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fullhalalalchemist · 1 year

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🚨🚨CONGRESS SECRETLY TRYING TO SNEAK IN EARN IT ACT COPYCAT INTO MUST PASS SPENDING BILL (PLEASE READ EXTREMELY IMPORTANT)

July 20, 2023 Congress is right now determining what is included in a must pass spending bill the NDAA. Often congress will sneakily add as amendments their bills that they can't pass in a normal setting.

If you remember, I made a previous post about EARN IT being reintroduced here.

The EARN IT Act and it's copycats are bipartisan bills that will greatly censor if not completely eliminate encryption and anything sexual and LGBTQ+ from the internet, globally. Anything the far-right doesn't like will be completely gone. The best way to stop them is to use https://www.badinternetbills.com/ to call your senators.

Following it's initial introduction earlier this year was massive opposition from human rights, LGBT, tech, political groups, and grassroots groups. Bc of this, the senators decided to remake the bill but give it a new name, so they can still pass Earn It without actually passing Earn It. Those bills are the Stop CSAM Act (yes really, they actually named it that), and the Cooper-Davis act.

The entire point of these bills is to mass surveil and censor everyone and I don't know why more people or senators speak out against it. There is a direct timeline from when the Attorney General Barr (under Trump) said he wanted to do this to it's initial introduction in 2019, and how the senators explicitly knew they couldn't actually say that so they lied and said it was about "stopping CSAM" or "stopping drugs" for Cooper-Davis Act.

These bills essentially do the following:

they gut encryption, the one thing actually protects you from having your data seen by anyone. Do you want republicans to know you're trans? that someone had an abortion? that they spoke out against the govt? to see your private photos you have uploaded to the cloud? to see what porn you watch? if youre a journalist, or an abuse survivor, any hacker or abuser can see your stuff and track you.

they gut parts of Section 230, the one thing that allows anyone to post online and birthed social media. Previous gutting into 230 gave us the tumblr nsfw ban and killed that site.

they create an unelected commission with some already established govt body (DOJ, FTC, etc) that will include law enforcement and people from NCOSE or other Christian conservative groups who will decide what is and isn't lawful to say. no citizen can vote who's on this commission, and the president gets to pick. it's like the supreme court, but for the internet.

lead to mass censorship and surveillance because of the above

We have until the end of the month to stop this, but this can be added literally any moment until then. It's literally code red. If this is added it goes into effect immediately. The BEST way to stop this is to drive calls and emails to the senate. https://www.badinternetbills.com/ connects you directly to your members of congress & gives you a call script.

It is ESSENTIAL to call the Senate leaders who can stop this. Here's a more precise call script you can use: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1huD5Ldd1lPTECYTEb9Gg2ZzrqW6Y9tryHT-MdjOl8kY/edit

All these people expressed concern over Earn It, so we need to press them hard to not allow it's copycats Cooper-Davis or Stop CSAM into the NDAA. This is URGENT and needs all hands on deck. Chuck Schumer (D-NY) (202) 224-6542 Maria Cantwell (D-WA) (202) 224-3441 Jon Ossof (D-GA) (202)-224-3521 Alex Padilla (D-CA) (202) 224-3553 Cory Booker (D-NJ) (202) 224-3224 Mike Lee (R-UT) (202) 224-5444

Please please please spread this message and blow up their phones.

TLDR; The Senate is trying to quietly push the Earn It Act's copycat bills into the must pass NDAA, which will lead to mass censorship and surveillance online by gutting Section 230 which is the entire reason you can even be on tumblr and why the internet exists, killing encryption which put everyone's lives in danger, and appointing far-right people to a supreme court-esque commission that the president has direct control over. They could be added in ANY DAY and we need to push hard to stop it before it gets to that point. CALL YOUR SENATORS **NOW** BY USING https://www.badinternetbills.com/ AND CALL THE SENATE LEADERSHIP AND SPREAD THE WORD!!!!

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kaleldobrev · 1 month

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Prologue — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Unnamed Hunter Boyfriend (OC)

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k

Chapter Warnings: Age Gap (15 years) & Self-Loathing Dean

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | Thoughts are in italics | Switches between reader & Dean's POV but it's still written in the second person | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

Dean sat on the edge of his bed looking at his surroundings that he hadn’t seen in so long. Although it’s only been a few months, it felt like an eternity to him. Everything was still in the exact same place he had left it; and he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved about that or not.

Being in his bedroom back in the Bunker came with a wide variety of emotions. He was happy to be back in a place that he had called home for the past several years, a place where he was finally able to have his own room again since he was four years old. But yet, there was another part of him that wanted to take his keys and drive off somewhere. He loved Sam, he loved Cas but, it was hard to face them again after everything he had done, and after everything he had put them through. Not only during the months he was gone, but during the short amount of time they were trying to cure him of a disease he strangely enjoyed.

“You weren’t you,” Sam had told him repeatedly as if he was a broken record. But Dean didn’t believe his words for a second. He enjoyed being a demon more than he liked to admit. Being able to kill whoever he wanted whenever he wanted without consequence fueled him. Being able to fuel the Mark was easy, being a demon was easy. Being a demon weirdly came natural to him.

Sitting at your desk, you endlessly scrolled through news story after news story, trying to find any excuse to leave your apartment, as it was a place that was currently not giving you the usual sense of peace it tended to provide you. Your apartment was usually your safe space, a place that you could relax and unwind in after a tough hunt. But ever since your boyfriend moved in, it had become a place that you no longer felt safe and calm in.

You and your boyfriend hadn't been together for that long — roughly a year — but during a majority of your relationship, it has been argument after argument, and the arguments were always about the same couple of things. He was either disrespecting you or upset that you didn't bring him along on one of your hunting trips.

He hadn't been a hunter for long — barely two years — and you met him within his first year. You had met him while on a werewolf case, as the two of you found the same lead and decided to work together since he really had no experience with werewolves. For some reason, the two of you clicked, and had been together ever since.

Whenever you and him tended to get into an argument, you wondered why you were still with him, knowing that you could do better. He didn't treat you right, and often undermined you in front of other hunters, sometimes taking credit for your own hunts. You tried to rationalize it, often saying that he was the best you were ever going to do because there was no way you could be with someone that wasn't a hunter, as you felt being with someone that wasn't one would put them in more harm, and you couldn't risk it. But the words of your mother started echoing in your head now, "It's better to be alone than to be with someone who disrespects you." You knew she was right; she was always right.

As you were about to give up, a news story finally jumped out at you, and it screamed poltergeist — your specialty.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, wanting more than anything to fall asleep; but the events of the last few months kept replaying in his head. "You weren't you," Sam's words repeated again and again.

No matter how many times Sam's words repeated, Dean still refused to believe it, as when he was a demon, he felt more like himself than he had been in such a long time; and that scared him.

The things that he did as a demon he would have done regardless; but the only reason he did the things that he did was because he knew there were no consequences, his conscience wasn't trying to stop him. Sam or Cas weren't there to stop him especially.

The Mark started itching again, getting hot with need. I need to kill something, he thought.

Getting off the phone with you, Sam sighed, looking at his slinged arm. There was no way he was going to be able to help you with this case, but it was far too late to call you back now; not after he already agreed to help you. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you, as you were a big help to him while Dean was gone.

Sam was impressed by you to say the least, as despite your age, you were a damn good hunter with a decent amount of experience under your belt. He hadn't known you for very long — meeting you within the last couple of months — but you had quickly become someone he had grown to deeply trust; and he was incredibly thankful for that, and thankful for you.

Placing his phone back into his pocket, he grabbed his duffel bag and started packing some of the essentials. The case you asked him to join you on was one that was pretty straightforward, so he assumed it wouldn't take more than a couple of days. That's when his mind started to wander, wondering why you had asked for his help in the first place, as poltergeists were one of your specialties and it was the type of case that you could do in your sleep, but yet, you asked him for help.

Closing up your laptop, you grabbed it bringing it over to your bed, before going underneath it and grabbing your duffel. You started packing all of the essentials for a case that would only take you a couple of days. The case was an easy one, one that you could easily do in your sleep, but yet, you called Sam Winchester to help you. There was a small twinge of regret after you got off the phone with him, and you debated back and forth as you packed to call him back up again and tell him, 'Never mind, I got this Sammy.' But deep down, you wanted the company; you wanted to be with someone that treated you like an equal unlike your boyfriend.

"Going on a case?" Your boyfriend asked from behind you.

You turned to look at him for a moment, and he was leaning against the doorway, staring at you as you packed. "Yes," you said, plainly. Even if you weren't going on a case, you felt like you didn't need to explain anything to him.

"Where's the case? I can join you," he offered. But his offer wasn't a genuine one, as the only reason he offered to go with you was to try and make up the argument to you in some way. But you weren't in the mood for any of his gestures.

"Tulsa," you said. "I already called another hunter to help me."

"What hunter?" He asked, making his way to the bed so he could sit down on the edge like he usually did whenever you were attempting to pack for a case.

You looked at him again, annoyed that he kept interrupting your packing. He didn't need to know what hunter was going with you, and he didn't know where the case was going to be. But yet, you felt like you needed to tell him in order to get him off your back. "Sam Winchester," you said simply, and you saw his eyes grow wide.

"Sam Winchester?" He questioned. "Really?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with Sam Winchester?" You asked, curious as to what he had to say about him, as you knew he had never met him. But there were times when you and him would be spending time with fellow hunters, and he would claim that he knew Sam; a bold statement that, whenever said, you tried to hold back a laugh.

“Nothing it’s just…the Winchester’s tend to get a lot of their partners killed,” he said. Your brows furrowed, not only because you were confused on where he heard that, but you’ve hunted with Sam a few times already, and your boyfriend never brought that up to you before.

“I’ve hunted with Sam a few times now, and I’m still alive,” you said, zippering up your duffel. “He’s a great hunting partner, very careful.”

“For now, you’re alive and for now he’s being careful. What happens when he bails on you to save himself?” Your boyfriend asked, his tone excitable now.

“I don’t know because I know for a fact that won’t happen,” your tone was serious and stern, defensive. Despite not knowing Sam for a long time, you trusted him more on hunts than your own boyfriend. “I trust Sam.”

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 1

#Dean Winchester x you #Dean Winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #dean x you #dean x reader #reader insert #female reader #the 15 year problem

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hairmetal666 · 2 years

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It starts in Eddie's second senior year, close to the beginning of the semester. Eddie's in trig (again). He's good at math, but Mundy fucking sucks, always giving Eddie shit for breathing, or his shoes squeaking on the linoleum, or whatever, and he ends up with detention most days. So, he hardly ever shows and can't be bothered to do the homework, even though he knows the answers more often than not.

On this particular day, Mundy is in a bad mood, on Eddie's case way more than normal. In the heat of frustration, Eddie scrawls, "I fucking hate this class" on a scrap of notebook paper, and for reasons he can't begin to explain, leaves it folded on the window ledge. He doesn't think anyone will answer; fully expects the paper to be gone come morning with maybe another detention slip under his belt to show for it. He's a little flabbergasted, the next day, when the note is still there, and loses his mind a little when he sees the words "tell me about it" underneath his first message. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, sloping and a little looped, and for most of the class period, he's too bemused to respond. Right before the final bell rings he scrawls, "trig. You?" He leaves the paper on the ledge again. "Algebra 2 :(" is the response.

They keep it up, just a few words at first, before Eddie accidentally doodles on the page, and the other guy scribbles a hasty formula, the math spectacularly wrong. There's a little arrow leading to the words, "this shit sucks." Eddie re-writes the formula with the correct math, leaving careful notations of how and why. The next day he sees, "Shit, dude, I totally get this now. Mundy should retire and let you take over." Which pleases Eddie down to his core.

The messages get longer, nothing super personal, but complaints about life, math help, Eddie's silly little doodles, bad jokes, the slightly lewd drawings typical of teen boys. Eddie's never had a better attendance record in his life, but there are some days where his notes are left unopened. Most remarkably a couple week period before Thanksgiving, where he goes unanswered for so long he figures whatever thing they had going is done. But after the holiday, the notes start up again, with no acknowledgement they ever stopped. Eddie doesn't bother questioning it.

They keep it up almost all year, and they're definitely friends, even though they're totally anonymous. And that wouldn't have changed, except it's the day before spring break and Eddie's vibrating out of his skin with anticipation of the time off, so he forgets his dnd notebook in Mundy's class. He makes it all the way to Click's before he realizes, then sprints back across the school. He crashes through Mundy's door, tripping a little over his own feet.

"Sorry," he pants. "I just left--" he looks over to his desk, far corner right by the window, and then forgets every word he's ever known because Steve Harrington Steve Harrington King Steve, stares right back at him. And he just. He stops and fucking laughs, because all this time--this whole goddamn year--it's been Harrington he exchanged notes with. And sure, the jock's star has fallen in the last few months, with the breakup with Nancy and all that shit with Hargrove, but it's still Steve Harrington. With his big house and his fancy car and his girls. It's pretty Steve Harrington, the focus of Eddie's most hopeless daydreams.

He has a few seconds to see Harrington's hazel eyes go wide, before Eddie spins on his heel and makes a hasty exit. He absolutely doesn't spend the break thinking about the notes, matching what Harrington wrote with the gossip Eddie heard on him from the past few months.

Once break ends, he doesn't bother going to Mundy's class at all.

The Friday of the first week back, Eddie walks out to his van, only to find King Steve leaning up against it. He's doing that obnoxious thing where he has one leg bent, foot resting against the side panel, arms crossed over his chest, stupid hair falling in glorious cascades around his face. It's ridiculously, unfairly attractive.

"What do you want?" Eddie asks. He opens his front door without fully looking at Steve.

"Can we talk?"

Eddie snorts, "what could you and I possibly have to talk about."

Steve narrows his eyes. It's so bitchy and so fucking cute it makes Eddie queasy. "You know what."

"Enlighten me, Harrington."

"C'mon, man, the notes!"

"What about them?

"Don't be stupid, Munson, you know what. Why'd you stop?"

Eddie pulls a pack of camels and his lighter out of his jacket pocket. "Lost its appeal once I knew who was on the other side. Surprised you even want to keep it up now that you know you've been writing to the freak."

He pointedly ignores the little jolt Harrington gives at that, like the words hurt. Which is pretty rich from Steve Harrington, former #1 bully of Hawkins High.

"I've always known it was you," he says.

"You don't--wait what?"

I've known since, like, the first week, Munson."

"How??"

"What do you mean 'how,' dude, you're always drawing little pentagrams and d20's. Writing the word "Slayer" over and over. Who else would it be?"

And he can't even deal with the fact that Harrington knows what a d20 is (what the fuck) with everything else the other boy just said.

"I gotta go," is his only response. He ducks into his van, slamming the door basically in Harrington's face, before peeling out of the parking lot.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It's the last day of school. Eddie's failed again. His grades, which weren't great to begin with, took a sharp nosedive after spring break, and he just can't wait to be done with this place for a few months. Harrington hasn't spoken to him again, and Eddie tries his hardest to ignore the other boy (aside from seeing him hanging out with Robin Buckley, a junior and a band geek, besides, and he forcibly has to remind himself that he doesn't care what Harrington does).

He slouches into his last math class of the year, slumping over in his seat. He rests his head on his desk, eyes blankly staring out the window as Mundy talks about what a joy most of them were to have in class. His eyes are unfocused, he contemplates a nap, and then he sees it. The tightly folded piece of paper resting on the window ledge.

Eddie almost doesn't take it. He almost ignores it, but he physically can't stop himself for reaching for it, unfolding it, staring at Harrington's now familiar handwriting.

Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me. Buckley helped me see how that maybe freaked you out a little. I know I used to be a piece of shit. But I'm better--or I'm trying to be. And I'm so fucking sorry for the shit I did to you before and the things I didn't bother to stop. You don't owe me forgiveness, but you should know that I regret all of it. I liked passing notes with you. You made me laugh, and I don't know. It was nice to think someone liked me for reasons other than that I'm Steve Harrington, or whatever. I'd really like it if we could be friends. I get if you can't do that or don't want to.

Whatever the note actually ended with is scribbled out in pen so thick Eddie can't make it out.

All day he thinks about the note, the apology, all of it. Eddie thinks, if he's smart, he won't forgive Harrington. That he knows better than to trust him. But Eddie's never actually been that smart in this way, so he's not totally surprised to find himself walking to Steve's car after the last bell rings.

This time, Eddie's the one with his foot resting on the side panel of Steve's BMW, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't have to wait long before Harrington makes his way to the car, chestnut hair dancing in the breeze, biceps on display in a short-sleeve polo. A little smile dances across his lips when he spots Eddie.

"So, you gonna tell me how you know what a d20 is, Harrington, or do I have to guess?" Eddie offers the other boy a cigarette.

"Babysitting?

"Babys--Are you serious??" Eddie splutters. Steve Harrington babysits. Steve Harrington babysits little dnd playing nerds. Steve Harrington wants to be his friend.

A full grin spreads across Steve's perfect face and Eddie is absolutely, 100%, fucked.

(Part 2)

(Steddie Notes is now posted in full on ao3!)

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deancasbigbang · 3 days

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Title: Paging Doctor Novak

Author: Salamitsunami1

Artist: WitchyWorm

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa, past Dean/Rhonda

Length: 40000

Warnings: Graphic and accurate depictions of medicine, medical emergencies, and medical procedures. Past unfaithful Dean. Minor character death

Tags: Rom-com, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Hospital AU, Sexual Tension, Doctor Sexy M.D., Getting Together

Posting Date: October 31, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is many things — a nurse, an in-charge on the medical-surgical floor, and a big fan of the ladies. What he’s not is a commitment kind of guy, and he’s definitely not a night duty kind of guy. Things change when a hook-up-gone-wrong gets him lumped on night duty for an entire month, and to make matters worse, he’s been lumped on night duty with a brand new intern. As with all interns, Doctor Castiel Novak is cocky at best and dangerous at worst, but for some reason, and maybe it’s just the way his ass looks in those teal scrubs, Dean’s got a soft spot for the guy. Or a really hard one. Either way, it’s not long before Dean’s new roster is the least of his concerns; he wants that dorky doctor guy, and fuck, he wants him for real.

Excerpt: Being in charge, Dean’s job is simple — keep on top of any patients coming up from the ER or down from the OR, page the doctor when there’s a problem, and call the doctor when there’s an emergency. That’s how he ended up in Frank Devereaux’s room with the phone to his ear, and because the on-call doctor is almost always an intern this late at night, he’s willing to bet that whoever picks up isn’t gonna know Frank’s ass from his esophagus. “Hello?” “Hello?” Dean questions. “Is this the on-call doc or a Wendy’s?” “This is Doctor Novak.” “Right. Well, this is Dean from med-surg. I’m calling about Frank Devereaux in bed two. He had a lap-chole yesterday, got back to the ward about six hours ago. His pain’s currently a nine out of ten, he’s just vomited up a whole lot of bile, and I’ve got a real bad feeling.” “Okay,” the intern says, like a question. “Would you like a consult?” Dean sighs wearily. “That’s why I called.” “Of course,” the intern says. “I’m on my way.” The phone call hasn’t exactly filled Dean with confidence, and it only gets worse when the intern stumbles onto the ward — his hair is all over the place, his stethoscope is hanging unevenly around his neck, he’s wearing these teal scrubs that are about a whole size too small and therefore clinging to every inch of him, and he’s wearing them with a pair of fucking Converse high-tops, of all things. All interns are cocky, that’s a given, but the cockiest of all is the surgical intern. Each and every year, guaranteed. “Hello,” he says. “I’m looking for Dean.” Dean glances down at his own name tag. Unfortunately, it’s still right where he pinned it to his scrub top, so it seems the new intern might not even be able to read. In the interest of being nice, he forces a smile. “You found him.” “Oh. Hello, Dean,” the intern says. “I believe we spoke on the phone.” Dean only nods, waiting for the intern to introduce himself, but he does no such thing. No, this guy just stands there, he runs his fingers through his bedraggled hair, and so now there’s a smear of ink on his forehead where it’s rubbed against whatever’s written on his hand. Pointedly, Dean says, “And what did you say your name was again?” “I’m Doctor Novak.” Dean looks Doctor Novak up, down, then back up again. Taking him apart. He’s got bags under his eyes and cracks in his lips. Doctor or not, this guy’s a fucking mess. “Well, doc,” Dean says, probably against his better judgment. “Frank’s this way.”

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2024 #fic preview #2024 promo #deancas #destiel

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totaly-obsessed · 1 year

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Chaos and dressing rooms

Alessia Russo x reader fic

-> Chaotic reader doesn't know how to do her hair, Alessia helps her out

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The Arsenal dressing room was always a vibe, even if it was just for practice sessions. Usually, Leah Williamson would be blasting music, but with her being out with a torn ACL, Katie and Steph took over, making for a wild mix.

This would be your second season at the club and even with the new additions, you were one of the younger ones, forever in awe watching the likes of Kim Little and Beth Mead play. But you fit in well, making fast friends with Lotte and Laura who always laughed at your half jokes-half stupidity. In the beginning, Katie tried to recruit you for her pranks, but in the end, it was Jen who would take on the role of your ‘mentor’ for getting around and meeting people.

Now in your second season, four new girls were joining the team – Laia, Amanda, Cloe, and of course Alessia. Meeting them was easy enough, especially the English striker, as you had played her last season – but the other girls were nice as well. You not having competed in the World Cup, as you hadn’t managed the jump up to the senior Lionesses just yet, made it easier to meet Laia, who was joking with you as well as she could with her limited English.

Your dressing room cubby was situated between Steph and Beth who constantly were teasing you for taking forever to get ready – always the last one out on the pitch. Nobody thought anything of it, the girls just thought that you liked to take your time, or that you weren’t organized well enough, and while that was true, the real reason was you struggled to do your hair.

Every single day it was a battle – buns were insecure and fell out easily, tight pony-tails gave you a headache and the swishing hairs annoyed you to no end. Not being able to braid your own hair was incredibly annoying.

It's not like you didn’t try.

You did.

Every single practice session and game, at home before going out, and just when you were bored – nothing worked. After a while your arms started to hurt and tears threatened to fall due to frustration. That’s why you were the last one out, giving your hair just one last attempt before giving up and throwing it in a nice and easy low bun.

And today was no different. It was the third training session since the girls got back from the World Cup, and the new players joined them. Everyone was hyping themselves and each other up before they left the room.

“Has anyone seen my Jersey?”

Jen rolled her eyes, “In the bathroom.” With quick steps you retrieved your jersey, no clue how it got there.

On the way back you tripped over Laia’s shoes – the Spaniard barely catching your arms and keeping you from hitting the ground.

“Where are my shorts?”

“In my bag, you left them yesterday, I washed them.” Katie threw them to you, your forgetfulness and clumsiness highly amusing her.

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

Slowly everyone left but you. When you didn’t see anybody you tried again, desperately trying to braid your hair in front of the quite high mirror.

“Why isn’t this shit working?” With a loud clattering, your brush fell to the floor.

“God damn it! Why can’t I do this? Why am I so stupid?” Alessia, who was still in the bathroom listened with a little smirk on her face until she heard your voice wavering. You were always so fun to be around, so hearing you this frustrated with yourself and being so mean to yourself was new and terrifying for the striker.

“Fuck this.” You had given up, resulting in a low bun. Alessia heard you throw your brush into some corner, frustration getting the better of you.

Not wanting you to be embarrassed, she waited until she was sure you were gone before entering the changing room. The brush she picked up was littered with cute little stickers, and covered in hair - obviously yours.

The tall blonde could just imagine you roughly brushing your hair in anger, feeling sorry for your scalp.

Carefully she put it down in your cubby, and before she left Alessia collected your things that were all over the room and folded them neatly for you.

The rest of the team and training staff were already standing in a circle when Alessia joined them.

“Looks like we have a new late-commer!” Jonas was laughing at the striker, not mad at all. When Alessia's eyes met yours, she could see the realization dawn upon you – She had been there when you were so harsh to your mirror image.

During the whole training session, you were much quieter than usual, embarrassed that you had been caught – by Alessia at that. Alessia who was new, and who you admired so much.

Katie, your traings-buddy tried to get information, on why you were so strange, but you deflected, making her talk about Lauryn’s game instead. While the Irish woman obviously knew what you were doing, she was more than happy to talk about her little sister to someone genuinely interested – even if it was just to distract you.

Alessia tried to get close to you, but somehow you were always gone before she got there. At the end of training, you just packed your bag, not even changing, and stormed out the door.

You took notice of your thing being neatly folded on your cubby and you briefly glanced at the tall blonde who was already looking at you.

“She was weird today, right?” Kim, who liked to title herself as your big sister asked into the silence that you left behind.

“Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

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

The next day your chaos started all over again, and the older girls were relieved that you seemed to be back to normal again. Alessia was surprised that you even talked to her, she thought you were mad at her when you really just needed to get over your embarrassment.

After everyone else left, it was just the two of you left.

“I’m sorry that you had to witness that. Yesterday, I mean.” The striker knew what you meant and sat down next to you, one of her big hands stroking your back, trying to get you comfortable.

“Don’t worry about it.” It was silent for another second, your cheeks felt like they were on fire from blushing so hard.

“You’re not stupid.” Her hand stilled and she gently grabbed your chin, turning your face to her. Your brain just blanked, and she saw, “You were really mean to yourself yesterday – You are not stupid.”

Upon your attempt to turn your flushed face away from her, she held it more firmly. “Do you understand amore?”

A weak nod earned you a raised eyebrow. “I’m not stupid…” The blonde smirked satisfied and turned your face to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Come now, I’ll braid your hair. No need to make your scalp bleed anymore.” With gentle hands she pulled you in front of the mirror, braiding your hair with quick fingers before squeezing your shoulders when she was done.

Katie and Beth wiggled their eyebrows at the two of you when they saw Alessia enter the pitch with you at her side – your face so flushed no one could miss it.

And from that day on, Alessia did your hair in the dressing room. But it wasn’t kept a secret for long, so with her help, you managed to get ready on time. Alessia, your own little assistant, who would never complain about your jitteriness, clumsiness, or forgetfulness. An angel sent from heaven – or hell when you looked at Manchester United.

#alessia russo x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #alessia russo

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 1 year

Text

Concerning Habits

Dean and Sam Winchester x little sister!reader, Castiel x teen!reader (platonic obviously)

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: you’re too embarrassed to share one of your habits with your brothers.

“Would you stop moving around back there?” Your oldest brother Dean demanded. “You’re shaking the whole car, just go to sleep.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do,” you grumbled, changing positions again as you struggled to grasp onto the sleep that’d been evading you for the past hour.

“Since when are you such an insomniac anyway?” Sam asked absentmindedly from the passengers seat, where he was pouring over one of the Men of Letters books.

“I don’t know,” you lied. You knew exactly why you’d been tossing and turning for the past hour, but you’d rather throw yourself out of the Impala then tell your brothers why.

Truthfully, it was kind of stupid. When you’d packed your bag to come on the hunt with your brothers, you’d forgotten to pack Jasper, the teddy bear you’d had almost since birth. You hated that you couldn’t get to sleep without him, but you’d tried before and it never worked. It was a little comfort in a world where comfort was few and far between.

You were sure that there were two reasons that you needed him to sleep. The first was more of a tangible reason; you’d gotten used to holding something every night for your whole life, so to be without it threw you off. The other reason was more personal; having that bear was like having a reminder of your whole family with you. Your mother had bought it for you, John had sewed an eyepatch on his face when one of his little plastic eyes fell off, and Sam and Dean had sewed up rips and tears in the thing countless times. Without him, you felt…alone. Like the little pieces of your family that you were desperate to remember were gone.

Of course, this was way too much to dump on Sam and Dean, who were just trying to enjoy a peaceful drive. So, you gave up on your useless attempts at sleep, and instead grabbed your headphones and turned on one of your playlists. You made sure to keep your phone under the small blanket over you, not wanting to alert Sam and Dean to your restlessness.

“Wake me when it’s my turn to drive,” Sam told Dean, and you couldn’t help but be jealous at the way he fell asleep almost immediately.

Four hours later, you had exhausted both your body and your playlist, yet still sleep wouldn’t come. There was still over six hours left in the drive, and you were sure that you were going to go insane.

When the Impala pulled over and Dean and Sam switched seats, you noticed Sam staring at you.

“Why are you awake?” He asked. Dean glanced back to look at you.

“I…” you didn’t have a good answer, so you didn’t.

“Did you sleep at all?” Dean asked, and when you ignored this too, he began to look alarmed. “Alright, what’s up? You need to sleep.”

“I’m trying,” your voice came out in a mumble.

“For the past four hours?” Sam didn’t sound convinced. “You’re either trying too hard, or not hard enough.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why?” Dean asked. “You looked half dead when we left for this trip, I thought you’d be out in five minutes flat.”

“I just…I left something at the bunker,” you slowly sat up, giving up on even your fake sleep. “And I need it.”

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Dean demanded. “If you need it-“

“I didn’t realize until it was too late,” you sighed. “And-and I don’t need need it.”

“What’d you forget?” Sam asked, confused.

When you didn’t answer, Dean turned in his seat to face you.

“Kid? C’mon, talk to me, is it like medication or something? I might have some sleeping pills with me.”

You shook your head, feeling dumber than ever.

“Not-not pills, just…” you lowered your eyes, resisting the urge to hide under your blanket. “Just something that helps me sleep.”

“How about this,” Sam sighed, trying to stall Dean’s rising frustration. “How about I call Cas, and he can get it for you?”

“I don’t wanna bother Cas,” you said quietly.

“Hey Cas,” you flinched in surprise at Dean’s sudden outburst. “We’re on I94, mile marker…78, and we could use some hel-“ Dean stopped talking when Cas appeared suddenly next to you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ask her,” Dean gestured at you, and you felt your face heat up, your ears turning pink. It would’ve been embarrassing enough for your brothers to find out about Jasper, but an actual angel?

“Dean-“

“We’re gonna be on this hunt for days, I’m not about to let you just not sleep for days, so tell the angel what you need and get it over with.”

“You want me to help you sleep?” Cas asked, trying to understand why he’d been summoned.

“No, it’s just…I-I left something at home, and I need it to sleep, and since you can like, teleport…” your voice trailed off when you saw realization light up Cas’s face.

“Alright, what is it you want me to get?”

“It’s…” you couldn’t admit it, you just couldn’t. You tried to skirt around the answer. “It’s in my room…”

“You might have to be more specific,” Cas said slowly, his brows drawn together.

“It’s a bear, ok? A stuffed animal bear, and it’s on my bed,” you’d given up completely on both your attempts to keep the truth from them and any inclination to look at anyone in the car. You’d buried your head in the blanket that you held in your hands, and didn’t look up even when you heard the gentle whoosh of Castiel leaving.

“Kid, you ok?” Sam asked softly, to which you merely nodded.

“Here you go.”

At the sound of Cas’s voice, you finally looked up to see him holding Jasper out to you.

“I don’t understand. You seem distressed,” Castiel observed as you pulled Jasper into your arms.

“I’m not distressed, I’m embarrassed,” you huffed. “It’s…it’s just so stupid.”

“I’ve observed that many humans have sentimental attachments to objects, I don’t understand why this is different,” Castiel cocked his head.

“Stuffed animals are for kids,” you mumbled.

“So?” Dean’s voice from the front seat surprised you.

“So? You don’t think it’s stupid?”

“Kid, we all have our…” Dean searched for a word. “Quirks. And considering some of the issues me and Sammy have had,” his wry smile made you relax slightly, “I think ‘needing a stuffed animal’ is pretty low on our Concerning Habits list.”

“You really don’t think it’s that dumb?” You asked.

“Honestly, it’s below Sam’s haircut on my list of weird things in our family. Far below,” Dean scoffed, and you felt yourself relax completely.

“Ok, enough,” you grinned at the sound of Sam’s grumpy tone. “Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?”

You finally settled down in your seat, smiling at Cas and thanking him quietly. Once he vanished, you stretched out completely in the back seat, and within minutes you were fast asleep, your bear tucked tightly under your arm.

Because you fell asleep so quickly, you missed the way Dean turned in his chair to smile at you, and the whispered conversation he shared with Sam.

“You know, that kid is adorable.”

Sam laughed softly, glancing back at you before turning back to focus on the road.

“Yeah, I know.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean and sam #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural dean #the winchesters #winchesters x reader #dean x sister #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #winchesters x sister #winchester x reader #the winchester brothers #spn sam winchester #castiel

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icarusredwings · 14 days

Text

Someone asked, but I accidently deleted it, so here. Thinking about what happens when Kidwade witnesses one of Logan's panic attacks.

Something had frightened him. They were doing construction outside, and he could hear every tiny sound, every shout, every beep, every large bang. His first instinct was to go out there and tell them to fuck off but he couldn't do that. City workers didn't care if you told them to shut up. The neighbor down the hall already did, and if anything, they just worked louder.

So here he was. Sat on the floor in the kitchen, knees pulled up and his hands over his head, heaving heavy breaths as he tried not to get too spooked to the point of hyperventilating. His pupils were dilated about as wide as they could get, the hair on his neck raised to attention, his mind flashing with certian memories that he once tried to drown in the bottom of a bottle but turns out they could swim.

What made things worse is that he had Wade right now. That kid was bugging Al right now but got only knew how long until he'd come looking for 'Kitty'. He didn't want to hurt him but he could feel himself slipping, he hadn't even noticed his claws out until just now.

A couple of tears ran down his face, but he couldn't. He was too tense, shaking in his arms and in his knees. He felt pathetic. He was The Fucking Wolverine and here he was cowering in a kitchen over a steam roller and a couple of big trucks?

Trying to cover his ears, he grits his teeth, trying his best to stay here. In the kitchen. He didn't want to go. He didn't need to wake up and find his loved ones dead. Thicker tears came.

This is why no one liked you, idiot. You can't help but be a killing monster, can you? At this point, you like slaughtering innocent children, don't you? It's in your blood. They made you an animal, and now you sit here and act like it. No one can ever love a wild feral animal like you. You're going to die alone because you've already killed everyone who ever cared about you.

These thoughts haunted him on the daily, but right now, they were even louder, screaming over the loud beeping outside that hurt his ears.

This is why he didn't like the city. Too much yelling. Too many smells. It hurt his head. This is part of the reason he started drinking in the first place. The sounds were much quieter when intoxicated. Whispers instead of wailing.

And there it was. The smell he hoped wouldn't come. Peaking an eye open, there was Wade, sitting a couple of feet away from him with Fluffy. His head was tilted, and he was saying something, but Logan couldn't hear him. Shaking his head, he growled at him. "Stay back! Get! Go away!"

His chest pounded and tightened from the intrusive and instinctive thoughts that were running through his head right now. How quickly he could slash him to bits, how easy it would be to hurt him. To make him go away.

Logan only shook his head. "Stop! T-thats not who I am anymore!!" Curling up more, He tried to put his face into the wall, trying to hide himself best he could, keeping his hands on his head. He was still shaking.. within a moment, everything was black. Blurry and gone.

This was it. He was sure that he had just killed Wade. Sliced Fluffy's head right off with it. There was a tight pain in his chest until he jumped awake, feeling warmth instead.

Opening his eyes, he tried to scramble away but forgot he was up against the wall. Panting, he quickly realized that Wades hand was on his chest, and the other one had intertwined one of his hands. "..Kitty?"

Blinking a bit, he put his head back, coming back to reality. He had no clue how or why, but Wade was the only idiot that saw a growling and rabid mess and says, 'Im gonna pet that' no matter how old he was.

And that's what he did. Petting his chest, rubbing it to keep between his collar bone and his tits warm, that certain way that made his hairs go flat and try to regualte his breathing.

Letting out a soft whimper, wade moved from holding his hand to caressing his cheek, very gently scratching at the side of his beard as he climbed into his lap.

Still letting out heavy breaths, Logan let his arms go limp, laying against the floor as his body too relaxed, his shoulders dropping and closed his eyes again, letting himself be caressed.

"Hi Kitty." He whispers, having also put headphones over his head. The ones that were wades, red with kitty ears on the top. But at the moment? He didn't care.

All he cared about was staring up at him with such fondness as he began to rub the back of his head too.

And so Logan laid here. The muffled beeps and shouts half as bad, his face being rubbed in a way that would usually make him pick him up and take him to the bedroom. "It's okay, kitty. I got you. I help you, kitty, alright?" He whispers, kissing his head the way Logan did to him when scared, pulling his head into his own chest, taking away the ears so the construction could be drowned out in his heartbeat.

Wade's hands were always all over him, most times like this. Gentle, loving rubs and scratches, caresses that made you forget all the troubles in the world.

Carefully, Logan wrapped his arms around him, syncing his breaths to his, letting himself melt into his touches completely.

"It's okay, Kitty. Just a scary dream." He'd whisper sweet nothings to him, Rubbing his back and playing with the tuffs of his hair.

A few minutes passed and here was Wade sitting sideways on his lap, rubbing his chest and holding around his neck while he wore the kitty earred headphones, making him giggle with each gravelly purr that came from his chest, up his throat and out as a small snarl.

"A happy kitty goes purr purr purr, purr purr purr, purr purr purr, A happy kitty goes, Purr purr purr, All day long" He giggled.

Logan wanted to roll his eyes, but he had to give him props for creativity. Even so, he was most grateful for him, reaching a sheathed hand up to hold the one that lazily stayed around his neck.

He was happy to sit here and hold him close all he wanted. Hell, by now, Puppins had joined too and now was sleeping on Wades lap, who was sat in Kitty's.

"...You're a good kid wade.."

"I know. And you good kitty."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

#kid wade #sfw agere #sfw interaction only #“he doesn't quite get it but he's got the spirit” care giver Logan Howlett #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #logan howlett #deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool 3 #wolverine #kitty and kid #tw panic attack #bro has PTSD

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bobwess · 1 month

Text

Ao3 is down for a hot sec

As per tradition, here is one of my one-shot fics to tide y'all over~

2,398 words (Now that Ao3 is up, here is the link to mine~)

Dean tried unsuccessfully to focus on the mug in front of him. Rubbing his eyes just triggered a yawn. He looked ruefully at his watch; Maybe he needed more than four or five hours sometimes. He absently turned the spoon, cereal dangerously close to sloshing out of the bowl.

When he heard the footsteps behind him he turned to see if it was Sam or Cas.

"Hello Dean."

"Mmh." Dean said, fighting through a yawn. He cracked his neck. "Mornin' Cas." He closed his eyes for a second and suddenly Cas was sitting at the table next to him. He had to remind himself that it was just 'being tired', and not 'Cas could suddenly fly again'.

"Have you or Sam heard anything?"

"What, itching to get out of here already?" There was something different. Something was… his thoughts weren't quite up to the task of figuring it out yet.

"No." Cas said, "But I would like to help."

"If it's a case you want, we can kick a few rocks, see what falls out." The picture wasn't right… that much he could tell.

"I would like that."

Oh.

Cas was wearing his shirt.

Cas was not wearing a suit.

"Sounds like a plan." He heard himself say. No tie, no dress pants.

"Thank you."

A week ago Cas' tan coat finally met a stain it couldn't part with. Dean offered to take Cas on a hunt for a new one, but Cas wasn't interested. 'I think it is time for something different.'

Dean had gone out that evening and grabbed Cas a few things to start his 'something different'.

Cas was sitting here in a pair of jeans, a white tee and what was definitely his shirt.

Probably.

Was it?

Dean continued on. "It's been a while since we stretched our legs. Could be good."

He would have remembered getting Cas a flannel shirt. Wouldn't he? He was a little drunk when he was putting the things in Cas' closet. But he wasn't drunk when he was buying them.

Why would Cas be wearing your shirt? He wouldn't be.

Honestly it suits him. Being un-suited.

Dean couldn't help the grin that accompanied his own perceived hilarity. He shook it off, unnoticed.

Maybe he borrowed it from Sam?

Dean finished the last of his coffee and regretfully dragged himself to his feet. "Alright. I'll grab my laptop and meet you in the library."

He watched Cas head out of the kitchen and he frowned. It wasn't very often he saw Cas out of his normal get up. The last week had been jarring on its own, seeing him in only a suit.

He did look good though.

Mmh. Not important.

Dean walked his mug to the sink, washing it out and drying his hands before heading towards his room to find them a case.

Those were his jacket and jeans. He was sure of it this time.

Dean had just bought those jeans… black, and tighter than he usually wore, and right now noticeably tighter than Cas usually wore. The jacket had been in the back of the closet for a while now, but it had been in his closet.

This would be the fourth and fifth item this week that Dean recognized from his own wardrobe. Trouble was, it was too late to call him on it. One of those things that felt like he had missed the window where it wouldn't have been awkward to ask. Now he felt obligated to sort of sit and wait it out.

That jacket never looked right on me. It looks right on him.

Dean continued to pull things out of his bag onto the motel bed, trying not to make it obvious that he was looking over Cas' outfit choices.

He tried to reason out when the hell Cas had time to get into his closet. He never had caught Cas at it yet. For a while he figured he was just grabbing things out of the laundry. Maybe Cas grabbed the jeans from the laundry room but that coat definitely hadn't been out of his closet in months.

At least it's getting some wear.

On top of that, Dean had to admit the jeans worked for Cas. He hadn't quite gotten up to wearing them out. They weren't skinny jeans, but they were… very fitted.

A fact that was very apparent right now.

He couldn't stop looking. Maybe it was just because he had known Cas in exactly one outfit for years, with a few notable exceptions that were just as jarring as this.

The coat, the suit… he hadn't ever thought they looked bad. If he was honest with himself, he liked that tan coat. But it was easy to forget that Cas was more than that sort of box of clothing.

Dean watched Cas turn and walk out the door.

Very fitted.

Dean felt the heat rise in his face and he forced himself to focus back on shoving his stuff back into his bag.

Sam was leaning on the map table, scrolling through his laptop when he heard his brother walk in, and he nodded a thanks when a hot mug of coffee was slid in front of him.

Dean carried his coffee over to a small cart in the corner, opening a bottle of whiskey and adding a splash to his mug.

"Dude, it's like noon." Sam protested.

"Coffee and whiskey. Think of it like brunch."

"Brunch where?"

"Ireland."

"You're not Irish."

"I am today."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean sat across the table. "How's Cas settling in?"

Dean took a sip of his coffee, pausing for a second before a brief nod of approval. He stretched before finally acknowledging his brother's question. "Fine, I think."

"You think?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, I mean. He seems to be making himself right at home." Dean muttered.

"You still bitter he took that Metallica shirt?"

Dean threw him a glare. "It's not just 'that Metallica shirt', it's a crew shirt that I got on their tour in Mexico city-"

"That you got by sleeping with an usher."

"That's besides the point." Dean huffed.

"Dean, that shirt is old enough to drink."

"It's vintage. And now it has a coffee stain I have no idea if I'll ever get out."

Sam rolled his eyes again. "I think you'll live."

"Yeah." Dean muttered sullenly.

"You know you could probably just tell him to stop raiding your closet."

Dean sighed, his disagreeable expression melting into a somewhat resigned but more sincere look. "I feel bad."

"The coat wasn't your fault."

Dean fidgeted with his mug in his hands. "I should have told him to let you wash it." He ignored Sam's indignant look. "It was soaked in blood after that case."

"I think it was a goner even before the bleach."

"I thought he just…" Dean gestured vaguely. "You know, angel magicked it clean or whatever."

"You-"

"He's done it before!"

"I don't think he can do that anymore." Sam pointed out. The last time he saw Cas pull off a miraculous clothing change, Cas had his wings.

"I didn't know he was gonna dump a bottle of bleach on it and leave."

"You couldn't have. And you got him some new stuff."

"I think he's trying to find his own style."

"Right now I think he's trying to find your style."

"Mmh." Dean said with a noncommittal shrug. He took another long sip of coffee before he choked, sending it sputtering, whiskey burning his nose and throat as he struggled to get control.

Seemingly oblivious to almost killing Dean, Cas walked through the library.

"Where the hell did he get those?" Sam mused, mostly to himself, watching Cas disappear into one of the other doors.

"I don't know." Dean lied, voice strained. "I should uh-"

"Stop him before he tries to go out in those?"

"Yeah." Dean agreed weakly. He stood and gathered his mug, hastily making his way towards the kitchen to drop it off and try to follow Cas. He wandered the halls in the direction he saw Cas heading towards, finally hearing the sound of the water coming from the garage.

Dean froze in the doorway.

He wasn't sure exactly what Cas was doing, but for the moment it didn't matter. His eyes flicked down to the shorts, feeling a hot flash across his cheeks. A stubborn oil stain had ruined the jeans, and he had decided to try and cut them off. He didn't actually own any shorts.

He cut them way too short.

He had tried them on once before he pushed them back into the closet, probably for good.

Dean had forgotten they were even in there.

Whatever Cas was doing, he was absolutely drenched already. Water was dripping down from his torso over his legs and pooling near the drain on the garage floor. Dean's Led Zeppelin t-shirt was stuck tight to Cas' chest and biceps, and the shorts were stuck tight to his everything. And he-

The thought was cut off as he suddenly got a face full of water. He thrust his hand in front of his eyes, trying to shield himself at all from the spray as he hurried over to take the hose from an increasingly distressed Castiel. He unhooked the latch keeping the sprayer locked on, dropping it back to the ground once it was off.

Dean was soaked through, his gray robe clinging to his calves and slippers squelching with each slight shift of his weight. He looked up at Cas, eyes wide and body frozen with his arms slightly out as he felt the water running off him. "What-" He swallowed. "Are you doing?"

"Washing your car." Cas answered easily.

"You're-" Dean shook his arms, trying in vain to dry them a little. "Why?"

"I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"Allowing me to borrow your clothing."

"For…" Dean stopped, the pieces slotting into place. "Sam told you to raid my closet for whatever you needed." He guessed. That little shit seemed so innocent earlier.

Cas nodded. "It was generous. I was trying to think of a way to show my appreciation, and I decided on this. It was… less successful than I hoped."

"You think?" Dean asked, flatly. He couldn't help the smile forming though. "You're supposed to aim the hose away from you, you know."

"It slipped." Cas lamented, looking down at the hose like it had done it on purpose. "I am sorry I have gotten you wet."

Dean swallowed. "Yeah." He said weakly. He shrugged his arms out of the sodden knit, tossing the gray robe over the tool box in the corner of the room. Walking noisily back, he took a second to be thankful he was at least wearing pajama pants.

Though he'd be in good company.

Cas turned and Dean was reminded that he had cut them even shorter in the back; There was not an insignificant amount of cheek visible.

Not that I'm looking.

Dean took a deep breath, taking it in.

It's just they're so…

"Dean?"

"You look good." Dean's mouth betrayed him before his brain fully caught up. He choked a little, covering it with a cough. "I mean, the… you've been picking good stuff. The-" Dean gestured vaguely in Cas' direction. "The shorts… you… it's not bad."

Cas tilted his head slightly, working through the rambling. "Thank you." He finally decided.

"You're welcome." Dean said blankly.

"I would still like to do this for you."

Dean looked from Cas to the hose on the ground, trying to remember what exactly Cas meant before he remembered the car. The static in his mind cleared and he took a deeper breath. "Let's compromise. We do it together and I can show you how to do it properly."

Cas gave a small smile. "I'd like that." he said, leaning down to pick up the hose, the bottom of his cut-offs lifting up precariously. He handed it to Dean.

Dean held it for a minute before he closed his hand around the handle, blasting Cas full force in the face.

Cas threw his hands up in a futile attempt to block any of the water. When it stopped, he just stood there, blinking back at Dean. "That was fair." He said at last.

Dean threw his head back in a laugh. "Damn straight it was." He reached forward, unthinkingly ruffling his hand through Cas' hair, pushing it up from where it was flattened and back into its normal somewhat unkempt state.

Cas' eyes never left his. "You have good clothes."

"What?"

"I like your clothes." Cas continued.

"Thank you?" Dean frowned. "Or you're welcome?"

"You look good."

"I look like a drowned rat."

Cas reached up, copying Dean and pushing up Dean's short hair.

Dean caught his hand before Cas could pull it away. He froze, just holding it to the side of his face, feeling everything he had been pushing aside hit him at once, his heart hammering in his chest. "You really do look g-"

Cas bridge the gap, pushing their lips together before he could finish. Dean blinked, eyes widening at the kiss, his thoughts grinding to a halt. He didn't move, entirely caught off guard.

Cas pulled away quickly, expression an even mixture of regret and longing. "I'm sor-"

Dean yanked him back, deciding that thinking could wait until later. Right now was time to just act without a plan. This time he closed his eyes and leaned into it fully. He threw a wet arm over Cas' shoulder, fingers working their way into his sopping wet hair.

Dean pulled away, looking directly in Cas' eyes, forcing himself to quell any panic for the time being and just live in the moment. "You should keep the shorts."

Cas just tilted his head.

Dean coughed slightly, his cheeks flashing a bright red. "The uh… let's…" He cleared his throat, turning the hose nozzle over in his hand, looking back between Cas and the impala. "Let's wash the car."

Cas looked at him carefully, trying to get a read on the hunter. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean hesitated for a moment before a small smile worked its way onto his face. "Yeah… I am." He walked over to the bench, picking up a soft towel and tossing it to Cas. "Let's get to work."

#spn #fanfic #destiel #ao3 #supernatural #fic

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innerfare · 13 days

Text

Random Mihawk Headcanons

Summary: a random collection of Mihawk headcanons

CW: None // SFW

———

Can’t stop adopting strays to save his life. He’s a sucker for a mangy cat or unwashed pirate. Perona was quite literally the only hygienic guest he’d ever had at his castle. Zoro’s bathhouse allergy only further endeared him to Mihawk.

Also such a cat person in general. He’s introverted, too. Prefers the peace and quiet, enjoys sitting with a glass of wine, a good book, and a purring cat in his lap. That being said, for whatever reason, he just can’t help but gravitate toward rambunctious dogs who get mud on the carpet (i.e., Shanks).

In general, has a magnet pull toward things he disdains and even outright despises. In relationship terms, this means he claims to want someone who will make him better, but he will really only go for someone who will make him worse. King of guilty pleasures.

Suffered the loss of someone he loved dearly when he was quite young. Shanks knew the person, too, thus their bond. The person died at the hands of a marine who saw no consequences, thus beginning Mihawk's reign as the dreaded Marine Hunter.

Is actually a horrible shot. Can't fire a gun or bow and arrow to save his life. Claims to dislike these weapons and refuses to fire them because an honorable fight can only take place in close quarters (or something like that) in order to save face. Only Shanks, Beckman, and Zoro know he can't shoot.

Smells so good. Has a fondness for jewels and shiny metal, fine wine, and other such luxuries, but expensive perfume has always been his weakness. A bottle was the first thing he purchased after his first big score as a pirate.

Complains incessantly about being bored but is such a creature of habit that it’s a cage of his own making, low key. He wants excitement, but he also doesn’t like sleeping in a bed that isn’t his own or sipping wine he doesn’t like from a glass he did not hand select. He’s only grown more particular with age.

Has a sentimental side. The type to keep small mementos to remind him of various events and people. Sometimes goes back through these mementos when he'd had a bit too much wine to drink. These include everything from his first sword to a copy of Shanks' first wanted poster.

Hates how people act around him- the infamous Mihawk. Be it kissing his ass or tripping over their words because they’re scared, he hates being ogled. Actually bonded with Crocodile over how annoying the masses, as he calls them, are in that regard.

Claims to hate it when the Red Hair pirates come to stay because they always make a mess of things, but smiles to himself every time he passes the tapestry a drunk Lucky Roux somehow managed to rip a hole in despite its place so high on his wall.

Though he had a perfectly logical reason for telling Crocodile to spare Buggy, he would have gone to bat for the Clown regardless due to his connection to Shanks, not that he would ever admit to this. Why Shanks is soft on Buggy is completely lost on Mihawk.

Doesn’t do anything half-assed, and part of that means reading up on everything he does. Gardening? Stack of books. Cooking? Another stack of books. Interior design? More books.

Total wine snob (obviously). Likes his wine as red as blood and dry as Alabasta. If it’s sweet, he doesn’t consider it to be a wine and scoffs at it. Only respects wine drinkers who share his particular taste. Nearly died when he found Buggy’s cellar full of rosé.

Has repaired roofs and walls, but is a bit lost on how to decorate his castle beyond high-quality basics (silk sheets, fine glassware, etc.). Would appreciate someone’s thoughts on wall art, fine china, and furniture.

If Beckman were not in the picture, would take his place as Shanks’ first mate in a heartbeat. Would also never admit this, pretends to hate the idea of being on a crew. Also has sexual tension with Beckman that has never been addressed, probably never will be.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #mihawk #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #red haired shanks #shanks #benn beckman #beckman #mihawk headcanons

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ambling-rambling · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

C/W: honestly not much. Angst. Drunk reader. Softest of fluff

I started out intending to write drunk sex but ya sad bish needed something soft instead so have the first time Bucky Barnes hears I love you and the way it wrecks him.

Don't Leave Me

The two of you didn't actually fight that often, surprising as that was to some people. You supposed you couldn't blame them, what with the ex-Winter Soldier's perpetual frown and surly demeanor.

You knew better, though. He held people at arms length for a million different reasons, each as valid as the next, but the truth was, his core was all marshmallow fluff, soft and squishy.

In the six months that you'd been an official couple, you could count on one hand the number of times you'd so much as bickered. But this? This was different. A genuine fight, where you couldn't agree and neither was willing to compromise.

It was bad enough, his being gone on missions all the time, worrying about whether he'd come home at all, and what state he'd be in when he did. And now he was talking about some sabbatical back to Europe, trying to chase down memories and make some amends clear on the other side of the planet, indefinitely.

And it sure sounded like he didn't want you to come. Sure, his excuse had been that he didn't want to drag you away from your life, make you uproot everything. Part of you knew he didn't feel worthy of that kind of devotion, that he couldn't truly comprehend that he was your everything now.

But if still felt an awful lot like a rejection, and that stung.

Maybe that was why you'd gotten so drunk, just trying to ease the tightness in your chest, drown the ache in your soul with the burn of alcohol. It would have been bad enough on its own, but the fact that it was your first legitimate fight just made it that much worse.

So you'd gotten a little carried away, and Jaeger sure as shit did have a way of creeping up on you. You'd stumbled your way into the ladies' where you now sagged against a sink, though you'd forgotten to turn the water on.

"Honey, are you alright?" a voice startled you, and you spun, or tried to. You barely managed to keep yourself upright by clinging to the edge of the sink.

"Uhhhh..." Were you? Alright? What did that even mean? You weren't dying, but you felt like you were shattering into a million pieces. Surely that was just the alcohol talking, making everything extra dramatic. "No? " It came out a question, and the woman tutted softly. She was probably a little older than you, beautiful, and you found yourself half lost in the liquid brown of her eyes, hooded in deep gold eyeshadow, and the dreadlocks that framed her face.

"Can I call someone for you, honey?" she asked.

Call someone? Shit what a great idea! "Uhhh, my boyfriend," you said with a nod. "Er, well," you hedged, as the memories came flooding back in. "I think. We hadda fight." The words were slurred, and your new friend's eyes were sympathetic.

"Are you safe with him?"

Even drunk, you immediately understood the implications of what she was asking. "YES." Your response was so emphatic that she laughed a little. "We never fight like this," you said, pouting now, staring down at the toe of your tennis shoe. "Ever," you added, uncertain why you felt the need to add so much emphasis.

"Well, honey, why don't I call him for you? If he's got any brains in his head, he's probably missin' you just as much as you're missin' him."

You nodded, because Bucky definitely had brains, he was so smart, and beautiful and you just wanted to be with him always. Why did he have to make everything so fucking difficult?

Without really making a conscious decision, you unlocked your phone, open to your text conversation with Bucky. You hadn't even realized you had a slew of texts from him. It ran a course from appeasing,

I'm sorry, I just don't know what to tell you...

to irritated ,

Really? You're blowing me off?

to worried,

Okay well I deserve it. We don't have to talk but can you just answer so I know you're okay?

Y/n. Please. I'm really getting worried. I just wanna know you're alright.

You felt a little bad. You hadn't been blowing him off intentionally, you just hadn't been paying attention to your phone.

Your friend, god you really needed to ask her name, hit the dial button. Muffled through the speaker, you could nonetheless hear Bucky answer before the second ring, practically shouting your name.

"Sorry, my name's Meredith, but I've got y/n right here. She's fine, just pretty drunk. You should probably come pick her up."

There wasn't any hesitation in his promise to be there in a few minutes.

Meredith handed your phone back to you, and you tucked it away in your pocket, feeling a little guilty. You tried to stand up straight, annoyed with the way the world tilted and swayed under your feet.

"Easy there, honey. Let's go get you some water before your fella gets here."

You nod, because that seemed like a good idea. You clung to Meredith's arm as the two of you wound through the bar and the bartender handed you a glass of water. You sipped it carefully, uncertain if even that would settle. You had definitely never been this drunk before, and now that it was setting in you felt a little childish and stupid.

You heard your name and half turned. The sight of Bucky there, beautiful as ever in that leather jacket and his gloves, made you want to weep, and you sniffled.

"I was worried about you, doll," Bucky said gently, brushing one leather-clad thumb along your cheek bone.

You wanted to be mad at him, but the genuine concern in those blue eyes and the way he was hanging back, not pushing you, just made you want to fall into him.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, not looking at him. "I wasn't tryna make y'worry." The words came out slurred and you felt petulant and nauseous and why was everything such a mess?

"You good now?" Meredith asked, drawing your gaze. You nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay," you said.

"Thank you," Bucky said softly, extending a hand to Meredith. "Genuinely. I'm glad she found you and not..." he trailed off with a helpless shrug, and it wasn't a leap to know he'd been thinking about all the creeps out there who'd love to take advantage of a drunk and vulnerable woman.

"Nothin' to thank me for. Us girls gotta stick together," Meredith said with a grin. She gave your hand a little squeeze, and then disappeared into the crowd.

Bucky sighed, turning to look at you again, ducking his head to try and catch your eye. "C'mon doll, you still so mad you can't even look at me?" he asked, with a little note of frustration creeping into his tone.

You shook your head. "Not that. I just feel...Dumb." Suddenly you were crying and you couldn't even really articulate why. Bucky looked panicked, jerking the glove off his right hand to cradle your face, applying pressure to encourage you to look up without forcing you.

"What? Why? You're not dumb, y/n..." Bucky looked perplexed, worried still as you sniffled again, scrubbing at your leaking eyes.

"You still w-want me right?" The words came out slurred and choked, and you were suddenly clinging to him, clutching at his biceps. The world was unsteady under you and you just wanted to be in bed, wrapped up with him, safe and wanted.

Bucky looked genuinely shocked. "What...y/n, of course I do. You're all I want. Why would you think otherwise?"

He was so confused you almost laughed. It was so obvious to you.

"But you d-don't want me to come to Europe with you," you pointed out, your voice a drunken whine.

"I don't...y/n, I don't want to go without you," you could see he was struggling to articulate himself, the way words so often came as a fight, caught up in his head. "I just don't feel like I can ask you to walk away from your life..."

"You're not asking! I'm offering!" you interrupted, your voice a little too high, a little too loud, even to your own ears.

Bucky looked... Inexplicably sad. He stepped a little closer, so his body was pressed to yours, bare hand cradling your cheek. "I ain't worth it, doll. And I don't want you to be an ocean away from home and not another friend in sight when you figure that out." .

You felt like you were choking. Oh, or maybe that was just the alcohol in your stomach revolting. Bucky must have read the expression on your face, because he wrapped an arm around your waist, mostly carrying you toward the door. "C'mon, let's get outside," he said.

The cold air hit you like an Arctic front, had goosebumps prickling all over your skin and a shiver running up your spine. But it served to still the boiling mess in your stomach. You knew you were drunk, that he'd probably convince himself it was just the alcohol, but you had to try.

"Please baby," you whined, clutching at him. "I don't wanna be here without you. I just wanna be with you , always. You are worth it to me." Your voice cracked when you begged "don't leave me here."

"I'm not leaving you anywhere, doll. Let's go home," he murmured. You nodded, slumping into Bucky's arms, content to let him carry you to the car.

You didn't even remember getting home, just waking up in bed, a little panicked, launching yourself toward the bathroom, your stomach revolting against the ill treatment of the night before. Bucky was there within moments, sweeping your hair back out of your face, palm smoothing down your back.

You slumped to the floor when your stomach finally settled, cool tile heavenly against your heated skin. "I'm sorry," you mumbled.

"For what?" Bucky asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Getting so trashed that you had to come get me. Being so extra and now...this," your lip curled in distaste as you waved a hand at the porcelain throne.

Bucky 's lips quirked in that ghost of a smile that was his most common expression of pleasure or amusement. "That's nothin' to apologize for, doll," he said dismissively.

"Shower with me?" you asked, and Bucky nodded, starting the water before helping you to your feet. You shucked out of your clothes and ducked into the shower with a low groan of relief, only too eager to wash the night off your skin. Bucky followed you in, and his hands skimmed tenderly across your body, helping you rinse off, his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You lingered like that, for too long, really. It would have been easy, so easy, to just stay like that, pretend nothing had happened, but you couldn't.

"Bucky?" you whispered, voice rough and more than a little hesitant.

"Yeah, doll?" he asked, without lifting his head, voice muffled against your skin.

"I...I meant what I said last night. I know I was drunk, but it was still the truth. I don't... I don't wanna be here without you. I don't care where you're going, if it's anywhere even sort of long term, I wanna go. I'll go anywhere Buck, just .. please don't leave me here. Don't go without me."

He drew back, cradling your face, his expression a study in internal wars, looking both miserable and infatuated. "I just don't want you bored over there, by yourself..."

"I wouldn't be by myself," you interrupted. "I'd be with you and that's all I want."

You could practically see that self deprecating smile even before it painted his lips. "That's not all you want, doll," Bucky argued, and you felt yourself huff out an irritated breath. "You have a job that you really love and friends you love going out with, not to mention the cat..."

You sighed. "All those things will be here whenever you've done what you need to. Or I'll meet new people and make new friends. People do it all the time, Buck. Mallory would take Alpine for a while if I asked her."

Whatever argument he was about to pop off with now, you silenced it, pressing a finger to his lips. "Stop telling me what I want or don't want, Buck. I just want you. I love you."

You watched the emotions play across his face like he was a projection onto a movie screen. Incomprehension, and then disbelief, giving way to awe, and then something so, so soft it had his eyes welling up with tears.

He was searching your face, as if trying to sniff out a lie, and then abruptly, his gaze jerked down, swallowing hard. You'd been together a while, slept together, built routines that were comfortable, that he adored, but neither of you had ever broached the "l" word and he hadn't let himself believe you were building something like a life together, something lasting and permanent.

"Really?" he asked weakly.

His surprise broke you. All this time, it had been clear to you, that this was something permanent, that you were building patterns you wanted to live the rest of your life in, a comfortable place to rest and be at home. Meanwhile, he'd been holding himself apart, waiting for his fantasy to end.

"Oh, Bucky," you whispered, felt yourself choking up against your will. "Yeah, I love you , so much, baby. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner, that I ever made you wonder. I love you, Bucky Barnes, completely and irrevocably."

The arms he wrapped around you were all encompassing, squeezing you tight, with a hint of trembling. "I love you too, doll. So much." His voice was rough with emotion as he clung to you, and you clung right back, arms wrapped tight around his waist, lost in the touch so long that the water started to run cold. You whined as you hurried to wash your hair before it turned to ice and then crawled out.

Wrapped in a towel, you pressed yourself in against Bucky's side. "Does this mean you'll take me to Europe?"

Bucky almost snorted as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Let's be real, I wouldn't have lasted a week without you anyways."

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier #winter soldier fanfiction #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 months

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𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭

↳ summary: gabriel finds himself again amongst sweet treats, warded bunker walls, and you

↳ warnings: mentions of past character death and gabriels time with asmodeus, characters getting over trauma, etc

↳ song: heat of the moment—asia

masterlist | commissions | carrd

Gabriel was an angel. There was no denying that fact.

Not in the metaphorical sense, or the hypothetical sense, or any other sort of sense. He was an honest to god, grace wielding, smirk wearing, heaven sent angel. You didn't have to peek his true form to know any of that. If anything, you'd seen the ghostly shadow of his wings enough times for you to eye him with trepidation, only for the moment to be broken with a snarky quip and a wink afterwards.

It wasn't any of those things that made Gabriel angelic in your eyes, though. In fact, the novelty of angels for you had worn off years ago. Ever since Castiel had shown up in that barn, wearing the tannest of tan of trench coats and directing that righteous gaze of his at Dean, you'd found that your capacity for anything biblical had reached its peak. Anything beyond that had been labeled For Later and shoved deep down in a box with everything else disturbing in your life. To say that the box had been full for a while would be an understatement.

When Gabriel had first been outed as Mr. Archangel himself, you'd shrugged. It made enough sense, you'd thought at the time, looking at him from outside the ring of holy fire you and the brothers had set up in that warehouse. He'd made the three of you run around in TV shows all day, and even if he did appear to have penchant for sweets, upon a closer look he defiantly wasn't just a trickster. If Cas could be an angel, all squinted frowns and tilted heads, then why couldn't Gabriel? Not that he really had a reason to lie that day.

It took you a while to forget about golden hair and pink lips. Even more to forget the stench of burned feathers as the owner of them lay dead on a red carpet floor, slain by the hands of his own brother. The years had come and gone since your less than wonderful trip to that hotel, a number of both new and old companions along with them. Some deaths hit harder than the others, and you had more then enough battle scars to prove it. You were still reeling over the death of Crowley when Ketch had showed up in the bunker, Gabriel trailing along after him, all vacant stares and a downturned

Shame was the first emotion you'd seen from him in years. It was almost appropriate that fear came next.

He'd screamed through bloody stitches for the entire first week. And once Sam had calmed him down enough to get them off, he just refused to speak at all, avoiding everyone gaze as he shut himself in the farthest room down the hall. Under any other circumstance you would have asked why it had to be your room in particular he'd taken refuge in, but the longer your door remained locked and bolted, the more your complaints wilted.

Maybe it was time that helped him to heal, or the knowledge that while he was in the bunker he had three of the deadliest hunters watching his back. A small part of you was selfish enough to think that maybe the sandwiches you'd leave outside his door, just to come back and find missing, was a part of it.

It was only when you'd woken up one day to the smell of waffles coming from the kitchen that you knew Gabriel was back, and this time for the better.

The weeks that followed his return were some of the better one's you'd experienced in nearly half a decade. In between stopping Lucifer twice, as well as the rest of his fucked up family tree, you'd quit taking time for yourself. Little tasks and achievements that seemed insignificant in the face of everything else were suddenly brought back into the limelight per request of Gabriel. Movie marathon nights with buckets of candy, and handmade baked goods were among some of the archangels favorite things to do while stuck in the bunker. At times you wondered if your presence for those things really were necessary, or if Gabriel just liked spending time with you. It wasn't until Dean pointed out that Gabriel was all but back to his normal self that you realized just how impactful your midday rendezvous with the angel had been.

Coming out of the shell Asmodeus had placed him in was hard for him to do, and even harder for you all to watch. He refused to share anything about his time in captivity unless it was of the utmost importance in stopping Lucifer; not that any of you were pushing him to share. If there was anyone out there that could understand the lasting effects that fire and brimstone could leave on someone, it was you three.

You hadn't been foolish enough to think for a moment that he wasn't still broken, even after he shuffled out of your room all those weeks ago. Gabriel still had his moments, and plenty of them. Moments where he wouldn't speak to anyone, or where his playful energy would dissipate at the first signs of anything demonic. He would often pause in his speaking, like a car radio that had lost it's signal, a set of endless whiskey eyes replaying the worst of the worst for an audience of one while you did your best to pull him out of it.

And while you had seen him get lost in himself enough times to practically write a book on trauma victims, Dean was right. He had been getting better. He'd let himself laugh at jokes more often— your jokes —with that boisterous yelp of his. It was always rushed at first, as if he was going to explode if he didn't get the sound out fast enough, before tampering off into a slow round of chuckles that never failed to bring the corners of your lips up into a smile of their own.

Once you discovered how much you loved his laughter, you started noticing all the other little things about him that filled you with warmth. It was only once you realized that you had begun to seek his company out in the dead of night, your own nightmares from hunts passed plaguing you, that you knew, truly, just how deep in you were.

He cornered you one day while you were putting groceries away, a frantic mess of jumbled nerves and unsure fingers twisting around each other. He said that he'd never had to do this before. That he'd never had trouble getting a read on someone else, on their feelings, like he did with you. His worries could always be solved with a snap of his fingers and a flirty wiggle of his eyebrows; or at least they used to be able to. But you weren't just someone else to him anymore. You hadn't been for a long time, and this time, Gabriel wanted to do things properly.

Sam and Dean would be pissed the next morning when they realized that you'd left the beer sitting out all night. But when you were crossing the kitchen in long strides to reach your angel, hands reaching out to tangle themself in Gabriel's hair for purchase, kissing him like the world really was about to end— you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

#supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x y/n #spn #spn x reader #spn x you #spn x y/n #gabriel spn #gabriel x reader #gabriel x you #gabriel x y/n #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #one shot #x reader

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fanwarriorfictions · 1 month

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Help Me, Help You - Part Eight

Fenrys x F!reader

Summary- The reveal of Y/n’s powers leave both her and Fenrys reeling in the aftermath

Warnings- Panic attack(this is very dramatized, not exactly like a real panic attack), angsty as hell, I’m sorry

Series Masterlist

Part Eight

You’re a healer.

Two voices blending into one. One face, dark and covered in the blood of his own father, another face, golden and staring at her with a mixture of confusion and horror.

One, her brother, the one she’d just met, the one who’d saved her from the cold grip of death, who’d tried to hold her back the moment she’d seen her parents, slaughtered in her living room. Had watched in horror as she’d crawled through their blood, screaming for them.

One, Fenrys, the male who stood there, unnaturally still, only his eyes moving between her and the reflection of his face, where a scar should have been. The one that had been on his cheek, the one she’d felt below her palm when his lips had been stealing the breath from her lungs.

The scar had been severe, made by the brutal lashings of a dead queen, had stayed because he wished it, hadn’t let any of the talented healers from the torre, not even Yrene, touch the wound. He’d done that for a reason, Fenrys hadn’t told her but she could guess, and she had taken it away, at least a majority of it.

The section above his eye remained, only just beginning to heal into the smooth skin that matched the unmarked side of his face. It looked like a scar that had been healing for years, not months.

“You’re a healer,” Fenrys breathed again, not a question but a statement, “A healer.”

“I’m sorry.” It was the only thing she could say, choking on the words, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, Fenrys, I’m sorry.”

Fenrys finally moved then, flinching away from his reflection, away from her. He turned, on unsteady feet, as if he would make a run for the door.

She felt like collapsing, “I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Fenrys asked, finally finding more words, he searched her face as if he didn’t know who she was.

“I- I couldn’t,” she tripped over the words, how would she explain this to him? “She could- I wasn’t. I didn’t mean to.”

Fenrys seemed to connect his own dots, “It’s why you avoided the Torre, why you were so scared of it.”

It was the simplified reason, but yes, the tower of healers had nearly paralyzed her in fear when she’d seen it. And the idea of stepping foot in the white stone structure had her shaking with terror.

Y/n couldn’t stop the flow of tears down her face, and she almost sobbed when Fenrys lifted a hand to his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried again, a broken sound tearing from her chest, a guttural moan of pain.

Fenrys looks completely torn, as if there was a raging war inside his mind, she couldn’t tell what side was winning. The horror, at what she’d done, or whatever feelings he might have had for her.

“Gods, y/n,” Fenrys said, and he took a step towards her, stopping when she cried harder, louder, “It’s okay, it’s fine.”

It was far from fine, the lie was evident in his voice no matter how much he tried to hide it. She’d taken away his scar, taken away his choice, it wasn’t alright, none of it was.

“Please, I didn’t mean too,” she sobs, “Fenrys I swear, I didn’t-“

“I know, kitten, I know. It’s okay, I’m okay.”

She could feel it now, how her whole body was trembling, violently shaking as she took a step away from him, as if she could hide from what she had done, what she’d revealed.

It’s alright, stop it, come back, they’re gone, what are you doing, stop, you’re a healer, a healer, healer.

Her brother’s voice from all those years ago slammed into her. The memories of her mother, dead in her father’s arms, his blank lifeless eyes staring at her. The way it had felt to lay her healing hands on them to find nothing left to save.

“Breathe, Y/n,” Fenrys told her, “You gotta breathe.”

You’re a healer. Stop. You can’t bring them back. Healer. You can’t use your power. Healer. She’ll take you.

“Kitten, calm down,” Fenrys ordered her, his voice sounding like a wall of glass was separating them, “You gotta breathe.”

Healer…She’ll hurt you…

Who will?

“Hey!”

Maeve…

And the world went black.

Fenrys had panicked, when he’d seen her eyes roll back, seen her body collapse to the floor before he’d been able to catch her, screaming for help despite the late hour.

A guard had rushed into the room, he hadn’t even had time to speak before Fenrys was snarling at him to grab a healer, that he didn’t care if he had to rip one out of their bed in the Torre.

Fenrys had cradled her head in his lap, off of the hard floor. She looked near lifeless, if it wasn’t for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. He monitored her closely, counting the seconds between each breath, counting his own.

Fenrys was still reeling from the shock. Seeing his face, his brothers, healed again after nearly a year. He’d almost forgotten what he truly looked like without it, had resigned himself to never see himself again, was happy of it, deserving of it.

But it was gone, most of it at least, the section above his brow had remained, still carving its path towards his hairline, a the edges softer, less jagged.

It had begun to heal, the edges smoothing over, but she’d stopped before taking the whole of it away.

A healer, she was a healer, and a powerful one at that. To take scars that were already set by his fae healing, and make them disappear without a trace, without even thinking, completely on accident.

She was nearly as powerful as Yrene, maybe even stronger due to her fae heritage. And she’d hidden it away, clearly terrified of her own magic.

And that was the strangest part. He couldn’t figure out why she would be scared of it, the gift of healing was renowned, was one of the most sought out powers in the world, but she was terrified of it, ashamed of it.

When the poor tired looking healer had arrived, he let her look over Y/n, moving the female to the bed instead of the floor. Once she was safely settled on the soft mattress he moved back just far enough for the woman to do her evaluation.

“She’s alright, a panic attack,” the healer said simply, “hit her head when she fell but she shouldn’t have much more than a headache when she wakes, I-.”

“When will she?”

The healer gave Fenrys a patient smile, like she found his fussing amusing, “she may sleep the rest of the night, she may wake in a few minutes, let her rest.”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, he had to many questions, to many things he wanted to say, wanted to do. He wanted to know why she hadn’t told him, why she was so scared of her power, he wanted to tell her he didn’t blame her for taking away his scar, didn’t hate her for it despite the raging storm of emotion in him, he wanted to kiss her again and feel her soft lips on his own.

“What happened?” Sartaq’s breathless voice reached him, the prince searching the room with wide eyes, “Is she okay, what-“

And then he stopped, his eyes flaring wide as he took in Fenrys. Took in the smooth golden skin.

“Gods,” the prince breathed.

“Everything is fine,” Fenrys says, struggling to keep his chin up, to not duck his head down, to hide.

“You may go,” Sartaq turned to the healer and the guard who had brought her, “Thank you for your help.”

“It is my pleasure,” the woman bowed her head to the crown prince.

Sartaq waited till the healer and the guard had left before he spoke again, “Fenrys, what happened? Are you okay?”

Was he okay? Truly? With the scar he’d chosen for himself nearly gone? With the female who had taken it laying unconscious in his lap from the sheer panic and agony from doing it?

“No,” Fenrys said simply, “I’m not, but it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, my friend,” Sartaq argues, “Of course it matters.”

Fenrys shook his head, “She didn’t mean to, she didn’t know why I kept it, it’s not her fault.”

It wasn’t, how was she to know that he kept that scar as a punishment, not from Maeve, but from Connall. Kept it as if the knife he’d driven into his chest was what carved the wound into Fenrys’s face. As if his brother had spoken his final scathing thoughts and branded Fenrys with them.

“What do you mean?” Sartaq looked between them, asking again, “What happened?”

“She’s a healer,” Fenrys whispers, suddenly worried that he would wake her, and that the word would cause her to panic again, “She didn’t meant to do it, she was, we were-“

Sartaq seemed to connect the dots, “She wasn’t exactly in control of herself, was she?”

Fenrys hadn’t even been in control of himself, he’d been so caught up in her that he’d been seconds away from taking her to the bed she now laid unconscious. For months, he hadn’t been able to even think of taking someone to bed, but he’s almost done it, almost crossed that invisible line, for her.

“Did you know?” Sartaq asked.

Fenrys only shook his head, “No, I didn’t.”

Violet eyes she’d never seen before, staring at her, claiming her.

“What do we have here,” the voice, young yet ancient, wicked and enchanted.

“A little cat from the west,” she said, circling, stalking, “Hiding under my nose, beneath the wings of one of my soldiers.”

Paralyzed, unable to move, she could only watch those eyes as they trailed over her.

“Where is big brother now?” the creature asks, “No longer protecting you, hiding you beneath his wings, no one to save you now.”

Alone, she was entirely alone in this world.

“I will have you,” the queen said, “my little healer.”

“No!” She cried out, “No, no, no!”

Scrambling away from those eyes, finally free from whatever invisible chains held her down.

“Woah,” a voice, not the creatures “Hey, you’re alright, Y/n, calm down.”

A warm hand around her wrist, a shackle, a captor. He was with her, she realized, he served the queen, he would take her.

“No, no, no,” she sobs, “please, please let me go, don’t touch me, please!”

That hand ripped away from her like it had been burned, as if her skin was aflame, she wished she’d been born with fire in her veins instead of healing, she’d be able to fight her way out of this.

“Hey, you’re alright,” that voice said again, softer than before, “you’re alright, kitten, it was a dream.”

That nickname broke through some of the haze, she recognized it, felt the golden warmth that came with it.

“It was a dream,” he said again, “it’s okay, kitten, you’re okay.”

Her eyes finally took in her surroundings, the ornate room, the massive bed, the male sitting before her, another by the door.

She shied away from the second man, not quite familiar with him compared to the golden male before her. His onyx eyes were comforting, searching her own with intense curiosity.

“It’s okay, kitten,” he said, that nickname stirring her foggy mind, “you’re safe.”

“Fen?” Her mind finally supplied the name, “I- I don’t-“

“You’re okay.” Fenrys shifted closer to her, “You had a panic attack, passed out and bumped your head, you’re okay.”

Slowly, the memories started to right themselves, as if her brain had finally caught up with her. Riding with Kashin, arguing with Fenrys, kissing him, oh gods, kissing him, and healing him.

Her eyes snap to the smooth surface of his cheek, she’d taken his scar away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

His eyes shutter for only a moment, telling her all she needed to know. She’d taken away his scar, taken it without thought, and none of it was alright, she’d ruined everything.

“It’s okay,” Fenrys says, interrupting her spiraling mind, “Kitten, I swear, I know you didn’t mean to.”

“But I did it anyway,” she says softly, her voice broken.

Those onyx eyes keep searching her, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The fear wrapped around her chest, binding her, restricting her lungs. A warm hand around her wrist, a comfort, a friend, a tether to keep her from drowning.

“I was scared,” she gasps, drawing in a large breath, “I’ve been scared my whole life, since the day Vaughan rescued me from that lake.”

She realized that the crown prince was still standing by the door, his eyes averted but body still, listening. She wanted him to leave, didn’t want to share this with anyone but Fenrys.

Y/n forced herself to keep talking, “Since the day he realized I was a healer, when I’d crawled through their blood and tried to heal my parents, murdered by his own father.”

Fenrys gently squeezed her wrist, a quiet reassurance that he was there, that he was listening, that he understood that pain, that she was safe.

“Maeve was known to collect healers, keep them like pets,” Y/n says shakily, “Vaughan knew that she would take me too, he’d already been serving her for a century by that point, he knew what she did to her pets.”

The hand at her wrist shook a little, and she knew that he’d been one of hers, didn’t know exactly what she had done to him, beyond what he’d told her of his brother’s death, but she knew there was more.

“We hid my powers, hid me,” she continued, “No one in Doranelle knew I existed anyway, to keep me safe, he kept his visits short, he didn’t speak of me to anyone, and I hid in that village, in the cottage my parents died in, by the lake I’d almost drowned in, terrrified that the queen would come and take me at any moment. I never used my power, even by myself, over time, I guess my fear of Maeve turned into fear of myself, of healers.”

She didn’t blame her brother for any of it, but she recognized that her fear, her lack of control, was because of him hiding her away, locked in that little village by herself for nearly a century and a half.

The last time she’d seen him, she had begged him to stay with her, to do anything to keep her from losing her mind. But he’d refused, to keep her safe, away from Maeve, and she’d told him to never come back.

And she’s spent the last twenty years by herself, hoping he’d come home, and when he didn’t, even after Maeve had been slain, she knew he never would.

“She’s gone,” Fenrys said gently, his free hand lifting to her cheek, “she can’t hurt you anymore, I swear it, kitten, I drove the sword through her chest myself.”

She wondered if he told himself those words everyday, if that’s why he kept the scars, as a reminder that no matter what she’d done to him, he was the one who survived. And the creature that haunted both of their nightmares was dead, and never coming back.

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@emma-andrea1 @mgchaser @anxious-study @lees-chaotic-brain @girl-math-aint-mathing @mali22 @nikt-wazny-y @theworthlessqueen @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @lethargicluv @hannzoaks @batboygirlie @foxysouls @kiarathace

#so sorry for the late chapter #life sucks and I’ve been stupid busy #fenrys tog #tog x reader #tog #throne of glass fenrys #throne of glass x reader #throne of glass

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