#listen I don't know how to tag this but ask to tag

[tetsuissohot]

Lice?!

☆summary. you check their head for lice!

☆warning/tags: fem!reader, mostly crack, fluff, jkk men with lice?

☆word count: 1.3k

☆a/n: I don't know how I came up with these, but I still hope you enjoy and that this brings a smile to your face!

Nanami Kento | Gojo Satoru | Toji Fushiguro | Geto Suguro | Choso

Nanami approached you in the living room, looking uncharacteristically flustered. He adjusted his tie for the third time in two minutes, clearly uncomfortable.

"Y/N," he said, voice calm but with an underlying urgency, "I need you to check my head."

You blinked, setting down the book you were reading. "Uh, what?"

Nanami sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled blond hair. "It’s nothing serious... well, probably nothing. But I’ve noticed I’ve been itching. A lot. I can’t afford to be distracted on the next mission, so just... check."

You suppressed a smile, biting your lip. Seeing the always-composed Nanami unsettled by something as simple as an itchy scalp was too adorable.

“Sure thing,” you said, standing up and motioning for him to sit on the couch. “Come here, let me take a look.”

Nanami sat down, stiff as a board, his back straight and eyes fixed ahead as if preparing for battle. You took a seat behind him, fingers gently parting his hair.

After a few moments, you broke the silence. “So, should I call Satoru if I find anything? Maybe he’ll bring you a lice comb—”

“No.” Nanami cut you off instantly, his voice firm. “Under no circumstances should Gojo find out about this.”

You chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Relax. No lice. You’re clear.”

Nanami visibly relaxed. "Thank you." He stood up, adjusting his suit once more. "But remember, we never speak of this again."

"Agreed," you said with a grin. "But if you’re ever itching to come back for a check-up, let me know."

He shot you a deadpan look. “Not funny, Y/N.”

Gojo waltzed into the room with his usual swagger, but something was off. He scratched his head casually, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t bothered, but you caught the third scratch in as many minutes.

“Babe,” he began, a playful grin tugging at his lips, “you wouldn’t mind checking my head for lice, would you?”

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Lice? Satoru, you literally have Infinity. What, did they evolve to pass through it?”

Gojo plopped down on the couch beside you, leaning in close. “Listen, Infinity protects against curses, not tiny, itchy creatures. They might be cleverer than we think. I can’t risk this perfect hair being infested.”

You snorted, grabbing the comb from the table. “You really think you’ve got lice?”

Gojo gave you a dramatic shrug, scratching his head again. “Well, if you loved me, you’d check and make sure. You wouldn’t want the strongest sorcerer being brought down by some tiny bugs, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but part of you found his vulnerability oddly endearing. “Fine, hold still. Let me make sure your Infinity isn’t on vacation.”

You ran the comb through his hair while he hummed, grinning all the while. “You know, I could get used to this. You, doting on me, fingers in my hair. It’s pretty romantic if you think about it.”

“Keep talking and I’ll start charging you for this,” you teased. “Also, no lice. Your perfect hair is safe for now.”

Gojo beamed and leaned back, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes. “Ah, wonderful! I guess I’ll have to come up with a new excuse for you to pamper me next time.”

You playfully pushed his shoulder. “Get out of here, drama king.”

Toji barged into the room with his usual swagger, but the moment he started scratching the back of his head, you knew something was up.

“Toji?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He scratched again and grunted. “Yeah, yeah. I know how this looks.”

You blinked. “Like you need some flea powder?”

Toji shot you a glare but then sighed, leaning against the wall. “Look, I’ve been itchy, okay? Maybe it’s nothing, but I need you to check my hair. Make sure I don’t have any of those... lice things.”

You had to stifle a laugh. Toji Fushiguro, the man who took down powerful sorcerers and curses, was worried about lice.

“You? Lice?” You chuckled, motioning for him to sit. “Aren’t you supposed to be too tough for something like that?”

He scowled, sitting down with a huff. “Just check. I don’t want to be distracted on a job.”

You grabbed the comb, shaking your head as you began parting his hair. “This might be the first time I’ve seen you worried about something so... small.”

Toji grumbled. “I’m not worried, I’m just... irritated.”

After a minute or so of combing through his thick, dark hair, you grinned. “No lice. You’re good. Maybe you’re just allergic to being so grumpy.”

Toji looked over his shoulder, his smirk returning. “If you’re done messing with me, maybe you can help me... de-stress.”

You flicked his ear and laughed. “Sure, but next time, try not to come in here scratching like a stray dog.”

You were chilling in the couch when Geto came in, looking suspiciously thoughtful. He sat down beside you, scratching his head absentmindedly.

"Y/N," he started, his voice soft but curious, "do you know what’s causing this? I’ve been itching for days."

You tilted your head, looking at him with amusement. “Scratching your head a lot lately, huh? Want me to check for lice?”

Geto chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Lice? Really? That’s your diagnosis?”

You shrugged, already grabbing the comb. “Well, you’ve been scratching a lot, and lice don’t care how strong a sorcerer is.”

Geto leaned back slightly, allowing you to start combing through his long black hair. “I’ve exorcised curses and fought cursed spirits my whole life, but I never thought I’d need protection from something so... mundane.”

You laughed softly. “Well, even sorcerers can’t escape normal human problems.”

Geto closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose that’s what I have you for. Keep me grounded in the world of lice and hair care.”

You chuckled, running the comb gently through his hair. “Exactly. Someone has to make sure you don’t lose your head over a few itchy spots.”

After a few moments, you gave him a pat on the shoulder. “All clear. No lice.”

Geto smiled, his eyes soft as he glanced over at you. “Thank you, my love. I feel much more at peace now.”

You kissed his cheek. “Glad I could help. Anything else bothering you? Maybe you’re allergic to all that long hair.”

Geto grinned. “Perhaps... or maybe it’s just an excuse to have you take care of me.

Choso shuffled into the room, looking slightly unsure of himself. He scratched his head awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Y/N,” he started slowly, “I... think I might have lice.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the blunt admission. “Wait, what? Why would you think that?”

He scratched again, looking down at his feet. “I’ve been itching a lot, and I heard some people say that could mean... lice. I’m not sure, but it’s starting to worry me.”

You smiled softly, walking over to him. “Hey, it’s okay. Sit down, I’ll check for you.”

Choso obediently sat down, his shoulders tense as you grabbed the comb and began parting his hair. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by visible uncertainty.

“I’m not familiar with this... lice thing,” he admitted quietly, glancing up at you. “But it doesn’t sound good.”

You chuckled softly. “It’s just tiny bugs that can live in your hair. Annoying, but not dangerous. And don’t worry, if you’ve got them, I’ll help you get rid of them.”

Choso relaxed a bit under your touch, his tense shoulders lowering. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d have no idea how to handle something like this.”

You finished checking his hair and smiled. “Good news, Choso—no lice. You’re safe.”

Choso looked up at you, visibly relieved. “Thank you. I feel much better now.”

You ruffled his hair affectionately. “Next time you’re itching, just come to me. I’ll make sure it’s nothing serious.”

He smiled softly, his eyes warm. “I’ll remember that.”

MASTERLIST

Thank you for reading until the end! I hope you enjoyed it. This piece was more of a spontaneous writing, so there may be some imperfections in the scenario. I just had these ideas and wanted to put them down quickly. xoxo

[somewhereincairparavel]

HOO if they were in a band/orchestra - boys edition pt 1 (Percy, Jason and Leo)

Percy Jackson- Guitarist

i honestly don't know if I'm being cliche or something, but percy seems like someone who just picks up the guitar and strums it a little before leaving. Like the guitar is a light hearted instrument that you can self learn fairly well, we all know percy HATES tutors of any kind (unless it's annabeth) and would probably like figuring things out himself, so he'd just strum it until he somehow got the tunes he'd want and would probably look up YouTube tutorials lmfao. I feel like sally would like listening to the beatles, and percy would listen along aswell and get inspired to play and perform like that for his mom one day?? A green flag mama's boy till the very end lol. He would eventually start to play guitar of most kinds (bass, electric, acoustic) he'd start with an acoustic first, because it's less intimidating but he'd grow to LOVE electric tbh. So he'd definitely be the sub guitarist of the band. I think his favourite genre would be jazz or rock.

Jason Grace- Violinist

Okay the violin is literally HIS kind of instrument. I feel like he'd really enjoy listening to classical music like vivaldi- the seasons, Mozart's violin Concerto No.5 in A Major, Dmitri Shostakovich's waltz no. 2, etc. especially because if we hc camp jupiter as having something even remotely fun like camp orchestra (camp half blood can be the band bc we KNOW camp jupiter is too uptight and proper for having rock, metal or jazz bands freely, they seem more of the orchestra type) then I KNOW jason would be the lead Violinist tbh. He probably picked that up as a toddler and ended up loving it, it helps him ease into his stress from harsh practice. Also, if he does join a band in camp half blood at the same time, he'd be a lead vocalist tbh. I feel like NOBODY expected jason to be a good singer because people are used to his 'rough' and gruff voice, but it's actually really sweet and melodious, he just roughens it up for his duty as a war leader. He'd have a silky melancholic edge to his voice that's super unique and perfect for singing heartbreaking ballads, also since he's a latin speaker, I feel like his pronunciation of certain words would be very eloquent and he'd have a slight accent that everyone is really intrigued by.

Leo Valdez- drummer

ahh okay so we know how much leo loves tapping and fidgeting right? I feel like drums would be his DREAM instrument because they relieve his stress and nervousness. He'd just tap his drums in his free time. I feel like piper would be the one who would tell him to audition as the drummer in the band, seeing how well he actually drums. He'd genuinely enjoy the drumming. OH OH OH he'd love to use the crash cymbal on his drums (yknow like the steel plate looking things) in the end of each performance for the IT factor of the performance ahh he'd smile the whole time looking so badass. I feel like his position as the drummer would give him immense confidence because everyone compliments him sm.

tagging people who asked me to :) @lizzzzzzzzzzzzzz---lol @boldofyoutoassumeicanspell @themythecho

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Bad Day at Black Rock | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: panic attack/PTSD, recovering from a sexual assault (HEED THESE WARNINGS ESPECIALLY FOR THIS CHAPTER), canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 6673

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

“What?!” you exclaimed. “She’s a demon, and you didn’t gank her?!”

Sam had just finished telling you and Dean about this Ruby girl he’d met. 

“No, (Y/N), I mean, she seemed pretty helpful on the Seven Deadlies case.”

“Wait, she’s the blonde chick?!” you realized. “Why the fuck would a demon help me?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answered. “That’s what I’m trying to understand, too. And if she helped us then, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have at least listened to what she had to say.”

“Because ‘demon,’ that's why,” Dean snapped angrily. “I mean, the second you find out this Ruby chick is a demon, you go for the holy water! You don't chat!”

“No one was chatting, Dean,” Sam huffed.

“Oh yeah? Then why didn't you send her ass back to Hell?”

“Because she said she might be able to help us out!”

“With what, though, Sam,” you chimed in. “You’ve never said how she’s supposed to be able to help us. Or with what.”

“She told me she could help Dean,” Sam said quietly.

Dean seemed to not understand.

“With the crossroads deal, I’m assuming,” you told him.

Sam nodded.

The older brother looked at Sam incredulously. “What is wrong with you, huh? She's lying, you gotta know that, don't you? She knows what your weakness is; it's me.” Dean paused for a second. “What else did she say?”

Sam was quiet again.

You and Dean leaned in expectantly. “Dude?” the older brother questioned.

“Nothing. Nothing, Okay?!” Sam snapped. “Look, I'm not an idiot, guys. I'm not talking about trusting her, I'm talking about using her. I mean, we're at war, right? And we don't know jack about the enemy. We don't know where they are; we don't know what they're doing. I mean, hell, we don't know what they want. Now, this Ruby girl knows more than we will ever find out on our own. Now, yes, it's a risk, I know that, but we need to take it.”

“You're okay right, I mean you're feeling okay?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed. “Yes I'm fine. Why are you always asking me that?”

You looked between the two brothers when a phone began ringing. You checked your pockets; no buzzing. Sam and Dean’s phones weren’t ringing either. 

“Check the glove box, it's Dad's,” Dean suddenly realized.

“Dad’s?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, I keep it charged up in case any of his old contacts call.”

‘Smart boy,’ you thought.

Sam opened the glove box and found the ringing phone. “Hello? Yes... this is Edgar Casey… No! No, no, no, don't – don't call the police, I'll handle this myself. Thanks. You know, can you just uh, can you just lock it back up for me? Great. Uhm, I- I uh, I don't have my - my book in front of me—” Sam gestured to you for a pen, which you quickly handed to him— “do you- do you have the address so I can... Sure, okay. Go ahead. Right, thanks a lot.” He then hung up and turned to Dean. “Dad ever tell you he kept a container at a storage place?”

“What?” Dean asked.

“Outside of Buffalo?”

The older brother shook his head. “No way.”

“Yeah. And someone just broke into it.”

***

“No demons allowed,” Sam noted upon entering his father’s storage container. A large Devil’s Trap was etched into the ground, and two sets of bloody footprints traveled right through it. 

“Check this out,” Dean said, stooping to hold up a tripwire. It was attached to a shotgun hidden in a large animal skull. 

“Whoever broke in here got tagged,” Sam said.

“I got two sets of boot treads here,” you announced, “looks like it was a two-man job. And Buckshot Boy looks like he kept walking.” You nodded toward the bloody footprint trail leading into the container.

“So, what's the deal?” Sam wondered aloud. “Dad would do work here or something?”

“Living the high life, as usual,” Dean quipped.

The three of you crept around John’s storage locker, and the two brothers chatted about how much of a mystery their father still was to them. You took in the varying types of clutter. To your surprise, the room was filled with old memorabilia; photo albums, a graduation cap and gown you assumed was Sam’s, and a few boxes whose contents were written on the outside of them in a woman’s handwriting you assumed belonged to Mary. 

You smiled at a trophy on a shelf nearby. “Check it out,” you said, picking it up and dusting it off. “Sam Winchester, 1995,” you read aloud, “Soccer Division Championship.”

Sam grinned and came over to you. “No way! I can't believe he kept this.”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled lopsidedly, “it was probably about the closest you ever came to being a boy.” He wandered over to another table with a shotgun laid on it. “Oh, wow! It's my first sawed-off. I made it myself. Sixth grade.” The older brother laughed and pumped the dusty shotgun.

“You made that?” you questioned.

“Not bad, eh?” he grinned excitedly.

“No, not at all,” you giggled. “Damn, dude.” You took the gun from him and inspected it, impressed with Dean’s craftsmanship. He smiled proudly at you.

“Guys, over here,” Sam said. You followed his voice over to a door to a back room. The chain on the door had been cut, and you cautiously made your way inside.

You waved your flashlight around the room to find varying weapons and lockboxes that no doubt held nasty supernatural objects.

“Holy crap. Look at this,” Dean called, “he had land mines. Which they didn't take. Or the guns. I guess they knew what they were after, huh?”

You took in the lockboxes on the shelf on the far wall. “This is binding magic,” you pointed out. “Curse boxes.”

“Curse boxes?” Dean questioned. “They're supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right? Kinda like the Pandora deal?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they're built to contain the power of the cursed object.”

“Well, Dad's journal did mention a whole bunch of stuff, y'know? Dangerous hexed items, fetishes. He never did say where they ended up,” Dean added.

“Must be his sulfur-sludge dump,” you joked. You noticed a rectangular-shaped hole in the dust that had settled over the shelf. “Well, they found what they were looking for.”

“Great,” Sam groaned.

“Well, maybe they didn't open it,” Dean suggested optimistically. 

“Cute thought, but I’m sure they did,” you replied flippantly. You looked around the exterior of the storage unit for anything that could be of use to you; footprints, tire tracks, and… aha! A security camera.

“That’s helpful,” you noted, pointing up at it. 

The boys helped you fish the SD card out of the security camera, and you hooked it up to your computer. 

“There, license plate,” you noted. “And now…” you pulled up an alternate tab and copied the license plate number into it. Immediately, pages began scrolling of places the license plate had been seen at. Most recently, an apartment not too far from you. 

“Ta-da,” you announced childishly, and the brothers looked at you in shock.

“Jesus, (Y/N), how’d you get access to all this?” Sam asked.

“Oh, y’know,” you smirked, trailing off. 

Sam looked at you expectantly. 

“Same way any hackers do,” you shrugged. “Had this guy on the hook for a bit when I was, maybe, twenty. Found out he was an FBI agent in the cyber unit— not the brightest of the bunch— and I phished his computer. Of course, as soon as I did, the computer broke and shut down. Told him I was good with computers and could fix it for him, and then, I cut and run. Fixed the laptop up and had access to everything he had access to. Exported it to my laptop, ditched his somewhere in Arizona, and here we are.”

“That is…” Dean trailed off, “incredibly hot.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. 

“Get a room,” Sam mumbled, moving over to the Impala.

***

You and the Winchesters crept into the apartment belonging to the drivers of the stolen Connecticut vehicle, guns drawn. You could hear two men chattering about their poker game, and then you finally burst into the room on Dean’s nod.

“Freeze, freeze! Nobody move!” he commanded.

“He said don’t fucking move!” you ordered, pinning the bandaged, redheaded man to his seat with your gun.

“What is this?” the other man questioned.

“Stop!” Sam demanded. 

“Alright, give us the box. And please tell me that you didn't–”

Sam cut Dean off. “Oh, they did.”

“You opened it?!” Dean grunted. He shoved the dark-haired man against the wall.

“Are you guys cops?!” the man pinned wondered.

“What was in the box?” Dean questioned angrily.

You noticed a rabbit’s foot on the edge of the table. ‘Oh, fuck,’ you thought. 

“Oh, was that it, huh?” Dean laughed coldly. “It was, wasn't it? What is that thing?”

The man used Dean’s distraction to knock the gun out of his hand. When it fell to the floor, it fired, and you had to drop to the floor to avoid being hit in the face by the bullet.

The bullet ricocheted off the radiator and hit Sam’s gun, and he dropped it. The same bullet somehow ricocheted and hit a lamp, breaking it. You dove across the floor, trying to grab Sam’s gun, and the redheaded man pushed Sam down on top of you.

“The fuck, Sam?!”

“Sorry!”

You scrambled toward the redhead, and he backhanded you, somehow knocking you off balance and sending you to the floor. You normally wouldn’t have been so thrown off by such a simple move, but that rabbit’s foot was definitely working its magic. 

“Dean, I got it!” Sam announced. You turned around to see him holding the rabbit’s foot.

“Fuck, Sam, no!” you cried upon seeing him holding the cursed object.

The dark-haired man moved forward holding Dean’s favored gun and cocked it in his face. The man pulled the trigger in Sam’s face, but the gun jammed. 

‘Thank god.’

A quick scuffle ensued in which the two men opposing you had a bookshelf fall on them and a carpet got wrapped around their ankles and tripped them. Both men knocked themselves out, and Dean laughed triumphantly.

“That was a lucky break!”

“No, not lucky!” you shrieked. “Sam, that’s a rabbit’s foot!”

“Uh, yeah?” he said, as if it were obvious.

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” you panicked. 

“No, what are you—”

“I’m calling Bobby,” you said, storming out of the apartment and back to the Impala. 

“Whoa, whoa, why? I’m not seeing how this is a bad thing, (Y/N),” Dean countered, catching up to you. 

“Because that’s a rabbit’s foot, Dean! A cursed object! Its literal function is to bring bad luck,” you explained.

“How?” Sam asked. 

“Once you touch it, you’re marked. Luck’s gonna be on your side.”

“Better buy some lottery tickets then,” Dean chuckled excitedly.

You glared at him. “But if you lose it, you’re fucked. It’ll keep bringing you bad luck till it eventually kills you.”

“Well, I just won’t lose it, then,” Sam tried. 

“Everybody loses it, Sam! That’s the whole point!”

The two boys looked slightly shaken; Sam more so than Dean. Dean was laughing all the way to the bank on this one, and he dragged you and Sam to a gas station to get lottery scratch-off tickets. Then, he drove you to a restaurant chain location called Biggerson’s for some dinner. 

You sat on the phone with Bobby, the two of you angrily muttering about the insanity of the situation to each other.

“Gotta say, kid,” Bobby started, “was hoping the next time I heard from ya, it’d be on happier terms than this.”

“Trust me, me too,” you sighed. “Do you know of anything that can stop this?”

“I’ll dig around—”

Bobby’s voice in your ear was cut off by Dean triumphantly exclaiming, “twelve-hundred dollars! You just won twelve-hundred dollars!”

You grimaced and put the phone back to your ear.

“I’m guessing Sam’s luck’s still good,” Bobby drawled.

“For now, but I don’t know for how much longer.” You got out of the car, suddenly feeling suffocated in the Impala. You paced around, as did Sam, and you watched as he walked over to something glistening under a newspaper on the ground. 

“I’ll figure somethin’ out. Lemme look through my library and make some calls,” Bobby said. “Call me if anything else goes to shit.”

You laughed, and Sam stood up holding a golden watch. He turned to Dean who stood next to you and mouthed something like, “Awesome,” to his brother.

“Will do,” you told the older man on the phone. “Hurry, Bobby.” You hung up as Dean calculated the winnings from the scratch-off tickets he made Sam fill out.

“Oh, man!” Dean grinned. “We’re up fifteen grand!”

You and Sam half-smiled, both feeling unsettled still.

Dean continued to laugh as he walked into the restaurant with you hot on his heels. 

“In case you forgot, Dean, we’re still technically fugitives,” you hissed. “If Sam’s luck goes to hell, we could be royally fucked.”

“Don't worry,” Dean said easily. “Bobby 'll find a way to break it. Until then I say we hit Vegas, pull a little Rain Man. Sam can be Rain Man.”

“Look, we just lay low until Bobby calls back, okay?” Sam whispered. He turned to the man behind the host stand. “Hi, uh, table for three, please.”

The man’s face broke out into a grin, and he hollered, “Congratulations!” An alarm began to sound through the restaurant.

“It's exciting, I know,” Dean quipped.

“You are the one millionth guest of the Biggerson's Restaurant family!” the man announced. 

The staff surrounding you began singing and taking photographs while they shoved a giant check into your hands. Balloons fell from the ceiling, and you and Sam would’ve rathered been anywhere else. Dean was ecstatic, though, which you were happy to see. You’d suffer tremendous embarrassment fifty times over just to see him smile. That thought scared you a little bit; how you'd do anything for him. You had a tendency to be an extremist.

You were escorted to your table, and a gorgeous waitress in what was clearly a black bob wig approached your table. 

Her coy smile was alluring, but something about her wasn’t sitting right with you. Still, nothing seemed off through the rest of the meal. Sam clacked away on his laptop rattling off bits of lore he was reading on rabbit’s foot Hoodoo magic while you and Dean shared a bowl of ice cream. 

“I think from now on, we only go to places with Biggerson's,” Dean commented. 

The waitress came back over to your table with a pot of coffee and grinned at Sam. “Can I freshen you up?”

Sam nodded. “Thanks.”

The waitress poured, still smiling, and spilled some in her flirtatious stupor. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Let me mop up here. Sorry about that.” She hurriedly cleaned her mess and left the table, appearing to flirt with Sam over her shoulder even as she left.

“Dude. If you were ever gonna get lucky…” Dean trailed off.

Sam smirked. “Shut up.”

You smacked Dean’s shoulder. “I’m right here.”

Sam went to pick up his coffee, but he knocked the cup over and spilled it all over himself. Before you could process what was going on, he jumped out of his seat and into a waiter with a full tray. Things went flying through the air as Sam rushed profuse apologies. 

“Sam, check your pockets,” you said evenly. 

He did, and his hands came up empty.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled.

You and the brothers threw a wad of cash on the table and raced into the parking lot after the waitress. You noticed the black bob wig ditched on the ground a few feet from the door. “I knew it was a wig!”

“What?” Sam asked, turning around to you. He immediately tripped and fell flat on his face. 

“Wow! You suck!” Dean laughed, turning back to a groaning Sam.

“Ow,” the younger brother whined while you helped him up. His knees were bloody and raw through his ripped jeans.

“So what, now your luck turns bad?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah, Dean, I believe I’ve said that,” you remarked, and he glared at you. 

“Well, how bad does it get, genius?” 

“Really bad. C’mon,” you urged. 

“Where we goin’?” Sam asked.

“Back to the two jackwads that got us into this mess,” you said, hopping in the driver’s seat. 

“Whoa, who said you could drive?” Dean questioned.

“Me. Don’t be a child,” you said. 

***

You broke into the apartment once again to find the brunet man sadly downing a bottle of tequila. 

“Oh, man. What do you want?” the man asked.

“Heard about your friend. That's bad luck,” Dean tsked, referring to the death of the redheaded thief. 

“Piss off,” the man spat.

“We know someone hired you to steal the rabbit's foot. A woman,” Dean continued.

“Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

“Because she just stole it back from us.”

The man laughed. 

Sam stepped forward. “Listen man, this is seri—” and then he fell to the floor mid-sentence, pulling a CD player and a shelf down on top of him. 

You turned back to help the younger brother up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, smiling awkwardly in thanks for your help. 

“I want you to tell us her name,” the older Winchester continued to the man. 

“Fuck you,” was the only response he got.

“It wasn't a freak accident that killed your partner,” you tried, coming out from behind the couch.

“What?”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t been thinkin’ it. I thought you’d be smarter than that,” you challenged. That seemed to get under the man’s skin, so you continued. “That series of unfortunate events that had to happen to kill your partner— like, had you not seen it with your own eyes, you wouldn’t have believed it— that was the rabbit’s foot. If you don’t help us stop this thing, those deaths are on you, my friend.”

The man in front of you looked worried. 

“And I gotta tell you, it doesn’t seem you’re cut out for the whole killin’ thing. You don’t wanna be a killer, do you?” you continued to press.

The man shook his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “No.”

***

You left the apartment repeating the woman’s last name over and over in your head. The man told you “Lugosi” was the only name he and his partner were given when they were hired. 

You took out your phone and called Bobby. 

“Hey, (Y/N), glad you called,” you heard the man say. 

“Hey, we got a situation here—”

“I found a heavyweight cleansing ritual that should do the trick,” Bobby continued. 

“That’s awesome, thank you, but uh…” you trailed off, trying to decide how to phrase your next words. You decided not to sugarcoat it in the end. “Sam lost the foot.”

“He what?!”

“I know, I know,” you sighed. You turned back around to see Sam and Dean trying to use a broken storm grate to get gum off the bottom of Sam’s shoe. You shook your head at their faces when they noticed you; seeming like two little kids caught with their hands in the candy bowl. You returned your focus to your phone call. “Listen, you know anybody by the name ‘Lugosi’? Maybe mid 20’s, super hot, my height—”

“Aw, crap. It’s probably Bela,” Bobby said. 

“ Bela Lugosi? That’s cute, but never heard of her,” you replied.

“Bela Talbot’s her real name,” the older man continued. “Crossed paths with her once or twice.”

“How the hell would she know John had the rabbit’s foot? She a hunter?” you questioned.

“Pretty fuckin’ far from a Hunter, but she knows her way around the territory. She's been out of the country,” Bobby explained. “Last I heard, she was in the Middle East someplace.”

“Well, she’s back!” you mock-cheered, exasperated.

“Which means seriously bad luck for you,” the older man added.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” you quipped.

“Well, kid, if it is Bela, at least I might know some folks who know where to find her,” he finished. 

“Thanks, Bobby. For everything.”

“Just… look out for those two idjits.” And with that, he hung up the phone.

You sighed and turned back around to see Dean reaching through the storm drain and Sam looking dejected. 

“What happened?” you asked.

“I lost my shoe,” the brunet replied sadly. 

Your eyebrows furrowed sympathetically, and Sam’s head hung low. Dean seemed annoyed and huffed, standing up from the floor. 

“C’mon,” the older brother asserted.

***

Bobby did actually have a pretty good lead on Bela; she apparently lived in Queens about two hours away. 

“So what are we doing here?” Sam questioned, referencing the motel you’d just gotten a room at. 

“You, my brother, are staying here 'cause I don't want your bad luck getting us killed,” Dean stated. “And (Y/N), you’re staying with him.”

“What?! Why?” you protested. 

“Because Sam actually listens to you when you tell him not to do something. And you’re way more responsible than me,” Dean shrugged simply.

“Fair point,” you sighed. “Knowing you, you’ll touch the stupid rabbit’s foot, though.”

“Pfft, c’mon, it’s me we’re talking about—”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you dryly stated.

Dean glared at you playfully as he walked Sam into a motel room. You followed close behind and peeked out the door to make sure you weren’t followed. 

“What am I even supposed to do, Dean?” Sam whined.

“Nothing! Nothing. Come here. I don't want you doing anything. I want you to sit right here—” the older brother pulled a chair into the middle of the room— “and don't move, okay? Don't turn on the light, don't turn off the light. Don't even scratch your nose.” Dean turned to you. “If I’m not back by midnight, take off.”

“What, you gonna turn into a pumpkin or something?” you snickered.

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“Since when?”

“(Y/N)—”

“Okay, okay, fine, I heard you.”

Dean smirked down at you and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be back,” he said.

You watched him leave, a bit of your heart tugging at being anywhere without him. Your feelings for him were certainly growing stronger, and it frightened you how constantly you needed to be near him. 

You turned back to see Sam wrinkle his nose a few times before finally risking a scratch at it. 

“Hey! None of that,” you said. 

Sam’s sad eyes turned to yours. “This fuckin’ sucks, man,” he sighed.

“I know it does. Kinda the whole point of the rabbit’s foot curse,” you commented.

He ignored your smart remark.

“Found anything on how to break Dean’s deal?” you asked.

Sam shook his head. “No. Did find out something interesting, though.”

“What?’ you asked.

“All my mom’s old contacts? All her old friends, the nurse who delivered me— they’re all dead,” he explained.

“What?!” you shrieked. “And you didn’t think to mention this before now?!”

“Shh, keep your voice down,” Sam said. “Didn’t wanna say anything in front of Dean; he’d go berserk.”

“You know I have to tell him, right?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, no! Please don’t,” he begged. “Please. You know he’d flip. And, uh, probably more because of the way I got that information than the information itself.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Ruby told me.”

“Oh, god.” You rolled your eyes and dropped your head back. 

“C’mon, (Y/N), I mean, I called, and it all checks out. It’s got something to do with me and the demon; I know you recognize that pattern,” Sam tried.

“I do, but I don’t like being constantly stuck in the middle of you and Dean,” you said. “I’m supposed to be Switzerland, remember?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean Switzerland didn’t have information on the two sides, she just didn’t pick one,” he shrugged.

“Sam,” you warned, “You know how I feel about keeping things from Dean.”

“I know, I know, but you wouldn’t necessarily be keeping it from him, you’d be…” he trailed off, trying to think of a way to phrase his next words, “fulfilling a promise to me.”

“But I didn’t promise anything,” you argued.

“Please promise me you won’t tell Dean. Not till I’m ready,” Sam begged.

“Sam!”

“(Y/N/N), c’mon. Please, man. Please.”

You stared at Sam for a prolonged moment; you stared intensely and Sam looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes from his chair. You sighed and dropped your head forward. “Fine. But you are gonna promise me that you’ll tell Dean eventually. That’s my one condition.”

Sam nodded. “Deal.”

You shook your head and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Sam’s chair. “You Winchesters and your secrets.”

“Oh, like you don’t have any,” Sam deadpanned.

You looked up at the television and saw the reflection of your guard uniform and scratched-up face staring back at you. You took in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Touché.” You paused for a moment. “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“What are you gonna do when—” you cut yourself off, tears beginning to well in your throat. You took a deep breath to push them down. “When Dean’s gone?” 

Sam shook his head. “(Y/N), no. He’s not gonna—”

“Sam,” you said. “We are trying everything we can. We’re two months into this thing and no closer to saving him than we were on day one. I stopped looking. Not ‘cause I don’t care anymore, but because I’m not gonna send you to Hell just so Dean can live. I mean, Bobby’s been lookin’, too! And he hasn’t found a damn thing. So I just think we have to be real with ourselves.”

Sam shook his head, tears in his eyes.

“I don’t wanna lose him,” you said, putting your hand on Sam’s knee to make him look at you and beginning to cry, too. “I don’t. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. But… I’m scared, man. When I lost my family…” you closed your eyes at the memory of some of the awful things you’d done and would never forgive yourself for, “I don’t wanna do that again. And… And I just think that if we kept huntin’ together, we could keep tabs on each other. Make sure the other doesn’t go rogue, y’know?”

“I can’t believe you’re just gonna give up on him like that,” Sam spat, disappointed. 

“I’m not!” you argued. “But I’m not gonna help you kill yourself, dammit! Dean would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself!”

“Look, we’ve got ten months left. We’ll find something,” Sam continued. 

“I hope you’re right, man. I really do,” you said.  

Neither of you said anything for the next few hours.

During that time, you took out your journal and wrote. You didn’t usually keep journals when you were done with them as your duffel bag would be filled to the brim with them by now, but you were definitely going to keep this one; especially after Dean was gone. 

It was somewhat poetic that the first day you met the boys was the first time you’d written in this particular journal. Its pages were filled with your, at first, disdainful musings about the older Winchester brother and slowly but surely became your attempts at discerning your feelings for him.

You liked to buy quite thick and large journals to have enough room for your drawings and to be able to continue writing in them for months and occasionally years. This was the longest you’d been able to stretch one, though, and you were a little over three-fourths through writing in it. 

“I can’t help but wonder what comes next after all this,” you wrote, the pen gliding easily against the page in time with your racing thoughts. “I’ve always been awful about ‘futurecasting’ as Dad called it, but it’s even worse now. Every second I’m with Dean, I can’t help but think about how this is all gonna be over in less than a year. And it’s awful. I wanna be present with him. I just can’t. I don’t want there to be an end to us. I don’t even know if we are anything! He can’t even tell me he loves me.

“And I get it to some extent. ‘I love you’s are hard for him. Fine. I just wish he’d figure out some way to communicate with me that isn’t sex. I mean, the sex is great, but. I don’t know. And just after everything that happened, I’m not feeling great about having sex anyway. And I know it’s upsetting him, even if he won’t say anything; he’d never pressure me, and I know that. And I’m getting better about sex and related things. But it just sucks.

“And I don’t wanna bring any of this up with him and start fights because, as I’m painfully aware, that deadline is getting closer and closer every day. I just want him to be happy with me while he still can be.”

You dropped your pen when the air conditioning unit next to you began to smoke. 

“Oh come on, I- I didn't- I wasn't—” Sam whined.

“Just stay put,” you said. You jerked back in surprise when the unit suddenly caught fire. You grabbed the comforter from the bed next to you and began to put the fire out with it. Thankfully, the fire stopped. 

“I’m gonna see if I can get someone to fix that for us before your luck kills us both with carbon monoxide poisoning,” you said, starting toward the door. 

Suddenly, the door to the motel room burst open. However, it wasn’t Dean who opened it. It was two men. You drew your gun and cocked it, trained on the two men. “Get the fuck out,” you ordered. 

“I don’t think so,” said the older-looking man. He almost reminded you of Willem Dafoe, and you mentally pegged that as his name. The other man with a bizarre-looking mustache charged you, and you fired. Somehow, the bullet missed its target despite him being in such close range. 

“What the hell, Sam?!” you exclaimed. “Your luck’s rubbin’ off on me!”

“Sorry!” he winced.

The man charging you tried to restrain you in a headlock, but you kicked him squarely between the legs. You jutted your elbow back into his nose simultaneously, and the man dropped you. 

Unfortunately for you, though, Sam had been trying to help you by taking on Willem Dafoe. You turned around to see Sam unable to land a punch on the other man’s face. You tried to help him, but Sam ended up punching you across the face, and you were knocked out cold.

***

When you woke up, your arms were bound behind your back, and your legs were taped together as well. The men had laid you on your stomach, and you immediately began to struggle and panic, feeling your current position was too similar to the one you’d been in with the guard. 

“Dean! Help me!” you wailed without thinking. Your body was in autopilot as you struggled, and you couldn’t even focus on the men in the room. 

“Quit whinin’,” the man with the mustache told you. 

You could barely hear him over the roaring in your ears. “Dean!”

“I said shut up!” the man in front of you roared, slapping you across the face.

You couldn’t, though, continuing to flail like a fish out of water.

“Creedy,” the other man said, turning away from Sam and to his accomplice, “shut her up, please.”

“With pleasure.” The man took a rag out of his shirt and shoved it in your mouth, your muffled cries coming out around it. 

You vaguely heard Willem Dafoe beating the crap out of Sam while he talked about his mission from “god” to kill Sam. Then, the man drew his gun. His partner was unsettled, too, as you strained harder to get out of your binds. 

Suddenly, your saving grace appeared in the doorway. “Dean!” you cried through the gag in your mouth. 

Willem Dafoe turned around and aimed the gun point-blank at Sam’s forehead. 

“Nope. No destiny,” Dean said coolly referring to the man’s earlier comment about god and destiny leading them to Sam. “Just a rabbit's foot.”

“Put the gun down, son, or you're gonna be scraping brain off the wall,” the man replied, his tone ice cold.

Dean waved his Taurus around. “Oh, this thing?”

“Yeah, that thing,” look-alike-Dafoe responded. 

“Okay.” Dean put his gun down on the nightstand beside him, looking smug. “But you see, there's something about me that you don't know.” Dean smoothly picked up a pen off the nightstand beside the gun. 

“Yeah? What would that be?”

“It’s my lucky day,” Dean grinned. He tossed the pen toward Willem Dafoe, and it lodged in the barrel of the gun. ““Oh my God, did you see that shot?!” 

Forgetting all about your current situation, you started yelling through the gag, “You fucking touched it? You fucking idiot!” But all that came out was a muffled garbling of words. 

The man named Creedy lunged at Dean, but missed his punch completely. The man ended up running straight into the wall, and Dafoe was busying himself trying to dislodge the pen from the barrel of his gun. 

“I'm amazing,” Dean said smugly. He picked up the television remote and threw it hard at Dafoe. It hit the man square between the eyes, knocking him out cold. 

“I’m Batman,” you heard Dean suavely state, but you were too busy returning your focus to getting your binds undone. Now that the immediate danger was over, your body went back into panic mode. You yelped when you suddenly felt a hand on your back and fought even harder. 

“Hey, hey!” Dean coaxed. “It’s just me.” He saw you weren’t listening, and he immediately set to work cutting the duct tape binding your legs and wrists. Your hands shakily yanked out the rag in your mouth. Only then did you realize Dean was the one in front of you, and you leapt into his arms. 

He caught you easily, one hand around the underside of your back and the other around the topside your legs. You curled up into him and buried your face in his neck. 

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Dean tried, but your shaking wouldn’t stop. You could feel your sobs slowly subside, but it took quite a while of Dean holding you for you to regain your composure. He pressed kisses into the side of your hair while he held you and tried to soothe you by telling you you were safe. 

You finally uncurled your legs from around Dean and let him put you down. 

Sam came up behind you to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You okay?” he asked. 

You nodded as you sniffled. 

“What happened?” Sam asked in that very unique-to-him soft voice. 

“I dunno,” you lied. 

Dean gave you a look that let you know he’d be asking more questions later. 

“C’mon, we gotta get the hell outta here,” you said, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. You could feel the boys giving you questioning looks as you gathered up yours and the boys’ things and stalked out to the car. 

*** “Alright,” Sam began, sprinkling cayenne pepper into the embers of a small fire you and the Winchesters had started in the middle of a cemetery. “Bone ash, cayenne pepper, that should do it.”

“One second…” Dean said absentmindedly, scratching off the last of his lottery tickets. 

“Dean—” Sam complained. 

“Hey, back off, Jinx. I’m bringing home the bacon,” Dean quipped. He stashed the cards in his jacket that he’d slung over a gravestone. “Alright, say goodbye, wascally wabbit.” He dangled the rabbit’s foot over the top of the fire. 

“Hey!” you shouted, whipping out your gun at the sound of a twig cracking. You aimed it at the sound, and Bela emerged from the darkness with hers drawn as well. 

“I think you'll find that belongs to me,” she said firmly. “Or, you know, whatever. Put the foot down, honey.”

“Oh, hell no,” you said, cocking your gun. 

Bela cut her eyes at you, shooting Sam in the shoulder.

You exclaimed, “What the—!” and Dean cursed, “Son of a—” as Sam collapsed to the ground. 

“Back off, tiger,” Bela told you. “Back off! You make one more move, and I’ll pull the trigger. You’ve got the luck, Dean. You, I can’t hit. But your brother? Him, I can’t miss.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” the older brother roared. “You don't just go around shooting people like that!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Relax. It's a shoulder hit; I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? Put the rabbit's foot on the ground now.”

“Alright!” Dean mollified. “Alright. Take it easy.” He moved to drop the rabbit’s foot, but instead, he threw it at Bela. “Think fast,” he smirked. 

Bela caught the foot and immediately realized what she’d done. “Damn!”

“Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?” Dean smiled in satisfaction. 

Bela sighed, aggravated. She dropped her arm and uncocked her gun, but you kept yours aimed at her as she moved over to the fire. 

“Would you stop pointing that at me?” her smooth voice came without looking at you. 

“Sorry, love. Don’t trust you,” you smiled in fake-politeness. 

She rolled her eyes and moved back to the fire. She dropped the foot into the fire. “Thanks very much,” Bela continued. “I'm out one and a half million, and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer.” 

“Wow. I really don't feel bad about that. Sam?” Dean turned to his brother.

“Nope. Not even a little.”

Bela’s gaze hardened. “Hmm. Maybe next time, I'll hang you out to dry.” She turned around and moved toward the gravestone where Dean’s jacket laid. You knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Have a nice night, girls,” Bela smirked. 

You glared at her. “Uh, uh! Turn around!” you ordered. 

“What?” she sighed, clearly annoyed. 

“Gimme the tickets,” you commanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied. 

“Yeah, you do. You can’t con me, angel.”

She grumbled angrily but took the stolen tickets out of her pocket and threw them to the ground. 

“Thanks a million,” you called after her. 

“You’re fuckin’ awesome, woman,” Dean admired, you assumed in reference to the tickets you noticed Bela stole. He came over to you and kissed you boldly. You giggled against his lips, and he held your waist firmly. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Hey! Bleeding out, here!” 

You broke away from Dean. “Oh, sorry!” you grimaced, moving to head back to the Impala. “C’mon, I’ll get you patched up.”

When you ensured the rabbit’s foot was burnt to a crisp, you and the Winchesters moved to the car. 

“You good?” Dean asked his brother. 

“I’ll live,” he responded. 

“I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. And we're up forty-six thousand.” Dean threw his arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple, waving the tickets around in the air. 

“Maybe we should hit Vegas, see how good our luck still is,” you suggested, smiling lopsidedly. 

“I like the way you think,” Dean nodded. “Whaddaya say, Sammy?”

“I think you guys are gonna end up blowing all our money on slot machines,” the younger brother dryly commented. 

“Ye of little faith,” you said. “If not Vegas, we can at least get ourselves a nicer motel room. Maybe we can graduate to hotels!”

“Ooh, yeah. One of those hotels with a jacuzzi tub.”

“Hell yeah—”

“Guys,” Sam groaned. “Still bleeding out, here.”

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

[holylulusworld]

Breakfast for sweethearts

Summary: You only want to have a good time.

Pairing: Jax Teller x Short!Reader

Warnings: angst, bitchy people, fluff, protective Jax

Follow-up to this blurb: Blurb

Looking around the busy diner, you sigh. Your date is ten minutes late, and you are getting antsy. While you sip your tea, hoping he won’t stand you up, someone watches you angrily.

“Miss, could you hurry up and drink out your tea?” A girl asks. She’s dressed to impress, with too much make-up and a dress short enough to leave nothing to anyone’s imagination if she bends over.

You don’t mind. Sometimes you envy girls like her. They are brave enough to wear something you’d never dare to even dream of.

“Why?” You ask, wondering why she wants you to finish your tea. She’s not working at the diner, and you’re not slurping.

“My boyfriend and I want your table. We’ve been waiting for a free table for half an hour,” she snaps at you. “You can’t block a whole table to slurp tea.”

“Excuse me?” You can’t believe she’s yelling at you for drinking tea at a diner. “I’m waiting for someone. You can’t have the table.”

“Listen, Missy,” her boyfriend steps next to her to glare at you. He snatches the cup out of your hands and empties it on the floor. “Now you are done. Make space.”

You feel like someone pulled the rug out from under your feet. It’s the first time you’re completely and utterly speechless.

“Get up and leave,” the girl snarls. She snaps her fingers in your face. You are about to get up and just leave when someone behind them clears his throat.

“Do we have a problem here?” Jax watches you shrink into yourself. You look like you’re about to cry as the girl and her boyfriend turn around.

“Listen, buddy, stay out of—” the boy chokes on his words, facing a furious Jax. Everyone in town knows the Sons of Anarchy, and everyone stays out of their way. “Uh, she wanted to leave. So if you want the table.” He splutters.

“I don't think she wanted to leave.” Jax narrows his eyes at the boy. “She’s waiting for me.” The girl whimpers when Jax sizes her up. “I think you harassed my girl.” He says, nodding to himself. “What do you think I should do with someone harassing her?”

“Nothing, sir,” they stammer. “We didn’t…we wouldn’t.”

Jax puffs on his cigarette. He looks at the boy, and then the girl.

“Jax,” you murmur his name. It’s all too much. You don't want him to make a scene.

“I’ll be right there for you, Y/N,” he blows smoke in their faces, smirking darkly when they cough. “I give you ten seconds, and then you are out of my sight. But first, you’ll apologize to my girl.”

“Sorry, we are sorry.” They stammer before running off faster than you can blink.

"Now, I'm all yours."

“You’re late,” you say, watching Jax sit next to you.

“You’re cute,” he says and dips his head to look you in the eyes. “I assume the tea must be bad if they pour it on the floor. How about I invite you for breakfast at my place? I cleaned only for you, promised.”

“You smoked again too,” you tut. “I told you it’s bad for your health.”

“I drove too fast to get here,” he chuckles, watching your face contort in anger. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Sir, I’ll keep a close eye on you from now on,” you mutter under your breath. “I can’t let you drive too fast or smoke all the time. Last week, you were coughing at the grocery store.”

“You watched me?” Jax grins. “That’s very nice of you.”

“I’m nice,” you nod. “Now, let’s go to your home. Maybe I can help you with breakfast. I bet you only have unhealthy food at home.”

Jax slides out of the booth, holding out his hand. “How about you tell me about all the bad things I do?” He looks down at you, smirking again. “I love it when you care for me.”

Tags in reblog.

[asvtrials]

Hate that I want you, part ii

hate that I want you      masterlist

previous part      next part initial idea (part one): @floydsfae Tags: @ilovejeansosomuch @spikedfearn @soberbabes @victorysony @ellie1725 @lucycarlisleswife (I couldn't tag some of you sorry pookies) summary: Parting ways with a friend group was always hard, somehow trying to rejoin that group was even harder. Especially when a particular quick-tempered someone is rather bitter about your choices. warnings/tags: lots of swearing. friends to enemies to lovers. Bjorn is a bitter and jealous shit. angst a/n: I'm not very familiar with the Alien franchise so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies. English is not my first language so please be nice. Thank you for the wait, my internship just started so I didn't have much time. I tried to include Bjorn's accent a bit more. word count: 2415

You could've just gone home and drowned in your bed but instead, you let Tyler and Kay convince you to join them for drinks. Bjorn’s snarky comment was still replaying in your mind when you took a frozen beer bootle “Eh, yeh sure. Thanks, Tyler How coulda forget?” 

The metal steps were cold against your thighs, but you didn't feel like moving. You took a sip from your beer bottle—the bitter liquid burning your throat a bit—while you listened to the rest of the crew joke around.

You had to admit you missed this. Apart from Bjorn's occasional sharp looks everything brought you sweet memories from the countless times you stayed up till late to drink and chat.

You expected it to be uncomfortable, especially with Navarro, since she wasn't the most forgiving person. But it seems like your years of friendship did soften her.

She arrived after you, so you thought she'd ignore you completely and just move on with her night but she was quick to approach you with a smirk, giving you a light jab to the shoulder as she sat next to you.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Her voice held a playful tone.

You snorted. "Careful, you sound almost happy to see me."

Navarro tilted her head and raised a brow before uttering "Don't get your hopes up." with a laugh causing you to do the same. "So to who died and made you come here?" She asked before taking a sip of her beer.

You stalled by taking a sip of your own beer again. You didn't want to make things awkward by making the conversation so serious so fast, especially with Navarro who really disliked all that sappy shit.

"I get you." She said with a shrug before you could come up with a response.

You blinked. "What?"

"I get it. If I bagged anyone who had such a ‘promising’ future…” She dragged the word 'promising', copying the way you used to say it when you talked about him. “let's just say you wouldn’t be seeing me for a while" She joked but her words stung a bit.

"It's not like that..." You disagreed and the girl raised an unconvinced brow. "Really it's not. It's just—I tried to get that transfer to the kitchens, to get out of the mines, and all the time I had left I spent with Noa." You explained as you watched your friend take another sip from her beer nonchalantly. "I did miss you guys, really. Ask Kay, I always asked abo—"

"Jeez dude chill, I get it.” She cut you off, moving her eyes from her bottle to you, a small yet genuine smile flickered across her face “I'm glad you're back."

You stared at her, a wrinkle forming between your brows as you frowned, completely dumbfounded by her lack of care.

"Thanks..." You wanted to leave it at that but you knew Navarro, and this wasn't her. The Navarro you knew would give you the cold shoulder for weeks, you were so sure because you would've done the same. So you couldn't help but ask "Why aren't you like, you know, pissed at me?"

"Do you want me to be?" She asked while taking a cigarette she rolled earlier out of her pocket.

" 'Course not, I just expected you to be a little less...chill?" You ended up saying. Suddenly you turned to the girl with wide eyes. "Are you high? "

Navarro couldn't contain her laughter, some smoke puffing out if her nose.

"I'm not high, you moron. Just shit happened, you know. That kind of changed how I view things or whatever. You didn't abandon me and Bjorn when we needed you the most...I didn't forget that." She explained, taking another puff from her cigarette.

You knew what she meant. It wasn't that long ago since Bjorn's mother passed but you still remember hearing about it as if it happened yesterday.

You were finally at the checkout station, waiting for your turn when your eyes caught the small, old television in the corner of the wall. Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched the screen in the spacious checkout room show the face of the woman alongside the other two victims.

You found yourself at the doorstep of their trailer. Navarro's state was enough to destroy you. You were not used to seeing such a pained expression decorating the face of your usually laidback friend.

The younger girl was the only one you saw that day. Bjorn was nowhere to be found.

That was one of the few times you saw her in the past months and you really wished it didn’t need to go this far for you to drop everything and visit.

"Is Bjorn doing okay?" You asked her, not sure what you were expecting to hear.

The boy was awfully close with his mother. It was natural, she was the only parent he had. His dad was a deadbeat, abandoning them as soon as he found out he was going to be a father.

"He's better." Navarro confirmed.

"What happened was so fucked..." You comment, shaking your head in frustration.

"Yeah...i still don't know where was he that day" She confessed.

"You don't?"

"Nah, he wouldn't answer anyways."

Yeah, You could already see Bjorn dodging the question. You could also imagine him getting plastered at whatever bar he found.

Your eyes fell on the boy. He was laughing about something Tyler said until he met your eyes. His wide smile slowly turned into a small smirk, holding your gaze a bit longer before turning back to his cousin.

You chose to ignore the irritation that followed after he tore his gaze from you and focused on Navarro. You continued talking, about her life, about your life, then you moved on to stupid shit until it the usually shady sky was especially dark.

"Fuck it's gotten late." You mumbled, the beer bottles you chuged weren’t doing much to help you focus.

"Oh shit, yeah." Tyler cursed under his breath after checking his wrist watch.

Kay and Tyler didn't live too far from their cousin so they didn't really care. You on the other hand needed at least ten minutes to get to your apartment.

You stood up with a sigh and grabbed your jacket. "This was fun but I have an early shift tomorrow." You announced.

"You're gonna walk alone?" Kay asked concerned.

"You can crash at our place" Navarro offered.

"Yeah, you can." Bjorn spoke to you for the first time since you arrived here. You didn't need to hear his next words to know that he was going to say something stupid, his smug expression a clear sign. "We can share the couch, get all cuddly and stuff." He suggested, sending you an innocent look. 

You grimaced in disgust and wordlessly turned to leave, yet you could feel the blood rising to your cheeks. For a moment you thought he’d add a stupid ‘Like the good old times' or something.

"We can take you home." Tyler offered, standing up from his seat and Kay quickly followed.

"Yeah, it will be good to walk a bit." She assured with a warm smile, although her excuse was laughable. You bet both she and Tyler got enough exercise in the mines, and to your disappointment, the kitchen was no better.

Then the person you least expected to speak up silenced all of you. "Nah, I'll take 'er."

Everyone eyed the boy in either confusion or annoyance.

"No" Kay let out a breathy laugh, as if the boy's words were merely a joke. "We'll take her home."

Bjorn threw his hands with a huff and slumped in his chair. "Yall call me a wanker all the fuckin' time yet don't want me to be nice? Maybe I just wanna mend things between us, don’tya agree Y/n?"

"Oh spare me." You scoffed, sending him a disbelieving look. "You just wanna talk more shit about me and Noa and everything I did wrong. You just don’t want Tyler or Navarro to shut you up."

"Yeh, Like you'd hate that, darlin’. So quick to bite back." He said, a hint of a smile making an appearance. “Yer a bit of a shit talker yourself, don't ya think?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the way the corner of you mouth twitched upwards at the mention of the familiar nickname.

“Gosh, you're so annoying.” You grumbled but you had to admit it was nice talking to him normally again—or at least the idea of normal you and Bjorn adopted. You were sure this truce would be short-lived.

The boy ignored you and pushed himself up from the chair, capturing the blunt he was rolling between his lips.

“Let's get goin’, wouldn't want ya to miss your beauty sleep,” He mumbled with the cigarette in his mouth as he walked past you earning a glare from you.

He continued walking as if he wasn't even considering that you might not follow, knowing you too well. God, he was annoying.

“You kinda deserve this for dumping us” Navarro joked. You flipped her off but laughed a bit.

You followed him with a sigh, waving goodbye to your friends in the process.

“Please don’t kill each other.” Kay laughed, returning the wave.

Your walk was quiet, the only sounds accompanying the two of you were the crickets in the distance and the occasional puffs that Bjorn let out, the smoke enveloping the both of you. Sometimes you would hear the loud music and inaudible talking at a nearby bar but that was it.

It was frustrating. He was the one that insisted on taking you home and now he was the one refusing to speak. Bjorn was always hard to understand but he was especially hard since you came back.

You understood it was because he was angry that you left, abandoned them, abandoned him but then why demand on being around you so much?

But still his words from before—they made you think that there was something more than anger behind his behavior. The memory of the unexpected tenderness in his voice engraved in your mind.

Even if it wasn’t for the all years you knew him, that one moment would’ve been enough to want you to actually mend things between the two of you, even if Bjorn ridiculed the idea before.

“Thanks for doing this.” You attempted to sound as normal as you could.

“Sure.” He replied, not bothering to look at you.

You sighed trying to ignore the uncomfortable silence that clutched at the two of you like a veil.

“What?” The boy asked irritated.

“Nothing. It’s just weird, I guess.” You replied truthfully, too tired of playing all those mind games.

“Very observant, aren’t you darlin’” He chuckled and tossed the finished cigarette on the pavement.

“See, that’s weird.” You gestured toward him with a scoff. “You keep acting like an asshole, then call me darling and insist on taking me home.”

Bjorn ignored your words and just continued to walk to your house, his hand raising to rub the nape of his neck was the only indication of his own discomfort. 

You could already see your house from here but you weren’t done. You halted your movements in frustration, sending him an aggravated look. “Why are you acting like a little bitch?” You winced at your words as soon as they left your lips, you wished you had picked something more tactful to say.

Bjorn turned to face you, eyebrow raised and a sarcastic smile spreading on his lips. “Callin’ me a little bitch? Really? If anything I’m the only one that’s not actin’ like a little bitch.” The boy spat back, approaching you. “You left, for bloody two months, and expect everyone to run around and kiss your feet for blessing us with your presence?” He spoke, his words lacking the gentleness from the last time you had this conversation.

“What, is little Y/n sad that I’m angry at her?” You had to lift your head to hold his mocking gaze the closer he got to you. You swallowed thickly when he crouched a bit to get closer to your face. You should’ve felt uncomfortable, scared even but the way your stomach flipped was anything but uncomfortable.

“That’s not what I said.” You were disappointed at how weak your voice sounded and you weren’t sure if your narrowed eyes gave the harsh effect you wished for.

“Mhm? Go on then.” 

“If you’re so angry why are you taking me home, huh? I thought you wanted to talk shit but you were quiet the entire walk. What is it, just want to be blessed by my presence a bit longer?”  You asked and it was your turn to watch his jaw tense. 

Bjorn held your gaze for a long moment before ripping his icy eyes away from yours for a split moment, to regain his composure. However, it seems to be fruitless because when he turned back to you, his eyes held the same dark look to them. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. Your brows furrow at his movements yet your body refuses to move an inch.

Without a word, he leaned closer and you swore you saw a quiet plea in his eyes. To be okay with this—No. To want this as much as he does.

Embarrassment is long forgotten when you open your lips ever so slightly, running your tongue over your bottom lip in anticipation as his hand slowly reached your flushed cheek, his fingers grazing the warm flesh.

“Jus’ wanted to show ya—” His hoarse voice ripped the silence “That I can make you feel like that, just by looking at you…” He whispered making you shudder. “I bet you haven't felt like this in a long time, eh?”

Dammit…You shouldn't feel like this. It was Bjorn for fucks sake. Stupid, loud, annoying Bjorn. Why was he making you feel like this? He never did before. 

Teasing, joking around, that was good, it was safe. You never wanted more. But now you felt like your body was about to burst into flames.

You only managed to say a quiet “You're a fucking dick…” 

A small smirk spread across Bjorn's face when he saw the tension in your eyes, matching his own yearning. He hoovered over you, lips barely touching when you heard an aggravating noise.

(i love reading your comments babes don't be shy)

[storiesfromafan]

MIA - Buck x Reader

A/N: so I am back with part 2 to Rumours. Not sure how I feel about this...but it will have to do haha. I will do a part 3, and that will be it.

Forgive me if any information is wrong, as I had to change a few things around to suit the story. As well as any spelling and grammer mistakes 😅

Tag list: @strayrockette (you asked for angsty, hope I met the requirement...maybe lol)

October 8th 1943 was a day you wouldn't forget. Starting with waking to this foreboding feeling gnawing at the back of your mind. And with every minute of the passing morning your stomach sinking further and further. Something was to happen that day, which usually meant death, injury and despair with a mix of grief.

Earlier that morning the 100th had flown out on a raid. It was like they normally would, no one would have guessed the out come of their return. You had spent the morning doing inventory and getting everything ready for the 100th return. If this raid was like any other, there would be some injured men coming into your medical. The Doctor's were waiting, ready for whatever was to come. While the other nurses prepared for what they would see.

When the transport vehicles rolled out, maned by men who were use to everything traumatising and disturbing. You might see the men when they are wheeled in, but to see them as they are pulled from their plane, you don't think you could stomach that. You had over heard a few men telling other female nurses the gruesome details, every stomach churning missing limb and exposed insides. And you can't forget the blood.

Standing with the other nurses and Doctors, with baited breath, you all waited. Ready for action, to help and save lives. You heard the vehicles come flying down the dirt road, the muffled noise of men talking before the cries of those injured. When the doors burst open and the first few men were brought it, you all sprung into action.

You didn't think, you just acted. Moving to help a man who was covered in blood, you looked him over assessing his wounds. He had a few large, deep cuts but none were in any areas of major arteries. But he did had a broken leg and dislocated arm. The sounds he made was hard to listen too, it pulled at your heartstrings. But you kept on moving, doing your job.

When you were done with him you moved on to the next, and then the next, till all that had came in were seen too. Hours went by, it was late morning when you had started, and it was now evening when you finally stopped. Done with your work. Clothing covered in blood, body drained and exhausted. But you felt satisfied, knowing all men were alive. Yet the night would only tell how the worst would fare.

Stepping out of the medical building, the evening breeze hitting your face. Closing your eyes, you inhaled the fresh air into your lungs, a stark contrast to that of the sterile space you had been in. Rolling your shoulders back, you stretched your arms and hands, enjoying how your body creaked and cracked. Your ears took in the faint sounds of the base. Enjoying the sounds around you, unlike what you had listened to, which had been filled with cries, moans, groans and machines for hours.

If only you had been warned not to open your eyes, you could have lived in ignorant bliss. For as soon as you opened them you were greeted to the sight of one Major Egan. The usual boyish charm and cheeky nature gone, replaced with sadness and anguish. That foreboding and sinking pit in your stomach surfacing after being pushed away while you worked. Today was a day you had dreaded. A day that you prayed to never meet.

“It's B-Buck...” Bucky managed to get out, voice hollow and strained. “H-his plane...it-it went down...”

Hearing those words laced in pain, as Bucky did his best to keep himself together. It was like standing there, telling you, made it finally sink in, how real the situation was. The chances were Buck had gone down with his plane, possibly dead. Or he managed to evacuate and was now in enemy territory, which meant death or becoming a prisoner. No matter what way you thought about it, there was a chance of Buck not returning.

You felt the air in your lungs hinder. Breathing in all aspects getting harder. Your chest tightening with the dread you were feeling. You could feel tears rising in your eyes. Bucky looked up from staring at the ground, and upon seeing your reaction to the news, swiftly moved to grab your arm. He led you to a bench near by before helping you sit, then taking the spot next to you.

Everything seemed to fade away, leaving you with an ache in your chest. You couldn't form any words, yet your mind was running wild with them. So many questions that you wanted to ask. Bucky watched you as you stared off into the distance. He understood what you were going through, processing the terrible news. He had been in the same position as you hours before.

Bucky cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump that seemed to be sitting there. “I...I thought you should hear the news from me...” his voice was low, trying to be as calm as he could.

You nodded, still having trouble to speak. But the silence between you too wasn't uncomfortable, for you both understood the other right now. Maybe you both needed the other, to work through this moment. A moment that could have come at any time. Bucky knew that, and you both knew Buck knew it. It was part of their job, knowing at any minute they are up in the air, and then the next they would be coming down. With a slim chance of survival in this war.

With time Bucky spoke to you, telling you to clean up and take it easy. Mentioning how he would be having a drink by the planes, if you wanted to join him. Still you hadn’t spoken, but nodded your heard slowly. With that, you shakily got up from your seat and headed back to your room. It was when you were behind a closed door, back resting against the wood, and sliding down to sit on the floor. That was when you finally let your tears free. You broke down, heartbroken and longing to see Buck, even for just one more fleeting moment.

True to his word, you found Bucky that night on the wing of a plane. You had been in your room for ages trying to stop your tears, and only finally was able to get it under control. Not wanting to be alone, you had decided to seek out Bucky. You made your way up to the base of the plane, looking up at the intoxicated man who sat with his feet hanging over the edge of the wing.

“B-Bucky...” you spoke, voice horse and not sounding like yourself. A result from your crying. “Are you alright up there?”

He swayed a little, his head turning down to look to you. “F-fine...I guess" he sputtered.

“Maybe you should come down...” you said concerned for his well being.

Bucky just nodded his head before slowly and a little unsteadily, getting down. With his feet on the ground, you moved to sit you both in front of the plane. The ground was hard, and a little cool, but you both would be fine. Silence filled the space around you, but both happy to take comfort in each other.

With time Bucky began to speak, reminiscing on moments with Buck. He told you how they met and became friends, what they had both gone through up in the air. How he was like a brother to him. And how they both liked being around you, recalling when they first met you. And what he thought about you, and Buck's reaction to you.

“We both liked having you around, you know?” Bucky questioned. “It was nice to have a dance partner that could take a joke" he laughed.

You smiled softly, for the first time feeling happy hearing his words.

“Buck...Buck liked having someone to talk to that was level headed, like him. He told me how close you both were, and I was happy he had you. And when those rumours made the rounds, he was Hell bent on putting an end to them" he chuckled. “Had me wondering...”

You looked at Bucky in confusion. “Wondering what...?”

“You know" he said tilting his head, when you continued to look at him the way you were he went on. “You know...if you and Buck were – well you know”.

You sat up straight at his insinuation. Bucky thought you and Buck were seeing each other privately, and engaging in inappropriate behaviour. “N-no, not at all" you replied quickly.

“But you do have feelings for him, right?” Bucky asked, looking you in the eye. “He came back after speaking to you, he didn't say it but I could tell something went down between you both, right?”

You averted your eyes from his. Deciding there was no reason to hide it, you nodded your head. Out of all the people on the base, Bucky and Buck were to two you could trust. And it looked liked you only have Bucky left.

“I knew it...I think he cared for you. But with Marge, he was devoted to her...” Bucky thought out loud. “Watching you both, I could see something there...but you're both so good, to do anything to hurt someone...”

You didn't understand what the Major was getting at. Deciding it was time for him to get to bed, you voiced it. “Alright Bucky, I think its time you get some rest”.

You moved to help him up, but Bucky protested, almost having a child like fit. But with a little bit of talking to him, you were able to talk him into it. With his arm over your shoulders, you helped get Bucky back to his room, before leaving him at his door. Reluctantly you headed back to you room. Once in bed you had wanted to sleep, but it was something that you got next to none off. How your sleeping pattern would be from here on out.

The course of the next few weeks seemed to be following a steady path. But, once more, you are struck with bad news. First Buck, now Bucky. His plane going down and with that, the last of your hope for everyone else. You cried and thought of the Major, but no where near as it had been for Buck.

Lost to war were two strong men. Who didn't deserve what they got. No more mischievous and anger inducing moments with Bucky, whom you would gladly have one more dance with, only to have him make you laugh. No more electrifying discussions with Buck, were you would enjoy looking into his stormy blue eyes, that caused butterflies to swarm your stomach. Now it was an empty pit, with a chest to match.

A/N: one of my favourite moments was Buck dancing with Meatball 😍

[fadedsweater]

WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @inquisimer 💛💛

Tagging forward @darethshirl, @broodwolf221, @rosella-writes, and @crackinglamb

I'm slooowly getting out of my writing funk. I tried to pick a wip that has a slighter higher chance of actually getting done. So here's some mid-relationship solavellan 😊

Eira wanted very badly to ask him what his home was like. If he had people he could share his blanket with. If he had a family to hug. If someone was there to rub his shoulders or make him soup when he was sick. 

Instead she asked, “Do you miss home?”

In the scant firelight, Solas looked suddenly wistful, and older—the shadows darkened the lines of his face, the tiredness under his eyes. “I think of it often,” he said at last. 

It was one of his side-steps—the kind of answer he gave when he didn't really want to answer at all. But it was revealing enough, even if he hadn't meant it to be. 

She could hear the grief in that handful of words, and so she decided not to ask him anything else. Eira knew what it was to grieve, even if she did not know what it was to grieve all alone.

“Back home,” she said, watching the fire curl and flicker, “my pae's a halla-keeper. When I was little, he would show me how he took care of them—how he'd check their hooves for rot and brush out their hair in the spring.”

Solas was watching her, listening; he was a good listener, she thought idly. Whenever he listened to her she felt so listened to, like he was taking in every word and placing them somewhere, like he was arranging treasures on a shelf. 

“I was not aware the halla required so much keeping,” he said. 

“They don't, really,” she said. “The keepers make sure they're healthy and harvest their wool and milk, deliver their babies. Halla are too smart for much more than that. They don't do anything they don't want to do.”

Solas's mouth quirked, just a little. “A difficult job, then,” he said, “one imagines.”

[lunarharp]

if i just told you i love you would this world change

[harpoonsnotspoons]

I will ruin you

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Do you think Wei wuxian listens to weezer?

I don't know...I don't know...I really don't know.....

[ispridestillasin]

So I decided to watch a bit of Bridgerton with my mother, which I'm not really interested in (I don't really like period pieces unless it's a fanfic for a ship I like) but it's a show she enjoys so I sometimes catch her watching it and join her, and literally the only takeaway from the stuff I've seen with her is that Colin, Lord Debling, and Penelope should have all been poly

[i3utterflyeffect]

What if stick!Alan gains powers at some point? He’s fidgeting with a random item and accidentally resizes it somehow, and he just silently stares at it wondering how that just happened and what it means

god that'd be funny. SC is so excited because HOLY FUCK THAT'S SO COOL!!!!! and alan is just unsure if he should be worried about this ability or not. i think it'd be fun if he could do similar things to what agent does with his array of tools as well. plus like. that'd be hella interesting when vic comes around

[carouselunique]

Is it true that there's no animosity between you and... you know, you know who. You never talk about her in any way. I guess I'm curious. You guys seemed like really close friends and then just weren't friends at all. And there was some stuff she said that seemed very targeted at you...

I don't know if she feels any animosity toward me or not any more. Our mutual friends have said she doesn't and I take them on their word in that regard, assuming that if they have an answer for me it's because they're aware how she feels. I wouldn't know and it's not my place to put words in her mouth.

I haven't spoken to her/about her in a long time and the only time she even crosses my mind is when people bring her up to me. As for me feeling any animosity? I'll admit my feelings on her these days are complicated and way too nuance-core for people who aren't my friends to hear about but I wouldn't call them animosity in any way. I inherently want people my friends care about to live well because I care about my friends, and anyone my friends care about by proxy and I still share friends with her. I would never wish ill on people my friends care about so animosity doesn't fit into that by definition. I'd say I'm hurt more than anything and even then I've worked through a lot of it with trusted friends who have helped me deal with my emotions in a healthy way.

(Besides, my own life struggles keep me from even being able to invest time into animosity. I have to expend that energy loving my family, doing my best to support them during our struggles. And I've never been a hateful person it isn't in me. I would rather play 'Hot To Go' by Chappell Roan and teach my dad how to do the hand gestures to help him strengthen his muscles again than focus on hating anyone...)

I try not to think about her because it hurts. I often think that people forget that I'm a real person outside of her sphere, and that I wouldn't want to talk about what happened because I truly did consider her a friend for a long time. And when someone I consider a friend appears to not regard me with care any more suddenly and I don't even have closure on that... well... it hurts... A lot. Of course I never talk about it.

And I'm not stupid, I have seen some stuff she's said that I've gathered was about me. I remind myself that she has a right to vent in her own spaces and I truly mean that... it's just a shame that her own spaces have people who then have taken these things to me to show me (after all, I wouldn't have even seen these things myself if not for third-party anons going 'this u?') saying it is my own fault because I was a terribly cruel friend or my own fault for not listening to warnings about her when I had the chance and that makes me a stupid gullible bitch. You lot haven't seen some of the awful shit about me from some of her more ravenous fans and haters I've seen over the years that I've had to let roll off my back in the fear it would bring backlash - not even to me, to her. I don't want to be the cause of any hatred going to anyone.

Also I'm just not going to ever talk about the details of our fallen friendship or our fallen relationship. That's private. She might be a public person to some extent but I never was, even if I do gain some measure of small fandom for my work one day I'm just private about personal matters especially raw ones. I almost deleted this ask entirely but Idk I never stated that it bothers me when people talk to me about her from my own mouth, so I guess that's what this ramble is.

If you send me anything about Lily Orchard it will not be addressed. I am not a part of her life not even through our mutual friends. I do not know or care what's going on with her public/personal life. I haven't kept up. I will never keep up. Don't treat me as an extension of the situation because I am not in the situation. In the most plainly stated sense of the word: Leave me the Hell alone. (...pretty please.)

All I've wanted this entire time was to be left alone to process everything in a healthy, peaceful way. I'm workin' on it.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A digital drawing of Minos Prime from Ultrakill, who's wearing a strapless slit dress and sandals of the same deep purple. He faces towards and slightly to the right of the camera, his head is tilted further right. With one hand he gestures in a vague pointing motion, his arm folded and held close to his body. There is nothing in the background, but bracing himself on one arm, Minos is implied to be leaning against something about the height of a countertop. The background is a blank purplish black, save for three diagonal stripes in the colors of the bisexual flag. End ID]

Shading study that quite literally came to me in a dream two weeks ago, after this post apparently beamed itself into my mind

(also a few edits below the cut! they're very slight but whatever :])

[Start ID. Three different versions of the previous drawing. The first changes the tone of the lighting from blue to pink, and similarly the shading from pink to blue. The second replaces the faint black border with pink, purple and blue, syncing with the stripes in the background. The third combines both these changes. End ID]

[dye-it-rouge-et-noir]

"For particularly important things, it's always more reassuring to write them down like this." - Zhang Beihai

[ID in alt text]

[leavingautumn13]

y'all are lucky it's an emerald kick i'm on right now and not an oras one because i get weird and feral about how characters in oras are aware of the narrative they're in and react differently to it depending on which game you're playing