I think George would prob name his son Fred the Third obviously the first would be Fred (twin) so then when ppl would ask "who's the second there's only two in the family?" he gets to make a terrified face and stare at the person in horror and say "we don't talk about what happened to the second." and then when his son goes to school Fred the Third is also going "yeah we don't talk about the second Fred so idk what happened to him" George thinks this is the funniest running gag in the family ever
oh small annoyance when ppl will make videos like "how do I explain to my (blank) that-" and then they explain It clearly for the video they're making and it's like well you'd generally explain it like that bc that was perfectly clear
summary: you're scared of a storm and leave his room to busy yourself in the burrow
warnings: storms, breifly mentioned that george has an ear that doesn't work, so like hinted post war but in my post war world fred is alive so, george is a heavy sleeper, you've experienced a bad storm, lwk didn't proof read it kill me damn, tiny bit of negative self talk but it's really not that bad, George is cringe okay boom
George was a heavy sleeper. You could move all of his furniture and vacuum right next to his working ear, and he would not wake up. You weren’t exactly shocked that he didn’t wake up from the thunder outside the Burrow.
The Burrow was hardly ever quiet. Even when everyone was asleep, there was always some kind of creaking or settling from the house. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Usually, his room was so bright and warm that you never felt anything but joy.
Every other day of this summer break, you woke up to the sun peeking between the orange curtains Molly made back when George was still a toddler. You could always hear birds chirping and the rustling of leaves. In the Burrow, there seemed to be a whisper of laughter at all hours of the morning. You could hear screams of joy in the backyard and tinkering in rooms downstairs. You were never the first to wake up. There was always stomping down the stairs and running through rooms. That was comforting. This house was always so alive, you never had a moment to be scared of being alone. You were warm and safe with a loving family.
That much was not true this morning.
Outside George’s window was the rumbling of thunder and flashes of lightning. His room seemed frozen in time. Like the moment in a horror film where the evil is right behind the main character. You stared at the ceiling as you hoped the storm would stop now that you had rolled awake. The silhouettes of swirls and monsters covered the pale ceiling as the lighting lashed again. You could feel your heart squeezing in fear and your breath getting caught behind your teeth. You turned your head to face George.
His cheek was pressed to his pillow with his mouth parted. He was quietly snoring, exclusively because his nose was contorted into an uncomfortable position.
“George?” You whispered. A part of you wanted him to immediately wake up just from the psychological connection you had. Like somewhere in his dream, he could feel his lover uncomfortable. Another part hoped he stayed ignorant in his slumber. George continued to snore. You hummed in both approval and disappointment.
You carefully pulled yourself from his bed, tucking the blanket back around him. You hoped the warmth from your body was replaceable by the quilt. You quietly left his room.
Once you were out in the house, you felt even more alone. The storm outside seemed louder now. The twisting staircase that went straight down the house seemed to make the perfect tube to amplify the thunder. You leaned against the banister, tilting your head up. You hoped red hair would be peeking over the banister of another floor. But nothing but darkness greeted you. You slowly made your way down the stairs, careful to skip the ones that creaked. You weren’t exactly sure where you were going, but you knew you had to be moving to walk off the threat of the storm.
The first floor was even more desolate than the rest of the house. The usual tinkering of Molly’s knitting and simultaneous washing of dishes was absent. The house was too still for your liking. The kitchen was empty, apart from the unwashed dishes. You completely understood why Molly had formulated a magical way to wash them. With every head in the house generating at least three dishes a day, the sink started to overfill before the day even truly started. A flash of lightning outside the kitchen window made your eyes widen. You straightened your shoulders and turned on the sink. The storm would be here a while, and when you stop moving, the only thing you can focus on is the thunder.
It wasn’t really thunder or lightning that scared you. Those were distant things that could not reach out and hurt you. It was the strength of the storm that truly scared you. It was bad enough that it could tear apart whatever building you were in and you. It wasn’t entirely impossible either. You had already experienced sitting alone in a house as it was torn apart by a storm. Although that time it was mostly exterior damage. You were never harmed, but the fear still settled inside your stomach.
You weren’t horrified by it either. You weren’t exactly rocking back and forth in tears. It was more just an extreme discomfort that you couldn’t sit through. It was easier to handle with other people around you, but you weren’t going to wake George. He was soundly asleep, and you could handle it on your own. As you were doing now. Doing just about anything pulls your focus to the task rather than the storm. Which gave you much less guilt than waking up George. If you did, he’d be quite tired tomorrow. Although tomorrow would really be today, as it wasn’t truly the night anymore. You weren’t sure he’d be much comfort anyway. If you woke him properly, he’d be kind and gentle. But George was the type of sleeper who could have an entire conversation in his sleep. He’d just half wake up and tug you back into bed. He’d be no more comforting than a brick.
You flicked the water off your hands as you placed the final mug onto the absurdly large drying rack. Now the issue was finding what else to do. Cleaning was beneficial to everyone. So you could clean, but in the Weasley home, nothing was truly clean. Everything seemed to be covered in clutter. Loved clutter, but clutter nonetheless.
You wandered into the living room and began by folding the throw blankets. You replaced the few strewn about books onto their home shelves. A few picked up so much dust that you sneezed. You found a half-full glass of water on one of the side tables. You groaned quite loudly before remembering some people were still trying to catch a few hours of sleep. You still hated whoever left it there. And you hated that now you had more dishes to clean. You ignored it as you set it in the sink. It took much less time than you expected to finish the living room.
By the time you finished cleaning off the table, you had worked up a bit of a sweat. You had completely forgotten about the real reason you had left George’s bed. You even cleaned all the extra dishes you found when cleaning. Though you grumbled the whole time.
You flung yourself onto the couch as you looked out the window. The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. The storm was still rumbling, but it was much calmer now than it was before. The sky was now an odd sort of orange-gray that you didn’t particularly like. You startled at the sound of shuffling footsteps. You looked up to see Molly in a patchwork housecoat. Her hair was wild, framing her face with a mess of tangles. She paused at the sight of you, raising a brow.
“Morning, darling.” She mumbled, glancing out the window to check the time. You awkwardly waved.
“I couldn’t sleep with the storm.” You explained. Though now that it had settled down, you felt a bit ridiculous saying that. I couldn’t sleep because of the drizzle.
“It was actually much louder and heavier earlier, but it’s-”
“Where’s George?” Molly asked, turning her head to look behind herself. Your eyebrows shot up at the extra-large knot at the back of her hair. You wondered if she always woke up like this or if tonight was a particularly bad night for her.
“Oh, he’s asleep,” you answered. She snapped her head around, her hair swinging around.
“You didn’t wake him?” Molly asked. You shook your head.
“I didn’t want to bother him.” You muttered. Your face was starting to feel a little too tight and warm for your comfort. Molly pressed her lips into a tight line and hummed. She glanced around the living room, noticing the folded blankets.
“Did you clean?” She asked, picking at the lint on top of a chair. You nodded.
“I couldn’t sit still with the thunder, so I picked up a little. I washed the dishes and stuff, so don’t worry about that.” You answered. Molly grumbled. You furrowed your brows, wondering what could be frustrating her.
“That’s very sweet, my dear. Though next time, you should wake someone to keep you company. I wouldn’t mind, I actually enjoy storms. It would be better for your energy.” Molly’s tone was soft, not reprimanding. You frowned.
“Well, I just wanted to make myself useful.” You countered. Molly shook her head, looking into the kitchen.
“You’re useful without working yourself to the bone. You'd best head upstairs and catch the last few hours of sleep before breakfast.” She said, jutting her head towards the stairs. You didn’t bother arguing with her; you had seen her scold Ron before, and that was a fire you did not want to play with. Just as you thought you were in the clear, she called your name. You paused on your step, turning to face her.
“And wake George up, Merlin’s sake,” Molly muttered before walking to the kitchen. You nodded and started your trek up the stairs.
By the time you finally reached George’s door again, the storm was a distant worry. George did not lift his head at the sound of you opening the door. You didn’t bother closing it quietly. He would sleep through it. You pulled at the blankets, tucking yourself under them. You shoved George’s shoulder, making him tip onto his back. He stirred finally, peeking his eyes open. You patted his face to wake him up more. George lifted his head off the bed, rubbing at his eye.
“Breakfast?” he slurred. You shook your head.
“The storm woke me up.” You explained. George whined, pulling you closer to him. He pressed your head to his chest.
“I’ll drink all the rain, it won’t get you,” George muttered. You scoffed.
“You suck at this.” George petted your head. He shushed you like you were being petulant.
“Shsh- I’ll protect you, don’t worry.” He whispered in your ear. You rolled your eyes, letting out a small laugh. George snorted. He craned his neck to press a pathetic excuse for a kiss to your forehead.
“See, made you laugh. Can’t be scared when you’re laughing.” George mumbled, dropping his head back onto his pillow.
“That’s not true.” You said, lifting your head to glance down at him.
“Is,” George answered, before definitely falling asleep. You sighed, laying your head back down and realizing he might be partially right. You were still grinning, and there wasn’t any fear left rolling in your stomach.
Summary: you think he's cheating and you have a rlly big argument
Warning: angst, no happy ending, toxic relationship at least a little, big argument, suspected cheating, open ended really, touya pulls on your arm, he throws ur coat at u, you both lwk suck tbh, cursing, anger, mad mad mad mad, i think thats it
It wasn't extremely frequent that you and Touya blew up at each other. Sure fights happened but you both avoided raising your voices at each other. Your usual arguments happened in one room with them ending in understanding and I love yous whispered to each other. This was different.
You’d been nursing this frustration for three days. Yes, you should’ve told him but it just felt like something you could shake off. He made an off-putting comment over dinner one night, posed as a joke that just made you raise a brow. It wasn’t something like approving of cheating or insinuating you slept around but something about it made you feel like the butt of the joke. Something about your cooking and suddenly you were squinting at him across the table. He tried to reverse the damage, saying that he was kidding and stacking more into his bowl. You didn’t say anything, chuckling it away.
Then he was late coming home one night. It wasn’t like he came home every day just as the sun came down but he was usually in your bed by the same time. Around the time the moon was feeling particularly bright and shining through your curtains was the latest he would come home. So when he came home long after the usual time. You sat on the couch and watched the front door like a hawk. Your face was pinched and screwed into something terrifying and stirring with annoyance. When his loud boots and unruly hair finally slipped through your door you felt your jaw clench. He flicked on the living room light, jumping at the sight of you. He explained it away, something about work. You stared at him, unbreaking and unmoving. Touya stared at you back, raising a brow in question. You hummed and stood up. You left to the bedroom as he tugged his boots off and hung his coat onto the rack. You didn’t say a word to him as he settled into bed in his sleeping clothes. Of which there was little, having a built-in furnace made clothes sweltering. He pressed his lips to your shoulder over and over again in an attempt at a further apology. You didn’t say anything, considering the probability of it just being work. Finally, by the time he was waking up the next morning, you decided to let it slide.
Then you made plans, date night. You waited for hours on the damned bench you both had met at many times, this same date night was starting to produce a ritual. You bought drinks from a nearby cafe and waited on the bench with them. He met up with you after going to get snacks. You didn’t mind that they were probably stolen, it didn’t plague your mind at night. Then you both walked around the sidewalk, taking in the views in the cold night air and talked. It was simple but easy. You’d met there probably a hundred times over your years of dating and living together. So when you were sat waiting for hours on end, shivering in the cold, you finally felt the final straw placed. You tossed his drink and walked yourself home, wishing you had taken a thicker coat. You often didn’t need a thick one, you had him and he was plenty on his own.
You found the apartment void of his presence and felt your anger grow. You could maybe understand accidentally falling asleep after work. Maybe getting the dates mixed up. Not even being home? You were pushed to your limit. You sat down on the couch, a book in your lap, coffee on the end table next to you, and got ready to stay up until that asshole wandered home.
You got through six chapters before you heard his key finding the lock. You kept your eyes on the page, though you stopped recognizing the words. Touya entered your home, shoving the door closed and pulling at the laces of his boots.
“What are you doing up, it’s the asscrack of night right now?” Touya muttered as he dropped his boots next to the door. You looked at the treads, trying to decipher what he was up to. They were moderately clean, not like he cleaned them but he hadn’t been treading any mud or dirt very much. Touya shrugged his coat off, hooking it onto the rack. He shoved his hands into his pockets dumping his belongings into the tray on the small table next to the rack. You bookmarked your page and set your book on the end table.
“Touya, how long have we been dating?” You asked face pinched like it was a night ago. Touya paused, looking away from the tray. He stared at you a moment before opening his mouth.
“Coming up on four years next month. Why-“ he let out a chuckle like it could relax his nerves. He could feel his heartbeat in his stomach. “-you think I forgot our anniversary?” You kept your eyes on him, watching his movements like they could explain what exactly he’d been doing the past few nights. He stayed at the doorway, hands held together like a kid waiting on their parent to hand them back their broken toy.
“How long have we been living together?” You asked, tone flat to not automatically come off as the offender. Touya shook his head lightly, throwing his hands up.
“I’m not sure, maybe three or so years?” Touya said. You hummed and looked away from him, picking at the couch arm. Touya finally took a step forward. It was small, maybe five inches forward. “What is this about?” You pulled your eyes from the couch.
“Where have you been these past few nights, Touya?” You asked, watching his face scrunch and flicker. You nodded like that was plenty of your answer.
“Work, I told you that.” He answered. You pushed your lips together into a bitter smile. You stood from the couch, pulling your empty cup from the end table.
“Is that right?” You muttered, heading for the kitchen. Touya unfroze, following you automatically. You never trained him, you never even told him. Maybe something about you seemed worth following to him. Maybe he just thought wherever you were headed, he needed to be too.
“What the fuck is going on with you?” Touya said, staring at the back of your head as you leaned over the sink. You set your empty cup into the sink and quickly rinsed it out. You turned the sink off, turning around to face him.
“Where have you been, really?” You asked, eye twitching as you stared at him. Touya shook his head, flinging his hands up.
“I just fucking told you, work.” You stared at him, feeling your heart burn. He had to be cheating. You couldn’t think of any other option. He’d been having late nights, coming home at late hours. He was starting to slowly make sly negative comments towards you. This must’ve been going on for a while and you’d just been ignoring it. Your boyfriend was cheating on you. You wanted to fill the sink with cold water and dunk your head in. You wanted to scream. You wanted to reach out and yank one of his damned staples out. You wanted to pull plates from the cabinets and fling them at him. You wanted to slap him, call him something that would haunt him every time he took his clothes off for someone else.
Just as you were thinking of all the ways you could hurt him, he held his arms out and started slowly approaching you. He looked like he was advancing on a wounded dog. His frustration had eased from his face, truly trying to get a hold of you. You scoffed, swerving around him to head towards the bedroom. He let out a half-assed growl, chasing after you. You pushed open the door, reaching for the bed.
“I just don’t understand why you’ve been acting the way you have been. Long nights, rude comments, you haven’t taken your pants off around me in over a week which is new for you. Extremely new. So why can’t you tell me where you’re going?” You chided, shaking your head around furiously. You tugged his pillow from the bed, his light top sheet following after. He didn’t exactly need blankets if he even used the sheet. Touya entered the room after you, tugging his hand through his hair. He stared at the blankets in your arms, a wrinkle creasing between his brows.
“I’m telling you. I was at work.” You pushed past him, moving around him in the door frame. You flung his pillow and sheet onto the couch, looking back to watch him join you in the living room.
“Yeah? I called Shig. You know what he said? Said he hadn’t seen you stay past 10 in years. Sounds to me like you’re hiding something.” Touya’s face fell, staring at you with his mouth open. He moved forward, yanking the pillow from the couch.
“Now you’re fucking calling people behind my back! What the hell? Since when did we act crazy over little shit? I thought we talked shit out! Like you’re always on my ass about!” Touya yelled. You pulled back a little, setting your brow. You reached forward and yanked the pillow from his hands, throwing it back on the couch.
“Fuck you! You’re the one going behind my back! I don’t even know where you are anymore! You’re fucking forgetting dates now! You’re insulting me and hiding! Touya this isn’t you, what is going on?” You yelled back, leaning forward and pointing at his chest. Touya looked down at your finger, shooing it away.
“You’ve got to be losing your fucking mind! I never insulted you! I’m sleeping on the damn couch because you can’t pull yourself together!” Touya shouted, pulling the pillow front he couch again.
“Are you cheating? Don’t lie!” You watched his face extremely, trying to catch any micro expression like you might know what they mean. Touya reeled back, his head shaking back and forth like the ground was spinning.
“What!” You huffed and headed back for the kitchen, though you weren’t sure what for. You just needed to walk away from him. He followed. You turned around in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge and watching him.
“Are you?” You asked, shrugging one shoulder like it was no big deal for you. Touya waved his hands around the air like he was trying to feel for your reasoning.
“Do you really think so little of me that I’d cheat on you!” he yelled, pressing his hands to his chest as if you stabbed him multiple times. You stared at him, for a moment too long. Touya scoffed and flung his hands up.
“You’re fucking kidding right?” He asked, still watching you like you were some animal with rabies. You scoffed, pushing yourself off the refrigerator.
“You’re avoiding the question.” You muttered. Touya groaned, running his hands down his face and pulling at his skin. You worried he’d pop a staple, speedily wetting your hand with the sink and flicking the water at him. His hands dropped from his face, growing more frustrated.
“Fuck you.” You finally decided on where you were going, out of this damn house. You started for the door, heading past Touya. He followed. You pulled your shoes from the floor, slipping one on before the other. As you stood up, dipping your hand into the tray for your keys, Touya felt like he was watching you walk out of his life just like that. He reached forward and held onto your arm. His fingers dug into your skin as he yanked on you, jerking you around to face him.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Touya yelled, his breath hitting your face. He froze the second he saw it on your face. The same look his mother had with his father was looking back at him through his partner’s eyes. He felt his anger slip away as you stared at him with your open mouth. You looked between him and his hand on your arm, like they were detached. You had to trail your eyes from his wrist to his face to make sure it was even his hand on your body. You felt something stir behind your ribs, something that made your joints feel tight. You needed to move and move quickly. You pulled your anger back up over the fear, yanking your arm from his grasp. You leaned forward, pointing your finger at his face.
“Don’t you ever. Lay your fucking hands on me like that again.” You didn’t bother to look at his face, didn’t bother waiting to see the effect. You spun around and pulled the door open. Touya felt his hands move before his brain did. He snatched your coat from the rack, making it wobble. He flung it at you.
“Take your fucking coat!” It landed in your arms with a thump. You stared at him with the anger he was showing you.
“Oh go fuck yourself, Dabi!” You yelled before slamming the door behind you. It shook the wall, making the framed picture of you with his arm over your shoulders shake. He stared at it as he felt himself slowly freeze up. You hadn’t used that name for him in years. The solidity of his actions slowly set in. You were pissed, beyond, and not horrifically in the wrong. You called him Dabi. He was a villain in your eyes again. That was terrifying. He was used to the name Touya now. It’s who he was. He wasn’t Touya, Enji’s eldest son. He was Touya, your lover. Now he wasn’t so sure what he was.
You needed space. Touya gave you a forty-five-minute head start before he pulled on his coat and boots. He slipped out the front door and chased after you. Wherever you were going, he was coming. If he had to follow you to the end of the earth to earn back your trust and love he’d do so. This wasn’t the end, just a spat. That’s all, a simple spat.
I just watched The Other Bennet Sister and does Mary have terrible taste in colors? yes! but she's so happy and such a kind person I overlook it that red and green dress is ugly as hell but she feels so confident in it she LOOKS so confident in it it looks amazing on her bc she's glowing with pride
how hard is it to write a modern day romance novel bc at this point I'm seeing so many books about love with AI and blue collar werewolf mafia kings and I'm like how hard is it
Oh, great heavens! There's a monster in the mirror!
barbie dolls: Dean Winchester x gn!1/2 vampire!college!reader
word count:2.5k
summary: on a demon hunt a younger dean meets you (whomst has a vampire father) and likes what he sees
warnings: out of character earlier season dean bc def would've killed you, based off a dream i had two years ago, pro choice agenda suck it replubs idgaf, it's really just cheesy its not even crazy, demon stuff ig, also i wrote this a long time ago so be aware this is not an accurate representation of my current writing abilities i'm just genuinely only now getting around to editing it, also j fyi vampires can be seen in modern mirrors okay back up off my plot hole, also edited this while getting ready for prom j fyi
Your father, Viktor, was a vampire; he’d told you the story many times. So many times, it was practically engraved on your brain. His coven was very strict. If a member broke any rule, small or not, they were kicked out.
The coven left for a hunt, individually stalking around the night streets for a human to lure back to the nest. Viktor unfortunately, wandered into a diner in the hopes of coming across a wary traveler. He plopped himself into a booth and ordered a plate. He had a guilty pleasure in human food. That’s when he met your mother. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, at least that’s what he told you.
She slid into the booth across from him and asked him his favorite milkshake from the diner. After fumbling through a conversation with her, he landed himself a date.
Months flew by, and their newborn love was kept a secret. It was against the rules of the coven for a vampire to love a human. Yet love he did. Then your mother found out she was pregnant with you, Viktor was shocked, of course, could vampires reproduce like that? Viktor was scared, your mother was scared, you were scared, and you were just a clump of lifeless cells.
Viktor came clean to the coven. He was kicked out of the course, but it didn’t matter to him. He was going to elope with your mother. They ditched town, they ditched the state, and they found a little stone cottage with a dead garden out front.
As they settled in, the garden was planted with new flowers. Viktor found a job in town as a professor at the town’s public college. It was a fine job; he loved it. Your mother stayed home and decorated the house. Your bedroom was packed full with pretties before her stomach was even peaking from her shirt. Their life was beautiful, and it was about to get a whole lot more beautiful when you arrived. They were both ecstatic; they would raise their baby together.
All good things have an end, and your mother died in childbirth. Your family was cut in half, and your father felt like he was on the edge of getting sucked into a black hole at all times after that. Every time he felt like he was going to explode with despair and anger and disgust and all the bad feelings stirring in his stomach, he stared into your tiny baby eyes, and the world felt safe again.
All said and done, you were doing pretty alright. You were going to the same college your father taught at. People thought he was a little strange, sure, but he was your loving father. He dressed in all black and never left the house without a parasol. He left the house every other weekend to drive to a different town to feed on cattle. Viktor stopped feeding on humans once he was kicked from the coven. Just felt wrong. he lathered you in sunscreen every time you even thought of stepping outside. You knew about Vampires and demons, the whole nine yards. You even knew about hunters, and the best thing to do when you met one was to run. One way or another, they’d want you dead. You may only be half vampire, but to a hunter, that made you a monster. Your family was just strange.
You settled into your second class of the day, flopping into your unassigned-assigned seat. As you were shuffling through your bag for your textbook, you heard an unfamiliar voice next to you.
“Hi.” You looked up, finding a new student. He definitely wasn’t from around here; you’d remember him. You sat up, setting your book down, and raised an eyebrow.
“Hi?” You responded, opening your book to the page you shoved your notes in. He smirked at you, tapping his pencil against his lips. He stuck his hand out towards you.
“I’m Dean. I’m new.” He said. You glanced at his hand. Yeah, you weren’t shaking that. You pushed his hand away with a finger before wiping your finger off on your pants. You gave him your name while setting your notes down.
“Thought so, I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’ve never seen you.” Your eyes dropped to his bag. A pentagram was stitched into the fabric with white thread. Your left eye twitched. You pointed your pencil at the bag. Dean looked down before meeting your eyes again.
“Uh, it’s for protection. It’s a family thing.” Dean said, kicking his leg out to hide his bag with his foot. You scoffed and set your pencil down on your textbook. Dean gave you a small smile, awkwardness seeping between the two of you.
“Yeah, I know what it means. You said you’re new? How long are you planning to stay here?” You stared at him as he gave you a light shrug. He dropped his pencil to his chin, tapping it in thought.
“Oh, not for long. I’m traveling around, but I’m staying here for a little while, to, uh, stick with my brother. He lives around here.” Dean said. You didn’t believe a lick of it. You wanted to ask if he was on a hunting trip, but then that would disclose that you knew of that world. Which would raise brows and likely get you killed. You smiled and nodded.
“Oh, cute.” You turned back to your work and ignored his presence for the rest of class. You went about your day. Everything went according to plan. You were off to your third class without another peep from Dean. After your third class, you were going to share lunch with your father and whisper to him about the chance of a hunter being in town. Possibly two if the 'brother' story was true.
You turned the corner to the hall for your third class. A man was holding another student up by his neck. The student’s feet were dangling in the air, and his jaw was unhinged. You slipped back behind the corner and watched as the man choked the student. You stared at the man’s eyes, trying to get a better look. He tilted his head to the side, watching the student’s life leave his eyes intently. Black, completely black.
You turned and quietly but quickly left the hall. You slipped out the door and started running. You flew through the courtyard, heading for your father’s classroom. He’d know what to do. Surely he would, right? Viktor would probably tell you to go home. Which, all things considered, sounded pretty damn good right now. You slithered through a crowd of students standing in the way for no damn reason and glided down a set of concrete stairs. You pulled open the door to the building you needed and swung around the corner to your father’s hallway. You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the demon hadn’t spotted or followed you. You skid to a halt when you head straight into another student. Their hands flew to your shoulders, holding you in place. You tried to catch your breath as you found their eyes.
The hunter. Great! Behind you was a demon who wanted you dead, and in front of you was a hunter who wanted you dead.
“Hey, what’s the matter? What happened?” Dean asked. You looked over his shoulder, seeing another man waiting awkwardly by the wall. You shook your head, trying to focus on the task at hand: getting to your father.
“Can’t say. Nothing. Nothing. I have to go.” You sputtered. You stared at the door just a few feet away, hoping that Dean would just let go. Dean shook your shoulders lightly, dragging your attention back to him.
“Tell me, please.” He pressed. His eyes were kind, and you hated him for it. If you weren’t you and he wasn’t himself, you’d tell him. You shook your head again.
“Can’t!”
“Why!”
“You’re a hunter!” You sucked in a breath as the words slipped from your mouth before you could catch them. Dean’s face fell, and he furrowed his eyebrows.
“How do you know what that is? Are you a hunter?” Dean asked. The man behind him pushed off the wall. You shrugged.
“You’ll kill me. Just let me go, and you won’t see me ever again. I promise, just please. Don’t kill me.” You tried to pry his hands off your shoulders, but Dean wanted to finish the conversation.
“Why would you think that? You haven’t done anything wrong.” You slipped from his hands finally, and ducked under his arm. You scampered into your father’s empty classroom. Your father was at his desk at the bottom of the classroom. You sprinted down the stairs, the footsteps of the hunters behind you. Dean called after you. Viktor raised his head from his work, standing at the sight of you running from two strangers.
“Get your things, Dad. We have to go, I feel sick. Must’ve been some fucking garlic or something.” You said, waving your hand around at his desk. When you reached his desk, you started pulling his papers together into a stack. Viktor pulled his briefcase from the ground, opening it for you.
“What’s going on?” Viktor asked. You shook your head.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” You stuffed the pile of papers into the briefcase and ducked behind his desk.
“Please, just tell me what’s going on. We can help.” Dean said, having reached the final floor level. You stood up with your father’s parasol in hand.
“No, you can’t. You wouldn’t understand.” Dean shook his head. The man behind him joined Dean at his side. You stared at him as he looked between you and your father.
“You’re vampires.” He whispered. You swallowed and handed Viktor his umbrella. You slammed his briefcase closed and closed the clasps. You tugged on your father’s arm, trying to get him to leave. Viktor shook his head and stared at the second man.
“And you’re hunters. A tale as old as time.” Viktor reached for your hand, rubbing the back for comfort. The other man gave a short nod.
“Is this a can of worms you really want to open, boys?” Viktor asked. You held your breath as you looked at the hunters. Your father surely knew what he was doing. He had been up against hunters before. With a coven, but you were his coven now. Maybe you two could take them down, but it wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do on a Thursday afternoon.
“We don’t want to kill you. We’re not even sure you two feed on humans. We’re here on a demon case, not a vamp one.” Dean said, holding his hand out. It reminded you of what you saw in movies when they asked if someone trusted them. You furrowed your brow, dragging your eyes up the length of his arm to his eyes. They weren’t cold and deceiving, like you expected. They were soft and kind. You closed your eyes and swallowed down the feeling that crawled under your ribs and wrapped around your heart. Viktor patted the back of your hand and pulled the parasol from your hands.
“There, see, Darling? You have no reason to be so scared; these two seem to be level-headed hunters. A hard combo to come by, I must admit.” Viktor mumbled as he returned to his seat at his desk. The two hunters stared at you, watching you as you awkwardly stood there.
“This is my brother, Sam. We heard about two murders in the area. It was suspicious that they couldn’t figure out the cause of death, but we’re pretty sure it’s a demon. A really weird one. We’re not going to hurt you just because you’re Vamps. We really only have a problem with Vamps who eat humans mercilessly.” Dean said, chuckling through his own words. You looked to your father for help, finding him staring at Dean inquisitively.
“I haven’t had human blood since I met my wife over twenty years ago,” Viktor said in a tone that reminded you of how he described your mother’s smile. You turned back to the hunters, giving them a smile that you hoped gave a similar light as your mother’s.
“I haven’t had a taste for blood.” You muttered. You tipped your chin upwards to show your confidence in your ½ vampire-ness. Dean’s lips tipped in a smile that might whisper a pull of attraction. Sam stepped in front of Dean just enough to break eye contact.
“You were running from something. What was it?” Sam asked, sticking his hand out like he was keeping a hold of you. You sighed.
“A man picked up this student and was choking him. The man’s eyes were black. Pitch black. That’s what you’re hunting, aren’t you?” You asked, glancing around Sam to see Dean again. Sam looked back, nodding at Dean. You told them where you saw it, and they left without another comment.
A day passed before you saw him again. On your walk to your first class of the day, you spotted him leaning against a parked car. It was stopped on the side of the road leading to your college. He perked up at the sight of you approaching.
“Hey!” He shouted, calling you over. You added pep in your step to reach him faster.
“Hi,” You whispered once you finally reached him. Dean’s hands were hidden in his jacket pockets.
“We’re leaving town. We handled the whole black eyes thing; your town is safe again. I promise,” he said. You did feel a weight lifted from you. You had trouble going to sleep last night; the thought of someone breaking into your home set your heart pounding. You nodded, glancing down at the ground.
“Thank you. For taking care of it, and for you know- not killing me.” You huffed out a laugh. Dean shook his head, his face turning down in disgust.
“No. I wouldn’t do that.” A silent and serious moment settled between the two of you. You only heard the leaves of the trees whispering against each other. There was a particularly loud bird squawking above you. There was chatter from a small group of students walking by. A woman in a pencil skirt and a button-up blouse answered the phone as she stepped out of her car.
“I won’t pretend that I’m not attracted to you,” Dean stated bluntly, making your shoulders tighten. You pulled your gaze from the woman.
“I wouldn’t want to leave town without your number. I think another case may arise again, and I'll have to rush in to save you. Might as well keep in contact with you.” Dean continued. A cheesy grin was pulling at his lips. You felt your skin growing warm with amusement. You hummed.
“Yes. I think it is totally possible that I’ll need saving from a terrible, terrible monster. Might even find one in my mirror.” You teased, yet still pulled out your mobile to let him enter his number. He chuckled, tugging his hand out of his pocket to take it from you.
You were a little sad to see the '67 Impala leave town, but you were overjoyed to hear your phone ring that night.
Barbie dolls: Billy bonney x gn! pyshic medium!reader
word: 2.4K
summary: Billy drops in your carnival tent to connect to his ghosts
warnings: you can embroider, ghosts, tarot, oracle, yada yada, where do you live in the city do you have a house apartment own or rent rent, joe's teeth are unclean but its the wild fuckign west bro, billy cries, thats it bruv, edited this while getting ready for prom btw
As a child, you made friends easily, although they were usually metaphysical and dead. It’s quite normal for children to be odd, but once you surpassed puberty and still saw dead people, it wasn’t considered quirky anymore. You packed up all your belongings and joined a traveling carnival. Most people considered you and your new family pathetic, but truly, you hadn’t felt more comfortable in your entire life.
Your tent was smaller than some of the others. Most booths were games, some had acts like the woman you shared breakfast with being a real-life ‘mermaid’. You helped sew the scales that fell off her fabric tail every night. Your tent had a small table with a chair on either side. Your chair had an extra cushion because lord did it hurt your ass to sit so damn long. You didn’t bother finding a crystal ball; you didn’t want to risk catching anything on fire. Your table had a small, embroidered tablecloth that you did yourself. Next to you was a small box, which had two sets of tarot cards and an oracle deck. A lit candle was set in the center of the table. The smoke added a bit of haziness to your dark tent. It was the ambience. You weren’t a trick pony. You were the real deal. Whether or not your customers believed in you on their way in, they did on the way out.
You could connect with the dead and clearly describe loved ones to the carnival goers. When you read cards, you can see their past, present, and future clearly. Some days, people were giggly and thought your whole job was just silly. Some days, people stared at you in shock, completely astonished that you knew what you did. You were gaining traction. You had a few newspapers write about you. The carnival made sure to keep you because your name on their posters brought in more and more tickets. Plus, they liked you. You were funny, and they liked it when you pulled your cards out during family dinners.
You could hear a child squealing outside your tent. The sun was shining less through the fabric. You were going to take a break soon, and you did enjoy watching the sun slip down while you ate your dinner. You ran your hand over the candle’s flame, watching it twist to follow you. A hand pulled at the fabric door of your tent. You straightened up, watching the new customer reveal themself.
A man dipped into the smoke, his hand pulling at his hat. He lifted his eyes from the ground, meeting yours. They were strikingly blue. You took a moment to sweep over him. Scuffed boots, gun belt, perpetual dust embedded into the skin next to his eyes. He took up space, but he stood like he wished he didn’t. His shoulders were tilted in, his chin pointed down.
“You see the dead?” He whispered. You nodded, gesturing to the chair across from you. When he stepped forward, he had an odd gait.
“You ride horses for a living?” You asked, scooting your chair closer. The man paused with his hand on the back of the other seat, staring at you.
“I do.” He responded hesitantly. You wanted to laugh at him. So many people were shocked when you could read them almost as well as your cards.
“Scuffed boots, cowboy’s gait, and a gun on your hip. You in a gang?” You raised a brow expectantly. The man settled down into the chair and chuckled.
“I was.” You hummed. You liked it when you were right.
“Not anymore?” He shook his head, placing his hat in his lap.
“Didn’t like it.”
“What’s your name?” You ventured. He raised a brow at you like he was shocked you didn’t know.
“Billy.”
“Oh, please, spare me the speech. You’re overwhelming me with all these words.” You mumbled. He snorted. You laid your hands on the table, palms up.
“You want me to speak with your dead?” You clarified. Billy sat up straighter, staring down at your table.
“Yes, but I don’t have much to give you for payment.” He said, staring at your face seriously. You nodded.
“That’s fine, place your hands in mine.” You closed your eyes, feeling for the chill that was always connected with you. Billy’s hands settled on top of yours. They were callused, clearly from riding horses and labor. You felt a chill go down your spine, your skin going frigid. You waited, trying to feel how many spirits were following him. There was a shorter presence closer to you, standing next to your box of cards. A taller presence was behind Billy; you could hardly make out much about them. You slowly peeled open your eyes, looking next to you.
A boy who looked hardly older than 12 was staring at you with wide eyes. He had the same blue eyes as the man across from you had. Only this boy had the sheen and dark under eyes of the sick. He reached out towards you and gripped your forearm. The room’s coldness amplified, making you shiver again.
“There’s a boy here. He couldn’t be any younger than 12 or older than 15. He’s got your eyes.” You thought about telling him about the clear sickness pulling at the boy’s eyes, but you decided against it. You kept your eyes on the boy.
“Joe?” Billy asked. The boy’s head snapped towards Billy, staring at him. You let out a breath of air.
“Yes. He looked at you when you said that.” You mumbled. Joe looked back at you, squinted at your face.
“You see me?” He squeaked out, his voice rough with illness. You nodded. Joe leaned closer to you, poking at your face. He stood on his tiptoes. His breath on your ear was so cold you could see your exhale.
“The city sleeps.” He whispered to you. You hummed in confusion. Joe took clear aggravation to your confusion, scoffing.
“And the country sleeps.” He added, waving his hand in front of him. He was demanding that you continue.
“The city sleeps, and the country sleeps.” You repeated, glancing at Billy. You stared at the sight of another ghost behind him. Billy furrowed his brows at you, tilting his head.
“I used to read that to him, Walt Whitman,” Billy mumbled. You nodded.
“There’s a woman behind you.” She perked up at that, stepping a little closer towards the center of the tent. She had his eyes too, and his stance. She shrank her shoulders in and waited to be addressed. Her curly hair trailed down her back, a few short pieces floating around her face. She pressed her hand to Billy’s shoulder.
“My son.” She mumbled. You felt your heart squeezing. His family was following him, their spirits guarding every move.
“It’s your mother. She’s by your shoulder. She has curly hair that goes down her back and bright blue eyes.” You don’t bring up the cough she sputters into her elbow. She reaches for Billy's face, attempting to press her hand to his cheek. Billy doesn’t feel it, glancing at the wrong shoulder. You stare at the woman as she lifts her head and looks to you for help.
“Tell him there’s still good in him. I see it, and I feel it every day.” She said, clearly giving up on the idea of her son hearing her.
“She’s asked me to tell you there's still good in you. She sees and feels it every day she’s with you.” You repeat, glancing at Joe next to you. He smiles, showing off his unclean teeth. You would be disgusted, usually, but it only tears at your heart that this boy didn’t get a moment to wash his mouth before he died. Billy hung his head, his face leaving your view.
“Tell him he still owes me a dollar,” Joe demanded, a giggle already shaking through him. You would’ve laughed if you weren’t so damn cold. The woman next to Billy started up.
“Joe.” She scolded, leaning over the table to point her finger at him. “That’s completely inappropriate." You snorted, making Billy lift his head. His eyes were welling with tears, his face contorted to hold them back. As far as he could tell, you were laughing at his cries.
“Joe says you still owe him a dollar.” You said, grinning at the absurdity. Billy let out a wet laugh. Joe giggled next to you, happy to make Billy laugh.
“He thinks this is really funny.” Billy grinned at that, nodding gratefully.
“Tell him to stop drinking.” The woman said. She jumped as she remembered something. “And that I love him.” She added. You glanced at her before looking back at Billy.
“Your mother says you need to stop drinking.” Billy snorted again, staring down at his lap. “And that she loves you dearly.” The top of Billy’s head bobbed as he nodded.
“I think he stinks,” Joe whispered to you, patting your cheek to remind you to tell him.
“Joe says he loves you, too.” You added. Joe scoffed, reeling back from you.
“I did not. Tell him what I said. Say it.” Joe scolded. You really had to hold back a laugh.
“And you stink.” Joe nodded in approval. He ducked under the table, bumping his back against it as he spouted out the other side. The candle jumped just barely. Billy slipped his hands from yours, wiping at his face. The warmth of your tent came flooding back, making you shiver again. The spirits were gone. You pulled your arms from your table, rubbing at your skin. Your cheek was still cold from Joe’s hand. Without the ghosts talking to you, you could hear Billy’s sobs clearly now. He pressed his fingers to his eyebrows. His shoulders shook as he cried into his lap. You waited patiently. It wasn’t infrequent that people cried in your tent.
After a long few minutes of staring at your candle’s flame, Billy lifted his head. He wiped at his eyes, sniffing and settling his face into stone. He clenched his jaw, making him look threatening even with his bloodshot eyes.
“I apologize, I shouldn’t've cried in here.” He muttered. His voice was rougher than before. You shook your head.
“You don’t need to apologize to me. Crying is perfectly understandable. Especially in this tent.” You replied. He hummed and stared at the tablecloth. A moment of silence passed between the two of you. You often felt like you needed to tell your clients something comforting or prophetic before they left. With this man, you just wanted to sit with him and do nothing.
“I thought when I came in here, there would be the ghosts of people I hurt attached to me.” He whispered. He was almost too quiet. You would have missed it if you weren’t entirely zoned in on the sound of his breathing. His breath caught again, a shuttering exhale as he steeled himself again.
“I hadn’t considered it being my family at all.” He mumbled, glancing up to stare at the space beside him. You nodded.
“Joe’s a real funny little guy.” You responded, immediately pressing your eyes shut. You could read people like cards and talk to ghosts, but you’d be damned before you figured out how to talk to alive people. Billy snorted. The wall of your tent was patted three times, the fabric caving in. Billy stared at it in confusion.
“It’s closing time.” You explained. Billy stood. You stood with him, following him out of your tent. The sun had settled. You were partially sad you missed the sunset, but the man in front of you was a nice view too. He turned around to face you right outside your tent. He kept his hat pressed to his chest.
“How long are you in town?” He asked. You smiled. You thought he would lead you down this line of questioning. A small laugh sounded from you. Billy parroted your amusement.
“What’s funny?” He asked, tilting his head to force you into eye contact.
“We’re leaving tonight, Mr. Billy.” You answered. His shoulders shrank, a frown pulling at his lips.
“No.” You scoffed at him.
“Yes.”
“Let me take you out before,” Billy said, his eyes watching you seriously. You shook your head.
“Not possible. We have dinner, and then we start packing.” You replied.
“I’ll follow the carnival. I’ll take you out at the next stop.” He pleaded. You were terribly amused by his stubbornness.
“You would have to ask Leroy. He’s the so-called ‘Ring leader’.” Though most people you knew just called him Pa. He made sure everyone was fed and cared for. And he gave you your money. Billy nodded, settling his hat back on top of his head.
“Then point me in the direction of Leroy.” He muttered, a small smile pulling at his mouth.
“You are relentless.” You chuckled. Billy nodded.
“Would you like me to leave?” He asked. You scoffed, glancing over your shoulder. You could see Leroy helping the mermaid out of her tank. You sighed, avoiding Billy’s eyes. He was grinning too brightly. You didn’t like that he knew he was right.
“Leroy’s over there.” You jutted your head towards the tank. Billy nodded at you, tipping his hat as he walked away. You turned as you watched him.
Leroy glanced at him, dipping down to settle the mermaid into a nearby chair. Leroy placed his hands on his hips as Billy tore his hat off. You didn’t catch a word, but Leroy seemed taken aback by the question. Leroy looked to the side, catching your eye. He raised a brow in question. You nodded animatedly, giving him your approval. Leroy raised his brows in surprise, shaking his head. He ran a hand over his head before muttering to Billy and waving him away. Billy came stalking back to you, far too much confidence in his strut.
“I’m following after you.” He declared, smiling brightly at you. You pressed your lips into a thin line. You sighed through your nose.
“What a shame, I thought I could shake you. Don’t you have connections here or something? A home? A friend? You’re following a stranger across miles.” You stared at him. He shook his head. He glanced at your tent. Billy grinned as he looked back at you, like he was giddy to spit out a joke.
lowkirkenuinely I'm thinking Abt that criminal minds ep where spencer gets kidnapped blah blah blah but he signs to the team using the alphabet and now walk with me
spencer and reader both know just a little bit of sign not enough to be fluent but enough to be conversational and enough that applies to working in the BAU so now you're communicating with him on the field and across the bull pen like rubbing your fists together to ask him for coffee while you're still at your desk and hes shaking his fist up down saying yes
and then in the field you can silently check on each other like flicking your hands up from your shoulders saying what's up what's wrong and he's holding his spread fingers over his chest and stomach saying he's scared you're shaking your head shaking your hands out it'll be fine
telling each other I love you without a word as you put on your vests
him raising his hand to his chin and pulling it down good? and you slamming two clawed fingered hands on top of each other over and over again harder.
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
titsay
kaledo-art