I should’ve done…and probably some things I shouldn’t have, too.” His tone had dropped. “You’re wrapped up in this because of me. And I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured as you studied his eyes. They were the same as you remembered them from just a few days before. “I was interested in you from the jump. And I called you, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” he chuckled softly as his face softened. “But I probably should’ve said no.”

You shook your head immediately without having to take a second thought. 

“No, please don’t say that,” you reached for his hands and pulled them from his pockets. The feeling of his skin on yours once more created a flutter in your chest that almost felt like pieces were being put back together. “Even knowing all that I know now, as crazy as it’s going to sound…I wouldn’t go back and change anything.”

Dean brought your hands up to his lips and left a soft kiss there. “I hear you. And I wouldn’t want to change it, either. But this life isn’t a life you want anything to do with. I should’ve been smarter about that. I usually am, but you were…”

“Different,” you answered for him with a small nod. “I know what you mean.” 

Sam had reemerged from the bathroom and slowly made his way into the living room. He cleared his throat to announce his presence. 

“So, what does this mean now? You’re sure Jen isn’t in any kind of danger?” Dean had let your hands go and you shifted your gaze to look at both of them. 

“I don’t think so,” Dean answered. “Meg wanted to get to us, and she knew she could do that through you. We’ll have a friend of ours keep an eye on Jen, just to be safe.” You felt okay with that answer, for now at least. “But you, on the other hand…” his words fell again as he looked at you. “I don’t wanna scare you when I say this—“

You cut him off with a wave of your hand. “With all I’ve witnessed and learned today, I don’t think I could be more scared than I already am. Lay it on me.” 

Dean offered up a small smile. “If Meg knows about you, then others will, too.” You nodded as you tried to process. “How do you feel about coming to Kansas for a little while?”

A/N: Happy Thursday, friends! There's chapter 6 - how are we feeling? She finally is starting to make sense of everything (the best she can). And maybe going to Kansas with the Winchesters?

Thank you for reading, like, reblogging or commenting (or all of the above!). Feedback always brings me a lot of joy :)

Chapter 8 will be posted on (or maybe before, TBD) Thursday, 4/18!

Chapter 8 Preview:

“Hey, I know this is a lot to take in,” Dean started slowly. Both of the boys kept treating you like you were made of glass, which was a little bit annoying but also made sense. It felt like you were all waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I’m okay,” you said out loud for him, but also for yourself. “I’m not really a big fan of the unknown…I’m a planner.” You mumbled as you looked around at your things.

“Not big on taking chances, huh?” Dean chuckled softly as his eyes watched you move. Again, it was like he was waiting for it all to set in and for you to crumble.

“Nope,” you sighed as you finally looked back at him. “Rule follower, remember?” You managed a half-smile as you remembered the first time you met in Atlanta.

“Oh, I remember,” Dean smirked back. He took a few steps towards you and you both sat on the edge of your bed. “Just keep in mind–this doesn’t have to be forever.” Your head had dipped a bit, so he moved his to find your gaze. 

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[girls-alias]

Have A Little Faith - Dean Winchester P1

Title: Have A Little Faith - Dean Winchester Part 1

Words: 1,222

Relations: Dean Winchester X Reader

TW: SPOILERS! S1E12.

Prompt:

I wrote this a few years ago based on the episode "Faith" in Supernatural Season 1 episode 12. I have updated and edited but have quite a bit already written so will be slowly uploading them. Hope you enjoy it. It was originally written with an original character but I will be changing it as I go through it.

I lay in my hospital bed just waking up, my vision remained blurry until I rubbed my eyes. I stretched and yawned but it was cut short when my wounds pulled and sent pain through my spine. I sighed resting my head back and rolling my eyes. When will this nightmare end?! I looked around and saw my doctor, I took my headphones off realising he was talking to a new and very attractive patient. We look around the same age and he has a roughed and tired look to him. I overheard the doctor talking about his heart attack being triggered by electrocution which is pretty badass to me. The doctor smiled sympathetically at him before walking out, he gave me a soft smile as he passed my bed. The guy groans in pain. His bed isn't too far from me so I decided to make him feel welcome. 

"Hey," I smiled once he turned his head to look at me. 

"Hey," He replied faintly. 

"Does it hurt to talk?" I asked softly. 

"Everything just hurts at the moment," He added making me feel sorry for him but he said it in a way that showed he was fighting through it and didn't need pity. I smiled at him reassuringly and turned my head to look at the ceiling. We didn't speak for a while and my brain was swarming with thoughts on something to say but was cut off when I heard him shuffling around. I looked over to see him struggling to sit up in bed. I panicked. 

"Wow, what are you doing? You need to rest," I asked in a panicked tone. 

"I need the bathroom and I am not peeing in that tub," He replied bitterly making me giggle. 

"Can't you get a nurse to help you to the bathroom?" I asked but he looked at me slightly confused. 

"They're busy, I can do it myself, why are you so concerned?" He asked as if no one had ever worried about him before. I didn't know why I was so concerned. I guess my protective side was coming out. He seemed to look at me apprehensively as if the only people who had ever been nice to him were lying, I know that feeling. I smiled wiping my thoughts of my old partner who left me for dead when he got scared on a job.

"At least let me help you," I added and sat up with more ease than he did. I stood in front of him and offered him my hand. He looked at me deeply before taking it. I pulled him up and carried a lot of his weight through his arm. He groaned as he anchored his feet, he sucked air through gritted teeth before taking a slow but painful step.

"I'm Dean, by the way," He struggled to say as we made our way to the bathroom on the other side of the room. 

"I'm Y/N," I replied with a smile. 

"A pretty name for a smoking hot girl, how are you in here anyway?" He added making me giggle. He's smooth. I'll give him that. 

"I was struck by lightning," I shrugged but he looked confused. 

"I didn't realise there was a storm," He added but I giggled slightly. 

"There wasn't. I guess you could just say it was Supernatural." I couldn't help but smirk.

"You don't know the half of it," He scoffed making me giggle. Regular people don't believe in the supernatural but I scoffed, Dean doesn't know half of it. We got to the bathroom door and I helped Dean inside. 

"You know you don't have to wait outside," He said jokingly with a smirk. I laughed as I exited. I walked over to the wheelchairs and wheeled one of them to the door. I sat in it while I waited. Once the door opened Dean looked at the chair and gave me a bitch face. I chuckled as I shook my head and got up.

"Get in or so help me I will finish you off," I threatened to make Dean laugh. He took a seat and I wheeled him to his bed and helped him back in. 

"The scars on your back are pretty cool are they from the lightning?" He asked making me smile. 

"Yeah, they're kind of common in victims of the weather," I replied with a shrug, I moved the wheelchair aside and climbed back into bed. "Wait, how did you see them?" I asked suspiciously. Dean smirked. 

"I hate hospital gowns but not when they're on you," He charmed adding a wink and I giggled as I shook my head. I realise he must have seen my underweared butt, but considering I didn't hear him complaining I was fine with it. The doctors say I can't wear clothes yet as the wounds are still a little open, as soon as they close up I can leave. Dean saw there was a TV beside his bed and started flicking through the channels and adding random comments to make me laugh.

A tall guy with dark hair walked in and made eye contact with me, I smiled politely making him smile back before he continued and stood in front of Dean's bed. "You ever watch daytime TV? It's terrible," Dean asked the male. The guy sighed. "That fabric softener bear, oh I want to hunt that son of a bitch down," He added I suppressed a giggle. 

"Dean, I spoke with your doctor." The guy sadly informed. 

"Yeah," Dean sighed and turned the TV off. "Looks, like you're going to be leaving town without me," 

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to leave you here," The tall guy added. 

"Ay, you better take care of that car, I swear I'll haunt your ass," Dean added trying to joke but the guy didn't laugh. 

"I don't think that's funny," The guy's voice was close to breaking and you could hear he was upset for Dean. 

"Oh, come on. It's a little funny," Dean eased but wasn't helping. 

"Dean, don't be a dick," I spoke up making them look at me. 

"But it's my speciality," He argued. I gave him a scolding look, eyebrow raised. "Okay. Look, Sammy. What can I say it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it the end of the story," Dean was wallowing in self-pity and it was easy to see he'd stopped fighting. The 'Sammy' guy didn't hesitate to reply. 

"Don't talk like that alright, we still have options." He spoke softly like he was afraid to hurt him any more than he already was. 

"What options? Yeah, burial or cremation." Dean's tone was bitter. "You got to know it's not easy, I'm gonna die, and you can't stop it." 

"Watch me," Sammy added before leaving with a determined look. Dean sighed. I climbed out of bed walked over to Dean's bed and sat at his feet. He looked at me confused. 

"So, you're going to give up?" I asked in a soft tone. 

"There's nothing we can do," He added annoying me. 

"But wouldn't you rather go down fighting?" I asked and he seemed to think it all through. I smirked knowing I had him questioning it and left him to think it over. 

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[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

A few quick housekeeping things! First: a friendly reminder that my taglists are CLOSED! If you’re new (or if you’ve been her the whole time and just got here too late for the taglists), you can subscribe to the “#if I should stay” tag and follow along that way! I do my very best to post every 4 days. Secondly, if you’d like to see every part of this in one place, the ellipses below now links to the second part of the fic taglist! I’ve gone back and edited all previous parts so now everything should have a link imbedded in the ellipses. Unfortunately, if you reblogged an older version of a part, you won’t have the link in the ellipses. If you read all this, kudos! Now onto the story.

Part 1 | . . . | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30

They get to school and rush in just before the bell. Steve catches Eddie’s eye and blushes before he ducks his head, sliding into a seat and pulling a notebook out from his backpack.

He finds it more difficult than normal to focus, but he does his best, breathing a sigh of relief when the bell finally rings.

“Hey, Eds,” he murmurs as they walk out of class.

“Eds,” he parrots, something in his gaze that Steve can’t quite parse out.

Steve blinks, frowning slightly. “Do you not want me to call you that? ‘Cause I can-”

“No,” Eddie says. “No, it’s fine, just… new.” A light flush paints his cheeks. “I like it.”

“I’m glad,” Steve says, smiling softly.

“Steve,” someone calls from down the hallway, and Steve hides his wince when he turns to see Tommy heading his direction.

He sees the moment Tommy notices who’s with him; sees the moment his face changes. “The freak bothering you, man?” He asks, getting between Steve and Eddie.

“No,” Steve says, maybe too sharply for the way Tommy looks back at him, confused. He takes a breath, tries again. “We’re fine.” He looks at Eddie, wants to say so much, but sees him subtly shake his head.

He takes another breath. “I���ll see you later, yeah?” He asks Eddie instead. “For, uh, the project?”

“Project?” Tommy looks between the two of them, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, for Mrs. Click’s class,” Eddie says smoothly. “She hasn’t assigned it for you yet?”

Tommy looks to Steve, trying to confirm, and Steve nods. “She just assigned it, a two-page paper about the person she pairs you up with. She’ll probably stagger it, though, so you probably won’t get it for another week still.”

Only half a lie; that had been an assignment, and she had assigned it roughly a week later, but he and Eddie hadn’t gotten it yet.

Behind Tommy’s back, Eddie winks at Steve and walks away.

Steve moves to walk to his locker, Tommy following close behind. “Man, it sucks that you got stuck working with that freak,” he says sympathetically, shaking his head.

“Nah, man, Eddie’s cool,” Steve says, forcing the cheer to stay in his voice.

Tommy snorts. “What, that fag?”

“Stop it, man,” Steve says, a note of warning in his voice.

“Don’t tell me you’re sticking up for him,” Tommy sneers.

“Y’know what?” Steve says, stopping short in the hallway. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m tired of being an asshole like you, like my dad. Maybe I want to meet people and have them like me for me, not for what I can do for them, or for the money or the big house.” He shakes his head. “Stay the same if you want, change if you want, but I’m done.”

Tommy grabs his arm, and Steve yanks it away, glaring at Tommy. “Don’t do that,” he says. “And leave Eddie alone.”

“Or what?” Tommy says, grabbing at Steve’s arm again.

Steve intercepts, grabbing his wrist, giving a warning squeeze. “You really don’t want to find out,” he mutters, dropping Tommy’s wrist and walking away before Tommy can get a word in edgewise.

Robin brushes past him on his way to his locker. “Proud of you, dingus,” she murmurs, and he does his best to hide the smile that brings to his face.

Carol’s waiting by his locker, popping her gum obnoxiously. “So,” she said. “Heard you were a bitch to Tommy.”

“Takes one to know one,” Steve replies. “If you’re here to convince me to stay an asshole, feel free to leave whenever you want.”

She shrugs. “Tommy can also be a bitch sometimes,” she agrees. “But the Hagan name holds almost as much power as the Harrington family.”

Steve offers her a crooked smile. “There’s more important things in the world than names.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs, unconcerned. “You know he’s majorly pissed at you.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I don’t really care.”

“I didn’t expect you to. Just thought you should know. He’s gonna try to get back at you.”

Steve snorts. “He’s welcome to try.”

“Alright.” Carol shrugs again, gently nudges his shoulder with her fist. “See you around?”

“Maybe,” he agrees, looking at her. “What do you see in him?”

She sighs, looks down the hallway. “I think once upon a time I saw who he could be.”

“And now?”

“I’m afraid of who I’ll be if I leave him.”

Steve offers her a commiserating smile. “You’ll be yourself,” he says. “But it can definitely be scary.”

She grins, sharp, pulling her mask back on. “Damn, Steve, when did you get smart?”

He smirks at her as he shoulders his backpack. “It’s not that. It’s that I finally care enough to say something.”

With that, he walks off to his next class, mentally thinking about his schedule and holding in a groan. Chemistry. He hated chemistry, the first time, and something tells him he’s going to hate it just as much this time around.

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[etraytin]

Postcards From the Dusty Mountains

Took the kiddo out yesterday with me when I went a-volunteering because he is getting very tired of not having anything to do. You know it's getting bad when a guy misses school and is tired of being on his computer all day. I'm not being sarcastic either, I'm deeply sympathetic to his plight and I wish he could get back to school and the friends he was making and the brand-new boyfriend he's been taking those first cautious romantic steps with. He already had to live through COVID homeschooling for two years, and now this. Ugh. I have heard rumors that they are hoping to open the schools back up on October 21, which means two more weeks closed, but it could be worse. So many places still don't even have power, much less water.

Anyway, I took him with me and we went down to a food distribution in Swannanoa. They got hit very very hard, and we spent a couple hours helping a Chick-Fil-A volunteer team from Atlanta hand out hot chicken sandwiches and bottled water. In normal days I don't have much to do with Chick-Fil-A because I don't like their politics, but when the matter at hand is giving hot food to people who've lost their homes, you put the politics aside. I just wish the rest of the country was able to do the same, because I am extraordinarily tired of people thinking of North Carolina as a "battleground state" when the battle we are fighting right now is to keep people alive as the weather starts to turn cold and the water lines stay broken.

Today was busy because I actually managed to keep a doctor's appointment I have been waiting a month for, which was quite a pleasant surprise! The doctor's office is in Hendersonville, so the fact that they were open for business and that I was able to get there are both things that I might have doubted a week ago. I also had an appointment with a local HVAC outfit about getting a whole-house standby generator installed so that next time we have a power outage, we can at least power the fridges, the well pump, the dehumidifiers and my CPAP, with maybe some left over for laptop charging. The price he quoted me for everything except the propane tank and line was $11,000, which was not exactly unexpected but still a big ol' yikes. The good news is, his company bought several of the right size generators before the storm so they would have an inventory, so I could theoretically have a generator before winter really sets in. Highly tempting.

In the afternoon, kiddo and I went out to do more helping. If nothing else has become more apparent over this week, it's that we were and continue to be so, so lucky. Of all the teachers at my husband's school, we are the _only_ family who are still in our own home with all our utilities back up. We are the only members of our extended family in the area who have power. We are part of a tiny fraction of households in the region who have potable water coming from our taps. Given all of that, we decided that we were going to take my final paycheck from canvassing and put it into a community that was not lucky at all. Our Lowes got restocked big time this week, so I was able to go in and get a propane tank, a gas can, a huge box of contractor bags, a straight rake, a shovel, and a gas-powered chainsaw with two cans of fuel for it. We also raided our own house and took our own three shovels and straight rake, our garden cart, some very cute hiking boots I bought but hadn't worn yet, eight packs of bath wipes and two of our cell phone power banks and drove the whole thing down to Black Mountain.

Black Mountain is very close to Swannanoa and was also hit extremely hard by the storm. We didn't go around touristing, but even on the main roads we took we could see devastation everywhere. Everywhere the water touched was drenched in toxic mud, which has dried over the past two weeks into an awful choking dust that covers everything. It blows on the wind and rises with every passing car. As we drove I took the opportunity to explain how the search and rescue paint marking system works to Kiddo, because their bright green graffiti was on all the half-destroyed houses we were passing.

There's an outdoor music venue in Black Mountain called Silverados that has been turned into a massive distribution center. Hot meals were being passed out in the front, while the rear was a busy hive of organizing and distributing supplies. We went there and dropped off all our items, where they were carted away into an absolutely teeming hub of supplies and volunteers. We asked if they needed any more help today, but they definitely had enough willing hands. I think my dad will laugh because I finally did get the chainsaw he talked me out of, but then gave it away before it even left the box.

With a little time on our hands, we went back up north and visited our favorite grocery store, the one that sells lightly-expired canned and boxed food at greatly reduced prices. We were very happy to see that they'd come through the storm unscathed except for a lack of internet, and stocked up on more of the seemingly endless supply of Old El Paso meal kits that they sell two for a dollar. Cheaper than buying tortillas and taco seasoning, lol! We also visited the local record store, which opened for regular business hours despite the circumstances as well, and bought a couple of records because we want them to stay in business even though times are tough. It was, overall, an extremely successful outing.

Sometimes the world here in our house feels tantalizingly close to normal, an endless weekend where we are just waiting to go back to school and work. But just driving into town and seeing all the places closed for lack of water is enough to destroy that bubble, and driving thirty minutes in any direction is like stepping into a different world. Marshall, Spruce Pine, Swannanoa, Black Mountain, the River Arts District. Dozens more places that I have not seen and probably couldn't even get to if I tried. I'm very afraid for what is about to happen in Florida, for their sake and for ours. Appalachia has a long history of being forgotten about when bad things are happening. I really hope it doesn't go that way again.

[dizzyjaden]

Oh, to be loved by an artist... ✧˚ · .

Albedo x gn! Reader

♤ Summary: Your bf Albedo makes you pose for his painting then u cuddle <3

♤ Warnings: JUST PURE FLUFF !

♤ A/N: In celebration of this man finally getting a rerun in version 4.5

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

In the warm firelit glow of the room, dimly emphasized with orange hues by the setting sun peering in through the windows, Albedo's eyes graze over every inch of your body fervently, he sits stationed behind an easel and canvas where he is painting you. Sketching for him is a hobby that came about from his line of work. It is more often than not that sketching things he frequently studies or needs to understand better benefits his experiments. Painting, however...

Painting is more of a love language.

Albedo sketches whatever interests him, it does not take a long time to do, and it requires little material and effort. With painting, one must really stress the details to bring everything together. He paints things out of appreciation for them. To really see every feature and memorize it all.

Ever since the two of you started dating, the only thing occupying his thoughts is you. Anytime he attempts to pass the time with sketching, you're the first subject matter to advance in his mind. It only makes sense to dedicate hours to an entire full-length portrait of you. You are important to him after all.

The pose he asked you to take is candid and simple, nothing dramatic. However, you had begun to appear restless with frequent unintentional twitches across your figure. He smiles sympathetically.

"Try to focus on your breathing. It will make it easier to hold still."

A slow exhale passes through your lips. Truthfully, remaining motionless for hours is more difficult than you assumed, but you couldn't grow tired of this position you are in. Your lover is not a very affectionate person, at least not physically. He of course never turns you away when you are the one to initiate, but he rarely does so himself. You've realized over time that it isn't because he loves you any less than you love him, but the way Albedo prefers to show his affection is simply exactly what he is doing now. Penetrating through your skin with his gaze, his lips slightly parted and his eyebrows furrowed while he ingests each little characteristic on your body that has built up and brought him you.

"I'm impressed by you, my muse." He teases. "Most people struggle to maintain such a striking demeanor throughout the entirety of the session. I hope you do not mind me taking my time."

"Striking? What do you mean by that?" You hum curiously. He sighs as he struggles to find words for it.

"Some people just look... Posed." He attempts. "But you are naturally scenic... Though perhaps I'm biased. You could do anything and I'd find it devastatingly attractive."

You smile playfully and roll your eyes, realizing he has not actually touched the canvas in a moment.

"Not to rush you, but yes to rush you, I'd like to breathe soon."

Albedo nods.

"I am finished."

Your eyes widen.

"Oh, really?" You prompt, subtly asking for confirmation that you are allowed to move.

He smiles.

"I have been finished for some time. I just wanted an excuse to stare at you a while longer."

You give him an annoyed scoff as a response and immediately stretch your limbs out. The painting had to have taken at least six hours. You saunter over to where he is seated and allow yourself to practically fall into his lap. He gives your forehead a quick kiss as you nestle your head against his shoulder to observe his work on the easel.

"I think it turned out rather well." He states in satisfaction. "Though, I'm not sure the most talented artist alive could do you justice."

You are blown away by how casual he is about what he just put on that blank board you're staring at with your jaw on the ground. It's you, absolutely you. Terrifyingly realistic yet still captured in the most flattering way imaginable.

"It's... Incredible..." You mutter.

"It's a painting." Albedo sighs. "To be honest, I did like the idea of having something for me to look at when you are not around, but at the end of the day, it's still just a painting."

Once again, you're blown away by his indifference as he wraps his arms around you.

"A really good painting." You affirm. "It's very... Good-"

"You are so warm..." He murmurs quietly, seeming to have already moved on. You sigh.

Sometimes it seems Albedo does not give himself the appreciation he deserves, if you squint you'll notice that he doesn't think of himself highly in any regard. Despite his alchemical advancements, he still believes himself to be average at best when it comes to intelligence. Despite his borderline inhuman artistic skills, he does not think his work is anything of note. It makes you sad.

You don't want to bring this up now and potentially spoil the moment, though. You'll get on his case about not knowing how amazing he is later. Albedo is always busy, he is always running back and forth to get something done, but now he is quiet and still as he brushes a hand through your hair.

"Are you tired?" You ask him. He nods slightly.

"It will be dark soon..." Albedo yawned. "I'd prefer not to waste what little day is left by going to sleep early."

Thankfully you speak Albedo, so you know when he says something like that he fully intends to stay up very late, working. You yank away from him to glare in irritation, he laughs.

"I will not stay up all night, love. Promise." He smiles. You hate how adorable his smile is, you're trying to be mad at him.

"If you don't sleep, it will negatively impact my own sleep schedule." You say in an assertive tone of voice. "I cannot sleep if you aren't next to me."

Albedo doesn't seem to fully believe this since you've fallen asleep on your own nearly every day of your life until the two of you moved in together. Nevertheless, he contemplates.

"I will come lay next to you until you fall asleep-"

"No." You cut him off. "Let's go to bed."

He sighs in defeat and picks you up as he stands from the chair.

"Fine, fine." He mumbles, rolling his eyes at your victorious expression. He carries you to bed and collapses beside you instantly. His sluggish behavior warrants a giggle from you.

"I suppose today was longer than I anticipated." He admits, pulling the blankets over the both of you. "Although, I am glad we got to spend some time together towards the end of it."

You shuffle closer to him which brings him to immediately wrap his arms around you, pulling you into his chest with a sigh.

"Are you comfortable enough?" He asks. Something about Albedo is that he never stops fussing over you, he'll probably ask you the same question another twelve times before falling asleep.

"Yes." You respond simply, reaching your hands up to play with his hair. This is the best technique when it comes to shutting Albedo up. His eyes quickly flutter shut at the sensation and you smile.

"Love you Bedo." You profess. His grip around you tightens slightly at your words.

"Love you too..."

[professoruber]

Quick thoughts on MAWS depiction of Krypton

My Adventures with Superman Spoilers

Okay so I've really been enjoying My Adventures With Superman (I recently re-watched and caught up with the show) but honestly I am personally not the biggest fan of the depiction of Krypton and Kara.

Disclaimer I am not a big comic expert and am still something of an novice, especially with Superman stuff, but I am slowly broadening my horizons.

Some things I like about Superman is the parallels to the story of Moses as well as the general immigrant story. Superman Smashes the Klan is one of the comics I've read so far and I really liked how it explored those latter themes.

So I guess I kinda feel that having Krypton be depicted as this imperialistic empire, especially one who was destroyed due the fights they picked, kinda undermines those parallels/themes? Granted, the immigrant story stuff can still very much be present regardless of the nature of Kryptonian society.

Perhaps it has something to do with my initial expectations that Kara would provide another view of Krypton to contrast the very negative impression which Clark had received from the very limited information he had received in the first season but uh...

While Kara is certainly a rather sympathetic individual, she is also certainly not exactly providing a better view of Krypton. Of course, I'd imagine as well that Primus Brainiac's version of Krypton is much worse than the original one.

(The reason why I had the theory is because I like the contrast between Superman and Supergirl, of the latter generally being depicted as having spent at least her formative years in Krytponian society, either Argo City or Krypton itself. Both are stories of immigrants, but with an interesting difference which makes them distinct in their experiences)

But we did hear from Jor-El that Krypton was indeed an Empire before its destruction (although... Clark's only able to have a proper conversation with Jor-El after the Brainiac systems of the ship had been explicitly activated... hm.)

As I said before, I am really loving MAWS and think its a very fun show. And I also do not want to criticise a show merely because it did not follow my exact personal expectations, that'd just be silly.

But I suppose that watching it has gotten me thinking about my personal thoughts on Krypton in general, and I feel like I might as well write it down.

The season's also not over yet, so there is a high possibility of more nuance being shown in Krypyton. Plus regardless of if Krypton was an empire, the regular civilians didn't deserve total destruction.

Anyway, MAWS is very good .Would recommend. And like I said, this is mostly my personal rambling of thoughts on Krypton and Kara. Can't wait to see the next episode!

Edit: kinda tired today but to slightly expand on my thoughts. I suppose in general I like the idea of Krypton with its own flaws and virtues. While MAWS could still very well show the better side of Krypton outside of Brainiac’s propaganda, it’s status as an imperialistic power which caused its own destruction through its conquests arguably would overshadow that somewhat.

Clark Kent was raised on Earth by the Kent Family. That’s who he is, where he got his values and how he was shaped into the man he is. But I also like him still nonetheless being able to be proud of his Kryptonian heritage and connect to it; being both Earthling and Kryptonian.

But in MAWS; between Jor-El’s A.I getting destroyed, Old Krypton being imperialist, New Krypton being ruled by Brainiac and Kara being a brainwashed war criminal, it leaves Clark with very little connection to Krypton and very little insight to what it was actually like as a society and culture and people.

And unless there’s further reveals about Kara’s backstory (although I do have a theory about that…), there’s a fair chance she won’t have much connection to Krypton once she gets freed from Brainiac’s comtrol. And what connection she does have right now is mostly negative and tainted by Brainiac.

Perhaps I am a bit pre-emptive in some of this and I do think there’s still plenty of room for the writers to expand on Krypton and what it was like and what lead to its empire and subsequent destruction. Regardless of what direction the writers take though, I am looking forward to seeing the show’s story progress!

[allthewhumpygoodness]

It's B who's always been the party animal, not A. But they're friends, and B has way more other friends than A does, so where they go, A goes too.

"It'll be good for you," B told them before they set off, throwing an arm around their shoulders. "You need more friends who aren't me."

Maybe, grudgingly, A would agree. Still, they have no desire to spend their night in a stuffy apartment full of drunk people they've never met, either bored out of their mind or anxious out of their skin, depending.

But they're B's friend, so for the first twenty minutes of the party that's exactly what they do.

And for a while, it isn't too bad. The party isn't crazy loud - nobody's smashing windows or dancing on the kitchen table or getting into fistfights - but it's still too much for A to comfortably join in. They spend most of it quietly petting B's cat in the corner, bottled water in hand, giving quick smiles and at most a few words of greeting to whoever notices them. Just-enough smiles, 'I'm-not-a-creep-I-just-have-no-idea-how-to-talk-to-people' smiles. Most people don't talk to them at all, though, so there's no reason for anything more.

After a couple hours, in which A has slowly pried themselves from the corner and the cat and gets used to hovering near the closest snack table, things start getting hazy. The lights in the room are blurring a little, the outlines of people and objects smudging in between blinks - they've never needed glasses before, but this is what they'd imagine it feels like. If they'd been drinking anything other than their own bottled water, they would've worried somebody spiked their drink. They feel weird, and disoriented, and bad.

Worse, whatever this feeling is, it's come on too quickly for them to notice it happening.

After some time they find themselves seated back on the couch, though the cat is now nowhere in sight. Sounds are too loud, even the dim light is too bright, and above all they feel somehow removed from the rest of the room, floating somewhere far away with no roots in the world they're seeing. And they're sniffling. When did their nose start running?

Disjointed as they are, it takes them much too long a moment to realize someone is talking to them.

They turn their head slowly, alarmed at how dizzy it makes them. A face hovers close to theirs, eyebrows raised and expression questioning. They have to blink hard to make the features come into focus.

"I haven't seen much of you tonight," says this new person, a small smile playing on their lips. Flirtatious almost, it clicks into A's fuzzy brain.

"Oh," is all they can say.

"I don't think we've met."

A shakes their head, trying to clear it. "I'm A," they say.

They struggle to remember if they've ever spoken to this person before, but their brain seems to be blocked, leaving them unable to speak let alone think. "You're not B", they say eventually --realizing a second later what a stupid sounding thing to say that is.

But the figure next to them laughs. "Took you long enough to notice. I'm C. Have you had one too many?"

A swallows, their throat tight and scratchy. "I don't drink."

"Okay, I believe you," says C, sounding like they don't believe it at all. "Are you a friend of B's? We've been friends for ages, I'm surprised I've never met you before."

Whenever C moves, it's like a fuzzy halo of light around them shifts a moment after, following just a little too far behind. Their face is bright; it kind of hurts to look at them and it's kind of mesmerizing and A isn't sure what to do.

"Hey, A? Are you with me?"

A blinks, suddenly extraordinarily tired. The face in front of them is swaying and blurring and looks so very wrong...

"I'm fine," they mutter. "Just pretty tired. Long day."

C gives what looks like a sympathetic smile, but their eyebrows form a slight crease. "Are you ok? You're sweating."

"Am I?" They feel chilled if anything, damp and clammy.

With a slight smirk, C folds part of their sleeve over their hand and brushes the fabric across A's forehead. The sleeve melts into their skin. "There," they say, "all better."

But even as the words leave their mouth, their expression changes from playful to concerned, a frown sprouting up. To A's surprise, their hand stays where it was, resting on their temple, then flips over so their knuckles brush the skin on their forehead ever so gently. A can't stop looking at them, the outline of their face is glowing...

"Oh," they say softly, "you've got a fever."

It takes a second for them to process what's being said, because they feel like they're standing halfway inside a weird world where the edges of things melt together and voices are too long and minutes are too tall and surfaces sparkle like dew...and even when they do they have to shake their head, fighting to clear it first. "I...do I?" Does it matter?

There's a soft pressure on their face as C keeps their hand in place. "You feel like you do...why haven't you told anyone you're sick?"

"I'm - not - "

It's like they're looking at a photograph with the contrast turned way up - shadows are so dark they can hardly see the corners of the room anymore, and the lights are blinding. They try shaking their head again, but everything swoops around them like a rocking ship. Is that the earth turning?

C taps them on the shoulder, and then they're standing up and towering over A. "B has a guest room somewhere. Let's go find it, shall we?"

Before they know it they're being pulled to their feet, swaying as the ground swoops out from under them, and gripping the nearest steady thing - which turns out to be C's shoulder. They hadn't realized just how badly off they were until now, only upon standing to they feel how weak and wobbly their knees are, or how badly their back and legs and head ache, how heavy they feel.

They cling to C. The party blends and melts around them; shapes crumbling into one another, sounds too muffled and twisted to make out. It makes A so dizzy they're almost sick to their stomach, struggling to focus on anything that isn't moving.

As it turns out, that one steady thing is C's shoulder.

The rest of the journey is a blur, but the next thing they know they're somewhere much quieter and darker, and a pair of hands is guiding them to lie down on something soft, drawing a warm cover over them.

It takes their brain a moment to catch up. "Whose bed is this?" they mumble once it does.

"It's a guest room," says C's voice from somewhere close by. "B won't mind. I'll check with them later, but I'm sure it'll be fine."

To their horror, A feels tears prickle at the corners of their eyes. Even lying down in the warmth and the dark, they feel so miserable. "B doesn't care about me," they say. They aren't sure where this is coming from, but once it's out, it's out. "They - they left me. I haven't seen them all night. They don't want me here..."

C makes a soft, sympathetic sound. When A opens their eyes again they're sitting near them, one hand gently on their shoulder. "I'm sure B still cares a lot about you, they're just caught up with things right now. Once I tell them you're sick they'll be all over you trying to help, you just wait."

A sniffs. They can't deny C's good at sounding reassuring. "Everything hurts."

"I know. I'm sorry. I wonder what you've caught...if it came on so quickly it could be the flu...why don't I get you some water and a couple painkillers, that should help - "

"Wait, C -" A tries to sit up but right away collapse again in a cold sweat, head swimming. Their fingers find C's sleeve and grip it. "Please don't go yet. Just...just one more minute."

It feels like an hour that C pauses for, not moving. But then they sit down on the edge of the bed, one hand tentatively reaching up to stroke A's hair. "Okay. One more minute."

The shadows are still too dark, oppressive and threatening, while the light from the little lamp C turned on hurts their already sore eyes. But C's hand is gentle and soft, maybe cool and maybe warm but either way it's soothing on their skin.

A hardly knows them - at all - but curling up closer to that kind hand is easy. It's natural. So that's just what A does.

[deliciouskeys]

Hot takes, roughly in order of how much I care…

Homelander and Ryan

I liked the what felt like 2 minutes of Ryan and Homelander that we got in this episode. I know where they’re going with this, but I expected so much worse from the slapping scene that was mentioned in spoilers. Is the Boys writers’ room going on record that corporal punishment may not be justified in the face of sexual harassment? Because I think that’s a controversial stance, especially if there’s a clear work power dynamic at play lol. Anyway, I’m glad they chose this gray scenario, because it’s really hard to be sympathetic with a guy like Adam.

When Homelander says “that’s… amazing”, I think that’s being interpreted as incredulous and dismissive in online circles. I think he’s genuinely surprised that’s what first comes to mind to his son, but I don’t think he’s disdainful per se. In Homelander’s mind “saving people” is very much synonymous with “putting wrongdoers in their place”. And since he sees society (‘in America’) as wrong, his grand plan of supes becoming more of a despotic pantheon over the normies isn’t necessarily in contradiction with Ryan’s desire to ‘save people.’ TL;DR I don’t think HL is dismissing Ryan’s aspirations out of hand.

(Hearkening back to “You people should be thanking christ that I am who I am, because you need me. You need me to save you, you do. I am the only one who possibly can.”)

ETA: ok I need to clarify this part since what I wrote here sounds like HL and Ryan are going to get along great and that’s not what I meant to convey. I cannot field all the DMs! This is a hot take! I just meant that I didn’t expect HL to realize he might not know what Ryan wants because he’s been fucked by Vought. My expectations bar is perpetually low, please keep this in mind. I also despise the oversaturation of portrayals of bratty kids in media so please know that’s just my personal aesthetic bias.

Other Vought peeps

I wish Sage got more screen time. I appreciated ATrain’s taking initiative to escape notice. I do wonder what Ashley would have done if Cameron Coleman hadn’t just broken up with her.

I’m glad Stan Edgar gets to say Homelander is a “Freudian cesspool of random impulse and deep insecurity” right on the heels of e4. “Glad” lol.

Virus farm section

I’m getting a little tired of characters saying “we’re at an impasse” when… they’re clearly not at any real impasse. Victoria could have exploded the Boys’ heads and brought in other redshirts to help find Sameer if she really wanted to. And she paid the price for not doing that. Is the implication that she is afraid of Annie and Kimiko?

As for the virus… well. I’m strangely fine with what Billy is doing. If this virus isn’t even that contagious supe-to-supe, then his plan to keep trying to kill HL with it makes a lot of sense. As for Sameer? Well, if they hadn’t wasted the “last dose” (see below for why that’s stupid) of the virus on sheep, and Victoria didn’t just shrug and say ‘guess that’s that’, and also let the Boys live in the first place, Sameer would still have his leg.

I did cringe when the sheep was vomiting its guts out and Victoria, Kimiko, and Annie were all within Ebola-body-fluid-droplet range of it. Because this thing does sound more contagious than HIV, at least.

If Billy Butcher really needed some more virus I hope he grabbed the carnivorous sheep carcasses. Presumably there’s a gallon of replicated virus right there. Not only does it kill supes, it’s also a virus that replicates orders of magnitude faster than any living thing on earth lol. There are many things that are funny about how they’re researching this virus. Not a single biohazard tissue culture hood in sight. No cell based assays. AAAAANYWAY, it really doesn’t matter. Big fast compound V targeting(?) virus doesn’t need logic.

Overall just not a fan of big loud sequences with ultimately low stakes, so the flying sheep were a lot less fun to me than the e2 fight scene action.

What I think isn’t working

This is minor but after Gen V, I cringe at Sam’s acting. Just that one line they gave him sounded bad to me, and I know it’s probably just PTSD from how much I disliked the end of Gen V but there it is. I’m sorry to those of you who like him, this is clearly personal opinion. Cate is fine, she can stay.

Hughie’s storyline… I don’t even know what to say. Nothing about his parents’ shitty behavior was resolved. And then Hughie was forced to say his dad is his hero to save his mom’s life. And also be the one to euthanize him. What a weird, weird arc.

I’m saying absolutely nothing about Frenchie’s storyline because it is even more inexplicable. @kosmochlor covered it all.

[hufflepuff-16]

You're a cutie ☆ミ

Harry Potter x gn reader (〝⌒∇⌒〝)

Warnings: just a tiny big of angst mostly cute fluff

Summary: Reader is feeling a bit sad, so Harry tries to cheer her up (friends to lovers fic).

Link to my previous James Potter fanfic

You arrive at Diagon Alley for your yearly shopping trip, but instead of feeling happy, you feel rather lonely and melancholy, it had been a year since the battle of hogwarts so after having visited half the shops, you decide to go to the Leaky Cauldron, hoping the warmth of the pub will make you feel better. When you enter, your mood lifts immediately. The bar is crowded, and the atmosphere is cosy. You find a booth in the back, and as you look up, you notice a familiar face walking in, who grins when you smile and wave him over to sit with you.

"Hi Harry," you say loudly

Harry waves at you and slides into the booth, grabbing a pitcher of Butterbeer as he does so.

“You look a little down. What’s the matter? Everything alright?” He says with a sympathetic smile.

Oh, Harry is so sweet, you thought. He was always looking out for others.

"Ah... you know, feeling a bit tired," you say truthfully.

Harry’s eyes soften upon hearing you say that. He reaches out an arm and rests a hand on your shoulder.

“Anything I can do to help? I may not be the wisest fella, but I’ve been told I am rather good at cheering people up.” He offers you a comforting smile, which somehow warms you from the inside out.

"You’re cute Harry you know that," You say teasingly.

Harry feels himself blushing at the compliment, and then grins at you.

“Well, thanks? I’d like to think that I have my charm moments,” he says in a playful tone.

He then smiles at you, “but honestly? I think you’re the cute one.”

You roll your eyes playfully at his comment, "What brings you here, Harry?"

“I could do with a chat and a good butterbeer,” Harry says and smiles warmly at you. He also happens to think you look really great tonight and is very tempted to say so, but decides against it for now.

“What are you doing in Diagon Alley, if you don’t mind me asking. I don’t really recognise this as your usual hangout place.”

"Oh, I'm just doing my yearly school shop."

Harry nods along and makes a little “Mm-hm” sound.

“Did you manage to get all the supplies you need?” He asks with a curious expression. “Not like a certain someone who’s a chronic procrastinator who would rather goof off than get his supply list finished…” He says with a joking smirk and nudging your shoulder with his.

"Yup, I've got everything, Mr Procrastinator ," You tease.

Harry laughs lightly. “I was talking about myself, you know,” he says with a smile, “but you knew that.” He says with a grin and nudges your shoulder once more. “I’m glad to hear you managed to get everything you need, though. I wouldn’t want you to be underprepared the day for the school year starts.”

He tilts his head at you, “So… how are you liking your holiday so far?” He asks, wanting to know how your time off from Hogwarts has been treating you.

"Actually to tell you the truth it's been quite hard, I'm just scared for them to end because then we would be back at hogwarts and.....you know.....that's where the battle happened and I'm worried I'll just see the bodies of our loved ones, and death eaters!" You give a shudder.

Harry looks worried and reaches to grab your hand to offer you comfort as you speak.

“I… I completely understand,” he says quietly and then sighs a little bit.

“Unfortunately I can’t exactly promise you nothing bad will happen. Death Eaters are ruthless, and I can’t make any guarantees. However…” he gives you a soft smile, “I can promise we’ll be there for each other. We’re in this together.”

He squeezes your hand a little.

“You have my word. And you have me.”

You give him a smile, "Thanks, Harry, you are a good person, you know."

Harry blushes at your kind words.

“Well… I try to be,” he says as he smiles at you. He then clears his throat and attempts to shift the conversation into a slightly lighter tone.

“So if you could do anything you wanted right now, what would you do?” He asks playfully. “You can ask for the moon and stars. The sky is the limit. It’s your wish, whatever it is.” He says with a grin.

You think for a moment and then decide what you wish for.

"I think I'd like to be in my house with some hot chocolate and a blanket, maybe watch a movie."

Harry nods. “Sounds perfect. What movie would you like to watch?” He asks curiously.

“And you can have all the hot chocolate you’d like. I’ll whip you up a batch.” He adds with a warm smile.

You blush, did he truly mean that?

"You want to go home with me and do that?" You ask, blushing.

Harry blushes and looks at you for a moment. “I…” he trails off for a second, blushing even more as his eyes look you up and down, taking you in.

“Yeah, I think I would.” He smiles back at you. “It would be nice.”

You smile at him, feeling a little bit shy, "Ok, let's go to my house, I'll apparate us there."

“Alright, lead the way,” Harry says with a warm smile and stands up to follow after you.

He pauses for a second before asking quietly, “Would it be okay if I held your hand?” He asks sincerely. “I just want to know what you're comfortable with.”

you love how sensitive Harry is with what you are comfortable with, "of course, cutie!"

Harry smiles at you and blushes at that adorable nickname you gave him.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and as he holds your hand, he feels this sense of rightness within him, and the realization that you and him have a connection that goes deeper than just friends. That this is something special.

He laces his fingers with yours as he walks along with you. “So have you got any cute roommates I should know about?” He asks with a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

"You'll see," you laugh, apparating yourselves into your home.

Your home is amazing. It’s the definition of cosy. Just like you described, there’s a blanket on the couch and hot chocolate steaming away on the kitchen counter. It really is the perfect place to relax and watch a movie.

“This is nice,” Harry says with a content sigh and then takes a seat on the couch, putting his arm around you in an affectionate motion. “I’m really glad you brought me here.” He smiles kindly at you.

you give a small smile and plop right down next to him on the couch, waiting for him to choose a movie to watch, when your cat comes to see who is sitting on their favourite napping place

"Harry, meet my cute roommate flutter," you tease gesturing towards the fluffy cat.

Harry smiles and picks up your cat, giving it a few scritches and pats.

“Hello, Flutter,” he says in a soft and gentle voice. “Very cute roommates you’ve got!” He says as he giggles and sets his kitty friend down next to you at the end of the couch.

Harry looks through the collection of DVDs at your coffee table and ends up picking out a movie called “The Breakfast Club.”

“Do you want to watch this? I quite liked it when I was younger.”

"Sure!" Leaning your head against his shoulder, getting yourself into a comfy position on the lumpy couch.

Harry blushes a little more at the way you melt into his body, and smiles softly as he feels you pull closer.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks you and looks down at you with a look of pure concern and caringness. “If you want the remote, I can grab it for you.” He offers as the title menu starts loading.

"No, cutie, I'm perfectly content," you say.

Harry’s cheeks keep growing red as he hears that adorable nickname again, but the heat he feels in his face is completely justified now and comes from something more than just being warm. It’s from pure affection and fondness.

“That’s good,” he says quietly, and kisses you on the cheek as the movie starts playing. His lips softly press against your skin, and his touch is light, careful, but there’s a little bit of pressure too, enough for you to know that he means it, and that this is no casual peck.

"Harry...... can I ask you?" Something you aren't sure if the question is appropriate or if your anxiety is acting up.

Harry looks at you with an expression of concern, and then nods at you.

“Of course you can, anything,” he says, and his tone is empathetic and compassionate. “What’s on your mind?” He asks earnestly, and his expression is warm, inviting, and soft. It makes you want to tell him anything you want to get off your chest when you look at him because you just know that he would handle your feelings responsibly and carefully.

"Are you still seeing Ginny?" You really hoped he wasn't because she had been harbouring a crush on him forever, and now has he been showing you some affectionate signs.

Harry looks at you, and it’s as if the rest of the world just falls away when you look into his eyes. They’re warm, kind and thoughtful, and the moment you see them, your heart skips a beat and you feel that familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach, the one that’s just for him.

It’s like you’re in your own little world with him. No one else exists.

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts and consider what you asked.

“No,” he says quietly, “I’m not seeing Ginny.”

"Oh....." relief floods through you.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Harry says with a gentle smile at you. “I like you, you know that. And nobody else is going to steal my attention or affections.” He says with absolute sincerity and truthfulness. He leans in to kiss you lightly on the forehead.

“You’re my main priority.” He says as he pulls back after the kiss, looking down at you with an adoring and fond expression.

"Harry Potter, you make me the happiest person in the world!" You say genuinely.

Harry sighs softly and smiles at you.

“You make me the happiest person in the world, y’know?” He says while nodding, “so it’s only fitting that the feeling is mutual,” he adds, his tone soft and tender.

There’s something about you that just… makes him want to shower you with all the love he has in him. It’s that deep sense of being special to one another that he’s never felt before.

"I'd like to start seeing you when we go back to school, Harry." You say wanting to have something more with Harry.

Harry’s eyes light up and he nods. “That’s… definitely something I’d like as well,” he says with a warm and genuine smile on his face.

“You’re an amazing person. I feel like we have something very special here and… honestly, I’d like to see where this goes.” He says softly, placing a hand on your cheek and looking into your eyes. His gentle touch sends a thrill of excitement throughout your heart and makes you feel giddy with happiness.

You smile, pressing a soft peck to his lips.

Harry blushes and his heart skips a beat at your kiss. It’s the perfect blend of cute and flirty.

“Mmm…” he mumbles softly and blushes even more. “That felt really nice, y’know?”

He leans in and kisses you again, this time just a little bit more deeply than last time. For the first time, a trace of his tongue moves to meet yours, slowly, with no rush or pressure to the moment. As you pull back, you see Harry’s face is all glowing red still, and his expression is one of pure joy.

"I love you, Harry," you say your heart had never been this full of happiness before.

Harry’s lips part as you say that in a breath of surprise. His eyes are wide as he looks at you, and for a moment, he just stares in disbelief.

“I…I-I…” he stammers out, his voice breaking as his chest flutters with an overwhelming sense of emotions. “I love you too!” He says in a soft whisper, and tears stream down his cheeks as he realizes just how much that statement means to him. He leans in to pull you in for an all-consuming kiss.

The End

[maltmealo]

Chapter 13: Apologies

That-"

"Yeah."

"We did that?"

"Adorable arent they?"

--------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Doctor

I didn’t know you for very long, I wish I had. You seemed like a nice guy regardless of how silent you were or how little you spoke with your hands. Maybe you hate me in whatever afterlife you choose, I know I certainly would have been angry at whoever was stupid enough to drive off a cliff. Stupid is a generous word for what I did, but I hope you know that I am sorry.

The pencil rests in your hand loosely, the trembling of your hands makes it hard to write neatly. The words scrawled on the paper feel empty, useless in the face of the grave you dug for an innocent bystander.

You deserved more, I know you can’t read this but

The pencil. A tool used to erase mistakes and make something better. But you weren’t a pencil, you were a sad little human writing a letter to a dead man.

The pencil is dropped and the paper crumpled, ending up in the trash, or more likely beside it, with the multitude of other letters you tried to write.

“Can’t find the words?” Nurse Darby asked from beside you, looking from your vitals to you.

Nurse Darby had been there when you woke up, with a warm smile and a kind voice in the stark white hospital room.

“Words are useless, he’s dead and can’t hear them,” You say solemnly, looking down at your casted arm as Nurse Darby comes up to you.

“Maybe not, but it’s still nice to get your feelings out there,” She offers, picking up the pencil and piece of paper and setting it on the food tray in front of you, already cleaned off from your earlier breakfast.

“Why does that matter? He’s dead.” You scoff, leaning back and staring at the paper with disdain. You would’ve crossed your arms but the cast prevented it.

“He may be dead, but you’re not, he’s not going to hate you for letting your feelings out,” she laughs, shaking her head and giving you a sympathetic smile, “you’re a sweet girl, I’m sure he knew that as well as anyone who talks to you for more than five seconds.”

“When I first came in I was screaming and bit someone,” you state bluntly, the memories of being wheeled in on a stretcher all too vivid in your head, the unbearable ache in your chest, the feeling of something being ripped away from you piece by piece like a wet paper towel.

“Eh, most of the people here are,” She shrugs, picking up the clipboard again and looking it over, “It looks like we’re releasing you soon, That Agent Fowler fella came by about an hour ago and signed your release form.”

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and Agent Fowler stepped in, adjusting his tie as he sent you a smile.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Miss,” he says, standing beside your bed as he puts a hand on your uninjured shoulder, “We were quite worried about you, but it seems like we had nothing to worry about.”

“Agent Fowler,” You greet, giving him a tired smile as you sit up a bit straighter, more than happy to see a familiar face.

“Nurse, may we have a moment?”

“Of course, just press the call button if you need me,” she turns to you, gesturing to the remote with a big red button beside you.

She leaves the room, the door closing behind her with a click. Agent Fowler shuts the blinds to the office, turning back to you with a serious look.

“Breakdown escaped,” he starts grimly, crossing his arms as he walks to the window to the outside, “When we went to collect him he was gone, apparently getting crushed by a mountain means nothing to those ‘cons.”

You didn’t know how to feel about that, he seemed like a normal guy, except for the obvious metal part, and he was nice to you. Well, niceish. He did almost crush you, but other than that he was okay.

“We’ll be taking you back to the base, it was too dangerous to move you earlier but now it's a must, we can only hide you for so long.”

“Oh,” you say, looking down at your feet, “right, thank you.”

You don’t know why you were sad, you would be safe with the Autobots, and they would get you home after the war ends, right?

Then again, your injuries had been mostly due to the giant ‘bots. Ratchet breaking what was supposedly keeping your soul from dissipating, the Autobots' carelessness in letting a Decepticon sneak into their base, Bulkhead not even taking a second to break Breakdown’s chest, his death.

“Here, put these on, they should be your size,” Agent Fowler sets a bag down on the bed, unzipping it for you and pulling the set of clothes out.

You look at the clothes in your lap and then at the cast on your arm, a blank look on your face.

“I can go get the nurse if you need help,” Fowler says quickly, noticing your look, “I would help you myself but I doubt you want me to do that.”

The rustling of paper caught both of your attention, your note was picked up off the ground, dark slim fingers uncrumpling the note ever so gently, black eyes reading the letter.

“Ah, doctor Sowa, you’ve arrived, good.” Agent Fowler said with a smile, looking at the man, clad in a lab coat and all.

He nods in response, not looking up from the note.

You’re stunned, he wasn’t dead.

He finally looks up and takes the pen, flipping your abandoned note over and writing on it.

I will help, it says, the scribbles barely legible, almost like a first grader who just learned how to write. He holds it up for Fowler to see, tapping the pen against the paper before pointing at the door, a silent command.

“Ah, I’ll take that as my cue, I will be waiting outside, Miss.” he smiles at you again, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving the room.

The silence was almost deafening, you couldn’t help but stare, he didn’t even have a scratch on him, not at all beat up like someone who supposedly fell a hundred feet.

He flips the paper over again, reading the unfinished note intensely before looking back up at you.

Again, he flips the paper, showing you the scribbles, and then gesturing to the clothes.

“Oh.” is all you could mutter, your voice caught in your throat.

He pauses before pulling the sheets down, grabbing your uninjured arm, and pulling you to your feet, your legs (after not having stood up for three days) gave out.

He stared down at you for a moment, pulling you back up onto the bed with surprising strength from such a scrawny-looking man. Letting you go and crossing his arms, not assumed by the situation.

You stare back up at him, finally regaining your voice.

“I thought you were dead,” You whisper meekly, suddenly not feeling too well.

He grabs the piece of paper again, tapping ‘help’ before offering his hand to you. You take it and he stands you up, putting a hand under your arm to keep you from falling.

“I’m sorry.”

Nothing, he gets you out of the hospital gown.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

He helps you into a loose t-shirt, large enough for your cast to fit through.

“How did you survive?”

He pauses, shaking his head before helping you into pants, considerably easier than the shirt.

“Am I hallucinating?”

He looks up at you, the narrow green eyes showing no hint of what he is thinking. He shakes his head.

“You’re not even hurt,” you say, not able to process the fact that he just saw you nude, how many times do you get to see someone you thought was dead, alive, and well?

He doesn’t respond, going outside of the room and coming back with a wheelchair, helping you get into it without hurting yourself even more.

It’s quiet except for the usual clammer of the hospital, babies screaming, people crying, people complaining.

Suddenly he stops, letting a screaming and crying woman be ushered past, she looked like she had been dumped into a bucket of blood and then slammed into a wall. She was cradling an unmoving bloody mass, the thing that made you gag was the little hand attached by strings of flesh hanging out the wad of flesh.

Sowa’s head moves with the gurney, staring at the bloody mess, not willing or able to move.

“Hey, what happened?” You ask one of the passing nurses, the image burns into your brain.

“Car crash, it was flipped into a ditch,” he explains, watching as they usher her into a room, “poor woman, she was here last month to give birth.”

You utter a thank you to the nurse and he nods, going on about his day, you still haven’t moved yet, Sowa was staring in the direction they had gone, the faint screaming in the distance an eerie howl of a new mother pain.

“Hey, Doctor, are you okay?” You ask, shifting in your seat to look up at the unblinking man, tears forming in the corners of his eyes and dripping down his face, a race to the bottom of his chin only to be soaked up by the fabric of his mask.

He reaches up and touches his cheeks, his head slowly turning to look in front of him as he begins to move again, tears still falling from his eyes.

The first emotion you get from the doctor is his pain, it feels ironic as you reach up and put a hand on his, hoping it would offer some amount of comfort.

You enter the empty elevator, clicking the button for the bottom floor as Sowa stands behind you.

“I know I'm not in any place to say but, I’m sorry,” you say as you maneuver your body to look at him, the burning pain feeling like nothing, “I know the look of someone who lost a kid.”

He doesn’t look down at you, staring straight ahead as he gets ready to get off the elevator, you turn back around. You don’t know what you expecting, he’s probably still mad at you for driving off a cliff, he doesn’t want to hear words of pity from a person who almost killed him-

He places a hand on your shoulder, the grip gently yet firm as he taps your shoulder.

One

Two

Three.