#i feel a little better about the situation as of now

[steddiecameraroll]

“Ugh, I wanna eat his ass.”

“What?”

Oh shit, Eddie said that thought out loud. He slowly turns his head to see the one and only Max Mayfield staring wide-eyed and horrified at him.

“You didn’t hear me say that.” Eddie leans over and whispers desperately. “That was an inside thought that I accidentally had outside. Pretend you heard nothing.”

“Um, no?” She shrugs like Eddie just asked her to do the most ridiculous thing ever.

Which he supposes he did, but come on this is like a code red level secret here. Eddie needs her to keep her mouth shut. Otherwise, repeating his inside thoughts to the wrong person could either get him a fist in the face or lose the ability to even spend time here at Harrington’s place. Let alone ogle him.

“Come on, Red. You gotta do this one thing for me.” Eddie spins on his butt, planting his feet firmly on the warm deck beside his lounger. “You cannot tell anyone I just said that.”

He must look crazed right now because a small twitch of Max’s eye tells him she’s considering his plea.

“Please, I will do anything. Anything. Name it, and I’ll do it.” He digs his fingers into his thighs.

“Anything?” She asks with a smirk.

Eddie is suddenly terrified.

Eddie drops an extra order of fries in front of Max before sliding into the booth across from her. He’s been buying her food for weeks now, and Steve doesn’t know if this is some hostage situation or if Eddie suddenly feels generous.

Steve watches the two of them trying to deduce what’s going on, but they’re not giving anything away.

"Why do you keep buying her food? Actually," Steve turns his attention to Max. "Why do you keep making him buy you food?"

Max's eyes flick to Eddie where she gives him a wicked smirk. Steve furrows his brows and turns to get a better look at Eddie. Yeah, this is a hostage situation if he's ever seen one.

"Spill it."

"It's nothing," Eddie avoids making eye contact.

"That's not even remotely true. What are you blackmailing him with?" Steve points a finger across the table at Max who shrugs innocently.

"You'd have to ask Eddie what I know and he doesn't want you to know."

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he stares at her wide-eyed and shocked. Interesting, so Max knows something big enough that Eddie is kind of freaking out about the idea of Steve finding out.

That's, yeah, interesting.

"What is it?" Steve leans in and lowers his voice.

"It's nothing!" Eddie says a little too loudly. "Nothing, nothing. She doesn't know anything. Do you Red?" Eddie tries to speak silently with very obvious eye contact which only illicits a chuckle from Max.

She's as cool as a cucumber, sitting across from them munching on her bribery fries.

"You're lying, and it's probably not even that big of a deal. I mean, how bad could it be?" Eddie's clearly worked up and it's bothering Steve's nerves. "Come on, what is it?"

Max smiles wide, "Eddie has a crush on someone."

"Max!" Steve feels Eddie's leg shoot out and attempt to kick the girl.

"Shit, man. Why is this such a coveted secret? Who cares? Is it super embarassing or something? Y'know, Robin had a crush on T- um, someone super embarassing and it wasn't a big deal. We joke about it now." Steve nudges Eddie's shoulder, egging the man on. "Who is it?"

"No one," Eddie picks up his burger and takes an obnoxiously large bite.

Steve glances at Max who's biting back a laugh. She leans back in the booth with a sigh, and gives him another shrug.

Clearly Eddie's embarassed because Max is here. He knows he would tell Steve otherwise. They tell each other everything. Eddie knows Steve kissed Tommy freshman year of high school. There's nothing that could be more embarassing than that. Maybe he can coax it out of him later tonight when they hang out.

"What was that thing with Max today at lunch?" Steve asks while passing the joint back over to Eddie.

They're laying across the top of a picnic table at the apartment complex of Eddie's new place. The smoke from the joint is fading up into the night sky.

"What are you talking about?" Eddie's voice sounds tighter than it was five seconds ago.

"The secret thing. You know you can't let her do this to you. It's only going to escalate. She's too smart to keep it at free food, man."

"Fuck," Eddie exhales. "You're right."

"So? What is it?"

Eddie drops his hands to his side in what looks like defeat. Steve leans up and plucks the joint from his fingers, before laying back down. Eddie's foot starts to bounce slightly, like he's working through the consequences of sharing.

"You know what?" Eddie pushes himself up to sit upright next to Steve. "It's you."

Steve chokes a little on the smoke he was holding in his mouth, then twists to look up at the metalhead sitting above him.

"What?" He doesn't understand.

"It's you. Max overheard me say something out loud that I did not mean to say out loud and well, I didn't really want you to know, so she promised to keep her mouth shut if I bought her food. Whatever food she wanted. Whenever she wanted it."

Steve's brain is slowly parsing through what Eddie just admitted. His mouth is slightly open as he stares up at the man, because that wasn't what he was expecting.

"Me?" He questions.

"Uh, yeah? But don't worry about it. So, ok, she can't black mail me anymore. Fuck, ok. We're good right? I don't expect anything from you, nothing changes. It's not a big deal. I'm sorry, shit, I guess you'd decide if it wasn't a big deal. Crap!" He exclaims then pushes himself off the picnic table.

Steve rolls up to lean back on his palms, watching Eddie pace back and forth. He kind of reminds Steve of a caged animal.

"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. It was only junk food." Eddie murmurs to himself.

"Eddie?"

"Fuck," Eddie skids to a stop and stares at Steve with wide eyes. "If you want to punch me, you can. I won't even move. Ok, I might flinch out of normal reaction, but I will try and stand still."

"What?" Steve chuckles.

"Punch me? Do you want to kick me instead?"

"No," Steve exhales. "I don't want to do anything to you. I think I'm trying to figure something out right now. Sit down." He pats the wood to his side.

Eddie nervously steps onto the bench, and then slides back into place beside Steve. Steve pokes the exposed skin of Eddie's knee through his ripped jeans.

"Do you cut them like this or do they wear through?"

"What?" Eddie leans forward.

"Your jeans."

"I just- dude, I have a crush on you?" Irritation bubbles from Eddie's tone.

"Yeah?" Steve shrugs.

"And your ok with this?"

Steve nods. "I might- I might have one on you too. Still figuring that out."

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"I have to talk to Rob. She probably already knows."

Eddie's eyes dart all over Steve's face like he's looking for the lie. Steve nudges Eddie's knee, and raises his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Would that be ok? If I had a crush on you too?"

"Would that be ok, he asks. Dude, it would've been nice to know this weeks ago. Do you know how much money I wasted on Max's extortion?"

Steve can't stop the smile and warmth of fondness he's feeling for this exasperated man.

"Ok, I figured it out." He nods. "I do."

"You do what?" Eddie throws his hands up.

"I have a crush on you. This is really cute and strangely doing something for me." Eddie's eyes go buggy and Steve's never noticed how much he looks like a cartoon character before. It's cute. "Let's finish this joint and then make out a little bit. What do you say?"

"Jesus, uh," Eddie fumbles. "Y-yeah, uh huh, ok. I could- we could do that."

"Great," Steve motions to the tabletop. "Lay down."

Eddie scrambles to flop down next to Steve, they're closer than they were before the start of this conversation. Steve smiles to himself, and reaches his pinky across the space between them, and hooks onto Eddie's.

"Oh, by the way, what did Max hear you say?"

"Uh, well?" Eddie takes a deep breath. "I kinda said I wanted to eat your ass."

Steve can't stop the laugh that bubbles from his chest. "Yep, that'll do it."

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[adora-but-ginger]

Terminal Lucidity

pairing: spencer reid x gender neutral reader

synopsis: you were going to get out of there if it was the last thing you did.

warnings: typical cm violence, kidnapping events, mentions of torture, death mentions in relation to the reader and the unsub, barely some medical talk, reader saves a teen as well, all that comes with a fic about this sort of stuff, happy ending!! angst until then though

word count: ~850

masterlist

a/n: wrote this in one setting whilst listening to the rep stadium tour 'i did something bad,' so that's the energy we're bringing to the table today. not proofread, and i might forget that i made this by tomorrow morning whoops.

--

You don't know what came over you. You had a guess, but it didn't feel right. In the medical field, they call it a surge.

A slice of time before a person's final moments where they regain an amount of energy which can lead others to believe that they have regained their health. It's fairly common.

It's also the closest thing that you could call what you experienced.

You could feel yourself dwindling, the last drops of hope leaving down the drain along with the significant amount of blood you lost. You were tied up to a chair, your wrists rung raw from trying to escape.

You didn't know where you were or how long you'd been gone, but maybe it was that fact that made you have your burst of energy. Or maybe it was the fact that you weren't the only person in this position. There was a younger person, name unknown, in a similar position to your right, and you weren't going to let what the unsub did to you happen again.

Your concussion was making everything slanted and your bones were screaming. You thought that was it, that you were at the end, until you felt a breath of fresh air. Not literally, but it felt like it.

Oddly enough, Spencer's voice ran through your head directly after.

Terminal Lucidity.

A surge.

Of course, in what was probably your last minutes, you thought of him. You hoped he knew that this wasn't his fault, that he was loved and deserved the best. You knew they had been looking, but it wasn't looking good.

If this was it, you were going to make the unsub pay.

That was how you ended up with a broken chair leg in hand, splinters shaving through the rope on the other individual. You had checked their pulse to make sure they were still breathing, much unlike the unsub now twenty feet away from you.

Like you said, a surge.

Once they were freed, you shook the teen's shoulder in a futile attempt, but you could feel yourself starting to crash. Just a little further. Get them outside with you, get to someplace with a phone, anywhere but here.

It took quite literally your all to stand them up, but thankfully they started to come to as you did so.

They reasonably panicked, but it seemed like they were a little better health wise than you. Good, they will make it out. Once they took notice of the situation, you nodded your head. "We don't need to worry about him anymore. We just need to get out."

"We're on a first floor." Oh, thank goodness.

"We are?"

"Your arm looks bad." You threw their arm over your shoulder, yours mirroring. Even if you two had to drag the other out, you were getting out of here.

"You should see the other guy." One step. Another. "Do you have a phone?"

It was getting harder to walk. "No, he took it."

"That's okay."

You didn't know each other's names, but that didn't matter. They were clearly in a better stance than you, and so when your face hit the true fresh air, you made sure to have them repeat Spencer's number to you, knowing they had it memorized, before sending them off to the nearest payphone. They could walk better than you could, and you could feel the energy crashing. You were on the ground now, them long gone, and you made note of the soft grass between your fingers, the sounds of the birds welcoming your exit.

All you could do, as your eyes shut, was hope.

Your last moments were of the one you loved, the genius who you would plead to the stars to not blame himself for this. They were of the last night you spent with Spencer, watching the stars. You were going to see the stars with him again, you had to.

--

Death was giving you a headache, and it was making you fed up. Your name was continuously being yelled into your ear, and for some reason death sounded like...Spencer? What kind of joke was that?

Until your eyes opened, and his started to cry.

This was why you were confused. You thought you went through a surge. If it wasn't that, then what the hell was it? Maybe just the innate yearning for survival, which you were incredibly glad for. The shouting of your name turned to whispers as you felt your partner's arms holding you, rocking you back and forth.

"It's okay, you're okay."

And for the first time in who knows how long, a smile fell across your face. "Is the kid okay?"

"Yeah, yeah they are. You will be too. EMTs are on their way, just stay with me."

"Spencer?" Your eyes fluttered, sleep beckoning you.

"Hmm? Keep those eyes open for me."

"You came." His hand was rubbing your arm, and you could vaguely see a stray curl of his fall from his head into his face.

He pressed a delicate, feather-like kiss to your forehead. "You called."

You answered sleeps call, and were pleasantly surprised to wake to the sounds of a machine beeping. A hospital.

Squinting, you could make out your partner asleep in the chair next to you bed, hand in yours.

Things were going to be okay.

[adatheexplorer]

ᰋ  ׅ࣪   ꒰  pac reading ♡︎ your (first) next lover aura vibes they give off when they meet you  ꒱  

01. 02. 03.

01

they are someone who stole the sparkling color of sand and put them on their skin and hair. white shirt and demi jeans. they romanticize life and love. scars made out from the pain of their past ; trauma and insincere care. if perfection was a literal person, they totally are one of them. perfect symmetrical face, vivid and pleasantly youthful. everytime they passed by people gaze upon them, they have an unforgettable beauty. i will define them as perfect but they define you that word, you will rent free to their head. they won't forget you. you are dreams come true. it's not like nor lust but love. ‘‘what are we?’’ she said, he replied ‘‘we riding an airbus while we go to the most exciting parts’’. this is love at first sight that feels surreal, it's all started from a little spark prior to two soul's dancing on a flame but they aren't afraid from it blaze.

02

frustration is written on their face - lots of sadness and feel bad about their situation. they're afraid. they need someone to hold on into. they wonder if taking an advil or crying about their situation makes this painful event of their life to feel them better. you offer them a cup, they accepted and now they can't forget you. they can say to themselves ‘‘i'm glad i made it’’, ‘‘we don't know each other but i feel comfortable being with you’’. two souls and hearts praying to heaven to turn the tables arounf and now it's finally heard, they about to meet each other's sooner.

03

if most of author's favorite character is someone who is cool, intimidating, financially stable, tall and dark - they probably that one main character. they did something that makes themselves so proud, they're confident indeed. in a classy place, restaurant this two people meet. they actually have that veiny and big hands. they give off the energy of someone who use to go on a coffee shop and order their favorite drink and read a book. calm and relaxed. they help and cure people. they are helper. people loved them so much, people look high up on them. if i will add another description about them - they are cozy and intelligent. they have a lot of creative ways and they have a lot of aces cards to show. they will bring the light for you in the near future. a better and new pathways.

© thecelestialperiwinkle / adatheexplorer 2024

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Everbody Loves a Clown | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Word Count: 5956

Warnings: Canon violence, canon gore, coping with parental death, clowns lol

A/N: Special treat since the first episode was kinda short! Happy reading, everyone!

The only light in the middle of the clearing in the woods came from John’s wrapped, burning body. You stood wordlessly between Dean and Sam, watching as the pyre burned to ash. Dean stared silently while his brother fought tears.

It felt so odd to have spent so much time looking for John— a man you'd only met in passing during a hunt a little over a year ago— to now be standing in front of his burning corpse. It almost felt anticlimactic if you detached emotion completely from your situation.

On the very real and guttural side of things, though, you knew that having spent so little time with John after looking for him for almost a year was going to take a horrible toll on his boys, especially your Dean.

Sam spoke for the first time in hours. “Before he.. before... did he say anything to you? About anything?”

Dean refused to look at you or his brother, but said, “No. Nothing.”

An obvious lie.

***

Over a week after John’s funeral, you were watching Dean work on his car at Bobby’s. Bobby had been nice enough to let the three of you stay with him while Dean got the Impala back in working order.

Selfishly, every time you looked at Dean, you wanted to come right out with your feelings. Although, he was grieving, and you did not want to take advantage of his vulnerability. You wouldn't want your relationship to be born out of such a terrible tragedy.

However, you would continue to be there for him however he needed, even if that meant sitting next to him in the hot sun silently for hours and handing him a wrench every once in a while. You knew better than to ask if he was okay. You’d lost your father, too and knew he wouldn’t be okay for quite some time.

At first, he’d barely tolerated you sitting next to him. He fought you on everything you tried to do for him, but you got him to shut up after a few days. You knew he knew what you were playing at, and you could tell he appreciated it nonetheless.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as well-fortified against his emotions. You could hear him crying in the next room almost nightly, and it broke your heart. But you would rather Sam cry than build himself up against negative feelings the way his brother did. He was more into the touchy-feely-hug-it-out therapy style, and you were more than happy to give that to him. These boys needed you to be strong for them, and you would happily do so for as long as they needed. 

“How's the car coming along?” Sam asked, approaching you and Dean, who was under his car. You sat next to where his boots stuck out with a tool box in your lap.

“Slow,” Dean responded.

“Yeah? Need any help?”

“What, you under a hood? I'll pass.”

“Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled himself out from under the car and stood up above you. You looked between Dean’s face, set in hard lines, and his brother’s puppy-dog stare. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what?” the younger brother asked innocently.

“Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise,” Dean scoffed.

“Alright, Dean, it's just—” Sam took a deep breath. “We've been at Bobby's for over a week now, and you haven't brought up Dad once.”

“You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance.” You knew the bite in Dean’s voice was all a mask.

“Don't patronize me, Dean,” Sam returned. “Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car.”

“Sam, let it go—” you tried, but Dean continued to talk over you.

“Revenge, huh?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it— oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car.” He got back down under it.  

“Well, we've got something, alright?” Sam crouched down next to you and handed you a cell phone. “It’s what I came out here to tell you. This is one of dad's old phones. Took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this.”

Dean pushed himself out from under the car again and sat up next to you as you played the voicemail. “John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me.”

“That message is four months old,” Sam explained.

“Dad saved that chick's message for four months?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam nodded.

“Who’s Ellen?” you asked. “Any mention of her in your dad’s journal?”

“No. But I ran a trace on her phone number, and I got an address.”

***

You and the boys ended up taking one of Bobby’s beat-up minivans to the Roadhouse Saloon; the address Ellen’s voicemail led to. 

“This is humiliating. I feel like a fuckin’ soccer mom!” Dean groaned as he parked the car.

“It’s the only one Bobby had running, dude,” you reminded him. You followed the boys into the purposefully dilapidated-looking building.  

“Hello? Anybody here?” Dean asked loudly. No response ever came. All you could hear was a fly buzzing and a light popping. You caught sight of a man passed out on the pool table facing away from you. 

“Hey, buddy?” Sam said. He turned back to you and Dean. “I'm guessing that isn't Ellen.” He headed into a back room to look around. You walked a little ahead of Dean, only turning around when you heard him say. “Oh god, please let that be a rifle.”

You whipped out your gun and turned to see a pretty petite blonde holding a cocked rifle to Dean’s back. “No, I'm just real happy to see you. Don't move.”

“Hey!” you said. She looked to you, but didn’t move her gun from Dean’s back. “You shoot him, and you’re dead,” you told her.

“Well, he moves, and he’s dead,” she replied.

“Ladies, Ladies, please,” Dean smirked. “You know, you should know something, miss. When you put a rifle on someone, you don't want to put it right against their back. Because it makes it real easy to do…” He turned around fluidly and grabbed the rifle. “That.”

The blonde punched him square in the nose and took back the rifle. You cocked your pistol, catching her attention. 

“Sam! A little help, please!” Dean said. 

“Sorry, Dean, I can't right now. I'm a... little tied up.” Sam walked out with his hands on his head and a shotgun pointed at the back of him. An older woman walked out holding it. “Sam? Dean? Winchester?” she said.

“Yeah…?” Dean said.

“Son of a bitch,” the woman muttered.

The blonde spoke up next. “Mom, you know these guys?”

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys,” she answered, lowering the gun and laughing. “Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo.”

Jo lowered her rifle as well. “Hey,” she smiled.

“Oh, we’re just supposed to be cool now?” you remarked, still pointing your gun at the blonde.

“(Y/N), cool it,” Dean warned. You did as told and slowly lowered your gun, still stand-offish. 

“You're not gonna hit me again, are you?” Dean asked Jo. 

Ellen handed him a small towel filled with ice. 

“Thanks. You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?” he asked as he took it from her.

“Well, the demon, of course,” she stated as if it was obvious. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

“What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” Dean snarked. “I mean, who- who are you? How do you know about all this?”

The brunette scoffed. “Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once.”

“Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?”

She looked down and softened her voice. “You'd have to ask him that.”

“So why exactly do we need your help?” Dean questioned.

Now you wanted Dean to cool it. “Relax, man,” you warned.

“Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if—” Ellen stopped suddenly. “He didn't send you.” She looked frantically between Dean and Sam. “He's all right, isn't he?”

Dean refused to look at her, but Sam answered instead. “No. No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess.”

Ellen looked sad. “I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay. We're all right,” Dean replied.

“Really? I know how close you and your dad were.”

“Really, lady, I'm fine,” he growled.

“Dean, relax,” you urged him quietly.

Sam continued the conversation with Ellen. “So look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get.”

“Well, we can't. But Ash will,” she smirked.

“Who's Ash?” you asked.

“Ash!” she called.

You turned to the man on the pool table as he jerked up and flailed up. “What? It closin' time?”

Sam snorted. “That’s Ash?”

Jo hummed. “Mm-hmm. He's a genius.”

You looked at her, skeptical. 

“Sit, please,” Ellen said, and she and her daughter moved around the bar opposite you while you slapped a folder down in front of Ash. He sat across the bar from you.

“You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean remarked.

Ash grinned drunkenly. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” the older brother smiled, seeming slightly confused by the drunk.

“Just give him a chance,” Jo urged.

You opened the folder and pushed it toward Ash. “That’s about a year’s worth of John’s work. See if you can make heads or tails of it.”

Ash shook his head as he looked through the papers. “Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this.”

“Our dad could,” said Sam.

“There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean, damn!” Ash’s cadence made you giggle. “They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms— You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun.”

“Can you track it or not?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me—” he thought for a moment— “fifty-one hours.” He got up to leave, but Dean stopped him. 

“I, uh, I dig the haircut.”

He waved his hair around dramatically. “All business up front, party in the back.”

Jo walked around Dean, flirting a little. You could’ve killed her. 

He offered Jo a polite smile, but you apparently were not doing a good job of hiding your jealousy.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean chuckled, shooting you a smirk. 

You could practically feel Jo checking Dean out. 

“She’s looking at you like a hunk of meat,” you replied, talking through your teeth. 

“What, you mean, like you do?” he replied, smirking.

“I do not!” You paused at his deadpan look. “I mean, sometimes, maybe, quite possibly, but not right now.”

He nodded. “And you know, I, uh, I appreciate that.”

“Do you really? Sounded like you had a gun to your head when you said that,” you giggled.

He looked back at you sincerely. “You know I do.”

"I do just have... one question, though," you said, unable to stop the words coming out of your mouth due to the sudden, subtle flirting coming from Dean.

He nodded for you to continue.

"I'm assuming you pieced together what I was gonna tell you back at the hospital," you trailed off.

Dean nodded again, the ends of his lips tugging upward.

"You're not... freaked out?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Opposite of freaked out."

You could feel your cheeks heating, and you looked down at the bar in front of you. Dean's chuckle was music to your ears despite the way it spurred on your embarrassment.

Then, Sam approached you and Dean. “A few murders, not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of. Looks to me like there might be a hunt.”

“Yeah. So?” Dean asked.

“So, I told her we'd check it out.”

***

Dean continued to grumble about the “stupid minivan” the whole way to your next hunt. Sam did research as you scribbled in your journal. Helping the boys was a task you wouldn't give up for anything, but it was beginning to bring up some negative emotions and memories for you. Journaling was helping to calm the storm inside you.

“You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?” Dean scoffed.

“Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually,” Sam responded.

“And this family was at some carnival that night?”

“Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnivals.”

“So, how do we know it’s not some psycho in a clown suit?” you piped up.

“Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course,” Sam explained.

“Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?” Dean mocked.

“Oh, give me a break,” the brunet muttered.

You smiled but refused to make fun of him, because “everyone is afraid of something.” 

“You’re scared of clowns?” you asked.

“Yeah, he still busts out crying whenever he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” Dean told you.

“Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying,” Sam deadpanned.

“Planes crash!”

“And apparently clowns kill!”

"Boys—!"

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean mumbled. “So these types of murders, they ever happen before?”

“Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales,” the younger Winchester explained.

“It’s weird, though, spirits are usually bound to specific locales, y’know,” you said. “So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?”

“Cursed object, maybe,” Dean suggested. “Spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them.”

“Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well, blame Sam. It was his idea. By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.” Dean threw a look to his brother.

“So?”

“It's just… not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt.”

You eyed Sam strangely, too.

The younger Winchester softened. “I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“What Dad would have wanted?” Dean turned his face to Sam.

“Yeah. So?” Sam challenged.

“Nothin'.”

***

You and the boys decided to join the carnival after the second family had been murdered to get a closer look at the happenings during the carnival. “Friends close, freak-shows closer,” Dean had said.

When you entered yet another tent in search of the show’s organizer. You found a man throwing knives at a target; all landing near but not quite on the bulls-eye. 

“Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper; have you seen him around?” the older brother asked.

The man turned around and pulled off his sunglasses. “What is that, some kind of joke?” 

“Oh. God, I'm— I'm sorry,” Dean said.

“You think I wouldn't give my teeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?”

Dean whispered to you, “Wanna give me a little help here?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Hey man, is there a problem?” a voice interrogated from behind you. You turned to see a very short man in a red cape.

“Yeah, this guy hates blind people,” the knife-thrower said.

“No, I don't, I—” Dean’s gorgeous smile was doing nothing to help him in this situation.

“Hey, buddy, what's your problem?” the short man scowled.

“Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding.”

“Little?! You son of a bitch!” The man went to charge Dean.

“No, no, no, no! I'm just— could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?”

You and Sam snickered.

“Please?” you asked. 

The short man looked up at you, and his gaze softened. “Sure, sweetheart, follow me.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, looking back at the boys. 

Dean’s jaw was clenched for a reason you weren’t quite sure of. When you asked, he said, “Just don’t like anybody else callin’ you that.”

You smiled lopsidedly. He could be really sweet when he wanted to be.

Mr. Cooper met you at the door of his office and invited you in. “You three picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat.”

You looked at the available seating options, and Dean motioned for you to take the normal of the two chairs. You obliged, and Dean stood behind you, forcing Sam to sit in the obnoxious pink chair with a giant clown face on it. He sat on the chair hesitantly and refused to relax into it. 

“We've got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?”

“Yes, sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas,” Sam responded.

“Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? ANS men?” 

“Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess.”

Mr. Cooper eyed your group strangely. “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?”

“Nope,” Dean grinned. “But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady.”

“You see that picture? That's my daddy.” The showrunner pointed to a black and white picture on the wall of a man in a fedora in front of a ferris wheel.

“You guys could be twins,” you pointed out. 

Mr. Cooper smiled thoughtfully. “He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else.

"But you three? You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Marry this one, maybe.” The man gestured to you. “Have two point five kids. Live regular.”

Dean went to say something, but Sam leaned forward, his eyes serious. “Sir? We don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this.”

You turned to him skeptically, as did Dean. 

Mr. Cooper told the three of you to return in a few hours for training, which you were a little surprised by the suddenness of. 

“I guess they really are desperate,” you said as the three of you left the carnival holding your uniforms to go change into. 

“Were you serious?” Dean asked his brother.

“What?” Sam furrowed his brows at him.

“That whole, uh, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?” Dean pressed further at his younger brother’s hesitance. “Sam?” 

“I don't know,” he replied.

“You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead, and the fat lady sings ,that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State,” Dean deadpanned.

“I'm having second thoughts,” was all the younger brother answered with.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job.”

Dean stopped Sam. “Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam.”

“Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?”

Dean’s voice hardened but remained sarcastic. “Naw, I don't have a problem at all.”

***

Later that day, you returned with the boys wearing a bright red “Cooper Carnival” jacket to begin your “janitorial job.” You were waiting for Sam or Dean to call you to tell you when to meet up with them for further investigation.

Before you had gotten a call from either, you noticed a little girl tugging on her mother’s jacket. “Mommy, look at the clown!” She pointed at something off in the distance. 

You followed her line of sight only to see nothing.

“What clown?” the mother asked. “Come on, sweetie, come on.”

You called Sam immediately. “Hey, dude. I got something.”

***

The three of you then chose to stake out the family’s home that evening. Dean had just relayed to you how the blind man overheard him calling Sam about the case and had to tell him you three were writing a book about the supernatural.

“Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,” Sam snorted.

“I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real,” Dean argued. He pulled a gun and cocked it. You jumped over the seat and shoved his arm down. “What are you, nuts? You’re gonna get us busted.”

“Oh, and get this,” Dean continued. “I mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse? Guess what.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager.”

“So you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?” Sam questioned.

“Something like that.” The older brother shook his head and sighed. “I can't believe we keep talking about clowns.”

***

You and the Winchesters had been stalking these poor people’s home for hours now. Well, you and Sam had, at least. Dean, on the other hand, was dozing in the front seat. You shook him awake when you saw a phantom clown appear at the front door.

“Dee, look,” you said. 

He hummed and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He turned and looked at you when he saw the girl leading the clown inside. 

You jumped out of the car and went through the back entrance of the house. You hid around a corner down the hallway from where the little girl and the clown were.

“Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They're upstairs,” you heard the girl say. At that moment, Sam leapt out and grabbed the young girl who screamed.

Simultaneously, you shot at the clown while Dean cocked his shotgun again. “Sam, watch out!” he yelled. 

The clown leapt out the window, turning invisible as it shattered the glass of the front door.

The parents ran downstairs and began shouting at you and the brothers. You and the brothers dropped the girl and sprinted away, hearing the girl whine, “ Mommy, Daddy, they shot my clown!” as you headed out.

***

A while later, you and the brothers pulled off the side of the road and ditched the crappy van Dean had been driving you around in. You pulled the license plate off the back of the van and stuffed it in your duffel bag.

“You really think they saw our plates?” Sam asked you.

“I’m not taking any chances,” you said.

“I hate this fuckin’ thing anyway,” Dean grumbled. He began to lead you and his brother off the side of the road. “Well, one thing's for sure.”

“What?” you asked.

“We're not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid,” Dean responded.

“Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know, man, I’ve never heard of a creature like that. And it’s definitely not a person. I have no idea what the hell it could be,” you huffed.

“Did it say anything in Dad's journal?” Dean asked.

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Nope,” pulling out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” you asked him.

“Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash'll know something. Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?” Sam smirked.

“No way,” snorted Dean.

“Then why didn't he tell us about her?” retorted Sam.

“I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out,” the older brother shrugged.

“Yeah. You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?”

You chuckled, but Dean simply nodded and looked at the floor. 

Sam lowered his phone. “Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean this ‘strong silent’ thing of yours, it's crap,” Sam answered.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, god.”

“I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”

Dean started walking a little faster. “You know what, back off, alright? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

Sam caught up with his brother easily. “No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!” the older Winchester said gruffly.

“What are you talking about?” Sam questioned.

“I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late.”

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?”

You looked between the boys and knew Dean was handing Sam a load of bullshit. However, you decided to stow that conversation until you could get him in private.

Sam swallowed harshly, looking upset. “I'm going to call Ellen.” Sam walked a little ahead of you and Dean on the phone.

While Sam spoke to Ellen, you walked beside Dean wordlessly.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to act like I’m a bomb about to go off,” Dean said.

You looked up at him. “I’m not. I just thought you’d appreciate a little silence instead of me asking you to ‘share and care,’ as you put it.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing you to support him in that simple way. He rubbed his thumb over yours and continued to walk next to you. 

When Sam got off the phone, he turned back to you and his brother. “Wha—” He looked down at yours and Dean’s entwined hands and shook his head. “Nevermind. Rakshasa.”

“What's that?” Dean asked.

“Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited,” Sam explained.

“So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite 'em in. Why don't they just munch on the kids?”

“No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?”

“Well, that’s grotesque,” you noted.

“What else'd you find out?” Dean questioned.

“Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects.” The younger brother grimaced.

“Nice,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81—”

Sam cut his brother off. “Right. Probably more before that.”

“Who do we know that worked both shows?” You raised a brow.

“Cooper?” Sam replied.

“Yup.” You thought for a moment. “That picture of his father looked just like him. Maybe it was him.”

“Well, who knows how old he is?” Sam added.

“Ellen say how to kill him?” Dean asked.

“Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass,” the brunet explained.

“I think I know where to get one of those.”

“Whoa, whoa,” you said. “Before we go stabbing Cooper, I wanna make damn sure it’s him.”

“Oh, you're such a stickler for details, sweetheart,” the older Winchester teased you. “Alright, I'll round up the blade, you two go check if Cooper's got bed bugs.”

***

You and Sam followed instructions and went to Mr. Cooper’s trailer. Dean had left the two of you to go find the blind man. Inside the trailer, you didn’t find any bugs he was nesting on. Just a plain, old twin mattress. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a voice called from behind you.

You wheeled around to see Mr. Cooper. “Oh, hi! Just the guy I wanted to—”

“Save it,” Mr. Cooper told you. “Get the hell out of here. Oh, and uh, you’re fired.”

You nodded. “I figured.”

You and Sam dashed out of Mr. Cooper’s trailer and over to where Dean had told you he’d be. When you arrived at the blind man’s tent, Dean stumbled out of the door.

“Holy shit, hey,” you said after he’d scared you.

“Hey.”

“So, Cooper thinks we’re Peeping Toms, but it's not him,” Sam explained.

“Yeah, so I gathered. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere.”

“Well, did you get the—”

“The brass blades? No. No, it's just been one of those days,” Dean sarcastically replied. 

“I got an idea. Come on,” Sam said. You and Dean followed him to the funhouse. As you began to go through, the door slammed behind you between you and the brothers.

“Great!” you groaned. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled, banging on the door. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N/N), find the maze, okay?” Sam called to you.

“Okay!” you called back. You somehow stumbled your way through the maze and found the brothers. “Oh, thank god,” you sighed.

Sam broke a pipe off the organ a bit ahead of you. 

“Where is it?” you asked.

“I don't know, I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around?” Dean answered. A knife flew right past your head, clipping your ear. “Fuck!”

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know, Sam, the thing’s invisible!” You jumped up, reached above your head, and grabbed a lever. When you pulled it down, steam poured out of the vent. 

“Sam, behind you! Behind you!” you heard Dean say. You began to run in the direction of Dean’s voice through the steam. When you arrived at him, there was a bloodied lump of clothes on the ground with a pipe sticking out from its chest. You turned to Dean who was pinned to the wall by two knives on his arm and helped him free himself.

“You okay?” he asked you. 

You nodded as you pulled the last knife out of his jacket.

“I hate funhouses,” he grumbled.

***

You sat next to Dean at Ellen’s bar, and she laid a few beers in front of you. “You kids did a hell of a job.” Ellen nodded at the brothers. “Your dad 'd be proud.”

Sam half-smiled. “Thanks.” He got up to walk over to Ash, and Jo took his place.

“So,” she cleared her throat.

‘Damn, this girl is bold,’ you thought.

“So,” you said.

She ignored you and focused on Dean. “Am I gonna see you again?”

Dean turned to her, surprised. “Do you want to?”

“I wouldn't hate it.”

You rolled your eyes and got up from your chair, heading over to Sam and Ash. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you walked away. You knew you had no reason to treat Jo poorly; she was just a young girl with a crush. She had no idea that you and Dean were at all involved. You truly didn’t even know if you and Dean were legitimately involved to begin with.

You noted Ash’s bizarre-looking laptop with exposed wiring and his stack of papers. “Whatcha got there, Pinky?”

He snorted at you. “I’d say I’m a little more Brain than anything, but where ya been? Been waitin’ for ya.”

“What, Ellen didn’t tell you about the clowns?” you asked.

“Clowns? What the fuck—”

You snickered as Dean walked up behind you. “You got something for us, Ash?”

“You find the demon?” Sam questioned.

Ash shook his head. “It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm.”

Dean reached for his laptop. “Do you mind…?”

Ash gave him a look, and Dean pulled his hand back from the keyboard. 

You smirked a little at the sight. “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?”

“M.I.T. Before I got bounced for... fighting.”

“No way!” you exclaimed.

He smirked at you and took a sip of his beer. 

“Okay. Give us a call as soon as you know something?” Dean said, suggesting to you and Sam it was time to go.

“Si, si, compadre.” Ash took the beer Dean had placed down and chugged the rest of it. 

You followed the brothers to the door. Ellen stopped you before you could leave. “Hey, listen— if you kids need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back.”

“Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish,” Dean said.

***

“So, you get Jo’s number?” you asked back at Bobby’s junkyard. You sat cross-legged on the hood of one of the cars next to the Impala Dean was working on drinking a beer.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, she obviously likes you. Kid was shamelessly flirting with you, so I just assumed—”

“No, (Y/N).” He put down the wrench he was holding. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, okay, I just thought—”

He walked over to you and stood between your knees. He ran his hands up and down your thighs. “I’m telling you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Dean, stop it. You don’t have to come over here and flirt with me just ‘cause I got jealous” you said. 

“I’m not,” he assured you. “Look, we haven’t had a chance to talk about everything—”

“And I don’t need us to. I know you need time after your dad—”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you muttered. 

“But I have no interest in Jo. She’s layin’ it on a little too thick for my taste,” he smirked.

"I don't know, Dean, your bar hookups always lay it on pretty thick," you reminded him.

"Yeah, guess you're right. But she's not you. So I'm not interested."

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go get some more beer. You want one?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

You headed back inside and passed Sam on the way. You found Bobby inside and began to update him on the situation with the brothers.

“I don’t know, Bobby, neither of them are doing well,” you said. “But it’s Dean I’m the most worried about.”

“Why’s that?” the older man asked.

“He’s just… bottling it up. He wouldn’t even let me sit next to him while he worked on his car for the first week we were here. He’s worrying me.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Bobby nodded. “But I think if anybody can get ‘im to open up, it’s gonna be you.”

You eyed him strangely. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s just… different with you. I think he puts up a bit of a front with Sam. But never with you.”

You nodded. “I’ll keep trying.” You grabbed two beers and again passed Sam as he came back into the house with tears in his eyes. As you approached Dean’s car, you heard slamming metal on metal and Dean grunting. You quickened your step to get to him, holding a beer in each hand. When you arrived, you saw him hitting the Impala’s trunk with a crowbar over and over again.

“Dean, what the f—”

He looked up at you and fought back tears. You put the beers on the car behind you and slowly approached him. You opened your arms to him and wrapped them around his torso, and he finally responded by burying his face in your hair. You could feel him still trying to stifle his tears, but it was clear he was unsuccessful. You let him hug you for as long as he needed to.

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

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 5

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The fifth time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — when you finally decide you've waited long enough to tell him what he means to you.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.5k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer, @chemococktailonthehouse, @1word (sending directly to the rest because Tumblr isn't cooperating)

Author’s Note: Things are heating up!!! As you can tell, this chapter is a bit longer, and I can promise you, it's got a lot of good stuff in it :D By far my favorite chapter to write so far. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have, and I appreciate all your kind words and support so much!!

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

A week after you’ve made an official friendship declaration with Colt Seavers, you’re back on the dim, grimy underground train station set, getting ready to watch him throw himself in front of a moving train.

At the moment, Colt is standing on the other side of the train tracks, and you’re watching him from a considerable distance across the set. You have every reason to be there — this is the set you’ve been working on day and night for the last month, after all — but you’re not the least bit worried about any of your props or decorations. All you care about is making sure Colt pulls off one of his most dangerous stunts yet.

It’s been a strange week for you. On one hand, you’re glad that Colt knows you have some feelings for him, and that your friendship has been able to carry on without becoming awkward. His sincere, unexpected apology only made your feelings stronger, but you’re trying to ignore that.

All the same, being “just friends” is the slowest, most excruciating torture you’ve ever known. For one whole week, Colt has not done a single thing that could be interpreted as overly flirtatious, just as he promised he wouldn’t so you could be spared the pain. No subtle touches, no saucy looks, no double-edged words. It’s kind of him, really.

It also hurts like a razorblade on a third-degree burn.

Still, it’s better than nothing. As long as you can have him in your life in some way, you’re satisfied to try to quell these overwhelming feelings that threaten to break free at any moment. You’re in love with him — you know that now if you never knew it before — but you just have to be content knowing that he doesn’t feel the same way. That you have to love him as you’d love a friend.

So here you are, being a supportive friend as he casts himself headfirst into a dangerous situation. This stunt involves standing in for the film’s star, Tom Ryder, whose character is supposed to be shackled to a railroad track directly in the path of a moving train, only to break free just in time. Colt’s job is to pretend to be shackled down and jump up in plenty of time to clear the path of the moving train, which is, to your great dismay, not a prop in the slightest.

As the camera crew makes their last arrangements to start filming this shot, Colt turns from fiddling with a handcuff prop to catch your eyes in the crowd that has gathered to watch. He smiles when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting and throwing his trademark thumbs-up high above his head.

Your heart speeds up at the sight of Colt’s smile, and you wave back at him in what you hope is an encouraging manner.

“Hey, relax,” a female voice says in your ear. You turn to see Holly grinning at you as she walks back to the cameras that are already in position. “He’s done this kind of thing a million times.”

You cut your eyes at her with a smirk. “I’m not worried,” you insist.

Holly lifts both eyebrows and laughs at you, always able to read what you’re really thinking. You laugh with her, glad to feel the knot in your stomach loosening a little. Holly gives your hand a quick squeeze in encouragement before taking her place at the lead camera station.

When you look back at the set, Colt is already in position, crouched down on one knee with his hands behind his back. You know he’s not actually tied down, but even seeing the fake handcuffs almost makes you wish you hadn’t come to watch.

Elijah Gordon, the director, is shouting some instructions at the crew as they make their last-minute preparations. He’s already cued the train to start moving, as it takes nearly half a mile to get the desired speed for the shot.

“One minute, people!” Gordon bellows, situating himself on a camera dolly high enough that he can see the action below. “We’re doing this in one take, or we’re not doing it at all. Colt, remember I want it to look real!”

Colt grins up at Gordon, his face smeared with fake dirt and his teeth shining like a white band through the grime. “It is real, Gordon!”

Gordon gives a curt nod, then listens to a voice over the walkie-talkie. Though your mind is focused on watching Colt, you can’t help the creeping disdain that you always feel when it comes to Elijah Gordon. The man is a phenomenal director, but he’s also the most callous, self-centered, inconsiderate person you’ve ever known. Knowing Colt’s life is more or less in Gordon’s hands makes you feel queasy.

The train whistle pierces the echoey tunnel chamber, and Gordon lifts his megaphone to shout, “Roll cameras!”

You put both hands over your mouth, dreading having to watch the scene play out. Colt looks entirely confident where he kneels on the railroad track, but you can’t help wondering what he feels in moments like this. Does he get scared? Does he lose faith in his own abilities? Does he ever doubt that the stunt will work perfectly? Can he afford to think like that?

A second train whistle stabs your ears, and you can feel your heart beating faster than ever before. You feel like you’re the one lingering on the tracks.

You can see the train now, and your eyes flit back to Colt, whose face is mostly hidden by the bandanna tied around his forehead. His muscles are tensed, ready to spring away at the perfect second. Gordon is shouting directions, his voice barely audible above the racket of the approaching train. He holds up his hand high in the air, signaling to Colt to stay in position.

The train eats up another hundred feet. Two hundred. Three hundred. Five hundred. Gordon’s hand doesn’t budge, and Colt keeps his eyes on the director for his cue to move.

You can hear your heartbeat hammering in your ears, and it takes all your willpower not to screw your eyes shut. You keep them open as if caught in a trance, bouncing back and forth between Colt and the train as if you’re watching a tennis match.

The train rumbles closer and closer, now near enough that you can see the face of the man driving the engine. You hold your breath, waiting for Gordon to throw his hand down in a signal to Colt.

But Gordon’s hand doesn’t move. Another screeching whistle. The train is less than a hundred yards away now.

You know he should have given Colt the signal by now — you were there for the days of blocking and planning that went into this scene. Suddenly your lungs constrict as you realize Gordon is pushing Colt for a few more seconds on the tracks, long enough to make the film audiences gasp.

“Stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs, but your voice is drowned out by the roar of the train. Your feet are carrying you in a sprint before you even register your own movement. Two hundred feet away now.

“Gordon, stop it!” The director can’t hear you, but Holly does, whirling around and grabbing you by both arms to stop you from getting any closer to the set. You can see Colt’s eyes get wider as he realizes that Gordon isn’t lowering his arm.

Everything in your entire being is shuddering, wanting to shut down, wanting to scream, to explode into action, but Holly beckons for two other crew members to help hold you back. All you can do is watch as the train draws closer and Colt waits for Gordon’s signal. One hundred feet.

“Holly, make him stop!” you scream at your friend, whose distressed expression tells you you’re not alone in your confused panic.

At the last second, with the train less than fifty feet away, Gordon throws his hand down, and Colt is already in motion, somersaulting off the track and into the safety zone as the train — all forty tons of it — whizzes over the space that Colt occupied seconds ago.

Holly and her two crew members hold you back a second longer, and when the red light on the camera flickers off, you break past them and run as fast as you can onto the set. You can barely see where to step as you climb over the platform and down into the dingy, darkened train tunnel, tears blurring your vision and your pulse hammering in your ears.

Colt is leaning against the wall of the tunnel, his face as white as a ghost. Several crew members have already gathered around him, but you shove past them and throw your arms around his neck, uncaring of what anyone might think. You can feel Colt trembling in your arms even as his easygoing voice whispers in your ear, “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Once you’re satisfied that he really is alive, you pull back, framing his face in your hands and searching his eyes with what you know must be a crazed look. Colt doesn’t say anything more; the color is slowly returning to his face, and his nerves are calming down now that the adrenaline wears off. He doesn’t, however, loosen his grip on you, betraying how shaken he still is.

“Nice work, Colt,” bellows a voice from the train platform. “That was just what we needed.”

At the sound of Gordon’s voice, all you can see is red.

Setting your jaw, you turn away from Colt and stride back to the platform with more rage than you can remember feeling in your entire life. Every muscle in your body is quaking visibly, and your voice rings out loud and clear over the chaos in the set when you shout, “How dare you?”

Gordon turns from his conversation with a cameraman and gives you a nonplussed glance. When he realizes that your yell and your power walk are directed at him, he dismisses the cameraman to deal with you head-on.

“Something you want to discuss?” Gordon asks you, condescension dripping from his voice.

Behind you, you hear Colt making his way onto the platform, his calm voice assuring you, “Hey, it’s okay—”

But you’re not in the mood to be comforted. “It is not okay, Colt,” you shout, your eyes still locked on Gordon. Every eye on the set is directed at you, now that you’ve chosen to make a huge scene with Elijah Gordon himself. Colt pulls to a stop beside you, but your words are still pointed at Gordon. “How could you make him do that? How dare you make him do that?”

“There wasn’t any real risk, kid,” Gordon says flippantly. “Keep your bonnet on.”

“No real risk?” you demand. “Did we just see the same scene? Colt was trying to get off the tracks to stay alive, and you forced him to stay on longer so you could get a ‘closer call’ on camera.”

Gordon’s brows lower at that. “Again, not life-threatening,” he snaps. “If it were, Colt wouldn’t have finished the stunt, and I wouldn’t have made him do it.”

“You weren’t the one staring down the headlights of a train!”

Colt rests his hand on your elbow in an attempt to get you to calm down, but Gordon fires back at you immediately, “He’s a stuntman, my dear. In case you folks in the set decorating department don’t know what that is, it means he does stunts. Sometimes those stunts are dangerous.”

Gordon’s arrogance only inflames your anger more. “I am completely aware that his job comes with risks,” you shout. “But those risks shouldn’t come from a toffee-nosed director who thinks human life is something to play with like a deck of cards.”

You feel Colt stiffen beside you, and his grip on your arm grows firmer. “Hey, it seriously is okay,” Colt assures you. “Just drop it.”

“I’m not dropping it, Colt. If that train had been a few seconds off count, you wouldn’t be part of this conversation. You’d be in pieces on the train tracks.”

Gordon raises his hands to cut in, replacing the harshness in his voice with honey. “Listen, my dear, let’s just keep a clear picture of who you are, all right? You’re here to make the sets look good. You do that very nicely, and I appreciate it. So why don’t you keep your little toffee-nosed opinions off the set where the actual movies are being made, okay?”

You feel a shift in Colt’s body language again, but this time, it’s directed towards Gordon. You stand your ground, shooting a steely-eyed stare at the director that would make any action star proud.

“I bet your producers wouldn’t appreciate hearing that you risked the life of their top stuntman,” you tell him softly.

Gordon laughs out loud at that, as do a few of the crew members standing around him. “Listen, sweetheart, the producers pay me to make their movies look good,” he informs you. His voice changes then, affecting a curious, offended tone. “Aren’t you the one who’s been on a little crusade lately about doing everything with practical effects? You want to change your stance and say I should do all the stunts in VFX? Your boyfriend will be out of a job if I do that.”

A few more crew members laugh, trying to reduce some of the tension that is radiating between you. You know you’re the only person who’s freaking out about Colt’s close call — it’s not like he hasn’t done this sort of thing before — but you can’t help feeling like this is important.

“You absolute scumbag,” you hiss at Gordon. “You seriously are going to play this off like it’s just part of the process? Colt almost died—”

Holly comes up on your other side now, setting a calming hand on your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, just—”

“I bet your producers would have loved to hear about that—”

“You need to calm down—” Holly says more firmly.

“And don’t you dare try to throw my own words at me like I’ve supported you risking people’s lives for a cool shot—”

Colt’s voice now. “Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal!” you explode, your voice echoing through the train station. “I mean, am I seriously the only one who sees any value in your life?”

Your comment is heavy, and everyone seems to feel the weight of it. Gordon hesitates, his eyes flicking back and forth between you, Colt, and Holly as if to make sure he’s not about to be physically attacked. The usual buzz of the crew is dead silent.

Finally, Gordon clears his throat and says dismissively, “If you’ve got a problem with me, kid, talk to the studio and see if they care. I can promise you they won’t.” He takes one step closer to you, and in a lower voice adds, “And in the meantime, keep your mouth shut about my processes. You’re good at your job, and I’d hate for you to have to get kicked off set just because you can’t keep your personal life separate from your professional one.”

With that, Gordon whirls around and walks back to the cameras to review the shot.

You’re still trembling with anger, your voice drying up in your throat as you realize that everyone in the crowd is still staring at you. You’re not ashamed of what you said, but you’re embarrassed that everyone on set had to witness it.

Ducking your head, you pull away from Colt and Holly and start walking out of the train station set. Only when the warm afternoon air hits your face do you realize tears have been streaming down your cheeks.

Colt is just a few steps behind you, and you look at him wordlessly, trying to read his expression. There’s not a trace of anger or confusion in his eyes — just a deep gratitude and affection. He slings his arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the set.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The irony of that question isn’t lost on you. “This isn’t about me, Colt,” you state bluntly. You raise questioning eyes to him. “Does it really not bother you that he jeopardized you? Completely unnecessarily?”

Colt shrugs, his brow furrowing as he thinks. He seems so calm now, no traces of the panicky fear he couldn’t hide immediately after the stunt. “If I felt like it was unsafe,” he says carefully, “I would have jumped off the track no matter what he said.”

Another second, and it would have been too late.

“I know,” you acknowledge, a hint of emotion creeping into your voice. “I just… I don’t know. Just… seeing everyone act like it’s so casual and not important. Like your life doesn’t even make that much of a difference—”

“Hey,” Colt murmurs, stopping and turning you to face him so he can put both hands on your shoulders. “You are reading way too far into this, Picasso. No one is trying to eradicate my existence here.”

His tone is light and his eyes twinkling, and you know he’s trying to get you to laugh this off. But you just can’t.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just hate that it seems like I’m the only one who cares if you live or die. Including you.”

Your last statement makes Colt pause. You see the hesitation in his eyes as he mulls over what you’re implying. “Not true,” he replies at last, pulling you back under one arm as you resume walking towards the tents that have been set up for the crew.

“Really? Because you act like you don’t care.” Your voice holds no edge, no accusation. “You get more and more reckless with every stunt, and it just… it kills me to watch.”

You know you’re saying too much. You know you’re pushing the “just friends” agreement. But you can’t stop.

Colt takes his time responding to that. Suddenly, he seems to be really listening to the hidden meanings in your words, realizing that your outburst toward Gordon was indicative of something a lot deeper, something that you’re trying to communicate to him now. You can feel his steady heartbeat against your side, the gentle pressure of his hand on your shoulder. His steps are perfectly synchronized with yours.

“Look, I don’t have a death wish,” Colt explains at last, a serious note in his voice. “This is my job; I love the danger that comes with it. It’s like I said, both of us do our jobs because it’s our passion, no matter the risks.”

You shake your head. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was mad at you.”

Colt genuinely chuckles at that. “Believe me, it was obvious who you were mad at.”

“I guess I overdid it, huh?” You can feel some of the intense anger in your chest melting, and you let yourself release a slight laugh as you realize just what a spectacle you made: screaming at one of the world’s top directors on his own set.

“Maybe a little,” Colt confirms kindly. Once the two of you step inside one of the empty tents, he lifts his arm off your shoulders, and you turn to lean back against one of the wooden tables so you can face him. His face is still smeared with grime, and it suddenly reminds you of the moment you shared a few weeks ago, marking each other’s faces with your oil paints.

“I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about it,” you concede, letting your gaze fall to the ground. “I just… felt like it needed to be said after literally everyone on set witnessed it.”

Colt nods, smirking at you and crossing his arms to lean against one of the structure beams. “Hey, I appreciated it,” he says with a wink. “No one’s ever challenged a director to demand safer working conditions for me.”

“Maybe it’s about time,” you shoot back, your heart speeding up.

“Maybe.”

The moment falls quiet. The tent is empty besides the two of you, and all you can hear is the sound of each other’s breathing and the gentle rustling of the wind against the flaps of the tent. Colt tilts his head back against the beam he’s leaning on, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. You can tell that this stunt took a toll on him, even if he’s not showing it.

Without warning, all the feelings you’ve been hiding for the last few months threaten to spill out of your lips. Maybe it was seeing him so close to death; maybe it was your impassioned rant; maybe it’s just what happens when you love someone with the desperation of a drowning person reaching for air.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt out, “I really do care about you, you know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes or lift his head back up. “Well, if I didn’t, I certainly do now.”

His tone is humorous, but you’re not letting it go now that you’re committed. It’s now or never. “No, I’m serious,” you insist. “I know we’re just doing the friendship thing, but either way, I really care about you.” Colt lifts his head to fix his eyes on you, and you choose your next words carefully so he won’t misunderstand your meaning. “If you ever think that no one cares if you survive the stunts or not, I hope you know it’s not true. There’s one person in the world who would probably go insane without you around.”

Colt doesn’t laugh, but he doesn’t sound completely serious either when he responds, “Ah, you’d be fine.”

“Please tell me you don’t honestly think that.”

“Look, Picasso, I’m just one guy in the world,” Colt reminds you, shaking his head as if he’s explaining something very simple. “You’re going to meet thousands in your career, which I know is going to be super long and super star-studded. You’ve got everything in your life to look forward to.”

You frown at him, caught off guard by his seemingly off-topic response. “Colt, what are you even talking about?”

He swallows hard, looking off to the side and trying to disguise the emotion tinging his voice. “I’m just… trying to tell you not to put so many big expectations on me. I’m the kind of guy who can only let you down.”

Your heart plummets at his words, and suddenly everything falls into place in your mind. He does care. He’s always cared. He just won’t show it because he thinks he isn’t good enough. The most wonderful man in the world thinks he isn’t good enough.

“That is not true,” you declare, standing up straight for emphasis. “You’re the kindest person I know, and the smartest, and the bravest, and the funniest—”

“I think you’re confusing me with Keanu Reeves.”

“I’m not joking around, Colt. When I’m with you, I can just be myself, and I know you’re going to be there for me. You’ve seen me at my worst, but you act like you only remember me at my best. I know it sounds crazy, but I keep getting this feeling that everything in my life has led up to meeting you. Everything you do means so much to me. Every word you say, every minute we spend together is so, so precious to me. You are so precious to me.”

Your speech seems to stun Colt senseless. You have no idea where all that came from — you just knew that you wouldn’t be able to breathe until you had told him what you were feeling. Colt stands still as he processes your words, and you don’t regret a single one.

“Wow,” he finally whispers. “I have no follow-up for that.”

You shake your head, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t need one,” you tell him. “I just… felt like I should say it.”

Colt mulls over your words again. You wonder if anyone has ever talked to him like this, if you’re really the first one who has ever looked at him like he hung the moon in the sky. How could I be? How is it possible that no one else has ever recognized you for the treasure that you are?

“It means a lot,” Colt replies softly. “Seriously, you… you have no idea. Thank you.”

You just nod in response, not sure where to go from here. Colt isn’t acting like himself, overcome by some emotion that you’re not sure of. You don’t know whether to reiterate your statements, or to wait for him to say something, or to just stand in silence together for awhile.

Colt finally breaks the silence. “You sure you’re okay?”

You almost laugh at that, some of the tension sliding out of the atmosphere. “Yeah,” you assure him with a smile. “As long as you are.”

He nods at you, his own smile returning in a quiet sort of way. You’re transfixed by the gentle light reflecting in his eyes, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, when he holds out both arms to you, lifting an eyebrow as an invitation.

You don’t hesitate for a second. Why should you, after you just confessed every secret thought in your heart?

You step into the warm circle of his arms, and he immediately lowers his forehead to rest in the curve of your neck. Colt seems so unsure of himself in this moment, in a way that you’ve never known him to be. He’s trembling slightly again the way he was after he had just leaped off the railroad tracks. You grip your arms around his neck even tighter, and Colt wraps his arms around you so tightly you can barely breathe.

In that moment, you know your assumption was correct. He does care about you as deeply as you do about him. You can feel it in his embrace, in his very heartbeat. Every time you move to pull him closer, he mirrors your movements, closing every inch of space that has ever separated you. The grimy film makeup on his face rubs off on your neck, but it’s the sweetest touch you ever felt.

Colt catches you off guard when he tilts his head just slightly to the side, just enough that his lips are resting on the side of your neck. His manner isn’t seductive or suggestive: it’s as if he’s just breathing you in, trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms. Your sensitive skin prickles at the sensation, and one of your hands finds its way up to thread in the ragged-cut hair at the base of his neck.

You can feel his impressive strength just by the way he holds you, but you can’t help marveling at the gentleness of his hands when he reaches up to stroke the back of your head, once, twice. When he cradles the base of your neck with all the tenderness of an old lover, your stomach twists itself into a knot. He’s killing you. It’s magnificent.

Colt finally lifts his head from your shoulder, his hand still resting at the back of your head. His thumb moves in lazy circles, as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and his eyes drag up your face slowly until they meet your own in a gaze that burns hotter than a supernova.

“I’ve never told you,” you whisper, your breath filling the few inches between your faces, “and I know I probably shouldn’t, but I’m in love with you.”

The words are hardly out of your mouth when Colt squeezes his eyes closed, a look of pain crossing his face. “Don’t. It’s not worth it,” he whispers back.

“It’s too late for that,” you tell him, tears choking your voice. “You don’t have to feel the same way. I just needed you to know.”

Colt doesn’t open his eyes, just shakes his head. “You don’t want to be in love with me,” he says softly, heartbreakingly. “My destination is a dead-end, and you deserve better than that.”

“Colt, I—”

“It’s better if we don’t go this route,” he tells you, opening his eyes so you can read the seriousness in his words. “You’ve got the most amazing future ahead of you. You’re going to be a lot better off without me dragging you down.”

Your heart constricts at his words. “Don’t you dare try to be noble about this,” you murmur, lifting your hands to frame his face. “You could never drag me down, and I couldn’t care less about what you think I ‘deserve.’ All I care about is you. All I want to do is love you, no matter what happens. If you really don’t feel that way about me, just say so. But if you feel as strongly for me as I do for you, please tell me. Please don’t break this off before we have a chance to even try it.”

The look that wells up in Colt’s eyes speaks to you in a language you’ve never understood before. His eyes roam your face, as if he’s searching for some hint that your words aren’t true, some way he can talk you out of your feelings. Realization dawns in his eyes as he reads the message you’re saying in everything but your words. I love you. I’ve loved you this whole time. You will always be enough for me. My heart is so full of you it barely even feels like it’s mine anymore.

He doesn’t kiss you — the distance between your lips and his feels like an interminable distance — but he lowers his face to yours in a way that is so tender, so intimate that all the breath leaves your body at once. He lets his cheek rest against yours, his beard brushing your skin softly, gently. You let your arms wrap around his neck again to pull him closer, nuzzling the side of his face with yours so he feels your meaning: I don’t ever want to let you go.

When his lips brush against your jaw, right below your ear, you can’t suppress your sharp intake of breath. You feel his hands resting on your waist, pulling you close against him, and you can hear his breath coming raggedly. He’s so different when he’s like this — no false confidence, no alleviating jokes, just the passion he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

You slide your fingers into his hair, and you can feel him react to your touch instantly. He raises his face from where he’s been resting it against yours, savoring in the contact every slow inch he moves. His eyes are closed when he brings his face level with yours again, his breath ghosting over your lips in a way that is so effortlessly tantalizing. It takes all your strength not to tip your head back and drown in his kiss.

With his hand still resting on the back of your neck, Colt pulls you in close one more time, letting his forehead touch yours gently. You close your eyes, breathing in the scent that envelops him — pine needles, cinnamon, and something salty. One moment more, just enough to savor how it feels to be wrapped up in the very essence of him, and Colt pulls back, releasing you from his hold.

“I just can’t do it to you, Picasso,” Colt says, his voice hoarse and strained. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart plummets at his words. It wasn’t enough. All of it wasn’t enough to convince him of your love. Your words are the opposite of what you want to say, but you know there can be no other response. “If that’s what you want,” you answer quietly. “I’ll respect it.”

“I know.”

You take a few steps back, trying to ignore the agony that is so obvious is his voice. Colt still looks like he wants to snatch you back into his arms and beg you to repeat the confession you just laid at his feet, but he doesn’t. He’s too strong, too stubborn, too sure he’s truly doing the right thing by letting you go. You don’t try to talk him out of it. You love him too much to try to change his mind.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “You take care of yourself,” you murmur with a sad smile. “I mean it.”

“I will.” Colt doesn’t even attempt a smile back, the ache in his heart obvious on his face. His gaze wanders over your face for a moment longer, and then he turns and ducks out of the tent.

Once he’s gone, all you can do is bury your face in your hands and weep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 6

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part one

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.5k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: hi again! obligatory note to say sorry i didn't update a couple days ago i meant to but i got hit by a car and then i was working lmao (i'm fine but the ao3 curse did in fact find me)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

"Mister Snow." Coriolanus's head jerks up at his name from where it was resting against his palm, nearly having fallen asleep by the side of your bed. You were out cold and had been for close to a week now, but part of him hoped he would be there when you eventually stirred.

"We have to ask you to leave now, but you can come back tomorrow after seven," The nurse tells him, a sympathetic smile on her face. This was the sixth night in a row they'd had this exact conversation.

"Of course, thank you," he grumbles as he stands up, rubbing his eyes.

"How is your mentorship going?" she asks, just for the sake of making conversation. "It is very exciting. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thanks..." he hums, hand sliding over his jaw in slight discomfort. He had little to no interest in his tribute. It was clear Lucy Gray had no shot at winning, and he had an even smaller shot at the Plinth Prize thanks to her. Now, he could hardly even stomach looking at her. "The Songbird," as everyone called her. 

In reality, his best friend had been forgotten the moment Lucy Gray Baird set foot on that stage in District Twelve and began to sing, and he loathed her for it. The way that all eyes turned to you next to him during the reaping as soon as his tribute's lips parted and began to sing made his stomach turn even now.

Coriolanus's eyes parted from the screen to look over at you, a small teasing smile on his face as he reached out to nudge you with his elbow when instead he was met with an expression of horror on your face. He could see the way your neck tensed as you swallowed hard, and he looks around to see almost everyone else's eyes on you as well for just a moment at a time, stealing glances in your direction.

Your jaw tightens while you grind your teeth together. She was good. But you were better at masking your discomfort with the whole situation, looking down to smooth out your black skirt where it lay across your lap and ignoring all the eyes that had fallen on you.

"It's going well," he lies in response.

"I'm glad to hear that. She's got a real talent, that girl," She smiles, and Coriolanus knows she's not trying to take a jab at the girl lying unconscious a few feet away, but he couldn't see it any other way. "Well, best of luck to her. And you, of course."

"Thanks. Have a good night," Coriolanus replies almost under his breath, taking a final glance at you fast asleep in the cold-looking hospital bed, neck bandaged down to your bruised shoulders before he leaves for the night.

It's sunny out when Coriolanus makes his daily trek to the Capitol Zoo to feed his tribute, and his academy uniform feels heavier on his shoulders than what he's used to.

His tribute smiles as she gets up and brushes off the front of her rainbow dress, making her way over to the bars to greet him. "Good afternoon, Coriolanus. Doin' well today?" she asks as he gets closer, already digging into his bag for the food he brought her.

"Fine," he mumbles in response, holding the folded napkin out to her that contains a cookie he took from the academy lunchroom.

"Thank you," Lucy Gray says as she takes it, unfolding the small cloth from around it and taking a bite. Chewing on it, she looks up at him again, taking note of the bags forming under his blue eyes. "I'm sorry about your friend."

His eyes flick from the cookie she was eating back up to hers, a slight glare behind them as he swallows stiffly. "Yes, well, she's alive," he tells her, looking back down as she breaks the cookie in half and holds it out to him.

"No, thank you," he shakes his head, pushing her hand away with his own.

"You should eat. You look like you need the energy," she says sympathetically.

He sighs because she's probably right. He takes it from her hand carefully, already breaking off a piece. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Lucy Gray knew their little routine by now. It was obvious when he brought her food the first time that he was going hungry. She had seen the signs enough back home to recognize it even here, hidden within what was supposed to be the endless opulence of the Capitol.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she asks as he begins to chew the tiny piece of the cookie, mindful of chewing and swallowing it slowly. He looks up at her again, confusion in his eyes. "Your friend, I mean." she explains.

"No." he answers quickly, shaking his head.

His semi-hostile response only leads Lucy Gray to believe that this girl she had seen get attacked meant something to him. Though, she already knew that when they walked into the zoo arm-in-arm like birds of a feather minutes before the girl was attacked, and her mentor had to be dragged away from her by Peacekeepers when a medical team finally arrived.

"Will you tell me about her?"

"About Y/N?" he asks, eyes softening just a bit.

Lucy Gray nods in confirmation, a small smile on her lips as she urges him on.

"She, uh..." Suddenly he doesn't know where to start with you. Your parents' names are what would traditionally come first in the Capitol, but he knew that would mean nothing to the girl in front of him. That you were his best and only real friend? That you were a singer, too, just like her, but you would likely never sing another note again? "She's a singer in training for the Opera House on Presidential Way. She is... she was very good."

Lucy Gray's eyes light up as he speaks. "She was a singer?"

Coriolanus nods, putting his focus back into eating.

"She must have been amazing," Lucy Gray says, trying to make comforting conversation.

"She is," he corrects her quickly, disguising it as agreement, despite having been the one to refer to your singing abilities in the past tense.

"Of course." She agrees, a sympathetic smile on her face. "I didn't mean..."

"They are making some changes to the Games." He cuts her off, wanting to move on to avoid having to think about the current state of his best friend. It makes his heart sink and the accompanying dread causes that awful burning sensation behind his eyes that makes him want to cry. "So... you need to sing again. Get people to like you. Then I'll be able to send you things in the arena to keep you alive."

Lucy Gray seems hesitant, letting out a huff with the slight shake of her head, looking around before locking her eyes back on him. "I don't sing when I'm told. I sing when I have something to say."

Coriolanus is jarred by her statement, tilting his head a bit and clenching his jaw at the notion and her ferocity behind it. He can't help it when the sudden, stark difference between Lucy Gray and his best friend hits him like a thunderstorm coming in quick on a sunny day. 

She sang when she had something to say, you sang because you had to. This fact would keep him up at night for weeks.

The games had come and gone, and there had been no winner this year. Your tribute was shot dead the day she attacked you, and Dr. Gaul saw it as some kind of justice that after your assault, the bombing, and the deaths of your other classmates, the death of all those District kids would keep their home districts from rebelling. From seeing the Capitol as vulnerable, or something like that. You really couldn't care less. At least Felix and the twins were lucky enough to have succumbed to their injuries.

The hospital was cold and dark at almost all hours of the day. You couldn't do a thing besides sit there and wait. For what, you weren't even sure.

"She's not having a good day today," The nurse informs Coryo as he checks in to visit you. He comes by every day, sometimes multiple times a day to see you, and you have your good and bad days. He's well used to that by now.

"Has she eaten?" he asks, and the nurse shakes her head.

"Refused to touch anything we brought her," She sighs, but she's fighting back a smile, which makes him raise an eyebrow at her. Why would she be smiling at that?

"She will be able to go home tomorrow," She smiles, hearing the question he never verbalized. "I thought you might like to tell her."

"Oh... I see," Coryo hums, looking down the hall toward the staircase he would soon take to get to you.

"You don't seem pleased," She states quizzically, her grin fading.

"Why is she going home?" He asks. "She still can't even speak."

The nurse looks down, pursing her lips. "As the doctor mentioned, there's no guarantee that she will ever get her voice back. I'm sorry, truly, but there's nothing more we can do for her here. It's better that she's home with her family recovering somewhere more comfortable."

"Right," He swallows, nodding curtly at her. "Thank you," He replies simply, brushing past the nurse's station to go down to your room. 

He can always hear it before he sees it, the echo of opera music cycling through your favorite records time and time again, filling the quiet hall with something pleasant as soon as he opens the door from the stairwell.

"Y/N," You look up from where you're sitting in the corner, tilting your head at him. Coryo smiles as he walks in, and you wish you were in a better mood, to be a better host; as good of one as you could be when you were in the hospital and couldn't speak a single word to him. "How are you feeling?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

You shake your head, a pout forming on your lips. The flowers people had brought you in your first couple of weeks were wilting, and then they stopped bringing them. Your whole life you had been praised for your voice; since you were six years old, the Capitol had seemingly been buzzing with hope for your future. You would be the most beautiful, accomplished singer Panem had ever seen - no one doubted it, but within weeks you had been completely forgotten. Replaced by the image of the girl who had sung at the reaping and once in an interview. Your room was quite a sad reflection of this, and you spent every minute of every day forced to wallow in it.

"Bad day?" Coryo asks anyway, but you just shrug, looking out the window at your sad view of the city that had abandoned you.

"Well, I've got some good news," He says, which draws your attention. You tilt your head at him, gesturing in a circular motion with your hand for him to go on.

He laughs, putting his bag down on your empty and perfectly made bed. "One second, here. In case you have questions." He pulls the small chalkboard out from the drawer next to your bed, holding it out to you with a piece of white chalk. You scrunch up your nose and wave rapidly for him to put it back. He knew it would bug you, that's why he did it, recalling the day he brought it for you and you almost threw it at him.

"I HATE writing with chalk," You scribbled quickly on a napkin with a pen you stole from his pocket, throwing the napkin at him and crossing your arms.

"What? Why?" Coryo laughed, dropping the crumpled piece of soft paper on the table next to your bed.

You shook your head, pursed your lips, and looked up, trying to find a way to explain the awful sensation without saying it. He watched you patiently as you thought, until you pretended to hold a piece of the white substance in between your thumb and forefinger, dragging it down the air slowly and pretending to gag. You shook your head again in disgust, waving your hand at him.

"Oh, I didn't know you felt so passionately about this," He drags the chalk down over the board, and you cringe, covering your ears. Coryo couldn't help but think that was just about the cutest thing he had ever seen.

That had been one of your good days, even though at the time your scar was still so fresh it was bandaged, and you were littered with bruises down to your ribs. The room was littered with fallen flower petals by now, yes, but also with what must be hundreds of notes you had shown to Coryo to express yourself in the only way you still could.

That memory still makes you smile, even if you do absolutely hate chalkboards. You walk past him and grab your notebook off the same table, picking it and the pen up as dramatically as you possibly can before sitting down on the bed and looking up at him.

"What?" He asks, just to tease you, and you roll your eyes.

'Get on with it. Also, you're not funny, and I hate you,' You write, turning the page to face him so he could read it.

"Oh, do you?" He chuckles, sitting down next to you.

You smack his arm with the book, motioning again that he should just spit it out.

"Okay! Okay, fine," He sighs emphatically, placing his hands on his thighs and looking down at the floor, just for a few moments to drive you more up the wall before turning his gaze to you. "They told me that you're going home tomorrow."

You open your mouth to speak, suddenly forgetting that you can't. You quickly shut your jaw, furrowing your brow and shaking your head. 'Why?' You mouth to him, neglecting the pad of paper in your lap.

He reads your lips, frowning at your lack of excitement. He was hoping you would be looking forward to it, but he knew you wouldn't be. Not really. "They said there isn't anything more they can do for you here, that you need to heal at home."

You stand up abruptly, throwing the paper down on the ground and clutching the pen so tight that Coryo fears it might shatter.

What do they mean "nothing they can do"? They could fix you, they could operate again, they could pump you so full of drugs that you could finally forget the hell that you're living in, that's what they could do. You couldn't even say that - or scream out your frustrations.

You turn back to Coryo, and the hurt look on your face crushes him. You want to speak to him so badly. Your lips fall open, and you try anyway. 'They're going to leave me like this?' You ask, but not a sound comes out. Not even so much as a whisper. Your throat burns regardless.

"I'm sorry," he says honestly, standing up and reaching out for you. You shake your head, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at him. "Come here..." he says softly, already wrapping his arms around you as the tears brimming in your eyes begin to fall. You can't even hug him back, hands clutched to your chest as you shake under his hold.

"If I could take this from you, I would," He mumbles, shaking his head and resting his chin on your head as he rubs your back. "I'm sorry, Y/N/N."

What he wouldn't give to be able to hear your voice again.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[modanisgf]

028. A PEARL (WRITTEN)

wc: <1k

prev | next | masterlist

unfortunately for you, you felt so alone on your ‘date’ that you stayed in the rain for a while causing you to wake up sick. you felt horrible that morning, being sick and sad didn’t mix well.

you tried not to cry but you couldn’t help it, you thought you and hanni had finally made amends but apparently you were wrong. who would ever make their girlfriend wait for them at a date?

did hanni even love you?

thoughts about what hanni truly felt for you ran through your mind, until you decided to close your eyes again refusing to look at your phone. you hoped nobody would come by your house, especially not hanni as right now you needed anything but to see the girl’s face. you think you would breakdown in front of her, something she didn’t need to see.

you knew your friends had their concerns for you, but you hoped they’ve known you long enough now to give you some space before checking up. especially when it dealt with love, dating wasn’t easy as an actor nobody wanted to deal with the harsh reality of fame so when you finally found hanni you felt extremely happy.

you thought she would understand your problems, but maybe she just wanted to mess with you. but who really knows? all you could do was lay in your bed, reality setting in as you finally closed your eyes drifting off to a deep sleep.

—

you were awoken by a sudden crash, presumably downstairs. you got up from bed quickly, rushing down your stairs to be met with people in your kitchen.

“riki! you’re so damn loud!” hyein whisper yells, her voice getting softer as she noticed you.

“hi yn..” hyein says, giving you a nervous smile.

“how the hell did you guys get in my house?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“you gave danielle an extra key when she lived here for a bit.” hyein replies, to which you sigh.

“look, i love you guys so much but i really just think now isn’t the time.” you say, your friends looking at you with pity.

their looks did nothing to comfort you, just reminding you how real this situation was. you diverted your attention from them, looking through an open window to see the rain back again. it was like it knew when you were sad, coming back to make you feel even worse everytime.

“well, we made you soup!” danielle says, making you smile a bit.

“thank you guys. i appreciate it.” you say sheepishly, you were embarrassed they had to see you like this.

it had been a long time since you’d been heartbroken like this, only sunoo and danielle knew about your past relationships the two being your friends during it. you felt you could never find peace in love, but you tried to push those feelings aside putting on your best face for your friends especially hyein and riki.

you all went to sit in your living room, hyein turning on a show creating a quiet conversation between your friends. hyein and riki even whisper fighting, making you laugh.

for some reason your laugh comforted your friends, the group smiling whenever you did happy that their presence made you feel at least a bit better. you focused on the show, invested in whatever plot line was being solved now.

your phone was long forgotten, the rest of your friends also having theirs off for the sake of you. little did you all know, hanni wasn’t doing amazing either.

—

hanni couldn’t believe herself, she feel asleep when you wanted her to meet up with you. you weren’t answering her texts, or anything the only thing about you she had was hyein telling her to watch out on twitter, riki commenting and agreeing aswell.

she had to stop herself from tears, why weren’t you answering her? couldn’t you let her explain herself? hanni had never wanted someone more than you, your presence giving her nothing but happiness and peace. she hoped you didn’t think she hated you, but the possibility was strong. maybe you were just taking a quick internet break? the possibilities only ran through her mind at a even more rapid pace as each one passed on, making her feel crazy.

hanni was texting minji in panic, the girl on the other end doing her best to comfort hanni but nothing seemed to work. hanni valued you too much, and she didn’t know what she would do without you. she wanted a future with you, to see you walk down the aisle slowly approaching her with your eyes locked on hers. she wanted you two to have a house together, having a family of two cats and four dogs. okay— maybe she was getting a bit carried away, but the point is hanni had nothing but strong love for you.

she needed to get you back, no matter what she has to do.

your love went too deep for a simple misunderstanding to ruin it all, hanni swore she wouldn’t let it happen.

TAGS 🏷️ (CLOSED): @jayjj7 @haerinsloverr @aribunnu @masuowo @multiliker @winieter @sewiouslyz @edenzeepy @popasi @home2venus @ghstvr @technicallyimportantsweets @he------len @yukianism @yeetaberry127 @haechansbbg @linnnsworld @sixflame438 @emotionallyrin @gtfoiydlyj @inosfavgf @rvoulte @hotluvlet

a/n— next few chapters might be crazy guys writing sad stuff while emo is NOT a good idea..

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hello!

How do you think TR boys would react if they accidently hurt their s/o, like, in a fit of anger, or during a couple fight?

Preferably, Baji, Chifuyu, Mikey, and Kazutora? But anybody you want is fine!

Like physically? I don't think any of them would swing on their partner even if they were annoyed so I came up with a scenario I think could happen which results in the reader being accidentally physically hurt!

He was so angry right now, the two of you had been arguing over the same thing for the past hour but nothing was getting better. The two of you were just going round in circles and it was starting to frustrate him further. He punched the wall in anger, momentarily not caring about the sound of a frame smashing to the floor. He didn't even turn around to look at it, not until he heard a different noise.

Baji-

You hissed in pain as the glass cut your finger, you were only trying to clean up the mess but now you were bleeding.

Frowning at the noise, Baji immediately comes rushing over to you, elevating your hand and applying pressure. He can't bear to see you in pain so quickly tries to sort it out himself.

He's still a little mad at you but not enough to ignore you like this. Truthfully he's more mad at himself, cursing his impulsiveness under his breath.

Apologises then tells you to sit down while he cleans his own mess up.

He still intends to discuss the problem with you tomorrow but decides to try and not let his anger get the better of him this time. But for the rest of today he just wants to be close to you.

Chifuyu-

After hearing your sudden hiss in pain, he whips his head around so fast you think he might hurt himself in a second.

Immediately comes over to you, trying to stop the bleeding and profusely apologising.

Feels extremely guilty and is on the verge of tears the whole time, it's his fault you got hurt!

He doesn't do a very good job with your injury because he's panicking so much.

You both end up kinda having to reassure and comfort each other

The problem is entirely forgotten, he doesn't even care anymore.

Becomes even more caring after, he just wants you to know he'd never do that on purpose and he really is sorry.

Mikey-

Doesn't actually undertake what that hiss noise was at first. You have no reason to be in pain so he's sure it isn't you. Looks around with a confused look until he notices you kneeling on the floor, holding your now bleeding hand.

Sucks in sharp breath as his eyes widen, did he do that???

Jumps into action after a moments pause, grabbing as many tissues as he can and running over to you.

Asks you how it happens exactly, like he still can't believe it was a result of his actions.

Get's such a hurt look on his face after you quickly tell him. He feels so guilty, like he just ruined everything. He's the worst.

He continues helping you while apologising in the saddest tone you've ever heard from him. Avoids eye contact with you until you tell him to look at you.

Needs reassurance that you forgive him (if you do).

Promises to never punch the wall again, then runs out to buy a new frame as well as taiyaki for both of you. The argument is completely forgotten.

Kazutora-

Freezes the second he hears the sound come out your mouth, he's heard similar noises enough times to know what they mean.

Turns around immediately, eyes going wide as he sees you.

Panic and dread sets in, he freezes and time feels like it's slowed down for him. He did this, he hurt you. He really is just like his father.

He wants to run away, out of the room and from the situation but he can't, can't just leave you there.

Taking a deep breath, he moves towards you, trying to be as gentle as he can with your injury while he helps you.

You have to say his name a few times before his attention is on your words. It's then that he suddenly realises he was so focused on your injury that he hasn't apologised yet.

A string of sorry's slip out, as he tries to tell you how he never wanted this to happen.

Definitely needs you to communicate your forgiveness and reassure him that it was just an accident (if you do forgive him).

Spends the rest of the day trying to make it up to you in little ways, even after you tell him he doesn't need to.

[baby-tini]

Manjiro Sano + Kinks plsss I'm begging on my hands and knees right now

You didn't specify which Mikey so... I'll do a couple for OG and Manila for now. TW- gun play

Toman\OG Timeline- Power play. He likes to have control of every situation and he does. It's nothing new to him, he's the boss, the leader, the authority figure. The man that stands at the top and is worshipped. And, he lets you know, that it's expected for you too look up at him. Doesn't matter that you might be taller, get on your knees and look up when you address him. Riding him/Cowgirl. More often then not, Manjiro can be quite lazy in bed and he expects you too work for your own pleasure if you need it that bad. Plus.. he likes watching you bounce on his cock, nails scratching down his chest as you whine for him.. and the added bonus of your tits bouncing in his face. Praise. He knows he's strong, he knows he's attractive, knows he's intelligent. He's not naive, but it's different coming from you. He's only praised by his men out of fear but you, you mean it genuinely, when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours and compliment him till you're out of breath... it just always gets his dick hard, ya know? Manila- Power play. Thinking about it, I think all Mikeys [except racer Mikey] have a power play kink. The differences between OG and Manila is that, Manila is more into the physical aspect of it while OG likes the psychological side. Manila likes to pin you down as he stares into your eyes, Mikey is aware, that he's intimidating to a lot of people... but it just makes him primal to see the fear in your eyes as he grabs you by the throat and gives your cheeks a few nice slaps. Gun play. Mikey has no qualms about pointing his gun at people much less, when it's you. It's better when it's you because it's the look you give him, the uncertainty in your eyes when he puts that cold metal to your temple and he feels your pulse stutter. He's a big fan of sticking that gun in your mouth and having you suck it off like it was his cock, spit dripping down the barrel and soaking his hand as he face fucks you with the gun. A Partner who can play both the brat and the angel. I've said it once and I'll say it again, Manila Mikey expects total obedience... but he does get bored. He likes a little back and forth with you, a bit of back-talk as you continue your aggressive stride towards him. That shit gets his cock hard in seconds, especially when you get in his face? Fuck, he loves that shit, give him a reason- please give him a fucking reason to grab you by the back of your hair and stare you down while tells you to, "watch your fucking mouth and sit your little ass back on that couch before it's bent over my lap."

[bonesxbows]

Surgery of a Hope (Astarion x Reader)

My Masterlist

Someone dared to try to lay a hand on you and Astarion finds out. He leaves Gale to comfort you while he goes and "takes care" of it. Or alternatively, Astarion is trying to show you he loves you in one of the only ways he knows how; by killing.

-WARNINGS- - mentions of sexual assault/assault (depending on how you look at it), but does not go into a lot of detail - crying/breakdown - trauma responses

If you have any triggers relating to assault or past assault please be careful reading this. I have not personally experienced what is written here but it is loosely based on trauma of my own and the goal was to write something to act as a comfort for myself and whoever else needs to read something like this. But please tread carefully, I didn't write this with the intent of triggering anyone.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy and I hope reading this can help someone else like writing it helped me :) Comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

-

You sat on the ground inside your tent, nestled in the corner of the fabric, your knees pulled up to your chest. You were slowly rocking back and forth, replaying the traumatic events of the day in your head. Your body was present, but your mind was lost in its own little world, your eyes glassed over. You didn't notice Astarion barge into your tent, a bubble of excitement coming with him.

“Darling! I've been waiting all day to have a moment with you all to myself. I-” His sentence and his body stopped dead in their tracks when his eyes finally found you, a sad little ball of limbs shoved into the corner. His voice startled you out of your daze. He walked closer towards you and reached out a hand, but you jumped in response to him approaching and shuffled yourself deeper into the corner, as far away from him as you possibly could get. He frowned. He recognized your fear, he remembered acting like you were doing now once before and that worried him.

“Astarion, wait. I…wait. Please, don't come any closer.” You spilled out your words quickly. Your eyes were glued to his outstretched hand, wide like a gnoll staring down a wall of fire, and tears started to pool underneath them.

“What’s wrong my love?” He hated when you cried. He was getting better at learning how to comfort you but he still got nervous about making it worse. His frown deepened but he respected your request and instead knelt down where he was, keeping his distance from you.

“I…um…” you stumbled over your words, your mouth becoming dry and thick, like someone had shoved cotton down your throat. You tried to blink away the tears but they were now two hot waterfalls running down your face.

“It’s alright, you can tell me. What happened?” You looked like a scared animal and it reminded him too much of how he used to feel. He was concerned, but he was also angry. He had a feeling he already knew what had happened to you and the thought of him being right made him burn with rage inside. You took a shaky breath and did your best to speak coherently.

“Someone…um, someone tried to touch me earlier when we were in town. I…I tried to stop them, tried to fight them off. Some things were said and…and…” Your story ended there as the sobs racked your body aggressively. You buried your head in your arms, wrapping your hands around your shoulder to try to comfort yourself as you rocked back and forth, crying and screaming and sobbing loudly. Astarion swore he could feel his undead heart shatter. He could do nothing but sit there and watch as you poured out your emotions. He knew from experience that if he tried to comfort you it would only make the situation worse, but he felt helpless just sitting there and doing nothing. So he reached over and yanked your blanket off of your cot, folding it up haphazardly and placing it between the two of you, nudging your foot with the fabric, doing his best not to touch you.

You poked your head up slightly, eyeing him. You saw the blanket, your blanket, and how Astarion sat back on his heels, a comforting smile on his face. You unfurled a hand from your cocoon of limbs and reached forward slowly, grabbing the blanket tentatively, as if even the soft material would snap back at you as well. But it didn't, so you pulled it into your lap on top of your knees and buried your head into the comfort of it, sniffing the familiar scent of Astarion’s cologne that had rubbed off on it from his constant nights spent in your tent with you. You used a corner of it to wipe away your tears and tried to focus on steadying your breathing. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Astarion and he nodded his head.

“Do you think you can manage to remember who it was, my love? Can you tell me what they looked like?” he asked you softly. He wanted to reach out and grab your hand in his, but he stayed still for now. He would not touch you until you were ready and asked him to, no matter how much he wanted to. You began to shake your head furiously.

“No. Astarion, no. It was nothing, really. You don't need to do anything. It was my fault anywa-” He cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

“Do not even finish that statement darling. None of this is your fault. None of it. Do you understand? Now, what did they look like?” his face was like stone, serious and deadly. It didn't scare you, not anymore at least, but you knew trying to argue with him at this point was futile. You were so confused and upset you did not know what the right thing to do was so you trusted Astarion and told him everything you could remember. You watched as he took off his jacket and moved closer to you. But he stopped just before he got too close.

“Is it alright if I touch you my sweet?” He asked before he did anything and you nodded, although slowly. He leaned forward to drape his jacket over your shoulders and pull it up over your neck. Your fingers fumbled at first but you grabbed it and pulled it as close to your skin as you could, relishing in the warmth and comfort radiating off of the velvet fabric.

“Stay here, alright? I’ll tell Gale to accompany you here inside of your tent so you don't have to be alone. I promise I’ll be back before morning.” He leaned forward again to kiss you gently on your forehead and you didn't jerk away this time. He smiled warmly at you but his ruby eyes shone with anger and malice. He began to stand up and head for the entry flap of your tent.

“Wait! Where are you going?” You jumped from surprise and began to reach for him but stopped abruptly when his jacket began to fall off of your shoulders and instead quickly grabbed it again and pulled it back up around you. You were afraid to be alone, even with Gale. You only felt safe around Astarion. Your sense of security was so shattered you were hesitant to trust anyone except him. He turned back around before he left.

“Promise me you'll stay here with Gale.” no, you wanted to go with him, wherever he was going. You wanted his warmth and to be in his arms with him by your side protecting you, no one else.

“But I-” he cut you off again. He was not looking for any arguments tonight.

“Promise me, my love.” there was no arguing with the look in his eyes and there was no changing his mind about whatever he had set his mind on doing. “I promise.” you choked out, trying not to cry again at the thought of him leaving you right now.

“Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can alright? Then I’ll stay with you for as long as you need.” You watched him leave, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to flow. You gripped his jacket even tighter and breathed in the smell of his cologne again, it was an even stronger scent on his jacket than on your blanket. A few moments after Astarion left Gale walked in, smiling sympathetically. He somehow juggled a bowl, two mugs, and a stack of books in his hands without dropping anything.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. You didn't give an answer and watched as he sat where Astarion once was just a minute ago and placed all of the things in his hands in front of him, between the two of you.

“We don't have to talk if you'd rather not. But I thought you might like a distraction while Astarion is away. My time is yours.” You looked at him and he looked sincere, but you were still a little wary. But this was Gale, someone who had stuck by your side from the very beginning and had been nothing but respectful and helpful ever since. You gazed over what he had brought with him, there was what appeared to be stew in the bowl and the two mugs were filled with tea and still steaming. The books were ones you recognized, titles you had once borrowed from him and had told him you had enjoyed immensely. Books that you knew, that were familiar, and there was comfort in familiarity. He knew this. Gale was your best friend, he was the second person to know just about everything about you. You were grateful that his memory was impeccable and that he had remembered all of your favorite things, especially at a time like now.

“What kind of soup is that?” you asked. The tears had subsided, for now. He was glad you were up to talking, it was going to be a long night for him if he had to sit here in silence the whole time.

“Vegetable and sausage. And that’s peppermint tea, with sugar, just how you like it. I've also brought your favorite books, but I can fetch something else if reading isn't up to your liking currently.” He stole a pillow from the pile off of your bed and propped himself up against the side of your tent, still an agreeable distance away from you. Astarion must have given him the details of your jumpiness and sensitivity to touch right now. You couldn't help but smile just a little.

“The books are alright for now, Gale. Thank you.” You reached forward for one of the mugs and chose one of the books from the stack as you did so.

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything else, alright? Im not going anywhere until Astarion gets back.” you nodded and took a sip from the mug, the tea warming your scratchy throat on the way down. You opened the book to the first page and Gale did the same with his own book.

Eventually the warm tea, familiar story, and comfort of Astarion’s scent lulled you into a sleep. Your body was exhausted from the day’s events and the extensive crying you had done earlier. Gale had stayed with you the entire night, within arms reach just in case you needed him, even when the rough ground began to irritate his old human body. He had even lit the candles in your tent after the sun had set just so you would not be in complete darkness if you woke up in the middle of the night.

-

You were never a heavy sleeper, but now you were even more anxious in your sleep after what had happened. A dull thud had woken you up and you heard the sound of water splashing. Your eyes fluttered open quickly but your heart calmed down when you saw the back of a familiar white shirt and white curls in the candlelight. Astarion had returned at some point, before morning just like he had promised, but his back was turned to you and he was knelt in front of your washing bucket.

“Astarion? Is that you?” you asked groggily. Your voice was thick with sleep but you were wide awake, grateful that he was back already.

“Go back to sleep darling, it’s alright.” he spoke sweetly to you like always, but he stayed with his back to you, working something onto the wash board inside the tub.

“Where have you been?” you sat up, blinking away the remaining sleep in your eyes and trying to focus on what he was doing. A part of you already had a guess of where he had been for the last few hours but you asked anyway, not wanting to believe what you knew was already true.

“No where you need to worry your pretty little head about, everything’s alright.” he told you, but you were too curious now to go back to sleep. Astarion hated chores, yet here he was scrubbing laundry in the middle of the night. You stood up quietly and padded over to him, still holding onto his jacket around your shoulders. You leaned over his shoulder and observed. He was holding on to a different white shirt than the one on his back currently, scrubbing furiously as the soapy water turned pink. Now that you were closer you also noticed the way the candlelight shined against black spots in his hair, a stark difference against his bleach white curls. You frowned slightly, accepting your previous conclusion as the truth now.

“Is that blood?” you asked. You already knew the answer but you wanted to hear it from him.

“No.” he tried to deny the obvious, though he already knew you wouldn't believe the white lie.

“Astarion.” you said sternly, gently warning him to tell you the truth this time.

“Alright maybe it is. But the bastard deserved it.” he stopped scrubbing and so you sat down on the ground behind him. He turned to look at you, abandoning the shirt in the dirty water.

“What did you do?” your voice was calm. You didn't mind he had taken matters into his own hands, in fact you were secretly grateful.

“I taught him a much needed lesson my love. He won’t be hurting anyone ever again.” his lips turned up into his signature killer smile. He was proud of himself for the kill, as per usual. You wanted to thank him, say something, anything, to convey how relieved you felt, but the words got caught in your throat. His smile faltered a little when he noticed the pool of tears forming in your eyes, but he knew you were okay from the small smile that was stuck on your face.

He dunked his hands back into the water to wash the rest of the blood off and then dried them on his pants before outstretching a hand to you, silently asking for yours. You obliged, placing your hand in his. He brought it up to his face and placed a gentle kiss on your knuckle. You couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled up from his gesture, the smile on your face growing despite the tears that started to flood your face. You were safe. Even after all that had happened, you were safe with Astarion.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I told a very poor person to stop asking me for money?

(🧍‍♂️💸 for ez finding, names are fake for obv reasons)

I (21, any prns) met Pink (21, she/they) in a fandom-specific RP server about a year ago. Everyone was (and still is) very nice, including Pink, the server owner. Pink and her family are very poor, barely even making rent, and she often plugged her donation posts in the server announcements channel (this happened a lot. at one point there was even a donations channel just for her). I didn't really mind because desperate times call for desperate measures, ya gotta do what ya gotta do, y'know?

About nine months ago (mid september) I decided to pay something for her (it was either the remains of her rent or her meds, I forgot which). I did it because I felt like it, and it wasn't much. I figured if I could make someone's life a little easier, I might as well. Then about a month later (last week of October) she DM'd me, also about meds. She seemed apologetic and honestly kinda desperate. I figured if she was going this far it was probably by necessity, so I sent money again. She asked about paying me back, but I declined the offer since when I give people money I pretty much expect it to be Gone lol. She asked me again for money twice within that week for some Emergency Essentials. I obliged the first time but gently refused the second. I work retail, I'm not made of money...

She didn't contact me again about this until early December, due to an overdraft. I declined because of a vet appointment and also Xmas shopping. Plus, I was in kind of a tight spot myself at the time (from around Nov-March I had to be really careful with my spending). She asked again in mid-December for rent money, to which I obliged. It was the last time I gave her anything. She then had *another* rent emergency at the very end of December, which I refused because I Have Bills. I should mention that some of these emergencies were not posted publicly (i.e. in the server) - she was asking me, personally, for help. Nobody else, at least as far as I know. Maybe she DMs everyone who sends money her way. I have no way of knowing.

In mid-January she asked me again for rent money, to which I politely declined due to my own financial struggles, and stated that I probably wouldn't be in a better position to donate until April. She seemed to understand and wished me well.

...until recently. She's made a habit of asking me for money again. Not as frequently as before (about once every 2-3 months. she did this in late May and again around march), but it does happen. I thought about telling her off the first time, but I wanted to compose myself lest I say something really mean, but by the time I felt like responding, she deleted it. Maybe she realized it was embarrassing? I don't know. This also happened with the May message. I was super inactive in the server by then due to being busy with Life Stuff. I've wanted to chat in it again lately because everyone else (including Pink, at least in overall demeanor) but it's kind of awkward when I have the literal owner DMing me for cash every few months.

At this point, I'm at the end of my rope. I want her to stop. It makes me seriously uncomfortable how she only ever contacts me to ask for money. Not even my closest friends of almost a decade - who also have financial struggles of their own - would ask me personally for money, and Pink is barely more than a friendly acquaintance. But at the same time I know she's only doing any of that *because* her situation is so desperate. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and it feels rather two-faced to turn my back on her now.

WIBTA?

[sachirobabe]

Chapter 5

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

Wc: 2895

Summary: You, a dedicated member of the girls' volleyball team, find an unexpected connection with Kuroo Tetsurou. Igniting a bond over shared passions and stolen moments, love blossoms on the court; all because you met him at a captains meeting.

<— Previous | Masterlist | Next —>

Taglist: @merlucide, @lemurzsquad, @02shuuu, @michakune, @ivy-taylorsversion, @scinclaitnoir

"Mori says we need to find some managers." Himari says on the way to school.

You were originally supposed to try and find some before the third years left last season, but you continued to put it off.

"Saori did stats the whole game and Mori wanted to play her for a few rallies." She goes on.

"I know," You sigh, "I'll try looking today during lunch and break." A comfortable silence fell upon the two of you.

Himari speaks up after a few minutes of silence. "Do you think Saori is a good setter?"

You were still getting to know the first years, but you knew they all had talent. "Yeah she is." You say.

"Do you think Mori would want to run a 6-2?" Himari asks, you're starting to catch on that she's a little worried about losing her spot. In the previous years there were no other setters on her level for her to compete with. This is new.

"Don't get all worried," You nudge her, "You're the best setter around, you have experience, and you have chemistry with the team."

"How can I not worry." She chews the inside of her cheek.

You give her a look, "Saori is a great setter, but she's a first-year so she's gonna be more prone to making mistakes. Plus coach can't sit her out every single game. That's her next setter when we leave."

"You're right, she's gonna need to get experience." Himari says, kicking a rock in front of her.

"Let's not worry about playing time, we get to play volleyball and go to all of these tournaments and make more memories." You cheer her up. "Let's stay after practice today, we can work on some combos."

"Thanks, Y/n." She smiles, "I feel a little better now." The school comes into view and the campus is filled with students laughing and enjoying the sunlight.

During lunch you quickly ate and went on your way to find some students who weren't in a club. The girls volleyball team was a bit famous, winning back to back gave you a name.

There were little whispers around as you entered a classroom, trying to find your teammate. "Aiko!" You get her attention and she turns at the call of her name.

"Hey captain, what's up?" She says, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"Do you know of any boys who aren't in a club yet? I'm trying to find a manager." You explain.

She thinks for a moment, "Not that I know of, I'm sorry." She apologizes for not being able to help you.

"It's okay." You brush off. You put up some flyers, even handing the teachers some to pass out to any students they knew weren't in a club. You end up in the first-year hallway, looking for a blonde middle.

"Hey, Y/n." Mei smiles, "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," You explain to her the situation and stand in front of her desk, "Do you happen to know anyone?"

She looks around the room, but ends up shaking her head. "I can't think of anyone, but I can take some of those flyers and applications." She points to your hands.

"Really? Thank you so much." You hand her a couple and begin to walk back to your class, there were about 5 minutes left. You weren't really paying attention to where you were going, as you turned the corner you were met with a hard surface. You realized you had accidentally bumped into someone. "I'm so sorry—"

"Oh hey." Kuroo smiles, "What're you doing here?" He looks confused.

"I could ask you the same thing." You raise an eyebrow.

He lets out an airy laugh, "I was going to give this to Lev, but I'll have to wait since someone rudely bumped into me."

"I said I was sorry!" Your eyes widen as he now follows you back to the third-year hallway.

"Just kidding." He rolls his eyes, "What're those?" He motions to the applications in your hand.

"I'm trying to find a manager for my team, we need someone to take stats." You explain, "I was in the other halls to find students who weren't in a club yet."

"Ahh," He nods, "Any luck?"

"No." You rub your forehead. "Coach is gonna bug me about it for not doing this sooner." You chuckle.

"At least we have an assistant coach, why doesn't she have one?" He found it a little weird.

"We keep telling her, but she likes to work alone." You roll your eyes at her stubbornness. "I'll see you later." You wave to him as you enter your class, the bell had rung and Kuroo was still walking, he was a little late, it made Mori raise her eyebrow in suspicion.

She let it slide since it was his first time ever, she continued on with the lesson as normal. For the remainder of the school day, your teacher had given a group assignment.

"Hey Kai," You get the boys attention, "Do you wanna work with us?"

He smiles, "Sure." Picking up his paper and pencil and moving closer.

"Hey Himari." He greets.

"Hey." She smiles nervously, you raise your eyebrow at her. Knowing you'd bring this up to her later.

"I already started this part," He shows his paper to the two of you. The assignment was fairly easy, it was meant to take up the rest of the day, but you had all finished it with a bit of spare time.

Your teacher allowed you guys to do whatever as long as it didn't disrupt the other students who were still working, Himari was digging in her bag for something, she gets your attention as she finds it.

"Mori gave me the stats, if you wanna look." She pushes the iPad towards you, already knowing you'd take it.

You thank her and opened it to look at your hitting first, you knew you hit well that game, so it wasn't a worry for you. You checked your passing next, then you realized that the hitting wasn't as effective as it was when you were in front, but it picked back up again when you got to the net.

A good starting lineup has the most effective hitting, passing, and serving first, then it goes down towards the end of a rotation. You'd bring this up to coach.

You notice Kai conversing with Himari, she seemed to have eased her nerves a bit and was more comfortable talking to him. You had no idea she had a thing for him, it made you happy to be able to bug her about it.

You began to check some other averages as well, mostly just getting a feel for how the first lineup of the season was going. Time went by quickly, the bell rang and it surprised you.

"We'll see you later." Himari waved to Kai and he smiled and returned the wave. You quickly say bye to him, trying to keep up with Himari.

"Aw you left so quickly." You pout as you caught up.

She turns her head quickly towards you, "It's not like that."

"I didn't bring him up, now I know you like him." You wink and she groans, covering her quickly reddening face.

"I just want to be friends with him." She states.

"Uh huh, that's why you're blushing and being nervous around him." You say back, opening the club room. "This is payback."

"For what?" She gasps sarcastically and the two of you giggle.

A bead of sweat slowly falls down your face, you wipe it as you continue to listen to your coach talk about the practice match. You fiddle with a stray string on your knee pad, bored. You had already looked over the stats.

A few girls began to leave, but you and some others stayed after to get more reps in. There was a small game of 3 on 3. Himari, Aiko, and you were on one side, and Saori, Rikako, and Keiko on the other.

Aiko received the ball, you started your approach early, wanting to run a quick from the outside position, without communicating, Himari spotted you in the air and tossed the ball quickly to you.

You swung as quickly as you could, slamming the ball onto the other side of the net. Rikako and Keiko were both on the ground, trying to get a touch, but failed.

"That's not fair!" Rikako laughed, getting up from the ground.

"Yeah, there's no blockers." Keiko adds on.

"You're more than welcome to do quicks." Aiko says across the net.

"Huddle up!" Saori says and the three younger girls form a triangle.

While you waited for them to finish scheming, you walked over to your coach. "I was thinking," you begin and she takes her eyes off of her iPad, "I noticed our hitting is weaker in the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th rotations."

"I noticed it too, what're you thinking?" She motions for you to continue.

"What if we switched Naomi and I, she has a solid serve, I don't think we'd do poorly." You say.

"I think that could work. I was also wanting to use Aiko more, her serving last season was amazing." Your coach says, "I like the lineup, but I do think I'll switch you and Naomi."

"If you want Aiko to serve more, she could go in for one of the middle blockers, then have Misaki go in for them."

"Your mind is great." She laughs and you smile.

"Okay we're ready!" Saori yells and you jog back to your position. The ball was sent over and Himari passed it.

"I got it!" Aiko says.

"Right!" Himari yells back, you're surprised she's attacking. Aiko pass-set to Himari and she hits a nasty line shot. Keiko receives it and Saori begins to jump set, but then she quickly changes it up and attacks the ball.

You were caught off guard, preparing for a quick from Keiko, the ball was coming towards your face fast, you quickly use your hands in defense. It was a bit off. "Sorry!" You yell.

"I've got it! Aiko!" Himari says and quickly runs to the ball, giving her a back set, Aiko tracks the ball and hits it over to the other side.

Rikako receives the ball with one hand, her body on the floor, it somehow perfectly lands in Saori's hands and she sets the ball impossibly quick to Keiko, but she wasn't able to get there in time because of how fast it was.

You stare with your mouth open at Saori, "What was that!?"

"I was trying to do a gap." She says and you're still looking at her confused, she thinks you don't know what a gap is, so she begins to explain, "You know, where the attacker is on their 3rd step and you set to them."

You shake your head, "I know what a gap is, we run those all the time—but that was insanely quick."

"I thought that's how they're normally set?" She looks around confused and Keiko is still trying to catch her breath.

"Is that how you'd set for your middle school team?" Rikako asks, absolutely baffled.

"Sometimes, but my hitters weren't fast enough so my coach made me slow it down." Saori explains.

"What made you try it again?" You approach her.

"Keiko's fast and tall, it just felt right to do." She answers.

"Do that again," Your coach is intrigued now, "Keiko try your best to hit. Y/n, toss the ball to her." Himari grabs a ball cart and rolls it over to you.

"Ready?" You ask and they all nod, you toss the ball to Saori, Keiko begins her approach, she gets to her second step, but the ball was already soaring past her.

"Sorry, I'm not used to this quick of a set." She apologizes.

"It's okay, try again." Coach Mori encourages and she gets back into formation.

You toss another ball and as soon as the ball leaves your hands, Keiko is beginning her approach, this time Keiko was in the air as Saori was setting the ball, it happened so quick, Keiko hit the ball and it slammed onto the other side of the net.

"Holy shit." You laugh and break into a huge smile.

"We can work with that." Your coach smirks. "We'll work more on it tomorrow, we're gonna focus on attacking."

"Clean up!" You say and begin to take down the net. Himari had an uneasy feeling in her stomach, but she remembers your words from earlier, she tries her best to keep it down. She goes up to Saori and compliments her, the two converse for a little.

You lock the gym doors and walk back to the club room, you notice Himari is a little down, but she refuses to talk about it. "I'm gonna head out now." She says to you.

"Do you want me to walk with you?" You'd always walk with each other because of how close you live.

"I kinda just want some space, I'm sorry." She apologizes.

"That's okay, I'll see you tomorrow." You smile at her and she puts in her headphones and walks out. You're the last one the leave, taking your time to pack your things.

You lock up the clubroom and see Kuroo and his friends a little ahead of you, Kuroo turns his head at the sound of a door being shut. "Hey-uh, walk without me today." He curtly says and makes his way over to you.

Yaku and Kai turn to see and immediately put the pieces together when they see you walking down the steps.

"You need me to walk you home?" He smiles, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Oh no, it's okay—"

"Alright alright, you don't have to beg me, I'll do it." He smirks, making you roll your eyes.

"Are you sure it's not out of your way?" And he shakes his head.

"Where's Himari?" You two basically never leave each other's sides, he's confused by this, but he's grateful because he wouldn't have been able to walk you home if she was with you.

"She was a little down after practice today, so she wanted to walk home alone." You say.

"What happened?"

"We have this first-year setter who's really good and she's worried that she might replace her." You say, "This is the first time she's had real competition for her spot."

"Yeah, that's rough." He sighs, "That's kinda happening with our middles."

"With you?" You say surprised.

He scoffs jokingly, "Obviously not me, I'm perfect." You rolls your eyes at him, "With Inuoka and Lev."

"I thought Lev's receives were still terrible." You say confused.

"They are, but he's so tall and can hit decently. Him and Kenma just haven't clicked yet." Kuroo explains and you him. "Coach thinks they have potential."

"Yeah, you can't really compete with height." You say.

"Especially a shorty like you." He laughs loudly at his own joke.

"Ha ha." You fake laugh, "I work hard for my spot."

"I know, it was just funny." He sighs and looks off, it was almost completely dark, he stares at the stars for a second then turns to look at you.

The soft wind slowly blew your hair out of your face, he thinks you look beautiful right now—well all the time, but especially right now.

You feel him staring, but don't say anything. It makes your face feel hot so you turn to look at the side, finding so much interest in the shops nearby. He realizes he's staring and embarrassingly looks away, if his friends saw him, he'd never hear the end of it.

"We have a practice match coming up." He breaks the silence.

"Ours? Yeah I know," You chuckle, "Every week, remember?" You turn your head back to him, noticing a pink hue cover his cheeks.

"Oh sorry—not ours." He laughs, "I meant with another team."

"Really? Who is it?" You're curious. "I bet it's Fukurodani."

He shakes his head, "I don't think you're guessing this one."

You raise an eyebrow and continue thinking. It has to be a team you're not familiar with. "I give up." You playfully roll your eyes.

"Karasuno."

"Karasuno?" You furrow your brows, it's not ringing a bell.

He sees your confusion and chuckles. "They were well known a couple years ago, we used to play them all the time."

"What happened to them?" You ask.

He shrugs, "They lost valuable players like we did, and had to start off from scratch. We're not lucky enough to get good players handed to us."

You frown, "We're just good at scouting the middle schoolers."

He just laughs, "Anyways, one of their coaches begged Nekomata and he decided to give them a chance."

"That should be fun, right?" You say, "Maybe I'll go watch to see a certain middle blocker get beat."

He playfully nudges you, "Don't root for the enemy."

"I was kidding." You roll your eyes, you came up to your house and wave goodbye to him. You go up to your room and see from your window that Himari's room was dark.

You frown, she never went to bed this early. You hoped she'd be feeling better tomorrow.

[a-mint-bear]

Jacob (Subby Yandere) Headcanons

🐶Jacob: Puppy Dog in Puppy Love🐶

bit longer than i thought it'd be, so lore under the cut

● Jacob grew up with crap parents who never paid him any attention. They were a couple of horrible, rich monsters who hated being married almost as much as they hated being parents. He was raised by a series of nannies, they never stayed on longer than a few months, his parents didn't want him getting attached. He always wondered what it would be like to have someone he loved and who would love him and only him.

● On the outside he seems nice enough, if a little awkward. He knows how to talk to people and navigate social situations, but it's all on the surface. He doesn't learn people's names unless it would put him at a disadvantage not to know. He has no friends, he never really felt the need to connect with other people. Most rub him the wrong way. But you just feel... right.

● Before he confesses, you seem to be the only person he can't figure out how to talk to. He doesn't know how to act around you, what the right thing to say is. At first it pisses him off, like why are they so much more difficult to figure out than everyone else? Who do they think they are, making him feel this way? Then he sees someone flirting with you and... oh. That should be him. He should be making you laugh and why won't you smile at him like that?

● He wants all the milestones with you. If you aren't the marriage type, he's more than happy to just be together forever. He wants to move in with you right away, he sees no point in "taking things slow". But he'll hold off on some things if it makes you more comfortable. He'll wait as long as it takes.

● Kids are a toss-up for him. He would absolutely see a baby/kid as competition for your affection and want you all to himself, but if a kid (or kids) would be important to you, being a dad would just be another thing he could do to make you happy. At some point, being a parent wouldn't be a job/role for him (a job he'd be happy to do regardless). The first time the child shows him affection, it's like a switch gets flipped. He breaks down, realizing that they're HIS family too, just like you. He becomes an obnoxiously loving and involved dad. Dad Yandere. Daddere.

● If you have (a) beloved pet(s), again, they're competition for your affection. It would be like a "I don't like you and you don't like me, but we both love [y/n]." relationship where he just acts like a big baby when you're loving on your pet and not him. He would never neglect or mistreat them, but you can bet he gloats to them like "Aww, aren't you cute. But [y/n] thinks I'm cuter, yes they do, you little dummy." while giving them scritches. He was never allowed to have a pet growing up so he doesn't "get" why people get so attached.

● He has a tendency to try and isolate you, he wants you all to himself. But this can be negated using his submissive side. If you're the boss, telling him exactly how things are gonna be, rewarding his good behavior or punishing the bad, he's putty in your hands. He can't say no to you.

● If he ever made you upset with him, he would freeze up, panicking at the thought of hurting you. Or worse, losing you. He might try and egg you on to punish him to make up for it, to "make things right". If he ever made you cry? He's in crisis mode. He's crying too, begging you for forgiveness. He's offering anything and everything to make you not hate him.

● He works as a Software Developer from home and does freelance IT work on the side. He's very tech savvy and definitely didn't use his skills to hack into any of your accounts to find out more about you when he was working up the nerve to ask you out. At least not since he confessed. He's better than all that now, of course.

● His yandere traits come out if he's left to his own devices. He gets nervous that you're unhappy with him and acts out by being a brat and trying to keep you home with him. You can lovingly reassure him that you're happy over and over and it helps for a while. But the only thing that quiets his jealous, paranoid brain is putting him in his place, reminding him he belongs to you and only you, punishing his brattiness and telling him he's your good boy.

● Full yandere mode: You try and break up with him. I say "try" because he would be stuck in the denial phase for a good long time. He thinks you're testing him to see how loyal he is, that even you pushing him away can't get rid of him. He hacks your computer and bugs your house, he breaks in to watch you sleep, leaving gifts for you before you wake up. You start dating/flirting with someone else? They get attacked on the street, no witnesses, with a warning to stay away from you or he'll come back to finish the job. If you tell him you're in love with someone else? It won't be long before you can't get ahold of them.

You can try and get rid of him, but he's your good boy, whether you like it or not.

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

For the send a title thing-

Stand where the light hits hard

When the charity gala rolls around in season 1, Ted decides to turn it into a educational experience and has a rep from the charity come in to talk to the team. The rep comes in the day before and tells them they're going to be talking about the prevention and detection of domestic violence and especially child abuse, so Jamie's sitting there at the back bracing himself to hear something awful, but it's just like. normal shit. things that have happened to him and his mum more times than he can count. And he starts arguing, because why are they wasting time on this when there's actually really bad things happening to kids, and shouldn't they be focused on that instead? Which is not a great look. Especially for Ted, who doesn't think that well of him at the time, and especially especially for Roy, whose sister also survived a terrible relationship that sounds a whole lot like what the presenter is describing.

So Roy's like "I'm actually going to fucking kill you if I find out you've been treating anyone like that" and then goes to check on Keeley, while Ted pulls him aside for a stern lecture. By this point Jamie's panicking a bit and also convinced that he's actually a terrible, dangerous person, so he goes home to Keeley — who knows he isn't like that in a relationship but has friends who have had bad relationships with footballers and would very much like an explanation of what the fuck has been going on — and it spirals into a fight where they end up broken up technically by mutual agreement but very acrimoniously, and with all that going on, Jamie never ends up asking Bex to bid on him.

So he goes to the gala the next day already fighting off a panic attack with a baseball bat to find that the whole team thinks the breakup happened because Keeley learned about what happened yesterday, and Roy, who still thinks Jamie's a danger to society, corners him to be like "it was too late to remove you from the bidding lineup but you have to do exactly what your date tells you and if you hurt them even a bit they will sue you into oblivion and also I will personally murder you." So now he's fighting off the panic attack with a toothpick instead of a baseball bat. But he goes up on stage and because Bex isn't there and he's broken up with Keeley, Cheryl, the ice cube comment lady, wins the bid.

He drags himself home to have his meltdown, and the day after that, they go out on their date. And it's fine. She's a little flirty and he feels like his skin is going to crawl off his body, but it's fine, right up until she puts her hand on his arm and it is very much not fine, and in the panic of trying to get away, he shoves her, and she falls. Which means he's no better than everyone says he is. That he's no better than his dad. That Roy's going to kill him, for real this time, and he'll deserve it. So he shows up to Roy's house to just get it over with, and when Roy opens the door he's standing there inconsolably upset, crying, telling him to just do it. And Roy's like. okay it is possible that I have misjudged this situation, and brings him in to talk. There's tea, there's cuddles, there's Jamie getting told he's not an irredeemably bad person and that the way his dad treated him was bad, actually.

[tobiasdrake]

Beyond the necessary inclusion of the original 1984-1995 Dragon Ball manga, "canon" is whatever you want. The "whatever Toriyama worked on" criteria doesn't really work, because he's had at least a small hand in the conception and story of basically everything.

Nowadays, people act like Super is somehow the "oNe TrUe CaNoN" continuation and all that matters anymore, even though there's two separate versions of Super that can't even jive with each other. What's more, that same "Super is everything" crowd also can't even decide which of those two versions is the more important or "canon-est" one — a few years back you'd more likely see claims that it's the anime, since it was the original product and the manga simply served to promote it, but now you'll see more claims that it's the manga, just because it's the only version left.

Which should all go to show just how much of a ridiculous and self-contradictory mess this whole topic is, and why any given person is better off just not buying into it. Just take the original manga as your starting point and go in whatever direction you prefer from there.

The concept of canon is actually really important when doing critical analysis, part of which depends on understanding the choices being made, what they represent from a creative perspective, and what they lend to the story. It's important to be able to identify what was part of the creator's original vision, what the creator came up with years later and bolted on after the fact, what was added by other creatives, what was interpreted by other creatives, etc.

To draw a fairly extreme example, let's talk about Bulma's ki-sensing abilities.

In a filler arc of the Z anime, Captain Ginyu takes control of Bulma's body and rides a motorcycle over to spectate on Goku and Frieza's fight - While also seeking to take over a stronger body.

During the American dub, Ginyu's inner monologue celebrates that being in Bulma's body has granted him the ability to sense ki.

Ginyu: This is strange! In this body, I can clearly sense the intensity of each of their power levels!

However, much later in the series, we have Vegeta and Trunks fighting Cell. Bulma needs Piccolo and Tenshinhan to explain to her what's going on.

Well, that's a little strange, isn't it? Why would Bulma need Piccolo to explain what's going on to her? Why can't she just use her own ki-sensing and figure it out for herself?

Is this a plot hole?

Well. No. Obviously not. The reason Bulma can't use her own ki-sensing is because Bulma can't sense ki. That was a line from a localized dub of a filler arc of an adaptation of the original source material. It's three stages removed from original canon. Obviously it has no bearing on the core plot of Dragon Ball, which was written long before it even existed.

With regard to Dragon Ball Super, things are... dicey there. The way Super works is that both and neither are the true canon. Super was created by way of Akira Toriyama writing out a story outline for what he wanted, then separately delivering those notes to Toei Animation and to mangaka Toyotarou, each of whom fleshed out those notes into a complete story by applying their own creative vision.

So it's a weird situation where there isn't really a true canon to Super because both versions of the story are separate creators' adaptational interpretation of the same outline. The Super anime, of course, was made by the studio that made the Z anime so it borrows a lot of elements that Toei created for their version of Dragon Ball. The manga version does not, but it does feel subtly off because Toyotarou's interpretations of the characters don't always mesh well with the original story.

[iamnmbr3]

hi there!!🫶🏻

Just a sad theory...how do you think Harry would've reacted if Draco had been killed (canon Harry ofc)?

Like how he'd react if death occurred in fiendfyre scene or after malfoy manor scene or after he couldn't kill dombledore and he escaped with snape or when he pleads to death eater but this time death eater kills him(better say each reaction of his in these situations if they make difference lol)

Think of this so much but can't find my answer...

Hello! It's always such a delight to see your questions in my inbox. They're invariably thoughtful and fascinating.

I think you're right that when Draco died specifically in canon would have huge implications for the specifics of how Harry would react. Generally though, if it occurred in book 7 during the war I think Harry would be very shaken by it and much more upset than others, or even he himself, might expect or understand. But he would try to compartmentalize it at the time.

Just like how after the Manor sequence he compartmentalizes and puts Draco out of his mind because he knows Draco may well be brutally killed as punishment for Harry's escape. He knows - and it horrifies him so much that for the first time ever he manages to block out Voldemort so he doesn't have to see it - but he has a mission to complete. All this suffering and death can't be for nothing. It just can't. Remember, following that escape there's a real turning point for Harry. He becomes single minded in his purpose to complete his mission whatever the cost and stops worrying or doubting or thinking of anything else. I think Draco's death would have a similar but even stronger effect on him.

But then the war ends. And he has time to think. And something about that particular death just haunts him even though it shouldn't really. I mean, he and Draco were never friends right? It's not like he cared for him? ... Right? And yet somehow as the years slip by he can't seem to get Draco out of his head. Wondering what could have been, whether Harry could have or should have done more? What would have happened if he'd thought to try to help him in sixth year, if he'd realized the full extent of Draco's doubts and vulnerability before that fateful night on the Astronomy tower? The years slip by and maybe Harry marries Ginny but feels that somethings's always just a little bit lacking in his marriage or maybe he breaks up with her and finds someone else, or no one at at all. But always in the back of his mind something is missing. There's some unanswered question. And whenever he goes back to visit Hogwarts he always finds himself turning to look across the Hall to meet a pair of grey eyes that aren't there.

Now, to get into the specific scenarios you mentioned:

if death occurred in fiendfyre scene

In this scenario I think Harry would feel a lot of personal guilt since he would feel that he failed to save Draco. Furthermore, he would probably also feel that perhaps Draco might have lived if Harry hadn't taken his wand. He's probably sick with horror in the immediate aftermath but pulls himself together long enough to complete his mission. And then the guilt plagues him for the rest of his life. At first he thinks that's all it is but over time he and others start wondering if there was something special about Draco, something more to him, to make him haunt Harry's thoughts so much.

Where it really gets interesting is there's also the possibility that Draco appears as one of the resurrection stone shades, which has all sorts of fun angst potential.

The other issue here is that Draco is dead when Narcissa asks about him. I think Harry probably still answers honestly but I think it doesn't change much since now she has nothing to lose and wants to avenge her son so she still lies for Harry.

2. after malfoy manor scene

So again, Harry definitely feels personal responsibility here. He also really dwells on the fact that Draco saved his life and died because of it. I think in any case where Draco dies after the "I can't be sure" sequence Harry spends a lot of time postwar thinking about what Draco did and why he did it and all the questions he'll never get to ask him and wondering whether if he'd done more earlier - during 6th year or another time - Draco could have gone down another path and been saved. Especially in this scenario though where Draco dies immediately after, essentially sacrificing his life for Harry.

Another interesting thing in this scenario is the question of whether Narcissa lives. If Voldemort doesn't kill her too then she still has her wand since there's no Draco for her to give it to. She might want revenge on both Voldemort - for killing her son - and Harry, for taking his wand and leaving him defenseless and for escaping. But also maybe part of her knows the wand might not have made a difference and that Draco surely recognized Harry and made his choice. Maybe she meets Harry during the battle and attacks him and wants to kill him but changes her mind in the end. Maybe they fight early on but then in the forest she saves his life because she knows Voldemort is the real enemy and she knows that Draco gave his life to save Harry's. Or maybe she even tries to take down Voldemort herself.

3. after he couldn't kill dumbledore and he escaped with snape

Ooh! This is interesting. I wonder how fast Harry would find out. He might discover it much later. We know he spends a lot of time worrying about Draco after the end of book 6 so this would basically be all his worries being confirmed. OR he might actually witness it through a vision from Voldemort. Since this would happen before the Horcrux hunt is really going on in earnest I think Harry would spend a lot of time brooding over it and it would give him a sense of purpose and a need to end the war before any more innocent lives are lost. Maybe Harry tells himself it's just a general feeling of responsibility, but it's also about grief and revenge over Draco in particular, even though rationally he knows Draco isn't someone he should be feeling this way about.

Of course, in this scenario a lot of other things in the story go very differently. First of all, Voldemort may become the true Master of the Elder Wand by defeating Draco (at least according to the canon version of wandlore; I think possibly he could never have mastered it because his fear of death meant it would always have chosen Harry) which means Harry might have died in the duel at the end....

Assuming he even made it that far because the Manor sequence would also go very differently. The Malfoys (assuming any of them were even left alive by that point and Voldemort didn't just massacre the whole family) might not be able to conclusively identify Harry and co right away and might have thrown them into the cells they had while they decided what to do (giving them a chance to escape) but they also might have chanced it and called Voldemort. Voldemort would've killed Harry on sight...thus destroying the Horcrux in Harry and knocking both of them out for a moment. Then Harry of course comes back to life. This means he might've had a chance to surprise everyone and try to escape (if so there's still probably a lot more carnage and death and everyone probably doesn't make it out not to mention Harry also doesn't get Draco's wand) or he might just end up getting killed a second time.

Really brings home how Draco - and his devotion to Harry - is a key part of what enables Harry to win in book 7. Voldemort really was defeated by the power of drarry.

4. when he pleads to death eater but this time death eater kills him

Harry definitely still tries to save him and feels terrible guilt over not being fast enough. Also here Draco dies right in front of him and his body is just lying there right where Harry can see it. He probably is momentarily distracted until his friends remind him they have a mission. He never gets the image out of his mind though.