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hivemuthur · 1 month ago

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The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 3.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 5,7K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: I don't even know. Just... read it. Trigger warning for this chapter: Hamilton, The Musical.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

“How come you’re in the science department and doing a theatre gig during Open Days?” Sue asked, lying sideways on her bed, her legs resting on the wall and crinkling up her Blur poster. Her hair was splayed across the floor as she ate a lollipop, following your pacing with nothing but the movement of her eyes.

“Apparently, Theodor is violently ill, and Hale volunteered my flesh in a ritual,” you scoffed. Ridiculous. You’d told Hale there was no way in hell, but he had thrown himself at your feet, weeping theatrically in front of his entire group, while they chanted, “Do it, do it!” like some cult.

You picked up the pieces of costume Hale had brought you after the fitting. They were supposed to be tailored to your size, yet everything was still slightly too big. “There’s no one else in this world who knows Hamilton by heart,” you muttered bitterly. At that moment, you cursed your good memory and your love of musicals more than ever.

“And it’s like… fine that you’re going to play… a Black guy?” Sue whispered the last part, as if it were illegal to even say it. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sue… he wasn’t Black, Jesus. It’s just the actor... ah, whatever. Will you come?” you pleaded, your voice laced with desperation. It was clear you wouldn’t go through with it unless Sue promised to cheer you on and then make fun of you for the rest of your days together.

“Y/N. Look at me,” Sue said, attempting to make a serious face as the lollipop left her mouth with a quiet pop. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you said, crouching down to kiss Sue’s forehead before licking her face for good measure.

“Ugh, you’re so gross. Break a leg!” Sue shouted after you as you ran out, as though you were, well, running out of time.

You tore down the corridor like a madwoman, half-dressed in 18th-century men’s attire because you’d promised Hale you’d make it to rehearsal. Taking a sharp turn around the corner, your forehead collided violently with something hard, and the sound of metal clattering on the tiled floor filled your ears.

Groaning, you rubbed your head and looked up to see that you’d knocked Viktor clean off his feet. What hit your forehead was a hardback version of Bioengineering Fundamentals. Jayce, standing beside him, had to prop himself against the wall to keep from falling over with laughter.

“Jesus, Viktor, I’m so fucking sorry,” you blurted, scrambling to your feet and grabbing him by the waist to help him up. He was so shocked he didn’t say a word. Finally, once you’d managed to gather his scattered notes and hand them back to him, he started laughing.

“Is there a burning need to found a country somewhere?” he asked with a grin, sending Jayce into another round of hysterical laughter.

You tried to regain your composure but failed, laughing along with them. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” you asked, shooting Viktor a glance and frowning in a friendly way.

The moment felt strange. You hadn’t addressed the A- you’d received on your infamous paper, and you’d been meaning to ask him about it. But he’d fled the classroom before you could ambush him, and it had been like that for the past two weeks.

“Well, for your information, I am helping a friend in need,” you said, patting Jayce’s shoulder as he wheezed with laughter, wiping tears from his face.

“And who are you supposed to be?” Jayce barely managed to ask through his hysterical fit.

“Aaron Burr, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Before you could think, you took Jayce’s hand in yours, bowed, and placed an introductory peck on it. Thankfully, Jayce thought nothing of it, and the gesture sent him reeling with laughter again. You just rolled your eyes and added, “No time to explain. Come see, the show is in the main courtyard in… shit, in thirty minutes.”

You were about to run off again, but Viktor’s questioning look stopped you. Over your shoulder, you hastily called, “I’ll tell you over a beer!” and fled.

Wait. Had you just invited both Jayce and Viktor to witness your ridiculous performance? And invited Viktor to have a beer with you? That was it—you had completely lost your mind.

Bursting through the backstage doors, you were half out of breath, clutching your costume hat in one hand and your scarf in the other. Hale spun around dramatically, his hands thrown up as though he’d been about to make a grand declaration to the heavens.

“Y/N! My saving grace, my knight in shining breeches—you’re here!” he exclaimed, rushing over to you as if your delay had shaved years off his life. “I was moments away from throwing myself upon the mercy of the audience and telling them the show must not go on. But you’ve come to save us!”

“Cut the theatrics, Hale. I’m here, aren’t I?” you huffed, pulling on the hat and shaking out the rest of your costume. You hadn’t even had time to finish dressing properly.

“Barely,” Hale teased, though his expression softened as he rested his hands on your shoulders. “Really, Y/N. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

You waved him off, pretending to be nonchalant despite the flush creeping into your cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. You owe me your firstborn or something.”

The rest of the theatre group began to gather around, buzzing with pre-performance energy. Hale snapped into action, leading them into what you could only describe as the most bizarre pre-show ritual you’d ever witnessed. It involved everyone joining hands in a circle, chanting what sounded like a mix of inspirational quotes and nonsense phrases, all while Hale stood in the centre, waving his arms like some kind of benevolent priest.

Trying not to laugh, you leaned in and whispered to him, “You know you’re definitely going to start a cult one day, right?”

Hale turned to you with a mock-offended expression. “How dare you, Mr. Burr? This is high art.” He extended his hand toward you, palm up, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. “Now, are you ready?”

You smirked, placing your hand in his with exaggerated formality. “No time like the present, Mr. Hamilton.”

Hale grinned wide, squeezing your hand once before leading the group toward the stage.

When you stepped out into the courtyard, the cold evening air hit you, but the sight of the assembled crowd gave you no time to focus on it. The makeshift stage was set with a minimalist backdrop, and the audience sat on scattered benches and blankets in the open space. As Hale began his introduction, your eyes scanned the crowd.

It didn’t take long to spot Sue. Your friend stood right at the front, waving frantically and holding up crossed fingers. “Go, Y/N!” Sue yelled, loud enough for the whole audience to hear.

You groaned, covering your face in mock embarrassment, but you couldn’t help smiling. Your gaze drifted to the opposite side of the crowd, where you caught sight of Jayce and Viktor. Jayce, as expected, gave you an enthusiastic thumbs-up, grinning ear to ear. Viktor, standing beside him, met your gaze and offered a subtle nod. His smile was small but unmistakably amused, his golden eyes sparkling in the glow of the stage lights.

A flutter of nerves ran through you, but you straightened your posture and took a deep breath.

Hale’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “Ladies, gentlemen, and beautiful creatures, friends, and foes, tonight you are in for a treat! Our school prides itself on breaking all boundaries, and tonight is no exception. I’m honoured to announce that we have a very special guest joining our cast—a true star from the science department!”

The audience chuckled, and you found yourself bowing awkwardly as Hale gestured toward you with a flourish. You waved sheepishly, suppressing your own laughter at the absurdity of it all. It didn’t help that the audience seemed doubly amused by the fact that you were playing a male role. Boundaries broken, big time.

“Now,” Hale continued, his dramatic flair still in full force, “let us take you back to the revolution!”

You held back a laugh, planted your feet firmly on the stage, and braced yourself for what was sure to be the most ridiculous evening of your academic career. Closing your eyes, you waited for your cue. It was just a couple of songs, and you really knew them by heart. You decided to sink into your role completely, just as you had during those boring summers in the Sheffield suburbs when you and Hale acted out the entire Hamilton soundtrack in your backyard. You had been training to be Aaron Burr for at least five years.

When you performed the first song, you were timid. Alexander Hamilton started with a gentle recitation, balancing on the verge of rap and poetry. Thankfully, you weren’t the main singer in this number, but you did catch the crowd’s surprised expressions as they locked onto the stage chemistry between you and Hale. As you felt the voices of the group swelling behind you, your courage kicked in, and you let yourself sink into the experience. You sang bravely with the choir, hit your cues, and couldn’t help but smile when you saw Sue clutching her chest in awe and Jayce swaying to the music. Viktor, of course, didn’t move an inch.

The next part was far harder. Wait for It was entirely Aaron Burr’s song, and you had no time to transition from the comfort of performing with the group to the isolation of a soloist. As you walked up and down the stage, singing your lines, you closed your eyes and let the music carry you once again. But as you sang the verse I’m willing to wait for it, it struck you that the words felt far removed from the American Revolution. You weren’t singing about history anymore—you were singing about something personal, something closer to your own life. And so, you poured your heart into it.

The crowd was enraptured, and as the song came to an end, you felt tears welling up in your eyes. Not for any particular reason—just the release of tension, the rush of it all.

They finished the set with Non Stop, and it was brilliant. This was what Hale was born for: an artistic, half-sung, half-rapped banter that he got to perform with his best friend while wearing ridiculous, fluffy shirts and oversized hats. You watched him, pride swelling in your chest.

It wasn’t perfect—and yet, it was. The crowd laughed at your mid-song mock conversation, and you had to stifle your own giggles at how absurd it must have looked. Hale was over a full head taller than you, and yet here you were, sparring and singing like equals.

The applause was deafening. You and Hale exchanged a quick, wide-eyed glance before stepping forward to bow. The crowd’s enthusiasm only grew louder, forcing you both to retreat backstage before being called out again, not once but three times. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, your cheeks flushed as you waved to the audience. You had no idea how you’d gotten roped into this, but somehow, it felt worth it.

On your third return to the stage, the crowd’s energy reached a new level. Sue stood in the front row, pumping her fists in the air and yelling, “Aaron Burr! Aaron Burr!” The chant caught on like wildfire, spreading through the audience until it echoed off the courtyard walls. Your face turned an even deeper shade of red as you covered your face with your hands in embarrassment.

Hale, ever the showman, raised his hands dramatically, silencing the crowd. “Ladies, gentlemen, and all beautiful creatures,” he declared, striding toward you with the exaggerated flair of a Shakespearean actor. “Clearly, the world is not ready for her!” He paused for effect, then bowed deeply before you, extending the microphone as though it were Excalibur. “I give you... Aaron Burr.”

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself, and took the microphone with mock solemnity. “Thank you, Sir Hamilton,” you said, your voice dripping with exaggerated formality. You turned to the audience, gesturing toward Hale with the mic. “First of all, I’d like to clarify that I am, in fact, his hostage. This whole performance? His idea. I’m just a humble victim of his orchestrated chaos.”

The audience laughed, and you spotted Sue in the front, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

“And as you can see,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “the science department at this fine university has so much to offer. I mean, we clearly do everything around here.” Your words were met with more laughter and applause, and as you glanced out into the crowd, your gaze landed on Viktor.

To your surprise, he was laughing. Not just smiling politely but laughing—his shoulders shaking slightly as his lips curled into a grin. For a moment, you froze. You weren’t sure what to make of it, but the sight warmed you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Hale leaned into the microphone, snapping you out of your thoughts. “All right, all right, that’s enough of a spotlight for Mr. Burr here,” he teased, taking back the mic. “Now give it up one more time for the entire cast!”

The crowd erupted again, and you took another bow, trying not to stare too long in Viktor’s direction as you exited the stage. As soon as you stepped off, Sue threw her arms around you in a tight hug.

“You didn’t tell me you’re a fucking genius!” Sue practically screamed.

“Ah, not much to do around Sheffield,” you laughed, happy but relieved it was over. There really wasn’t much for them to do around Sheffield, so you all knew your musicals better than your own mothers.

“I too bow to your genius, Mr. Burr,” Jayce’s voice startled you as he dramatically bowed before pulling you into a tight hug. “What the hell, Y/N? What are you even doing in the science department?”

“I… wanna be in the room where it happens,” you quipped, your grin widening as Hale laughed loudly—the only one to catch the reference.

“I had no idea you had it in you,” Viktor said, his tone carefully measured. He looked like he was trying not to meet your gaze, but there was something in his expression—a faint flicker of admiration he was trying to hide. You, caught up in your post-performance high, mistook it for mockery.

“Oh, you have no idea. I have so much in me, Viktor. You’re not ready for me,” you fired back, your inhibitions long gone as you basked in the adrenaline and laughter around you.

Hale’s arm slid around your shoulders from behind, pulling you close as he grinned mischievously. “Pub, pub, pub,” he chanted, looking expectantly at the group.

The others exchanged glances before nodding in agreement. Hale pumped his fist in victory, letting out a triumphant “Yes!” as they began gathering their things.

“Wait, I can’t go dressed as Aaron Burr!” you exclaimed, tugging at the ridiculous fluffy shirt you were still wearing.

“You are Aaron Burr, my love,” Hale declared with dramatic flair, spinning you toward the door as though you were about to take the stage again.

“That would mean one day I’m going to kill you, Hale,” you retorted, crossing your arms in mock indignation.

“Darlin’, dying by your hand would be a blessing,” Hale shot back with a flourish, clasping his hands to his chest as if you’d already delivered the fatal blow.

The group erupted into laughter, but Viktor’s voice cut through, calm and measured as always. “It suits you,” he said, his gaze lingering on you, his lips quirked in that rare, faint smile that always seemed to unnerve you.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What does?”

“The outfit,” Viktor clarified, gesturing subtly to your absurd costume. “It is bold and... untraditional. Very much like you.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult, but the warmth in his tone made your cheeks flush, nonetheless. “Well, I’m glad someone appreciates my theatrical side,” you said, quickly looking away to avoid overthinking the exchange.

“Let’s go already!” Jayce called, clapping his hands to corral the group.

“Fine, but if anyone recognizes me in public, I’m blaming all of you,” you muttered, pulling the coat Hale handed you over your costume.

“And if they don’t recognize you,” Hale added with a wink, “we’ll just have to start singing again.”

“Oh god, no.” You groaned, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

The group headed out into the crisp night air, your laughter echoing through the hallways as you made your way to the pub—you, still dressed as Aaron Burr, walking just a little taller with the glow of the performance still lingering in your chest.

You arrived at the pub late, yet it was still packed with current and future students seeking refuge after the Camden Open Days. Hale insisted on getting you drunk at his own expense, so when everyone finally had a drink in hand, the group settled by the fireplace, next to a pair of freshers too occupied with devouring each other’s faces to notice.

“I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be having an even better time than us tonight,” Hale said in an exaggerated whisper, clearly hoping the couple would flinch. They, of course, didn’t.

Jayce and Viktor sat on the couch; Sue crouched on her heels by Hale’s head, while you propped yourself against Hale’s hips as he sprawled with his back to the fire, propping his head on his elbow. His eyes lit up as he spotted Mel approaching the group.

“Thank you for adopting me; my bitches ditched me,” she said with an apologetic smile, planting a loud kiss on Jayce’s cheek before settling on his lap. “I hear we have a new rising star?” she added, bowing her head in recognition toward you.

“Please, I don’t think I can handle so much fame,” you groaned theatrically, palming your face. “But I’m honoured to finally meet you,” you added with a warm smile.

“Honey, I wouldn’t miss this opportunity—Hale doesn’t shut up about you,” Mel teased, grinning at Hale, who accepted the jab with stoic calmness.

“I don’t see why I’d ever have to shut up about her,” he replied, deadpan. “She’s the love of my life.” You only smiled knowingly. He meant every word of it.

Mel raised an eyebrow at Hale’s declaration, then turned her attention to Viktor and Jayce, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Speaking of friends for life—when are you two finally going to accept my invitation to hang out with my girls?”

“I thought you said they just abandoned you?” Jayce asked, faking concern as he patted Mel’s head with exaggerated pity. “I’ll have to have a word with them first.”

You raised your eyebrows, a realization dawning on you—had Viktor lied to you? You watched as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly searching for a clever response. Yes, he was definitely busted.

He was saved by Sue, who hadn’t looked up from her phone the entire time. She raised her hand, as if trying to answer a question in class. “Guys, do you mind if I… well, ditch you?”

Five pairs of questioning eyes turned to her, and she sighed before adding, “I might or might not have a date.”

“Sue! Spill the tea, or we’re not letting you go!” Hale exclaimed, bouncing upright and causing you—who were still leaning against him—to jolt and spill a little of your beer.

Sue played coy for a moment, but then she decided to own it. “Alice. She’s from your group. She… approached me after your show.”

Hale clapped his hands together dramatically. “In that case, I sense the rise of another power couple! Sue, you have my blessing.” He placed a hand over the crown of her head with mock benediction, earning a round of laughter.

You leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “Will you be coming back tonight, or should I plan to sleep with one eye open in case Alice kidnaps you?”

Sue simply flashed a mischievous smile. “No promises.”

Mel smirked, resting her head on Jayce’s shoulder. “Well, in that case, Jayce, my room will also be free tonight. Don’t go breaking anything, though. My deposit’s on the line.”

Jayce groaned in exasperation, but his ears flushed red, which only made Mel laugh harder.

Your gaze drifted to Viktor, catching the subtle shift in his posture. It seemed the conversation was circling back to him, and he looked like he was already bracing for it. Before anyone could call him out, he cleared his throat. “Well, in that case, I’ll leave the royal couple to their moment of glory. You’ve earned it after such a successful evening.” He offered a polite smile and rose from his seat.

Hale straightened and turned to you, offering you an exaggeratedly regal nod. “What do you say, my love? Do you want to hang with your old man a little longer?”

You grinned, raising your drink in mock solemnity. “Always.”

With that, the group exchanged goodbyes, Sue leaving with a conspiratorial wink, Mel tugging Jayce toward the door, and Viktor giving a brief nod before slipping into the night.

Once you were alone, Hale sighed contentedly and stretched out in his seat. “Well, Mr. Burr, looks like it’s just us. Let’s reminisce about how we conquered the stage, shall we?”

You laughed, leaning back against him. “You mean how you carried me through the whole thing? Sure, I’m in.”

“You were amazing. But you’re no Aaron Burr, I hope you know that,” Hale said seriously as he leaned you against himself, pulled you closer to his chest, and wrapped his arm around your shoulders as was his habit. When you didn’t respond, he added, “If anything, you’re Hamilton.”

“I think I’ve been all of them at different points in my life... but thank you.” You squeezed his hand and smiled to yourself, the high of the performance slowly fading, leaving you tired but content.

“And how’s it going with Mr. Grumpy? Still making your life hard? Do I need to have a word with him?” Hale mused, gently rocking you back and forth in his arms. He listened through enough rants about Viktor to see where this was going.

You sighed, leaning your head against Hale's shoulder. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “One moment, I want to gouge his eyes out. The next, he secretly fixes my test and then avoids me for two weeks, just to make it impossible to say thank you.”

Hale chuckled softly. “Why do you think he does that?” He’d seen enough clumsy advances in his lifetime to spot one from a mile away. This one was a piece of cake.

You shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “Probably bored out of his mind. All I ever see him doing outside of class is working on his PhD thesis with Jayce.”

Hale tilted his head, a sly grin creeping across his face. “Or…?”

You scoffed and straightened up. “Please, don’t be ridiculous.” The thought was absurd. If anything, you had the potential for a competitive friendship—food for the brain and all that.

Hale’s grin softened, and he shifted, turning you to face him. He placed his hands firmly on your shoulders, his gaze suddenly serious. The theatrical Hale disappeared, replaced by the steadfast best friend you rarely got to see. “Listen to me,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “I don’t care how many times I have to do this, but I’ll keep doing it until you understand what you are.”

You averted your eyes, your face heating up. You let your head hang slightly as you muttered, “Yeeees, I know—I’m a queen.”

Hale shook his head and tilted your chin up so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “No,” he said firmly. “You are a king. And you bow to no one.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. For a moment, your chest tightened with emotion, but you managed a small, lopsided smile. “I really fucking love you, you know?” you murmured, your voice quieter now.

***

Hale gave you a long hug by the fountain before you both went your separate ways to your designated dorm buildings. He kissed your forehead and tucked a cigarette behind your ear, for when you’d inevitably want to brood with a smoke and a cup of coffee.

You took a quick shower, slid into your pyjamas, and decided to make use of the cigarette. You wandered to one of the secluded corners of the dorm, where you could lean out of the window and contemplate life with a fag and a cup of tea instead.

You were deep in thought, analysing everything Hale had said to you that evening when a quiet, deliberate grunt startled you.

“I don’t think such behaviour is legal here, Mr. Burr,” came a dry voice. Viktor appeared out of nowhere, leaning casually against the windowsill where you were curled up.

You let out a sharp breath, your hand instinctively going to your chest. "Jesus, you made my soul leave my body for a moment."

Viktor's lips curved into a small, amused smirk. "Ah, it means you know exactly that you are doing a bad thing." His hand extended, reaching out to steal a huff of your smoke.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the window. "Please give me a break, I’ve been a good girl all this time." You couldn’t help yourself and gave him an exaggerated eyelash bat as you passed the cigarette to him.

Viktor’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, then he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "Have you?" he asked, making sure your eyes were fixed on his lips curling around the cigarette filter.

He paused to inhale, his voice lowering slightly. "Been a good girl?" And exhaled the smoke into your face.

You felt a weird lump forming in your throat, your fingers tightening around your cup of tea. You knew Viktor was pushing your buttons, but part of you couldn’t help but enjoy it—though you weren’t about to admit that out loud.

"I mean, I try," you replied, your voice casual, even though your pulse had quickened slightly.

Viktor remained silent for a moment, studying you carefully, the playful smirk still lingering at the edges of his lips. "Hmm," he said finally, a thoughtful tone in his voice, as he passed the cigarette back to you, your fingers brushing. "Trying doesn’t always mean succeeding."

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling your defences rise. "And who’s to say what’s a success or not?" The implication made you uneasy. Or excited, all the same. Your chest tightened, and you straightened up a little, leaning slightly away from him, as if the tiny bit of distance between you could somehow shield you.

"Someone who’s been paying attention," Viktor replied softly, his gaze never leaving yours. His voice was smooth, almost coaxing, and his posture remained relaxed, leaning casually against the windowsill. His eyes glinted, knowing he was starting to get under your skin—just as you were getting under his. Especially after today, when he had seen you in a completely different light.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter if I am a good girl or not, as now you have joined me in my crime, and we can share a cell when they come for us.” You let out a quiet laugh to cover the discomfort taking over you.

"Oh, I will deny everything." Viktor's lips curled into a smirk, the playful gleam in his eyes not quite hiding the challenge behind them. He took a drag from the cigarette that was being passed between you, exhaling slowly, the smoke swirling between you like a silent declaration of intent.

"You’re good at that, aren’t you?" You raised an eyebrow, your tone teasing, but there was an edge to it now—more biting than before. You leaned back slightly, crossing your arms over your chest.

"And what are you getting at now?" Viktor's voice lowered just a touch, as he studied you with an expression that bordered on amusement and curiosity. His eyes never left your face, as though waiting for you to reveal something you didn’t even realise you were giving away.

"Ah, nothing, Viktor. Thank you for that test." You waved a hand dismissively, sliding off the window ledge, ready to flee. Your pulse quickened. It wasn’t just the words—they were playing a game, and you weren’t sure if you were prepared for it. Your stomach fluttered at the thought.

"I see. You have looked through me and now you can read me like an open book?" Viktor's expression shifted slightly—there was a challenge in his voice, but also something else, almost a hint of fear that he quickly masked with another drag of the cigarette.

"Precisely," you replied, your voice smooth, but a little more breathless than you meant. Your fingers tightened around your cup of tea, the warmth of it grounding you, even as Viktor’s presence seemed to fill the space around you. You wanted to stand your ground, but his proximity was starting to unsettle you in ways you didn’t expect.

There was a beat of silence between you. Viktor took a step closer, watching you cautiously, his body language suddenly more intense. The playful edge in his voice was gone, replaced by something more serious.

You felt your heart rate spike. "What’s that look for?" you asked, half-expecting him to keep pushing, to keep testing you.

Viktor tilted his head slightly, lowering his gaze as if studying your every movement. "You think you have me figured out, don’t you?" His tone was a bit quieter now, almost thoughtful. You knew nothing.

"Maybe," you said, your voice faltering for a brief moment as you tried to regain control of the conversation. Your eyes flickered to the ground, then back up to him, a challenge sparking in your gaze. "But I’m starting to think that’s part of your charm. Always keeping people guessing. It’s exhausting, though." You tried to sound nonchalant, but even you could hear the tension in your voice.

Viktor didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in just a fraction closer, the tension between you growing thicker. He took a long drag from the cigarette before exhaling toward you, the smoke swirling lazily around you both.

"Maybe you’re starting to enjoy the challenge," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, a subtle yet deliberate provocation laced into his tone. “I didn’t fix your paper. That was Heimerdinger’s decision,” he added, lying without a flicker of hesitation. At this point, it felt necessary.

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, your breath catching as you felt the weight of his gaze on you—sharp, unrelenting, and entirely too perceptive. "Maybe I am," you replied to his tease, your voice quieter than you intended. It trembled just slightly, betraying your unease. You weren’t sure when it had become so difficult to breathe. “And… um… that’s good to know.”

Viktor studied you for a long moment, his lips curling into a small, almost imperceptible smile. He didn’t say anything at first. Then, slowly, he took a step back, handing you the cigarette again. His fingers brushed lightly against yours as he passed it to you, the touch lingering for a split second longer than necessary. Your breath hitched, and your pulse quickened.

"I think you’re more like me than you care to admit, Y/N," Viktor said, his tone low and measured, his gaze steady and unyielding.

You stared at him, your mind racing, your heart thudding in your chest. For a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. His words felt like a dare, a challenge you couldn’t ignore, even though part of you wanted to. "Don’t flatter yourself," you managed, your voice steadier now as you tried to recover your footing.

He chuckled softly, the sound laced with something serious rather than mocking. “I wasn’t trying to. But I think you might be right. We’ll see.” He turned, starting to walk away, only to pause and glance back over his shoulder. “Were you to decide there’s something you don’t know yet and need help—my office door is always open to you.”

You lingered for a moment, watching Viktor as he walked away, his steps steady and calm. You took a slow drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling into the cool night air.

“Hey, Viktor?” you called out, your voice softer now, almost teasing.

He turned his head slightly, his profile outlined by the faint light from the hallway. “Yes?”

“Say hi to Mel’s friends from me next time you see them,” you said, a sly smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Viktor’s expression remained unreadable for a moment, his eyes narrowing just enough to signal he understood your jab. Then, without missing a beat, he replied, “Go to sleep, Y/N,” his voice low and quiet, but with enough bite to draw a small laugh from you. You shook your head, flicking the ash from the cigarette as you watched him leave.

Your thoughts lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. Viktor, with his sharp words, his unreadable smirks, and the maddening way he seemed to see right through you. You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling one last trail of smoke before stubbing out the cigarette. “Go to sleep, Y/N,” you muttered under your breath, mimicking his accent. Your lips curved into a faint smile despite yourself. But sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight, you knew that much.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #the game of teaching body

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hazshit-hotel-hater · 6 months ago

Text

“Excuse me sir! There must someone you’ve confused me for!”

Having Angel withdrawal again sorry guys :/ its time for some uhh… prologue stuff?? I think thats right. Anyway! As I mentioned in this lovely post, when sinners die the time it takes for them to wake up in hell and where they wake up depends on how they died. So for Angels case his body was formed in hell in a hospital bed cause thats where he died so theres like fibres and metal in his body from being formed around a hospital bed! This is also going to go into how regenerating and how injuries work so get ready! Basically whatever your body was originally formed and made out of regenerates eventually, you can have scars if theyre really big (uncommon since the injury usually kills you) but if you die again in hell they go away. Angel gets injured quite a lot and none of these injuries are permanent. That isn’t to say you can heal by killing yourself though! If you do die while injured there may actually be lasting complications since bodies in hell are typically made to regenerate while gravely wounded. Its kind of like a fucked up computer so if you have a broken leg and die by say snapping your neck the body may get confused and regenerate bones and such incorrectly. Or it may not! Its hell who knows! Ill likely figure out a more concrete plan and way that it works but at the moment I enjoy this aspect of hell to not have a random cheat code and instead include some body horror. Its hell so like some stuff is probably confusing right??

Back to Angel, later on around season 1 in the rewrite he also has throat surgery to remove his deformed inner fangs and those DO actually stay gone because certain hospitals in hell (usually expensive ones) have tools from sloth that have been permitted by Lucifer. Similar to how Stolas got that lust portal gem or whatever. Angels body wasn’t supposed to form like that and this is a common thing to happen with sinners that die “long-term” and that sounds confusing but it really just means sinners that die in comatose-esque ways like Angel. His body was dying over the course of months (December to March to be exact) so parts of his body formed over complicated or were underdeveloped like the aforementioned fangs (that were originally meant to form inside of his mouth and not his throat) that would randomly bare themselves and stab his own throat, paralyzing Angel temporarily. Other examples would be parts of his legs and smaller stomach.

This is the surgery Angel got by the way (expenses covered by Velvette but thats a whole other plot line)

On top of this I also wanted to draw Angel’s old markings (at least one of them). Prior to Valentino, Angel looked much similar marking-wise to his original comic designs where he was more purple and yellow with all the fun skulls and stripes. Though, with how contracts work in my rewrite, Angel loses the markings and they change into hearts after his contract and cannot return to normal after his contract is terminated. The same is true for Husker and Niffty. This whole piece is really just supposed to capture to horror of waking up after being comatose and you’re suddenly not yourself anymore and also not where you were for the past months and your entire anatomy is changed. Can you imagine waking up without bones??? In 1947??? Id have a breakdown personally!

I also wanted to use green for that sick gross feeling. Kind of the dread you feel before throwing up, but also to represent Angel’s later feelings of envy that I was unable to present in his design. I really like pink characters in green atmospheres if you can’t tell. If I think of more stuff to add to this post I will, but for now it’s just a lot of lore. Hopefully you all enjoy it!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #anti vivziepop #hazbin angel #angel dust hazbin #angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel rewrite #my art #anti hazbin hotel #cw valentino #tw valentino #hazbin hotel rework #hazbin hotel redesign #anti hazbin #hazbin redesign

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kurtsvonneslut · 1 month ago

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Wait... what was the swanqueen fic recs? ...and are there more (...esp if theyre smutty) 👀👀👀

oh there are more!!!

first of all i'm just going to plug myself because why not. i have 78 swan queen works up - mostly oneshots, a couple longfics, including the fic i'm currently writing, change with the seasons. a lot of my fics are older (for example my 52 weeks of swan queen series was written in 2015) and i was a teenager when i wrote them, but i still find a lot of joy in them!!

now for the rest of the recs, i'm going to organize them as best i can into a few categories. also, a lot of these recs will be a bit older as i've been away from the fandom for a while, and am only just now coming back again. this is an open question if anyone else has recommendations to add in the reblogs!!!

longfics:

satin town by @coalitiongirl is probably my all time favorite fanfic, period. everything she's written for the fandom is incredible, but this one has always stuck with me. the dynamic between emma and regina (who is in full on evil queen mode) is just DELICIOUS and i love how she worked henry into the story. an absolute must as far as i'm concerned. PLUS she has a whole NOVEL out now, so go support that if you like the fic!!!!

the secret's in the telling by @the-pyrophoric-one is another classic in the fandom, and for good reason. the characterization is so spot on, and i absolutely love the arc of this story. the chapters are suuuuuper long though so it's a time investment!!

somewhere, someone must know the ending by maleficently who is not on tumblr as far as i'm aware is a divorce au. lots of angst with a happy ending. the same author also wrote an incredible three-part series called the fatal plunge, which remains, tragically, unfinished.

you gotta play dirty by amycarey who i'm not tagging because they don't write fic anymore. there's so many fics by amycarey that i absolutely adore (temporary distractions and keep the wolves outside by living well are also up there!!) but i chose this one because it's so unique to me. it's an au in which emma and regina are in a concert band together. i was a band kid myself, specifically a clarinetist, so i was pretty geeked over this!!

all that glitters is not (olypmic) gold by @queststar is another super niche but super fun and well-written au. in this one, emma and regina are olympic speed skaters. i just love the competitive energy between the two of them and the arc as they grow closer and eventually fall for each other. the author even got elizabeth mitchell to read some of it which is just. next level.

one fine star away by @bytherosebushlaughing is another au that gets a little meta, but it's sooooo much fun. in this fic, once upon a time is a tv show that regina, emma, and the others starred in. 20 some years later, the cast is reuniting, and the reunion is being covered by none other than one henry mills. it's such a clever fic, and i absolutely love it so far!!

oneshots:

of love and loss and love again by @snowivyimconfusi oh this one. this one is so bittersweet. emma and regina, grieving the losses of their partners, find comfort in each other. and more. it's so beautifully done, and i just adore ivy's writing style!!

what you thought you had to do by hoovahhoopah is the very first fic i read after making my ao3 account and it's still one that i love!! it's part of a six part series of oneshots called ill fitting pieces, but it also stands on its own just as well. just a beautiful, classic, canon-but-make-it-better kind of fic.

a woman moves when her heart has been broken by etotheswan because who among us wasn't absolutely destroyed by the season 3 finale???? this offered a lot of swan queen based catharsis while we waited for season 4.

monster-in-law by seriousfic is just a funny, light-hearted little oneshot about mary margaret trying to stop emma and regina's wedding by reminding them that they're all sort of related. a big departure from the seriousfic work we all know and miss dearly..... but enjoyable nonetheless thanks to their talent!!

and now, the moment we've all been waiting for, smut:

top of the list is, of course, our prophet of swan queen smut @angstbotfic. the making amends series is my all time favorite, and one that i recommended to my dear friend 27, but you can't go wrong with literally anything they've written.

wicked games by @starsthatburn is so. is so. it left me basically speechless. also recommended this one to 27, and i believe this is the one referenced in the ask they sent. it's the most insanely hot BDSM fantasy. if you like domme regina, look no further.

the thing she won't admit by beattheodds if you like butt stuff, here's swan queen butt stuff. need i say more?

paint it black by wily_one24 heed the warnings, this one is pretty dark. but if that's what you're into, this is the one. it's like if 50 shades of grey was swan queen and also good.

of love and loathing by morganlegaye and its sequel, transgressions of the heart are a hatefuck lover's dream. transgressions of the heart remains unfinished, but god is it good.

fealty by standbackufools you like throne sex? you like honorifics? you like D/s dynamic? enjoy :)

thank god it's BDSM friday by carrotlucky13 this one covers soooooo many kinks. emma and regina enter into a 24/7 BDSM lifestyle. for 95k words. i don't know what else to say but WOWOWOWOW. even if you're not into every kink in here it's still hot af.

emma's little problem by juicecup it's a magic!cock story with a slight humiliation kink if you squint, but otherwise mostly vanilla sex to round out a very kinky rec list.

go give these incredible creators some love!!! and remember, nothing motivates a fic writer quite like a nice comment :)

#answered #swan queen #sq fanfic #swen #ouat #once upon a time #femslash #f/f #ao3

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letmereedusyou · 20 days ago

Text

i'm not yours - part 7

summary: Daryl and you are (were?) friends. He's dating Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart. Will it ever go back to normal?

words: 3.2k

warnings: rough language, I have no idea what else so please do let me know! <3

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! It took me so long to write this because I was ill and then it was my birthday, so I spent it away from electronics and with my family. It was partly proofread, so sorry in advance for any errors. Hope you enjoy it!

Read previous part: part 6

~ 11 MONTHS AGO ~

The sun shone brightly through the tree canopies, shimmering in the nearby buckets of water and reflecting in the cars’ windows. Shadows danced gently on the ground, as the breeze swayed the branches. The air was warm, filled with the scent of the lavender bush that was growing by the road and the distant hum of the bees. You could hear the generator noises coming from a shed, and some birdsong in the woods. You sat on the soft grass, feeling the dappled sunlight kiss your skin. You could see Carol and Lori doing the laundry. You could still see Dale sitting in a foldable chair on top of his trailer, wearing his bucket hat and Hawaiian shirt, even though he wasn’t with you anymore. You missed him dearly, and your heart ached whenever you thought of him. He most definitely didn’t deserve to die. Not like that. Not yet. Andrea and Shane was nowhere to be seen, and Daryl and Rick were on a supply run for some medicine. Glenn and Maggie were chopping wood in the shade not that far away from the camp. Carl was playing in the sun with some sticks and stones.

To your right stood a big, white farmhouse that belonged to Hershel and his family. It was a modest, two-story building with a traditional American farmhouse style. Sitting on a large plot of rural land, it was surrounded by rolling fields and patches of woodland. The front porch, with its white railings and steps, offered a welcoming, rustic charm.

You met Hershel’s family a while ago, in an unfortunate situation of Carl being shot by Otis. Hershel helped nurse Carl back to health afterwards. Even though he was a veterinarian before the outbreak, he have done a great job saving the boy. Slowly, Carl came back to being himself and soon enough was bragging about being like his father - having a shot wound and having survived it.

Maggie and Beth, Hershel’s daughters, were the ones who convinced Hershel to let us stay around his farm for a while. Maggie had a good point in saying that there is strength in numbers, and Beth was adamant that they indeed needed more people around to help out, because Hershel was getting older and couldn’t do much much than he was already doing. He eventually agreed with reluctance.

You were really grateful for it, especially considering that some of you were not in the greatest health. Like you, who suffered a nasty cut on your ankle during the evacuation from the CDC. You have cut it on some rusty metal bars sticking out of one of the cars around the building. You were really lucky to find Hershel when you did, not just because of Carl’s shot wound, but because you were suffering from some type of infection, that not even Merle’s bag of magical drugs could cure. It turned out that a piece of metal was stuck in your ankle all this time, causing your body to try and fight it off, but it never could as the infection was happening over and over, no matter how many drugs you took. Hershel have taken out the smallest piece of metal and gave you some antibiotics, saying that a couple more days and the infection would’ve kiledl you. Soon enough, the fever and the shivers subsided. The wound looked less infected and swollen, but you still weren’t able to walk on your leg properly. It made you feel like a burden to everybody who was helping you move around.

While sitting under the tree, you were chatting away with Lori and Carol, who you made friends with along the road. I guess you could say you made friends with everyone in the group to some extent, and it felt like home with all of them. They all made the world a little bit better by being in it - some more than others. Especially Daryl, who you had been close with since he rescued you, but his confession at the CDC made you grow even closer. He worked tirelessly, helping out the group as much as he could. He usually wasn’t staying at the camp, with everybody - he preferred to stay away, alone in the field. But, because you weren’t able to do anything on your own, he took it upon himself to help you out. So, he moved closer to the camp, right next to your tent.

Daryl showed up with Rick after driving to the town for some supplies. He took the bag of medicine to Hershel and left some for our group. Walking towards you, he put his crossbow down on the ground.

“You alright?” he asked, sitting next to you. He pulled his knee up and rested his arm on top of it, as he looked at you with his blue eyes, his hair covering his face in a ragged fashion.

“Yeah,” you nodded to him and smiled lightly. “Feeling like I’m absolutely useless right now, though.”

“You’re not useless. You’re healing,” he gruffed out, shaking his head. “Being hurt doesn’t make you useless.”

“It sure as hell feels like it.”

“Let’s go for a little walk,” he said suddenly, standing up. He stretched his hand towards you.

“No.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“You’re giving orders now?” you looked at him amused.

Before you knew it, he hooked his arm around your waist and stood you up, holding you tight. You fly up and you have to hold onto his arms to steady yourself. As you put both of your feet down on the ground fully, you feel some pain in your ankle and you wince. You knew that part of the recovery was making sure you move the ankle and put weight on it to regain some strength and balance, but it didn’t change the fact you hated moving when you were in pain.

Daryl held you close as you walked, or should we say hobbled, on the gravelly path around Hershel’s house. With each step, you felt your foot going a bit more numb, but you kept on going. The sweat drops showed on your forehead. You squeezed Daryl’s side harder to make sure you were not gonna fall. Daryl stopped in his tracks for a minute.

“I got you,” he said and looked over to you. “We can stop and have a breather if you want.”

“No,” you breathed out. “I can get to that bench over there.”

You pointed to a small bench under the big oak tree, and Daryl nodded once, turning slightly before you walked further. The bench was on a slight downward hill, which made it harder for your ankle. You struggled for a couple of minutes, trying not to grunt in pain. You took slow, small steps towards it, your hands clutching Daryl’s top so hard, that your knuckles were turning white. He wasn’t stupid. He could see it on your face, how much you struggled, so he scooped you up in one swift motion and carried you, princess style, for the remaining distance to the bench. Once you were seated, you sighed deeply and smiled at him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, taking a deep breath. You wiped your forehead with your forearm and licked your dry lips. “I could’ve done this.”

“Oh, really?” he said, looking me up and down with some type of amused look. “That is a brave comment to make when I could clearly see your face was contorted in pain.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t in pain, I said I could’ve done this.”

“And hurt yourself even more in the process? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never left your lips. It wasn’t like Daryl, to care so much about people, but once you make a family out of strangers, it changes. And he cared about you the most out of everybody. You were so dear to him, the closest friend he’s ever had.

You stayed on a bench for a little while, talking about Daryl’s day of supply runs and stupid jokes Rick made before Daryl took you to your tent and gave you a worn-out book from Dale’s trailer. You thanked him, seeing how the book can be a great distraction from the fact you were stuck with a hurt ankle and couldn’t help out with anything. You settled on your cot bed and you read that book pretty much in one evening.

The next day, everything was going smoothly, until the evening. You and the group were sitting in Hershel’s house, talking about future crops to plant, water and medical supplies, when you heard a gunshot. It was close, ringing through the walls of the house. You all got up abruptly from your seats and ran towards the doors. Getting out on the porch, you saw Rick running, shouting something about walkers. Seconds later, you all saw a large group of walkers, appearing from the darkness, and all of you started to scramble around, trying to get guns and weapons to fight them off.

You hobbled towards the house, and grabbed your knives, putting them in a holster. Then, you reached towards your machete. It was clean, so clean that you could see your reflection in it. Your face was calm but your eyes panicked. You quickly avert your gaze from it, and you step out onto the porch again. You tried your hardest to ignore the pain in your ankle. Your people needed you, so nothing was more important.

Looking around, you tried to find Daryl, but he was already out there, firing the arrows at the crowd of walkers. He was a good shot, all his arrows landed in walkers heads.

You quickly made your way down the steps and started killing the walkers with blows to the head, your machete bloody and bits of skin and brains all over it. Soon enough, the group got broken up, and everyone flew in different directions.

You find yourself in a situation where you were sure you couldn’t escape from. Your breathing quickened when multiple walkers cornered you off against the side of Hershel’s house. The chaos of the situation was getting to you and you frantically searched with your eyes for anyone from your group, but no one was around. You swung your machete, killing some of the walkers, but there were more and more of them pooling around you, and there was no way you could outrun them with your ankle. Your eyes started to water, thinking that this was definitely your end. How could this possibly get better? - you thought to yourself.

Suddenly, Andrea popped up in the corner of your eye and shouted something intelligible to your ears. Most of the walkers turned to her, and began walking towards her. She broke into a run and it gave you enough time to hobble out of the situation. You turned left and you grunt slightly, trying to weave around the walkers as well as you could.

One of them grabbed your shoulder and yanked you towards them. You took out your knife and stuck it inside his eye socket, some blood spilling on your face and your clothes. You closed your mouth just in time for the blood to stain your lips but not get inside of them. Before you could turn and kill the other one, that was lunging towards you with their bare teeth and eyes rotten and green, an arrow flew through the air and killed it with a pop. You could’ve sworn you heard the skull breaking and the flesh ripping.

“Come on!” Daryl yelled at you.

You broke into a run, ignoring the shooting pain in your ankle. As soon as you got to him, he wrapped his arm around your waist. Swinging his bow to his back, he took out a knife from his belt. You moved quickly through the horde, killing any walkers in your vicinity, until you reached Daryl’s bike. He put you on it, swinging your leg effortlessly around the seat, before swinging his own leg around, sitting down and kicking the starter pedal. The bike roared to life. He told you to wrap your hands around him and you have done so. He accelerated forward, taking you both out of Hershel’s farm.

“You came back for me?” you asked once you were on the road, away from the walkers.

“I couldn’t let ya die now, could I?” he said. “I knew you were in no condition to make it by yourself.”

“I thought I, for sure, was a goner.”

“Not gonna let ya die, as long as I live,” he said looking through his shoulder and at you. His smile was barely visible, but not to a trained and knowing eye like yours.

~ PRESENT DAY ~

You woke up with a headache the next morning. Your head felt like it’s been bashed in multiple times, leaving your brains scrambled and confused. The light coming from the window was almost too bright to look at and the sound of people outside the house was as loud as someone putting an air horn to your ears and pressing a button. All you dreamt about was some painkillers but you knew that hangover wasn’t the greatest reason to use up the already small medicine stash Alexandria had. So you settled for a shower.

As soon as the cold water hit your body, you shivered and your eyes widened, like someone injected you with adrenaline. You wash your hair while at it and then get out of the shower, feeling a bit better, although the headache persisted just a tiny bit. You were for your lookout tower duty, so you jolted around your bedroom, trying to find a clean pair of socks and combat boots. When you finally got dressed, you walked out of your home and jogged all the way down to the lookout tower by the gates of Alexandria. Rosita, who had an entire night shift, looked at you, impatiently tapping her leg. Her arms were crossed on her torso and her mouth was contorted in a slight annoyance.

“You’re late,” she says, observing as you're climbing the ladder. “I hope you have a good reason for it.”

“I got drunk last night.”

“Good enough for me.”

You laughed when Rosita said that and hugged her. She began to tell you about a date she has with Abraham later and shared some explicit details of what they’re going to do. That was all Rosita. Always really honest and straightforward. You didn’t mind at all, and you secretly put all the things she described to you in a little vault in your mind titled ‚shit to do with my next partner.

The day was long and quite boring. Nothing crazy happened. You thoroughly took notes on everything - every walker outside the gates, every opening and closing of the entrance, what ammo you used and if you used any. That was basically the job of a person that was on a watch tower. And it was probably the most boring thing you could do around Alexandria. You knew that you'd rather be out and about, collecting supplies or hunting, but everyone had their duties shared fairly.

Spending an entire day on the lookout tower, you were happy to go home, when Sasha came and switched with you. You gave her a rundown of what happened during the day and then made your way down the ladder and down the street.

It just so happened that you had to walk past Daryl's house to get to yours. As you were walking, you heard some noises coming from the inside of the building. You didn’t think much of it, you just thought it was loud music as Daryl liked to listen to some music pretty loudly at times. But as you were about to pass the house, you heard a loud crash and then a boom.

You turn around at the speed of lightning and you look at Daryl’s house. The living room window was broken, the glass and wooden frame were in pieces, and the yelling emerged from the inside of it. Almost at your feet, there was an old vinyl player, also in pieces. You could see the few plastic bits that broke off of it and rolled in many different directions. Your eyes widen at the sight, and you turn your head towards the house, your body freezes in place. You couldn't see anything but you definitely heard every single word.

„Leah, please, don’t be ridiculous!” you hear Daryl’s raised voice. He sounded frustrated and confused.

„Ridiculous? RIDICULOUS?! You’re the one who’s being ridiculous!” Leah’s voice sounded like screeching, and you could tell she was crying.

„Where the hell is this all coming from?! You didn’t care about it last night or any other fucking day! Why now?!”

The smell of cigarettes gets to your nostrils and you knew almost immediately that Daryl was stressed out and angry. He only ever smokes when his emotions are a bit too much for him and he’s looking for something that will help him relax. Usually, he had a few packs hidden around the house for easy access.

„How comes I don’t know shit about you? Not one thing?” Leah’s scream sounded desperate. „How come she knows more than I do?!”

"She doesn't know more!" Daryl's voice resounds in the air, a roar that could only come from a man who is slipping into a rage mode.

"Oh, don't fucking bullshit me! I could see it in her eyes! She knows you! She knows things about you! Why aren't you telling me shit?! I want to know you, too!"

Your heart stops in your chest realising that they’re arguing about you. Oh, God.

There is a deafening silence after Leah’s last words and you chose not to stick around for more. This wasn't meant for your ears. This wasn't something you should listen to. Shaking your head, you looked at the vinyl player on the ground. It was completely broken. That bitch, you thought to yourself, feeling a bit frustrated at Leah yourself. You picked up the pieces, threw them into your pockets and lodged the music device under your arm. You decided on taking it with you before someone helps themselves. You started walking away, but you could clearly hear the next words Leah said to him.

„This whole relationship is fucking bullshit! You’re not worth it, you’re not worth me or my love! You are nothing! Just a stupid, little man that is too broken to care about someone as much as they care about him!”

You almost stopped and turned on your heels. You wanted to storm inside and let her hear a piece of your mind, but you didn't. It made your blood boil. The way she spoke to him. The way she assumed he didn’t have feelings, because he didn’t share some past experiences with her. The way she thought that he didn’t love her, because he didn’t tell her things about himself. And the way she said he was nothing and worthless. That there made you thirsty for blood. It was the farthest from the truth. He was worth it. More than anyone. He deserved the world. And more.

You quickly made your way home, not wanting to hear anything else, the vinyl player under your arm. The words echoed in your head like some kind of mantra.

Part 8

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x female reader #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction

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fizzy-blood · 6 months ago

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Hello! Saw your wish for more creepypasta requests so here I am! I was wondering if you could do a piece with Jeff the Killer, Laughing Jack, Ticci Toby, and Eyeless Jack where their S/O finds them killing someone and just shrug their shoulders and act like everything was normal

I thought it'd be funny for them to just have a like very chill S/O

Thank you in advance!❤️❤️

And don't forget to drink water and eat something! Can't have ya' getting ill on my watch😊

JtK, LJ, Ticci Toby & EJ with a super chill murderer S/O🔪🫀

Woahg... That's a lot of characters! Crazy- also, thank you for sending in the ask! I love making the reader a creep/killer so much (Y'ALL ARE SO SILLY FRFR) and yes. Go drink some water. ALL OF YOU.

Warning!: [Violence, murder... Tbh what are you expecting from this ask? ]

Jeff the Killer

He's not really scared or anything (why would he be?) But he is a little surprised!

You always seem so calm... I doubt he expected you to be an actual killer, even if he knew that you lived at the mansion and worked under Slender! (Or maybe you do your own thing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

But I do think he'd be a little excited by this

And let's be real... He'd probably try to take you on a killing spree at some point as a date of sorts...

He'd also probably ask if he could tag along with you to watch you do your work (and probably help)

He's not gonna make a super big deal out of it but he will definitely take notice!

Laughing Jack

Another who isn't scared! Again... Why would he be?

I don't think he'd really react much to it... He'd just acknowledge the fact you kill and move on with his day

But he does find it funny how you acted

The fact you just shrugged and didn't try to hide what you were doing was amusing to him

But again, I doubt he really minds that you kill people... It's just a normal Tuesday at this point...

Ticci Toby

Now... He was a bit more shocked by this.. Again.. Not scared... Just... Shocked

You always acted so calm, chill... He would have never guessed that you were actually capable of such things-

If anything he thought that you only hung around the place because you were doing some other work for Slender... Not that you killed people..

But he does laugh a bit at how you just shrugged and carried on with what you were doing

He gets used to it pretty fast!

Eyeless Jack

Now.. Again.. Not scared.. But he's actually concerned for you...

To be fair he's concerned for most of the people in the mansion... That place is dysfunctional for a damn reason...

But with you? Someone who almost never does anything violent... Who is almost always calm... It's just so... Out of character for you...

He gets more concerned when you just shrug it off... Acting like this is normal for everyone... But he eventually watches you leave and carry on

You then started bringing organs to Jack's room to help him restock his cooler... But he still isn't too happy about you doing that...

Overall just kinda... Sad for you...

And done! I randomly found these dividers and I'm pretty sure I reblogged them shortly before writing this... And I currently can't remember who made them... So... Oops..

But I hope you enjoyed it! My asks still open if anyone has a request!!

-Fizz

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intothedysphoria · 2 months ago

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Billy didn’t seem entirely convinced by the Christmas tree.

It was leaning to the side just a little but Steve felt that just gave it character.

The suggestion of “your dad was a piece of shit, I’m Jewish so I never celebrated, let’s give Christmas a try” may have been ill judged but overall Steve had been enjoying himself.

The tree just seemed to be a particular sticking point for Billy. Steve’s boyfriend really could be fucking difficult sometimes.

It was too big. It was too small. It was too green. It was the wrong shape. Steve had ceased counting the number of grievances by December the 14th.

Eventually, with the help of Eddie and Robin, they’d dragged it into their fourth floor apartment and there it stood, confident but wilting slightly.

Billy sat in the corner of the room, cane tucked carelessly under his chair, then came to a decision.

“Needs more edge”

And he was off, routing around in their room before stumbling back with a box in tow, while Steve stood slightly bewildered, cup of rapidly cooling cocoa balanced between his fingers.

“Made my own decorations a while back, second time after Neil kicked me out. They’re shit but have at them.”

They were beautiful.

Painstakingly cut out of denim and old magazine pages, some spray painted over to make intricate designs. Damaged by time but the love was tangible.

Steve grinned and placed the denim star atop the tree.

Billy rolled his eyes at Steve’s enthusiasm but joined in.

By the end of it all, their apartment felt much more festive and Steve had brought out a few old Chanukah decorations as well (even if they were store bought by brands who clearly didn’t understand the holiday.)

Billy and Christmas would never be best friends but every Christmas they spent together, he seemed to like it a little more.

If that slightly leaning tree had anything to do with it, Steve loved it all the more.

@shieldofiron @oopsiedaisiesbaby @dragonflylady77 @thatgirlwithasquid @thissortofsorcery @harringroveobsessed @flayedintheusa @fizzigigsimmer @runraerun @bigdumbbambieyes @camaro-and-smokes @hellcheercaine @kittyphoenix12-xx @robthegoodfellow @spaceofentropy happy Christmas ❤️❤️❤️

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #christmas fic written by a Jewish person

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doctorbitchcrxft · 4 months ago

Text

Dream A Little Dream of Me | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 6433

A/N:: There’s a Sherlock reference in here… let me know if you find it!! Lol I did a “New Girl” quote scavenger hunt once, and they’re a lot of fun! So… part 2 to movie/TV quote scavenger hunt.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Everything Ruby had told you was hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d been smoking a lot more regularly over the past few days, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that it was worrying Dean. The two of you were physically together, but you both knew your minds were elsewhere.

The reality of the situation was that there was no way for you to save Dean. It completely shattered your heart, but you knew it was true. As much as you were trying to enjoy the last few months you had with him, it was incredibly difficult knowing what he would be facing very soon.

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on your woes. Dean had gone out to find Sam who, to your surprise, was at a bar at two in the afternoon drowning in whiskey. You couldn’t blame him, really, given your similar condition. Dean was pacing and worried as soon as he got back to your motel room. His rampage at Sam’s poor decision making, though, was disrupted by a distressing phone call.

***

It was Bobby. The maid had found him in his motel room unconscious, and she’d feared him dead. Thankfully, he was alive, but he was comatose. The doctors explained to you that he was physically perfectly healthy but just… sleeping.

“Mr. Snyderson,” the doctor addressed Dean, “you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”

Dean shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked the doctor.

“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep and didn't wake up.”

Your heart sank further into your stomach.

***

You helped the brothers search Bobby’s perfectly clean motel room where you eventually found his research and newspaper clippings hiding behind his clothes in the closet.

“Pittsburgh” was scrawled in big letters next to pictures of various foliage, maps, and newspaper clippings.

“Good ol’ Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled, given the rack of clothes his research was hidden behind.

“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam questioned, looking over Bobby’s research.

You plucked a piece of paper off the wall. “ ‘Silene capensis’,”you read. “Oh, god, I know that name.”

“Well, you keep workin’ on that, sweetheart. ‘Cause that means absolutely nothing to me,” Dean commented.

“Here,” said Sam. “Obit.”

The two brothers read over the death of a doctor who’d fallen asleep and simply never woke up; just like Bobby.

You continued to think on the plant. Suddenly, you realized what it was. “Guys, African dream root. I couldn’t think of it immediately ‘cause it’s more commonly known as ‘silene undulata’. It’s supposed to induce lucid dreaming or something.”

“Alright, um…” Sam thought aloud. “So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something that started hunting him.”

“Alright, stay here,” Dean instructed you and Sam. “See if you can make heads or tails of this.” He pointed to the closet.

“And where are you going?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself,” he smirked, referring to the first victim.

***

You and Sam were silent for quite some time. Both of you were too drained to speak, it seemed. Your heart was hurting, and you knew Sam’s was, too. You tried your best to focus on researching the news clippings in front of you, but your mind would always pull you elsewhere.

“You okay?”

You’d forgotten Sam was in the room with you if you were being honest.

You nodded halfheartedly.

Sam sighed. “Yeah, uh, I’m in the same boat.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, man,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and throwing your notepad down. “I know there’s nothing we can do, and that almost makes it feel worse.”

“I get it,” Sam replied quietly. “And now, Bobby, and I just… why does everyone I love die, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked a bit and tears flooded his eyes.

“I wish I had the answer, man; I”m searching for it myself,” you said. “And it just… There’s nothing I can do to make this feel better. And I feel like I just got Dean, and now—” You dropped your head. “I’m sorry. Not trying to treat you like my therapist.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not.”

“And I think the worst part is that Dean is terrified. And there’s nothing I can do or say to save him from that,” you continued.

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d be a little more honest with me about that,” Sam remarked.

“I’m his girlfriend, Sam,” you reminded him. “He’s not gonna wanna talk sob-story with his little brother.” You could see you weren’t getting through to him. “Take it from an older sister: we’d rather get our gums scraped than admit fear or stress to our baby siblings. Trust me, if Steven was still around, and I was in Dean’s shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s crap,” Sam argued. “You don’t have to protect us.”

“It’s not about protecting you. It’s about being strong for you. It’s keeping our emotions at bay so that you have all the room in the world to express yours.”

Sam hung his head low. You could tell he was frustrated, but he understood what you were getting at.

Then, your phone rang. “Hey, Dee. What’s up?”

“So,” he began, “Looks like our Doc was running freaky sleep experiments on his patients. Guy I talked to said it felt like an acid trip.”

“African dream root ‘ll do that to you,” you replied.

“Yeah, sounds like he was putting it in a tea,” he explained.

“What’s the move now?” you asked.

“Goin’ to see Bobby. Meet me there,” he instructed.

***

You and Sam did as told. You found Dean sitting beside Bobby’s bed.

“How is he?” you asked as you entered the room.

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin as he turned to look at you. “No change. What you got?”

Sam held files in his hands that compiled your and his research. “Turns out, dream root isn’t just for lucid dreaming.”

“Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey,” Dean snarked.

“No, jackass,” you deadpanned. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dreamwalking. Entering another person's dreams; poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends,” Dean nodded.

“When don't we?” Sam said. “But dreamwalking is just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.”

It was clear by the look on Dean’s face he understood what Sam was getting at. “And killing people in their sleep?”

You and Sam nodded solemnly.

Dean sighed.

“So, let's say, uh— let's say, this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim-Leary-style,” suggested the brunet. “Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” You stared down at the old man’s resting form. It was the only time you’d ever seen him without him seeming like he carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders.

“So, how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean questioned.

“Could be anyone,” Sam shrugged.

“Anyone who knew the doctor; had access to his dream shrooms,” the older one nodded.

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?” you suggested.

“Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean, I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were,” Dean replied.

Sam scoffed.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

The brunet sighed. “In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean seemed to have a “eureka” moment, and a smirk crawled across his face. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Let's go talk to him.”

“Uh, Dean, that conversation’s gonna be very one-sided,” you said, confused.

“Not if we're tripping on some dream root,” he smirked down at you.

Sam huffed. “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Sam,” you considered.

“We have no idea what's crawling around in there,” Sam argued.

“Well, how bad could it be?” Dean shrugged.

“Bad.”

“Dude, it's Bobby.”

The younger Winchester considered for a moment. “Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African dream root, so unless you know someone who can score some…”

“We do, actually,” you said. “Not thrilled about it, though.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Bela.”

“Crap,” both brothers groaned.

Sam quirked a brow. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?”

“I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but it’s our only shot,” Dean grimaced.

You turned out of the hospital room and began clicking buttons on your phone. The brothers took the lead, and you began to follow them out to the Impala.

“Hi, darling,” Bela said. The phone had barely rung once.

“So good to hear your voice,” you sassed.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Bela replied.

“Flirting’s over, though, angel, mommy’s had enough now,” you smirked, and Dean gave you a both bewildered and lascivious look over his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were calling because you missed the sound of my voice,” the woman replied.

“Promise I’ll check in more often,” you said. “Can you get your hands on some African dream root for me?” You sat down in the car, and Dean began to drive.

She sucked in some air through her teeth. “I think you know what’s coming next.”

“And here I thought you’d give me a freebie,” you sighed playfully.

“You are a stunner, love, but a lady’s got to pay her bills. Dream root’s a tricky thing to get my hands on.”

“Well, I haven’t really got much to offer you,” you said, feeling dejected. “And it’s not just for me to trip balls on. It’s for a close friend. Bobby Singer. He’s sick.”

“I wish I could help, really, but I can’t just fork it over for free. I’ll see you around, then, (Y/N).” And the phone clicked off.

You sighed.

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questioned sarcastically.

“Fuck off,’ you replied.

***

Back in Bobby’s motel room, Sam sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d likely fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago at this point, and you and Dean were reading through some of the doctor’s papers.

“Dean, I’ve been wanting to ask,” you whispered, “were you okay with what I was saying to Bela earlier?”

He gave you a confused look.

“I mean, we’ve never really had a conversation about exclusivity or anything, but my interest is solely in you. I love you, and I don’t want what I said to her to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you continued.

Dean thought for a moment. “It really didn’t bother me. Thought it was hot, actually.”

You snorted. “Always thinkin’ with your dick, huh?” Just then, Sam let out a moan in his sleep.

Dean gave you a surprised look and seemed like he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. “Looks like Sammy is, too.”

“Ew, gross,” you shuddered, scrunching up your nose.

“Sam,” Dean called over his brother’s broken moans. “Sam,” he called a little more forcefully. “Sam!”

The younger brother’s head shot up, and he quickly brushed his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Dude, you were out,” Dean snorted. “And making some serious happy noises.”

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he refused to look in the direction of you and his brother.

The latter kept teasing poor Sam. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What? No one. Nothing,” he stuttered.

“C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?”

“No.”

Dean gave you a smirk before saying, “Brad Pitt?”

That got Sam to turn around. “No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” The older brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since Bela’s a no-go, we’ve been tryin’ to make heads or tails of the Doc’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do.”

Sam remained seated in his chair with his back to you.

Dean looked at him expectantly. “You gonna come help us with this stuff?”

Sam looked around, down to his lap, and then shifted uncomfortably to a standing position. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

You looked to Dean suspiciously and grabbed your gun from beside you. Pressing the barrel to the back of the door, you opened it a crack. To your surprise, it was Bela.

“Hello, darling,” she cooed.

You opened the door for her to come in, confusion etched across your face.

“You called me. Remember?” she said, raising a brow.

“And I remember you turning me down,” you replied.

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smiled. Bela turned to Sam, who awkwardly waved over his shoulder.

“Hey, Bela. What's going on?” he said strangely.

Suddenly, it hit you. ‘Oh, my fucking god. He was dreaming about Bela!’ You were definitely going to give him hell later.

“I brought you your African dream root.” Bela handed a jar of it to you. “Nasty stuff and not easy to come by.” She dropped her purse next to the television and began to take off her coat which caused a hitch in Sam’s breath that you would have missed had you not been paying such close attention to him since your realization.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked her.

“What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?” the woman replied, slipping her coat off.

“No. You can't,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them.” Bela turned to you. “You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you.”

That piqued yours and Dean’s interest. “Bobby? Why?” Dean asked.

“He saved my life once. In Flagstaff.”

Dean looked down at you and you, up at him, but you ended up just shrugging at each other.

“I screwed up, and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?” Bela huffed.

“Maybe,” Dean replied.

“So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?” she questioned, looking down at the jar.

“No offense, lovebug, but I don’t trust you enough to be in the same room with you for more than fifteen minutes, let alone Bobby’s head,” you told her.

Dean took the jar from you and put it in the safe with the Colt.

“And here I thought we were becoming such good friends,” she replied. “It's 2 AM. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room,” Dean responded. “Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it.”

“You…” she trailed off, grabbed her bag and coat in a huff, and slammed the door behind herself despite Sam calling after her, “Nice to see— Seeing you… Bela.”

When the door shut behind the woman, you turned to Sam with a wide grin. “You dirty whore!”

“What? What?!” he asked.

“Well? Does she give good head?” you smirked wickedly.

Sam’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Dean just looked between you and his brother completely bewildered.

***

Almost an hour later, you and the Winchesters were downing disgusting dream root teas with a strand of Bobby’s hair mixed in to enter the man’s head.

“Feel anything?” Dean asked you.

You shook your head. “Sam?”

“Nothing here.”

You looked down at your cup, a bit disappointed.

“Maybe we got some bad shwag,” Dean suggested.

Just then, thunder clapped and rain pattered the window.

“When did it start raining?” you wondered aloud.

Dean wandered over to the window, and you followed close behind. He opened the windows to find the rain not coming from the sky, but from the ground. “When did it start raining upside down?” he questioned.

Then, you noticed your surroundings were changing. Next to Sam was no longer two beds, but a couch; an old-fashioned one at that. You turned back to Dean, and the window you’d been looking out of had turned into a fireplace.

“What the fu—” you muttered.

“Okay, I don't know what's weirder: the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean snarked.

“Wait. Wait a sec. Imagine the place, uh, without the paint job.” Sam started gesturing to the corners of the room. “More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place.”

“It’s Bobby’s house,” Dean realized. “Bobby?!” he called.

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up, and you felt as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around to the window above the kitchen table, but you couldn’t see anyone. Still, something didn’t feel right. You turned toward the stairs and whispered, “Bobby?”

Still, you were suspicious of what was happening outside. “Dean?” you called. “I'm gonna go look outside.”

Dean whispered, “No, no, no, stay close.”

“Dee, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, walking up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Pinky promise.”

He rolled his eyes, his face turning ever so slightly pink, and a smile played on his lips as he locked his pinky with yours. You loved that you could pull that reaction from the Dean Winchester with something so simple as a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Dean told you.

“C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about,” you smirked, walking backward toward the door and still facing Dean.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he remarked playfully.

You scoffed and headed outside. As soon as you opened the door, though, you found it was no longer raining. In fact, bright sunshine streamed down.

You were confused to say the least. Walking down through what would be the junkyard if you were in the real world, you found Bobby’s station wagon. However, it looked much newer and cleaner than it would in your real life. The walkway was well-manicured, and beautiful flowers lined the path leading to Bobby’s front door.

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind you. You immediately spun around and tried to reopen it, but someone had locked it.

“Dean!” you hollered. You headed over to the window that overlooked Bobby’s kitchen table and banged on it harshly. “Dean!”

Despite the fact that you could very clearly see him through the window, he didn’t react to you calling his name or hitting against the glass. Still confused, you headed down the porch.

A beautiful little pond with flowers surrounding it came into view as you walked further into the backyard. You wished in that moment that you’d figured out a way to bring a gun or a knife into Bobby’s head before you drank the dream root tea.

When you walked past a line of washed sheets hanging out to dry, you got that feeling again; as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around just to get hit with a bat across your chest. Winded, you fell to the ground, heaving painfully. “Motherfucker,” you wheezed. A hand to your shoulder, you pushed yourself up on your elbow to face the college-aged man who’d hit you. “Who are you?” you asked in as tough a voice as you could muster.

“Who are you? You don't belong here,” the man replied.

“You're one to talk,” you scoffed. “You're in my friend's head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me,” the man spat.

“Uh, if he was coming after you, it’s ‘cause you killed somebody,” you told him.

“You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god.”

“You’re overcompensating,” you responded dryly. “The ol' two-incher not workin’ how you want it to?”

The man’s face twisted, and he raised his bat again. “Sweet dreams.”

Before you could react, you woke up with a start back in your motel room bed next to Dean. You were actually still holding your empty cup.

The older Winchester turned to you as soon as he realized you were back in the real world. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We found Bobby.”

“You did?” you asked.

“And his, uh, wife,” Sam added. “Looked like he had to kill her. I’m guessing it’s how he got into hunting.”

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Speaking of, we should probably go get him.”

***

With Bobby back in your motel room, he immediately began looking over the papers from the doctor’s research.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said. “That, uh— That stuff, all that stuff with your wife? That actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied.

“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead.” He held Dean’s gaze with the most intensity and meaning you’d seen Bobby look at anyone. “Thank you.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward into a smile.

Sam burst back into the room at that moment. “So, uh, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”

“He ain't much of a stoner.” Bobby picked up a picture of the guy who’d attacked you.

“No?” You cocked your head to the side.

“No,” Bobby replied. “His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head.” He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Here's Father of the Year. He died before Jeremy was ten.”

Sam grimaced at the photo. “Looks like a real sweetheart.”

“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since,” Bobby finished.

“Till his whole Freddy Kruger thing,” you nodded.

“How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned the older man.

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”

“Yeah. How'd he get in there in the first place? Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “ 'Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin’ thing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Oh, I don't know. It wasn't that dumb.”

Your face dropped. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I was thirsty?” he winced.

Sam huffed angrily. “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”

“Well, now, we just have to find him first,” Dean tried.

“We better work fast,” Bobby urged, “and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

***

Two days later, Dean was losing his mind. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin’ ghost. Where the hell could he be?” He was sitting at the wheel of the Impala twitching a bit.

“Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little…” Sam trailed off when his brother gave him a strong look. “...caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean grumbled. He tried to grab his ringing cell phone from his pocket, but his twitching hands fumbled.

You took the phone from him gently and answered it. “Tell me you got something,” you pleaded.

“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“That was our last lead,” the old man sighed.

“What the hell, man,” you wondered aloud. “What’s Bela got?”

“What do you got, Bela?” you heard him ask her.

“Sorry,” you heard her say distantly. “Sometimes the spirit world is in a chatty mood, and sometimes, it isn't.”

“She's got nothing.”

You repeated Bobby’s statement to the rest of the car.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” He angrily grabbed the phone from your hands, and you did your best not to scold him. Dean began speeding back toward the motel, but after a few minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road in the woods. “Alright, that's it. I'm done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned.

Dean slid down in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. “Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”

You lurched forward putting your face next to his. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Dean, Jeremy can come after you,” Sam reminded his brother.

“That's the idea,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “Come on, guys, we can't find him, so let him come to me.”

“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?” you mimicked Jeremy’s words from when he beat you.

“I can handle it,” he shrugged.

“Not alone, you can’t,” you stated firmly.

Sam reached over and pulled out some of Dean’s hair.

“Ow!” His hand flew up to rub where Sam had plucked from. “What are you doing?”

“We’re comin' in with you,” Sam said plainly.

“No, you’re not,” the other Winchester scoffed.

“Why not?” you asked him. “At least, then, it’ll be three against one.”

“ 'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”

“Dean, what am I gonna find up there you don’t want me to see?” you asked. You’d always trusted him, but you were worried about what his response would be.

“Not you, (Y/N). Sam. There’s some things my kid brother shouldn’t know about me,” Dean grumbled.

To say you were relieved was an understatement.

“Too bad,” Sam responded. He had already mixed the teas and handed you a cup.

You took it and chugged the whole thing; desperately trying to ignore the foul taste. However, nothing changed.

“Dean,” Sam said, hitting his brother on the arm forcefully.

Dean jerked up. “For the love of god.” He looked extremely tired and confused. “What are we still doing here?”

“No idea,” you answered.

Suddenly, you heard a sound outside the car.

“There's someone out there,” Sam said, on high alert.

You walked around to the front of the car, and to your surprise, you were sitting on a little blanket with a picnic basket. She— well, you— smiled at Dean, not seeming to notice you or Sam.

“Hey. You gonna sit down?” the dream version of you asked Dean.

He didn’t move, he just gawked.

“Come on,” Dean’s dream-you said. “You know how I feel about you keeping me waiting.”

Dean turned to the real you, a bit embarrassed.

You smiled up at him as his dream-version of you said, “Dean. I love you.”

Suddenly, the whole scene began to shake. Everything disappeared.

“Where'd she— you— go?” Dean asked.

Just then, you spotted Jeremy coming out from behind a tree. Sam took off after him, and you and Dean soon got separated from him. The two of you called out to Sam, but it was no use. You turned back to see that the woods you’d run through had disappeared. Instead, the hallway of an unkempt motel laid before you.

“Stay close,” Dean instructed you, beginning to walk down the hallway. The door at the end of it opened just before you and Dean reached it. An equally gloomy room appeared behind the scratched-up door.

You could hear a clicking sound coming from within the room, and then, you saw the light on the desk clicking on and off. “Jeremy?” you asked.

The clicking stopped, the light remaining on, and you finally got a good idea of who you were looking at. “Dean,” you breathed out.

“Hey, Dean,” the dream version of your partner said.

“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun,” your Dean smiled.

“We need to talk,” said dream Dean.

The two began to circle each other, and you remained in the corner.

The real Dean nodded. “I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

“Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth.”

The real Dean stopped by the desk, and the dream version stood by the door closest to you.

“I know how dead you are inside,” the dream version sneered. “How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”

“(Y/N), don’t listen. It’s not true,” your Dean assured you when he saw how your heart broke for him. However, you knew that the dream version wasn’t lying; how could he? After all, this was Dean’s imagination you were in.

“Why do you think I’ve got her here?” the dream Dean spat. “She’s gonna get to watch the show.”

“Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work.” Despite how visibly shaken the real Dean was, he tried to smile through it. “You're not real.”

“Sure I am. I'm you.”

“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” The real Dean raised his arm. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.” He tried it once. Then, a second time, and then, a third, and still, nothing happened.

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Neither is she,” the dream version smirked wickedly. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

The real Dean’s face hardened into sincerity. “Let her go,” he commanded.

“No, Dean,” the other version said. “She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know what kind of monster she’s involved with. Like I said, we need to talk.” He raised his hand to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. “I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it.”

The two began to circle each other again, and you stayed frozen in place.

“Talk about low self-esteem,” the other Dean continued to taunt, chuckling. “Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”

Your Dean muttered to himself, “Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up.”

“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam and pretty little (Y/N) here.” The other version of Dean stopped walking by the desk, and your Dean stopped next to you. Your version gave you a pleading look, although you weren’t sure what he was asking you to do in this situation.

The dream version continued his assault. “You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”

The real one tried to smile through it, and you knew the brave face he was putting on was mostly for your sake. “That— That's not true.”

“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's,” the dream Dean stated. “Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?”

The real version scoffed.

“No. No, all there is is, ‘Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!’ You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you?” the dream version pressed. He motioned with the gun toward his head. “Clear as a bell.”

“Just shut up,” the real Dean gritted through his teeth.

The dream one lowered the gun. “I mean, think about it.” He stalked toward your Dean, and you were still frozen in place; undoubtedly by the dream version’s doing. “All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam? Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved.”

“I mean it. I'm getting angry,” your Dean growled.

The other version of himself refused to stop, though. “Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.” His voice had gotten hard and angry now. “Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?”

“Son of a bitch!” the real Dean shouted angrily, shoving the other version into the wall above the desk. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”

The dream Dean tried to get up, but the real one knocked him down again. Your Dean picked up the weapon and hit the other with the barrel across the face before pinning him to the wall with it.

“All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He—” the real Dean had gotten so choked up, and you wanted nothing more than to run to him. “He's the one who let Mom die— who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!” the real Dean had beaten the other so hard, it looked as though he was dead. Blood was splattered across his face, and his eyes were closed.

Suddenly, the dream version awoke again. His eyes were completely black upon reopening them. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!” He stood up and began to stalk toward the real Dean, but just like that, you woke up.

You shot up from your seat in the Impala frantically searching for Dean; demon or otherwise. You were relieved to find him in the front seat.

The sun had begun to come up some time while you slept. Dean was completely silent for the drive back to the motel while Sam informed you and Dean what he’d done to stop Jeremy.

“How’d you do that, Sammy?” you questioned.

“I don’t know, I just sort of concentrated, and it happened, y’know?” he replied.

“What happened?” you pressed.

“I made him see his dad. And, uh, some kind of way, one hit from his dad was enough to kill him.”

“Damn,” you breathed out as Dean rolled the Impala to a stop in front of the motel.

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean toward Bobby.

You hung back with Dean.

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna talk about what you saw in there,” he said as soon as the two of you were alone.

“We don’t have to,” you replied. “But when you’re ready— if you ever are— I’m here. And I still love you. No matter what.” You smiled up at him lopsidedly with your hands in the front pockets of your jeans.

To show you he loved you, too, he pulled you forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You responded by leaning up and kissing his cheek. And then, he pulled you into a kiss on your lips. Your arms wound around his neck almost like a reflex, and Dean’s arms went around your lower back, holding you tightly to him.

Sam then interrupted your kiss by asking, “Uh, guys? Come see.” When you entered the motel room, Bobby was pacing angrily.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Bela’s not in her room. She’s not answering her phone,” Sam responded. “She must’ve taken off or something.”

“Just like that? It's a little weird,” Dean said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, what's weird is why she helped us in the first place,” Bobby replied.

“I thought you saved her life,” you said. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach suddenly.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby questioned.

“The thing in Flagstaff,” Dean continued.

Bobby turned to look at you and Dean, who were still idling by the door. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.”

Dean’s face dropped, and the panic you were feeling was beginning to set in for him as well.

“You kids better check your pockets,” Bobby said, an edge in his voice.

All three of you began to feel around your jackets and pants.

“Not literally.”

You then followed Dean’s gaze toward the safe in the closet. Dean immediately headed over, muttering, “No, no, no, no.” He opened it, and it was empty.

“The Colt,” Sam breathed out. “Bela stole the Colt.”

Dean slammed the safe shut angrily.

“Damn it, kids!” Bobby huffed.

“Pack your crap,” Dean asserted, stomping over to his bag on the couch.

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“We're gonna go hunt the bitch down,” Dean said.

Your anger was simmering just below the surface. You were angry at yourself for beginning to build a friendship with her and for not thinking she’d find a way to get something over on you.

You followed Dean out to the Impala where Sam was putting his bag in the trunk.

“Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?” Dean asked.

“Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean scoffed.

“What about you?” Sam asked. “You never said.”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.” Sam looked to you as you began to put your bag in the trunk, and Dean moved around to the driver’s seat. Despite not enjoying lying to Sam, you just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly.

When you got down into the car, Dean looked thoughtful. You were expecting him to take off immediately, but he hesitated.

“Sam,” he began.

“Yeah?”

You were intrigued as to where this was going.

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. “I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die.”

You closed your eyes, your heart saddening.

“I don't wanna go to Hell,” Dean continued.

“Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you,” Sam said softly.

Dean looked up at him, and you searched his expression. It was another one of those confusing looks you couldn’t quite read; somewhere between pensive and saddened, frustrated and resigned. “Okay, good.” His voice was shaky, and you weren’t sure what you could do to make him feel better; if anything.

All you could hear was what the dream version of himself had said; “And this?” he’d spat, eyes black. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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chelledoggo · 4 months ago

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Happy 1-Year Anniversary to The Amazing Digital Circus!

i sadly don't have any art pieces ready (i want to do something! it'll just be late.), but i wanted to commemorate this day anyway, so let me talk about what this silly, twisted, heartfelt little show means to me 💖

i admit, i jumped on this crazy train slightly late. it was a couple weeks after the pilot premiered. but i kept seeing this nervous little jester girl on my social media timelines and thought "hmmmm… i should check this out."

best decision ever.

now, i have a cornucopia of neurodivergences and mental illnesses: autism, possible ADHD, anxiety, depression, C-PTSD, etc… i've always felt "trapped" in this loud, scary, confusing "circus" of a world. so naturally, this traumatized jester woman resonated with me.

she finds herself thrown into this loud, bright, scary digital world. she can't comprehend what's happening, and it seems at first that no one really understands her.

and it dawns on her: this is her life.

the autistic experience right there.

she eventually meets Gummigoo, an NPC who suddenly finds himself in an existential panic. Pomni sees that Gummi's just as scared as she is. she sits down to comfort a fellow "outcast."

and this is when the show began to speak to me on an even deeper level.

youtube

but just as quickly as Pomni feels she finally has some hope, those hopes are instantly dashed as Gummigoo is unceremoniously blasted into confetti. Pomni once again finds herself feeling hopeless and alone.

that's when her fellow circus cast members step in.

she stands witness to a beautiful funeral service for Kaufmo, a friend she never got to meet. all these fellow scared humans, giving beautiful eulogies for their fallen comrade.

and then it hits her, these people are a family. they care for one another. she's not alone.

youtube

this sense of love and community is displayed once again in the latest episode. Pomni is at her lowest low. she's literally in Hell. but even then, she has a friend. a friend who's also suffering.

…i'll let this scene speak for itself. it's just that powerful.

honestly? it's not even just Pomni that resonates with me, either. i see a little of myself in a lot of these characters.

Ragatha tries to hold onto optimism and childlike wonder, but she's going through it too. i'm a traumatized womanchild in my 30s, too. big-ass mood.

Gangle literally has to "mask" and put on a happy face, not stepping on any toes. but that mask is fragile. she can only put on a front for so long before the sad, scared, trembling girl underneath is exposed. another autistic mood for me lol.

Zooble? ohhh, their therapy subplot hit me HARD as both an autistic person and an enby. they've tried to communicate how unhappy they are. they've tried to let Caine know what they need. but he doesn't even seem to hear them. eventually it's not worth it to try anymore.

i can't stress enough how much this show has resonated with me. Pomni and her friends have become my friends as well. they're faint sparks of hope in a hopeless world, even as they're suffering themselves. they remind me to find the light in my own "circus."

wellp. i've rambled enough.

i just… really wanna thank Gooseworx, the voice cast, and all of the TADC crew who've worked hard to bring The Amazing Digital Circus to life. what you're doing really means the world to a scared little jester like me. 💖

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #pomni #ragatha #gangle #zooble #kinger #gummigoo #autism #actually autistic #neurodivergent #neurodiversity #lgbtq+#nonbinary #gooseworx #long post #Youtube

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tichiox1 · 2 years ago

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Bill kaulitz☆ headcannons (with nsfw)

Word count:560

Sorry yall i was thirsty and bored

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Sfw

☆-When you two met you two instantly clicked like puzzle pieces before you knew it the both of you started to become friends .

☆-Bill started the first conversation (he's chatty ) you were tense and nervous at first i mean why wouldn't you he's Bill Kaulitz!!

☆-The favorite thing you two do together is either shopping or just talking to each other about anything (gossiping).

☆-Bill sometimes ask for your help with writing songs and translating it to english (he wants it to sound good in both!!).

☆-But before you realised it you started to have feelings for Bill , He's always so sweet and nice about everything but he's also a menace .

☆-Bill was the one who confessed , The two of you was just watching Tv and hanging out and he just dropped the bomb and blurted it out .

☆-"I like you" He suddenly said and you were like "Huh" (but of course you accepted but it was very unexpected).

☆-Tom's really happy for Bill ! He sometimes makes jokes that he's not gonna be a virgin anymore infront of everyone which makes Bill flustered.

☆-Bill's public about his relationship with you which makes some fan girls sad and some of them bad mouths you but you don't care (At least you got your mans).

☆-Bill writes songs about you!!

☆-He likes to go on dinner dates with you and watch movies at home after.

☆-He likes cuddling , he doesn't mind if he's the big spoon or little spoon he just wants to hold you.

☆-He makes you wear matching bracelets or rings with him (It's really cute ngl).

☆-Even when you aren't looking you sometimes feel him looking at you and smiling.

☆-Holding hands ✅✅

☆-You sometimes hug him or kiss him before he performs (he gets really nervous).

☆-If you don't like the Paparazzi he'll take off his jacket and cover you with it .

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Nsfw

☆-He likes to make out with you after performing .

☆-He's really sweet in bed but also very kinky(Chains , collars , blindfolds , handcuffs , ect) .

☆-He likes to take his time , not that rough but if he's extra sexually frustrated buckle up and get ready.

☆-When he makes out with you there's always tongue if it's heated then expect it.

☆-Whenever you two make out he leaves alot of hickeys like a shit ton of it all over your neck , collarbone , shoulder ect(Mans just kinky like that).

☆-He's a switch don't fight me ,i get that feeling he is , (he radiates that feeling jk).

☆-He likes to grunt , groan if he's really feeling it he'll softly moan .

☆-He likes to eat you out like a full course meal .

☆-When i say he's sweet he really is , when you feel uncomfortable he'll stop immediately and ask you "what's wrong?" "Are you ok?" softly almost a whisper.

☆-Foreplay.

☆-Whenever you two make out he rubs his knee on your crotch .

☆-He wants to make out with you anywhere anytime if you're up for it , against the wall , On the bed while he's on top of you , Just as long as you give him permission it's all good .

☆-He's good with his hands.

☆-If you do want to lead it's fine with him , he doesn't mind .

☆-alot of teasing like alot lot , but he'll feel bad eventually and touches you where you want him too.

_____________________________

Nah bro why did i write this i haven't even held someones hands romantically before what am i doing😦

I was once an innocent gorl just a year ago idk what happened 😭😭

But hope you guys enjoyed and ill write more don't worry (i was also bored when i wrote this so )

#bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz gif #tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel imagine #tokio hotel smut #bill kaulitz smut #bf headcannons #fluffy

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sirfrogsworth · 5 months ago

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I know I said going out into the world is worth the mental health boost, but I also got two vaccines and then worked in the heat cleaning out my garage for several hours and now I can't move and I haven't been able to move for several days.

I can't deny that sometimes things just need to get done. I didn't really have a choice. This is a consequence I chose and knew would occur. And I feel like I can't complain about how horrible I feel because of the deliberateness of my decision.

But I think I'm going to complain anyway because I feel like poop.

This is why the "push yourself" mentality is so dangerous to chronically ill people. Again, sometimes it cannot be helped. I haven't talked much about it yet, but I have a runway and it keeps getting shorter. And if I don't solve some very big problems before my runway ends, I could be pretty screwed. So I'm going to have to push myself on occasion and I need to try and be smart about it.

But please don't ever suggest "pushing through it" as an ongoing solution for disabled people. I've heard it so many times. There was even a time when my own father would preach from the Church of the Glorious Work Ethic™ because that is how he was raised. But it is also how he ended up with severe chronic pain and a fake hip.

Despite that, in the beginning, he would still tell me to push myself in order to accomplish things. Eventually he saw how damaging it was and how it made things worse in the long run. I was destroying my mind and body and my productivity decreased the longer I pushed myself. My recovery periods would get longer and longer and my productivity became almost nonexistent.

Conserving energy, doing a little bit at a time, and understanding how to pace myself always garnered better results. But that required patience. And patience is a skill. And for me it is a skill that I have spent two decades trying to master and I still fail more than I care to admit.

But during my first few years of being sick I had no patience. And my dad had no patience. So we were just this chaotic ball of impatience. And that was probably the only time we had trouble getting along.

"Pushing through" and ignoring pain and fatigue is the number one piece of advice that has always been catastrophic. I would encounter people with a "strong work ethic" who believed if they had my collection of chronic maladies they could just use willpower and work a proper job and live a normal life. I was just lazy in their minds. They thought accepting my circumstances and managing my symptoms was giving up. They would inform me that "everyone is tired." They would tell me how tired they are and how they still manage. And I just wish I could help them understand the most tired they have ever been is probably what I would consider a "good day."

Sometimes pushing through just puts a hole in the wall.

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backwards360 · 3 months ago

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im 360'ing into your inbox

what do you think are some hobbies that noobs would have? so far i've got:

collecting chicken bones and making them into instruments/other assorted objects (whittling leg bones into flutes, wrapping fabric around a ribcage to make a shaker, ect)

fabric crafts (people spawn in with the clothes on their back right? seawatt has a cape, would other people have capes? thats a lot of extra fabric without any purpose. jackets, scarves and extra layers could be used as fabric, and chicken bones could be used as pins and/or needles)

singing and storytelling (strong biased headcanon here that noobs have a strong culture surrounding folklore and folksong. they cant read or write so these things are all passed via word of mouth. i also headcanon that everyone in a town will meet up regularly to sing together- at night so pros cant try to stop them)

painting (blood as a medium, anyone? chicken guts as a medium, anyone? thats really gross but like they eat raw chicken so at some point i assume you'd grow desensitised to it)

its really fun since they canonically have access to so few resources, i imagine they'd have to get really creative with it. if you want, then hobbies people on other layers could have (especially the fighter layer. i need to cook there..) then LMK!!!! i need to brainrot

OBSESSED WITH ALL THIS ACTUALLY!!!!!

i dont have a lot of ideas for noobs but im using this as a vague way to talk abt my jewelry headcanons and then ill get into other hobbies

so. the fighter level. i like to think they made jewelry to give to each other.

before a big fight loved ones would be given pieces of jewelry by their loved ones as a good luck charm but also as a sign to the opponent that this person has things to fight for.

eventually this spread to the other levels via fighters giving noob/pro/masters jewelry.

noobs very rarely get any and the ones they have arent very intricate (why waste your nice stuff on someone whose just going to die within the month)

pros have a decent amount but it doesnt play a huge role in their culture.

masters. masters love their jewelry. HUGE status symbol. the more you have the better you are to them.

especially after the fighter layer was erased and now no more people are making jewelry, every piece is priceless.

anyways!!!! other hobbies!!!

i have a few for fighters but like. no one else LMAO

- reading and writing!! they're the only ones with access to libraries so most of them enjoy both reading and writing

-p.parkour. obviously. but specifically battling friends!! a great way to practice battles and to have fun with your friends, you yield when you get to two hearts, one shot moves arent allowed obviously thatd just be killing someone

-dancing and festivals and stuff!!! culture on the fighter layer was soooo colorful trust trust

uhhhh yeah thats all i got i might add more later giggles

thanks for the ask !!!

#parkour civilization #parkour civ #pkciv #parkciv

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slay-ers · 6 months ago

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One of my fav things to think about is starving someone for a few days and then feeding them until they just cant hold anything anymore. (I haven't ever written a fic before so this is my first attempt open to ideas or requests)

A wakes up in a dark room with a single dull light in the middle of the ceiling flickering on and off and buzzing lightly. A tries to reach up and quickly realizes they cant. A pulls at their arms to realize they are tied behind them in the chair they are in a long with a rope tight around their stomach. A doesn't know where they are, the last thing they remember was falling asleep at B's house after a night of drinking and now they have woken up here. A looks around the empty room and sees a door to their right. A few moments later the door opens and B walks in with a small smile on their face

" Hello A how are you doing? I just want you to know I'm gonna be keeping you here for a few days if that's ok with you, I have a fun little game were going to play".

A looked up at B "what is going on why am I here where am I?"

"its gonna be fine," B said "Ill keep you in this room and I'll give you things to do like watch TV, I'll feed you in a few days it will be ok"

A made a face at B. Both of them knew A was into hunger and stuffing, and so was B. Slowly A started to realize B's "game", B was going to hold them here trapped in this room and watch and listen as A's belly started to scream and beg for food. Eventually B would feed them, eventually. A hid a smile as B walked out of the room and came back in with a TV. B turned the channel to Food Network and walked over to the door with the remote, "I'll come in and check on you later, have fun A!" and B walked out of the room with a big smile on their face.

At first everything was fine, all the drinking from the night before had bloated A to their point the buttons on their jeans were straining but slowly the bloating was going down. Later that first night A's stomach let out a small rumble which was then quickly cut short from the tightness of the ropes around their stomach. A began to drift to sleep to the sound of one of those old ladies on the Food Network making chicken-pot-pie. In the middle of their sleep A was suddenly jolted awake by their stomach rolling and turning. Instinctively A tried to reach up to soothe their belly but to no avail. In a desperate attempt to take their mind off their tummy A looked around the room and their eyes fell on the TV, displaying BBQ in what looked like technicolor. A groaned and threw their head back and at that exact moment the door opened and none other than B themselves walked through the door. B had both their hands full, one with a large glass of iced water and the other with a plate full of eggs and bacon. The smell almost brought A to tears and their stomach kicked into action, loudly exclaiming its need for food. B walked over to A and waved the plate under their nose, the smell was almost intoxicating and A's mouth filled with saliva. B giggled at A's desperation and smiled " I brought you some water". A's face fell they knew the food wasn't for them but then why would B bring it, just to torture them? B placed down the glass of water near A's chair and used their free hand to lift a piece of bacon to their lips. A watched as B licked the grease off the bacon with their tongue and then drop the whole piece in their mouth. B then began to eat the whole plate of eggs and bacon with their hands, moaning in pleasure as their stomach quickly filled with 3 servings of food. B licked the grease off their fingers and pulled down their sweatpants to show off their full belly to A. A's stomach groaned in hunger and be smirked,

"oh my god, I'm so full" B moaned. " My belly is so full and heavy, listen"

B walked closer to A and pressed A's head up against their swirling stomach. A listened as B's stomach rolled wetly and let out small strained gurgles. In response A's stomach wailed and rolled under the ropes. B heard the despair coming from A's belly and strained to bend over and pick up the glass of water at their feet. B held the glass of ice cold water up to A's lips and A drank. A's belly quickly filled with ice water, shooting quick and cold pain across A's abdomen. B then walked over to the front of A and pulled the ropes down from A's belly only slightly and pressed their own overfull, hot belly onto A's cold and sloshy one. A felt so empty and full at the same time and they watched in despair as B walked out of the room and closed the door behind them. A's eyes fell right back on the TV which was now playing compilations of cakes in 4K. A slammed their eyes shut and listed to their own stomach boil and froth begging for food. A felt so hungry they were almost nauseous their jeans felt loose and the ropes that were once tight around their stomach were slipping down on their own, A acted like they hated it but they knew that was a lie.

For the next 2 days B would come into A's room and repeat the process, sometimes also dropping cold water on A's belly or running their fingers across it. On the morning of the 4th day A woke up in complete darkness and realized their was a blindfold over their face. Then suddenly A was hit in the face with what smelled like heaven, their stomach started screaming and saliva flooded their mouth. A heard the door open and B walk in, B comes behind A and puts their hands on A's belly and gently says

"You've done so good and I'm so proud of you, I made something special for you"

A smiles at what they can only imagine will be the best meal of their life.

"but everything you touch has to be finished, no acceptions" B says sternly.

A shakes their head up and down ferociously In agreement, wanting to just get to the eating. B unties their hands and removes the now loose rope from A's waist.

B smiles and says "remember the rule", and walks out of the room shutting the door behind them.

A quickly reaches up and pulls off the blindfold revealing a table covered completely in food, hamburgers, steak, mashed potatoes, chips, sandwiches, soups, pastas, cookies, cupcakes, and ice cream. A quickly grabs a steak and within minutes it's gone, next a big bowl of mashed potatoes drowned in butter, a few handfuls of chips, everything slowly blurring together. A is unaware of everything they have eaten so far but thinks they still have some room left for at least 2 slices of cake. A cuts 2 fairly large pieces of double dutch chocolate cake with buttercream frosting onto the plate in front of them. They blow through the first slice but almost after the first bite of the second slice everything they have eaten has become heavy and solid in their stomach. A leans back and pushes their belly out in hopes of pushing out a burp to make room but their stomach is so packed there is no room for air. A sighs and feels content with themselves until B opens the door,

"you plan on finishing that by yourself?" B asks

A looks up at B seeming to have forgot their little agreement. B bends over to look at A in the eyes.

"you need to finish everything you started Sugar" be whispers into A's ear.

A looks at B desperately "I cant fit anything more I'm so full, please."

B stands back up and smiles down at A, "nope, but I'd be more than willing to help you.."

A looks at the almost full piece of cake on their plate and then looks back to B, "it cant be that bad" they think to themselves, and then nod slowly to B.

B walks over and picks the piece of cake up off the plate and hold it to A's lips "open up" B demands. A reluctantly opens their mouth allowing the guided slice of cake into their mouth. A takes a big bite leaving only half the slice left, "good jobb" B coos. A slowly chews the bite of cake in their mouth, the sugar of the frosting making their teeth hurt and tongue curl. Their stomach groans in protest and A almost feels like they cant swallow. B realizes this and slowly starts rubbing A's stomach feeling how tight and strained it is, a red blush forming on the top of their belly from the skin pulled so tight. A manages to swallow but immediately after their stomach makes a sick sound, lurches them forward, and forces out a burp which quickly turns into a gag. A claps a hand over their mouth and B looks at them with pleasure,

"someone overestimated how much they could take, come on Sugar you're almost done one more bite".

A looks up at B with pleading eyes they are so full they cant even speak, but they again open their mouth to take the final bite. A quickly chews and swallows the last bite of cake fed to them by B. Their stomach is so full and tender they cant even touch it, now jean buttons are once again digging into their belly and B is looking at them with admiration.

B smiles sweetly at them "I'm so proud of you Sugar you did so well" and A gives them a half hearted smile but deep inside they love the praise.

They love the heaviness of their belly, the painful gurgles, the struggle to breathe, and the feeling of the oncoming food coma. B takes A out of the dark room into their own bedroom and lays A down on the bed. B unbuttons A's jeans and A sighs in relief, B then begins to gently massage A's belly and A begins to slip into a food coma their final thought before going out was "i've gotta do that again soon".

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