#fic: dancing with myself

[lil-lemon-snails]

"I can't ignore what's under dancefloor boards, The rhythm of my heart a dead-as-disco beat, But I still move my feet, to slip out of this groove, I'm free" ~ 2econd 2ight 2eer, Will Wood, The Normal Album

I have been plagued with visions of LDR Sun every time I listen to this song and I NEEDED to get this out of my system @spadillelicious when do we get to smooch the boy pLEASE

v textless version and close ups under cut!! v

[verdantglow]

Imagine the Hermits learning ballroom dance.

Imagine Etho being assigned to lead because he’s tall & everyone assumes he would.

Imagine him constantly fucking up, stepping on his partner’s feet, missing beats, just a mess.

Imagine Bdubs getting upset from the sidelines.

Imagine him getting blustery about this disaster & stepping in, saying no, no, no, this is all wrong, shooing Etho’s partner away.

Imagine anxiety bubbling up in Etho’s stomach, at having to lead for Bdubs, as he walks over.

Imagine Etho trying to place his hands on Bdubs, mentally preparing for another disaster.

Imagine Bdubs tutting & moving Etho’s hands away, much to Etho’s confusion.

Imagine Bdubs then firmly placing his hand on Etho’s back & grabbing his other hand.

Imagine Bdubs confidently taking over the whole situation.

Imagine Etho’s amazement as Bdubs leads him, and suddenly Etho’s dancing is on beat, smooth, no stepped on feet.

Imagine them elegantly whirling across the floor, everyone else watching them in surprise.

Imagine Bdubs dipping Etho.

Imagine Etho looking at Bdubs face while this happens & feeling his stomach flip at the burn of assurance in Bdubs eyes.

Imagine the song then ending, & them just staying there for a moment, breathing a bit heavy from the exertion.

Imagine Bdubs pulling Etho back up & releasing him & pointed saying that that was how you did it.

Imagine Etho staring at Bdubs, feeling lost & unsure now that Bdubs isn’t there, hand on his back deftly leading him.

Just like. Imagine.

[littleplantfreak]

'When', not 'if'

("I'm not a romantic" I cry and scream before dropping the most sickening thing i've written to date. Blame @stunie because i did tell her i would write the most ume thing ever and maybe this is it. The title in my docs for it is 'Fucking disgusting' but i figured i better not title it that here because I'd be seeing it in my notifs lmaoo)

SFW/no cw unless you hate fluff

When you wake up from your nap, one of your slippers is gone, and there's a blanket on you that wasn't there prior. Looking at the clock, it's been about an hour since everyone had left your apartment once your birthday party ended. The day as a whole had been chaotic, your boyfriend shoving you out the door with a note to go see Kotoha.

The note took you farther than that, though, as it seemed Umemiya created a whole scavenger hunt for your birthday that had you running into all of your friends, having dessert at your favorite cafe, and eventually ending up at your shared apartment to find that all that time spent around town was a distraction so that he could set up the space for your party. After it had ended, you were banished to the couch because princesses aren't allowed to help clean up their own birthday parties, which had you huffing and falling face down into the chicken shaped pillow affectionately called Mr.Clucky.

It was a product of your boyfriend's endless cycle of hobbies when he took up sewing. A little lopsided and overfilled with stuffing, you complained to and into Mr.Clucky with your face pressed into him. Apparently, he was soft enough to fall asleep on because before you knew it, you had been drooling on him the entire hour. Prying yourself off the couch took more effort than was almost worth it before your eyes fell on the reason you were so tired to begin with.

Hajime smiles and hums looking at your bleary eyes. "Good morning sunshine, I was just about to take you to bed," he says, folding a dish towel over a chair. You toss off the blanket and grab on the slipper that fell under the living room table before padding up to him. Dipping your hands under both of his arms to lock them together behind him, now your face is in his chest instead of the chicken, which is entirely preferred.

"Don't wanna go to bed just yet," you muffle, sinking even deeper into him when both of his arms wrap around you in support. He smells like dish soap and birthday cake, and you turn your head to hear the heartbeat in his chest.

"What do you wanna do lovey? You know I'd give you the world if you asked," you can hear the rumble of his voice in his chest with your pressed ear. He's cheesy, but half asleep, you feel just as much, if not cheesier.

"I have the world if I have you, they're one in the same. So just you is more than fine." Your eyes are closed, but you feel him shiver a little. "I wanna dance with you, though," you say, voice still soft and kinda raspy from sleep.

"Dunno if I can top what you just said even when I propose," he chokes out a laugh, or at least you think it's one. He shifts his hold a bit and starts leading you both in a lazy sway that starts near the toaster and ends next to the potted plant at the back door before starting over.

"When? Not if?" You tease him, a hand going to scratch the nape of his neck lightly.

"I'll never meet another you, so I'm pretty set on When."

"I'll say yes." Because you will. You can't imagine a life where you wouldn't.

"And I'll still cry when you do." You can tell he's crying now because it comes out shaky and his hold tightens a bit, before you lean back, stopping your impromptu waltz. Both of your hands come up to cup his face and look at his teary grey eyes before cooing at him.

"You big baby! Save those tears for When please. You'll be congested and sniffley all night if you don't stop." You start cleaning off his face with your sleeve, but he stops one of your hands and starts peppering your palm and wrist with small kisses. "I think I'm ready for bed now. Princess's orders," you say, dragging him towards your bedroom. You'll have to figure out tomorrow just how soon When is going to be, but for now you can hear the slow thumps of Hajime's steps as he follows behind you, squeezing your connected hand. It's not pressing in the least, you think, because it feels like there will be plenty of tomorrows too.

-----

When you wake up in the morning, it takes you an hour to realize Hajime had put the ring on your finger while you were asleep.

It takes you five minutes to run through town in your pajamas, barefoot to find and full on tackle him in front of the place he was about to get your breakfast in.

And it takes about two minutes of unintelligible blubbering on both your parts before anyone understands what is going on.

No one timed it, but if they did, it would've taken less than ten minutes for the whole town to find out via texts, calls, and yells down the streets and through windows that you're engaged.

[welcometothemaraudersspam]

intoxicating

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word count: 4.1k

warnings: grinding, drinking, cussing, plz lemme know if i forgot anything else :3

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the first thing people took notice of when they looked at you -

that mesmerizing smile.

the way you carried yourself was so profound, as if every bad thing thrown your way would just bounce right off.

your bubbly energy enraptured everybody around you, feeding off of your wide grins, and constant laughter bringing a sense of joy into their life.

earning your nickname; sweet girl.

everyone loved you from the moment they laid their eyes on you.

i mean... who wouldn't?

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part 2 here!

"Sweetheart, you have got to get ahold of yourself."

"I do- I don't know what makes you think I don't."

A scoff left Garcia's stained lips, as she stared at your frantic fingers messing with your hair, trying to apply everything all at once. Reaching for your signature perfume, spraying a good dosage on to ensure it stays on the whole night. The blonde had come over to get ready for a night out in the town with her fellow co-workers, including a certain brunette that you had a soft spot for.

Your hair was not cooperating with you. Not. In. The. Slightest.

Does this dress make me look- too much?

Who the hell made this damn mousse-

"If you touch your hair one more time, I will personally make it my life's mission to get rid of your existence." She grabbed a hold of your arm, tugging you out of the bathroom despite your protests. "Spencer won't care what your hair looks like when he's got you underneath him."

A gasp left your lips, smacking Penelope's giggling behind as she ran away from you towards your front door. "Or above him- whatever you're into sweet cheeks."

"Oh! I'm going to get your ass, Pen."

"Run that by my boss first!"

Penelope ripped the front door open, revealing a startled Hotch who had just raised his fist to knock on your house door. A smug smirk graced the blonde's lips, sticking her tongue out at you as she ran towards the SUV where Morgan was waiting. You stood there with a pout on your lips, grabbing your purse from your entrance table. Hotch eyed your dressed up figure, feeling his heart rate pick up as you made your way over to him your perfume engulfing his senses.

"Hiya Hotch." Wrapping your arm around his waist, giving the older man a tight squeeze letting your free hand lock the door behind you stuffing your keys into your purse. Penelope and you might have had one too many shots, the constant cheesing on your face giving you away. 

"Hello sweet girl." Hotch had known you long enough to see you in every situation imaginable, including your drunk side. He chuckled as you left your arm around him, not minding it for a second as you guys walked down the steps to the car. "Are we sure this isn't the aftermath of the bar?"

You let out a small giggle, knowing he was partially right. Hotch opened up the car door for you, helping you into the lifted vehicle a small thank you leaving your lips as you scooted further in as he squeezed in behind you.

The car smelled like people who had were planning on getting laid.

Hotch’s cologne smelled of leather and cinnamon. Discretely trying to hide the fact that you were inching closer to him like a dog sniffing out a treat.

Whilst Morgans cologne smelled of coconut and sugar; not enough to be irritating to the nose.

Both you and Penelope's perfumes smelled nice and sweet, contrasting with the guys.

Penelope was blasting Kesha through the SUV, while Morgan attempted to turn it down without her noticing. Either she noticed or didn't care, allowing her voice to do the work for her as she embodied Kesha.

"We are just getting started, I promise. You should join us! Didn't Morgan draw the short stick for tonight? Leaves you perfectly able to get wasted with us,"

Morgan gave you a glare in the rearview mirror, not letting your mocking affect his driving as he tried his best to follow the law with his boss as his passenger. Hotch just shook his head as you unzipped your purse showing him the contents inside.

His eyebrow raised, he saw several colorful shooters clinking around in the small accessory adorning your body, a smile gracing your warming skin. You took out a bright green shooter, shoving it into his hands.

"What in the-"

"Pen. Catch." Penelope didn't even have to move, her hands expertly catching the pink shot you had picked out just for her. You opted for a blue one, knowing this flavor in specific masked the taste as best it could making it easier to down.

You raised your eyebrow back up at Hotch cracking your drink open, a soft sigh left his lips knowing you wouldn't back down. He proceeded to crack his open, whoops leaving the girls lips. Clinking your shot against his. Your arm moving to wrap around his bringing the cold glass to your lips, allowing the burning sensation to trickle down your throat. Hotch felt his breath hitch at your touch, downing the shooter back.

Hotch was used to harder liquor, but something about the neon colored vodka was already making him feel a little warm. Shaking his head at the taste, putting the lid back on the drink as he watched you reach for another.

"Woah, sweet girl... you sure you can handle another?"

Your rolled your eyes at his concerning words, easily tossing another shooter back as you opened your mouth to show it was gone. Hotch felt a small smirk tug at his lips at the sight, adjusting himself in his seat subtly.

"I almost flunked out of college my freshman year because I was getting drunk every weekend. I learned my handful of tricks- I would put Dr. Reid to shame." Morgan whistled, making Garcia laugh as she reminisced on some of the stories you had told her. An ever-growing smirk graced your lips, re-applying a generous amount of lip gloss to your lips. 

Hotch eyed the bubbly girl, as she made herself comfortable against the taller man. He spread his jean cladded legs as she plopped her purse on his lap, using him as a table rummaging through the contents. Choosing to ignore the sensation of her nimble fingers ghosting over his dark wash jeans, adjusting his position on the leather seat. She pulled out another shooter and mingled it into his hands, a small chuckle bubbling in his chest.

"You're going to have to show me one day, sweet cheeks.”

"Wouldn't you love to see that, sweet boy?"

Morgan smirked up at you as he pulled up to the valet who were excited to take the keys from your favorite Agent, sending a wink to the blushing girl holding the keys. You were about to open the door, almost jumping as you saw Hotch had already beaten you to it. Looking back and forth between the door and your now empty seat beside you, the grinning raven haired man made your heart skip a beat.

"How-"

"Your intoxicated state is making your reaction time slow," His deep voice hummed into your ear, his hands splaying across your back allowing his warmth to keep you from shivering. Hotch lent his arm out, grasping onto his bicep firmly as you made your way into the bar. The shooter you had given the tall man tucked away in his jeans, holding your body close to ensure you wouldn't run off.  His cologne smelled even stronger up close, allowing yourself to engulf the scent a soft sigh leaving your glossed lips.

It didn't take long for Hotch have to glare at the wandering eyes of plenty of men who were attempting to undress you with their nasty eyes. He knew men were absolute garbage as time had gone by, but he knew that he would never let these ones especially anywhere near you tonight. 

It didn't take long for you to find your other co-workers even in all of the chaos, the place bordering a club atmosphere. The bar was currently playing one of your favorite songs, allowing the music to guide your body. You let your grip loosen as you made a beeline towards JJ who was smiling widely up at you, a bright pink coating her cheeks. Your heels clicking mesmerizingly against the stone floor, having mastered the art in running in those strappy shoes.

"JJ!! I missed youuuu," You hurriedly wrapped your arms around her neck, pressing a sticky kiss onto her cheek. She let out a muffled laugh as she held you tighter. "Where is-"

"Spence? Right behind you, honey." The giggling girl whispered into your ear, you spun on your heel making eye contact with the man you had been thinking about all night. A smile made its way onto your lips, taking a seat beside the brunette. 

As if he couldn't get anymore attractive.

The sight of his dark green cardigan bringing out the green in his hazel eyes, hidden behind his god forsaken sexy ass glasses. His cologne wafted over to you, the soft scent of coffee and something sweet. The smell was enough to make your mouth water.

What kind of test do they have to pass to work at the BAU? It seemed like every man and woman had to make your knees buckle to work there.

"Hiya Spence."

The flustered boy tucked his hair behind his ear, turning in his seat to give you his undivided attention. Your perfume infiltrating his nostrils, before having heard your voice. A smell he was all too keen on knowing, wetting his bottom lip nervously. "Oh h-hi!"

The conscious part of your brain attempted to send signals to your body to be smart, your drunk limbs ignoring it as you allowed your legs to entwine with his slack cladded leg closest to you. His breath hitching the smallest of gasps leaving his pink lips. 

The sound of someone hollering behind you made you turn around in your seat, waving excitedly at the dark hair girl approaching. Elle feigned a dramatic hand over her chest, her dress showing off her curves in all the right places. The girl walked over to you, your smile having not left your lips since getting in the car. Smacking a wet kiss on your dark haired friends cheek who just wrapped an arm around your waist. "We were about to send out a search party. We thought Morgan got you guys lost again,"

"Oh he most definitely did, I think the aftershave has made him lose some brain cells over the years." You teased the burly man, who shot you a glare reaching over the table to flick your forehead a gasp leaving your lips. You detangled your legs from Spencers missing the warmth almost as soon as you detached, sending a harsh kick to Morgan who hissed at your heels.

"Son of a bitch. Watch your back, sweet cheeks."

"Want me to kiss it better?" A small twinkle shone in his eyes, his usual flirty smirk making its way onto his face. You turned on your charm, resting your face on your hands as you batted your eyelashes at the man your glossy lips parted open. Everyone at the table watched in amusement as Morgan practically melted at her doe eyes looking up at him, leaning closer to her face. 

"I would love nothing more-"

"I call dibs first, Chocolate Thunder." Penelope butted in, making her first appearance at the table a tray full of drinks. She handed you your signature drink, the vibrant color matching her outfit. Clapping your hands as you blew a kiss to the blonde, wrapping your lips around the straw humming happily at the cold liquid making its way down your throat. 

"No need to call dibs when I've already kissed you, baby cheeks."

"You're not special, Derek. We've all kissed, sweets." All the girls threw in their words of agreement, a chuckle leaving Spencers lips as he watched the look of disbelief on Morgan's face. "Sweet as her name, she is." 

"Don't make me kiss you on the mouth again, Pen."

"Maybe that's what I'm hinting at, sweet girl."

A burst of giggles left the girls mouths as they all grabbed ahold of the shots Garcia had bought everyone. 

Well, everyone except Morgan. 

Penelope had grabbed something strong; wanting to ensure it did what it was intended to do. You had seen Spencer had also proceeded to throw back a shot a small wince leaving his lips. "You would think after 9,006 years, that we would know how to mask the taste of alcohol."

"I like the pain. Gives a little thrill, don't you think?" Tilting your head at the doctor whose eyes widened a little, his cheeks flushing pink. A small giggle left your lips placing your hand dangerously close to his thigh, turning your attention to the raven haired man beside you.

"What are you nursing there, Hotch?" He turned to his left, eyeing the flustered girl a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he showed her his glass. "Mind if I have a sip?" 

"Of course. Go ahead." The girl gently took the glass from his hands, taking a small sip of the drink a soft hum leaving her lips. He felt his chest tighten at the sight of her lips on the same glass his were just on. She just grinned at the man, handing him back his jack and coke. "Not bad- too Hotch for me." 

Gently rising from your chair at the table, gaining the attention of everyone at the table a grin already plastered on your face. Spencer eyed your radiating body, his brain turning to mush as he tried to focus on the words leaving your pretty lips. Chugging the rest of your cocktail, the cold feeling nice on your warming face. "Time to dance!"

Penelope wasted no time, dragging a more than ready Morgan onto the swarm of people on the dance floor. JJ and Elle had already partnered up, their swaying bodies entwined together. Leaving you in between Spencer and Hotch. Both who looked absolutely delicious-

Hold on- what?

Delicious?

I mean... 

Hotch's black polo did absolute numbers for his muscular body. His biceps just about bulging out of the shirt, snug around his lean torso. Wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around his waist. And don't even mention his gorgeous eyes, with their specks of green becoming visible the closer you got to him.

And then Spencer.

That boy looked like straight out of a rom com. His puppy eyes staring at you intently like nothing around you existed. His chiseled jaw and those puffy lips were all you could think about at work. His button ups fitting him just right, the cardigans about to swallow him whole wishing you were in them as well.

"Sweets?"

The sound of Hotchs raspy voice speaking broke you out of your trance, blinking away your borderline wet dream about your co-worker and superior. Taking notice of Spencers empty seat, turning to Hotch with a confused look on your face. "He went to the restroom. Everything okay? You were unresponsive there for a second."

"Y-yes. Sorry, I was- I don't even know. You guys both looked so good, my brain started short circuiting." The words were spewing out of your mouth like muscle memory, a shocked expression filtering over the usually furrowed mans face. "How about that dance?"

"Oh no, I don't-"

"Hotchner, don't start. I was promised a dance,"

"-I think that was you doing the promising." You grabbed ahold of his wrist, tugging the protesting man whose eyes had grown soft. "You're awfully strong when you're drunk. Did you know that?"

"I think it's similar to when crack heads do crack, except without the crack." You shouted into his ear, the music practically making it near impossible to hear. Hotch just let a laugh slip out, his hands having found their home on your hips barely touching you, afraid he would mess it all up.

Pitbull had begun to blast through the club, your body swinging to the beat having known the rhythm a little too well for your liking. The clubs lights had gotten dark, except for the strobe lights and stage lights lighting up the crowd every now and then. You could see Penelope shouting the words at Morgan who bared an amused stare at the blonde, dancing with her drunken form the pink spotlight lighting up her blonde hair perfectly.

A whine left your lips at the lack of contact with your dance partner, pressing your body against the towering man above you knowing this exact situation must be written somewhere on what not to do with your boss. He almost halted his movements if it weren't for your hands finding his and wrapping his arms further around your waist. Hands finding their home around his neck, chills going down his spine as he felt how close you were to him.

The music took ahold of your body. Every beat sending your hips to follow half a second later, memorizing the way Hotch followed your every move. As if your bodies were made just for one another; you moved in sync with each other, neither of you having to give cues as if you guys had been doing this for years.

Hotch felt this body growing hotter the longer you were grinding up against him, a small line of guilt bubbling inside but his body seemed to be doing all the thinking for him. His hands tightening their grip on your hips as he pulled you impossibly closer to him a soft gasp leaving your lips. Your body swaying and turning in his grasp pressing your ass against his growing member, Hotch's head leaning into your neck.

You rolled your head back leaning against Hotch's muscular body, trying to see if it was your mind playing tricks on your or if it truly was what you thought it was poking against your ass.

Every touch felt- electric.

The pawing at your body from Hotch made your body writhe in his grasp, feeling yourself getting drunk in his touch. Shaking hands reaching behind you to find his head full of hair and run your fingers through his gelled hair, enjoying the soft rumble against his chest. Turning back around to face him, wondering what was running through his head right now.

Hotch knew he must have looked as crazy as he felt. Scanning every inch of her face, cupping her face in his warm calloused hand tucking her hair away from her face.

He could see every tiny freckle, and scar on your face.

The sparkly gloss coating your lips enticing him the longer you mouthed the words close to his chest.

Every one of his senses was focused on you.

Your perfume.

Your body.

Your gorgeous eyes.

He couldn't look away-

"If you wanted to kiss me Hotch, you could have just asked,"

Before Hotch could lean down and press his awaiting lips on yours, you spotted a tall lanky figure looking around detaching your limbs from the man a giant grin gracing your features. Waving at the approaching figure, tugging the brunette closer to you. The older man almost rolled his eyes, keeping his hands tucked into his pocket his fingers knocking with the shooter you had gifted him earlier.

"Spence! I was about to send out a search party,"

The blushing boy tried to stammer out a response, his eyes locking with Hotch's.

His boss- correction. His friend was staring at him as if he had just came out and told him he was the unsub on a case. Wiping his clammy hands against his dark slacks, wondering what he had interrupted.

"The line to the bathroom was long. If it weren't for the fact that I had to-"

"Did you know that Aaron is a good dancer?" You shouted in Spencers direction, the name slipping off your tongue sweet like honey.

Hotch turned to face the girl replaying the sound of his name falling off of her lips over and over again, hoping she would say it again. Spencer raised a surprised eyebrow at the cheesing girl, whose hold on him hadn't faltered.

"I'm not too surprised. His stature and athleticism point him in the direction of having better coordination than the average person."

"I have no idea what you just said! Maybe Pitbull is having some affect on my hearing," 

"Maybe we should go sit down, hm?" Hotch whispered into your ear, his breath fanning over your face. Nodding along to his words, grabbing ahold of his unsuspecting hand tugging them over to the back corner table you were sitting at. A soft sigh left your lips, as you reached for Hotch's glass tossing the rest of the drink back. 

Spencer eyed your hand that was still holding onto Hotch's practically burning a hole into his much larger hand, a million thoughts coursing through his head. "Next one is on me, Aaron."

"Don't worry about it, sweet girl. Let me go buy another drink, I'll order you a water."

"What! I'm not even close to being done, please..." A pout found its way onto your face," Just one or two more."

Hotch couldn't say no to that face. "One more. Reid, want anything?"

"Can I just get a water, please?"

Hotch untangled your hand from his, his retreating figure hard to miss even with all the people surrounding him. Spencer took this chance to try to erase any progress Hotch had made, his figure seating itself right beside you. His shaking hand found its place on your thigh, a choked sound leaving your lips eyeing the nervous boy standing before you. Your heart just about dropped into your stomach, a fluttering in your stomach as the guy you had been crushing on had made a move.

Please move it higher-

"I wish we could have had our dance, Spence... I'm sure you've got some more tricks up your sleeve I haven't seen."

"I don't think I would have been able to keep it professional if I got my hands on you,"

Fuck.

"What if I didn't want you too?"

You were playing with fire. 

Knowing full well you had just basically had sex with your boss out on the dance floor, but your brain wanted them both. 

And bad. 

Spencers face heated up, his face leaning closer to yours feeling your chest tighten as he almost brushed his lips against yours his warm minty breath burning your eyes slightly. Holding your breath as you felt him pull back a confused look on your face, taking notice of a looming figure coming your way. The feeling of your blood rushing to your already burning face made you feel a little faint, fanning your face to try to cool off.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at the pair of you a knowing look on his face, clapping Spencers shoulder with a smirk on his lips. "My man. I never knew you had it in you,"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, okay. I didn't know it was a secret, sweet girl. Does this mean the nicknames are off limits now?"

You giggled at the reddening of Spencers face, nudging him playfully. "Not at all, baby. But, Spencer is right. We have no idea what you're talking about."

"What is Spencer right about again?"

"Oh, him and our sweets are-"

Spencer had read your mind, sending a swift kick towards Morgan who let out a yelp turning around and giving the brunette a harsh punch to the arm. Hotch felt his face tense at the words Morgan was insinuating, hoping Morgan was just playing a joke on him taking the seat closest to you leaving you sandwiched in between your two wet dreams once more.

"Don't tell me you're all out of dances, sweet girl. I still haven't gotten mine."

"Oh trust, I'm not. I was just waiting on a good song to come on-"

As if someone was listening in on your conversation, Club Can't Handle Me came on a fan favorite between you and Morgan. A loud laugh leaving both of your mouths as he made his way over to you dragging you over to the huge crowd that you had just escaped. Morgans hands expertly found their place on your hips, having danced with the famous flirt many times. 

The way he grinned against your body had you almost a mess, allowing your legs to slip around his thigh dancing on him as if your life depended on it. By this point there was a layer of sweat on both of your bodies, making you look pornographic on the dance floor. His tight v-neck showed off his muscles well in the dim lighting of the bar, his arms practically engulfing you. 

"You're too hot to be here by yourself,"

"Shut up, Morgan."

The pretty boy leaned into the cusp of your ear, his lips brushing up against you. "If looks could kill, your two lover boys would have killed me tenfold." 

Peeking over his shoulder, noticing the evident glares of Hotch and Spencer who looked like they were 2 seconds away from walking over. "Want to help me make them make the first move?”

"You're an absolute minx, you know that?"

You knew Morgan was right, but the alcohol in you just wanted them to walk over and make you theirs. The music had changed to a slow sexier song, knowing if you were to do anything it would have to be now when the music would show everything off.

Closing your eyes allowing the music to guide you, putting every ounce of your being into grinding against Morgan. It didn’t take long of Morgan putting his hands closer to your ass before a cough interrupted the pair of you.

“Mind if I but in, Morgan?”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n: guys this came to me in the middle of the night and i did NOT stop writing until 5 am. it just kept coming out. and FUCK, i am gnawing at the bars of my enclosure rn. this is my first criminals minds fic pookies.

a/n: GUYS WHAT THE HECK! i am literally writing part two right now, you guys have been so nice to me :,)

[hamartia-grander]

Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck

[ambrossart]

Out of the Loop (Preview)

summary: eddie went home with someone after prom, and gareth is determined to figure out who it was.

pairing: eddie munson x dwm!reader word count: -- warnings: language, new relationship, eddie's girlfriend is gareth's arch nemesis, silly childhood rivalries, eddie being happy and stupidly in love, jason being an overprotective ass, chrissy being an adorable little cupcake, the reader is chrissy's best friend, the unnamed freak is named grant in this series

series masterpost | series playlist | fanfiction masterlist

On Monday morning, Gareth peddled to school like a man on a mission. 

Nothing was getting in his way today, not his mother, who had accidentally washed his Hellfire Club shirt with all his little sister’s dance clothes,

“You know what, honey, I think it looks better this way…”

not his sister, who had been hogging the bathroom all morning because she couldn’t get her hair right, 

“Look, you don’t understand the pressure I’m under right now. Becca Singer is finalizing her birthday party guest list today. I have to look my best if I wanna make the cut.”

not the weatherman, who was painfully misinformed when he called for clear, sunny skies today… 

and certainly not the piece of crap Chevy that just cut him off in the middle of the crosswalk. 

Gareth swerved out of the way and kept on peddling. The rain pelted his face in a spray of ice-cold bullets. 

Behind him, the driver yelled, “Hey, watch where you’re going, you little shit!”  

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Because Gareth was sitting on a goldmine of information right now. It was truly the scoop of the century. Eddie Munson—that’s right, Eddie “the Freak” Munson—had gone home with somebody after the senior prom. 

Who was this mysterious (not to mention incredibly lucky) woman? A curious cheerleader desperate to defy her clique? A rich girl trying to piss off her dad? A shy bookworm who wanted to act out the plot of her favorite romance novel? Who? Who? Gareth’s head was spinning! The question hungrily devoured the rest of his weekend (something Gareth wasn’t too proud to admit, of course, but hey, Sundays were always uneventful days for him). He had to get to school quickly and consult his most trusted sources. 

He found Jeff and Grant sitting at their usual table in the cafeteria. Grant was eating the school’s hot breakfast while Jeff sat with his head in his hands, lamenting the sorry state of his love life. 

“Tara’s still not talking to me. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna dump me for Patrick McKinney.” 

Grant put down his fork. “Wait, you two were dating?”

“No…” Jeff heaved a quiet sigh. “But if we were, she’d definitely dump me for Patrick.” 

Grant frowned, sympathetic yet envious of his friend’s plight. “Man, I wish Meg would stop talking to me. She had me on the phone all night yesterday. I think she wants me to be her boyfriend or something.” Grant cringed at the thought. He didn’t have the strength to put up with her. He’d barely survived prom.   

“You don’t like her?” Jeff asked. 

“Not really,” Grant answered. “I mean, yeah, she’s pretty and all, but as soon as she starts talking—”

Gareth slammed a wrinkled piece of notebook paper onto the table. The loud bang echoed through the entire cafeteria, making a few students gasp and flinch in their chairs. Jeff and Grant didn’t move in the slightest. This was typical Monday morning behavior for Gareth.

“What’s with the pink shirt?” Grant asked, unfazed 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gareth said. They had more pressing matters to discuss. He sat down and folded his hands in front of him, his blue eyes clear and focused. He wasted no time getting straight to the point: “Who’d Eddie go home with after prom?”

Jeff and Grant exchanged a subtle, secret glance. 

“How do you know Eddie went home with someone after prom?” Jeff asked. 

“Because I called him that night.” 

“Why’d you call him?” 

“Because I’m a good friend, unlike some people.” Nobody had called him asking how his night went. Gareth sat home alone on Saturday night, eating popcorn and watching old sci-fi movies in his basement, while the rest of his friends danced and had a blast at prom. It wasn’t fair. “I wanted to check in on him because I figured he might be a little depressed after getting rejected by Chrissy. Because let’s be honest here, there was no way that Chrissy was ever gonna dance with him. You all agree with me, right? I’m not just being a dick here. Like, yeah, I know Eddie’s riding high right now because he thinks this year is his year and everything, but… yeah, he was aiming a bit too high with that goal.” 

“Can you get to the point, please?” Grant said. “My breakfast is getting cold.” 

“Well, multitask, man!” Gareth grabbed Grant’s fork and threw it back onto his tray. “What, you can’t listen and eat at the same time?” 

Grant rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast. Gareth carried on with his story: 

“So anyway, when I called him on Saturday, I expected him to sound all mopey and depressed, but he wasn’t. Yeah, Eddie wasn’t depressed at all. In fact, he sounded oddly… happy, but also a little bit distracted. You guys see where I’m going with this, right?” 

“I hate that I do,” Grant said, struggling to enjoy his food.  

“Well, that’s when I started getting suspicious. See, I could tell I didn’t have his full attention, and that’s just so unlike Eddie because he’s normally really good at maintaining proper phone etiquette. Weird, right? So then I got curious and I started listening, and… and I can’t be sure, but I think I heard a girl talking in the background.” 

“Maybe it was just the TV,” Grant said. 

Gareth shook his head. “No way… I know the difference between a TV voice and a live human voice. Someone was definitely with him.” 

“Well, did you recognize the voice?” Jeff asked. 

“No, I couldn’t hear well enough.” 

Grant’s eyes narrowed with skepticism. “And yet you’re sure it wasn’t the TV…” 

“Oh come on, it wasn’t the TV, you guys. Wake up and smell the coffee! Eddie brought a girl to his house. He brought a girl to his house. She was with him in the room while he was on the phone with me. I could hear her talking. Then Eddie started acting really weird, said he had to go, and rushed me off the phone.”

“Gross,” Grant muttered, sickened. “Yeah, these are details I did not need.” 

Gareth’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. “Wait, do you guys think he slept with her?” and that was more than Jeff could handle. 

He buried his face in his hands and said, “Please stop. I don’t wanna go to class with these images in my head.” 

Grant shrugged. “Maybe it was just a one-night stand.” 

Jeff threw him a sharp, disapproving glare.  

“Just saying,” Grant finished, smirking. 

“No, I seriously doubt it,” Gareth went on, completely unaware. “Eddie’s not really a one-night stand kinda guy… not by choice, anyway. No, I think this might be the real deal, you guys, ‘cause listen to this: I went to go see him yesterday. Eddie wasn’t home.” 

“So?”

“So I think he was with her. I called him last night and asked him where he was all day. He said he was out running errands.” Gareth scrunched up his face, doubtful. “Since when does Eddie run errands? So I said, ‘What sort of errands were you running?’ He said he had to swing by the drugstore. I said, ‘Well, what did you need at the drugstore?’ but he wouldn’t answer that. Yeah, he was being awfully mum.” 

“Mum?” Jeff repeated to himself, mystified by his friend’s bizarre word choice. 

Grant said, “He was probably annoyed that you were digging around in his business. I know I would be.” 

“Oh yeah, he was definitely getting annoyed,” Gareth said. “Then he cut the conversation short and told me he was stepping out for the night. That’s when I knew this was serious. Eddie doesn’t just ‘step out’ on a Sunday night. He hardly goes out any night. If he’s not with us, he’s sitting at home and playing songs on his guitar. Yeah, he was definitely with her last night.” 

Grant sighed, hoping they’d finally reached the end of this long-winded story. “Well, I guess you cracked the case then, Gareth.” 

“But that’s just it, I haven’t!” Gareth said. Grant let out an exhausted moan. “I still don’t know who this girl is. You guys swear you didn’t see Eddie go home with anybody after prom?”

Another secret glance. 

“Nope,” Jeff said. “I didn’t see him go home with anyone that night.”

Gareth nodded, disappointed but not yet defeated. “Yeah, I thought you might say that. That’s why I made this.” 

He gestured toward the piece of paper on the table. Jeff picked it up and read it over. Then he passed it to Grant so he could do the same. 

“Okay, what exactly am I looking at here?” Grant asked.  

“It’s a list of suspects,” Gareth said, a proud smile on his face. “Yeah, last night I compiled a list of every girl I’ve ever seen Eddie interact with at school, and then this morning I whittled that list down to what I think are the most likely suspects.”

“Not a very long list,” Jeff said. 

“Really?” said Grant. “I was gonna say it’s too long.” 

They shared a little chuckle over that. Gareth glowered at them, unamused. He didn’t appreciate them making little jabs about their Dungeon Master’s love life, stagnant as it was. 

“You know,” Grant began with ominous deliberation, “I can’t help but notice there’s a name missing from this list.” 

Gareth's head snapped back in surprise. “Who?” 

“You know who,” Grant said. Beside him, Jeff was holding in a smile. 

A disturbing chill crept up Gareth's spine. Then—

BAM!

Your name cracked down from above like a fiendish lightning bolt, striking Gareth and making all the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. For a second, he could see your name so clearly. It loomed before him, ugly and terrible, festering with puss and crawling with maggots, getting pecked savagely by vultures and other scavengers. It made him retch with disgust. 

“Oh, very funny…” 

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Grant said, “there’s no denying that she’s a likely suspect.” 

“In fact,” Jeff continued, “some might say she’s the most likely suspect.” 

“Yeah, maybe back in middle school,” Gareth said, scoffing, “but Eddie hasn’t so much as looked at her in years.” 

Except for that one time, Gareth thought, remembering the mournful look on his friend’s face that day. They were all eating lunch when your laughter suddenly sprang up from the other side of the cafeteria, obnoxious and shrill. Eddie glanced your way and his eyes darkened with such hollow sadness. It was as if someone had died.   

But that didn’t mean anything, Gareth decided, so he shoved the memory away. 

“All right, look, I’ll admit we lost him briefly for that one summer. I dunno how she did it, but somehow she got her claws in him real deep and he was completely under her spell. I won’t deny that. But then Eddie woke up and saw her for what she really is—an ugly green hag. At first, she appears as this beautiful, enchanting woman, but underneath that guise, she’s a wretched old witch who thrives on torment. Yeah, Eddie got over her a long time ago,” and Gareth refused to waste another thought on it.

He snatched the paper from Grant and laid it out in front of him. “Now, here’s what I’m thinking: if we split this up among the three of us, we can get through this list by lunch and then confront Eddie with our findings.” 

“Yeah, we’re not doing that,” Grant said. 

Gareth frowned. “Why not?” 

“Because we already know who it is.”

Gareth’s eyes widened in surprised anger. “I KNEW IT! I FUCKING KNEW IT! I knew you two were messing with me this whole time. Sitting there with your smug little faces. Making your little jokes. You know what, screw you guys, I don’t even want your help anymore.” 

He stuffed the paper back into his bag, climbed to his feet, and stomped off.

Jeff said, “Shoulda gone to prom, man.”

“Well, no one would go with me,” Gareth replied, dejected. He pushed through the double doors and was gone. 

Afterward, Grant picked up his milk carton and took a few slow slips.

“You know what,” he said thoughtfully, “Gareth should’ve asked Y/N to prom.” 

Jeff chuckled quietly to himself. “Well, she did need a date… Shit, should we have just told him?”

“No,” Grant said. “No, this is something Gareth needs to see with his own eyes.”

⏩ preview #2

SERIES MASTERPOST

FANFICTION MASTERLIST

unfortunately, i no longer do taglists. if you want to stay updated on my fics, you can follow me and/or subscribe to my posts. thank you!

[wewere-here]

“Since you’ve been gone, I’ve been singing this stupid song, so I could ponder, the sanity of your father.”

[feddy-34]

and if you don’t love me now [the chain]

lewis hamilton/max verstappen | 500 words | completed | rated G

angst, established relationship, hopeful ending

abu dhabi and its aftermath

part 1/17 for my new series! they're 500 word drabbles, one for every song on the greatest live album ever made, the dance. i had to start with abu dhabi because cmon. listen to the chain and tell me that isn't ad21.

link in the title above, go check it out!

[blood-inthefields]

In honor of those Yennaia gems season 3 got us...

A little recap of the fanfictions I wrote for the pairing, in case you’re new to the fandom and looking for some light, totally normal reading.

___

♠ All we are (is dust in the wind) ¬ It takes four days for Tissaia to find Yennefer after the battle of Sodden.

♠ Pynk (is where it all starts) ¬ In which hot-shot lawyer Tissaia de Vries unknowingly walks into a strip-club and finds herself hypnotized by one of the dancers there. Not how she’d planned her evening to go.

♠ Get naked (i got a plan) ¬ The phone rang, drawing her attention. With a sigh, she picked it up. “Phil, is that you?” Distorted by the line, a muffled voice answered her. “Johnny got clipped.” Tissaia’s hand balled into a fist. “You know what to do,” she replied curtly. The line went dead. She hung up, ran a hand through her hair. A bath would do her good. And then she would go find Yennefer. 

1920s AU.

♠ I’m your sinner (and your whore) ft. JZXR7 ¬ Due to circumstances entirely beyond Tissaia’s control (Yennefer. Due to Yennefer), she’s found herself trapped in her bedroom with a human whirlwind during a minor pandemic.

She has decided, in all her collected wisdom as Rectoress, that the girl has ten minutes to stop talking before Tissaia takes drastic measures.

♠ Want you, yes i do (bet you never knew it) ¬ The first time that Yennefer considers throwing Tissaia on a bed is in Rinde.

♠ I’ll be loving you (til the end of the night) ¬ Tissaia comes home after a hard day at work to find that her girlfriend has a couple of surprises in store.

♠ The one where Tissaia is a freestyle dance teacher ¬ “It’s Tissaia,” Triss told her, concern evident in her voice.

“What’s with her?”

Now closer to the window, Yennefer leaned forwards and watched as her former mentor, way down below, was shaking her arms and upper body in very strange ways. Had the woman finally lost it?

♠ I will let you down (i will make you hurt) ¬ She feels the blade against her throat before she’s even done with her sentence. Tissaia remains calm, despite the cold metal piercing the skin ever so lightly. Something warm runs down her pale skin and she knows it’s blood. Still, her eyes never leave Yennefer’s.

“Why,” Yennefer begins, almost shouting, as she stalks forward until she’s all up in Tissaia’s face. “Why did you let them send me to Nilfgaard?”

♠ My immoral ft. thinkbucket ¬ What’s up preps, I’m Yennefer Fireball Darkness Purple Mist Vengerberg and I’m a teacher at Aretuza.

or, a parody of legendary fanfiction My Immortal.

♠ Didn’t wanna believe it (but now you are all I see) ¬ It’s on their third date that everything goes to shit. In hindsight Tissaia should have known crushing hard on the whirlwind that is Yennefer would mean her life would be turned upside down. However, she had never imagined it would land her in jail.

♠ And now the surface ripples ¬ She’s been scouring the Continent, desperate for a cure for her barrenness when word reaches her.

Tissaia de Vries is dead.

♠ Find my place (in the warmth of your embrace) ¬ A look at some entries of Tissaia's diaries about her ever-evolving relationship with Yennefer.

♠ Stay a while (and be mine) ¬  Post Sodden Hill, Yennefer and Tissaia are back at Aretuza. One night changes their relationship forever.

♠ After hours ¬ Could the torture be any worse? Yennefer wondered. It was bad enough to have to spend entire days with Tissaia stuck in a classroom together with noisy, dirty children but being around her after the day was over and the children and other teachers had left was pure torture.

♠ Wanna kiss you (til I lose my breath) ¬ The woman is not just a powerful sorceress, she’s an absolute witch and Yennefer tries to hide but it feels pointless. One look from Tissaia and she becomes an open book.

♠ I will reach for you (when you’re feeling low) ¬ Set in 2.03 after Yennefer shows up at Aretuza and gives Tissaia a gay heart attack.

They know, they all know what Yennefer means to her, how long she’s spent trying to find her.

[stevebabey]

if u have ever written, read, or enjoyed a steddie fic where they meet on the dance floor of a club — whether as lovers, friends with benefits, exes, whatever

i have the song for you…..

[youchangedmedestiel]

Ask Game!

25 & 29

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

I don't remember feeling upset as I wrote something. At least not yet. My writing actually helps me process things and deal with feelings. I tend to write happy endings but if somehow I end up writing a fic that doesn't, then maybe I'll be upset. If I manage to write about widower arc Dean one day, I'll probably be upsed, maybe that's why I don't write about him (yet).

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

It's a fic that happens after 8x22, one chapter is actually a fic I read and inspired me to write more about it and then it turned into something with more than 40k words. It was one of the first fic I wrote. I was experimenting my writing actually and words just kept flowing at me. I was just trying, okay? I just finished the show I had to let this all out and I was exploring their relationship. Anyway, don't judge me please. The scene I'm sharing with you happens in Dean's room at the bunker, there you go:

“Cas, what are you doing here?” Dean asks frowning, clearly still mad at Castiel’s reaction toward the flirty waitress. Castiel stands up and presses play on the stereo to start the song “The Rain Song” from Led Zeppelin. Dean looks at the stereo with his eyebrows still frowning, not understanding what is happening, since Castiel doesn’t answer his question.

“I need to tell you something, Dean.” Castiel starts smiling, walking toward Dean, while Dean just stands there, where he is looking at him. “I know you like this band and this song. This is why I chose it. And I know you know the lyrics but please listen to them. You will understand what I want to tell you.” Dean tilts his head and parts his lips, surprised. Even though, he doesn’t remember all the lyrics, not remembering every exact word, he knows what it is about. Plus, with the worry face Castiel makes, Dean understands what is happening. This is scaring the hell out of him but it is happening and he can’t stop it, he doesn’t really want to anyway. So, he smiles at him.

“Cas” he starts, wanting to apologize for doubting him with the waitress, but Castiel stops him instantly.

“Listen, Dean.” During the first lyrics, Castiel comes closer to Dean and extend one hand toward him. “I would like to dance with you,” Castiel offers. Dean hesitates while staring at him and puts his hand in Castiel’s. Both smiles as they lean in at the same time. Dean removes his hand from Castiel’s and puts his hands on his lower back, while Castiel puts his arms around Dean’s neck. When the first lyrics are sang, he rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder, while they dance slowly together.

“Listen,” he tells Dean again, whispering in his ear.   

It is the springtime of my loving

The second season I am to know

You are the sunlight in my growing

So little warmth I've felt before

It isn't hard to feel me glowing

I watched the fire that grew so low, oooh, oh

“You helped me grow. You changed me, Dean.” Castiel starts when the first lyrics are over and only the melody stays, moving back his head to stare into Dean’s eyes while he cups his head with his hands. “You taught me so many things, you taught me how to feel. You taught me about free will. And I believed in it, I have faith in it, I have faith in you. I would do anything for you. I would die for you. I never used you, Dean. I never will.” Castiel says finally calling back to what happened in Dean’s first fantasy.

“Cas –“ Dean starts, swallowing his tears. “I know that now. I should have never doubted you, I’m sorry.” Dean says lowering his gaze, but Castiel lifts his head up a little bit, already missing looking into his eyes. Dean’s eyes are back staring at Castiel’s blue.

“And I’m sorry I gave you some reasons to believe I would do this to you.” Castiel’s eyes starts to be fill with tears too.

“You didn’t Cas, it’s not you. It’s me. I always think people will leave me.”

“I never will, Dean. I couldn’t. You hear me? I always come back to you at some point. When you told me that we were family, that you needed me in that crypt. You broke the hold Naomi had on me, Dean. Don’t you understand? I can’t stay away from you for too long. If I do it’s because I have no other choice and it’s to keep you safe.” Castiel’s heart is racing, carried away by the emotions invading him.

“You had a choice in Purgatory, and you chose to stay. You chose to let me leave without you.” Dean throws, remembering how hurt he felt at the time, when Castiel showed him what really happened at the gate, he even altered his own memories to avoid knowing Castiel’s left him on purpose.

“It was different I was feeling so much guilt about the Leviathans, about what I did to people, to angels and to you. I didn’t deserve to go out with you. I didn’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”

“You do, Cas. I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you. I always get angry and end up hurting people I care about. Hurting you.” 

“It’s not true. You are not like that. Not at all. You see yourself how our enemies sees you but they are all wrong, you too. And you do, Dean. Deserve me.” Castiel says resting his head again on Dean’s shoulder, with his face buried in his neck this time. “Now, let’s dance slowly again. I like doing that with you. And listen to the song.” Castiel smiles against Dean’s neck.

It is the summer of my smiles

Flee from me, keepers of the gloom

Speak to me only with your eyes

It is to you I give this tune

Ain't so hard to recognize, oh

These things are clear to all from time to time, ooh

Oh, oh

“You are not like you said you are, Dean. When I look into your eyes, and after all these years, all I see is the most caring human in the whole world looking back at me. You care about people, ready to risk your own life to save them. You saved the world so many times. You saved ME too.” Castiel says moving his head back again to stare into Dean’s eyes, showing how much he deeply thinks what he is telling him.

Ah, talk, talk, talk, talk

Hey!

I've felt the coldness of my winter

I never thought it would ever go

I cursed the gloom that set upon us, upon us, upon us

But I know that I love you so, ohhhh, oh

But I know that I love you so

These are the seasons of emotion

And like the wind, they rise and fall

This is the wonder of devotion

I see the torch we all must hold

This is the mystery of the quotient, quotient

Ah, upon us all, upon us all a little rain must fall

Just a little rain, oh yeah

Uhh, ooooh, yeah yeah yeah

Castiel pulls back for the third time to look at Dean again. Dean is used to it now and he knows it means Castiel still has something to tell him. “We have been through so much together, you and me. Despite or thanks to all that, today I am able to say that –“ Castiel stops taking a deep breath to put all he feels in three little words as much as possible. “I love you”. He finally confesses, letting a tear run down his cheek. Dean swallows hard and wipes it with his thumb. He guessed what Castiel wanting to tell him, knowing the song, but he needed to be sure, he needed to hear what he had to say and he needed to hear that he loves him.

“I love you too, Cas.” Dean grabs Castiel’s neck with one hand and pulls him closer. He brushes their lips together, a desperate and passionate kiss, saying ‘I love you’ in another way again. Dean is overwhelmed by Castiel’s love and kiss, not controlling what is getting out of his mouth, his emotions, his feelings for him are getting the upper hand. “My mom used to tell me that angels were watching over me. I couldn’t believe her anymore when she died. But then, I met you Cas. And you gave me faith again. You always took care of me. You always watch over me, even when I sleep.” Dean chuckles and continues his speech, more seriously, putting his heart out. “Then, I fell in love with you as I never did before. I didn’t believe I could love someone like I love you. Cas, you are the light in my life, never think otherwise. You are my angel, you always have been.” Castiel smiles fondly at Dean’s confession, feeling his heart exploding in his chest, wanting to go out of it.

“I’m all yours and you are all mine.” Castiel declares with some lust replacing the happy tears in his eyes. “The song is already finished.” Castiel observes, looking at the stereo disappointed, while the music has ended a few minutes ago, but they were too focus on each other to notice.

“The song last more than 7 minutes, Cas.” Dean reminds him, chuckling, despite he didn’t notice when it ended either.

“I know, but it’s not enough. I like dancing with you, holding you in my arms.”

“I agree, I like it too.” Dean declares smiling fondly, stroking Castiel’s jaw with one hand.

“We should do that again some time.”

[halfratsalready]

I finally, FINALLY, outlined the entirety of my exchange oneshot. Less than two weeks left and I haven’t even gotten into all of the plot craziness by 5.9k words, but at least I know where it’s going now, right? Right?

[solar-halos]

i’m coming for another one of yall this mood board monday. this one is for you and me on the rock by @the-sun-and-the-sea

[camellcat]

WTFFF I thought thirteen would be my new girl crush love of my life heart eyes wife you-came-after-twelve-you-must-be-better-than-they're-all-saying bbygirl and then I had to sit down and watch as she told a man who (if he were not a murderer, of course) literally every regeneration before her would've LOVED and FULLY SUPPORTED that "the systems aren't the problem. how people use and exploit the system, that's the problem. people like you" </33333 !?!?

[toelessbastard]

p rare for webtoons I like to have official tags on ao3 :o

[ambrossart]

THE SHRIEKING QUEEN'S CATACOMBS

— Session 1: Friday, May 23, 1980

summary: on the first day of scott sloman's infamous summer D&D campaign, you're excited to showcase your original character and sorely disappointed by eddie's lack of creativity. you promised chrissy you would be nice to eddie this summer, but...

seriously, that's the best you could come up with, munson?

pairing: eddie munson x dwm!reader word count: 8,450 warnings: middle school; young!eddie; insecure!eddie; secret crushes; the unnamed freak is named grant in this series; inaccurate d&d gameplay; seriously, I'm taking a lot of creative liberties here; eddie has a tiny crush on chrissy

series masterpost | series playlist | fanfiction masterlist

“Okay, should we go over the rules one more time?”

“No… I think I got ‘em down pretty well.”  

“Let’s go over them one more time.”  

Chrissy Cunningham paced the floor of her bedroom with an authoritative stride, her arms folded neatly behind her back, chin held proudly in the air. Standing at only five-foot-one, she looked like an adorable little drill sergeant… until she looked over at you, sitting on her bed with your chest puffed out and hand raised in mock salute; then her composure shattered and she reverted back to her goofy, giggling, eleven-year-old self. 

“Don’t make me laugh,” she said. 

“What? I’m showing you respect.” 

Chrissy raised her eyebrows in friendly disapproval. “Stop,” she said. “We need to be serious.” So she donned an expression of stern command and resumed her stride. “Okay, repeat after me: I will not be mean to Eddie.”  

“I will not be mean to Eddie.”  

“I will not mock him.”  

“I will not mock him.”  

“I will not tease him.”  

“I will not tease him.”  

“I will not call him names.”  

“I will not call him names.”  

“I will laugh only when it’s appropriate, and in a good-hearted manner.”  

“Wait, how are we defining appropriate?”  

“Just repeat it, please.”  

You sighed in surrender and echoed your best friend’s words dutifully: “I will laugh only when it’s appropriate, and in a good-hearted manner… even though I don’t really know what that means.” 

Chrissy shot you a strict glare and continued: “I will not let my anxiety make me forget rules one through five.”  

“I will not let my anxiety make me forget rules one through five.”  

Chrissy stopped in front of you, put her hands on your knees, and smiled warmly. “I’m gonna have fun this summer.”

“I’m gonna have fun this summer.” 

“I’m gonna show Eddie what a smart, creative, and wonderful person I am.” 

“Well…” You looked away, embarrassed. 

“Come on, say it.” Chrissy started shaking your knees gently. “C’mom, c’mon, you gotta say it.” 

Her words made you squirm a little. Timidly, you looked at her and said in a bashful voice, “I’m gonna show Eddie what a smart, creative, and wonderful person I am.” 

“Because you are.” 

“… Because I am.” 

Her smile grew. “Good!” She drummed her hands on your knees and stepped away from you. While rifling through her desk drawers, she said, “So what game are you playing exactly? Is it like a board game or something?”

“Uh, no… it’s like this fantasy roleplaying game. I don’t really know how to describe it.” 

“But you know how to play it, right?” 

“Yeah, for the most part.” 

“For the most part?” Now Chrissy sounded worried. “I thought you had been practicing. Isn’t that what you spent the last two weeks doing?”

“Well, yeah… but it’s a surprisingly complicated game.” 

“You weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“No, I totally was, I promise.” You had put in the time and the effort. Every day after school, you rushed home, hopped on your bike, and peddled down the street to the Wheeler house. You sat in that stuffy, smelly basement for two hours while a group of third-grade boys explained all the rules and then bickered over said rules. “There was just a lot of information being thrown at me in a short period of time. And I guess not everyone plays the game the same way, either, so even if I learned how they play the game, I still might not know how they will play the game, so… I’m just gonna wing it and hope my creativity saves me. Dustin said I made a pretty cool character for my first try, so…”

“Who?”

“Dustin Henderson. Third-grader. Doesn’t matter. The point is…” 

Mrs. Cunningham poked her head into the room and said brightly, “Chrissy, dear, don’t forget we have to leave in twenty minutes.” Then she saw you and her whole demeanor frosted over. “Oh… I didn’t realize you had company.” 

You had been Chrissy’s best friend for five years and Mrs. Cunningham still referred to you as “company.” It was like she didn’t even see you as a person. You were just this disgusting blob that took up space in her daughter’s life. 

“I just stopped by for a minute,” you told her. “I’ll be leaving soon.” 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

(But were you, really?)

Mrs. Cunningham lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, smiling at you and restlessly wringing her hands. Before leaving, she tipped her head toward her daughter and said, “Chrissy, stop slouching, dear.”

Chrissy heaved a frustrated sigh. Then she padded across the room and closed her bedroom door. When she turned around, you both said in perfect unison, “Chrissy, stop slouching, dear,” and broke up into giggles. She was still laughing as she hopped onto the bed and sat down cross-legged beside you.

You turned around to face her. “So where are you going in twenty minutes?” 

“Just the salon,” she answered uncaringly. 

“Oh, please tell me you’re not getting a perm like your mother. I’ll hold you down and shave your head if you do.” 

“If she makes me get a perm, I’ll shave my own head. It’s just a trim. She makes me get one every three weeks; otherwise, I’ll get split ends.” 

“Oh, split ends… the scourge of society.” 

“Shut up,” Chrissy said, giving you a playful swat. “Be nice or I won’t give you your present.” 

You perked up. “A present, you say?”

“Mhm.” Chrissy flashed an excited smile, then reached behind her back and pulled out a colorful woven bracelet. “I made this for you.” 

You raised your eyebrow curiously. “Another friendship bracelet?” 

“No, this one’s not a friendship bracelet.” Leaning forward, she carefully tied the bracelet onto your left wrist. Its vibrant color perfectly complemented the other bracelet she had made for you. “This one’s for good luck.” 

You admired the bracelet for a moment, thanked her for making it, then felt your stomach bubble and churn. “Okay, now I’m getting anxious.”

“Don’t be anxious,” Chrissy said. “You’re gonna be fine.” 

But you still weren’t convinced.

“What time is it?” you asked. 

Chrissy looked over her shoulder and glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. “Nine thirty-five.”

“Oh crap,” you said, and got up. “I better get going.” 

You grabbed your backpack off the floor, slung it over your right shoulder, and exited her bedroom. Chrissy followed you downstairs and opened the front door for you.

Before heading out, you turned back with sudden panic and said, “Should we go over the rules one more time?”

Chrissy shook her head. “No, you know the rules. Just be your normal charming, delightful self and you’ll be fine, okay? I promise.” 

She sent you off with a gentle shove, and you went uneasily: down the porch steps, down the cobblestone walkway, and found your bike sitting beside the garage. You put up the kickstand and swung your leg over the seat, but just as you were about to push off, a dreadful thought came to your mind. You replanted your foot and looked up at Chrissy with a worried frown. 

“Hey, what if it doesn’t work?” you asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like… what if I do all this and Eddie still hates me?” You shrugged, demoralized. “What then?”

Now Chrissy was frowning, too. “Well, at least you’ll know you gave it your best shot.” 

Four blocks away, Scott Sloman was dressed in his Sunday best and restlessly pacing his basement, which was now pristine thanks to his diligent efforts the day before. 

On that morning, Scottie had woken up early, consumed a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, and French toast (all prepared by his lovely mother, of course; Mrs. Sloman was an excellent cook), pulled on his rubber gloves, went downstairs, and got to work. It took him hours, but it was worth it. Every crumb, every cobweb, every splatter, every stain had been expertly tracked down and eliminated with the toughest chemicals money could buy. Now every surface sparkled radiantly, and the air carried a whimsical, woodsy scent that transported you to the crisp forests of New England—not that Scottie had ever been to New England, but he imagined that’s what its forests smelled like. 

He grabbed the can of EVERGREEN Air Freshener and gave it a vigorous shake.

“Do not spray that again,” Jeff told him. “You’re gonna give us all cancer.” 

“I’ll stop spraying when you guys stop smelling.” 

He pressed down hard on the nozzle and sprayed a thick cloud of EVERGREEN mist into the air. It showered over the table like a light drizzle of rain, getting on everyone’s hair, everyone’s clothes, and speckling the open page of Eddie Munson’s notebook. 

Eddie, who had been tuning everyone out and listening to music on his Walkman, now looked up with bewildered annoyance. “Dude, come on…” He fanned the remaining mist away with his hand and immediately went back to his notes. 

Observing him, Grant said to Jeff, “Damn, Eddie’s really in the zone today.”

It wasn’t exactly unusual for him to be this withdrawn. Eddie Munson took his D&D very seriously—perhaps a bit too seriously, although no one would ever dare tell him that. Before every session, while everyone else joked around and snacked on donuts and muffins (also prepared by Mrs. Sloman), Eddie sat quietly in his chair, the same chair he occupied for every session, and gradually slipped further… and further away. The Walkman, a gift from his uncle for his fourteenth birthday, only accelerated his emotional departure.

But he would return eventually. He always did. 

“You think he’s anxious about her coming?” Grant asked.

Jeff frowned guiltily. “Probably.” 

Beside Grant, Gareth was sharpening his pencil with a small metal pocket sharpener. From the look on his face, you would have thought he was honing a warblade. 

“He’s preparing his mind for battle,” Gareth said, his blue eyes burning with a ferocious and frightening intensity. “The enemy draws near. She will soon be at our gates.” He withdrew his pencil and blew fiercely on the pointed tip. “We must be ready to meet her.”

Jeff and Grant rolled their eyes. It was way too early in the morning for this. 

“She’s not the enemy,” Jeff said.

“Well, you’re a traitor,” Gareth replied. “Yeah, Eddie told me you’re the one who invited her, you Judas.”

“What? Oh c’mon, man, don’t start that now.” 

“How’d she do it?” Gareth asked. “Did she blackmail you? Bribe you? I didn’t realize your loyalty could be so easily bought, Jeff.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?” 

Grant, ever the rational one, said, “Ignore him. Gareth’s just mad she beat him in the spelling bee last year.”

And that’s when Gareth fired back with unseemly anger: “She did not beat me in the spelling bee! That whole competition was rigged right from the start. Every round, she got the easiest words while I got stuck with all the hard ones. It was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. I’m telling you, the whole thing was a sham!”

Jeff and Grant exchanged an amused glance. “My mistake,” Grant said while Jeff snickered. “Clearly you’ve moved on from this.” 

Gareth waved him off. “Oh shut up, Grant. Look, this is about way more than a spelling bee, okay? That girl is a heartless, horrible devil-woman. I will not break bread with her. I will not fight alongside her on the battlefield. I won’t, I won’t, and neither will Eddie.” Gareth clapped Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Right, Eddie?”

The older boy flinched, looked up, and pulled the left speaker box away from his ear. “What?”

“We’re standing together, right? Against our common enemy?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knitted together. “I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

And now Scott Sloman had heard enough. “Are you guys even listening to me? Come on, this is a huge moment for us… for me, especially. I need you all to be on your best behavior today. No burping. No farting. Sit up straight and keep your elbows off the table, gentlemen. Today, we have a young lady gracing our party.” 

Gareth sneered. “She’s no lady. She’s a hellbeast.”  

Scottie slammed his fist on the table. “See, this is the kinda shit I’m talking about! You psychos are gonna scare her off before she even—” He saw that Eddie had already put his headphones back on, an act of subtle but profound defiance. Scottie’s jaw dropped. “Eddie… Eddie… Hey, Eddie, I’m talking here.” 

“Leave him alone,” Jeff said. “He’s getting into character.” 

Scottie scoffed at that. “Oh please… Eddie uses the same character for every campaign. If he doesn’t know his character by now, he never will.” 

He snatched the Walkman off the table and yanked it away, viciously ripping the headphone jack from the plug. 

Eddie’s head jerked up in startled surprise. “Dude, what the fuck—” 

“I’m doing this for your own good, Eddie. It’s about time you learn how to socialize with the fairer sex.”

Eddie glared at him, exasperated. “I know how to talk to girls.” 

“Really?” Scottie shot him a dubious look. “Okay, Eddie… how many words have you said to that cheerleader you think’s so cute?” 

“Zero,” Grant answered for him. “He’s said zero words to her.”  

Eddie just sighed miserably. “Can I have my Walkman back, please?”  

“No, Eddie, you can’t,” and Scottie set the cassette player on the shelf behind him. “See, this is exactly my point, you guys. We have a huge opportunity here. A girl is coming to play D&D with us. And not just any girl. One of the popular girls! Do you guys understand what this means? If we play our cards right, maybe she’ll start bringing her friends. Her popular friends. Her pretty friends.” 

“Is that what you think’s gonna happen?” Jeff asked. “You think a bunch of cheerleaders are gonna wanna play D&D with you?” 

Scottie shrugged and said in a waning voice, “Well, you never know…”  

Eddie put his head in his hands. “I knew this was gonna happen. I knew this was gonna happen. She’s not even here yet and she’s already ruining the game.” 

“Hey, where is she, anyway?” Grant said. “It’s already after ten. Are we sure she’s even gonna show?” 

“She probably won’t,” said Gareth. He leaned back in his chair, satisfied and smug. “Yeah, I bet she chickened out like the coward she is. Screw her, I say we start without her.”  

“We’re not starting without her,” Jeff said. “Look, she’ll be here, okay?”

“Spoken like a true traitor.” 

“Dude, stop calling me a—” 

Suddenly, the doorbell chimed. The sound echoed over their heads like a distant warhorn on a cold, fog-covered battlefield. Gareth reached for his newly sharpened pencil and held it like a knife. 

“She’s here.”

You stood on the front porch with your backpack hooked on your shoulder and your arms crossed tightly in front of you, shivering uncontrollably in the sunny, seventy-nine-degree weather. 

Almost a minute had passed and nobody was answering the door. This made your stomach flutter nervously. You looked around and wondered if perhaps you were at the wrong house, (and wouldn’t that be lucky? Oh well, looks like I better give up and go home…) but you weren’t. The number displayed beside the door matched the address Scottie had given you. This was Scott Sloman’s house. You were at the right place. And now you had no excuse to leave. 

You stepped forward and—oh, how your hand trembled!—rang the doorbell again. The sound made your heart jump in panic. It started bucking wildly in your chest, desperate to break out of your ribcage and escape. Excuse or no excuse, you wanted to get the hell outta there!

“Calm down,” you kept telling yourself. “Calm down. Calm down. You’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be…”

(But what if it doesn’t work?)

“… fine,” you whispered, except now you only half believed it, and that half wasn’t strong enough to keep your feet on the porch.  

You shuffled back a step, then another, looked over your shoulder, and stared longingly down the street.

From here, the road seemed so endless, so… tempting. You could see yourself on that road, on your bike, peddling fast and far away. Back to your house. Back to your bedroom. Lying on your bed, opening your favorite book, and escaping into a safe, snug little world. You could spend hours hiding in there. It would be perfect. Then, eventually, you would have to face Chrissy. She would be a little frustrated and disappointed with you, but she would probably forgive you in a day or two. Chrissy was compassionate like that.

Yeah, Chrissy would forgive you. She would forgive you, and hug you, and tell you that everything would be okay. 

Okay… 

Okay… 

Okay, I’ll just go home then. It’s probably for the best, anyway. 

You fled down the stairs and ran to your bike. It was sitting on the front lawn with everyone else’s, Jeff’s standing upright on its kickstand, the others lying on their sides in the grass, their painted steel frames glimmering in the sunlight… all but one, anyway; one was too dull to properly catch the light. You had recognized Eddie’s bike as soon as you arrived at the house. His stood out because the frame was oddly bent and most of the paint had been scratched off. It was an old bike, purchased secondhand from secondhand at a yard sale two years ago. To you, it might as well have been brand new.

“He’s here,” you whispered, and felt your face get delightfully warm. 

Eddie was here, he was here, finally within reach. All you had to do was walk through that door. 

Excitement swept through you, girlish and unaffected, and now you were smiling ridiculously to yourself, all your fears forgotten… for now, anyway. You pressed your palms to your overheated cheeks and thought, This is my chance. This is my only chance. 

Nervous as you were, terrified as you were, you had to see this through. 

Determination burned inside you. You stepped away from your bike and—  

“Hey, you made it!” Scott Sloman was standing on his front porch with his hand raised high in a friendly wave. He frowned when he saw that you were beside your bike. “Where are you going?” 

You looked at your bike, then back at Scottie. “Oh, well… I was just, uh…” You forced a laugh and feigned embarrassment. “I'm so stupid, I thought I was at the wrong house for a second.”    

“Oh…” Scottie’s face brightened instantly. He laughed along with you. “Nope, you found us just fine. C’mon inside, everyone’s waiting for you.”  

Everyone? you thought for a second, hopeful, but then you realized that probably wasn’t true. Eddie wasn’t waiting for you. He wasn’t eager to see you. He didn’t want you there at all. But that was okay. 

You took a deep breath and started walking toward the house, Chrissy’s good luck bracelet dangling from your wrist. 

All right, I’ve got a huge uphill battle ahead of me. Now I’m probably gonna fail miserably, but… at least I’ll know I gave it my best shot. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you said to Scottie. He was leading you through the house to the basement, where everyone else was waiting… where Eddie was waiting. You could hardly believe this was happening. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Scottie replied sheepishly. He was feeling a little awkward after his earlier faux pas at the front door. When you walked in, Scottie greeted you with this dramatic, over-the-top gentleman’s bow. Unable to hide your discomfort, you grimaced and drew away from him. Scottie’s face turned beet red. He said, That was really weird, wasn’t it? And you replied, Yeah, it was. Please don’t ever do that again. Now Scottie felt a little self-conscious around you. He could barely look you in the eye without blushing.      

“Of course,” he went on, “if it happens again, I’ll have no choice but to imprison you.”

That caught you off guard. You almost tripped over your own foot. “Wait, what?”  

Scottie’s eyes widened. His face flushed a deep pink. “Oh, your character, not you. Sorry, that sounded a lot creepier than I intended. Yeah, usually when someone’s late I punish them by having their character ambushed early in the game and thrown into some sorta prison. Then they have to find a way to escape on their own. It sounds really cruel, but it’s actually a lotta fun. Like last year, Gareth was late and I threw his character into the fighting pits and he had to fight for his freedom. He didn’t make it out, though.” Scottie laughed to himself, remembering. “Yeah, Gareth dies a lot in the game. You’ll see. His deaths are pretty legendary… Oh, hey, that reminds me, have you made a character yet? It’s no big deal if you haven’t. We can help you make one today.”  

“Thanks,” you said, “but I already made one.”  

“Oh, sweet, awesome. Wait, you didn’t make a magic-user, did you?” 

You shook your head. All those spells seemed too complicated to you. 

“Okay, good. I only ask ‘cause we try to keep the party as balanced as possible; otherwise, the story really suffers. Plus Eddie’s kind of our resident spellcaster, and he really hates it when people use the same class as him. He’s pretty weird about it, actually. But then again, Eddie’s pretty weird about everything. I don’t think I need to tell you that, though.”  

You smirked, understanding. “Yeah, sounds like Eddie’s a big baby.”  

(Shit, was that mean?)

Scottie looked at you in surprise. His face broke into a huge grin. “I am so glad you’re here,” he said, chuckling. Then he walked through the kitchen and opened the basement door for you. “Ladies first,” he said, and you moved past him and slowly began your descent. 

For as long as you lived, you would never forget that walk downstairs. You could recall every detail perfectly. The way the wooden railing felt under your fingers—smooth yet rough in certain places. The way the steps creaked as you put your weight on them. The hushed voices that emerged from below: Gareth’s, Jeff’s, Grant’s… Eddie’s. The scent of pine, pungent and overwhelming. It smacked you in the face as soon as you took your first step, and it only got stronger the further you went. It was such a strange smell. Initially, it made you think of those little tree air fresheners that everyone hung in their cars. Now it only made you think of that basement, that weirdly clean basement, and the first time you saw Eddie sitting at the table.

His dark brown eyes found you instantly, but they didn’t look at you—they didn’t see you—not really. Like always, his eyes just sort of hovered on you for a second and then darted away. Eddie was always running away from you. It was hard not to feel a little disheartened after that. 

So this is how it begins, huh? Wonderful. 

You found your seat next to Jeff and sat down. He turned to you with a smile. 

“Cutting it pretty close there, huh?” He was laughing, but you could hear the concern in his voice. “For a second, I seriously thought you were gonna bail.” 

“Honestly, I almost did,” you confessed quietly, keeping your head low and your hand cupped over your mouth. “I’m kinda freaking out here, Jeff.” 

Being seated directly across from Eddie certainly didn’t help. How were you supposed to keep your composure with him so close? The second he made eye contact with you—if he ever made eye contact with you—you were gonna blow like a geyser, like Old Faithful, and there was no telling what kind of scorching hot insults were gonna come spewing out of your mouth. You could already feel them bubbling inside you, dangerous and unpredictable. You were a powder keg of emotions right now. One good spark and, boom, you were gonna explode. Oh, this is gonna be bad. 

Jeff nudged your arm gently with his elbow. It disarmed you a little. “Relax,” he said. “You’ve got this, okay? Just, you know…” 

“Be nice,” you said. “Yeah, I know.”  

Jeff’s eyes softened. “I was gonna say be yourself,” he said. 

But what if “yourself” wasn’t all that great? 

Taking his words to heart, you leaned over and smiled at Grant, ignoring the image of Eddie that haunted the outermost edge of your vision. He wasn’t looking at you, anyway. 

“Hey, Grant.”  

“Hello,” Grant replied neutrally.

“I heard you got a perfect score on your English final. Very impressive, sir.”  

Grant shrugged modestly. Perfect scores didn’t excite him as much as they used to. “How’d you do?” he asked. “You usually test pretty well, don’t you?” 

“Eh, well enough,” you said, still very aware of Eddie’s presence. You were dying to have him look at you. Actually, you would have died if he looked at you. “I got all the multiple-choice questions right, but by the time I got to the final essay, I just really wanted to go home, you know? It was my last test of the day. My grade was pretty much set. I wasn’t in the mood to write this long, boring essay, so… yeah, I kinda half-assed it. Oh well. Still got an A.”

“God, you are so full of yourself,” Gareth said. His voice was acidic and dripping with disdain. 

Unbothered, you faced him with a smile. “What’s up, Gareth? Long time no see. How are you doing?”

“Stupendous,” he blurted out with a fierceness that was borderline comical. Boy, if you weren’t trying so hard to be on your best behavior right now, you would have had some colorful words for him… words he probably couldn’t spell.  

Smirking, you said, “So did your mommy pack you a juice box?”

Gareth scoffed. “Did your mommy pack you a…?” He closed his mouth, grabbed his sharpened pencil, and started violently hammering the tip into his notebook: WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Your eyes widened with surprised glee. Then you turned to Eddie and all your confidence splintered like Gareth’s poor pencil. 

Just say something to him. 

Say something.

Anything! 

Hey, Eddie, how’d your finals go? Are you excited for high school next year? I’m not. It’s gonna be the worst day of my life. I dunno how I’m gonna survive two years without you. In fact, I’ll probably cry every day. Please look at me. I’d give anything to have you look at me. You’re the weirdest, most fascinating person I’ve ever met in my life. I’m obsessed with you. I think I might even be in love with you. 

Shit. 

All of a sudden, your face felt unbearably hot. You hid it before anyone else could see and started digging through your backpack, pulling out all of your supplies and stacking them on the table in front of you: a leftover notebook from school, a purple folder containing your character sheet, a few pencils, an eraser, a slightly worn, dog-eared copy of The Players Handbook, and a small drawstring bag of dice. You grabbed that last and tossed it on top of your pile. When you sat up again, you found five pairs of eyes staring at you… including Eddie’s, which were suspicious but also curious. You didn’t know whether to be delighted or offended. 

You went with offended. 

“What?” you snapped, causing everyone to immediately look away. It was an instinctive reaction on your part. You didn’t like people staring at you. 

A voice spoke from your left. “The lady comes prepared,” Scottie said, smiling at you from behind his screen. 

“Huh?” 

“Eddie said you weren’t gonna be prepared.” 

Eddie jumped as if struck from the side. “What? I didn’t say that.” 

“Yes, you did,” Scottie told him. “You said exactly that. You said she wasn’t gonna be prepared and we were gonna have to let her borrow our stuff. Isn’t that what he said, Grant?”

“Yes, it is. That’s exactly what he said.” 

Eddie looked around, dumbstruck. Then he slumped back into his chair like a sullen child. “Hey, where’d you get all that stuff, anyway?” he asked, mumbling the words into the table.  

It took a second for you to realize Eddie was speaking to you. As soon as it clicked, your whole body froze with panic. “Umm, I borrowed it…?” 

“From who?”

“From whom,” Grant corrected, and Eddie just rolled his eyes. 

You crossed your arms protectively over your chest. You should have been happy that Eddie was talking to you. No, you should have been thrilled that Eddie was talking to you. Yeah, you should have been doing cartwheels and somersaults and sobbing with pure joy, but for some reason you weren’t—you couldn’t—because there was something in his tone that really rubbed you the wrong way. Already, you feel your claws coming out and digging into your bicep. 

“Are you seriously interrogating me right now?”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “What?” he said, almost swallowing the word. “I’m not interrogating you, I’m just… I’m just curious who loaned you all that stuff, that’s all.”

“What difference does it make to you?” 

“It doesn’t make any difference. I’m just asking you a question.”  

“Well, you’re coming off pretty aggressive right now.” 

“She’s right,” Scottie said. “You are acting a little aggressive, Eddie.”

That, of course, was when Gareth decided to tag in. “What?” he cried. “He’s not being aggressive. She’s the one being aggressive!”

Grant said, “Honestly, you’re all being a little aggressive right now.” 

“Hey, Eddie’s the only one yelling here.” 

“I’m not yelling. I’m defending myself!” 

“You sure?” you said. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re yelling.” 

To your right, Jeff was rubbing his forehead in frustration. “Stop it,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Wait, why are you telling me to stop? He’s the one acting like an asshole!” 

Eddie’s face turned bright red. He threw up his hands and shouted, “How am I being an asshole? I’m asking a perfectly valid question and you’re biting my head off for no reason. Seriously, am I the only one hearing this? Oh my god, I feel like I’m going crazy right now!” His mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “I… I just… I… I… I give up. I give up.” He fell back into his seat, closed his eyes, and took a deep, deep breath, nostrils flaring as he released all of his tension. “Can we just start the game, please?”

“Yes,” Scottie took over. “Yeah, let’s get started.” 

Your heart was pounding as you settled back into your chair. What the hell just happened? you thought, mortified. You felt like you had woken up to the aftermath of a violent massacre and discovered blood all over your hands. 

Across from you, Eddie was sitting with his forehead propped on his fist, still steaming from your brief but catastrophic interaction. Next to him, Gareth was glaring at you while he savagely sharpened his other pencil.  

“You proud of yourself?” Jeff asked. 

“Nope,” you said. “No, I’m not.” 

Scottie stood up and clapped his hands together. “Okay,” he said excitedly, “now that we’ve all had a chance to collect ourselves, I’d like to officially welcome everyone to The Shrieking Queen’s Catacombs, my third annual summer campaign. Welcome, everyone.” 

Grant started rubbing his chin skeptically. “The Shrieking Queen’s Catacombs… so that’s the name you went with, huh?” 

“You don’t like it?”  

“It’s not your best.”  

“Goddammit,” Scottie said under his breath, but he shook it off and carried on. “All right, whatever. We have a new player with us today! Welcome, Y/N, we’re all very excited to have you here.”  

“Speak for yourself,” Gareth muttered, and Scottie shot him a venomous glare that said, I will destroy you!

Then he turned back to you with a smile. “Since you’re still new to the game, I don’t want you to feel nervous or anything, okay? There’s no pressure here, seriously. We’re all a bunch of idiots, especially Gareth. So feel free to stop and ask questions whenever you need to. Take your time. Make mistakes. Make twenty mistakes. We don’t care. All that matters is that you have fun. All right?” 

Gareth leaned over and whispered to Grant, “Dude, why is he being so nice?” 

“Cheerleaders,” Grant replied. “Because of cheerleaders.”  

Gareth groaned and sat back. “Man, this summer’s gonna suck.” 

Scottie went on talking: “All right, before we officially begin, how about we go around the room and introduce our characters a little bit? Normally we would incorporate this into the beginning of the story, but I don’t wanna overwhelm you on your first day, so let’s just keep it casual and have a fun little meet and greet.”  

“What?” Eddie said. “Why are we doing a meet and greet? Just start the damn game.” 

“Eddie, I’m trying to ease her into it. I want her to feel comfortable.”  

Honestly, none of this was making you feel very comfortable, but after what happened earlier, you decided it was better to keep your mouth shut.

“Well, what about the rest of us?” Eddie said. “I don’t feel comfortable with this.”  

“Well, Eddie, you never feel comfortable. You’re uncomfortable in your own damn skin. Now shut up and stop undermining me!” Exhausted, Scottie turned away from him and said, “Jeff, how ‘bout you start? You’re the least problematic person here.”

“What am I doing?” Jeff asked. 

“Just introduce your character.” 

“Yeah, but you guys already know my character. What am I supposed to say?”

“Just say anything! My god, you guys make everything so damn difficult.” 

Jeff’s hands flew up defensively. “Okay, okay, jeez… I feel like I’m giving a book report. Umm, what should I say? I’m playing as Jaheem Evenstar. He’s a level six cleric, born into the church of Selûne—that’s the goddess of the moon, for the uneducated.” Jeff playfully elbowed you in the side as he said this. “He wears purple robes, silver-plated armor, and has a circle of seven silver stars tattooed on his forehead. The nature of his birth is surrounded by scandal, secrecy, and shame. His mother died on the birthing bed and her dying wish was that her son be raised in the temple. Being one of few males in a female-dominated religion, Jaheem spent most of his life feeling ostracized and is determined to prove his worth. At night, you’ll often him sitting under the moon and the stars. He hasn’t spent much time outside of the temple, so he’s a little naive in the ways of the world. Cities pose a special challenge for him because he’s easily tempted by vices.”

“Oh…” you said, grinning. “Looks like Jaheem needs to stay away from the brothels.” 

Everybody (except Eddie) laughed. Jeff’s ears flushed with embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant,” he said.  

“Oh, I think it is,” you replied, giggling. “Your character is a man born into a religion full of beautiful women? I see what you’re doing, Jeff.” 

By now, everyone except Eddie (Why wasn’t he laughing?) was in stitches. Jeff had both hands over his face as he wheezed. “Okay, I’m creating a new character now.” He pretended to crumple up his character sheet and throw it over his shoulder.  

Then Grant took his turn. “All right, I’m playing as General Gudrun Havenbrooke, former commander of The Last Legion. He’s a fighter, obviously, also level six. He’s an expert in two-weapon fighting and possesses a vast knowledge of swordsmanship and battle tactics. During his service in the military, he led countless victorious battles but remains haunted by his one crushing defeat. This is reflected in his wardrobe, as he still wears the same dented armor from that ill-fated battle, and his cloak is stained with the blood of his lost comrades. He keeps fighting because it’s the only way to appease his ghosts, and he drinks heavily after every battle because it’s the only way he can sleep.” 

A shiver ran down your spine. “Damn,” you said, awestruck, “you guys are hardcore.” 

That's when Eddie decided to interject like a referee on a basketball court. “Hey, you can’t do that,” he said. “You can’t make fun of other players’ characters.” 

Stunned (and a little irritated), you said, “I’m not making fun. I’m impressed,” but Eddie didn’t seem to believe you. His eyes remained guarded and untrusting. 

Was there no winning with this guy? 

Next, Scottie turned to Gareth. “All right, buddy, you’re up.” 

“Me?” Gareth blushed deeply, an uncharacteristically boyish gesture. “Umm, okay! My character is Brumnur Wildrock. He’s a dwarf and a master bladesmith. In fact, many of you are using his blades right now. As a bladesmith, he has a fondness for all weapons, but axes and hammers are his preferred tools. He fights to test the strength of his weapons, and he has yet to meet a worthy opponent. Brumnur is headstrong, battle-hungry, and easily provoked to violence.”  

“So basically you made yourself,” you said, snickering. 

Eddie shot you an annoyed look. 

What? you thought, secretly loving all the attention he was giving you. Come on, that was perfectly harmless…

Behind his screen, Scottie raised his eyebrows tauntingly. “So what level are you, Gareth?”   

“Level one,” Gareth answered, a little ashamed.  

“Why are you only level one, man?” 

Gareth sighed. “Because I had to make a new character.”  

“And why did you have to make a new character?” Scottie put his fist over his mouth in an attempt to control his laughter. Jeff and Grant weren’t so successful.   

“Because I died,” Gareth said, seeming oddly proud of this morbid feat. Then he started to laugh himself.   

“How’d you die?” you asked, enthralled. 

Gareth sliced his hand across his neck.

“Oh my god, you got decapitated?” 

“Yeah,” Gareth said, positively beaming with self-satisfaction. “It was so awesome. My body moved on its own for another turn and killed two more monsters.” 

(“He didn’t, really,” Scottie would later tell you. “We just said he did to make him feel better.”)

You sat back and smiled, amazed by everyone’s creativity. “Wow, what a motley crew. We have a bloodthirsty dwarf, a disgraced war general, and a lecherous priest. Yeah, this campaign’s gonna be fun.” 

Eddie lashed out angrily: “Oh, would you stop already?”  

“What?” you said, startled. You were glad for his attention, sure, but all this needless aggression was really starting to grate on you. Could he not recognize your effort? Was that too much to ask? I’m trying to be nice here, Munson, but you're making it really fricken difficult! 

And now he was doubling down. “You’re being facetious,” he said. 

“Facetious,” Gareth began suddenly, completely unprompted. “F-E-C-E-T-I-U-S, facetious.” 

“Not even close,” said Grant, and Gareth smashed down his fist in defeat.

Ignoring them, you glared directly at Eddie. “I’m not being facetious. I’m just having a little fun. You know what fun is, right? That’s what normal people do when they’re playing a game. They laugh. They joke around. They have fun. Maybe you should take that giant stick out of your ass and you'll have fun too, you self-righteous prick.”   

(Now that was mean. Yeah, you definitely took a few steps back with that comment)

(right off a cliff)  

God dammit, you thought, feeling utterly defeated. If you weren’t surrounded by so many people, you would have been crying right now. You didn’t know what you were doing wrong. You didn’t know why Eddie was attacking you so viciously every time you opened your mouth. 

Shit, maybe he just hated you. 

(Could you blame him?)

Scottie’s voice cut through the silence: “All right, Eddie, you’re up, man.” 

By now, Eddie had completely withdrawn into himself. He sat hunched over in his chair with his palm pressed against his mouth, looking more and more like he wanted to leave. “I don’t wanna go,” he said. 

Scottie breathed an aggravated sigh. “C’mon, dude, everyone has to go.”  

“Well, I don’t want to,” Eddie said, and you knew it was all your fault.    

Guilt turned in your stomach. Timidly, you raised your hand. “I’ll go,” you said. 

Anxious as you were, you figured it was the least you could do. 

You pulled out your character sheet. “Umm… okay, I’m playing as Elaria Quint. That’s not her real name, it’s just her most recent identity. Nobody knows Elaria’s real name. Honestly, I don’t even think she knows anymore.” You laughed a little as you said this. That wasn’t something you had originally written on your sheet, but it seemed to fit in a strange way. Clearing your throat, you continued: “Um, Elaria’s a thief and a con artist. She moves from city to city, from scheme to scheme, never really settling anywhere. Having spent her entire childhood in poverty, Elaria dreams of living a life of luxury, and she came really close once. Unfortunately, she was betrayed by her old partner and mentor, and he took every penny she ever stole, so now she knows better than to trust anyone. To be clear, Elaria’s in this solely for the money. She doesn’t care about anything else. She’ll use you until she doesn’t need you anymore, and if the moment should ever come, she’ll have no problem betraying each and every one of you. You’re all disposable to her.” 

“So basically you made yourself,” Eddie muttered spitefully. 

He thought you hadn’t heard him, but you did. 

Okay, you thought, wounded, I guess I deserved that. 

Beside you, Scottie was eagerly rubbing his hands together. “Holy shit, I love it! This campaign’s gonna be pure chaos, and I can’t wait to get started.” He made a motion toward Eddie. “Hurry up, Munson, introduce your character so we can start.” 

“I don’t want to,” Eddie said again, and that was Scottie’s last straw. 

He squeezed his hands into tight fists and yelled, “Oh my god, would you just go already! You know, the more you put this off the more time you waste, and you’re the one who was dying to get to the game, so… god, just fucking go.”

Scottie’s outburst made everyone flinch and go quiet. Eddie looked like he wanted to disappear. 

“Fine,” he said bitterly. He opened his binder, flipped to his character sheet, and started reading directly from the page, his voice flat and listless. He might as well have been reading from a textbook. “Uhh… my character is a level fourteen spellcaster named Castinus. He was born into a disgraced noble house that has since fallen into ruin. His father was once a well-respected wizard, but his quest for knowledge and power drove him to madness. One day, he mercilessly slaughtered everyone in the castle as well as the neighboring village. Only Castinus survived the attack. As he lay dying, he made a pact with a powerful demon. As a result, he was granted great power but lost his humanity.” Eddie shrugged and pushed his binder away.

You looked around the room, beside yourself with disappointment. “Wait, that’s it? That’s all you could come up with, Munson?”

Your comment was punctuated with a moment of surprised silence, as if an ancient taboo had just been broken. Everybody’s jaws dropped. Eddie’s eyes widened in baffled hurt.

Oh my god, stop talking, you thought. Stop talking right now. 

And yet you kept going. Like an idiot, you kept going.  

“So let me get this straight, Munson: your character is a spellcaster named Castinus. Castinus, the spellcaster.” You cringed out of sheer frustration. “God, you didn’t reach very far for that one, did you?”

Gareth dropped his pencil. 

“Oh shit,” said Grant. 

Meanwhile, Jeff was giving you a pleading look. “What are you doing?” he whispered. 

“I don’t know,” you said, sickened and ashamed of yourself. 

You put your head in your hands and tried to squeeze some sense into yourself, but it just wasn’t working. 

“I’m sorry, this isn’t coming out right. I swear, I’m not trying to be mean or anything; I’m just so… so confused. I refuse to believe this is your character, Eddie. I’m sorry, but I refuse to accept it. Come on, a spellcaster named Castinus? A son getting vengeance on his evil dad? It’s just so unrealized and uninspired. I mean, my god, no wonder you sound so bored when you’re talking about him! Do you even like your character, Eddie? Because it doesn’t sound like you do. In fact, you know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like you started creating a really cool character, but then you hit a wall, gave up, and decided it was good enough. Except it’s not good enough, Eddie. For anyone else, it would be good enough. For me, it would be good enough. But you… I just know you can do so much better than that!”

Finally, you fell silent, panting. Eddie’s eyes narrowed into a hateful glare. 

“You know I can do better than that? You don't even know me!"

You winced at those words. They pierced right through your heart. 

Well, I’m trying to, you wanted to say, but maybe it wasn’t worth it. 

This wasn’t why you came here. You didn’t want to make Eddie hate his favorite game.

Now he was ripping out his character sheet, crumpling it into a ball, and whipping it at the floor. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you here,” he said, and that’s when you realized this was all a huge mistake. 

“Okay,” you whispered. 

Quietly, you gathered your things, dumped them into your backpack, and went upstairs.

Scottie sighed heavily. “That wasn’t very gentlemanlike, Eddie.” 

“I know,” Eddie mumbled back, staring at your empty chair. 

How did you know he was struggling with his character?

You only made it as far as the front porch. 

Now you were sitting on top of the stairs, weighed down by guilt, drowning in grief, and fiddling with the rainbow bracelet Chrissy had made for you—the one she had probably spent days working on. What a lovely waste of time that was. 

Sorry, Chris, you thought ruefully, looks like all the luck in the world can’t save me from myself. 

A sad, surrendering sigh escaped your lips. You tried to take the bracelet off, but the strings were tied way too tight. It was as if Chrissy herself was struggling against you. You could practically see her beside you, wrestling against you, glaring at you with those bright blue eyes and urging in that sweet, sweet voice: You said you wouldn’t give up, remember? You pinky promised! Oh, curse Chrissy Cunningham and her annoying, unyielding optimism. Couldn’t she see the game was already over?

Desperate now, you put the bracelet between your teeth and started gnawing at the strands. You were prepared to chew off your own hand if you had to.  

Still, the bracelet wouldn’t budge. It was incredibly stubborn, just like its maker. 

You promised, Chrissy said. 

I lied! you yelled back. I can’t do this, okay? I tried and I failed and

That’s when you heard

“Uhhh…” 

a voice beside you. You turned toward it and saw Eddie standing in the open doorway with a look of bemused horror. You couldn’t imagine what he must have been thinking right now, seeing you sitting with your left arm locked in a tight vise grip, savagely chewing at the inside of your wrist like a coyote trying to escape a hunter’s snare. Why, he probably thought you were an absolute lunatic. 

(Was that better or worse than the Antichrist?)

Shame engulfed you. You spat the bracelet out of your mouth and lowered your wrist to your side. 

“You left your dice,” Eddie said, still a little wary of you. 

“Oh,” you said quietly. You hadn’t realized you’d forgotten it. 

Cautiously, Eddie stepped toward you and dropped the bag into your open palm.

“Thanks,” you said, and put it away.

You figured Eddie would head back inside after that, but he didn’t. Instead, he lingered pensively on the porch for a minute, his body hunched forward slightly, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. 

“Hey, I’m really sorry,” he began in a low voice, “for the way I’ve been acting today. I haven’t been very fair to you.” 

Eddie’s apology caught you entirely by surprise. You sat there speechless for a second, blinking at him. 

“I’m sorry for calling your character uninspired,” you said. “That was really mean, and I only kinda meant it… I mean, Castinus is a terrible name, I stand by that completely, but the rest of the character isn’t that bad.” 

“Right…” Eddie raised his eyebrow dubiously, unsure of what to make of your apology.

(if you could even call that an apology)

He sighed and shook his head. “Look, how ‘bout we just start over, okay? Clean slate.”

He leaned forward and extended his hand toward you. Blushing, you drew away from it, your hand instinctively rising to cover your face. 

He wants me to shake his hand? you thought, terrified and astonished. Eddie Munson, the boy who hated you, the boy who was always running away from you, was now standing in front of you and offering you his hand. The sight alone sent your mind into a frenzy. You could feel your heart hammering against your ribcage. What was going to happen when you…?

“Okay,” you said, and slipped your hand into his. As soon you did, your heart skipped a beat… but then it slowed unexpectedly, falling into this strong, steady rhythm that made you feel strangely, beautifully, at peace.  

Could he feel this too, you wondered? 

No, probably not. 

But when you lifted your eyes, you thought you saw a glimmer of something in Eddie’s stare. Maybe it was the same calm quiet you had experienced. Maybe it was just the sun catching briefly in his eyes. Whatever it was, it was gone before you could really see it. Then his hand disappeared and returned to the pocket of his jeans. 

“C’mon,” Eddie said. He went to the front door and held it open for you. “Let’s head back inside and start the game.” 

Nodding, you grabbed your bag and went with him, but before walking through the door, you stopped and said, “Dustin Henderson.” 

“Huh?”

“You wanted to know who loaned me all that stuff, right? It was Dustin Henderson. He loaned it to me.” You went inside.  

“Oh,” Eddie said as he followed you in. “I have no idea who that is.” 

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