#its very funny to me that every time i hold my nose and go back i instantly find another example of someone just spouting complete bullshit

[baltears]

stewing in my eternally burning hatred of tv tropes once again<3

[ghosts-cant-sleep]

Heeeeyyy, never requested anything but i think i'll give it a shot because i really like the way you write! You're really talented :]

Mayhaps a simon "ghost" riley x male reader? Reader is very provocative and loves getting reactions out of people, no matter if they are amused chuckles or annoyed groans. BUT Ghost is a brick wall and reader sees it as a challenge? Im sure your beautidul mind will come up with something interesting!

May i have the "🦇" as my anon emoji? (If its not taken of course!)

Thanksss, have an amazing day/night!

you can whistle for it

simon 'ghost' riley x male! reader

warnings: idk how spotting works im just basing it off of that one american sniper scene kinda, suggestive innuendos, stupid jokes, not proofread,

notes: i love specific anons sm :3 yall r so cute :3 ofc u can have 🦇 :3 lysm :3

fem dni.

"Y'know, Lieutenant, I've been thinking-"

"I doubt that."

"-You, me, alone under the stars... It's pretty romantic, don't'cha think?"

"No."

A heavy sigh pushes past [Name]'s lips, hia breath blooming into a faint mist of white, fading into the deep blues of the sky hanging high above them.

The snow crunches bellow his elbows with every breath, laying thick over the plantlife. Frost coated the leaves that shrouded the pair, snowfall left the branches bending under the weight, there wasn't even a peep from the local fauna.

And oh god, what he wouldn't give to be warm like them, huddled in a burrow, coat all he'd need to keep warm. Instead, he was left in thick, stiff winter gear, the cruel wind biting at the tip of his nose in spite of the fleece-lined gaiter.

Hell, he was surprised his rifle wasn't crusted in ice.

He wasn't surprised, however, to deduce that the poor weather seemed to reflect on his lieutenant's mood, as if being stuck on overwatch for hours on end wasn't bad enough.

[Name] laid with his cheek resting on the stock of his gun, index finger lazily tapping against the trigger gaurd to some unrecognized rhythm.

And Ghost was right beside him, nearly hyper focused on spotted. Each had their eyes trained on their respective scopes, and both were miserable.

Aching backs, necks swiftly growing sore, eye's dry, lips cracking, and faces all kn all feeling like they'd be ready to freeze off any moment now. And that's not even mentioning that this was the fourth time Ghost had essentially requested [Name] shut his mouth in the past thirty minutes they'd been in the field, which was frustrating enough for both of them.

And excuse him for not wanting to waste his night sulking in silence, but making the best out of a less than steller situation didn't seem to be something Ghost was capable of.

It was charming, in its own annoying little way-- the relentless chatter and constant quips and jokes, even if they sometimes boarded on ridiculously unprofessional. Whether it be an annoyed groan, a flustered chuckle, or a reluctant smile masked with a roll of their eyes, his little antics never failed to coax out some reaction.

Almost never.

And in all honesty, this self inflicted, fruitless journey to get so much as a scoff out of Ghost wasn't even the point anymore. Sure, to be met with anything other than stubborn apathy would be a breath of fresh air, not to mention satisfying after so long of any and all jokes, swipes, and thinly veiled innuendo being shut down with little remorse would be a delight. But now? [Name] just wanted something to distract himself from the cold that clung to his skin.

So, as always, to Ghost's dismay, he gives it another go.

Dispite himself, another sigh is huffed out. He glances over to Ghost, the sight of something other than his reticle feeling foreign.

"So..." He starts, situating his sights back to his scope. "You got a girlfriend or anything?"

He found the idea a little funny. The image of this big, stoic man holding hands or otherwise being sweet on some pretty little lady.

There's a stretch of silence, expectantly so, and [Name]'s already racking his brain for something-- anything, to say next.

"No."

The low rumble of Ghost's voice takes him by surprise, but it'd be foolish to dwell on it long. An answer's an answer.

"Figured," [Name] mutters out, adjusting the grip on his gun, rolling out shoulders in an attempt to ease the discomfort that's begun to festerbetweenhia shoulder blades. "Does that mean you're up for grabs then?"

Only the whistle of wind responds this time.

"I'll take that as a maybe." He might as well have been aimlessly talking to himself. Hell, that would've been more entertaining than this.

"Y'know, I'm sure deep down you do think I'm funny." Told you; relentless. Still, despite the smile hidden behind his mask and the slightly forced crinkle in his eye, [Name] couldn't quite hide the irritation growing thick in his own throat.

"I think you're a distraction," Ghost is swift to correct, his balaclava doing little to hide the annoyance in his tone. "A liability if you're not careful, so do shut up."

[Name] can't help but shake his head, a sharp huff pulling from his throat. Sure Ghost was his superior, and by no means were they supposed to be all buddy-buddy with one another. But jesus fucking christ, would it hurt to crack smile. Hell, even Price offers a pitty laugh on the rare occasion.

"It wouldn't kill you to have some damn fun one in a while." The words leave his mouth before his can think better of it, tounge sharp.

"It might," Ghost is quick to retort with just as much bite. For the first time since they settled down, his eyes leave the spotter, sending a well received warning glare [Name]'s way. "Give it a rest, yeah?"

Be it the weather, the job, a wave of bravery, or simply just [Name]'s long overdue annoyance reaching its peak, he, in fact, does not give it a rest.

"It's like you're scared of saying something interesting for once."

"Maybe I'll let you chew on some lead to shut you up. That interesting enough?"

"Christ."

Every stretch on silence is near unbearable. It feels like even the wind still in these moments. [Name] would prefer a constant flood of berating and hardly enjoyable banter from Ghost far more than this.

The tension of the moment breifly lingers before it disapates just as swiftly as it had arrived, the tension in [Name]'s chest easing. He lets out a soft breath, his grip adjusts, his elbows sink furth into the snow.

"Well-" Ghost interjects with gruff sigh, "-Soap told me you like jokes."

"Did he, now?"

"Where do generals keep their armies?"

"Up their sleevies."

"God dammit, Ghost."

[Name] purses his lips, effectively splitting it down the center, the heat from the sting made all the worse by the every present chill. He had more pressing matters to worry about. "Why do snipers aim with one eye closed?"

"Sergeant."

"Humor me-- just this once, and I swear I'll shut up for the rest of the night." An obvious lie. However, Ghost doesn't try to correct it. "...Why do snipers aim with one eye closed?"

"...Why?"

"If they closed both, they wouldn't be able to see."

Yet another discontent sigh leaves Ghost's mouth. But, [Name] could've sworn he almost heard a smile forcing its way onto Ghost's face as he spoke. "Now are you done?"

[Name]s response isn't instantaneous. His head lifts from the small of the stock, gaze leaving the scope and finding Ghost beside him.

Ghost was still, near statuesque if it weren't for the soft puffs of breath that seeped through the thick knit of his mask. [Name] knew Ghost liked being behind the trigger more than anything, but he was sure Ghost's ego swelled, even if just a tad, over being the one chosen to spot instead.

Only when Ghost's eyes meet [Name]'s does he retreat back to his scope. Still, he let's his stiff face pull into a grin. "Say whatever you want, but I think I am starting to get to you, Lieutenant."

"Oh, piss off." This time, he hears Ghost shift around in place, a tired groan accompaning the shifting of snow beneath him. "Just quiet down before I show you how to put that mouth of yours to good use for once."

"Awe, c'mon now, you-- huh?"

[heich0e]

keigo convinces you to quit your job less than a year into your relationship.

the pay is terrible anyway, and it isn't even a position in the field you'd gone to school to study (not that you'd graduated, but you did always plan on going back some day, if you could.)

but the problem is that your schedule is always the complete opposite of his. you always have to sleep at night (early to bed, early to rise) so that you can wake up at the crack of dawn each morning and commute to your shabby little office on the other side of town. keigo often doesn't get home from patrol until the sun is coming up, meaning that your alarm is set to be ringing just a few moments after his head hits the pillow next to yours--stealing you, and your warmth, and the soft skin of your thighs away from him under the blankets.

it feels like he never gets to see you. never gets to hold you. like you're never there. (you are, but that's not what it feels like to him.)

the first time he makes the suggestion, you think he's joking and you laugh.

keigo's eyes crinkle at the corners as he watches you giggle, his head resting atop your lap on the sofa on a rare evening that finds the two of you both home and snuggled up together in his living room--your living room now too, since you'd finally broken the lease on your apartment that had practically gone uninhabited since you and keigo started seeing each other. he watches you laugh like it's his favourite movie; rapt by every moment of your mirth.

"what's so funny, baby?"

you blink, your laughter petering out slowly like a leaky tap being turned closed.

"i can't quit my job, kei," you whisper, half incredulous and half scandalized at the notion, once you realize he's not making the suggestion in jest.

"why not?" he pouts, rolling onto his side where he rests on your lap and burrowing his face into your sweatshirt over your abdomen.

"it's... my job," you reply dumbly, unsure of how better to defend your point. your fingers thread absentmindedly through his golden hair as he nuzzles further into your tummy.

"you don't need a job," he counters, though the words are muffled. "especially not that one. they're awful to you."

he's not wrong, necessarily. your company is not known for being particularly kind to its employees, nor even for being a desirable place to work. but the salary was mostly liveable and they'd been willing to take you on even with only half a degree under your belt, and you've never taken that for granted.

"of course I need a job," you pinch at keigo's cheek gently, and he turns his face up towards you. his eyes, usually so soft and warm, look pained.

"for what?" he asks, his tone wounded. "what do you need that i can't give you?"

your chest tightens as you take in his sad expression. the jut of his lip, the disappointed crease of his brow.

"i... don't want to be a burden to you, keigo."

something in his gaze shifts, just for a moment. it almost looks like anger, but it's gone too quick to sting--a flame snuffed out before it has the chance to burn you.

keigo's wings twitch beneath him, the feathers bristling.

slowly, he pulls himself upright until he's on his knees beside you on the sofa.

he peers down at you, cupping your cheeks in his large, soft hands.

"you could never,"--he leans down towards you, filling up your field of vision until there's nothing left but him--"ever,"--he uses his hold on your cheeks to keep your your gazes locked, noses brushing gently--"be a burden to me."

keigo's breath is hot on your lips, the pressure of his touch firm, his very nearness intoxicating.

"what's the point of all of this,"--he doesn't pull away to gesture, or even break your gaze, but you know even without any sort of indicator what he's talking about: his apartment, his lifestyle, his status, his wealth--"if i can't share it with you?"

your stomach flips at how desperately he says the words.

"just..." his wispy lashes flutter as he blinks slowly, his tawny honey-hued eyes disappearing for a few torturous moments before meeting yours again. "think about it, yeah? promise?"

you feel yourself nodding, and his grip on your cheeks eases as he grins triumphantly.

keigo kisses you, slow and deep and sweet, maneuvering you onto your back on the sofa underneath him before you can even process it.

"say you promise," he breathes into your open mouth, his tongue chasing in after his words.

you hum, a dizzy, fond sound.

"i promise," you murmur against his eager lips.

he pulls away, his hands slipping up under the hem of your sweatshirt--the Pro-Hero Hawks sweatshirt he loves to see you wear so much--until it rucks up over his wrists as his touch continues to climb.

he smiles again--softer this time, more tranquil--his golden curls a backlit halo around his handsome face as he peers down at you sprawled across the sofa beneath him.

he sighs happily.

"good."

[lipeg]

Bad Jaune had left Ever Alter. He had barely taken the first step in Remmant. He was old again.

Jaune: I should have killed that girl

Weiss was jumping for joy in her mind.

Yang: Look on the bright side—

Yang's sentence was interrupted as Jaune armor crumbled to dust.

Underneath the armor.

Jaune was wearing a black shirt that seemed to be clinging to his body, showing off his muscle very good work.

His arms were strong and huge, full of scars.

Jaune looked at team RWBY.

Weiss had her mouth open and was drooling as blood spurted from her nose.

Blake's face turned red.

Ruby just blinked.

Yang: You are now Dilf! A, your sword shining

Yang pointed to Jaune's sword that had fallen to the ground.

Jaune turned to see that his weapon was indeed emitting a strong glow.

His eyes widened for an instant.

He grabbed his weapon and said something very low.

Jaune: Calm down

All except Blake, who was confused by what Jaune had said.

His weapon stopped glowing, Jaune sighed.

Jaune stood, holding the weapon in his left hand. He wasn't holding his weapon by the hilt, he was holding it by the sheath.

Because he didn't have the accessory to hold his weapon.

Ruby: What happened to your armor?

Jaune: Ruby, that armor should have been destroyed a long time ago

Ruby: ?

Jaune: That armor was rubbish, I wish I had gotten rid of it long ago and replaced it with a new one.

Yang: So.... Why didn't you do it?

Jaune: I was cursed

Ruby: By whom?

Jaune: A cursed creature that I should have killed at the first opportunity. That thing still laughs! Just remembering it makes me angry

His eyes began to glow for a moment.

Weiss: What was the curse

Jaune calmed down.

Jaune: I could never take off my armor. If my armor was destroyed, I would die instantly. Also, the armor would lose its resistance with every hit I took

Blake: But your armor is still quite good

Jaune: It's because of my aura

RWBY: What?

Jaune: It is serious? I was in that place for years, do you think I had no training?

RWBY:.... 😶

Jaune: I spent most of my youth training to improve my fighting skills. This allowed me to develop my skills and to evolve my Semblante

Yang: Then why were you so easy to defeat?

Jaune: Curses also diminish my skills a little

Weiss: Wait a minute. You said your armor didn't break because of your aura right?

Jaune: Yeah

Weiss: But that should be impossible. And who was this creature that cursed you, and why did he or she do it?

Jaune: Why didn't I sleep with her

...

...

Yang: She was sexy?

Blake: YANG!

Yang: There must be a reason he doesn't want to have sex

Weiss: Let's get back to the main topic. Who is this woman

Jaune: None of you know her, her name is not found in any fairy tale

Ruby: So who is she, where did you find her

Jaune: She called herself Merlin. I found her while exploring the underground of that place

Weiss: Does that place have a underground?

Jaune: Yes, I would say or I could say that the underground is better than the surface. I had a good time down there and discovered and learned some really interesting things there.

Yang: Come on, does it really matter if she was sexy or not?

Blake: YANG!

Yang: THAT!?

Jaune: *sigh* Yes, Yang, she was sexy

Yang: So why didn't you sleep with her?

Jaune: Why didn't I want

Yang: You are a shame

Jaune: Have you ever looked in the mirror?

Yang: It is clear! I am wonderful, there is no one like me

Jaune started laughing.

Yang: I told the funny guy

Jaune: Yes, in that one I saw the most beautiful women there are

Yang: I doubt

Jaune pulled his scroll out of his pocket.

Jaune: So see

Team RWBY was impressed.

Blake looked at Yang.

Yang looked at Blake.

The two of them were nothing compared to this woman.

Jaune put his scroll in his pocket.

Jaune: Let's go before we get caught in a sandstorm

Ruby and Yang were crying in their uncle's arms.

Weiss was reunited with her family.

Jaune...

Ren:...

Nora:...

Ren:...

Nora:...

Ren:...

Nora:...

Ren:...

Nora:...

Jaune: You're not going to say anything?

Nora: What do you want us to say!?

Ren: Nora is right, we…… We don't expect you like this

Jaune: Like this?

Nora: You look taller!

Jaune: I'm still 180

Nora: You've become a wall of muscles!

Jaune: I'm not even that muscular

Nora: That beard and that ponytail and... That's Pyrrha's

Nora pointed to the piece of cloth in his hair.

Jaune: * Sigh * Yes, that's what was left of her, I couldn't save the rest. I went through hell on earth

Nora and Ren looked at their former leader and saw a man breaking.

Nora: Jaune, can I take a picture of you?

Jaune: Can

When Jaune crossed his arms, Nora ran very quickly and lifted his shirt.

Jaune had a well-defined six-pack and a few scars, but there was one that stood out.

Four horizontal claw marks on the abdomen.

Nora took the photo very quickly before Jaune could do anything.

Jaune looked at Ren.

Ren raised his shoulders and then lowered them because he didn't understand anything.

Jaune: Nora who did you send this photo to?

With a smile on her face, Nora showed her scroll.

His eyes widened a little.

Saphron Cotta-Arc

Single mothers of Atlas

[irishmammonagenda]

Types of Dogs I Think The Obey Me Brothers Would Have

Disclaimer: i know nothing about dog breeds other than my dog is better than every other dog in the world because i said so. this is all obviously my opinion because im 100% not holding off looking at my inbox for requests rn 😰

(wee emo anon + réalta and then the other random one ilysm for not doxing me fir being atleast a month late and not having even started with your reqs yet🙏🙏🙏)

post dividers by @saradika-graphics, images of the brothers below the divider are from amias on pinterest + all animal photos found on pinterest

LUCIFER

Irish Wolfhound

He already has a dog who he obviously loves very much (Cerberus) who is a hellhound, so he thought to himself that another hound would be a good idea since Cerberus gets lonely sometimes :(

He calls the dog 'Tuireann' because he thinks he's fucking funny.

You know that stereotype of the dad not wanting the dog but the dad ends up loving the dog like its his own child or something?

If you do know, then you know Lucifer.

Tuireann gets on very well with Cerberus. Lucifer makes a commitment to taking breaks more often and taking both out on walks, which terrifies his brothers, but has made Diavolo very happy with him. (Yay Lucifer taking care of himself for once!)

He cuddles up to both of them more often. Both dogs are very happy.

Will kill for his dogs btw :)

Laughed one time when Tuireann saw Solomon as a threat.

MAMMON

Golden Retriever

Someone told him he could win 'gold' at a casino. So he gambled, ended up winning (for once) and got his 'gold'.

This man was almost outraged when the 'gold' in question was a golden retriever puppy.

He was about to say something in outrage, then the witch plopped the little guy down into his arms and her little nose started sniffing at his exposed collarbone. He closed his open, outraged mouth and pet the little thing, blinking back small tears because it was so cute.

Mammon would like to argue that this did not happen but it did. The witch in question has proof and has sent Lucifer the video in apology for trying to summon him. Said witch is now a good acquaintance of Lucifer's, and has not been punished brutally. She has learnt her lesson and will not attempt to make a pact with the Avatar of Pride ever again. *Unlike Solomon. That bastard never learns.)

Mammon probably calls the dog something like 'Bailey'

He was originally going to call her 'Goldie' but then remembered that was his credit card's name. So he thought about the name 'Retrievie' but even to him that sounded fucking stupid.

He loves this dog so much and buys her so much dog toys and treats.

Gets his crows to play with her.

Mammon basically is a Golden Retriever if you think about it. (A Golden Retriever with mental issues that thinks its an awesome scary dragon or something, but a golden retriever none-the-less.)

He buys Bailey a bed but she literally only sleeps on him or on his bed.

When he lets her out into the garden while he's busy he always has atleast 2 crows watching her/playing with her.

He tries to train her to dig for buried treasure. Instructions unclear, they both dug up the whole back garden. He now has to fix the garden.

They say that a 'Dog is a Man's Best Friend', but this dog is Mammon's whole life.

There is dog hair all over this man. Atleast he's not an emo and doesn't wear all black.

Hair rollers are a must.

He cries when they're separated for more than a day in case you were wondering.

LEVIATHAN

Kokoni

Lucifer gave him it in an attempt to get Levi to touch grass once in a while.

At first Levi was scared of the dog, then he decided she was cute. Watches an anime about a dog and realises he should be a responsible owner and take her out on walks!

Leviathan has now touched grass. I repeat, Leviathan has now touched grass.

Calls her 'Ruri' you know he would.

He almost called her Henry 3.0

He has to make sure Henry 2.0 is unreachable to Ruri. He's scared Ruri might eat Henry 2.0

He's still kind of scared of Ruri but loves her.

Since getting Ruri he's actually been remembering to take care of himself. As a reward, once a month for a day or two, Lucifer will take over taking care of Ruri so Levi can have one of his gaming marathons uninterrupted.

Levi plays the Devildom equivalent to pokemon go while walking Ruri

Levi rants to Ruri about the anime or manga he's currently obessed with while playing with her with some chew toy or something.

She lays beside him in his bathtub sometimes and lays her head on his lap while he watches anime.

Lucifer is very happy with this outcome. So is Levi.

SATAN

Rottweiler

He originally saw something in some article or whatever he read about Rottweilers being aggressive, possibly saying that they weren't a 'good' dog breed.

Satan knows what its like to be labelled as aggressive and unsafe, so he has sort of a soft spot for 'bad' dog breeds.

So one day, he's talking to one of his various acquaintances, and for whatever reason, they visit an animal shelter.

Satan hears another couple say they wouldn't get a dog because 'isn't that breed really aggressive?' and he feels sad, he's not mad at the couple, it's a reasonable concern, but poor dog :(.

He approaches that worker a couple of minutes after his acquaintance leaves and asks them about the rottweiler.

Long story short he walks out with it on a leash, standard food, and a bowl courtesy of the shelter.

Calls the dog 'Julie' because he had just finished pirating a preformance of Romeo and Juliet. (which he enjoyed criticising, but he liked the name Juliet and also Belphie likes the band Julie so)

He makes sure to take the time and effort to socialise Julie with cats because this is Satan we're talking about for fuck's sake.

He takes Julie on walks before stopping at a dog-friendly café in the Devildom.

Julie also sleeps on Satan's lap when she's tired and he's reading.

Satan gets a lot more into audiobooks after he adopts Julie so he can still technically 'read' without having to ignore his new pooch.

Will write several books on why she's the best girl ever, and will make you read them.

ASMODEUS

Westie

A fan gifted him a dog for his birthday for some reason. At first he accepted the gift and devised a plan to give the dog away but the shelter was closed over the weekend, so he elected to let the dog stay with him until then.

Ends up getting attached. This is his baby now.

Calls her 'Angel' because he thinks she's an angel. She also kind of reminds him of Luke so.

This little rat is all over his Devilgram.

So much so there are fanclubs for her now.

This little rat has fanclubs.

Angel gets walked everyday. Asmo loves the excerise and says its done wonders for his skin.

He doesn't like when she digs, but oh well.

Loves grooming her.

Cuddles galore.

He trains her how to do tricks.

His excitable nature really goes well with hers, and they really bond.

The fan that gave her to him is now one of his friends.

He loves that rat.

BEELZEBUB

Bernese Mountain Dog

Two words. 'Gentle Giant'

He probably names her something like 'Bernie'

Bernese Mountain Dogs are massive, I feel like Beel would be the type of guy who loves big dogs. Given how big this Demon is, I feel like he'd be scared of hurting a smaller dog. He probably got an already adult rescue from a shelter.

It was one of those cliche things, meeting eyes with this big sad dog in a cage and Beel just knowing, "This is my baby."

Bernese Mountain Dogs DROOL, and I feel like Beel wouldn't mind that seeing as he is the Avatar of Gluttony.

Speaking of being the Avatar of Gluttony, Beel's dog 100% gives him puppy eyes while he's sitting at the table eating, and what does Beel do? He sneaks his dog food under the table.

Given his workout schedule this doggo gets atleast one walk a day. ATLEAST.

Beel one hundred percent cuddles up with that dog. You thought he had a mental bond with Belphie? Well that man has a mental connection of that caliber with his dog.

He is covered in dog hair but he sees that as making him part of the pact with Bernie so he couldn't care less. (He does clean up shed hair with a roller when going out though)

Bernie might've been a rescue and maybe could've lived a hard life before Beel adopted her, but Beel loves her like she's his own child that is his BABY.

BELPHEGOR

Shiba Inu

It reminded him of Beel, okay??!

Normally Belphie can't be bothered with animals, but when he saw the ad saying 'FOR SALE: NEEDS BETTER HOME' and saw that closed eye Beel smile his grinchy little heart grew three sizes that day.

He adopts the dog.

He calls her something like, 'Bella'

No thats not because it sounds like Beel. Piss off.

Bella isn't too high maintenence and actually does well for Belphie's productivity.

The seventh born actually goes on regular (though albeit) short walks with Bella.

Beel bonds with the dog as well and is very happy to take her on his morning runs with him.

Bella is affectionate but fucking stubborn. (Just like Belphie if you think about it)

Sometimes while cuddling (which only happen on Bella's terms by the way), she will not get off of Belphie, no matter how much Belphie asks. (Not that he minds, its an extra excuse to be lazy)

The cuddling in question is literally just Bella laying on top of Belphie like she's some sort of cat.

Bella is more of a brat than Belphie and thats saying something. The man spoils her.

Finally, a being (other than you and Beel) that understands him.

as you can tell I love big dogs and think small dogs are little rats. (said affectionately)

all of these dogs are female btw bc i got humped by my cousins dog recently and i wish that pain on no one. not even my worst enemy (which is solomon btw)

by the way unhinged anon im still waiting for you to go through with that threat 🤨🤨

[hogwartslegacyreactions2]

Can I have a reaction to Hogwarts Legacy students and professors to a female hufflepuff MC who owns a chinchilla

They have the softest fur on the planet

Only eat hay and special pellets ( no fruit or veggies in their diet) they can have certain dried herds and flowers though

Sorry about all the chin facts I own one

My little girl is all white with dark grey ears and some grey on her face and base of her tail with the pinkest noise

Please and thank you

A/N: I've had the honor of petting one once, they are the softest creature in the world ❤️ Thank you for the reference photo ❤️❤️

HLC REACT TO F!MC HAVING A CHINCHILLA

SEBASTIAN SALLOW: "What in Merlin's name- no, forget Merlin, what in the world is that??" He squints and looks real close at it. Gets right up in the floofy rodent's face. So close that the chinchilla sniffs his nose back. He huffs and gives a little smirk. "Adorable...just like its owner." He throws a cheeky wink at MC.

OMINIS GAUNT: He trusts MC wouldn't put anything terrible in his hand when he was asked to hold it out. He feels the light weight of a small soft creature on his palm. He brings his free hand up to lightly pet it and he smiles. "It's quite soft, MC. Is this another one of your beasts?" He doesn't give the chinchilla back for quite some time, they even take a nap together.

ANNE SALLOW: "I've never seen anything like it!" She gazes in amazement and holds out a treat MC gave her to give to it. She's very curious about the chinchilla; where it came from, how long has MC had it, etc. She hopes MC brings it with her every time she visits.

IMELDA REYES: "Is that a rat in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" MC's chinchilla was indeed hanging out in her pocket. She tells the same joke every time MC is around in the hope she'll get to see the baby. She doesn't lose her mind over its cuteness but she wants to pet it every time it's around.

NATSAI ONAI: She sneaks extra snacks for the chinchilla all the time. She also lets it sleep in her robe if MC is busy. She loves pet sitting. She's also fascinated by the chinchillas tiny hands, they can grab things??? Like a people??? Weird.

GARRETH WEASLEY: He's never seen fur like what the chinchilla has. He's very curious if it has any unique properties. Don't worry, he would dare take a pair of scissors to such a precious creature, but when MC is cleaning its cage, will she spare a few furballs?

LEANDER PREWETT: He struggles to maintain his composer when MC is carrying around the little fluff ball all curled up in her arm. It's. Too. Cute. It's unfair how cute it is! When MC lets him hold it for the first time, he cries. He's not allergic, his eyes are sweating. Stop pointing it out.

AMIT THAKKAR: His only hang up with the chinchilla is that it chews on everything. All of his books have teeth marks on them from the chinchilla sneaking a nibble when no one was looking. Nevermind his quills, parchment, shoes, and even his wand. Is nothing sacred?? He's gained the habit of watching it like a hawk when MC brings it around.

EVERETT CLOPTON: "Hehehehe, Levioso." Whoosh the chinchilla is in the air and very confused. Any retaliation from MC is worth it. It's funny watching the little chinchilla get so confused by suddenly leaving the ground.

POPPY SWEETING: She has to cover her mouth to muffle the squee that escapes her as to not draw attention, but she is losing her mind. The chinchilla is the absolute cutest thing she has ever seen and that is saying a lot. She steals the chinchilly away every chance she gets, straight up runs off. Her chinchilla now, bish.

~~~

ELEAZAR FIG: He doesn't mind pet sitting when MC is out and about for extended periods of time. He and the chinchilla get along quite well. However, when he himself gets buried in work sometimes he loses track and has to go digging through his office to find where the chinchilla scampered off to.

MATILDA WEASLEY: "As long as you follow the pet guidelines set by the school, your unique pet is welcome. That said, this is quite the curious creature. How did you acquire this?" She studies the chinchilla and gets it a little pat.

CHIYO KOGAWA: "Cute." Is all she says about it. She's not a big pet person. Nothing personal.

AESOP SHARP: His initial reaction is just a dismissive "hmm" when MC shows it off, but later on, if the chinchilla escapes, it finds its way to the dungeons and into his classroom where it sits in his lap and he mindlessly strokes its soft fur. It's very therapeutic. Would want to pet again.

ABRAHAM RONEN: "A chinchilla! Holy guacamole those are rare in these parts. Where did you get it?" He examines the chinchilla closely and rubs its ear.

MIRABEL GARLICK: "Oh my, aren't you just the most darling thing I've seen!" She excitably comes over the chinchilla and bounces in place when she gets to pet it. "Oh! It's so impossibly soft!" She orders seeds of plants native to Western South America and grows a few just for MC's pet.

MUDIWA ONAI: "Well, this is one unique creature. I see you two have a very special bond." She delights seeing the chinchilla.

BAI HOWIN: She reminds MC to keep plenty of fine dust available for their pet to roll in. "Scotland gets a lot of precipitation and moisture isn't good for their coats. Keep them dry and healthy." She hands the little chinchilla a pellet.

DINAH HECAT: She smiles as she pets it. "I had a chinchilla when I was little. Stole it from a merchant who wasn't too good at taking care of his merchandise. Nursed him back to health. Had him for twelve long years. Good years..." She tears up a little, but makes no fuss of it.

CUTHBERT BINNS: He doesn't really notice. Thinks the chinchilla is an extra small puffskien or something.

SATYAVATI SHAH: "No thank you, I do not wish to pet your chinchilla. Please finish your star charts." Doesn't even look up from her work.

PHINEAS NIGELLUS BLACK: "Ew, take your fat squirrel and get out of my way. I have important business to attend." He walks away with his nose in the air.

[wheels-of-despair]

The Long Con Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman brings Eddie a thoughtful gift... but there are some springs attached. Contains: A can of pretzels, a practical joke, a Wayne cameo. Words: 900ish

"Heads up!"

You tossed a can of pretzels toward Eddie when you stepped into his room. Instead of catching them, he ducked, and they fell into the gap between his bed and the wall. The Black Hole. Where things go to die.

He tossed his magazine to the side and rolled over, head disappearing into the abyss as he dug for the pretzels. He held the can up triumphantly when he found it, then twisted his body back around to lie on his back. He placed the pretzel can on his stomach and twisted the label to face him.

"Name brand? Is it my birthday?"

"Buy one, get one free at the grocery store. Mom got one for me and one for you," you explained, dropping onto the bed to lie on your back beside him. "Well, one for you at each of your dwellings, more like."

"That was nice of her," he smiled, watching the can rise and fall on his stomach with each breath.

"She's a very nice lady. Where do you think I get it from?"

"HA!"

You reached over and smacked the can off of him, and he turned his head toward you with a pout.

"Watch it, Munson. You couldn't handle my mean side."

"You mean this is ni--" A pillow found its way to his face, muffling the mistake he was about to make. You flipped over and swung a leg over him, straddling him for pillow-holding leverage. His hands tickled your sides in retaliation, and somehow, by the time the struggle was over, he was on top of you on his bedroom floor and your sides were aching from laughter.

That's alright, Munson. This is a long con.

Eddie ate his fancy name-brand pretzels slower than the massive value-sized bags he usually devoured by the pound. Personally, you couldn't taste much of a difference. It was all dry and salty to you.

But Eddie quite enjoyed them.

And you quite enjoyed planning the next step of your evil plan.

They really were on sale. Your mom really had bought them for him. But you'd been looking through a catalog of creative gifts the day she brought them home, and it had given you… ideas.

Every time he left his bedroom in the week that followed, you checked his pretzel progress.

When he got down to about a fifth of the can, you decided to make your move.

You waited until the phone rang. You were enjoying a lazy afternoon together; laying around and listening to music and maybe making out a little, sure to keep both volumes down while Wayne slept in the living room. Eddie rolled out of bed with a groan and went to answer the phone.

You darted toward your bag as soon as he stepped into the hallway, grabbing the twin to his treasured pretzel can and swapping it with the one on his bedside table.

You shoved his can into the bottom of your bag and returned to the bed, trying to remember how you'd been lying when he left.

"Telemarketer," he grumbled when he stepped back into the room. He closed the door quietly and reclaimed his place in bed, lying on his side next to you. "Now, where were we?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and you laughed.

"Right about…" you inched closer and kissed the tip of his nose, "here."

The events that followed made you forget about your master plan for a while.

Until the phone rang at your house that night, while you were making dinner.

"Hello?" you answered, cradling the phone on your shoulder while you stirred a pot of noodles.

"I'll get you for this."

"Who's calling, please?" you asked with a wicked grin, knowing exactly who was calling and why.

"You are so not funny."

You heard laughter in the background. Is that… Wayne? You'd never heard Eddie's uncle laugh like that before.

"Really? 'Cause it kinda sounds like I am."

Eddie growls, and you cover your mouth so a giggle doesn't escape.

"When did you do it?"

"When did I do what?" you asked innocently.

"When did you rig it."

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

It's getting harder and harder to keep the laughter out of your voice.

"I nearly pissed myself!"

That's when you cracked.

You'd found a spring in a pile of stuff you'd cleaned out of the garage, sewed a piece of fabric around it, and attached a tiny plush teddy bear to the end. You shoved it down your matching pretzel can, waited until the time was right, and made the swap. Eddie had just discovered his custom-made snake-in-a-can prank. The entire project cost you about $1. It was worth every penny.

You heard Wayne's laughter get louder, too.

"I did not!" Eddie insisted.

"Did not what?" you asked.

"He screamed like a girl!" Wayne howled in the background.

"Did not!"

You roared with laughter.

When you finally composed yourself, Eddie was waiting patiently.

"You know it's on, right? I'm gonna get you back for this." You can hear the smile in his voice cutting through his angry façade.

"I'd expect nothing less, Munson."

"See you in the morning?"

"See you in the morning," you confirmed. "I'll bring snacks."

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: The group investigates the case of a maniacal ghost inhabiting a long abandoned Texas farmhouse known as `Hell House'. They believe the ghost is the spirit of a deceased depression-era farmer who killed his family, but they soon realise it is something far more powerful.

Warnings: Cannon violence, mentions of suicide and sh within the cannon story, a guy being a little icky.

Credit: While I’ve had the idea for a certain part of this story for a while i’m still going to give credit to @arjwrites for it because she wrote something pretty darn similar, even more than just pretty darn so yes check their work out and stuff.

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred

Word Count: 11,341

Hell House

(Masterlist, Previous Ch, Next Ch, Outfit Board)

The Impala cruises down the interstate, yellows, and browns passing by as the hot Texas sun beams through the opened windows. Hair blowing back in the wind and tickling my skin, my sunglasses perched on my nose as I nod along to the Blue Öyster Cult song that played quietly on the radio. If Sam wasn’t peacefully sleeping, head leaning far back against his seat and mouth hanging open I’d ask Dean to make the song louder—it was a really good song though I prefer (Don’t Fear) The Reaper over Fire of Unknown Origin any day.

Dean stretches an arm back, leaning over the seat to grab hold of a stray plastic spoon left on the seat beside me. He places the spoon in Sam’s open mouth. He chuckles to himself as he thumbs through his pocket for his phone, flipping it open and taking a photo. I scuff and roll my eyes at the sight as my hand finds its way into my bag where I pull out my digital camera, “Do a pose,” I whisper to Dean. He checks the empty road in front of him, slowing the car significantly before half turning and spilling widely with a thumbs up, I try not to laugh as I take the picture. I nod to him in confirmation that I got it, he puts his attention back on the road, putting more pressure on the gas pedal, glimpsing at Sam to make sure he’s still asleep before his fingers find the knob on the radio and turn the music all the way up. “Fire of unknown origins…took my baby away!” he sings loudly.

Sam jerks awake, arms flailing around in panic as he spits out the spoon. Dean air drums along to the song, fingers hitting the steering wheel, grinning as Sam wipes his mouth of drool. He turns down the music, an unamused look on his face, “Ha ha, very funny.”

Dean chuckles, “Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kinda gotta make your own.”

“Man we’re not kids anymore, Dean,” he complains, “We’re not going to start that crap up again.”

“Start what up?” Dean asks, feigning innocence.

“That prank stuff. It’s stupid, and it always escalates,” he clarifies, very annoyed with the little prank. But he was right, it did always escalate. I have heard many stories of the things they did and they were not pretty. As long as I didn’t get caught in the crossfire, they could go at it all they wanted, “But you’re never too old to do stupid things,” I add.

“Aw, what’s the matter Sammy, scared you’re going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?” Dean teases, grinning like a madman.

“Alright, just remember you started it,” Sam warns, smirking right back.

“Bring it on, baldy,” he taunted.

“Ok, but don’t make him bald again, that would be so tragic. Every guy with pretty hair gets a buzz cut and it’s like an angel lost its wings, it’s horrible,” I butt in.

“That’s the point,” Dean chuckles, probably reminiscing on the first time he did it to Sam and how much worse it would be now as an adult than when he was a kid. “Anyways where are we?” Sam asks, apparently not worried about the danger surrounding his hair.

“A few hours outside of Richardson,” he answers, “Gimme the lowdown again?”

Sam pulls out the file he created, printed papers neatly held in a manila folder, “Alright, about a month or two ago this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house.”

“Haunted by what?” Dean asks.

“Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit,” he answers. I sigh, these kinds of spirits made for an incredibly annoying job, “Why are they always misogynistic? Literally, go kill anyone else! Or, spice it up and kill guys too.”

“Take that up with the spirit,” Dean says.

“Yeah, no thanks, I like living,” I retort with a smirk.

“Well, legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters,” Sam continues, “Anyway this group of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar.”

“Anybody ID the corpse?” Dean asks, also getting back on track.

“Well, that’s the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains,” Sam elaborates.

“Do you think they were?” I question, it wouldn’t be the first time kids lied about this sort of thing as a prank or for attention and coverage, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But, on the other hand, if you're looking for something to happen in a known haunted location there’s a good chance you’ll get something. “Maybe, but I read a couple of the kid's first-hand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere,” he answers.

“They made the papers?” I ask, taken aback a little. Though it made sense for the case to likely make the papers, it would be surprising for accounts like that to be taken in main news articles, it’d be seen as a waste of time. “No,” Sam responds without making a sign he would elaborate.

“Where’d you read these accounts?” Dean pushes. Sam smiles, his cheeks just turning the slightest shade of pink, “Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas. So, um, last night, I surfed some local…” he drags before getting the rest out quickly, “paranormal websites. And I found one.”

I give him a questioning look, it’s hard to take those sites seriously, especially when it's hard to weed out the crazies from real accounts. But even more than that, in the case such sites are speaking the truth, then it was putting said people in danger they wouldn’t know how to solve, which meant a whole lot of stubborn and ignorant people. “And what’s it called?” Dean asks, smirking as if he knew where this would lead.

“HellHoundsLair.com,” Sam almost mumbles, obviously knowing how illegitimate and silly it sounds.

“Lemme guess, streaming live out of Mom’s basement,” Dean muses, and like any sane person I can’t help the laugh that escapes my chest. Sam, somehow, manages to just grin, “Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn’t know a ghost if it bit ‘em in the persqueeter,” Dean adds.

“What’s a persqueeter?” I ask, the word slow and clumsy on my tongue. My eyes squint slightly as I try to figure it out. “It’s a—“ Sam cuts him off, “That’s not important right now,” he starts and I frown at not getting my answer, “Look. We let Dad take off. Which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don’t know where the hell he is, so in the meantime we gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There’s no harm checking this thing out.”

“Alright,” Dean gives in, “So where do we find these kids?”

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this.”

Guy 1: “It was the scariest thing I ever saw in my life, I swear to God.”

Guy 2: “From the moment we walked in, the walls were painted black.”

Guy 1: “Red.”

Girl: “I think it was blood.”

Guy 1: “All these freaky symbols.”

Guy 2: “Crosses and stars and…”

Guy 1: “Pentagons.”

Guy 2: “Pentacostals.”

Girl: “Whatever I had my eyes closed the whole time.”

Guy 1: “But I can damn sure tell you this much. No matter what anybody else says…”

Girl: “That poor girl.”

Guy 2: “With the black…”

Guy 1: “Blonde…”

Girl: “Red hair, just hanging there.”

Guy 1: “Kicking!”

Guy 2: “Without even moving!”

Girl: “She was real.”

Guy 1: “One hundred percent.”

Guy 2: “And kinda hot. Well, you know, in a dead sort of way.”

“Okay!” I exclaim, “And there’s the necrophilia!”

“And…how’d you find out about this place anyway?” Sam asks.

“Craig.”

“Craig.”

“Craig took us.”

I prop my sunglasses on top of my head, pushing some of my hair back from my face, as we walk into the record shop ‘Craig’ works. Considering each person's answer, and how they hardly matched up, I couldn’t even fathom what Craig would tell us. But in all fairness their responses, while…odd, did make sense considering there are about eight things that affect the observation of an eyewitness.

The bell above the door once more as it closes behind us. Whether Craig would be helpful didn’t take away from the beauty of this record shop, the stands filled to the brim with all sorts of vinyls neatly sorted into separate genres. “Fellas,” a spiky-haired brunette greets from behind the counter, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?” Sam asks as we move closer. “I am,” he confirms.

“Well, we’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News,” Dean begins, “I’m Dean, this is Sam and Y/N.”

“No way. Well, I’m a writer too. I write for my school’s lit magazine,” Craig informs.

“Well, good for you Morrissey,” Dean remarks a little rudely. I ignore his comment, hoping it won’t discourage him from speaking with us, “So, we’re writing an article on local hauntings and we heard you would be someone to talk to.”

“‘You mean the Hell House?” he asks.

“That’s the one,” Dean answers.

“I didn’t think there was anything to the story,” he admits and frankly he has a right to be suspicious. “Why don’t you tell us the story?” Sam suggests.

“Well, supposedly back in the ‘30s this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn’t have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end,”

“How?” Sam pushes.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quickly, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung ‘em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished he turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside,” he explains.

“Where’d you hear all this?” Dean asks the logical question.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don’t know where she heard it,” he answers, his expression dropping a little, “Ya gotta realize, I–I didn’t believe this for a second.”

“But now you do,” Sam finishes, giving him an understanding nod.

“I don’t know what the hell to think, man. You guys, I–I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don’t wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

******

Mud sloshes beneath my shoes as we walk up the muddy path to the dark-wooded house. It was a simple house with a rickety porch in the middle of nowhere. “Can’t say I blame the kid,” Sam comments.

“Yeah, so much for curb appeal,” Dean jokes.

We soon split up, taking a little peek around the bleak property for anything at all. Sam and I meet up halfway and walk back to the front, meeting up with Dean and his EMF reader. “You got something there?” I ask, playfully nudging into him. He taps the reader, the EMF level not changing, “Yeah, the EMF’s no good.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

“Maybe you need another walkman to toy with,” I guess, only half teasing. His green eyes shoot to mine, “This baby’s foolproof, nothin’ wrong with it,” he defends.

“Mm,” I hum, “Then why is it ‘no good’ now?”

He gestures upwards, my eyes following the overhead power lines, “I think that thing’s still got a little juice in it. It’s screwing with all the readings.”

“Yeah, that’d do it,” Sam agrees.

“See!” he wiggles the EMF reader in front of my face, a wide smile curling on my lips, “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

I place a hand over his, pushing his hand and the reader down from my face, “Sorry! I just think your whole DIY thingy is adorable,” I laugh.

“It’s not adorable. It’s genius,” he defends.

“Fine, it’s adorably genius,” I correct, having a hard time keeping the stupid smile off my face.

“You two ready to go?” Sam asks. I turn towards him, his arms crossed over his chest, and his lips pursed together in that silly, sassy way he does it. I know what he’s insinuating by the way he says it and the way he’s impatiently waiting. But, I don’t want nor need him to bring that up again, let alone now, so I respond, “Born ready.” Before moving away from Dean and stepping up on the porch, my hand reaches for the doorknob.

I turn the knob and push the door open, letting more light crawl into the dark home. The sunlight creeps along the floor, stretching its arm as far as it can reach inside. The walls are a grayish-blue wallpaper littered with graffiti and the occasional hole, the windows are broken but the soft yellow glow of the sun still makes itself known through the plastic wrap covering it. There’s still some furniture left behind, an old red chaise sofa pushed to the wall, a fallen tree lying in front of it. Quite the house. But, it’s clear it was beautiful once, and in some odd way, perhaps it still is. “Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger here in his time,” Dean whistles.

“And after his time too. That reverse cross had been used by Satanists for centuries but this sigil of silver didn’t show up in San Francisco until the ‘60s,” Sam informs, pointing at a painted cross with a circle around it.

“That is exactly why you never get laid,” Dean comments, staring at his brother.

“That is a very weird thing to say,” I reply as Sam takes a photo of the sigil, “And that was a very fun fact.”

Dean shrugs, moving to another wall, “Than—“ Sam tries to say as his brother cuts him off, “Hey, what about this one, you seen this one before?” He gestures to a symbol of a cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “No,” he says simply.

“Me neither,” I shake my head.

“I have,” Dean informs, “Somewhere.” Sam reaches out to the symbol, rubbing it, he pulls his hand away and looks at his now fingers, “It’s paint. Seems pretty fresh too.”

“I don’t know. You know I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but….the cops may be right about this one,” Dean says. And while Dean was quite the skeptic when it came to whether cases would actually be our sort of cases, for him to say that, to even possibly agree with the authority was big. “Yeah, maybe,” Sam mumbles.

Then, suddenly there’s a rustling or shuffling noise from the next room over. Immediately we move into action. Dean grabs a hold of my wrist and pushes me beside him as he takes position near the door, Sam taking the other side of the door. Our backs flat against the wall, Dean nods his head at his brother before they burst through the door. Immediately, they stumble back, shielding their eyes from bright lights and the shouts of…two guys. I move in after them, moving around Dean to be involved in the seemingly unthreatening situation.

Two short guys decked out in all sorts of gear stand before us. “Oh, cut. It’s just a coupla humans,” the one with black hair scuffs, wearing huge goggles on his head—maybe night vision, and a studio light in hand . The other guy holding a camera switches it off. “What are you guys doing here?” night vision questions, eyeing us. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean shoots right back.

Night vision laughs, “We belong here, we’re professionals?” he answers as if it should’ve been obvious. However, the only obvious thing here was how stupid they looked. “Professional what?” I ask, somewhat confused. Night Vision smirks, reaching into one of the many pockets on his beige vest before pulling out a white card, “Paranormal Investigators,” he identifies, handing me his little card. I take it from him, looking at him skeptically, “There you go, take a look at that, beautiful,” his eyes sweep over my frame slowly, stopping too long at one too many areas. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Dean grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Wow,” I say plainly, “Ed Zeddmore,” the night vision guy nods his head in confirmation “and Harry Spengler, so professional they have their own business cards for their website,” I throw a look at Sam and Dean, “HellhoundsLair.”

“You guys run that website?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Ed smiles confidently, practically beaming in his boast.

“Oh yeah, yeah, we’re huge fans,” Dean says sarcastically, a stupid grin on his lips.

“And ah, we know who you guys are too,” Ed claims, all high and mighty. Once more I’m confused by this dude. “Oh yeah?” Sam challenges, looking at him sharply.

“Amateurs,” Ed explains and immediately Dean walks away in lost interest, rummaging through cabinets instead of really listening. “Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills,” he continues. I cross my arms across my chest, “Right…” I drawl sarcastically, “‘Cause I just love a cheap thrill.”

“I can give you an…ex-expensive thrill,” Ed winks smoothly despite the words coming out awkward and choppy. His eyes drop to my breasts that peek out from my top, staring at them like they’re the only things in the room. I grimace, cringing as I unfold my arms in hopes it will help…it doesn’t, “Oh…that’s not, um…no…”

“Well, if you guys don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here,” Harry speaks up.

“Yeah, what have you got so far?” Dean asks, sauntering back over.

“Harry, why doncha tell ‘em about EMF?” Ed suggests proudly, chin raised.

“Well…” Harry says before Sam cuts him off, “EMF?” He tries to keep a smile off his face as he clearly tries to play dumb. These poor guys.

“Electromagnetic field?” Harry responds like we’re idiots, “Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector,” he turns around to rummage through his backpack before producing the gadget, “Like this bad boy right here.” He turns the box on, adjusting the antenna. A knowing smirk crawls on Dean’s face, we obviously know they won’t see anything, at least not anything accurate. “Woa. Whoa. It’s 2.8mg,” Harry announces, eyebrows shot up.

“2.8,” Ed exclaims, “It’s hot in here.”

I have to bite my lip to keep my laughter back. Dean whistles in admiration, Sam remarking a “Wow,” with a hint of irony.

“Huh. So you guys ever really seen a ghost before, or…” Dean asks.

“Once,” Ed declares, “We were, uh…we were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table…”

“By itself,” Harry finishes, emphasizing it with a firm head movement. “Well, we, we, we, we didn’t actually see it, we heard it,” Ed backtracks, stumbling on his words, “And something like that..it uh…it changes you.”

“Mm, I’m sure it does,” I play. They were total idiots, they’d be lucky if they don’t get themselves killed. Dean nods, his voice bored and unamused, “Yeah. I think I get the picture. We should go, let them get back to work”

“Yeah, you should,” Ed replies, crossing his arms clumsily across his chest. With his back turned towards the naïve boys, Dean widens his eyes at us, nodding his head towards the door in front of him. “Oh but, um,” Ed stammers, looking at me, “If you wanna stay we can show you the real deal.”

Sam and Dean seem to pause in the doorway. I try to hide my shock and disinterest behind a tight-lipped smile, “Oh…no thanks…” I spin around, more than ready to leave. But, just outside the doorway, I pause, spinning back around to end it with, “Seek happiness in tranquility, and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries.” I smile even as confusion falls upon their faces and when I turn back to my boys a similar expression graces theirs.

Yet, only as we descend the steps of the old house do they break. “Did you just quote Frankenstein to them?” Sam asks, his brows twisted with confusion as a boyish smile pulls at his lips. I skip down the last step, “Maybe…”

I catch Dean's eyes rolling, he mumbles something beneath his breath before mumbling just a little louder, “This is why I’m the only one who gets laid.”

Sam and I move as one, walking down the stairs of the library. Dean approaches us, his eyes flicking over us. “Hey,” Sam nods to him. “Hey. What you got?” Dean asks as we hit the last step.

“Well we couldn’t find a Morechai but we did find a Martin Murdock who lived in the house in the ‘30s,” Sam explains, summarizing our findings.

“And, he did have kids but only two of them, both boys, and there’s nothing on him killing anyone,” I add. Our findings only supported the theory that this was nothing more than a story, maybe it wasn’t our kind of job.

“Huh,” Dean hums, most likely thinking the same thing.

“What about you?” Sam asks as we approach the Impala. Dean rounds the car, speaking over the top of it, “Well those kids didn’t really give us a clear description of that dead girl but I did hit up the police station. No matching missing persons. It’s like she never existed. Dude, come on, we did our digging, this one’s a bust alright. For all we know those HellHound boys made up the whole thing.”

“I really hate to agree and blame this on faulty witnesses and a scary story, but…we really do got nothing,” I nod. I don’t know what those kids saw, maybe it was some sort of prank or being scared and seeing something that wasn't there, either way the story was likely made up.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam surprisingly agrees. He’s usually the one to be stubborn on this and see it out, or just have a feeling that we should see it out. So, for him to agree was more than confirmation. “I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals,” Dean suggests, a smile on his lips. He gets into the car, and before I can round the car Sam grabs my forearm mouthing a ‘just wait.’ I give him a confused look, brows furrowing, but he leans down to peer into the car through the window and instantly I know this is a prank.

I roll my eyes but I too peer through the window, might as well see the outcome. He turns the key in the ignition, and immediately Latina pop music blasts from the car, loud enough to hear clearly from the safety of outside the car. He jumps, his fingers fumbling for the key in the ignition but instead, the windshield wipers turn on. He shouts something but all we can see is the moving of his lips, the music too loud. He quickly reaches for the volume dial, hitting it the music ceases, his shoulders drop a bit as he hits off the windshield wipers too.

Finally, I round the car as Sam bursts out in laughter. I get in and a moment later Sam’s opening his door and sitting. He licks his finger and draws an imaginary ‘1’ in the air, then points to himself. Fire might as well have ignited in Dean's green eyes as he gives his brother the dirtiest look, “That’s all you got? Weak. That is bush league,” he challenges.

The early morning sun breaks the horizon, painting the sky a soft orange. The lights of emergency vehicles spin in colors of red and blue, police officers move around, a filled body bag being rolled away on a stretcher. We missed something.

“What happened?” Dean questions another bystander, there’s a small group of people that watch the scene from behind the yellow caution tape. “A coupla cops say a girl hung herself in the house,” the man answers.

“Suicide?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. She was a straight-A student, with a full ride to UT too. It just don’t make sense,” he explains and he’s right it doesn’t make any sense. Of course, you don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors, but to come to this specific run-down house with haunting rumors to kill yourself is odd. For whatever reason the man walks away, maybe leaving the scene after realizing there was no point in being here anymore. “Whaddaya think?” Sam asks, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

“I think we’re wrong about this not being our kind of job,” I answer, we must have missed something.

******

Darkness cloaks us as well as the thick bushes we crouch behind. We wouldn't be hiding if it wasn’t for the cop car parked outside the old house and the two cops standing around. “I guess the cops don’t want anyone else screwing around there,” Sam comments. It makes sense for them not to want stupid teenagers coming around or another teen to kill themselves here, as horrible as it sounds.

“Yeah but we still gotta get in there,” Dean responds. It’s why we were here, after all, try to figure out what we missed. The cops had been around the place all day, nighttime was supposed to be a clearing. A cool breeze rustles the leaves softly and chills my body, a contrast to the heat earlier in the day, I pull my sweatshirt closer in an attempt to fight off the coolness.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean grumbles randomly. I turn my head to follow his line of sight, and just a couple of feet away are the two idiots from before. They approach, decked out in all sorts of gadgets, more than before which I hadn’t thought possible. They whisper to themselves and shush each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if they started laughing in the way you do when you're trying to be quiet, and yet everything is suddenly funny. “You gotta be kidding,” I mumble.

“I got an idea,” Dean says. He rises slightly, turning towards the cops. He cups his hands around his mouth, “Who ya gonna call!” he shouts. Ed and Harry look around frantically, muttering to themselves, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Hey! you!” one of the cops shouts, eyes locked on the two boys before him and his partner heading straight for them. “Freeze!” the cop warns. But one of the nerds yelps a “run!” and they turn around quickly before hauling it. “Get back here. Hey,” the cops shout before following them. Our laughs blend together despite trying to hold them back. But we use this opportunity to make a break for the house, our shoes hitting the ground hard.

Quickly we get inside and immediately Sam is taking the duffle bag off his back, jumping straight into action. Dean and I take out our flashlights that were hidden in the waistband of our pants and concealed by our jackets. The lights of our flashlights go on, illuminating the dark home just enough.

Sam breaks out the rifles, handing one to each of us. The rock salt is already locked and loaded. “Where have I seen that symbol before? It’s killing me!” Dean exclaims, his flashlight hovering over the symbol of the cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “Come on, we don’t have much time,” Sam urges. There’s no saying when the cops would stop their chase and if they’d come to check inside.

We move through the house quickly until we find the basement, moving down the stairs just as fast. Racks of shelves practically take up the whole basement, rows of them. Each one dusty and cornered with cobwebs, all kinds of glass jars filled with questionable liquids. “Hey, Sam. I dare you to take a swig of this,” Dean says, holding up a particular jar filled with a pale red liquid of some sort. There was no way of knowing what that liquid or any of them are without a lab and some testing, which naturally we don’t have. “What the hell would I do that for?” Sam shoots back.

“…I double dare you,” he grins. Sam just shakes his head, going back to looking around. A rustling noise draws our attention towards a cabinet but before we can investigate it a rat pokes its head out, squeaking before running away. “I hate rats,” Dean grumbles, lifting his feet up as the rat scurries away.

“You’d rather it was a ghost?” Sam questions, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yes,” Dean deadpans. I roll my eyes moving forward, “Do you think these jars are old pickled stuff or, like, bodily fluid stuff?” I ask, casting a glance over my shoulder at Dean. But before I can take another step, I’m yanked back suddenly, my breath catching as the belt loop of my shorts is sharply tugged. In an instant, my back slams against Dean's chest just as the shelves in front of me crash down with a deafening shatter. An axe buries itself in the spot where I had just been standing.

The sound of gunfire explodes in the room as Sam fires off two shots at the spirit of the old farmer, but it does nothing to stop him. Heart pounding, I whip my gun up, the weight familiar in my hand. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, aiming at the spirit now dangerously close. Mordechai goes up in a mist, disappearing, “What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam exclaims.

“This one apparently!” I shout, moving from Dean's hold as he urges us towards the stairs. But Mordechai appears again, he smashes his axe down, catching the shelves and bringing the jars crashing down on Dean, glass shattering all around him as he goes down with it. My heart pounds in my ears, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I raise my gun, steadying my hands before taking my shot, rock salt explodes from the gun, hitting its mark but still doing nothing to the spirit. The spirit instead turns and charges at Sam. Shot after shot reverberates through the room emanating from Sam’s gun, “Go! Get outta here!!” Sam yells.

I rush towards Dean, shotgun hanging at my side. The glass crunches beneath my shoes as I pull Dean up, dragging him by his forearms. He grunts as he gets to his feet and if we weren’t being chased by a farmer ghost right now I’d take the time to dust the glass from his jacket. Instead, I grab hold of his hand and drag him behind me as I bolt for the stairs.

The axe seems to come down somewhere else in the room, electrical whizzing noises following it, but I ignore it as we shuffle up the stairs and be-line to the front door. We bolt out the door, caution tape breaking as Dean breaks through it, nearly stumbling down the steps.

A camera is immediately pushed into our faces, the nerds of course behind it, “Get that damn thing outta my face,” Dean commands, an arm raised to block its view.

I lay on my stomach on Sam’s bed which I’m temporarily stealing to research. An arm beneath my chin props my head up, my legs kicking slowly in the air back and forth, as I try to find any info on my laptop sitting in front of me. Dean sits on his bed, sketching something on a little notebook as his brother sits at the table with his laptop researching too.

“What the hell is this symbol? It’s buggin’ the hell outta me,” Dean grumbled, hitting the book down to his leg, “This whole damn job’s buggin’ me. I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks.”

“It does,” Sam confirms.

“All right. Well, I mean, that explains why it went after you guys, but why me?” Dean questions. I roll my eyes at his sneakily placed joke, if the legend was right then it should’ve only gone after me, jokes aside. “Hilarious,” Sam responds, “The legend also says he hung himself but did you see those slit wrists?”

“Yeah,” Dean says but I certainly missed it, though I was busy trying not to get chopped by an axe. “What’s up with that? And the axe too,” Sam points out, “I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over?”

“But this mook keeps changing,” Dean adds. Sam types away on his laptop, the keys satisfyingly clicking, “Exactly.”

“Maybe we got a different breed of ghost here,” I suggest, throwing the idea out there even though it’s unlikely. Sam shakes his head, “I’m telling ya, the way the story goes—“ I peer at him over my laptop at his sudden stopping, his face scrunched, “Wait a minute,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site,” he informs, “Listen to this. ‘They say Mordechai Murdock was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he’s imprisoned in the house for eternity.”

“A story changing over time makes sense, like a game of telephone. But a spirit that changes with it?… Can they do that?” I ask.

Dean suddenly sits straight up, eyes locked on his drawing of the symbol we saw. “I don’t know,” Sam answers, then huffs as he leans back in his seat with his arms crossed against his chest, “Where the hell is this going?”

“I don’t know but I think I might have just figured out where it all started,” Dean announces

******

The bell above the door dings as we enter the empty record store, the only person there being a bored Craig. Good thing he’s working today. “Hey, Craig? Remember us?” Dean begins an unamused smile on his face.

“Guys, look I’m really not in the mood to answer any of your questions okay?” he responds looking deflated.

“Oh don’t worry. We’re just here to buy an album, that’s all,” Dean reassures. He saunters over to the ‘rock’ section of records, flicking through them until he finds what he wants. He lifts it out and up. “You know, I couldn’t figure out what that symbol was and then I realized that it doesn’t mean anything,” Dean explains, directing his words to Sam and I as we approach the counter, “It’s the logo for the Blue Oyster Cult.” He turns his attention to Craig, pressing the album record of Club Ninja onto the counter, “Tell me Craig, you, uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people?” The boy in question's face drops, his eyes dropping to the album before landing on Dean again. “Now why ‘n’t you tell us about that house…without lying through your ass this time,” Dean orders.

Craig sighs, “Alright, um. My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted,” he explains, “So we painted symbols on the walls, some from some albums, some from some of Dana’s theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so we…we made up some story to go along with it. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I, I thought it was funny at first but…now that girl’s dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

“Alright right,” Sam says softly, ending the conversation. We have our information now, or at least a direction. None of it’s real and yet, somehow, it’s very real.

******

“There you go,” the nice barista smiles, handing over our drinks. Dean takes two of the coffees while I take my latte, “Thank you so much,” I beam, placing a nice tip in the little plastic jar.

We make our way to an empty table. Sam immediately pulls out his laptop, wiggling around in his seat and fixing his jeans with a grimace on his face. “Dude, what’s your problem?” Dean asks, calling him out.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he denies in the least convincing way ever.

“Are you sure?” I ask, eyes sweeping over him, “You look really uncomfortable.” But he just nods his head even as he adjusts himself one more time, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“So, ahh, alright keep going,” Dean moves on, “What about these Tulpas?”

“Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard they brought the thing to life. Outta thin air,” Sam explains.

“What? So, they manifested it?” I ask. I know manifestation and intention are powerful things but for a whole being to come from it sounds bizarre. “Wait, I guess that makes sense considering that just the belief and fear people have and or give off in reaction to a spirit gives it more power,” I think out loud, answering my question.

“So?” Dean counters.

“That was 20 monks. Imagine what 10,000 web surfers could do. I mean Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard,” Sam elaborates.

“Does the HellHound site actually have that many people looking at it?” I question, I mean people believe whatever they see. And it’s not like these things don’t exist, it’s just that Ed and Harry certainly weren’t finding it. “Unfortunately,” Sam quips. That many people would be impressive if not for the idiots that are behind it all. “Are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he’s real?” Dean speculates.

“I dunno, maybe” his brother answers, shifting in his seat like he or it’s uncomfortable.

“People believe in Santa Claus, how come I’m not getting hooked up every Christmas?” Dean points out.

“Cuz you’re a bad person,” Sam deadpans, replying a little too fast, “And because of this,” he turns his laptop around to show us a photo of a complex symbol, “That’s a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house. Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this, not even knowing what it was.”

“Man, what are the chances of that?” I mumble.

“Now that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass,” Sam continues, ignoring my comment, “So people are on the HellHounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai…I mean, I don’t know, but it might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life.”

“It would explain why he keeps changing,” Dean replies. Sam grimaces, adjusting himself again, one too many times for it not to be concerning, “Right, as the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like Y/N said before, it's like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn’t work.”

“So what does work?” I ask, “If that’s even a thing here.”

“Why don’t we just, uh, get this spirit sigil thingie off the wall and off the website?” Dean suggests.

“Well, it’s not that simple. You see, once Tulpas are created they take on a life of their own,” Sam explains. In conclusion, stupid teenagers draw random symbols on a wall to scare others, somehow choose one that uses belief, it becomes a big legend, scary fake farmer kills people, and it’s our problem now. The chances of all that genuinely have to be so low. “Great,” Dean remarks, “How the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?”

Sam itches around his hips and shuffles in his seat again, “Well it’s not gonna be easy with these guys helping us. Check out their homepage.” He clicks on a couple of things before a video of last night plays, “Since they’ve posted the video their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone.” God, I wish we could just hit them in the face so hard.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, “I got an idea. Come on.”

“You do?” I ask though that little glint in his eye is enough proof. “Where we going?” Sam adds.

“We gotta find a copy store,” he answers. We rise to go, grabbing our to-go cups of drinks and Sam grabs his laptop before itching and wiggling, “Man, I think I’m allergic to our soap or something,” he complains. A stupid grin stretches on Dean's face, laughing as he walks away. “You did this?” Sam says through clenched teeth. And if Dean's confusion to laughter isn't an answer then I don’t know what is. “You’re a fucking jerk!”

“That is some evil shit,” I comment. I don’t even know when he had time to pull his prank but it definitely beat the car thing Sam had pulled. “Oh yeah,” Dean smiles, satisfied.

******

“I think Y/N should be the one to bait them,” Sam reasons as we walk towards the trailer. Dean has his whole plan which requires fake papers, a copy machine, and some lying. What more could you want? “Do I have to?” I ask, “They’re, like, all weird.” But really I mean creepy or gross.

“Yeah, I can do it,” Dean defends.

“That’s the point though, they’ll listen to her ‘cause she’s a girl and those two look like they haven’t interacted with one before two days ago,” Sam explains. I laugh shortly, “Ha, they definitely didn’t, at least not a real-life one,” I then exhale, “Alright fine I’ll do it.” It’s not even a big deal to begin with to be fair.

We approach their trailer, a little garden flamingo standing tilted in the grass and a couple of foldable lounge chairs sitting about. Dean pounds on the door, fist-hitting it repeatedly. A squeal comes from inside before someone calls out, “Who is it?”

“Come on out here guys, we hear you in there,” Dean responds.

“It’s them,” one of them whisper-shouts, too bad we can hear them. But there’s a click and the door opens up a crack, both their heads squeezing to stick out the door. “Ah, would you look at that! Action figures in their original packaging,” Dean remarks, looking right over their head to peer into their trailer, “What a shock.”

“Guys, we need to talk,” Sam starts.

“Yeah, um, sorry guys. We’re ahh, a little busy right now,” Ed responds, adjusting his glasses.

“Okay, well, we’ll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website,” Dean says bluntly.

Ed laughs, almost like a bark, “Man, you know, these guys got us busted last night, spent the night in a holding cell—“

“I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people. And I get stage fright,” Harry adds in, eyes jumping around like he’s paranoid or anxious.

“Uh..thanks for sharing that with us…?” I respond, smiling awkwardly.

“Well, why should we trust you guys?” Ed asks, crossing his arms.

“Look, guys. We all know what we saw last night, what’s in the house. But now thanks to your website there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai,” Sam explains.

Dean adding, “That’s right. Which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person, somebody could get hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Ed nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “Ed maybe he’s got a point, maybe…” Harry adds softly.

“Nope…” Ed decides and Harry’s demeanor does a full 180 as he says “No,” too.

“Right, so you have no morals,” I conclude, “If—no, not even if, when someone gets hurt their blood’s on your hands.”

“We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth,” Ed defends.

“Well, I have an obligation to kick both of your little asses right now–” Dean threatens through clenched teeth.

“Dean,” I cut him off, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder, “It’s not worth it, god knows you can give ‘em one hit and they’d be crying back to their mommies. Hell, I could tell them that thing about Mordechai and it wouldn’t matter, they just don't care.”

“We should just leave,” Sam adds.

“Whoa…whoa…” the idiots say, interest peaked.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean gives in. With that, we turn back around and begin to walk away, purposely moving slowly. “What you say about…?” Ed asks, trailing after us. “Wait…Wait.” We turn back to them, an unamused look on my face. “What thing about Mordechai you guys?” Harry asks, trying to be nonchalant.

“Don’t tell ‘em,” Dean warns me.

“Not even if they agree to shut down the website?” I ask.

“They’re not going to do it, you said so yourself,” Dean reasons. I sigh, shaking my head, “You’re right.”

“No wait!” Ed rushes out, “Wait. Don’t listen to him, okay? We’ll do it. We’ll do it.” Like fishes on a hook getting reeled in.

“It’s a secret, Y/N,” Sam reminds, his voice as serious as can be. I look up at the two nerds, their eyes sparkling with intrigue, if they were dogs I'm sure their tails would be flicking behind them, “It’s a pretty big deal, you know. It wasn’t easy to find, so we really have to have your word. You have to promise you’ll shut it all down.”

“Totally,” Ed says. I pause a moment, eyeing them as if I’m really considering it before nodding at Dean. He pulls out some folded papers from the inside of his leather jacket, handing it over to them. “That’s a death certificate from the ‘30s,” I explain, “We found it at the library and according to the coroner the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“That’s right, he didn’t hang or cut himself,” Dean confirms, emphasizing our “find.”

“He shot himself?” Ed asks, a little skeptical as he looks up from the paper. “Yup, it’s all right there,” I answer, “With a .45 pistol. To this day they say he’s terrified of them.”

“Matter of fact they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds, it’ll kill the sonuvabitch,” Dean adds. They snicker like school girls, the apples of their cheeks brightening with their smiles. Harry spins and bolts it to their trailer, Ed moves more slowly as he follows behind as if he’s trying to play it cool. “Harry,” he mumbles through his teeth, “Slow your roll buddy. They’re gonna know we’re excited.”

“Dude!” I exclaim, laughing a bit as Dean pops a stolen fry into his mouth, “You just finished your food, leave my fries alone.” But he shrugs with that charming smile on his lips, his arm resting on the booth's top, practically stretching out. The golden crisp of oil goodness is hardly missed with a sight like this. He turns his attention to the woodwork of an old goofy fisherman holding a big fish, a string dangling from it. He reaches up and pulls the cord, the fisherman’s mouth moving up and down as it laughs this obnoxious laugh. I myself try not to laugh as I sip on my soda.

Sam reaches up and pulls the cord again, the laughing stopping immediately, “If you pull that string one more time I’m gonna kill you,” he threatens, looking up from his laptop. In all fairness Dean had pulled the cord at least twice already since we’ve sat down, and yet, to me, it was funny every single time. The kind of stupid humor or even stupidly contagious laugh that made you want to snicker. The threatened man across us deadpans, staring at his brother as he slowly reaches up and pulls the cord again. The fisherman barely has time to laugh himself before Sam is pulling it to stop, glaring at Dean. It's like a standoff. Dean snickers, “Come on man, you need more laughter in your life. You know you’re way too tense,” he reasons.

Not having it, Sam gives him a dirty look. Clearly not amused nor having any desire to be amused. Dean sighs, seemingly giving up on his conquest, “They post it yet?”

Sam turns his screen towards me, an easier thing to do then all away around, as he angrily stabs at what’s left of his salad. My eyes scan the screen, immediately landing on the new post, “‘We’ve learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock had a fatal fear of firearms’” I read and I have to admit their choice of words is awfully intelligent sounding, “Hey, look at us, we’re reputable sources,” I point out.

“Reputable copying machine,” Dean corrects a shit-eating grin on his lips. They had fallen into his exact plan, of course they wouldn’t shut down the website regardless of what they promised (good thing it wasn’t a pinkie promise), and of course they would take any information like starving dogs and post it as soon as possible. ‘Obligation to their fans, the truth’ as he had said. “Alright. How long do we wait?” Dean asks.

“Long enough for the new story to spread, and the legend to change,” Sam answers, “I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker.” He picks up his beer bottle and holds it up to us, taking the small victory we gently clink our drinks together in a silent ‘cheers.’ “Sweet,” Dean grins, the light reflecting off of the glass beer bottle, gleaming at its base as it’s tilted up to his lips. I’ve never really understood why one would drink before a hunt, not that one bottle would do anything to him of all people, yet, when his lips are on the rim that sort of thing doesn’t seem to matter. Another interesting thing, drinking has never looked so attractive as it does on him. But perhaps that’s the bias you have when you like someone, somehow everything becomes attractive.

The bottle finally clanks to the table, his hand still wrapped around it. But when he lets the bottle go his palm sticks to it, fingers stretched out he shakes his hand around like the bottle will fall off. It doesn’t. Sam loses it, cracking up even more as Dean says, “You didn’t.”

A little tube of super glue is raised up, “Oh, I did!” he laughs, pulling the cord this time, the fisherman laughs again.

“All I’m saying is as stupid as they are, I do feel bad for them, one of these days they’re gonna wind up dead,” I reason, walking with Sam the short distance back to his motel room.

“Yeah…” he shrugs, “But it’d be on them, I mean they haven’t ran off yet, not even after seeing Mordechai.”

I hum, absorbing his words, “That’s true.” The door is open just a little, like it didn’t close fully behind him when he had left to come get me from my room down the hall. I push open the door, “Do yo—“ my words die in my throat replaced with a gasp as cold water dumps on me. A bucket thumps to the floor, just barely missing my head. My hair and clothes drip as I ball my fists at my side, shock from the sudden cold still rattling in my bones as I shake slightly. “Dean?!” I scold.

“That was not meant for you,” he replies, eyes wide as he sits up in his bed.

I got caught in a prank meant for Sam. But didn’t he know Sam was getting me and that there was a chance that I would walk in first instead of him, which is exactly what had happened???!! I exhale, trying to rid myself of any frustration or annoyance. “I’m so sorry Y/N,” he adds.

I laugh, moving a wet piece of hair behind my ear, “You are so getting it.” My shirt clings to my skin, shoulders bunched up from the feeling. Sam chuckles behind me, I turn slowly towards him and immediately he tries to cover it with a hand over his mouth, “Oh you too Sam, you’re not safe. His hand and face drops, “Why me? I didn’t do it?!”

“No, you're right,” I nod, “But you’re part of the reason it happened, your little prank war.” I look between both boys, “You’re both gonna get it, you Winchesters better watch out,” I threaten. I huff moving past Sam, “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go change before I start stripping in front of you two.”

“I mean—“ Dean calls out and I can hear the grin on his face before I yell back, “Don’t even think about it!” I shuffle off down the hallway, and only back in the safety of my motel room do I fix my situation. I snap my fingers and instantly it’s like nothing ever happened. There’s no need to change when I can do something like that, but what I can do in the privacy of my own room is think of how to get them back and execute it.

******

Early night cloaks the sky, the sun just barley below the horizon as we head to the Impala. A comfortable silence envelopes us. I stop before opening the back door of the Impala, crouching down to re-tie my shoe as they get into their respective sides of the car. The doors seem to shut in sync.

One, two, three, four, five. The doors are being shoved open and they tumble from the car coughing and covering their noses. I stand with a smirk as the smell of rotten eggs escapes the car. “What the hell?!” Dean yells. Sam reaches back into the car, pushing the seat forward to find the source. He fishes out a puffed up square, he holds it by the corner, “Really?”

“Oh, wow, how’d those get there?” I ask, folding my hands in front of me. He gives me a dirty look before throwing the fart bomb to the side. “Real childish,” Dean remarks, holding up his own puffed up fart bomb. “Which part?” I ask, “The pranks or putting fart bombs beneath each of your seats?”

“The bombs, dumbass,” he replies, throwing the little puffed square at me. I laugh, as it hits me in the chest, kicking it away when it hits the floor, “Childish and yet still funny.”

“Yeah if you think gas chambers are funny,” he mumbles.

Our guns are drawn, eyes sharp, brain and body on high alert now that we’re back in the house. The cops had been outside like the night before, but instead of using the idiot ghost hunters as bait Dean had used the stolen fisherman from the diner that he somehow stole. Its current home is now somewhere deep in the woods, a mechanism set up so that it consistently laughs. They were drawn into the forest like pirates drawn to sirens, except what they’ll find is not an attractive mermaid but an obnoxious fisherman.

“I barely have any skin left on my palm,” Dean comments.

“I’m not touching that line with a ten foot pole,” Sam mumbles.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, usually people say that about something. Like ‘I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole’ but there was nothing brought up regarding touching something. “He’s tryna lead us into an inappropriate joke.” Sam explains. The gears slowly turn in my head, cogs rotating trying to figure out what joke, “Oh! You mean masterbation!”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, and if he hadn’t had both hands trained on his gun I'm sure he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose like a disappointed father.

“So you think old Mordechai’s home?” Dean asks as he move into another room, switching topics.

“I don’t know.”

“Me either,” a voice suddenly says from behind. I spin swiftly around, gun trained.

“WOAH! WOAH!” Ed yells, him and his buddy shuffling back with their hands raised. I scuff, lowering my gun. And of course they’re decked out in their goofy gear. “What did I tell you?!” I exclaim, looking at Sam.

“What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” he asks the doofuses.

“We’re just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?” Ed answers.

“Look, the only time you’ll ever be written about is when your obituaries are in the local newspapers,” I spit, not caring how harsh my words are. But Ed doesn’t look defeated or deflated, instead his eyes seem to sparkle, “You are so hot,” he says softly. I drag a hand down my face, sighing, “What part about any of this are you not getting?”

“Why I don’t have your number yet,” he answers. I shake my head, walking away. This is just ridiculous now. “Alright, that’s enough there buddy,” Dean says, placing a firm hand on the guy's shoulder.

Then, the sharp noise of metal on metal comes from behind a door but inches from us. The door to the basement. As if in sync, thinking the same thing, our guns are immediately raised, body and mind back on high alert. “Oh crap,” Ed mumbles and with some shuffling and shoving each other they wind up crowding behind us. Or cowering, if you will. “Uh guys, you wanna…you wanna open that door for us?” Ed asks.

“Why don’t you?” Dean remarks unamused.

Suddenly, the door bursts, wooden shards exploding everywhere as Mordechai bursts through the door holding his axe. Screams and gunshots clash together, the dissonance cracking the atmosphere. I pull the trigger over and over, working at the mechanics of the gun until the cartridge is empty, until there’s nothing left to give. It’s no surprise when the old farmer wavers and disappears into mist with the amount of bullets shot between the three of us, but the real question is did it work?

Once more, we seem to share the same mind as we reload our guns quickly, shoving bullets into the chamber before splitting up. It’s all wordless, movements and thoughts that have been implanted into our mind long before there was even a comprehension of the fact. Every part of my being is on high alert, eyes scanning the room for the spirit. I clear the dusty shell of a room I walk into when I hear a squeal.

Immediately I spin right back around, rushing into the room I stood in only moments ago. I nearly bump into Sam as we meet back in the room only to find Harry on the floor with a shattered camera in front of him. “Hey!” Dean shouts as he enters the room from the opposite side of us, “Didn’t you guys post that B.S. story we gave you?”

“Of course we did,” Ed defends, helping his friend off the floor.

“You know, that didn’t sound all that convincing,” I quip, looking at the destroyed camera. There was no saving that thing and I don’t think any amount of insurance would help it. “But then our server crashed,” Harry corrects.

“So it didn’t take? Dean asks, eyes a little frantic.

“Ummm,” they hum in unison, the noise high pitched as their eyes jump around the room to look anywhere but the gruff man across from them. “So these, these guns don’t work?” Dean laughs darkly, running a hand down his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ed breathes.

“Great,” he murmurs, “Sam, any ideas?”

“We are getting outta here,” Harry declares, no longer concerned with documenting the truth—not that they could. “Yeah. Come on,” Ed agrees. Harry grabs hold of Ed before they run past Dean into the next room. And not even a moment later does girlish screams come from that room.

Yet despite how annoying they are, and all the trouble they’ve caused, Sam and I follow after them. Mordechai corners them against the front door, the boys cower against the door screaming “The power of Christ compels you,” over and over, louder and louder. “HEY! Come and get it you ugly son of a bitch,” Sam taunts. And for whatever reason Mordechai turns and goes after him instead. Sam leads the spirit away from the boys giving me the time to move to the idiots at the door.

I motion for them to move and quickly they shuffle away. I grip the door handle and give it a hard pull, maybe using just a little power to give me more help. The cool breeze blows in as I hold it open for them, the shuffles and grunts of fighting close by, “Go!” I command, pointing out the door. They shove each other as they stumble onto the small porch, Ed turns back before they reach the first step, “So, is your number still on—“

“NO!” I shout, slamming the door in his face. I spin around only to find Sam pressed against the wall with the axe against his throat, pushed higher and higher off the ground until his feet dangle. Immediately I lift my gun and shoot one, two, three, four, five times, glad that the angle I occupy is viewing them at their side. Mordechai disappears in a mist once more, Sam falls to the ground holding his neck as he coughs, but this time I know the spirit isn’t gone for good.

Unfortunately I don’t leave room to ask if he’s okay as I swing around the nearest walkway, “Dean?!” I call, I don’t know where he went off to and I don’t want Mordechai to take advantage of him being alone. “Right here, sweetheart,” he answers, appearing from the next room over. He holds a little metal can of something and when he splashes it around the room as he approaches me I know it must be some flammable liquid.

He nudges me forward, forcing me around before leading me with a hand on my lower back. I move away from his touch to help Sam up from the ground. “Mordechai can’t leave the house, we can’t kill him—we improvise,” Dean explains, shaking what’s left of the can of kerosene.

“Arson…yay,” I answer, watching as he dumps the rest of the liquid. Just then Mordechai appears at the far end of the room, axe raised, he charges at us, “Go, go, go!” Dean directs. I follow after Sam, running to the front door. I hear the flick of the lighter, the clinking of it falling, and the swoosh of flames going up.

We make it outside and down the short steps just as the building quickly ignites in flames. It spreads quickly in the old house, orange and yellow brightening the darkness as the flames lick at the rotting wood. “That’s your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?” Sam exclaims, rubbing at his neck.

“Well nobody will go in anymore,” Dean reasons, “I mean look, Mordechai can’t haunt a house if there’s no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty but it works.”

“Well what if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?” Sam counters.

“Well—well then we’ll just have to come back,” Dean stammers, clearly not having thought of that.

The flames consume the entirety of the house, at least it seems that way. It won’t be long till it’s nothing but ashes. The only thing that’ll be remembered is the legends of a man who did not exist, that is if people care to remember at all. And all the while the real story of Martin Murdock and his boys will continue to be forgotten by this town and history. “Kinda makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just cuz’ people believed in them,” Sam ponders, the words swirling in the air and lingering like the smoke filling the sky.

“I’d rather not think of that one,” I mumble. Our ‘job’ was complicated enough, it didn’t need another layer. We didn’t need another thing to keep us up at night.

The boys had decided to make a stop to see Ed and Harry before leaving town. I’m not really sure why, I certainly would’ve gone on just fine without saying a farewell. But, atlast we sit at a picnic table in the trailer park, the boys in question walking over with very full grocery bags. “Man, I got the munchies right now,” Ed comments, talking to his friend. Then, his attention turns to us as they stop at the table, “Gentlemen. Gentlelady,” he nods, and I have the suspicion that if he were wearing a hat he would’ve tipped it at us.

“Hey guys,” Sam greets with a simple smile.

“Should we tell ‘em?” Harry asks Ed, stupid smiles on their faces.

“Hey, might as well, you know, they’re going to read about it in the trades,” Ed points out, chin raised.

“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask, looking up at them. I can’t imagine what they’re gonna say. “So, this morning we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer,” Harry tells us, pride dripping in his voice.

“Oh yeah, wrong number?” Dean remarks, ripping a laugh from my lips before I can stop it.

“No, smart-ass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the morton picture rights. Maybe even have us write it,” Ed boasts, shoving the stuffed grocery bags into their stuffed car, their trailer hitched to the back. “And create the RPG,” Harry adds.

“The what?” Dean asks.

“Role playing game,” I answer. Dean's eyes turn to me, confusion written in his irises, “What?” I defend, “Can’t a girl know things?”

“You know the lingo,” Ed admires, hearts practically shining in his eyes, “Anyhoo, ahhh, excuse us, we’re off to la-la land.”

“Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great,” Sam says.

“Yeah. That’s awesome, best of luck to you,” Dean adds. And it’s that that makes me suspicious. It didn’t seem like he had said it sarcastically and from how irritated they had made him I doubt he would mean such a thing sincerely. It’s fishy. “Oh yeah, luck. That has nothing to do with it. It’s about talent. Sheer unabashed talent,” Ed corrects, chest puffed out. I decide to keep my comments to myself, let them have their delusions.

They hop into the overfilled car and start pulling off, “See ya ‘round,” Ed says from out the window, “Call me!” he adds, finger gunning at me. I cringe but ultimately ignore it, I will not be calling him or thinking of them in any degree. “Wow,” Dean exhales, standing up.

“I have a confession to make,” Sam declares, standing up too, hands shoved in his pockets.

“What’d you do?” I ask, laughing.

“I, uh…I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer,” he confesses, a smile trying to pull on the corner of his lips. I can’t help but laugh. It’s certainly a cruel prank and yet so deserved. Dean laughs too, “Yeah, well I’m the one who put the dead fish in their back seat.” Sam joins in on the laughing too, it’s kind of hard not to with the ridiculousness of it all. “My god, you guys are evil,” I smile.

When the laughing dies down Sam says, “Truce?”

“Yeah truce,” Dean agrees, “At least for the next 100 miles.”

[chouxsardine]

Hold Me (1)--- Jake Kiszka x reader

My fic for @seenoversundown 's Valentine's Day Writing Event! I choose the prompt: Play Truth or Dare

Summary: "hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.” || Your drunk slip-up leads to one of the best Valentine's Day gift you've ever got

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3547

Warnings (for this part): 18+! Minors DNI, sexual implications, cursing, alcohol, dom Jake/sub reader, guitar kink, bondage, scissors, inappropriate use of guitar strap, pickle slander

Author's note: Remember I said here about a series of improper guitar use fantasy? Well, here's another one! This idea has been circling in my mind for the longest time. Happy Valentine's Day, Enjoy!

🎧: Dirty Little Religion by Warren Zevon

“Come on, y/n, you have to play by the rules. That’s only fair.”

“Oh gosh, please don’t,” you groaned, banging your forehead on the table, regretting every possible decision you have made in the last two hours.

It was a Friday night, Jake and you were throwing your very own drinking party at home. It started out with some innocent cocktails but has somehow soon turned into chugging down straight tequila. To add to the fun, you proposed an impromptu and very informal round Truth or Dare, which, looking back now, was a very bad idea. Yes, your original intention was to fish out some funny anecdotes from Jake, but woe is you—how the tables have turned. Now, you were the one facing the difficult choice between spilling your dirtiest fantasy or drinking a shot of pickle juice.

That dare was definitely devilish, and Jake was setting it up for you to fail. He knew you absolutely can’t stand pickle juice, especially when it’s that bottom-of-the-jar “essence”— evilly green and murky with all the loosened pulp and seeds floating around. Simply one look at it made you sick.

“Pick your poison, darling,” Jake said, making no effort to hide his smirk.

You tentatively reached for the shot glass but immediately gave in as its smell reached your nose. Why trouble yourself? You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an arousing tingle inside. Simply the way Jake said the word ‘fantasy’ sounds sexy. Talking about the chokehold this man has on you. It was clear that you were fighting a losing battle. To choose something so ghastly over a little spice in the uncharted territory is just straight-up stupid. Plus, you may or may not have had a bit too much to drink. You felt positive that one simple sip of that pickle juice would make you throw up before the alcohol does.

Sensing the silence, Jake’s demeanour changed. He was more than tipsy, yes, but not to the point that it stops him from being attentive to your feelings and reactions. It was a cute, hot little thing he came up with on the spur of the moment that he thought would be fun. It wasn’t meant to put you on the spot. To make you uncomfortable and ruining the moment is the last thing he wanted.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have—”

“I’ve always—”

You opened your mouth simultaneously.

Jake took one look at you and shut up immediately. Your cheeks are flushed, your half-lidded eyes were fixed on him with a familiar look. Your left knee that was previously stretched out was now bent against your chest. Oh.

“Go on.” He whispered.

Fuck it.

“I’ve always felt jealous of your guitar, you know that? Especially when you are away on tour. The way you play it on stage, making all those girls scream for you…And that one time you fucking kissed it to make the vibration like that?” You let out a humourless laugh as your eyes narrowed, “it drives me mad.” The way you accentuate “mad” blurs its meaning, and it makes Jake wonder.

“Mad, huh? Which kind? Mad as in crazy, or mad as in angry?”

The drinking game long forgotten now that it has changed into your worship of Jake. You ignored his question completely as you continue. The words coming out much easier and at a faster pace.

“Or the way you slap it, the way you hold its neck and rock it,” all the images and videos you’ve seen are alive in your mind, overlaying with the sight of Jake right before your eyes, “the way you make her whine and scream.”

Jake’s heart skips a bit at the change of pronoun.

“Did you ever get hard while doing that?” You set down the glass on the table, got down on your hands and knees, crawling towards Jake until you were by his feet. “I bet you did. How can you not?” Jake beckoned and you straddled his lap in one swift motion, holding his face. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils dilated. “That’s when I get so jealous and….and insecure.” Jake frowned at that last word. He never thought of that.

“That’s when I wish I was there, waiting for you backstage. I want to kiss you and tell you how amazing you look up there because you deserve it,” with that, you studied Jake’s face intensely through your droopy eyes before defeatedly dropping your head onto his shoulder, your words muffled and slurred,“hell, you have no idea what I want to do to you.”

“I will if you tell me,” Jake tempted.

You pulled back, staring down at him. You caressed his cheek, your fanned breath tickling the loose strands of hair that frame his face. To Jake, you feel like a warm dessert soaked in bourbon; you looked…delicious. It was the same kind of primal desire that shares the same origin with hunger, the wild biological needs fuming. All your shame and self-consciousness unraveled by the alcohol, coming off like a corset with its ribbons pulled.

“I want you to tie me up with your guitar strap,” your eyes closed at how good it felt finally having those words freed from your mind, “I want you to hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.”

Jake’s jaw hung open. Damn, alcohol does makes people open up. He was not expecting you to say that and was also not expecting himself finding it so incredibly hot. Practically, whiskey dick, but mentally, he was so hard. Before he could come up with a decent response, your head dropped down again, this time with a heavier thud, and he could feel your breathing change.

“Y/n?”

No response.

He was so glad you finished that last sentence before passing out.

That was some weeks ago and you only had vague memories of the night. You knew that you must have spilled some crazy shit because since then, on several occasions, you have caught Jake staring at you. Well, it’s not like he can keep his eyes off you very often, but you can tell this is different. He would have his thumb and index fingers rubbing his chin, looking deep in thought as if composing a riff, except that his eyes are on you, and there is a predatory smugness that keeps you at your feet.

“For fucks sake, Jake. You’re doing it again! Why are you glaring at me like that?” You have tried fishing it out of him more than once.

“Secret” and a wry smile were the answers you got every time.

Luckily, he didn’t keep you waiting for too long; it was only a few days later when you finally get to find out about it.

Neither Jake nor you are the type of people who would go overboard on Valentine’s Day. In the past, it has always been a cute dinner date followed by a night that is both sweet and spicy. You could tell Jake is up to something this time. He’s been dropping subtle (or so he thought) hints throughout the day.

Evening was fast approaching. You opted for staying in and cooking. Jake made an amazing chicken piccata. (He even used heart-shaped pasta!) Dinner was quick and delicious, Warren Zevon’s record was playing in the background as you did the dishes. A pair of arms wraps around your waist as you turn off the faucet. Jake’s curls tickle your skin. He is humming to the song, and it takes you a second to realize that he was humming along with the record to the lyrics of Dirty Little Religion.

“I have a gift for you, sweetheart.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, as if his intentions couldn’t be clearer. But who says you aren’t equally (or perhaps more) excited?

“Oh love, you’ve been so good to me all day, how could I ask more from you?” You sound innocent, as if completely unaware of the implications.

“M’not asking. I’m offering. My good girl deserves all my loving.” Jake replies slyly.

Jake calling you good girl will always make you knees go weak. You turn around in his embrace and willingly accept his affectionate kiss on the lips before pulling open the dishwasher. ‘Fine. I’ll just finish up here real quick, okay?”

“Of course, and when you do, come downstairs and find me.”

You quirk your eyebrows. “Downstairs, huh?” It looks like he does has some ideas.

“And you better hurry up, sugar.” He gives you a teasing smack on the butt before turning on his heels.

Downstairs means his studio. Your steps are a bit wobbly as you reach the bottom of the stairs and your fingers shiver as they come into contact with the cool metal of the doorknob. Calm down, y/n, you could be getting all riled up over nothing; knowing that couldn’t be further from the truth, your attempt to calm down sounds pathetic. Throughout your relationship with Jake, the last thing this man ever did was disappoint. And if your nose serves you right, you detect a faint smell of magnolia in the air—the scent that was only reserved for certain occasions. God, what has Jake been planning?

On a second thought, you retrieve your hand from the doorknob, choosing to gently knock three times. A gut feeling tells me that the man of the other side of the door would prefer some manners tonight.

“Come in.”

You push the door open. The room is warm and well-lit, looking the same as usual. Jake is sitting in his Corbusier-style leather chair in the corner, fingers steepling together.

“Hmmmm, a girl with courtesy I see. Very well.” Jake commends.

Bingo. You smile coyly. Your praise kink almost made you curtsy to him.

“Already so good, perhaps I have to find something else to reward you with on top of your gift,” Jake says thoughtfully as he approaches you and pulls you in for a kiss, “but first, my princess deserves to live out her fantasy.”

Fantasy? The way Jake says it gives the word a familiar twang that triggers something in your brain. Your mind is racing as it flips through memories from the past few weeks. Looking around you, most of Jake’s guitars are hanging on the wall instead of resting on the stand. A rather odd thing for him to do. And every guitar on the wall has the strap attached, hanging below them and casting snake-like shadows on the wall.

Then it kicks in. Memories of that Truth or Dare night rushes back to you. Your drunken words replay themselves in your mind, clear and loud: “I want you to tie me up with your guitar strap.”

“Oh, Jake, you didn’t—” Your hands fly up to cover your face in embarrassment.

“Oh, but I do,” Jake laughs, taking your hands in his and thumbing them in soothing circles, “no need to be shy, love. There’s nothing shameful about having desires; it’s a very human thing to do.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I’m so happy that you feel comfortable enough to share it with me,” Jake smile reassuringly, “and I find it hot beyond words.”

Your eyes shot up at him upon hearing it, and Jake’s gaze tells you that he is being honest. Seeing that you’ve relaxed, Jake leads you to stand right in front of his guitar display, his hands resting steadily on your shoulders.

“I’ll let you take your pick, doll. Whichever one that has the honour to have caught your eyes.”

You take a deep breath, feeling like a child in a candy store. This is not the time to get overwhelmed. Your eyes first travel greedily between the guitars, linger over their smooth curves, then you divert to the straps. Jake’s signature ’61 Les Paul SG is standing tall and proud in the middle, paired with the most often seen thin leather strap in back. Moving further right is his SG Classic with the Pinegrove brown padded strap from earlier days, and there’s the black one with the broader shoulder pad which was once used to hold a double-neck but now used on his Coodercaster. You picture them laying over Jake’s shoulder, the way they strain and slacken with his movement, the umbilical cord between his body and his creation. You also imagine the what they would look and feel when wrapped around your waist. The slightly nervous you is inching towards the brown strap—it looks so comforting with its suede texture and its wrinkled surface, and its also wider, therefore leaning towards a cuff rather than a rope when tied; however, the bolder voice obviously prefers the black one—classy, timeless, direct and succinct like a command. It’s thinner, so it might cut into your skin if you are squirming too much (which you definitely will), but isn’t that what you are after? Isn’t that the gist—pleasure mixed with pain?

Jake is being unexpectedly patient, giving you all the time you need to take it in as he resumes his previous position in the chair, admiring your predicament from afar.

“I want that one.” You blurt out finally, pointing at his black strap.

The look on Jake’s face made you suspect that he has known what you’d choose all along.

“Nice choice.” Jake comments, stepping forward to remove the strap from the guitar. You know it’s most likely in your head, but the strap looks different the second that it was detached from the instrument; now wrapped around Jake’s palm, it looks more powerful, it looks like it is determined to serve its intended purpose well for tonight.

“Now go upstairs.”

This time, the command is brusque.

Oh, so the studio is not the final destination. You feel like being on a scavenger’s hunt, following all the clues and getting more snd more excited and impatient by the second. You can’t tell if you are disappointed or relieved that you are not doing…well, whatever Jake intends to do with you…in his studio.

You hands are already touching the door when you heard him again:

“While you are up there, princess, do yourself a favour and strip down to your bra and panties.”

You gasp, but chose not to turn around.

“Yes,” you murmur just loudly enough for him to hear you, “Sir.”

Upstair in your shared bedroom, you do not know how to position your body. You are naked except for your underwear, but the room still seems too hot. You tried laying in bed in a sultry pose—too pretentious, for fuck’s sake, you’ re not shooting porn. You sat down but you kept hugging your knees to yourself—you don’t want Jake to mistake that as reluctance. You are just a bit jittery. God knows how long you’ve been fantasizing this. You tried sitting on the ottoman, but the leather kept sticking to your bum, and it wouldn’t take long before you start sweating and leaving a shame-filled imprint on the seat. You’ve always wanted this, and it’s Jake, there’s nothing to be nervous about, just do what feels best.

Alright, alright.

Following the voice in your heart, you find yourself dropping down to your knees, kneeling on the plush beige rug by the bed. You have your back against the bedroom door. You know it would be impossible for you not to look at Jake’s reaction the moment he see you in this pose, but you are also not sure if you are ready to take that reaction. To you, for now, kneeling feels the most right. For you and Jake, the dom/sub thing in bed is never explicit. Sure, he enjoys you calling him Daddy from time to time and you definitely have got him all whiny and teary for more than once, but this would be the first time that you will be trying restraints. You guess you have always had this fantasy—there’s just something about Jake and his guitar that makes your knees buckle. You are secretly thankful for your drunk slip-up, because you are not sure if you will have the courage to stare into his eyes and say those words sober, even though you know that Jake would never judge you.

The sound of the door opening interrupts your thought. The room is so quiet that you can hear a pin drop, and you are holding your breath. Therefore, even without looking, you are positive that Jake hitches his breath when he sees you. You regret a little for facing away from him. Now you want to see his expression.

“Don’t move.” As if reading your mind, Jake orders. You straighten your back. Jake approaches until he is standing right behind you.

“What a good girl.”

Something touches you. You quickly realize Jake is using the bended strap to trace random patterns on your back. You feel the looped end of the strap at your cervical spine before it circles around your scapula, from where it travels down along your spine all the way to your hipbone, dipping a little into the elastic band of your panties. Jake watches the involuntary contraction of your muscles as they react to the touch, feeling satisfied as he sees the fine hairs on the back of your neck slightly perk up.

You just breathed a sigh of relief when you feel the smooth leather again, this time reaching in front and tracing your clavicle. It stops at the little indentation between the bones, right beneath your throat and inches upwards to your chin, tilt it upward, then finding leverage on the left side of your jaw, Using it to turn your head back.

You run straightforward into Jake’s eyes, which are now the colour of melted chocolate. The dark, mesmerizing, 80% cocoa type.

Your pouty lips and puppy eyes are silently begging him for a kiss. Jake indulges, catching your bottom lip between his teeth slightly as his pulls away.

“Already tasting so sweet, angel.”

Aside from the praise, the tenderness in his tone is unvarnished. This is the voice he uses whenever he checks up on you. This is a sign that you are about to have the talk—the sweet conversation with a fraction of awkwardness before you two try out anything new that gives consent and sets up rules and boundaries.

“I…I really want this.” You pre-empt.

“That’s good to hear,” Jake chuckles. Now he has came around, sitting face to face with you. What looks like a wash bag laying beside his knees. What? He has gone and got a bag for this? You wonder what the hell he has got in there.

“I know it’s been a minute, but do you still remember our safe word?”

“Yes. It’s ‘soundcheck’.” You answer, peeling your eyes away from the bag. The safe word was something you two has settled early on in your relationship. Neither of you has been in a position that requires the use of it, but the simple fact that such a word exists and you are comfortable using it when the situations calls for is reassurance for both sides.

“Good. Use it if you need to. Since we are trying something new today, I suggest we add on to it a bit more,” Jake holds your gaze steadily as you nod, “we are going with colours. Green means all good and continue; yellow means pause, say it if you feel like it’s too much, we will take a break, check in, work things out, and you decide if you want to keep going; red is the big ‘no-no’, say it and everything, I mean everything, stops immediately, no question asked. Copy?”

“Yes, green to go, yellow to pause, and red to stop.” You repeat it back, knowing Jake always requires a clear response at this point. This is starting to sound like those naughty romance novels, although you have a secret feeling that what you’re about to experience is going to be so much better.

“Clever girl,” Jake unzips the bag and takes out a pair of scissors, showing them to you, “these are safety shears. I feel like they’re necessary if I am tying you up today. They are medical grade and they cut through everything. Whatever the reason you need out of the restraints, they get you the quick release. ”

He places the scissors in your hands. You hold on to it, finding its curved blade and matte handle consoling. “Now listen up, if it comes to that,” Jake speaks slowly, his index finger tapping your naked skin with each accentuated word, “I will cut the strap. I don’t care how long I’ve had it or how much it costs. They are nothing compared to your safety. Do you hear me, love?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” You heart melts at how serious he is taking this. You knew he must’ve done his research. The colour system and all. “Thank you, Jake.”

“No need to thank me for keeping you safe, doll,” Jake squeezes your hand gently, “now, are we ready?”

Part 2 out now

Yeah! you made it! Thank you SO MUCH for reading :))

any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated. I've never done a taglist before....does anyone want to be tagged for part 2?

my other works: Permission to Fall | Mariner's Complex | Ticked (all my boxes) | Love is a four-legged word | The Lucky Ones | Coming back to me | Warm Honey | He Would

[enderwoah]

jimmy solidarity is so intrinsically mind-meltingly confusing i love him dearly and i want to squish him with a passion and i want him to win (or lose) the next life series installment and here is why

(this is a very long insanity fuelled rant sorry but if you too are obsessed with jimmy solidarity and the concept of him actually not being pathetic and possibly winning heres the post for you)

jimmy solidarity is the kind of guy that literally has one gimmick and its being the most pathetic person on every server he has the pleasure of being on. he is the wet cat of a man that gets bullied and taken advantage of and nobody listens to him when he complains or objects to anything and yet not once has he truly gotten angry about it because hes just that nice of a guy. sort of.

cause i dont know about yall, but jimmy solidarity is kind of a bastard to me?? i will never forget him swindling joey out of 50% of his gunpowder profits (u think that wasnt swindling?? consider the following: he was earning NOTHING before joey started doing gunpowder on his own. NOTHING. and yet all he had to do was go over and put on his little sad pitiful pathetic song and dance and beg for a cut of joey's profits and suddenly: whats that? a net profit?) i will never forget the sheer amount of times this guy has had to hold himself back from straight up killing or aattacking someone; not because of morals or kindness or goodwill, but out of spite. but out of "i need to be better than this person it hurts them more if i dont kill them in cold blood (in my head)." i will never forget the amount of times he has just straight up punched someone in the nose (/rp) because they were being mildly annoying in the middle of a conversation.

im not saying hes a mastermind thats manipulating everyone by acting lame but also just a little bit?? minus the manipulation part?? hes proven on multiple occassions that he isnt like stupid idiot baby man. like yeah he can be a little incompetent sometimes but so can scar and by now we have ALL recognised that scar is terrifying and could raze the server by himself if he so pleased. i think if jimmy solidarity's main bit wasnt 'its funny when my friends bully me' he could genuinely cause some serious damage. i think the one time hes like ever made a trap on his own in the life series (the one in his doorway in last life) it worked flawlessly which. like. a trap. in the life series. working flawlessly. hello. sure it was basic but the fact that it worked without a hitch should alone be a testament to his ability

and if thats too obscure for u i mean we can step out of the life series for a little bit and just direct you to the fact that he isnt bad at minecraft like at all?? if u havent had the pleasure of watching his dodgebolt 1v3 i really reccomend it because youd THINK that someone bad at minecraft would be trembling in his boots and being in a total panic in that situation. hell even someone AMAZING at minecraft in that position (grian) literally sounded on the verge of throwing up for his entire time and thats FAIR. thats NORMAL.

all i am saying is that jimmy solidarity rolled up to this 1v3, said 'ive got this,' and took out two people in literally a second and a half. and then just chill-ly said 'ive got this' again. the only time he sounded mildly panicked was when tommy was making him dodge for a ridiculously long amount of time. as soon as tommy missed twice- or, rather, as soon as he dodged tommy's bolts twice, mine brother in craft took one shot after like five seconds and it was over. every SINGLE time i decide to watch a jimmy mcc pov im sitting there like. 'damn. DAMN?? JIMMY SOLIDARITY???? POPPING OFF???????" at like more than one point every single time. there are so many other places that hes demonstrated that he isnt bad at minecraft but its late/early and my memory doesnt work like it used to

which brings me back to the life series. since we all know that his 'being bullied hahaheeheehoohoo' bit is a bit (and hey. its a good bit. im not saying its a bad bit. i think its funny and i think it gets even funnier when jim starts fighting back. if youre gonna have a long-lasting gimmick thats a good one and jimmy does a swell job at making it entertaining and also making it clear that it isnt serious) this means that he can un-bit it for a bit. or at least peel away the bit a little.

im just saying jimmy solidarity has huge bastard energy and hes allowed to let it free in the life series!! he will burn things down he will cheer at traps he will fight for his friends he wil fight tooth and nail and claw for his life (he started last life with two lives. he never got any more. he only died due to a trap and due to murder like COME ON). if he wanted to burn down a base he could if he wanted to set up a huge trap PERSONALLY i think he could hell i think if he went up to someone in 1v1 combat he would at least have a chance (depending on the person of course). i mean look at his dodgebolt performance all the man needs is a bow and some distance and hes APPARENTLY set for life!!

ill say it

if jimmy solidarity played it smart, he could win the life series. easily.

jimmy is good at making alliances with people (coughs and kicks the southlands betrayal underneath the rug Ignore That One he was Desperate he started off with two lives remember honestly it was a justified move) hes a litlte bit silly stupid and oft acts impulsively but he can direct that impulsivity against one person and for another. if he got himself in a squad like he did in 3rd and last life and stopped playing up the pathetic bit and set a trap for once in his life (/endeared) he could actually get himself some kills. some Real kills, not accidentally blowing up ren and skizz with tnt.

i dont even care how he does it. i just want him to win. and if he doesnt win, i want him to come top five at LEAST before getting horrifically stabbed in the back by someone he had been running with for the whole series that is the ONLY loss i will accept and still be happy about. the man deserves a girlboss moment please we're approaching two years let the man LIVE

[aiura-stan]

Onto 0-3!

The first thing I wonder when I start reading this chapter is… why does Saiki repeat himself every chapter? Just to drill it in? I guess this was a serialized manga.

And he includes the same nose joke again… except it isn’t as funny as the original. (“If that applies to you, then please just forget about this conversation” had me in hysterics the first time I read it.)

Unrelated to anything in particular, I like the large screen tone used on Saiki’s eyes in vol 0. It’s visually interesting. I think Asou sensei could have kept using this to indicate when Saiki was using his powers.

Here we go! Actually important details to the saikiverse (if you will.) One second of staring at a target is enough to get a glance, but three seconds of staring removes clothing and five seconds removes muscles as well as skin (maybe four seconds removes just skin, revealing muscle.)

No guarantee of how true this is, but I like to think it’s more or less accurate, thinking forward to the Kusuo’s birthday challenge chapter, where he has to spend a lot of time staring at an object so that he can see through it.

I had forgotten that Chuono makes his first appearance in this chapter. Yay! Chuono san is so cute.

“At moments like these, what sort of face should I be making?” is another iconic Saiki quote. This gag still manages to be pretty funny in its rough form, imo. *Now* what sort of face does one make?? The kind of face Chuono is making, perhaps. I just love the idea of Saiki meeting an illusionist in the first place. The fake “magician” versus the real psychic who can alter the laws of reality. It’s one of the genius bits in Saiki k.

I also love the intentional misunderstanding that Saiki is an illusionist. It leads to so many funny situations down the line. Why does this random middle aged man call Saiki “master”? Who knows. In this case, Saiki’s habit of letting people make assumptions really came back to bite him in the ass. (Well, that and trying to out-magic and discourage him.)

Another detail I like: Saiki missing social cues (in this case, the dip in the conversation where an average stranger would be like, ok, see you, good luck. That’s not very neurotypical of him…

I really do find this weird stunt hilarious. Saiki’s logic is so off because he inevitably ends up dealing with weirdos expecting normal behavior. C’mon Saiki.

Also, Saiki says here that he can teleport (called apport in the comic proper I believe) not just things, but people into a specific place… crazy

Saiki doesn’t understand the (reasoning behind the) eyelash/long hair simile? Continuing to build my ND Saiki case material…

Also enjoying this little panel of Ike-san holding the 500 yen coin, which Saiki definitely gave him.

Well, I think that does it for volume 0 Chapter 3….

see you all soon. 💫

[polifandom]

conversations i think would happen if isaac and theo were dating

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

1:

*the pack is reminiscing stuff from when they were younger*

scott: so there was this girl that you never really met, theo. she was a hunter. i dated her for a while.

stiles: they were highschool sweethearts. that is, before isaac suddenly stepped in and decided to date her instead...

isaac: HEY! thats not how it happened.

theo, with his eyebrows up, staring ublinking at isaac: oh, you dated her?

isaac: for a veeery short amount of time, before she died.

theo, staring some more at isaac before turning to scott: she died?

scott, not realizing what was going on at all: unfortunately. miss her every day.

theo: oh, yeah? how about you, isaac? you miss her too?

*later at isaacs apartment, as theo bites isaacs shoulder*

isaac: ouch, babe. you cant turn me twice.

theo, with blood on his fangs, stepping back to take his shirt of: you dont say. excuse me if i thought you liked it rough, seen as youve dated a hunter and all.

isaac: theo, for god sake, you cant stay mad at a dead woman. i hadnt even met you.

theo, moving in towards isaac other shoulder: youre lucky shes already dead.

2:

isaac, scrambling to find his keys: we need to go, theo. they need our help.

theo, calmly watching him from the kitchen isle: not really. scotts a big boy, he can take care of himself.

isaac: scotts a dumbass. he would be dead ages ago if it was up to him.

theo: well, then its nature running its course.

isaac, staring madly at him: theo!

theo, unfazed: isaac.

3:

*isaac is meeting the puppy pack for the first time*

isaac: so this is your pack?

theo, at the same time as liam: no

liam, at the same time as theo: yes

liam, now staring angrily at theo: something you wanna say?

theo, avoiding isaacs eyes: fine, yes, this is my pack.

isaac, now hiding laughter behind his hand: oh, now i get it. you're part of the puppy pack.

*later at isaacs apartment, as theo pins isaac against the wall*

theo: you think you're so funny, right?

4:

isaac: so liam?

theo, not looking up from his cellphone: what about him?

isaac, crossing his arms: guess.

theo, dropping his phone: no? just say it already.

isaac: you dated him.

theo: yes, and?

isaac: "yes, and?" are you kidding me? you want to murder every single person ive come in close vicinity to, even though most of them are already dead, but you can be besties with your ex?!

theo, rolling his eyes: we're barely even friends.

isaac: he's literally your alpha.

theo: he isn't even an alpha, angel. much less mine.

isaac: well, you're in his pack?

theo: you're nitpicking.

isaac: you PUNCHED scott because i had sex with him once. AGES AGO. and I'M the nitpicker?

theo: you said it, not me.

*two broken (now healed) noses and a very intense bloody make out session later*

isaac, laying down naked beside theo: so, how long did you date?

theo, intesely rolling his eyes and turning his bare back to isaac: we're not having this conversation again.

5:

isaac, whispering in the dark of the night: babe?

theo, sleepy: yes, angel?

isaac: would you kill me?

theo, turning on his back to face him: never. not you.

isaac, holding theos face more lovingly than hed care to admit: swear? i cant be falling for you just so you kill me later, theo.

theo, now holding isaacs neck, caressing there: isaac, id go to hell all over again just for you.

[the-heat-is-0n]

Snippet of “My own worst enemy” (a q!tntduo bar AU)

“Hey darling,” Wilbur croaked. His words blended together and were barely audible from his raspy timbre. He registered Quackity’s humored smirk and raised an eyebrow. “What, what’s so funny? Is it my misery?”

Despite his pessimistic question, Wilbur said it with no mirth. In fact, it sounded more like a genuine, innocent query.

Quackity realized his complete lack of a poker face and cleared his throat. A light blush dusted his cheeks at Wilbur’s use of ‘darling.’ “No, not at all!” he rubbed the other man’s shoulder in comforting movements. “It was just how your smile always makes your whole face scrunch up. I found it a little funny in an ironic way, is all.”

Wilbur hummed in response, leaning his head onto the hand on his shoulder. Quackity internally screamed like an excited little girl at the gesture. Keep it professional, he scolded himself, this is one of your customers. Don’t even think about it.

But fuck, the feeling of Wilbur’s soft, messy curls on the back of his hand made his heart flutter. It took all his self-control not to lean down and press a light kiss to the crown of the mans’ head and bury his nose into his hair.

“Did you hear me?” Quackity asked softly. He was grateful that everyone else was out of the bar and the door was locked. At this hour, he doubted that anyone would even be in the main building to catch him breaking the unspoken rules of his job.

The barkeep knew that this was wrong. Not only was he going against his workplace by being so sweet on Wilbur, but it also broke his moral code. Sure, Quackity had gotten into trouble from time to time. He’d been sent to the principal’s office for a plethora of reasons in school. His mischief with Roier (and later Cellbit) got him plenty of groundings and social restrictions at home growing up. But this was different. This was his livelihood. If he got fired in this job economy, he would be back to bumming off friends – or worse, living with his parents in suburbia again. He could not afford to break the rules this time. He had to keep focused, and his feelings for Wilbur were distracting him. He couldn’t date one of his most loyal customers – it would be unethical and unprofessional, at the very least in his eyes.

But the temptation to kiss Wilbur; to hold him and never let go; to be able to roll over in bed and say good morning to that gorgeous face of his; to imagine saying goodbye and I love you before every shift to the man he loved, was so great.

The temptation to break the rules and go against his own moral compass just for Wilbur felt like something straight out of the Book of Genesis.

Wilbur was the Biblical serpent to Quackity’s Eve. He was the apple that could open up a whole new world for the other.

And the choice to bite that godforsaken fruit was up to the infatuated barkeep.

Context:

Mowe!wilbur frequently comes to the bar Quackity works at and has this routine they both follow where Wilbur gets a drink, talks for a bit, and then leaves and gives Quackity an exhorbitant tip cause he’s just like that ig. Q very quickly falls for him but he’s terrified of being fired for basically courting a faithful customer and potentially shirking his work. (It’s mostly a moral thing to him cause it’s not even a rule at his job that he can’t date customers lol). Wilbur, on the other hand, is an idiot and doesn’t realize that Quackity has a crush on him. So they just have this weird awkward dance and it’s really silly and cute :)

This AU was originally created as a prompt for TNTduo week 2023 and I’ve decided to expand a lot on it by making it its own thing outside of that challenge week :D

[evilwickedme]

Ooh, do you have any good Jason fic recs?

anon I cannot tell you how long I've been waiting to see those words!!!! yes I have good Jason fic recs in fact I have so many good Jason fic recs that after narrowing it down I still have fifteen links for you

I have read more fanfic for Jason Todd than maybe any other character ever. I do not understand the hold this man has on me but it's simply the situation we're in. anyway

Jason comes home fics

Make a Little Birdhouse In Your Soul is hands down my favorite. I'm talking favorite DC fic, top fics of all time period, not just from this list. I love this fic series. It is actively and regularly updating, thank fuck, because that little boost of serotonin is everything keeping me going I swear

The 70 Days After Groundhog Day is technically from Dick's POV, but it's about the aftermath of a timeloop that Jason was stuck in. it's. oh my god it's so good. just trust me on this one.

Emotional Motion Sickness is the "bruce goes to therapy" fic series we all want. canon get on this level

Retrograde Motion - I never used to like de-aging fics; not for any particular reason, I just never vibed with them. Recently I decided to see what all the fuss was about (bc there's so goddamn many in this fandom) and I'm glad, because I opened this fic and it's just. oh my god. the use of the de-aging trope here is truly incredible. after a whole week of dipping my feet into the trope I never need to do so again, because this fic made me fucking lose it. this is not going where you think it's going. also, for some reason there's not that much rebirth outlaws fic, and I really like what this author did with that team

matching wounds haha just gonna sneak my fic series on here and pretend that it was an accident, wait how did that get there (some jayroy later in the timeline too which can be read on its own if Jason coming home fics aren't for you)

other non-ship

Too Much Fucking Salt deals with the straw that broke the camel's back. I've read all 22k words of this in one sitting more than once. this is the anti "Jason Todd comes home" fic (this is in itself a whole genre of fic too honestly).

take his name out of your mouth (you don't deserve to mourn) is about Jason mourning himself, which he fucking deserves to. also he smokes a joint with Dick

Sown in Winter is about Jason pulling himself out of a depressive episode partially through the power of Stardew Valley. also technically jayroy, but it's honestly incidental to the story for the most part imo

JayRoy

I do read other ships for Jason but unabashedly this is my favorite, so

A Solid Resume - competency kink. that's all I have to say.

Tenderize is a series of oneshots all of which slowly build Jason and Roy's life together and coparenting lian and I just !!! could also double as a Jason coming home au but honestly that's mostly in the first fic. also a lot of discussion of various chain grocery stores in the united states that I will probably never actually step foot in

Dick Grayson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Two to Three Weeks (But Who's Counting) is so fucking funny I die every time I reread this. there's a scene early on in a coffee shop that just. I don't even know what to say everything about this is perfect. I AM the girl sticking her nose in their business, at least spiritually.

dust devils on the horizon isn't even the only western au I've bookmarked for these two. something about jayroy and horses, man

unity of time: april 27th, 2020 is just,,,, super sad, man, idk what to tell you. it's f!jayroy, but happens after Roy died in sanctuary during the 24h of Jason's death day, so all of it is very fucking depressing. It's also fucking beautiful. I want to reread it now.

Promise After That I'll Let You Go is a poisonivory fic. I was introduced to poisonivory through the daredevil fandom earlier this year and may I tell you when I found out that this author writes for jayroy I lost my goddamn mind. this is my personal favorite, but I almost recommended at least two more aus. Their jayroy sugar daddy au is one of the only sugar daddy aus I've ever truly enjoyed. also really like the one where roy has had feelings for dick since their teen titans days but still starts a fwb thing with Jason. poisonivory can make me into kinks I'm not even into I s2g. anyway this one has lian literally dragging roy back into jason's life

finally, Reciprocation (or: Sex as Violence) shouldn't even really count as a jayroy fic but I feel weird putting it in the other category since it is sort of a jayroy fic. it's ace-aro!jason, which is one of my personal favorite interpretations of Jason (with so much textual evidence wtf), but there's still like... a lot of sex in this. Jason does not have a healthy relationship with sex in this fic. I would describe this as ending in a QPP for jayroy and lian.

honestly there's a lot of good jason and roy and lian fic out there I didn't rec cause this is already long enough

so yeah this is my very VERY pared down fic rec list for Jason Todd let me know if you want more and thank you so much for asking

[sp0o0kylights]

Q: Why wasn’t there an Adopt a Jock (lol I wrote this as Adopt a Joke. Sorry Steve.) update this week? (slash sevenish days Idk time is dumb) 

A: It was Steddie Big Bang Time! I am so excited to work with both my artists, and REALLY fricken excited to finally be able to give ya’ll a snippet. 

They mention Hopper’s death here but its pre S4, they don’t know he’s actually alive. 

                                              Eddie

         "Tonight is a good night for the other guy, not me, to die."

                         --What We Do In The Shadows

A scenario for you to ponder: 

You are trapped in the dead police chief's cabin. With you are your three best friends, your life-long gay crush, and several children, one of which is supposedly telekinetic.

Maybe two. 

You're not sure because one of the demonic plant-penis dogs prowling around in packs outside gave you a concussion. 

You have two options available to you. 

Option One) you and your loser friends hunker down with your hands over your ears while Mr. Sexy Chest and the children figure a way out. 

This option has the highest chance of you and your besties surviving, unscathed.

Option Two) You tell Mr. Sexy Chest that you know how to hotwire cars and can likely get the police truck outside running in an ill fated attempt at impressing his very straight (and very firm) ass. 

This option has the biggest chance of you dying, a virgin sacrifice to the monsters in the woods like every horror movie idiot known to man. 

Eddie Munson, elbow deep in wires, cursed himself for being a very stupid man. 

"Can I just say, for the record, that this is really dumb?" He huffed, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

 The truck had clearly been sitting here since the old man had died. Likely before then, because Eddie had taken one look at the wires underneath the steering wheel and knew immediately the engine was going to need some work before he even bothered trying to wake her.

Steve, who had a hip rested against the truck, turned to look over his shoulder, down at where Eddie was ducked under the raised hood.  "You can but it won't make you feel better."

"Great." Eddie said, planting both hands on either side of the engine. 

Fucking truck.

Fucking--monsters, and the military and Steve Harrington holding a bloody bat with nails in it casually, like guarding Eddie’s back while he stole a cop car was just a casual Tuesday to him. 

It probably was, considering all Eddie had heard. 

"Does it help any if I tell you this is actually one of our better plans, and not just because we usually don't get to spend a lot of time on them?" Steve said it like a peace offering, instead of the absolute insanity it sounded like. 

Eddie sighed. "No Steve, it doesn't." 

"I didn't think it would.” Steve replied and from the corner of his eye, Eddie watched him rub his nose. “It is a little funny though." 

He looked like he was trying to hold back a smile, like he somehow actually found them having spent a solid two hours coming up with a plan to be hilarious, and if it didn’t make his entire being glow brighter than the dumb yellow sweater he was wearing, Eddie would have cursed him out. 

"God I hate how cute you are." Eddie muttered instead, sticking his head back in the engine. If he could just connect this one wire-!

Then his brain caught up with his mouth. 

‘Oh my god I can’t believe I just said that out loud. 

"What?" Steve asked, confused, and oh, thank god. 

“I said I hated how cut up the wires are. Hand me some of that black tape would you?” Eddie said, sticking his hand up, thanking every deity he could think of that his mouth hadn’t managed to out him. 

He’d gotten too far in this backwards, hick town to get murdered now. 

Muttered angrily to himself under his breath as he continued to do his best to get Hopper’s old clunker up and running. 

He wasn’t sure how this guy had the thing going for as long as he did, but as far as Eddie could tell? 

The truck ran on magic and well-wishes, both of which they were fresh out of. 

“Come on, come on…” Eddie coaxed, as he finally managed to successfully splice and tape the two wires he’d been fiddling with together. 

It wasn’t a solid fix, but it should be enough to get them out of here. 

"Dude it's okay. If you're like--freaked out." Steve said abruptly, and where the hell had that come from!? 

Eddie slammed his wrench down on the edge of the truck, standing up from the bent over crouch he’d been in so he could face Harrington. 

"Steve,” He deadpanned, “I think anyone who isn’t freaked out by all this has something wrong with them."

He got a defensive look in return. "I'm just saying! It's normal! You don't have to brave face it or anything, we've all collectively had a lot of breakdowns over this."

He just got a stare in return. 

For a brief second he thinks maybe Steve is bringing up last night. That he’s suddenly returned to his King Shit status, rubbing it in Eddie’s face how he’d had not just one breakdown when the demodogs attacked but another one later, when all the adrenaline had left him with nothing but mounting anxiety and panic. 

Except when Steve turns to look at him his face isn’t mocking at all, and--oh. 

Oh.

Steve, Eddie realized with abrupt clarity, was giving Eddie the speech he wishes someone had given him. 

This wasn't another weird language game or that fake-nice thing people did where they act friendly to get an up front show of Eddie’s weirdness, just to  make fun of him later for it.

This is honestly. Plain and simple. 

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“Thanks.” He manages, voice now quiet. “That’s…thanks.” 

Steve looks away again, rubbing the back of his neck and god, where was this Steve Harrington in high school? Yeah Eddie had seen glimpses of him in his senior year but what about all the years prior? 

The guy before him in jeans and a yellow sweater gave off sad single mother vibes so hard Eddie felt an urge to hug him until all the bullshit went away. 

Except the bullshit wasn’t just the seven annoying freshmen, but also crazy monsters and shit. 

“She uh, she should run now.” Eddie said awkwardly, tapping the car as he turned to remove the few tools he and Steve had managed to scrounge up. “I won’t turn her on until we’re ready to go though, because we’re boned if we turn her off.” 

Steve snorted at that, mouthing “boned” at him and Eddie gave a feral grin in response. Stepped into his space, because how could he not, and clapped Steve on a sweater-clad shoulder. 

“Get the kiddos, Stevie. We’ve got an eagle to fly us out of Mordor.” 

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

Jooyeon sfw hcs pt.1:

Warnings/info: tooth rotting fluff, use of ‘tf’ and one other curses word once, talk of hugs. Also I know the header image is crappy. I’m sorry about that lol

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper”. This is in no way is meant to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

••••••••••••••••••••••

Jooyeon, much like Jungsu to me is giving very much friends to lovers. (Idk maybe that’s just me and one of my favorite romance tropes speaking)

so like y’all are really good friends and it never really hit you that you like each other until y’all are like eating lunch one day. It could be out. It could be in one of your respective places

But the point is that somewhere in the middle of eating you just stare at each other across the table about the take a bite. Unable to take your eyes off each other cause you realize you wanna memorize every inch of his face.

The way his nose squinches up a lot…

the way the sides of his eyes crinkle so cutely when he smiles

oh gosh his smile. HIS SMILE!! The same one he’s looking at you now with. You don’t even care that he has crumbs on the sides of this mouth (you probably do to tbh) you don’t wanna laugh at him

ok maybe a little bit lol

but instead you want to gently wipe them off like in some cheesy romance movie. And you’re just staring at each other like: wow I really like this human.. in a way you haven’t openly expressed before

like sure you’ve “jokingly” flirted with each other to the point where you’re both all blushy and flustered but you’ve never expressed wanted to be more than friends with each other

well, other than little comments that leave both of you less laughing your ass off and more flustered than most people would be

“Honestly kiss me on the mouth right now”

ya know things like that where it could easily be just a little something funny

but yall realize that like yall don’t want it to just be a little something funny

you both want it to be real

not like it wasn’t real before but real in the sense of you both admitting to liking each other romantically and not playing flirting with each other off

speaking of flirting…. This guy can’t for the life of him you cannot convince me otherwise!! He. Cannot. Flirt. And what consisted of flirting between y’all two was a lot of the times him wiggling his eyebrows and or making stupid little jokes that turn into you going back and forth with little flirty things with him

so when y’all get into a romantic relationship he tries to make up for lost flirty gestures he didn’t say. So he’s constantly “flirting” with you lol

it reminds me of those married couples where they’re like cringly flirting with each other using things only the other will understand

oh! that's another thing: inside jokes with this man are a regular accurence

they'll be so many times where ya'll just will be making hand gestures and stuff with each other from across the room/table

and ya'll are just cracking tf up with each other cause of the memories these little funny moves you both are doing in your seats are bringing up

it'll get to the point where his fellow members have o stop what they're talking about and just wait for you two to be done cause

YOU BOTH WON'T STOP

and at this point either of ya'll are paying any attention to whatever anyone else is saying

it might sound rude but we all know ya'll just can’t help being that way with each other

like all one of you had to do is just look at the other and two seconds later you can’t stop laughing because you know what the other is probably thinking

just all around being the best of friends…. Who also kiss/ hold hands in a non platonic way

i just got a thought that I need to share:

HIS. HUGS!

his hugs are to die for honestly

like I feel like he’s a pretty touchy clingy person who almost always is in some sorta physical touch with you

like do you see how this man is with his members?! Yeah same thing with you

like its not even in a sexual way (unless you want it to be...)

He just likes having some sorta physical contact with you

what can I say? you ground him to this earth when he's feeling like he wants to float away and vise versa

Just having your warmth on him.... it comforts him

likes to be used as a body pillow, likes to use you as a body pillow

that goes the same for using/being used as a blanket

"-- why'd you bring a blanket? I don't plan on getting up I love this movie!"

like genuinely a tad bit offended that you didn't think of him as your personal radiator when you're cold

He will defend his job as your personal blanket against your blankets lol

the only way I can describe his hugs are like very warm. Like inside and out your just feel warm when he hugs you

Most of the time they're just his body flopping onto you

like his lanky body just enveloping you in the best way

his arms spread out wide for you to come to him

like I said baby boy is very clingy (in a good way)

I liken him to lemonade. Fresh fruit and all. He brightens you up with his vivid personality

Not in a sour lemonade way either. but in a sweet one that gets you up and moving. something you want and long to having lingering with you. he is an all around motivator

just like lemonade in all its preppy brightness

imma end it here before I get too long with this post (if that hasn’t already happened lol)

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