#getting ahead just in case: please don’t tag as ship

[joedirtymadre]

How bout an angst and fluffy Luffy x reader? Like, he's trying his best to be a good boyfriend but he doesn't know exactly how do it. So he gets insecure and afraid of reader leaving him

The Painting

LUFFY X READER! ANGST + FLUFF! (STILL ACCEPTING REQUESTS! SEND EM RN! 😤😤)

You were peacefully working on a new painting. You had a strong passion for art, but recently you have decided to pick up painting again. Plus, today is a slow day on the ship, so why not? You hummed to yourself, as you continued to add the finishing touches to your work. “Wow, you really outdid yourself this time,” you smiled to yourself as you took a moment to look at your canvas. It was a portrait of the whole crew, you wanted to surprise everyone at dinner with it. You spent the last few weeks on it too, so I’m sure that they’ve been waiting for the reveal.

You then heard your door open and saw Luffy. “Hey Luffy,” you smiled. “Hi (Y/N)! Hey can I hide here? I’m playing hide and seek with Usopp and Chopper,” he explained as he ran over and gave you a quick peck on the cheek. “Sure, but please don’t tip over my supplies. Last time you made a mess I spent 2 weeks cleaning it up,” you sighed. “I promise!” He said as he quickly jumped into your supply closet.

You continued your artwork, until you were disrupted again. You heard a small knock on the door and soon Chopper opened the door. “Hi Chopper, what brings you here?” You asked. “Hi (Y/N)! Have you seen Luffy?” He asked. “Hmmm… I haven’t sorry,” you smiled. “Hmmm… well can I look around your office? Just in case,” he said. “Go ahead,” you said as you continued painting.

Chopper checked under the table, in your art boxes, and was now heading to your closet. You lightly giggled as you knew your boyfriend was about to get caught. Chopper quickly opened the closet door, and out jumped Luffy. He began running around the small office, “Hey Luffy, this isn’t tag!” Chopper shouted as he chased him. “Now it is!” He yelled, as they circled around you. “Luffy be care-“ you were cut off by Luffy running into you. You fell straight into your paint, easel, and most importantly your painting.

The two boys quickly stopped and stared as you slowly picked yourself up and stared at the destroyed painting. Smudged and ripped, even your easel broke. “(Y-Y/N) I-“ you ran out before you could hear another word from your stupid boyfriend.

Luffy’s POV

I watched as (Y/N) ran off, I tried to chase after her but Chopper blocked me. “Wait! I think she should be alone right now Luffy, she might say something she doesn’t mean because of how she’s feeling. So, just give her some space,” he explained. “But I have to tell her I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to play,” I explained. “I know, but we messed up. Really bad, and she needs time to herself right now,” Chopper said. I grabbed my head in frustration.

I looked over to the destroyed painting and realized it was a painting of all of us. “This is what she’s been working on for weeks,” I said softly. “Oh no, and we ruined it!” Chopper cried. “No, I ruined it. I always ruin things for her,” I said as I picked up the painting. “That’s not true, she loves you Luffy,” Chopper said. I shook my head, “She deals with me, I keep doing dumb things and it always ends with me hurting her or breaking her stuff,” I sighed as I placed the canvas on her table.

“It’s ok Luffy, if she didn’t love you she wouldn’t be with you. Right?” Chopper asked. “I guess,” I said. “I’m gonna go check on her,” Chopper said before running out of the room. I sat on her stool and stared at the mess I made. “Why do I keep messing things up? Maybe… I should leave her alone, then she wouldn’t have to deal with me. She could tell me to leave her alone if we weren’t dating, like Nami,” I said to myself.

I dragged myself to the deck and straight to my spot, to try and think. “Hey Luffy,” Nami said as she sat on her beach chair. “Hey…” I said softly as I continued to drag myself. “What’s wrong? Did (Y/N) kick you out of her art room?” She laughed. “No,” I moped. “Woah, then what’s wrong? Here come take a seat,” she said as she pointed to the other beach chair.

I told her the whole story and ended up with 4 bumps on my head. “You idiot! How could you do that to her?” Nami frowned. “I know… Nami… has she ever talked about how much I mess up around her?” I asked. “(Y/N)? No, not really. She just tells me how fun and cute you are,” she explained. “Really? Even that time I broke her clay pot?” I asked. “Oh man, she was so mad that day, but no… Now that I think about it she didn’t talk bad about you,” Nami said. “What about the time I accidentally squeezed her paint tube too hard and it got all over her face?” I asked. “Nope, nothing,” she said. “Or when I dropped-“ I was cut off.

“Ok I get it, you’ve done a lot of bad things. But she’s never talked bad about you, I think she knows that mistakes happen… especially around you,” Nami pointed out. “But I really messed up this time, what if she wants to break up. She should break up with me… I keep making her mad or sad,” I sighed as I fell back into the chair. “Or… you could make it up to her. Come on captain, you’ve fought warlords and admirals. I’m sure you can fix this problem and make your girlfriend a little less mad at you,” she said. “You’re right! I can try and fix it!” I said excitedly. “But I’m gonna need help,” I said, determined.

Your POV

You’ve been in bed for the last 6 hours. Chopper and Nami checked up on you, but you had no strength to get up. You just need some time to calm down. Suddenly a knock on your door, you didn’t respond, hoping the person on the other side would think you’re asleep. However, the door slowly opened. You saw your idiot captain peek inside, “(Y/N)?” He called out.

“Go away Luffy, I don’t feel good right now,” you said as you turned around, showing your back to him. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, really sorry… I know you’re really mad at me, but I wanted to make it up to you,” he said as he stepped close. “How?” You asked. “Can I show you?” He asked, placing a hand on your shoulder. You slowly turned around, seeing a distressed look on your usually careless boyfriend. “Sure,” you said calmly before getting up.

“But I need you to wear this,” he said, handing you a blindfold. You stared at it with one eyebrow raised. “Please?” He asked. You nodded and quickly put it over your eyes, you then felt a warm hand grab yours. “Alright hold on,” you heard, before being picked up in bridal style. “L-Luffy?” You asked, feeling your face heat up. “Well, I don’t want you to trip while being blindfolded, so I’ll just carry you,” he explained.

You then laid in his arms as he carried you to wherever it was that he wanted to show you. “Alright, I’m gonna put you down now,” he said softly before helping you down onto your feet. “Alright now on 3, take off your blindfold,” he said as he stepped away from you. “Ok,” you said.

“1,2,3,” he said, and you quickly took off the blindfold. You gasped at the scene in front of you. It was your art room, clean and way more organized than it was before. Also, your easel was fixed with a bunch of more upgrades to it, and finally your eyes fell to the painting on the easel. “My painting!” You said excitedly. You smiled as you saw the rough strokes and the taped backing. It wasn’t perfect, but it was way better than how it looked earlier.

“Did you do all of this?” You turned to ask Luffy. “I had some help, but I wanted to fix what I messed up earlier,” he explained. You ran over and gave him a kiss, “Thank you Luffy! I’m so happy,” you smiled and hugged him. “You’re not still mad?” He asked nervously. “Mad?” You asked, confused. “Well… I always mess up your crafts or art projects, I know how upset it makes you,” he said as he stared at the floor. “Well I do get a bit upset, but I know you don’t mean it. I just give myself some time alone so I don’t say anything that I might regret later,” you explained. “Wow, Chopper was right,” he said.

“But I’m really sorry I messed up your painting, I know how hard you worked on it,” he said, before pulling you into a hug. “It’s ok, I forgive you. Just next time, no more games in my art room, ok?” You asked. “Deal,” he smiled. “Oh, I made you something,” he said, pulling away. “Huh?” You asked. He grabbed a small canvas from the table and turned to show you.

You pouted when you realized it was a portrait of you and him. “I know it’s not that good, but-“ you interrupted him. “It’s perfect! I’ll hang it up right now!” You said as you pulled him into a hug. “Really?” He said excitedly. “Yeah, and we should paint together sometime, you’re a natural,” you smiled, before giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You think so? I did have fun doing this,” he grinned. “Mhmm!” You nodded and you both went to hang his masterpiece on your wall.

[lautski-week]

Lautski Nation, we are so back!

(Q&A + general info under cut!)

Welcome to the third semiannual Lautski week. This event occurs twice a year, once in the summer and once in the winter, to commemorate the shared love so many of us have for Hatchetfield High's most unlikely it couple! Mod is @peterstankoffski and uses they/them pronouns, and you've probably seen me lurking around the lautski tag since it was created. It's been a lovely little 2.5 years getting to enjoy this ship with everyone.

This year the summer event will be in July instead of May so everyone who is interested has plenty of time to prepare. I understand now through June is fairly bust for many people due to finals, so moving it later into the summer was definitely for the best (thank you to everyone who voted in the dates tiebreaker poll the other day!)

And with that, some FAQ!

Q: What are alternates?

A: Alternates are two extra prompts in case one of them leaves you stumped! They can be used any day, or they can not be used at all! It’s up to each individual participant!

Q: Do I have to do all seven days?

A: You’re free to do as many as you want! You can do all seven, you can do just a few, hell, you could do all nine in you wanted! This isn’t a challenge, it’s an event. The main goal is to make some posts about this ship we’re all brainrotting for and having fun.

Q: What can I make?

A: Anything you want! Art, fics, edits, memes, etc. Nothing’s off the table.

Q: How do I post?

A: I’ll reblog anything made for the event to this blog and my main. If you’d like to be featured, please @ THIS blog. Additionally, I’d recommend tagging works with #lautski week so everyone’s works can all be found in the same place.

Q: I was late! Can I still post?

A: Of course! I’ll keep reblogging new posts tagged #lautski week and/or mention this blog through July 17!

Q: Can I post to AO3, then link it back here?

A: Feel free! This year I will also be setting up a Lautski Week collection, which I will link on the blog closer to time. Feel free to use it!

Q: Can I post to (insert any other fanfic site here) then link it back here?

A: Same as AO3. Go ahead!

Q: One of my wips fits *insert prompt here!* Can I post it for that day?

A: You can, but please don’t post before the event begins!

Q: Am I allowed to write smut?

A: Yes, but please have it properly tagged on both tumblr and AO3. On this blog, I will use the additional tag "smut warning"

That's it for now! I'll reblog this occasionally between now and July, plus advertising and answering any additional questions, but other than that, enjoy the rest of your spring (if you're in the Northern Hemisphere anyway)! See you all again soon 💜

[mlbfemslashfebruary]

Miraculous Ladybug Femslash February 2024 is here…! 

I tried to include most female characters in these ship lists, including some newer characters from Season 5.

All main girls get at least one or two pairs, but some are more popular in this chart than others. Once again, f/f starring older female characters are double-booked to allow more pairings.

.

Rules:

• Any fanart, fic, playlist, or edit is welcomed in this event. Just tag your work #mlbfemslashfebruary or @ this blog so your work can be reblogged here!

• You don’t have to follow all the key words or ships for each day, they’re just prompts to help the creative process.

• If you have another femslash pairing you want to write over a certain day’s theme, go ahead! This includes creating content for poly femslash ships.

• Please no male characters or m/m ships that are genderbended. Male characters and slash ships get much more attention in fandom spaces than female characters and femslash ships. This event is supposed to help elevate femslash content, which is much rarer in fandom (and especially lacking in Miraculous Ladybug outside of a small handful of ships.)

• This event is meant to be for romantic pairings, but you can also write platonic or queerplatonic interpretations.

• No NSFW content will be reblogged for this event, but can still be created and posted on your own time.

...

Below is also a written out list of the prompts, for accessibility purposes and in case the image is too hard to see.

[Image ID: A calendar for February 2024 filled with prompts for Miraculous Ladybug Femslash February 2024. Each day has two prompt words and one f/f pairing, with some days instead having two f/f pairings to showcase adult women f/f.

Day 1

• Warm • Lipstick

Marinette/Kagami

Day 2

• Lovely • Blush

Aurore/Ondine

Day 3

• Wicked • Mascara

Juleka/Zoe

OR Olympia/Barbara

Day 4

• Fixed • Shirt

Kagami/Zoe

OR Emilie/Nathalie

Day 5

• Equip • Sweater

Alya/Sabrina

Day 6

• Method • Jacket

Chloe/Alya

Day 7

• Succinct • Jeans

Zoe/Fei

Day 8

• Lonely • Skirt

Marinette/Chloe

Day 9

• Successful • Shorts

Ondine/Kagami

Day 10

• Hold • Dress

Juleka/Rose

OR Amelie/Nathalie

Day 11

• Mercy • Classical

Kagami/Alya

OR Miss Bustier/Gisele

Day 12

• Lucky • Jazz

Alya/Lila

Day 13

• Belong • Pop

Chloe/Sabrina

Day 14

FREE SLOT

Day 15

• Faulty • Rock

Marinette/Lila

Day 16

• Enthusiasm • Hip-hop

Aeon/Alya

Day 17

• Brave • Country

Rose/Mylene

OR Miss Bustier/Ms. Mendeleiev

Day 18

• Learned • Lightning

Kagami/Chloe

OR Anarka/Penny

Day 19

• Giddy • Fire

Alya/Zoe

Day 20

• Beautiful • Ice

Chloe/Lila

Day 21

• Trace • Earth

Zoe/Mylene

Day 22

• Quaint • Air

Marinette/Zoe

Day 23

• Indoor • Light

Aurore/Mireille

Day 24

• Atmosphere • Water

Juleka/Marinette

OR Anarka/Claudie

Day 25

• Gentle • Hear

Kagami/Juleka

OR Nora/Clara Nightingale

Day 26

• Idea • Taste

Alya/Marinette

Day 27

• Redeem • See

Chloe/Alix

Day 28

• Lament • Touch

Zoe/Jess

Day 29

• Scrape • Smell

Marinette/Socqueline

End Image ID]

[f0point5]

I just saw the funniest take on Twitter and it still has me flabbergasted. So apparently because Oscar didn’t get DRS from Lando, he lost out on a podium in Canada and should be looking at other teams. The team are trying to sabotage him by always giving Lando the faster strategy (even though he got the preferential ones in Jeddah and Monaco).

Also because he didn’t post his post-race tweet until yesterday that it’s clear he’s deeply unhappy with the team. Someone did a really good thread on the McLaren strategy and if they made the right call but it’s full of ‘Piastri’ fans saying they sabotaged his race.

Anyways, some fans made Instagram stories and tweets and tagged Mark Webber to try get him out of his contract at McLaren. I’m so curious at where they think he could go? Ferrari and Redbull have their lineups secured, plus Mark Webber is hardly going to encourage him to go to Redbull. Mercedes have decided to go all in on Antonelli and Aston have their line up secured too. Do they want him to go back to Alpine? To join Stake and suffer?

I understand it’s frustrating when the driver you like and want to do well doesn’t get the result you wanted for them. McLaren clearly want him, they wouldn’t have signed him until 2026 if that wasn’t the case, he’s doing a good job with them. He and Lando are working well together, they seem to get on well and are working to get McLaren up there and fighting every week. It just feels like some of these people don’t watch the races or understand why certain decisions are made.

Sorry for the rant 😭

He should be looking at…BITCH WHAT?

Look where? Please tell me because that McLaren is a rocket ship where else is he going to find one?? Red bull and their broken car, next to Max Verstappen? He’ll have a lot more to moan about over there than not getting dragged along by Lando, that’s for sure. Ferrari, who have Lewis Hamilton and Il Predestinatio not mention have just got their own academy driver a seat? And that’s not even touching on the questionable strategy. Merc, who have all but given the seat to Antonelli? Anywhere else is looking backwards and a waste of his talent.

So where can he go?

And why should he go? Because Lando let him fall out of DRS range? If he wanted the DRS that badly he needed to stay in range of the guy driving the same car. Sorry to say it but they’re having this discussion like Oscar was only a passenger and not the person who ultimately controls his pace. You want to stay ahead of George? Be faster. I’m sure Oscar doesn’t want to rely on Lando for the outcome of his race. Why do people who call themselves fans of Oscar think he should be counting on anything but his own ability? Ludicrous.

McLaren have to think about getting the largest amount of points with two cars. Oscar has to think about Oscar. Lando has to think about Lando. The balance of these three agendas is what makes F1 fun to watch. If everyone is playing the team game all the time what would we be watching?

People are on some next shit istg

[recurring-polynya]

Request Time!

I am sure this is a categorically terrible idea, but I am too squirrel-brained to pick a writing project to work on, but also I'm tired of not writing and additionally, I am puffed up on my own hubris from hitting 1M words on AO3, so let's gooooooooo!

I am taking requests from now until I get tired of this! I promise I will write at least one thing! I do not promise when that will be!!

This is a fanfic event

I will do the ones that speak to me the most. It’s not first-come, first-served! If you have a good idea, send it in! It's fine to send in more than one!

I delete the requests that I don’t accept.

No theme this time! Anything goes!

Here are some tips:

I do have anon asks on, but if you log in, it means I can ask questions if I need to, plus it makes me feel like we’re friends when I get a name with the request.

Ideally my short fiction comes out between 1k and 2k, so we’re usually talking just a scene or two. I am notoriously bad at sticking to this.

You can see all my previous short fiction here. (Each yearly volume has a table of contents in the first chapter). Try not to request things that I’ve done before, unless it’s explicitly a continuation. Alternatively, you can check out some of my previous request tags like 500 Follower Drabble Weekend or What If Requests

You can request extra scenes from my existing fanfics.

The best requests are specific enough to be inspirational, but not so overconstrained that you’ve basically written the whole thing yourself. Specifying a set of characters is okay, but it’s better if you add a setting or a scenario or a mood. Think about what the description would be if you had to post it to ao3 yourself.

If you read my blog and/or my fanfic, you will probably get a good idea of which characters I love and the kinds of things that delight me and the things that do not. I primarily do these requests for the benefit of my regular readers, so if this process is biased towards them, that is by design.

Here's a list of stuff I am probably going to say no to. If you feel like you know me really well and have a killer idea that you think I'll love, go ahead and hit me with it, but otherwise, please don't.

Reader/x (this is a hard no, don't even ask)

Kidfic

Any ships that are captains/their lieutenants or Karakura Kids/shinigami. No Aizen ships period.

The only endgame romantic ship I will write for Renji or Rukia is Renruki. I might be open to some explorations during their separation years or like some weird AU thing that's Wrong on Purpose, but in both these cases, you're getting undercurrents of Renruki for free, whether you want them or not. The only Byakuya ship I will write is Byahisa. Friendships and other kinds of non-romantic relationships are always welcome!

Anything featuring Sternritter, aside from as villains. Actually, same goes for Nnoitra and Szayelaporro. Mayuri also on extremely thin ice, but I have a lot of Mayuri-loving pals on this site, so I might be convincible with the right prompt.

I am not explicitly ruling out NSFW, but you gotta give me a good hook, I’m only good at writing smut if it’s weird. The only smut I will write is Renruki. Also, my smut is always super consensual, no exceptions.

Send your requests to my Askbox!

Aug 24: Requests are now closed! Thanks everyone!

[solar-halos]

this is my most embarrassing post yet but it has to be said

please everyone don’t think less of me for not only thinking about this au but also having so many of the details planned out please. please. but in my defense it’s 1am and i’m showing no signs of going to sleep anytime soon so now i am subjecting u to every single thought i’ve ever had. ok i need to stop stalling here’s what’s been on my mind lately:

total drama/hg au. like total drama island but with characters from the hunger games

yes ive watched total drama island. yes i continue to re-watch total drama island as an adult. yes i do lurk on the tag. yes my brain is theoretically getting more and more developed by the day 😔😔 anyway let me tell u which character would be which

• ok i know it would be so easy to say that annie and finnick are bridgette and geoff cos they’re beachy surfers obsessed with pda, but that’s so predictable. also i don’t even think they’re that big on pda. also duncan and courtney are literally peak so i think that’s why i feel so strongly about this, but like, finnick is so obviously courtney coded. like being so people please-y and diplomatic on the surface but then lowkey being a type a control freak as the game goes on and then annie is there being a rebel without a cause and it rubs of on him. like at the end of the day duncan and courtney are the same ppl but different font and i think that works very well with odesta. also i love bridgette and geoff but oh my god those mfs don’t argue. not like i imagine odesta to argue

• ok enough about odesta. lets talk about everlark. i know this is so basic but katniss needs to be gwen like god INTENDED. like this antisocial little weirdo (gwen) who has a heart of gold and everyone knows it but her. s1 gwen/trent was so sappy and corny and normal up until The Kiss and love me hate me say what u want about me but i liked it. like wayyy more than duncan and gwen bc that ship is just like “what if a boy and girl got together” like they weren’t similar at all they just both wore black. anyway i love black cat and golden retriever pairings and that is so everlark to me. peeta literally would carry a boulder for katniss

• heather is so clove. lindsay is so glimmer. case closed

• this works especially well bc (and i know im jumping ahead in the series lore) cato is so alejandro. and tyler is so marvel. i don’t personally ship them that much but i know its definitely a Thing so it works out nicely

• beetee is harold 😭😭 the main total drama cast is so huge that’s it’d be kinda impossible to keep the characters within a similar age range but i’m kinda obsessed with Teenager Beetee. he would so commit voter fraud

• also i know it’s basic to say that johanna would be eva but like. eva literally allied with a fucking nerd she hated the fuck outta and some certified weirdo no one rlly fucked w. that’s so cf-core

honestly i don’t have as many thoughts on this as i thought. for some reason i don’t personally like having snow in more modern au things, so i think chris mcclean would still be chris mcclean. that’s the only thing that stays the same it’s still s1 of total drama island so its not a crossover chris mcclean just transcends fandom spaces. haymitch can def be chef hatchet tho

anyway i’m getting rlly embarrassed again, so bye

[dunefandomevents]

Dune Mini Bang

Artist Sign Ups open in 2 weeks!

Artist Sign Up / Art Claims - July 1st - until all stories are claimed Check In 2 - July 14th Rough Draft Due - Aug 18th Posting Claims  - Aug 18th - Aug 25th Posting Schedule Announced - Aug 26th Final Drafts/Art Due - Aug 31st Posting Starts - Sept 3rd

GENERAL FAQ

What is the Dune Mini Bang? A Mini Bang (or Big Bang) is a collaboration between writers and artists who work together to produce fandom-inspired content, in this case Dune, and share it with the world. A writer and an artist are paired up, the writer well writes and the artist will create some form of visual content to go along with their story. The work is then posted together on a selected date at the end of the writing period.

Where can I post my fics/art? Stories and art can be posted to your own personal journal, Tumblr, ff-net, AO3, or wherever you like. For those of you with AO3 accounts, we will set up a collection that will go live on the day of the posting. If you don’t currently have an AO3 account but would like one, you can contact the mods for an invitation code to see if they have any available. You can also add yourself to the AO3 Invites Request queue.

For posting on other social media platforms, such as tumblr or twitter, please tag duneminibang2023 and @dunefandomevents , spread the word!

When do I start posting? We will open the posting date claims ahead of the close date. How many days it will be spread out will depend on how many writers we have signed up. If your story is multi-chaptered it does not need to be posted all at once, you should start posting chapters early so the story can be listed as completed by your posting date. You will be able to select a preference for where in the queue you are but ultimately your posting date will be selected by the moderation team.

What platform are these being advertised/posted on? AO3 will host the main archive collection - The collection will be created and ready to go for the Sept 3rd posting start date. Tumblr - Used for advertising signups and after posting starts we will cross post all stories to a masterlist. Twitter - Used for advertising signups and after posting starts we will be cross posting -  Linking AO3 collection / Tumblr masterpost. Reddit - Will be used for advertising signups.

What if I have issues or concerns with my artist/author? Sometimes authors and artists do not get along and this may cause problems with working together. If this happens to be the case with you, please email or contact the mods on Discord and we will try to do what we can so that everyone has a chance to have fun!

If you have not heard from your author/artist in some time after trying to contact them, you can reach out to us via email/discord and we will try to get in touch with them for you.

Extensions? I am pretty attached to the idea of starting posting on the anniversary of the Dune Premiere at the Venice Film Festival on Sept 3rd but if you really really need one please email the mods as soon as possible. One easy option would be to select one of the later posting dates but if that doesn't work we may allow a few extra days.

Can I drop out? We have high hopes that everybody who signs up can actually finish the round and share in the joy of the reveal with us, but real life can unfortunately get in the way and we completely understand! If you feel like you just cannot finish in time and no amount of assistance from us can help you, just let us know by asap! Ideally we would wish to know before artist claims have opened.

Is it possible to be banned? Yes it is. The following events will result in being removed from the event and a one event ban on next year; Lying about your age in order to gain access to the 18+ content Hate on another participant for their ship/character/content - we are allowing ALL content for the mini bang. Hate on another participant for any reason really Failure to meet the event requirements

ARTIST FAQ

Minimum/Maximum requirements for art? There is no strict minimum, but we do ask artists to remember that the authors are writing a minimum of 5,000 words and your artwork should reflect that. You can do anything you like, including banners, wallpapers, icons, mixes, vids, gif sets, picspams, etc. Suggested guidelines for art are 500x500px (or equivalent of smaller pieces like banner + spacers, cover + icons, etc.) for traditional art, digital art, and manips around 3 - 5hrs; 2 minutes for vids; 10 songs + cover art for mixes; and 6 images for gif sets and picspams. We also ask that when you are in contact with the author, you work with them to see if there is anything specific they would like (i.e. a wallpaper, book cover, etc.). The art is your work, but having ideas doesn’t hurt!

At this time we will NOT be allowing AI Art. There are a lot of reasons for this. If you have questions please send a mod a message!

What are art claims? Artists sign-ups and art claims are the same thing; we use one form for both things, and that way the artists don’t sign up for an event they may not end up participating in. Writers will have submitted 2 short excerpts from their story for artists to read and get a feel for the work. It is based on a 'first come, first served’ and artists may choose up to three potential stories (in case their first choice is unavailable). If there are more stories than artists, there will be a second round of claims wherein artists may choose a second story to work with. And on until all stories are claimed for art.

If a fic up for claiming is rated explicit (R, NC-17, etc.), please only claim the story if you are over 18 years of age. Some authors may be uncomfortable working with underage artists on explicit works. We do not verify ages in any way for the bang, so this is solely on the honor system. Artists are encouraged to join the discord server and follow along with everyone a head of the artist claims being opened.

[pontevoix]

EVERYONE    KNOWS    ME    NOW    ?          a    man    is    but an    empty shell.               i.               private    & selective    multimuse     featuring     animanga muses from     SHINGEKI     NO     KYOJIN,     HAIKYUU,     JUJUTSU     KAISEN,     &     more.               ii.              written     by     hale,     21+,     she/hers.          iii.               𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴.    𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴.   𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵.          iv.           rules    &    roster    below.    𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒    𝐈𝐒    𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐗.   

FORMAT  -  i  typically  use  small  font  &  iconless,  but  i'm  deeply  thinking  about  abandoning  small  text.  granted,  tumblr  makes  no  sense  so  .  .  .  things  change.  that  being  said,  i  typically  just  try  to  keep  my  threads  tidy  for  my  own  sake  of  mind.  please  cut  threads.  all  fine  by  me!  accessibility  is  my  top  priority,  so  if  there's  anything  that  you  need  -  please  let  me  know. 

WRITING  -  in  theory,  i  prefer  paras.  i’ve  been  working  over  the  past  few  years  on  cutting  down  my  writing  &  making  it  more  concise,  so  please  forgive  me  if  i  don’t  match  length.  that  being  said  --  please  don’t  feel  obligated  to  match  length  yourself.  it’s  going  to  take  me  a  while  to  get  a  reply  out  in  general,  but  that’s  just  a  head’s  up!  to  be  honest,  i  largely  anticipate  that  most  of  my  written  content  will  be  styled  as  drabbles  or  headcanons.

SHIPS-  generally  speaking  (  unless  it’s  canonically  based  )  .  .  .  i  don’t  really  like  to  begin  threads  with  established  relationships.  if  we  talk  about  it  ahead  of  time,  of  course  then  --  it’s  fair  game!  beyond  that,  i’m  pretty  flexible  when  it  comes  to  ships  -  so  long  as  it’s  chemistry-based.  this  honestly  shouldn't  have  to  be  said,  but  if  you  support  a  ship  where  characters  meet  when  one  is  a  minor  &  the  other  is  an  adult  ?  please  soft  block  me.  furthermore, 

NSFW  -  nsfw  content  on  this  blog  will  be  scarce,  if  present  at  all.  although  i  am  much  older  than  eighteen,  i  do  not  want  to  write  or  post  smut  on  my  blog.  nsfw  mentions  may  pop  up,  in  which  case  i’ll  tag  it  as  cw  nsft.  if  it  is  appropriate,  then  it  may  come  up  in  discord  -  i’m  okay  with  that  so  long  as  all  parties  do  so  respectfully  &  are  of  age.  also,  i  do  not  support  aging  up  characters  for  nsfw  material. 

MAINS/EXCLUSIVES  -  i'm  currently  affiliated  with  @mindsafe,  @herkn1fe  /  @deiikara,  @chaoslulled, & @w4rche1f.  some  ship  priority  goes  to  these  fabulous  people  because  we  talk  like we can't stop yapping,  but  honestly  ?  i  don't  mind  following  duplicates  for  the  sake  of  community  even  when our  own  writing  is  impacted.  truthfully,  i  struggle  to  articulate  myself  here.  apologies  !

TRIGGERS  -  while  i  don’t  have  any  specific  triggers,  i  do  thoroughly  appreciate  content  warnings  on  especially  violent  content  (  i.e.  assault,  abuse,  drug  abuse  ).  likewise,  i  will  tag  material  that  i  think  of  as  sensitive  –  usually  as  cw  ___.  if  there  is  something  that  you  specifically  would  like  tagged,  please  let  me  know.  i  am  happy  to  accommodate  you!  also,  don’t  perpetuate  gross  things  like  underage  stuff,  transphobia,  homophobia,  &  racism.

REBLOG  KARMA  -  i  don’t  necessarily  believe  in  reblog  karma,  but  i  will  usually  try  to  reblog  memes  from  the  source  rather  than  the  blog.  i  am  a  big  fan  of  sending  in  memes,  anyway  so  it  all  works  out.  that  being  said  -  feel  free  to  reblog  stuff  from  me!

STARTERS  &  MEMES  -  generally  speaking,  all  prompts  &  opens  are  for  mutuals  only.  you  are  welcome  to  send  in  requests  for  more  than  one,  of  course!  i’m  open  to  it  all.

THE  WRITER  -  okay!  i’m  hale  (  formerly  georgie  ).  i’m  twenty-six,  &  i’m  psychology  graduate  student.  i'm  currently  doing  research  in  gambling  addiction.  i  have  a  tendency  to  dissociate  from  my  messages,  apologies!i  move  at  snail’s  pace,  but  even  if  i  don’t  show  activity  on  this  blog  for  literal  centuries  .  .  .  i  am  still  here!  plotting  to  return!  also  please  feel  free  to  reach  out  &  say  hi  whenever  -  i’m  happy  to  chat  out  of  character!  though  i’m  also  terribly  slow  (it  may  take  me  weeks)  with  dms,  so  don’t  be  discouraged!

haikyuu    tsukishima    kei,    tanaka    ryuunosuke,    lev    haiba,    ukai    keishin,    shirabu    kenjirō,    ushijima    wakatoshi,    yahaba    shigeru,    koushi    sugawara,    kageyama    tobio,    tendou    satori    

my    hero    academia    bakugo    mitsuki    

fullmetal    alchemist    edward    elric,    alphonse    elric    

attack    on    titan    erwin    smith,    mike    zacharias,    marlo    freudenberg,  tom  ksaver,  farlan  church,  connie  springer,  jean  kirstein  (private),  armin  arlert,  uri reiss, who  knows    

blue    lock    itoshi    rin,    mikage    reo    

jujutsu    kaisen    shoko    ieiri,    todo    aoi,    gojo    satoru,    nobara    kugisaki,    yu    haibara    

tokyo    ghoul    takizawa    seidou,    hanbee    abara

hunter x hunter leorio paladiknight, hisoka (private)

[thecoffeelorian]

The Bad Batch: Burn

Title/Series:  Burn/”The New Aftermath” Category: General Word Count: 2,181 AO3:  Link Here Summary:   A tale in which two family members are rescued; one believes themselves to have been abandoned by everyone; four more find themselves at a loss; and the sixth refuses to stand by a moment longer. Inspired by 1x08; various Tumblr posts; and a few narrative promises that the writers seem to have forgotten. Special Tags: @omegathebadbach​

Burn

There's someone new in the medical center today. A very important someone, or so I guess to myself as soon as I hear shouting and running toward the tents. I look up slowly not knowing what to expect, only to see exactly four flashes of red, white, and black rushing at the incoming ship. I start rushing in after them, too, because there's only one reason Hunter would start yelling into his comm like that.

He's coming.

He's coming, and they're bringing him to us. Some more rogue clones who got freed of their chips and who managed to break in and out of Kamino before things got too hot, or so the voices over the lines tell me. I don't need to hear any more than that, though. None of us do. We just know that he's here, and that we need to see him. We're going to see him, and maybe we can also--

"--Stand back! Move away, this one's a security risk!"

What...?

A risk?

No, no, that can't be right. They remembered to take the inhibitor chip out first, didn't they...?

Someone begins forcing us out of the path of the stretcher with a sweep of their arm, Wrecker protests, and three more medics start pushing us all back. They're even setting up barriers now, one on each side leading to the nearest tent. What's going on? Why can't we go to him?

"Hunter...?!"

He doesn't have any answers for me. None of my brothers do. We can only watch in a horrified silence as we finally see him, and--oh no, what's happened? Is it gone? Or do they have to get it out right here instead...?

I don't have much time to look, but I think I see that little white bandage against his brown, weathered skin as they rush past us. I think someone's finally taken it out, which is really, really great, but--but that's not all that I see. That we see.

He's bandaged in at least three places, there's signs of broken bones, and--and we can't see much more than that, but I think we can already guess what happened after we saw each other last. After half of us almost died.

It's so much worse than we thought, and something tells me this is just the beginning.

......

They make us wait outside the tent for what feels like hours, but once the medics give us the go-ahead, we don't waste any time going inside. I don't waste any time, because there's so much I want to tell him, and I'm almost running to his bedside, and there's a big lump of feelings that want to make me hurt from the inside out if I don't decide to share them. Wrecker's got my right hand, Hunter's got my left, and Tech and Echo lead the way just in case anyone needs them to pitch in. A part of me hopes that they don't have to...but then again, none of us knows what we'll be seeing in there. We'll just have to be ready, no matter what.

"Cross...? Are you awake?"

Hunter's the first to speak up, a soft question sent out to try and get this reunion going. He's been worried about everyone lately, so the fact that we're all out of the Empire's reach--at least at this moment--must have brought him some relief. I squeeze his hand just a little to reassure us both that nothing bad will happen here. That we can talk this out a lot better than last time, that there won't be any more fighting, and that we can help Crosshair start to get better.

When I lean in a bit closer to try and see his face, though...that's when the smells come. There's the metallic smell of blood and the smoky smell of burns and--oh no, are those the IV drips...? He's hurting. He's hurting so very much, and I can't see his face because he's in a darker corner of the tent, and I really wish I could--

"...Don't act so damned pleased with yourselves."

Oh, no...

His words burn my skin just like the heat of that engine. He knows that I'm here, that I'm standing close by, and that he hates every single minute of it. It takes almost all of my nerve to try and talk back, but just the same, my voice shakes.

"C...Crosshair...?"

One second later, he lets out the coldest laugh I ever heard, and the burning turns to ice.

"So, you do remember me. How comforting..."

Oh, but he's testing me somehow. I can tell by the edge to his voice, and the way he's got to be facing the canvas even though I can't see that much of him. Is he angry at me? Or is he just using me to get to Hunter...? I can't tell. It scares me that I can't tell.

"Do you remember me, though...?"

Just the same, I try. I already know that he's sedated from the color of the drips, so any movements he makes will be a bit slower than normal. I also know that there's one restraint peeking out of the shadows on his right-hand side, so he can't attack. And third...there's no way that anyone else in this camp would let him pick up a weapon just yet. Not when we don't know how he would plan on using it.

"Do you remember how I tried to help you? Or am I another traitor, just like our brother said--"

"Don't. Say. His. Name..."

There's more ice from him, only this time, it feels like it's crumbling down on me from above. He doesn't like how close I've gotten to Wrecker. He might even feel a little, well...jealous of me. At least, that's what this sounds like.

"Why not?!"

Wrecker's not about to take this from him, though, because he's not afraid to take a step closer. I'm going to get a little closer, too, if only to try and keep up with him.

"I'm right here, same as you. I lost myself t' that chip, same as you--"

"--Don't say it, Wrecker--"

"--So what's with the bad mood? You're not the only one here who's had problems--"

"--Shut up, Wrecker--"

"--And you can quit pickin' on the kid, too, she's not the reason you're here--"

"--'Not the reason I'm here'?!"

That's the moment where, no matter how much he's sedated, Crosshair lets his anger down on us like his own brand of explosives...and all five of us flinch.

"You go off on your little joyride around all three Rims, you take her with you and you don't bother looking for me, and now...now you tell me, 'she's not the reason I'm here'?"

More cold laughter from his corner spreads through the entire tent, and we're all feeling its chill. Nobody else dares to speak up. Nobody knows how to...and even if we could, I don't know what in the galaxy we could say that would heal this hurt.

Unfortunately, it sounds like Crosshair's finally done with listening.

"Well...you take a nice, long look at what she's done, and see how much you like her then...! "

He's not done talking to us just yet, though, because the next thing we see--

--Oh no, oh no, oh no no no--

--is the sight of his eyes, once a dark shade of bronze, but they've been burned out--

“--Wrecker, get her out of here, it's too soon--”

--Burned out to a bright chrome, not focusing, not seeing a single thing--

“--ARE YOU PROUD OF HER NOW--”

--and suddenly, there's a lot of screaming and the medics are running back in and--

“--ARE YOU PROUD OF YOURSELVES? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? TO GET RID OF ME AND PUT HER IN MY PLACE?!"

-- Hunter and Wrecker are taking me out of there and I don't know what to do--

“--LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE! WHAT YOU'VE ALL DONE TO ME!"

--I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do--

"RUN AWAY, DAR'VODE! RUN AWAY! RUN LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO!"

--Except hide.

We go off together to hide until his rage finally breaks...but not without hearing all of his curses echo in our minds. Not without feeling the burning go on long after we've walked out of the fire's path.

Run away, dar'vode.

Run away.

Run like you always do.

I hate not knowing how to help.

......

It goes on for about ten minutes more, the howls and curses of a broken man who believes he's got nowhere else to go but down, down into the pit of his own misery with no way of getting out again.

I don't know if he knows that Tech and Echo are still right there with him, desperately trying to get through his walls any way they can...or if he does know they're still there, and just doesn't feel like caring any more. That they're as good as dead to him, if not also the other way around.

I don't know what they must be thinking when the screaming ends, or how they're feeling after it's all over. I don't know if Crosshair pulled out of his restraints, or if they just had to tighten them a bit more. I don't know what to say to Wrecker or Hunter to get them to smile again, or how to keep myself from tearing up. I just know that it's ugly, and that his screaming sputters down into laughing and crying, and that my hands are shaking when there's finally quiet. Everyone else must be shaking on the inside, too, because I see the way they glance at each other when they're all out of the tent.

They hate everything about the Empire now, and I'm right there with them.

I also know that as of five minutes ago, we're lost.

We're stranded on a planet that we might not ever get to leave, because others will be looking for us no matter what.

We still don't have a single credit to our names, and there's probably no more hope of work since we failed our last two missions.

We can't even seem to get along with each other any more, because outside of Crosshair's rage, nobody knows how to find any hope coming from this. Echo won't even look at Hunter any more, Tech looks like he's planning an Imperial murder, Wrecker's about to break down any second, and Hunter himself...oh no, he looks like he wishes it had been him who was taken first, and not Crosshair at all. Maybe...maybe he's thinking of trying to undo everything that happened all on his own, if only to fix things for everyone else with himself as the price paid.

Maybe if the rest of us aren't careful enough in the next few days, he just might try and turn himself in to the Empire if it means saving the rest of this squad. Saving all of his family this time, even if he couldn't do it before. I can guess this from the pained look in his eyes, and I don't like the thought of what this could mean for everyone else.

For good or for bad, I don't think I can just keep standing by and watch my squad hurting like this. Not the ones who have already helped me so much, but also not the one I should have helped twice as much, but didn't. I know this now, even if it took me some time to figure it out. I might not have been the one who forced him to attack his family, but if I don't tell him what I heard before I was also taken off Kamino--that my rescue team was the same one who took him out of harm's way, even if they did have to split into two teams to do it--then I'll be the one who refused to help end this. I'll become the one who stayed silent, and allowed him to hate his squad for the rest of his life...but only if I don't speak up, and fast.

This is exactly what I need to do to fix this, if not to fix the others' problems as well.

So, Crosshair...when we talk again in your tent--and there will be talking, whether you want to hear me out or not--you're going to learn the truth. You're going to know how your brothers really feel about you, how we always planned on getting you out when it was safe enough, and that nobody, nobody, planned to throw you away for my sake.

And once you've listened to me enough--really, really listened--I hope you can find a way to calm that burning fire inside you.

Clone Scout Omega, 19 BBY

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 29

Don’t Say Anything

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Fem!Reader x Shanks

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 7023

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: Listening is taking its toll on the clown, but hopefully what he hears will give your lovers a place to start. You go home.

Author's Note: Hi friends! In case you didn't see the posts, I have been having some health issues lately, so my posting schedule might not get back to normal for a bit, even though I want it to!! 😭 We're here for Numbers Game shenanigans, so I won't go into it on these posts after this notice, but if you'd like to know what's going on you can look at my tag: #lynna's health updates The posts are heavy, and have content warnings, so please don't read if it'll be too much!

Thank you: I am just incredibly grateful for all of you!! Your support means the world to me, and although I'm still too low on spoons to respond to everything, I see it all, and you have no idea how much it helps me. Thank you so much!!!! 🙏🏼💜

!!! DARK CONTENT WARNING !!! There's something in this chapter that I would tag, but it gives something away. Uncle Cedrick is awful, and although there is no physical contact, something extremely violating is done to the reader. It can be inferred from other sections of the chapter, but I will bracket the part where it is clearly stated, and where he's extra fucked up, with these symbols: ~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~ If you aren't already, please be prepared for more trauma and abuse as we get to know the Sylvad family. I'll try to keep putting warnings, but I don't want to give the story away. Please take care of yourselves! I'd hate for my words to be triggering for anyone. 💜

Alternate POV Symbols:

🌲 ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, DARK CONTENT, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Grief, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Dacryphilia, Teasing, Threats, Hair-Pulling, Blow Jobs, PIV Sex, Comeplay, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Oak Roots Estate.

Uncle’s favorite vacation home. You were surprised he hadn’t changed its name to “Cedar Roots” by now. 

“I’m not going anywhere until I see Kat.” 

“No need to get feisty,” he tutted, nodding toward the private island the ship had docked at. A small towns’ worth of servants flitted about, ensuring that everything in his line of sight would be to his liking. 

You wanted to gag. 

“I knew you’d be a smart girl and come home, so I went ahead and made preparations. Your mother and sister are here, and we’ll be hosting your potential husbands in a few days. We won’t be wasting any more time.”

He moved too close, towering over you before touching your lower back to guide you off the ship. 

“You won’t be stepping foot off of this island until you pick a new owner, Y/N, but you’ll have plenty to choose from, and I’ll make sure that your private dates are held far away from any listening ears. I’m certain that you can convince someone you like to stay with you, at least now that they’ll get some berry along with that eager body of yours.”

The suicidal urge to shove him off the ramp into the water was so fucking intense, you had to bite the inside of your cheek not to do it. 

“Do you understand, niece?”

“I understand,” you seethed inwardly, starting to remember how to hold it all in. 

Your uncle grabbed your elbow, pulling you gently off the docks before brushing the hair from your face. 

The salty wind was everything. You tried to exist in it, to be aware of only its touch on your skin.

Otherwise you’d be snarling.

“Are you feeling well, niece?”

“I’m fine.” That effortless lie was a mantra, a prayer. You went loose, just empty enough to look pliable, not frightening. 

“Hm,” he judged, scanning your face while his fingers kept trailing through your hair. “I hope that’s the case. However, given your recent extreme behavior, I’ve asked Dr. Vorsan to see you.”

“I’m here, Uncle. I’m fine,” you smiled, but you could tell it hadn’t reached your eyes.

I need to get my shit together.

“That’s so good to hear,” he purred, donning his favorite, smug smile before nudging you toward the stupid fucking carriage. He waited until you were perched on the embroidered cushions, and heading up to the estate, before twisting you further.

“Since Dr. Vorsan is already here, I think it’s best that he checks in on you. Trauma is a tricky thing, Y/N. I’d hate to send my niece off to marriage in poor health.”

Swallowing. Smiling. Nodding.

“There’s my smarty,” he laughed, leaning forward to pat your knee. “Just be a good girl, and all of this will be over in a month.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🔴🐊🔴~~~

Buggy was trashing a random suite today.

The three, invincible men in the hall were helpless again, helpless while their clown raged, tearing everything apart as he alternated between taking notes and throwing furniture against the wall. 

“That doesn’t sound…” Shanks didn’t know why he’d spoken. His words were worse than useless. He mourned the loss of the swordsman's heat where their shoulders had leaned against each other while they sat on the floor, watching Crocodile pace.

Shanks was sure the frightening man would leave an anxious groove in the floor soon.

“Where are you going,” Crocodile frowned, watching his little prince flee the scene. 

“I’ll be back.”

Crocodile huffed a laugh, shocked by how much Mihawk’s shortness affected him. He shouldn’t have cared at all, but now he stared after the man, not sure if he wanted to hold him or yell at him. 

“He does that,” Shanks sighed, deciding not to care if Mihawk heard him. He was probably too preoccupied to focus on them anyway. “He likes to run away from his feelings. Don’t take it personally.”

Crocodile grimaced as what had to be a large piece of furniture slammed against the closed door. He slid down the wall to sit across from the red haired man, tapping his hook on the carpet. 

“He’s been doing alright lately,” he noted, staring blankly down the empty hall. 

“Yeah,” Shanks agreed, tugging at the collar of his cloak. The feel of the cloth suddenly made him want to strip, wanting nothing to be fucking touching him right now. “How did you do that?”

Fuck.

There it was. Envy.

That stinging realization was just one too many for the red haired pirate to deal with, but the thought wouldn’t shove off.

Sir Crocodile had managed to get Buggy and Mihawk to stay. To care. 

Why wasn’t I enough?

Shanks slipped into a weak smile when he imagined the size of the bowl of sake he’d need to drink to get this shit out of his head. 

“What do you mean? …You alright, Red Hair?”

Crocodile was already annoyed with this tentative truce. He was trying to get over it. Sometimes it felt like he had, but then something would get caught in his mind, bringing it all back. This self righteous, pretty boy had fucked with his home, had hurt his sweet girl, had gotten his boys all twisted in knots, and he still might steal them away from him. Yet he had the nerve to sit here and mope. 

The ex-Warlord took a long, slow breath while the other man took his sweet time before replying.

“What did you do that made them, you know.” Shanks waved his hand, the act of speaking these stupid words taking too much energy, so he quickly dropped it back down to his lap. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of them like this. They’re so… open.”

The Emperor of the Sea had to swallow nasty guilt with that word, realizing just how jealous he’d been. 

“Are you jealous of me,” Crocodile chuckled with genuine pleasure at the thought. 

Shanks gave him a look that would have withered a lesser man, but he just got louder. 

After a few more, much needed laughs, the ex-Warlord spoke, truth and fear leaving his lips. 

“You don’t need to worry about me, Red Hair. It was all her,” he breathed, clenching his eyes shut at the sound of her name yelled from Buggy’s lips. “Y/N woke us all up. She’s… She’s perfect. I know the boys will follow her, so you just need to worry about wooing my sweet girl. Then you can take everything.”

“Crocodile,” Shanks started, but trailed off when they caught eyes, pain and defeat clear on both of their faces. 

“As long as you help us get her back, I’ll–” 

“Can you IDIOTS shut the FUCK UP?!!”

Shanks couldn’t hold in a snort, but regretted it instantly at the sight of Buggy’s deranged eyes. His dark circles seemed even darker since the clown hadn’t bothered to put any makeup on today. That alone would have worried him, but now Buggy growled, tossing a crumpled piece of paper into the hall before shutting himself in the room again. 

The red haired pirate started to push himself up to grab the message until sand moved in a wave, reaching out from Crocodile’s body as it pulled the paper into his hand. He flattened it on his thigh with his hand, holding a corner down with the back of his hook, before reading the messy note.

“Do you ever leave grains of– whoa, what is it,” Shanks asked, eyes wide as the scarred man yanked his hook out from the carpeted floor he’d just smashed a hole into. 

Crocodile couldn’t speak yet, so he just crumpled and tossed the paper toward the other man. He wanted to join in Buggy’s rage, to tear this fucking place to the ground. 

But he needed to be strong for them. 

“I’m gonna kill him slow,” he growled, focusing on his clenched teeth to keep from forcing Buggy to recite every fucking word he was hearing. 

Shanks snagged the crumpled paper, flapping it through the air before smoothing it out on the floor with his shaky hand. Dread sat on him while he pulled it up, reading Buggy’s large, angry handwriting. 

~~~~~~

Uncle CUNTDICK   says

pick new OWNER???!

Private Dates - no listenin 

She can convince one she like to stay?? FOR BERR   

HER EAGER BODDY!?   GONNA FCKIN KIL L!!! he’ll DIEso

fucking

    Bloody gonna SLICE off hisarms & shove a buggy ball down histhroat and tear

DOCTOR !! 

Star’s scared of that doc. Borsan?

Vorsan ??  she’s scared of him.   

  her HEART IS ! who the fuck is he ?    gonna kill

KILL fucking SHUT up out there you 

       dicKBAGS! !     

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

“I’m gonna get info on this fucking doctor. Stay with– Will you–”

“You got it, boss,” Shanks smiled weakly, matching Crocodile’s hushed tone. “I’ll keep an eye on our clown.”

The ex-Warlord got to his feet, his shoulders slumping beneath his heavy coat at the sound of Buggy’s fresh curses, as though the president of the Cross Guild had hurt himself doing whatever had caused that particularly loud crashing noise.  

“I’ve got him,” the Emperor of the Sea assured, hoping that he wasn’t lying. He stared while that large, fur covered back moved down the hall, leaving him there to feel helpless. 

Crocodile still felt helpless, but that name echoed in his mind, a death knell for some unlucky doctor.

You scare my sweet girl, you fucking suffer.  

~~~🐊🔴🐊🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

“I’m scared,” you whispered, patting your harness.

“Babe, how the fuck have you never done this? You fucking own these trees,” your second love teased while she shooed your anxious fingers away from the heavy buckles. 

“I do not own these trees,” you pouted, her taunting glare too powerful to resist smiling at. “And just because–”

“Come on, cutie,” she rasped, pulling you as close as the ropes would allow. “You’d better jump after me, otherwise you won’t be able to say it back.”

“Say what back,” you squirmed, the brief press of her lips against yours sending heat across your skin. 

“I love you, babe,” she smirked, winking before she leapt off the platform to fly through the air, ziplining through the massive trees.

You froze, not from fear of heights or faulty harnesses, but of those pretty, little words. 

Her dangerous smile, her overwhelming voice, the way she made you…

It felt so fucking good to leap into the unknown, letting yourself be free. 

She loves me.

Screaming through the intoxicating air of the forest heights left you breathless and laughing when you returned to solid ground. She tackled you instantly, ignoring the crowd of workers and tourists, and you felt higher than you’d been at the top of that first tree. 

“Good job, babe,” she praised, pinning you onto the grass without a care for who was watching. “Knew my girl was brave.”

“I’d do anything for you,” you confessed, shoving down the terror in your gut. “I love you too.”

“Fuck yeah, you do,” she grinned onto your lips, sending you even higher when she curled her fingers into your hair. 

“Can we leave,” you whispered, suddenly aware of all the eyes on your skin. 

“Sure, cutie," she purred, kissing your forehead before winking again. "You deserve a drink after that. You could have died!”

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

The realizations you’d had on Karai Bari spun through your mind while you tried not to scowl at the grotesque displays of wealth all around you.

You hadn’t given a fuck what they had done for money. Hadn’t cared at all when that marine was strung up, bleeding on the wheel. The way you’d felt when Buggy smiled at you like that, when he’d killed for you without a thought…

Not feeling like a good person wasn’t that much of a paradigm shift though. You’d always been a selfish—

“Y/N!”

“Kat?”

Your sister looked perfect, healthy, safe.

“You’re fucking in— stupid! I can’t believe you’re alive,” she scolded, pulling you into a hug that you sank into, heat climbing up your throat. 

She’s alright. She’s— 

“You’re okay?”

“Of course, she’s okay, Y/N,” Uncle Cedrick purred, hovering over your shoulder until she stepped away. “I’ll always take care of our family. Your maid of honor is here to make sure the lovely bride is ready for the big day, aren’t you, Kat.”

“If that’s what she wants,” Kat scowled, soothing your heart for just a moment. 

“Of course, she wants it,” he gloated, smoothing his palm in gentle circles between your shoulder blades, almost as if he were a loving uncle. “You’d have to be crazy not to want the world, especially when it helps the people you love.”

“I want it,” you smiled, but Kat knew. You could see it in those cynical eyes.

“I—“

“Why don’t you show our little bridezilla to her suite,” he suggested. Uncle Cedrick smiled at Kat the way he smiled at no other, though she gave him nothing back. Your sister was still the only person he seemed to give the tiniest shit about. “I’m sure your big sis could use some rest. She’s going to have a busy month.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Shanks warned, hopping up off the floor to whisper over the swordsman’s shoulder. He still smelled amazing, even without his special beard oil on, and the red haired pirate wanted to slap himself.

How can I keep thinking like this when—

“I’ll be fine,” Mihawk sighed with his hand hovering over the door handle. “I'm done running from my feelings.”

It may as well have been a blade. The peck of a kiss the swordsman gave the Emperor sent him reeling, dizzy with the loss of sanity rather than blood. The man with predator eyes didn’t stay to watch his victim stumble against the wall before sneaking into the suite. 

Shanks felt even more guilt when he steadied himself, charging down that empty hall, but this time the guilt was overpowered by the very thing it was caused by.

The Emperor was smiling, wide and true. 

He wouldn’t sit back, and do nothing while the people he loved were suffering. That simple, comforting peck from a predator had spurred him on, and Shanks couldn’t fight this growing feeling.

Hope. 

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🤡🗡️🤡~~~

“Get the fuck out,” Buggy snapped without checking who’d opened the door. He clenched his eyes shut, wishing that he’d given Y/N his other ear. The clown sat in the center of a pile of slightly crumpled pages, his nondominant hand floating to shove a finger into the ear on the opposite side while he took too many, useless notes. 

Her heart was so loud, and there were so many sounds now that she’d made it to the estate. He couldn’t miss anything, struggling over the sounds of her breath and her heartbeat to catch the servants voices in the background.

He never struggled to hear Uncle CockRot though. That shithead loved to hear himself talk.

And he keeps getting too close to her…

“FUCK,” Buggy cursed, his hands stopping their work while he tossed a chair at the wall again. “Gods, damn it…”

The clown swallowed the guilt that his pathetic outbursts kept feeding. He needed to listen, to be quiet, but he could not fucking take this. How was he supposed to stay calm?

What did they say in that stupid class? Count to ten… 

Mihawk stilled, watching the clown settle back on the floor after another show of rage. Buggy was so focused on his task that he hadn’t noticed his golden eyed lover studying him in silence. 

The swordsman felt a ridiculous urge to smile at the sight of this frantic man that was rocking back and forth, scribbling line after line, thinking of nothing but saving his pretty star. 

Dracule Mihawk had known determination. A singular focus, an overpowering goal. He’d met many that claimed to have it, but they always faltered. They never truly knew what it was to be driven. To care about only one thing, and to stop at nothing until they achieved it. 

He may have looked like he was falling apart, yet Mihawk knew that he could never again think of this man as pathetic after seeing that will in those tired eyes. Buggy was fighting for the very thing that Mihawk had run from like a coward his entire life. 

The clown was going to save her, and the swordsman was going to help him.

He stepped silently, opening his fist just close enough for Buggy to see it, confusion following the rage that lined the clown’s face. He paused, then grabbed the earplug Mihawk offered, stuffing it into his ear before shaking the cramps out of both of his hands. 

Mihawk allowed himself a small smile as he removed a fresh notepad from the tote he’d found in the kitchen, holding it out so Buggy could read the message he’d scrawled on the top page. 

~~~~~~

Would you like to join me in Adam’s room while you listen?  I have cookies. - M

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

The swordsman tucked the notepad away while Buggy was still blinking at it, offering a cookie instead. He swallowed a laugh at the man’s feral grab, a floating hand snatching it before shoving it into his mouth. 

They gathered up the chaos of notes as best they could. The swordsman carried everything, so that the clown could keep his hands free, stopping now and then to write with the notepad pressed against the wall. 

Adam’s guard left without a word, leaving Mihawk alone with his muttering lover, and their furry reminder of the heartbeat that Buggy had caged himself with. He’d taken the tote, laying out his new nest of mayhem on the floor. Buggy tried not to let the fact that these were her favorite cookies keep himself from eating, or listening. 

They tasted a bit watery though. 

The light touch against his hair nearly made him violent, but he turned to find Mihawk had joined him on the floor. He cocked his head while he wielded a brush like a sword, asking permission. Adam crawled onto the swordsman’s lap, rubbing his furry chin along that chiseled jaw until he procured a good head scritching. 

Buggy nodded consent, and these two, deadly pirates tried to find comfort in a room that felt cold without her sweet laughter. 

~~~

“How did you…” Buggy trailed off. Y/N was quiet for the moment, but he focused on her breath before gesturing to his ear, annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought of it first. 

“I figured the armory might carry some ear protection, given how impressive your balls are,” Mihawk managed to deadpan in a whisper. He kept up that bored face while he studied Buggy’s recent notes, still playing with the lovely, blue hair he’d gotten all the tangles out of hours ago.

“My BALLS,” Buggy choked out, laughter ripping through him before he clamped a hand over his lips. “My– Buggy Balls…”

“Are quite impressive,” Mihawk teased, tugging at Buggy’s hand until he let him massage the meat of his palm. “Is there anything else I can–”

“She’s eating dinner by herself,” the clown reported, floating toward the door while his stomach cried out for anything besides watery cookies. 

“Not for long,” Mihawk declared, sending the cat’s guard back into Adam’s suite after grabbing Buggy’s notes. “Let’s keep your strength up, little clown.”

“You’re hungry too, crybaby,” Buggy teased, floating and twisting his head around to stick his tongue out at the wildly dangerous man he’d just made fun of. He felt a sudden need to move faster.

Mihawk smirked when those tired eyes widened, but he couldn’t choose how to respond. The clown didn’t give him time to decide, his bare feet racing fast, while his body floated even faster. 

Yet the thought of their darling eating alone was too sobering, so he shook himself free from that urge to chase, and followed his clown instead.  

~~~🗡️🤡🗡️🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Kat had never been as good at pretending as you were, even though she didn’t hate it as much as you did. Although, the tension in her shoulders that ran all the way down to her almost clenched fists left you wondering if that was still true.

“I made him give us adjoining suites,” she sighed, ushering you into an opulent room. A miracle left your lips, a small laugh escaping when your sister yanked you, forcing you onto the bed. The shitty, stupid dress crumpled up when you tried to sit crossed legged, too glad to see her to care about anything else. 

“I’m sorry I left you—“

“I’m sorry I told him—“

Two sisters, two half smiles.

Does that equal one whole smile?

You snorted at your own brain, always making up dumb math problems, then hissed at the punch to the arm it earned you.

“I thought you were going to die, Y/N. You know those are famous pirates, right,” she accused. Your sister’s voice had gone high, and she seemed to latch back onto anger to keep it from wavering. “I learned all about your employers. All about the people they—”

“I know,” you breathed, your shoulders relaxing when she let you rest your hand on hers. “It was selfish, okay? I just wanted to disappear for a while.”

“You don’t want to be here.” 

“No, I do,” you assured, forcing yourself back in. 

It’s not a lie. 

“You were right,” you sighed, stretching so you could look away from her sharp eyes. “It’s been long enough. I got to have an adventure. I got to pretend. Now it’s time—“

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she groaned, leaving your side to pace after kicking off her heels. “I don’t want you to do this just because—“

“I’m not doing this just so you and mom can get your inheritance. Although, I hope you take the berry and run.”

A joke laced with icy truth went icier when she scowled at you. 

“Right,” she drawled, slumping onto the couch. “I’m sure Uncle would love it if we both ran away.”

“You don’t need to…“

The old argument fizzled out before it began, too much jealousy and guilt shared between you. 

“Is he still—“

“Apparently I’m ‘too old for the appetites of Dragons now,” your sister spat, and you practically flew across the room. 

“Well, thank fuck for that,” you almost laughed as you sat beside her. “What about—“

“No one else wants to wed the destitute sister of the wayward heiress.”

The old argument reared up again, stinging more every time.

“Kat, you can leave,” you urged, desperate for it to be true. “You don’t need to marry for the family, you can get out. Have a normal life, and find someone you love!”

“Like you did,” Kat sighed, more pain than cruelty in her voice. 

You nodded in defeat, leaning against her while you both breathed the pointless arguments away. The Sylvad sisters found comfortable quiet in stifled lives, just as you’d always done. 

She’s right. People like us don’t get to have love.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

Your second love cocked an eyebrow at you while you pushed a napkin down the bar counter, giving you a flirty smile before reading your note.

~~~~~~

Don’t say anything, please. Run away with me tonight? I am being 100% serious.  Meet me at the gift shop on the pier at 8. Kiss me once for no. Kiss me twice for yes. I love you.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Panic flooded through you while you waited, worried that you’d freaked her out, but she scooted close, her breath along your ear sending shivers over your skin.

“How about three times for fuck yes?”

She ate your happy whimpers while she kissed you three times, catching your tears with her thumbs. You’d never felt the way you did when she looked at you, and you let yourself hope that it was true. That she was real. 

“See ya, cutie,” she winked, and you fought to stay calm, to act normal while you paid the bill, and walked to your apartment. 

You tried to pack, but couldn't care about what you grabbed. All you cared about were those three kisses, and the gift shop on the pier. 

Stuffing your guilt down deep, you decided not to risk saying goodbye to your sister. You’d call her when you called your clients. You’d call when you were free.

~~~

I should get her something. This’ll be our real anniversary.

Cheeks burning from suppressing your grin, you inspected every, single, tiny item in the store while you waited. You would have exploded if you’d waited at home, so you arrived a bit early, trying not to squeal while you searched for the perfect gift. 

“Don’t you think that one’s a bit tacky, niece?”

The rack of novelty shot glasses crashed to the floor when you stumbled into it, and the jarring sound shattered your hope that you were dreaming. 

“I apologize for my niece, she’s not well,” Uncle Cedrick charmed the shop worker, handing him a hefty wad of berry. “This should cover the damages, and my assistant has more for you outside, if you would allow us a few moments of privacy?”

The wide-eyed cashier didn’t hesitate when he saw all that berry, and you shook yourself enough to try to follow him out the door, but Uncle Cedrick stepped in your way, blocking your only path out of the tiny shop. 

“Where is she,” you seethed, not ready to know. 

“Oh, you mean that trash you called your girlfriend,” he taunted, reaching for your chin until you backed away. “We just had a quick chat in that disgusting apartment of hers, and she decided that she’d rather run away with some pocket change than with her little cutie.”

“She wouldn’t,” you breathed, sick fear taking your fire before you’d been able to use it. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing at all, Y/N. If you'd like proof, we can head back to my office to watch the recording. I’m sure the surveillance snail captured just how little she cared about you. You should have seen her face light up when she saw the berry,” he scoffed while his eyes devoured you, gorging on every moment of weakness you showed.

It was just pretend. 

You couldn’t take it, so you didn’t, shoving all thoughts of your second “love” aside to focus on anything else.

“Surveillance snail… at her apartment,” you asked, feeling woozy. Going empty. Then freezing when he leaned over you, his twisted cocktail of smug condescension, and well-leashed anger barreling down on you.

“I may be humoring your little game of make believe, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are the heiress of Sylvad’s,” Uncle Cedrick threatened, finally taking a gentle grip on your chin.

You were too lost to pull away this time. 

“I will do anything to protect our family, including sending an army of snails to watch over you,” he smirked, invading your space even more to whisper his next words in your ear. “Although, I’m glad you haven’t spotted any yet, Y/N. I can only imagine what the doctor would say if you hurt–” 

“That was an accident,” you choked out, almost knocking over another rack of useless clutter to get away from him.

He straightened up, scanning the mess you’d made while fear left you shaking. 

“So many accidents… A pattern of behavior… Are you feeling well, niece?”

“I’m fine,” you almost purred. Your fear had taken the reins, shutting you down. You were still there, the strange sensation of floating slightly outside of your body, feeling your feelings as if they were diluted. A single drop of pain in a tub of numbing water.

Numb enough not to flinch when he put his arm around your shoulders, leading you outside, and into his stupid cedar carriage, with its stupid carvings of cedar trees.

A little laugh bubbled out of you once the carriage was moving, but you swallowed it down, catching the flare in his eyes at the sound.

“I didn't realize you enjoyed women.”

“I’m sorry,” you coughed, frustrated that you were coming back to reality so soon. 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” your uncle soothed, patting your knee. “You just need to remember your responsibilities. Marry a fitting man, and let him fuck a few Sylvad heirs out of you, but don’t worry, dear niece. You can keep as many mistresses as you like after you're married.”

He seemed so happy, so pleased. 

Does he really think he’s being generous?

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~~

“In fact,” Uncle Cedrick purred, tapping your nose, “since I robbed you of your plaything, why don’t I let you borrow one of mine? Security reported that you spent quite a bit of time with your tongue in that cheap whore’s cunt. I’m sure my little assistant can help to elevate your palate.”

That gentle rocking motion almost tipped the scale, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t throw up in your uncle’s favorite carriage. You couldn’t let him see you that weak.

Even though you both knew you were.

“What do you say? I’m sure she’ll–”

“No, thank you, Uncle Cedrick.”

“Hm, your loss, niece. Darla’s quite delectable,” he hummed, stretching his arms across the back of the cushioned bench.

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

“I think it would be best if you stayed with the family for a while. I’ll arrange transportation for that little bank hobby of yours.”

Lips parted. Then closed. Afraid of what might spill out. 

“Running away from your job and your family is extreme behavior, Y/N. I’m just concerned for your well being. I’d hate for you to—“

“I’m sorry, Uncle. I’ll be fine.”

“There’s my smarty.”

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🔴🤡🐊~~~

The clown forced himself to eat, listening to the slow taps of her silverware while she ate alone. 

He seethed, remembering the warning the servant had given at her request for privacy.

“Mr. Sylvad has stated that you may rest this evening, but stresses that you are expected to return to family duties tomorrow. He requested that I ask if you are feeling well, Miss—“

“I’m fine,” his star had lied. After that, all he’d heard was shuffling, a few polite hums from servants, then nothing but her body, until she let out a sigh. The empty sound made his chest ache.

“Why didn’t she trust her sister,” Buggy frowned, looking up at the men who were scouring his shitty notes while they ate.

They all stared, waiting. Buggy felt the pressure closing in around him. 

I bet they wish they could still beat this out of me.

The other men tensed when Buggy choked out a laugh, the tension winding tight around them all. A fragile new truce, a trust that had been destroyed before it was born, was building slowly between these pirates. Yet the clown could almost taste the potential for violence while he held the only link to the woman they loved. 

The villains not known for their patience or compassion had to balance their urge to bleed the world around them until they got what they wanted. 

Especially since that world now included a brave, little clown. 

“Why do you say that, Buggy,” Crocodile rasped, breathing out the rage his own helplessness had stoked. 

“She lied to her. They were alone, and Y/N still said she wants to be there. Wants to marry some fucking twat head—“

“Sylvad wasn’t there? Are you sure there weren’t any staff—“

“I’m fucking sure,” the clown snapped at Sir Crocodile, his breath freezing in his lungs until the larger man nodded. 

“Of course. I know you’ve got her.”

Ice melted, leaving Buggy speechless until his red haired lover chimed in. 

“Maybe she's lying to protect her sister. From your notes it sounds like Sylvad was trying to sell Kat too. That could be why Y/N's going along with him.”

“That’s a possibility,” Mihawk drawled, still scanning the rumpled pages. “Or perhaps Kathryn Sylvad isn’t a trustworthy confidant. Y/N didn’t seem… well after their conversation the other day, and from what I heard, it seemed as though her dear sister were urging her to go back to him.”

“But she apologized,” Buggy coughed, swallowing too fast so he could counter the point. “It seems like they’re both trapped by Uncle ShitLick.”

“Not all apologies are worthy of trust,” Mihawk breathed, stopping his hunt to meet Buggy’s gaze. “It's the actions that follow that show the truth of those words. I believe that’s how this thing works, isn’t it?”

The clown was speechless again, but this time with a crooked smile as he watched the swordsman dive back into the crumpled pages.

“Our girl might be afraid of someone listening in,” Crocodile mused, his deep voice catching all of their attention.

“Buggy said they were alone,” Shanks defended, cocking his head at the ex-Warlord. He still couldn’t tell if the man was scowling at him, or if that was just how his face normally looked. 

“Sylvad’s paranoid,” Crocodile grumbled, setting a note down so he wouldn’t crush it. “He’s got all that security, and marines on fucking standby when he travels, but he came all the way here in person to get her back.”

The other pirates held their breaths before jumping in, letting the man with the most violence radiating from him finish his thought first.

“He needs her for whatever fucking plans he’s got, and I don’t think Sylvad is gonna let her out of his sight for a second after she almost got away. I wouldn’t either. I’d watch her like a…”

Shame had become physical, almost visible as it filled the air around them.

“Like a hawk,” Mihawk spat, closing his eyes against the self loathing that had crawled back to the surface. “I listened to her. I told her I was. She–”

“Hey, crybaby,” Buggy taunted, sending a floating hand to squeeze the swordsman’s cheeks together. His body felt electric, as though speaking with the golden eyed man were some death defying feat. It had always been deadly, and the clown smirked at the thought that he might just be an adrenaline junkie. 

Mihawk didn’t answer, though his eyes showed enough danger for Buggy to release him before continuing. 

“Moping’s not gonna help her,” he scolded, glancing at Crocodile before floating his upper body to glower over the swordsman. “You were monsters, but you said you’re sorry. Now prove it.”

Shanks smiled, pleasure and pride filling his veins while he watched them. He nodded at Crocodile, whose scowl seemed to be fading, bit by bit. 

The clown kissed the ex-Warlords, just a press of bare lips to the scarred man's cheek, and the swordsman's forehead, before floating back. The Emperor sidelined him, pulling him from the air to steal his own kiss before he could bring his body together again. 

A moment of peace.

Swiftly broken.

“We’re not monsters to her anymore,” Crocodile reasoned, her last words to him blaring through his mind, “but our sweet girl might not know that. She might still think we’ll use her, that we’ll hurt her.”

“Not Buggy, though,” Mihawk soothed, remembering all that blood on the floor. “Even if our darling doesn’t want monsters like us, I know she’d rather be with our little clown than to waste away in that prison of a life.”

“She loves you, Bugs,” Shanks hummed, rubbing his hand along the clown’s back.

“Of course she does,” Buggy agreed, listening to the sacred music of her heart. He looked up at his Executives, surprised at how much he wanted to make them smile. “I’m pretty sure she likes you guys too.”

Silver and gold eyes brightened before Buggy glanced at the soft, brown ones beside him. 

“Not sure about you, though. I think your charm has finally worn off.”

Buggy’s tease stirred up that sea of guilt, and Shanks had to steel himself not to sink back into it. 

I really hope it didn’t. I’m gonna need it.

~~~🗡️🔴🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

As much as you had needed to see your sister, you were grateful that she’d given you space. 

I might never have a moment to myself again. 

That thought had been a lot more fun the last time you had it. 

All the feelings you’d held at bay started trickling in, and you knew the only way to fight it was to remind yourself what it was. 

It was all pretend.

It was just for daydreams. 

Now I’ve got enough lovely daydreams to last a long, boring lifetime.

Hours must have gone by. You probably could have estimated the time if you’d counted your breaths.

Instead, you counted everything else. Counted, multiplied, divided. So many meaningless math problems to help you pass the time until it felt late enough.

Floating through the suite, you opened every drawer, peeked behind every curtain, and stared at the floral wallpaper until you were sure there was nothing but flowers.

Almost sure. 

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

“Such good, little toys,” Mihawk praised, though you hardly heard it with his cock slamming down your throat. He fisted your hair, growling for you to look at him, and his deadly eyes filled with twisted satisfaction as he trailed his thumb over your cheekbone. His cock pulsed along your tongue when he drank your tears from his skin, and the sight sent you spasming again, your body clenching tight around the man behind you.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re squeezing Daddy’s cock so fucking hard.”

Too much. Never enough. 

They held you bent between them, fucking through you so deep it felt like they’d meet in the middle, crushing you with pleasure. 

“Our little vixen was built for this, weren’t you? We’re going to fucking ruin you, and you’ll keep begging for more. Gods, you look gorgeous choking on me like that, rabbit… Clown, are you still taking care of our darling?”

“Y-yeah, I’ve got her,” Buggy whined, his hand still floating under your body, fingers teasing your clit.

Helping them wreck you. 

“And what about you,” Mihawk taunted, though his voice was starting to strain.

“You’re taking us so well,” Crocodile praised, tracing his hand down your back while the other men spoke. “So proud of my sweet girl— Mm, there ya go, babydoll. Keep coming for Daddy.”

“I’m impressed, toy,” the wicked swordsman purred. “Pleasuring our darling and yourself while she gets destroyed, and you still haven’t made a mess? What do you think, sandman? Does the clown deserve to help us?”

“You talk too much,” Crocodile growled, and you saw stars as he held your hip in place while he tore you apart, taking you over, making your body his. 

You were already gone, flying further away with every brutal, overwhelming sensation.

“Let’s drown her.”

Buggy’s fingers on your clit, Crocodile’s cock splitting you open, and Mihawk’s vicious assault on your throat. 

Perfect. Nothing fucking like it. 

They held you still while they stuffed you full, the heat of their come filling you so much it almost hurt, but you didn’t want it to stop. 

“My star.”

You weren’t sure that you’d heard that soft voice while he marked you, spilling so much come across your back, dripping down your hips. 

“You’re lucky our darling needs our full attention,” Mihawk threatened. His now gentle hands wiped you clean, helping you lay down, soothing your needy whimpers.

“You couldn’t protect her. No matter how much we let you play, she’ll never be yours again,” Crocodile reminded, his fingers tensing against your skin when you couldn’t hold in a broken, little noise. 

“Buggy…”

The two ex-Warlords surrounded you, shushing and soothing, kissing down your body while they apologized for scaring you. 

And you were wrecked and selfish enough to let it work, sinking into their touch, their praise. 

It was wrong.

But it felt too fucking good to let these villains take care of you. They ruined you, then treated you like precious treasure.

You had never felt more cared for than you did in the clutches of these Cross Guild villains. 

~~~⏰🌲🌲🌲⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

No. It was just pretend. They were pretending! Just like…

Your daydream had given you the release you needed while you stayed as still as you could beneath the covers, your face shoved down into the mattress after you’d accidentally whispered your clown’s name, wishing his fingers could still find you. 

Then you were lost, spinning down into dangerous memories. Letting yourself pretend they cared would be unbearable.

They wanted to own me. I wanted to let them. 

You groaned, freeing your hand to shake out the cramp you’d earned from the restricted position. 

In the end, you hadn’t wanted them to own you. Not really. Not like this. It would have made it too hard to pretend they cared, and you had clung to that for too long. 

It was pretend, and now I have daydreams to pass the time. 

You just needed to stop the daydreams before the parts when they pretended to care too much. Choking on that new rule, you forced yourself to wash your face, avoiding your own eyes while you swallowed more useless tears to keep from drowning in them. 

They would have dried your tears, soothed them, tasted them. Aching need almost dropped you to the bathroom floor, slumping over yourself while you dug your nails into your thighs, hiding your quiet rage. 

Get your fucking shit together!

The mirror finally caught you. Empty eyes stared back, and you would have slipped into that distant place, if not for the glint of silver over your heart. 

It was all pretend. Just throw it away. 

Eons passed before you could move, and your body ached from its time as an unwilling statue, but you didn’t take it off. Everything was gone, everything in your world was empty, but for this pretty locket that was missing its key. You brought it to your lips, leaving a kiss for a life that might have been. 

Maybe some love is real after all. That’s nice to know… Even if someone like me can never have it.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the chapter! My health and work situations are still all sorts of chaos, but this is my favorite thing to do, so hopefully I'll have enough spoons to get back to my usual time between updates!

I want to thank all of you so much for your incredible support. I'm still having a hard time responding to things one on one, but I see and read everything, and your kindness and lols have genuinely helped me through all this yuck. You have my heart! 💜

Also, everybody please thank my partner for Mihawk's and reader's notes! Lol, I already had shitty handwriting before my medication gave me shaky hands, so Buggy's was the only one I could actually write 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak | @djloveyou3000 | @mercymccann | @horse-and-writer97

Part 30

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[feargone]

only i will remain.   independent, selective, and private multimuse. featuring mainly canon divergent and headcanon - based characters.  as loved by joy.  low and sporadic activity. rules and muses under the cut.

rules + regulations.

as stated before, this blog has low and sporadic activity. drafts and replies are far from my top priority, it’ll take time to get to them.  please don’t interact if that doesn’t work for you.

i do not follow or write with people under 20 years of age.  no hate or hard feelings towards anyone, i just don’t feel comfortable interacting with minors.  please respect this.

heads up that i’m not the best when it comes to plotting.  once the ball is rolling, though, i will feel more comfy exchanging ideas and building on what we have.  i’m always open to aus and other ideas, so feel free to approach me with one !

this blog is duplicate friendly ! i don't mind if we have one or more muses in common, it just means i can gush to you about a character we both enjoy. i do my best to check if another blog is okay with duplicates before following first, but i may mess up from time to time. go ahead and block me if that's the case, it's all good.

i am open to being ship exclusive.  meaning if we’ve plotted extensively and write our characters together romantically, i will not ship with someone else who writes the same character. feel free to float the idea out to me !

i am pro-callout culture.  there’s a big difference between having personal drama with someone and warning others about dangerous individuals.  i may reblog callout posts from time to time, as i see fit.  i will tag any i reblog as callout / if you want to block.

this shouldn’t have to be said, but i hardblock those who write or condone any of the following:  incest, rape/noncon, pedophilia, racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, and other disgusting behaviour.  while there is nuance when it comes to depiction versus endorsement, a majority of these are hard nos regardless of whether you, the writer, don’t think the same as the character.

i tag any potentially triggering content with [trigger] / or [trigger] mention /. not safe for work content will be tagged as not sfw / for those who'd like to block.  reach out if you need me to tag something.

a little general info about me:  i go by joy online, am desi, and use she/they pronouns.  i’m over 21.  mutuals, ask for my discord !  :^)

muse list.

major details for characters will be linked when pages are complete.

primary.

reid garwin.  the covenant.

iris west-allen. dctv.

sylvain jose gautier.  fire emblem.

beidou.  genshin impact.

kaeya alberich.  genshin impact.

haru miura. katekyo hitman reborn!

jaehee kang.  mystic messenger.

scott mccall.  teen wolf.

secondary.

kate bridgerton née sharma. bridgerton.

chase collins.  the covenant.

martha jones.  doctor who.

claude von riegan.  fire emblem.

jean gunnhildr.  genshin impact.

inej ghafa.  six of crows.

ruby. supernatural.

tertiary.

abby clark. 9-1-1.

howie "chimney" han. 9-1-1.

af flowers. cinderbrush: a monsterhearts story.

cameron solomon. cinderbrush: a monsterhearts story.

guizhong.  genshin impact.

daniel le domas. ready or not.

emily davis.  until dawn.

testing.

clara oswald.  doctor who.

jude duarte. the folk of the air.

dokja kim. omniscient reader's viewpoint.

sooyoung han.  omniscient reader's viewpoint.

bonnie bennett. the vampire diaries.

[dragonemeryart]

About Existentialism & Tummy Aches

(I know no one will find this blog this is just in case lol)

Existentialism & Tummy Aches is my story! It revolves around Circuit, a weird man with a TV for a head running a bizarre store with even more bizarre products. Along with him there’s Olivia (Liv) Kelly, his roommate who runs a bakery within the same building. I’d like to make a webcomic one day, but keep in mind that’ll probably never happen (it happened, it’s linked in socials) this is just a dumping ground for my OC art in reality. I do post the occasional comic strip, though! Also, I only started art last year so I’d consider myself a beginner, don’t expect much lol.

Feel free to ask any non-spoilery questions!

——————————————————————————————————

PERSONAL BOUNDARIES:

Keep in mind I’m 16, please.

Don’t be a bigot.

I already know I’m cringe, no one needs to tell me lol

I don’t friend people idk irl, sorry.

And that’s pretty much it

——————————————————————————————————CHARACTER/WEBTOON BOUNDARIES:

(not even necessary since I don’t foresee anyone doing this/wanting to do any of this (especially cause my art (and story) kinda sucks rn lol) but I’ll put it here anyways so we’re absolutely clear)

Personal boundaries still stand here too, obviously. Lol

SHIPPING: Sure, why not. As long as it’s legal and unproblematic idrc lol, just don’t get into fights about it

FANART: Yeah! I’d love to see fanart (as long as it’s with credit) tag me! :D

NSFW FANART: Tbh personally I don’t really have a problem with it as long as you give credit (WITHOUT TAGGING ME, I DONT WANT TO SEE IT MYSELF) and it’s of my adult characters. HOWEVER, I am still a minor myself so I’d probably advise against it, I can’t see how that wouldn’t be weird to an adult without some major creep signals. Maybe wait until I’m an adult, I’d be kinda uncomfortable because of that.

COMMENTS: Comparing them to other characters? Please don’t, unless it’s just an “oh this reminds me of x” or whatever, I do usually like that! But if I get too many “oh this reminds me of (the same character)” over and over again I might ask you don’t compare to that specific character anymore. Romantic and/or light sexual comments to my ADULT CHARACTERS (NOT ME OR ANY OR MY CHILD CHARACTERS) yeah sure I agree with you lol. Just don’t get super graphic, I am still a minor like I said, thank you. Toxicity of any sort? Instant block and your comment will be deleted. Might get a warning depending on what it is.

USING MY ART AS A PROFILE: Yeah, sure, as long as you give credit in your bio!

REPOSTING MY ART: Don’t do anything weird, don’t pass it off as your own (and make it very clear it’s not yours) and give credit (preferably a link). Then go ahead.

HEADCANONS: As long as it’s unproblematic, headcanon away!

FANFICTION: Unproblematic? Why not, go ahead.

——————————————————————————————————

SOCIALS:

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCoptlH8AUvVRuk-eMYzKbDw

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dragonemery/

TikTok: @dragomemery TikTok (link isn’t working?)

Main Tumblr: @dragonemery

WEBTOON: https://www.webtoons.com/en/canvas/existentialism-tummy-aches/list?title_no=932839

CARA: https://cara.app/dragonemery

But I’m most active on tumblr & Webtoon!

——————————————————————————————————

[catflowerqueen]

I posted 6,943 times in 2022

196 posts created (3%)

6,747 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@dreamwaffles

@scrollingdown

@math-is-magic

@photoshop-and-chocolate

@whatreality

I tagged 4,960 of my posts in 2022

Only 29% of my posts had no tags

#i love cats - 616 posts

#danny phantom - 554 posts

#fnaf security breach - 532 posts

#one piece - 429 posts

#pokemon - 398 posts

#batman - 178 posts

#homestuck - 127 posts

#mewtwo - 121 posts

#birds - 101 posts

#dogs - 94 posts

Longest Tag: 115 characters

#my personal favorites are number 4 for the “normal job” section and number 1 for the “supernatural reasons” section

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Just saw an interesting discussion between @twinanimatronics and @crazedauthor here about the various jobs that people give Y/Ns in the Daycare Attendant fandom for FNAF Security Breach, and the reasoning behind them. It got me thinking about various scenarios and jobs that Y/Ns could have that, while not the “typical” ones, would still give them job-related reasons to interact with Sun and Moon on a regular basis.

…As well as some very AU scenarios where Y/N might not be entirely “human,” but might still find themselves hanging around.

And some scenarios are better for shipping purposes than others.

I’ll go ahead and put them under a readmore since I ended up thinking of… quite a lot them.

They are all up for grabs in case anyone wants to use them, though if they do end inspiring someone (whether via art or writing), then please @ me so I can take a look?

“Normal” jobs for Y/Ns

1. Remember when Michelle Obama did that thing with nutrition and school lunches? What if the Pizzaplex was also forced to make changes in the meals they serve the daycare attendants (or were just trying to jump on some health craze bandwagon and wanted to use the daycare kids to test some things out since they would basically be a captive audience) and Y/N was a chef or nutritionist hired specifically for the daycare?

2. A not-quite-OSHA person Fazbear’s hired to ensure that the bare minimum in safety standards is attained so that they don’t get in trouble with actual OSHA. They pay special attention to the daycare because parents are more likely to make safety complaints there (and also possibly because the daycare attendants secretly and deliberately break things/put in comments or complaints so that they have an excuse to see Y/N basically every day/night)

3. Random temp agency worker Y/N who keeps getting called to the Pizzaplex, especially after management noticed the positive effect they have on the daycare attendant. But they don’t actually want to give them a full-time position or anything, because then it would mean actually giving them benefits. And we all know how much Fazbear’s hates doing stuff like that.

4. Some sort or artist or designer who was called in to do some redecorating after the Pizzaplex suffered some major fire damage. One of the areas they were told to focus on is the daycare, so they end up spending a lot of time with Sun and Moon. More specifically—at the start, they basically see Sun and Moon as their actual “clients,” (since while Fazbear’s might be the one signing the paycheck, Sun and Moon are the ones who are going to be seeing the art every single day), so they want to make sure they paint something the two of them enjoy, and that they get their input when they can.

(And then even after the paint job is done—whether or not they’re the ones actually doing the painting—they stay on to do things like design promotional materials, flyers, etc. that would star the glamrocks and other animatronics—so they end up spending a lot of time “observing them for modelling purposes”)

5. Some random visitor who just got dragged into the daycare one day while Fazbear’s was trying to find a handler that Sun/Moon wouldn’t maim or otherwise scare off/whichever guard or employee was stationed there that day thought it was their break time or something because Y/N happened to be wearing a shirt that was either the same color or had a similar design to an actual employee’s shirt, and they were too meek/embarrassed/didn’t get the chance to clear up the confusion.

Either they then get hired for real (partially to stave off a potential lawsuit, partially because for some reason Sun and Moon actually liked them/Moon was put off his menacing game by the hilarity of the situation once he figured out what had happened that management just assumed it all worked out and Moon finds the situation funny enough to continue tolerating it), or it just keeps happening repeatedly (because, idk, Y/N is colorblind and doesn’t realize it or just doesn’t understand that the reason they keep getting pulled in is due to their outfits) until they pretty much basically are just an unpaid employee at that point and no one takes notice until, like, tax season or something when the paperwork isn’t matching up. Only then would someone would think to offer them an actual job.

(Hopefully including some amount of back pay and/or refunds for all the entry fees they paid to actually get into the pizzaplex—though that's unlikely, since this is Fazbear’s we’re talking about. Probably they’d just give a hush-money payout) (Also let’s assume that Sun and Moon don’t attack Y/N on sight for being an unauthorized adult in the daycare—this could probably be accomplished via a combination of them actually being in the customer database, since they would have paid an entry fee, and then the act of getting dragged/tossed in by an actual employee or management would put them under the “authorized” section and Sun and Moon would just assume that their being placed in the customer database was just some sort of glitch)

6. Similar to the above, Y/N is the identical twin to an actual employee (possibly one who has gone missing under mysterious circumstances…?) and Sun and Moon’s facial recognition programming gets them confused for their sibling. Then they find Y/N charming or interesting enough that they just don’t bother actually fixing this and/or just manually authorize them to be there.

7. Sort of similar to number 4, except this time Y/N is a musician/composer who was hired to update the music around the Pizzaplex and give the daycare more than one song to play. Again, Y/N wants Sun and Moon’s input since they are the ones who would be listening to the music all the time.

8. A student (possibly even a teenager, if we wanted to go the platonic friendship route) who needs to do community service as part of a civics class or something (like what we had to do in my high school) and chose the daycare. Or possibly an actual student teacher who is doing their required teaching hours at the daycare

9. A children’s book author who periodically comes to the daycare to volunteer so that they can make sure that their material stays relevant to their target audience and basically use the kids as a test audience. Possibly they also were or will get commissioned by Fazbear’s to write children’s stories about Sun, Moon, and the Glamrocks to act as further promotional material

10. Y/N is one of those people who are handlers for dogs and other therapy animals who regularly visits hospital patients and participates in those events where animals get taken to libraries so kids can read to them, thus practicing their own speaking and reading skills. The Pizzaplex regularly hires them to bring their pet/various animals to the daycare kids.

“Supernatural” explanations for Y/Ns continued presence in the daycare

1. Y/N is some form of grim reaper/psychopomp intern whose higher ups assigned them to basically watch Fazbear’s Entertainment as a whole because for some reason (*cough* William Afton messing around with forces he shouldn’t be messing around with—like remnant and glitchtrap possession nonsense *cough*) this industry generates a lot of weird paperwork, and even though it seems to have stopped in recent times (thanks to Gregory being the little menace that he is), they don’t want it happening again. But, also, it isn’t a very “prestigious” position, so they basically threw it to the new person—aka Y/N.

The daycare ends up fascinating them, because they normally aren’t in a position to be able to see people—and especially not children—just getting to happily enjoy living their lives. Usually when they come into contact with children, it is due to understandably sad or distressing circumstances. So this is a nice change of pace for them. …And, also, depending on who or what was actually causing those people to go missing, they might be curious about Sun and Moon for… other reasons.

Cue misunderstandings about the actual job of a grim reaper/psycopomp on Sun and Moon’s part as well as discussions about whether or not AI have “souls,” and “can a robot ever actually die,” the standard waxing philosophical that happens in these kinds of stories. And also probably Sun and Moon hating Y/N at the beginning for either the aforementioned misunderstandings about their actual job, or just plain them not being able to kick the unauthorized (in their minds) vaguely-adult person out of their daycare. Whether or not anyone else can see them is up for debate/the author’s discretion—whether this is because Y/N is actively hiding their presence from others, or if it is some sort of natural defense mechanism or whatever that Sun and Moon (and other animatronics) end up bypassing because they technically aren’t “humans”.

2. Y/N is a Borrower who lives in the Pizzaplex. A couple of possible scenarios here—like, they might come out and greet Sun and Moon directly because their non-human status grants them a loophole in the “don’t be seen by humans” rule. Or, for more angst, their family is gone—presumed (and most likely actually are) dead because the scouts who got sent out to search for a better location to live in the Pizzaplex/outside never came back. The reason they decided to find a better place to live? Sun and Moon are just that good at cleaning that the Borrowers couldn’t even find a single crumb to use as a food source, and the nearest pantry got a better door/lock that they couldn’t get in. Also, the tiny Music Man living in the vents will catch and kill them if they try and use that as a system to get around.

So an initial meeting between Y/N and Sun and Moon would probably involve Y/N deciding to utilize that loophole regarding species to come out and basically beg them for help—whether just to get them to use their giant height and long strides/the security wire to help Y/N travel a longer distance in a way shorter amount of time or to ask for some food because they are literally on the brink of starvation.

3. Y/N is some random ghost who, surprisingly enough, did not get killed due to anything Afton-related, but was still drawn to the Pizzaplex due to the aura of murder/some weird reaction to remnant and just decided to hang out there. Not even as a vengeful spirit or anything—they were basically just bored, and then Sun and Moon caught their attention. Possibly because it’s fun to troll them since they can’t actually kick Y/N out or effectively ban them for being an “unauthorized adult.” Also because the kids like their ghostly shenanigans.

4. Y/N is some sort of “imaginary friend” or “guardian spirit of the daycare” thing brought to life by a mix or weird remnant shenanigans and the power of the children’s imaginations/love and positive feelings for the daycare over a long period of time. They’re tied to the Daycare (at least at first), and it might actually be a situation where Sun and Moon are the ones to introduce them to the concept of the “outside world” (as limited as their own reach is), rather than the usual reverse.

5. A little similar to the above—except Y/N is specifically a beloved toy brought to life Velveteen Rabbit-style.

6. Y/N is a random cat/bird/dog/lizard who somehow found their way into the daycare and ends up basically becoming its mascot by the end. Possibly they were wild, possibly they were brought in specifically as a type of “class pet” scenario to help teach the kids about responsibility.

See the full post

120 notes - Posted September 3, 2022

#4

I do have to wonder in a Danny Phantom and My Hero Academia crossover what Danny and Nedzu’s relationship would be like.

Like. Sure, Danny becoming a half ghost was an accident, but a lot of his fears and the threats he sustains afterwards involve deliberate lab experiments--which is something Nedzu is unfortunately familiar with. Would he feel a sort of kinship with Danny? Or at least try his best to allay those fears?

How would he feel about the whole cloning incident?

Also, I feel like, in general, Danny wouldn’t be all that weirded out by mutation quirks, considering how varied ghosts can be. Possibly he might be intrigued by all the color variations, since he is more used to seeing purples, blues, and greens, but I feel like that’s about it. 

He would probably be annoyed by the lack of advancements into the space program, though, since it seems like the dawn of quirks put a stop to that.

124 notes - Posted January 13, 2022

#3

Another thing about Sun apparently being a theater kid: This definitely explains why one of the bribes he tried on Gregory when he went behind the security desk was a puppet show.

Like. I thought that was a little weird that was his go-to activity (and presumably the glitter glue and googly eyes was so that Gregory could create his own hand puppets or something?), since it seems something like candy or drawing or playing a game would make for a quicker distraction--and then maybe he could segue into some sort of more involved activity once he'd caught Gregory's attention.

But Sun resorting to a fallback like that, something he knows for sure he is good at (at least as far as Fazbear's standards go, since I imagine that a lot of the plays he would put on probably involved product placement of some sort. And likely Moon played a "Hamburglar" role or something) and which is comfortingly familiar, makes a ton more sense.

And also explains why the theater is still considered part of the daycare--they just built it as an offshoot, probably so they wouldn't have to fiddle as much with his permissions as far as movement restrictions went.

124 notes - Posted November 22, 2022

#2

I feel like Lance Thunder has the capacity to be an extremely terrifying ghost. He already comes pre-loaded with the obsession of being a weatherman, especially since he never seems to actually get to do his actual job and is instead forced to report on ghosts. I'm betting that would leave some major rage and unfinished business.

314 notes - Posted June 30, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

What if the Lazarus pits, in addition to being the equivalent of ghost alcohol, were actually the literal remnants of Pariah Dark's "wine cellar"?

Imagine one day Ra's al Ghul goes to check on the pits and finds one of those skeleton ghost things from Reign Storm blocking the entrance because it's tied to Pariah, and him being awake for Reign Storm means that he and the other weird skeleton ghost things are back to doing their assigned duties--and this guy happened to be the guard for the "wine cellar."

So Ra's and his buddies try and fail to get rid of the guy, only for him to poof away as soon as Pariah gets shoved back in his coffin.

They think they are victorious/pass the incident off as "weird pit nonsense"... and then are thrown for a loop four or so years down the line when Danny ascends the throne and the "wine cellar" gets new, even more terrifying guards whose radius for protecting the cellar is even wider since the new king is under the drinking age--for both his human and especially his ghost halves.

Also probably there's some sort of shenanigans where the ghost of a relative of Alfred is assigned the duty of head butler for the Keep and Danny's new properties and arrives with the intent of hiring someone to be in charge of the "cellar" specifically, since Danny is more into delegation of tasks than his predecessor. Cue a horde of ghosts with sommelier obsessions descending on Gotham, all vying for the position.

(Alternatively, the Fright Knight or someone just goes to Alfred directly to ask him to do the interviews for the sommelier ghosts because his status as The Best Butler Ever is so legendary that it is known even in the Infinite Realms, and since they can't get their king the actual best--since Alfred is still alive and even as a ghost would be utterly devoted to his family over all else, even his monarch--getting someone vetted by The Best Butler Ever will at least give their king the Second-Best Ever when it comes to all things sommelier.)

1,547 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[uncouth-the-fifth]

playing house, p. 2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3. masterlist.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (vaguely kripke era).

Tags/Warnings: childhood friends-to-lovers, fluff, pining, undercover as a married couple, miiiight count as case fic, couples cruises, wingman!Dean, mermaids, sexual innuendos.

Word Count: 21,250

Notes: ahhhhhhh i'm so happy to be getting this out. it's long as FUCK, just for y'all <3 enjoy.

Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

You and Sam headed for the game deck next. At midday, it was easily the most populated floor of the ship, filled end to end with couple’s activities of all kinds. There was at least a football field’s worth of stuff to do. Before you got to any of it, you covertly dumped Dean’s gift on a couple passed out sunbathing next to each other (and never looked back).

“Looking at all this stuff really makes you wonder who Bobby called to get these tickets,” Sam commented.

He had a point. You could’ve guessed some of the amenities they’d have on board, like jacuzzis or cocktail lounges, but that was as far as your less-than-wealthy life could take you. On top of poolside bars, you and Sam passed an on-board spa, a salsa dancing class, a laser tag arena (which you might have given Sam a significantly competitive nudge toward), an outdoor painting class, and even a minigolf course. It was enough to root you both in place at times. Part of you was swamped by the money half of it all, but the bigger anxiety at hand was in finding this mermaid. The ship was fuckin’ huge. Huge and full of millions of hiding places.

Your amulet never did its thing on your circuit around the deck, so on your second time around, Sam pointed out two figures on the mini-golf course. “That’s Kelly, from breakfast,” you realized, “so that must be…”

“...her husband,” Sam finished. His brows jumped up his forehead, “Think he might know anything useful?”

You shot Sam a playful look beneath your matching cap, “Big time. Hope you remember how to play, Sammy. I’ll talk to his wife, you see if you can get something out of him.”

Sam nodded in agreement (correctly remembering who the boss was), but stopped you short before you could change course toward the crowd of chatting couples. The sly smile on his face sprinkled a little dread on your shoulders. He didn’t even bother to hide how pleased he was with himself when he drew you back by the arm, revealed his wallet, and slid it sensually into your hand.

“Darling,” he said, “would you be a dear and fetch my clubs for me?”

“You’ve never played minigolf a day in your life, have you?”

Sam shook his head, a little terrified. “Not even once.”

Rolling your eyes, you ran Sam through the general idea of mini golf, just so he wasn’t crashing Kelly’s golf-outing totally blind. It looked like some of the other girls from breakfast were there too, lined up to cheer their husbands on. Between the two of you, you were pretty sure you had a better chance at casually interrogating someone while working them over in minigolf, but there was a distinct women-don’t-play-sports vibe going on that your wealthy persona didn’t want to disturb. It would probably be more fun to watch Sam fail spectacularly anyway. The only sport he’d ever been good at was soccer—not counting the times he cheated height-wise in basketball as a kid. You were in for a show.

Most of the wives from breakfast had found a line of chairs to observe the game from, drinks in hand and their hair fluttering in the breeze. Past the railing behind them, a pretty spread of fluffy clouds kissed the endlessly churning horizon. The ship was too big to make you feel the power of it plowing through the waves, so on deck, the sea seemed to push ahead underneath your unmoving boat. Whoever had designed this place was extremely clever, because one of the millions of onboard bars was just a hop away from the gorgeous view.

All of the women stilled as Sam approached. Seeing that you were with him, (or, they had an excuse to coax him closer), the group became a small mess of jeweled hands waving you (but mostly Sam) over.

“Mr. and Mrs. Patton!” One of the women exclaimed. “Care to join us? We’re lounging.”

You put on your brightest smile. “I love to lounge,” you beamed, and not one bit of you had to lie.

“Sam?” Another wife called, “You’re more than welcome to join us. I know this is a bit of a girl’s show—”

“—but we’re just dying to get to know you!” A third giggled.

The women exchanged the most unsubtle, devouring glances you’d ever seen in your peers, which made you realize: right. Rich ladies. They weren’t your peers. A distant, forgetful part of you felt like throwing Sam over your back fireman-style and shouting mine! as loud as your voice could manage, which didn’t bode well for your continued mental health on this hunt. Instead, you took in a big girl breath and squeezed Sam’s wrist like a sane person.

“I really would love to… y’know, I-I just… uhm,” Sam blanked.

You swooped in for the rescue. Looping both arms around his middle, you swooned, “Sam was actually on a golfing team in high school! And lately, I’ve been so nostalgic to see him play again… You wouldn’t believe how good he was. He won every match I went to, and I saw every one! So, he’s going to play for me, if you don’t mind.”

Sam paled. A nervous, handsome chuckle bubbled out of him, and he wrapped his arm around you, not to be romantic, but to pinch the small of your back in revenge. He might’ve even succeeded, if it hadn’t been Sam’s big calloused fingers on your sensitive bare skin. You yelped. Everyone gave you a funny look.

“You’ll play for me, right, dear?” You begged of him, like this was some kind of romance and he was going off to war. You’ll write to me, won’t you, my love? He looked ready to melt into the deck. Good.

“Y-yeah,” Sam barely kept himself from glaring. “...Anything you want, honey.”

Since you were a fantastic and loving wife, you rented Sam his clubs and even delivered them to him yourself. He was smooth-talking his way into joining Kelly’s husband for a game when you returned. You inserted yourself into the circle of khaki-clad husbands, realizing, for the hundredth time today, that Dean had been right on the money: you were more than comfortable strutting around as Sam’s girl. When you adjust your bathing suit’s strap over your shoulder and look up at him past your cap, you’re not the only person aware of it.

The other vacationing men gave you owlish looks, especially when you reverently drop down a caddy of clubs in front of Sam. With agonizing slowness, you scoop up Sam’s huge hands, guide them onto the caddy’s handle, then cover them with your own, just to watch him squirm. And maybe for the chance to touch him more. Of course, you can’t leave him without a good-luck kiss.

You plant one on Sam’s cheek and he sighs. There’s just as much loving hatred in it as annoyed fondness, so you don’t pull too far away when you purr, “Break a leg, baby.”

With that, you sauntered back to your seat. Sam definitely watched you go.

Your lunch companions are halfway through their poolboy stories when you pull up a chair. Like before, you begin the odd, practiced process of needling them for intel, which you know is mostly filler. Anything more you could learn, you’d get from Kelly’s husband Luther. That’s up to Sam and Sam’s aim-game, now. Part of your character’s motivation today is to gaze lovingly at him as the other women gossip. It’s a lot easier than it should be. Your hunting instincts have you checking on him every other breath anyway, but Sam seems to be holding his own, focussing more on the conversation than the game. He gets this firm look on his face when he’s multitasking that is just… throb. It’s impossible to find a hunter of higher caliber, so yeah, Sam picks Luther apart and teaches himself how to play minigolf at the same time. The guy could shoot out a sniper’s scope from across the street with a rubber band and a pebble; you weren’t worried about his mini-golfing abilities, or about teasing him.

Luther starts to linger towards the back of the group, hushing something furtive to an attentive Sam. Boom. That’s my boy, you think to yourself.

The group of golfers is heading for the hole closest to your seating area when one of the women summons you.

“____… remind me how long you and Sam have been married, again?”

You whipped back toward the table, smiling serenely. “Around six years.”

Sofia picked her teeth with a toothpick from her martini. “Mm. I could never get past two. Divorced both of my husbands before our third year anniversary—what’s your secret?” She joked, “Separate bedrooms?”

“Oh, no,” you deepened your tone, “the opposite.”

Just a few steps from you, the group of men briefly dissolves into the group of wives as they come up on the next hole. The conversation gets a bit louder as the groups blend, but not enough to drown out your voice to Sam’s ears. A few of the husbands stay back to watch Sam, your ace, line up his next hole-in-one. He decides to be life-or-death invested in this one shot for whatever reason and makes sure you’re looking when he gets into position.

“You wanna know me and Sam’s secret to a long, happy, supportive marriage, Sofia?”

Sam winds back his club.

“Rough sex. And lots of it.”

…Sam’s shot goes sailing over the railing.

Sofia appraised the idea with pursed lips. “Hm. I’d give it a try, but my husband isn’t exactly as enthused as yours.”

Sprawling down in your role probably more than you should, you clasp your hands on the tabletop and let your eyes drift over your enthused husband, who’s awkwardly scrabbling up the club that’d gone flying out of his hands. He swears a coughing fit messed up his shot. Sam ducks away to “organize his caddy,” and you enjoy the sight of his plum-red neck and ears as reparation.

“My Sam is very giving,” you agree. The deep, dreamy sigh you add really gets her. Man, you could do this for a living or something.

His hands trembled trying to get his golf bag’s strap over his shoulder. God, Sam made it too easy to fluster him, sometimes—and so, so much fun. He even starts running his fingers through his bangs, all embarrassed. That’s why, a half-hour later when the game comes to a close, you throw yourself on him in a big winner’s hug. You’d forgotten in the thrill of the act that Sam was almost shirtless, and you only remember once you land skin-to-skin on a swathe of firm chest.

“Nice job out there, killer,” you muffle into his bare neck. Sam supports you with one non-committal arm, the other gripping his caddy for emotional stability. “Maybe you didn’t win, but your aim’s always been stellar to me.”

“You’re the devil,” Sam hisses into your cheek. You cup his to lay a noisy kiss on his face. Only then does Sam drop you, and he gives you a look that could dissolve the sun into a fizzing sparkler. It’s adorable. It’s so adorable, since he’s flushed from head to toe and wiggling his hand into yours without even questioning it. He draws you into his side like he always does, murmuring, “I got a description of our culprit from Luther. He said—”

“Good job, Sam, but hold on.” You indicate the table of couples behind you, and Sam instantly clams up. Probably because every woman over your shoulder is eating him for lunch with their eyes. “Let’s get out of here, first.”

“Please.” Sam complains, “I hate golf.”

_

According to Luther, the mermaid (or “broad,” in his words) who’d drugged him was essentially Jolene. The spell she’d put him under must’ve had some residual effect, since he described her in dreamy tones: flaming locks of auburn hair, iris skin, eyes of emerald green. The full nine yards. Poor guy.

Sam relayed this to you going mach-twenty on the deck, singeing a track in his wake and dragging you along on the wind. He was so determined to escape the shadow of the golf course that, had you not been tethered to him by your hands, you would’ve easily lost him in the crowd. Sam only slowed down once you were halfway across the ship. You found your safehaven behind one of the poolside bars, where you wondered how pissed Sam would get if you ordered drinks while he phoned Bobby.

He picked up after the fourth ring. Sam didn’t want to be overheard by any passing strangers, so he kept his speakerphone off, instead angling his phone between your ears so you could both hear. The drunken bubbly laughter in the air was almost louder than the churning ocean, so your cheek had to flush against Sam’s to pick up any scraps of Bobby’s voice. You felt kind of awkward leaning into his personal space without any way to stay upright, so you curled two fingers into Sam’s nearest beltloop. For balance. Sam sucked in a breath through his nose.

“Hey, good timing, you two. Me n’ your brother just hit the—blech—the motherlode.”

Somewhere behind Bobby, Dean clattered around, groaning with such disgust that the audio crackled. “We found the nest,” Bobby explained, not at all excited about it. “Looks like there’s three of em’.”

You and Sam shared a stern look. “Shit.”

“Three mermaids?” You asked, just for clarification. The boat’s wifi was kind of tinny.

“Yup,” Bobby sighed. “A pack of em. Looks like they were hiding in a maintenance room for one a’ the shut down elevators. What’d you find?”

“We have a description… for one of them,” Sam winced. He covered his other ear to hear better, shrinking into himself with guilt.

You knew he tortured himself when coming up short on bigger hunts like this, since Sam hated to be the weak link—or the little brother. After so many years of failing to meet expectations, he slaved away with every hunt, insisting on contributing the most and being the most helpful. He’d internalize this as a failure, too. Sam had probably created this image in his mind that, while you and him were goofing off on golf courses for brunch, Dean, Bobby, and Rufus were actually trying to help people. These thoughts welled up in you too fast to string together properly. You wanted to comfort Sam, or if it came to it, beg him to cut himself even the thinnest thread of slack. There was no doubt in your mind that the five of you would finish off these mermaids. So… yeah, maybe you’d coaxed him into enjoying his vacation. Not once in his whole life had Sam willingly given himself a break, so you’d slip it into his diet by force. He was so unkind to himself. Just once, you wish he’d soften up.

Bobby laid down your plan. All five of you were already equipped with shark tooth blades, and all five of you knew to puncture their lungs for the killing blow. Something something about the irony of drowning them in their blood, you get it. Mermaids drowning, very clever. Whoever came up with these roundabout rules for killing monsters would be hearing from your fuckin’ lawyer. For now, Bobby and Dean would camp out by the nest on reconnaissance, while you and Sam found Rufus, who was apparently dicking around elsewhere.

“We lost Rufus?” Sam barked into the phone. You felt your chest get tight.

“Hell if I know. He was working in concessions, then called me an hour or two ago and said they needed him to cover some other job. Said it was important. Then he hung up on me,” Bobby said. “Guy’s okay, he’s just busy doin’ god knows what. Find him, then haul ass here as fast as you can. Dean and I might be able to kill one of em’, but if all three of em’ show…”

“We’ll be there,” you answered, determined, and gave Bobby your goodbyes. Sam ended the call and immediately tried Rufus’ number, cogs whirling.

“Where the hell would he go?” Sam asked no one in particular.

“Bobby said concessions. That’s near the stage, right?” You tipped your head in the right direction. “Let’s try there first.”

When Rufus didn’t pick up, you and Sam started for the performance stage at the bow of the ship where the concessions stand was. You didn’t think much about why the boat had a stage, considering it also had a laser tag arena, but it crossed your mind that today’s show must’ve been interesting, since all the walking crowds had condensed into an audience there. Most of the people around you were heading that way. Every chair in the outdoor auditorium had been filled, so everyone else spilled out against the railings, each other, or on the deck, honed around today’s event. You still had a bit of a walk (and a lot of people-maneuvering) to get where you needed to go, so your thoughts about Sam from before floated back into your mind.

Sam chattered idly to you, wondering aloud what was important enough for Rufus to ditch his phone and his post. It must’ve been pretty damn important. He said this and you watched your footing, then his drawn, curious face, thinking to yourself.

“I dunno, but we’ll find him,” you reassured your partner.

Sam must’ve grabbed your hand again at some point, because he was using his height to his advantage and shouldering through swathes of people, leading you by your entwined hands. Sometimes other people would swoop by and you’d have to slide up against Sam’s back to not get clipped, but he didn’t seem to mind. He threw you looks over his shoulder, checking and re-checking that you were still close to him, still safe with him. You caught yourself doing the same with him all the time, but it was sweet coming from Sam. At least nothing bad would happen to you if the mermaids decided to nab you. Sam would make sure of it.

There was a weird intimacy in being on such a busy part of the ship. Everyone was squished together on the thinner walkway, so everyone was close, but Sam was the only person in sight that you knew. The proximity of other people only pushed you further into his bubble, too.

You brought yourself even closer to Sam, swallowing, “You know, I didn’t say it earlier, but… I’m still really impressed that you got that information out of Luther. You were just some stranger to him, but whatever you chose to say convinced him, and now we know something that could be crucial later.”

Trying to contain the bleeding honesty in your voice, you did your best impression of someone not emotionally attached to him in the least: “...You’re a really good hunter, Sam.”

Sam’s pace slowed by a fraction, and he sunk a bit into his sandals, breathing, “Thanks, ____.”

It hit you how, to Sam, being called a good hunter was not at all a compliment, so you struggled to clarify your feelings without pouring all of them over his head. “I mean it. I-I know it’s not what you want to do with your life, nobody does, but… m’ proud of you. And I’m always glad when I get paired up with you on hunts. You always know what you’re doing, and it makes me feel… secure.”

It wasn’t until you struck him with that word that Sam hit the breaks. Secure. He waited for a break in the sea of people to bring you next to him, guiding you toward him in a circle like a waltz dancer. Constantly, Sam was dragging you back beside him. Your heart did a weird little jig realizing that Sam probably liked to hold hands with his wife. Girlfriend. If he had one. Whatever.

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, drawing your eyes up to his. “Hey. I like being paired up with you too. But don’t worry about me, okay?”

You couldn’t imagine a time or place where you would know how to answer that.

Sam answered for you. He leaned in to budge you with his shoulder, and you let him, so used to having Sam in your orbit now. Smiling, he baited, “You know you get emotional when you’re anxious, right?”

“And you get snotty,” you rejoined, earning you a look from Sam so full of fiery playfulness that you were turned into embers right there on the deck. Sam’s self-esteem: rejuvenated.

The line for concessions, where Rufus had been posted, was a real mile long, and there was no way you and Sam were waiting through it for ten dollar hot dogs and no answers. Instead, you wove around everyone to try and get to the side of the booth, but it was clear right away that Rufus wasn’t inside. It was even clearer that you wouldn’t be getting any intel from the scant sum of employees, either. They were way too wrapped up in their orders to help you out. Feeling a little lost, you and Sam paused to formulate.

“...so if he left that must mean it was leading him to the mermaid, right? That’s the only reason he’d leave. I can’t imagine anything else—”

“Sam.”

The show had just begun, so he sort of couldn’t hear you over the intro music.

“—I just can’t think of anything that would draw Rufus away. Maybe they forced a crappy job on him and he couldn’t say no? Or the crappy job involves the mermaid, cause’—”

“Sam,” you tried again, with mounting disbelief.

It wasn’t you that broke Sam out of his trance, or even the crowd erupting into applause all around you as the flashy sequin stage curtains drew back. Instead, it was the same voice that had, just last week, explained to you in explicit detail how to make toilet wine on a budget. You and Sam shared a look.

“Welcome back, everybody! We just finished up with Grace, Ethan, Nicole, and Arthur in our last round of—” a dramatic pause, then the whole crowd exclaimed in gameshow fashion: “The Newlywed Game!”

“Is that…?” Sam gaped.

“No fuckin’ way,” you said.

And there Rufus was, on stage, looking like Bob Eubanks if he’d just come back from a disco-themed seance that had not ended well. Rufus had traded his kitchen uniform for a flashy suit that was probably not his, given that it was a little too big on him around the glittering, eye-burning shoulders. For such a huge stage, he managed to seem suffocated by the heart balloons, streamers, and similar decorations orbiting him, but his microphone most of all, which he clutched with both hands like if he squeezed it hard enough it would electrocute him. His eyes shifted over the crowd over a sweaty, plastic smile. You had to get him out of there. Poor dude.

Without hesitation, you and Sam began to move toward the stage with purpose.

“Now, uh, if you caught our noon show, you’re gonna notice—hopefully—that I am not a blonde woman named Clementine, your previous host…”

Using your elbows, you wedged your way forwards in the crowd, hissing out apologies and trying to even guess a way of saving Rufus.

“Poor Clementine had some hairdo complications that required hospitalization , and is currently… uh… resting with the on-board medical staff. Let’s all root for her speedy recovery. For now, I’m your Rufus. Shit. I mean, I’m your host.”

Cue the laugh track. Jesus. He was totally talking out his ass. Just thinking about being up there made you want to crumple up and die a little bit, so you were impressed that Rufus could even string together a sentence. Mostly.

“Now, um, before we can begin, we’re obviously going to need some newlyweds to fill these, uh… these chairs behind me,” Rufus dismissively waved at the twin loveseats on both wings of the stage. Again, cue the laugh track. “And for this special edition of The Newlywed Game onboard the S.S. Harlequin… we’re going to take four special bastards… I mean, two lucky couples… from the crowd.”

The audience rippled with murmurs and chatter, every couple around you deciding between themselves if they should go for it. On instinct, you filtered it all out. You had to get Rufus and bounce. Bobby and Dean had found your mermaids, so the faster you killed them, the safer this boat would be for everyone—not just your two sitting ducks. And… you really, really wanted the story of how Rufus got into this. This was Dean-level hijinks.

You and Sam got as close to the stage as you could from the side aisle you’d fought your way through. Sam was tall enough to be noticed just standing there, but you helped anyway, waving your arms and gesturing snappishly with your hands. Sam was trying to stage-whisper to him, but the sizeable crowd had frozen Rufus in place so he wouldn’t glance your way.

“Now, our grand prize for the most connected couple is, um, uh—hold on.” Rufus fished a card out of one of his massive pockets, the stiff fabric scuffling loudly over the speakers, “It’s um. Oh. It’s five hundred dollars anddd… a half-off coupon for the gift shop.” Rufus coughed. “So… who… wants stuff? Can I get some volunteers?”

Rufus swung to stage right first, summoned by a very jumpy, rowdy cheerleader dragging up her husband’s wrist so he would raise his hand too. He didn’t look very enthused. A couple other raised hands swam in the sea of people, but Rufus was clearly running on nothing but adrenaline and ten-dollar hot dogs right now, so he went with the first two show of hands. “Alright, uh, you two. With all the jangly bracelets.”

Squealing with joy, the cheerleader popped up and hauled ass to get up on stage, leaving her husband in her dust. Rufus paid them little mind, so intent on making sure he went through every step of the instructions that’d been thrown at him. He turned for stage left. In the aisle, you and Sam started shouting, so everyone else did too, throwing your competition into uproar. It just made you more crazed to get Rufus’ eyes on you, having all these people bumping into you and hollering. A picture of Dean and Bobby being coughed up in hairballs by weird lady mermaids flashed in your mind. Looping your hands on Sam’s shoulders, you hauled yourself up onto his back and started waving your arms like you were ready for takeoff. Sam, your devoted husband, bolstered you up even higher by hauling your thighs up around his middle. You felt like an idiot. An idiot at a boyband concert.

This got Rufus’ attention. His eyes landed on you and Sam, then lit up with recognition. You sighed in relief. Since Sam was occupied with keeping you ten feet off the ground (holy shit, was he tall), it was your job to convey the situation to Rufus. You gestured wildly for him to get off the stage and mouthed, We gotta go.

For a fleeting moment, you were sure he’d read you right. Rufus’ face opened in relief …Then he started to shrug, and despite all of your desperate hand signals and mouthing, it wasn’t understanding that passed over his face, but resignation. He knew you’d be telling this story in hunting bars for many decades to come. But if he was going down, then he was going to take you and Sam down with him, damn it…

Dread pooled in your stomach. No. Anything but that.

Your worst nightmare became true.

“And let’s have you two up here! Muscles and his girl on his back. Get on up!”

Sam dropped you from your piggyback, mostly out of pure shock. The crowd seemed to close in on you, clapping and whistling, until you and Sam stood back to back among them like the last humans in a zombie hoard. You didn’t need a spotlight to feel like the center of attention. For a second you held it all together and were a big, tough demon-slaying hunter girl. Then Sam’s hand scrambled back to grab yours, shattering your facade in one push. There was no time to explain or deliberate. The jostle and energy of the crowd surged you toward the stairs on one side of the stage, sucking you in like a black hole. That’s it. Your cover was going to be blown wide open, and all that would remain of it would be a smoking crater where you and Sam had once stood.

Sam used the few precious seconds walking up to squeeze your hand, his fellow gallows-mate marching off to die with him. If you had even one more beat to spare, you knew you would’ve thrown yourself at him in a final kiss of death, spending your last moments the right way. Anything was better than… this. Dear god. If you remembered right, the Newlywed Game was the one where couples guessed each other’s answers to certain prompts—and yeah, you knew Sam pretty well, but. All the questions were couple focussed. Who’s the better kisser? How does he turn you on? What’s her bra size? Absolutely bullshit questions. You’d literally have to make shit up on the spot, then pray that Azazel had left even a wisp of psychic ability in Sam.

In a last-ditch breath of clarity, Sam leans between you and whispers: “Just get as close to the truth as you can.”

That’s all he can say before you’re between whisked across a rose-petalled stage to a cushy heart-themed loveseat. You don’t let yourself look at the crowd before you get there, just so you won’t see the magnitude of it and go sprawling on your hands. Sam, your knight in shining armor, shields you 90% of the way, letting you shuffle in awkwardly behind him with your hands sweatily tethered. He starts tapping out morse code on your knuckles just fast enough for you to translate it. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. No shit, Sam.

In front of you, Rufus is a disco ball with a mustache. He does not look even a little bit sorry about what he’s done to you. You are so honed in on nothing at all in your panic that it only really strikes you what’s happening the second you sit down, and Sam’s hand truly starts to become a comfort then. You bring it into your lap and feel a real moment of near-death experience comradery with him. Sam even leans in and kisses the side of your head, but it’s not for your cover—he’s genuinely that nervous.

You glance up at the crowd and feel your head spin. It’s even larger from this angle, a huge nexus of shuffling, big-eyed people who can all form opinions about you in their heads. You scoot closer to Sam. In the end, the sheer size of the audience is a good thing, since it honestly makes you feel so close to death that your body’s hunter instincts find their backup generator. It’s fine. You and Sam were going to sail right through this. If this is hard, then killing Azazel and all those other demons was child’s play.

“Alright, alright, everybody, let’s simmer down and get to money-makin’,” Rufus says, and fucking great, now he’s into it all of a sudden. Misery loves company. “Let’s start with some names. Who am I talking to today?”

He gestures toward your competitors first, a confident woman named Regina and her husband, who after a long, long time, finally decides that his name is Kieth. They’ve been married for twelve months. This, too, gives you some hope, since you and Sam have been fake-married for six years and real-life-not-married for decades longer. You have a serious upper hand.

If Rufus had few qualms about bringing you up here, then neither did Regina (and Keith by extension). She wants a victim. Once they’re done introducing themselves, this woman gives you the meanest, fiercest glare you’ve ever seen on a non-supernatural entity, and you instantly feel bad for her. Maybe if she’d been a good sport about all this, things would go smoothly. But instead, by giving you that one glare, she has single-handedly brought down on herself the most ruthless, unstoppable fighting force that heaven or hell has ever seen. Well. Two-thirds of that force, minus Dean.

You share a sharp look with Sam. This means war. We’re going to get that money and that stupid coupon, even if it kills us.

“My name is _____ Patton,” you introduce in your smoothest, surest voice, “and this is my amazing husband Sam. We’ve been married for…”

“—three weeks now,” Sam finishes for you. He’s making them think that you’re marriage amateurs, when, really, you’re professionals at this dumb marriage thing. Fuck, he’s clever. You could kiss the shit out of him. “We’re actually on our honeymoon right now.”

Rufus makes a strange face, probably fact-checking your cover story in his head. Or squinting at your matching hats. He coughs out, “Well… mazel tov.”

He stumbled through the rules of the game for the audience’s sake, but you were in full hunting mode, almost gnashing your teeth with anticipation. Sam’s knee had stopped bouncing anxiously. You both sit through the game’s lead-in like two pack animals circling limping prey, and beside you, the mechanisms in Sam’s mind go click click click as they align with yours. The adrenaline rush that came with hunting often made you ashamed of yourself, but something about being so in tune with Sam because of it melts those feelings away.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, let’s all get our whiteboards ready. C’mon, up and at em’, markers out. Face away from your partners and do not, under any circumstances, let them see your answers.”

Sam had already pulled your whiteboards out from under the loveseat and distributed them. In the crazed haze of the game, Sam remembers to give you the dry-erase marker that’s your favorite color. Together, you shuffle inwards, your knees to Sam’s knees so you can’t read what the other has written, and instantly you know you’re going to ace this. The crowd is this terrifying mass hovering to your left. Regina and Kieth are out of sight and out of mind. But across from you, Sam gives you this small winner’s smile that dazzles you into the next dimension. It’s conspiratory and clever, reminding you in a million ways how much you love to be on Sam’s team—to be Sam’s partner. He’s bathed in the glitzy stage lighting like the molten center of a pale star, there’s heart confetti stuck in his bangs, and his shoulders aren’t wound up on straining springs anymore. What gets you most of all is the band on his ring finger, which catches the light almost as well as he does. Your Sam. The sloppy, needy part of you that keeps fixating on your fake romance isn’t embarrassed at all to be up here. If anything, it’s giving a massive middle finger to the whole crowd. This is my husband, bitches. Kiss my ass!

Rufus roots through his pockets for another set of cards. “Okay, ____ and—Regina, that was your name, right? Right, _____ and Regina, this first one’s for you.”

Flourishing the first card off the deck, Rufus read it to himself, and you listened, bent forwards so you could write full-tilt. C’mon. What didn’t you know about Sam? His favorite singer was Celine Dion, his favorite food was dilled brusslesprouts, and he was lactose intolerant. He hated salt on his food because his demon blood made him choke on it, and he wished he could wear nail polish so he could stop chewing his nails (and because it looks cool). That was just the surface stuff. You had this in the damn bag.

“Ladies… describe your spouse’s ideal date.”

…Okay, maybe you didn’t.

You totally blanked. Already, you could hear Regina scribbling over your shoulder. The crowd murmured. You glanced up at Sam, who was writing the answer you were supposed to know, and remembered what he’d warned: get as close to the truth as you can. Ten, nine, eight…

The clock was ticking. Seven, six, five… A TV beside the stage was broadcasting Rufus’ timer, in case hearing him count down under his breath wasn’t nerve-wracking enough. A beat later, you committed to an answer and bolted it down in the clearest handwriting you could manage in such little time. Four, three… A second after you, Sam followed suit. Two, one… Ding.

“Alright, Keith, let’s get your answer first. What is your ideal date?”

Keith had to be budged by his wife to answer, and he did so by lazily propping his board up on his knee. He did not read his answer to the crowd. Rufus squinted at the writing instead, muttering, but eventually came up with: “...Beach. Keith’s ideal date is to the beach,” Rufus sighed, already tired of this, “What’d you say, Gina?”

With a careful, disappointed smile, Regina revealed her board. She’d written a paragraph of information down. She did you all the honor of reading the perky cursive script aloud, which you tuned out, stressed for the result of your own guess. Did you know Sam that well? Something geeky would probably work most of the time, but you were bound to get one of these wrong. Beyond the mortification of this moment, Sam probably wouldn’t be too happy with you failing to remember any of his preferences. You’d been friends since childhood and hunting partners for half that time. To be honest, you didn’t want to think about how you’d feel if Sam couldn’t at least guess this answer for you either. Or how you’d feel if he’d hit it word-for-word.

“...And on the opposite side of the aisle?”

Sam spun his board over in his hands so it faced the crowd, clearing his throat. You watched in real-time as a blush speckled its way up his neck and ears. “...We both pick out a book for each other at a bookstore, then get take-out for home and read next to each other.”

Well. Now you knew how you’d feel if Sam was his usual, perfect self: beyond flustered.

“And what do you think Sam’s ideal date is, ____?”

Without a word, you flipped your board over too. “The same,” your pulse throbbed in your blazing cheeks, “Bookstore, takeout… then we read together.”

The crowd whooped and clapped, responding to the loud, cheery plink of you earning your first point.

You and Sam caught eyes. His twinkled with pride, probably because he thought you’d done some insane mental math to get to your conclusion. But in truth, you’d just thought of the most date-like thing you always did with him and put it in writing. Pull from reality, right?

On slow weeks between hunts, Sam would finally convince you to pick up the novel he’d been nagging you to buy, and in trade you’d recommend one to him. Thinking about it too hard never failed to choke you with butterflies. You had been doing this together since you were teens, so Sam knew your reading preferences to a T. For you it was a bit harder—since Sam plowed through books like nobody’s business—but the reward of Sam getting hooked on one of your choices was always worth reaping. If you’d really struck gold, even months later he’d remind you of it: I wish I could read it for the first time again, ____. You always know what I like. The takeout part of your dates had started because you and Sam were growing, hungry teens. But smushing together on your couch and reading in comfortable silence was just part of the natural air of safety that followed Sam, the air you were still chasing to this day.

Out of all the stuff you did day-to-day together, that… technically… fit the “date” label best. You couldn’t exactly call running from cops and desecrating graves at four in the morning your average courting activity. It was a pretty logical conclusion. But you knew your answer hardly came from a logical place, so Sam… maybe it was as romantic for him as it was for you.

“Sam and _____, starting off strong with their first point,” Rufus drawled, unsurprised. “But that’s just question one, people, so let’s see how they handle question two: Gentlemen, when did your spouse know that you were the one?”

Right. Because of course you couldn’t just be handed the win. You stared at Sam hard, trying to meld brains with him, but he was thinking too deep for you to follow. Was he trying to figure out what you would say for someone else? Like, if this was some imaginary husband neither of you knew? Or was he guessing what you would say for him?

Well. You had no clue when it’d struck you, the truth about the weird feelings squirming within the pine box you’d buried in your mind. There had never been a precise moment. Love was a tree that’d taken root inside you before you could stop it, and love had confirmed its branches around your body so long ago that you couldn’t remember life without it. Suddenly you were sixteen and suddenly you knew. On top of comparing every man or boy you met to him, your golden standard, you could talk to Sam for hours, from dawn to dusk, ‘til your mouths were cotton and there was nothing left to say. And when you did stop talking, Sam was the soft, warm, quiet void you loved to exist in. He never pressured you. He never isolated you. He was just your outlet, your springboard, your shoulder to cry on. Your Sam.

There was a surprising amount of anguish laying for you in that question. Since age sixteen, you’d been victim to the most exhausting and soul-destroying pleasure man had ever known. Being in love with Sam was the prettiest and ugliest double-edged sword. You wanted to bask in the feeling and never lose it. You hated him for not loving you, but loved him—endlessly, endlessly—for the exact same reason. Just him sitting next to you burned. It ached like nothing else could, but there was something beautiful in Sam just being there, too. You loved him. You hated him. You wished he knew but would die before telling him.

Right now, on this stage, you’d prided yourself knowing so much about Sam. You knew he was doing the same. Yet he would never, ever know the pure magnitude of your feelings for him, so the truth was that Sam hardly knew you at all. Your stupid tree and your pathetic pine box had robbed him of that chance. Some days there wasn’t a thing you wouldn’t give to get over him; just as often, you loved to love Sam.

He’d always been the one.

This was a lot to swell up in you at once, so again, you fell behind. Stick to the truth. But your pine box was your truth alone, so you scribbled out the first parallel between you and Sam that came to mind.

Regina and Keith gave their answers. You didn’t even pay attention to what they’d said, you were so far down your own train of thought. When you managed to drag yourself out of it, you found yourself admiring Sam on instinct, and fuck—so many people were looking, they could all probably tell—but Sam was still yours today, so weirdly, it was fine for them to see. Just this once, everyone could see that you loved him.

God, your chest ached.

“Sam,” Rufus spoke. He enunciated each word, pushing them out with emphasis like he was playing matchmaker instead of The Newlywed Game.“...When did _____ know you were the one for her?”

Arms stiff with nerves, Sam turned his board over. After a terrified, clammy beat, Sam explained, “I-I take care of her every time she’s sick. She’s a big baby and insists on toughing through it, so I help her be less stubborn.” Sam’s gaze danced toward yours, then back to his lap. “But I think she really likes it when I do.”

His shyness wasn’t helped by the audience’s big, sweeping aww at his answer. Sam shrunk into his seat, clicking and unclicking the head of his marker, while you stared at him with the weirdest feeling stirring inside you. It pulled and pushed at your reason. Sitting there, you were swamped with the sensory memories of those days: how hard it was to live in your own ill skin, how good Sam’s touch felt. If you closed your eyes you swore you could feel Sam’s cool hand checking your temperature or his presence in the room, adjusting your blankets and researching beside you. Those were the days when you loved your pine box and the tree it was made from.

“____?” Rufus did everything short of winking at you when he asked, “When did you know Sam was the one?”

You swallowed. The lights fluttered, spinning over you in disco-ball shards. The audience inched forward, every ear perked for your answer.

“...Um, he’s right. Sam always goes out of his way to take care of me when I’m sick,” you managed, barely keeping the melancholy grin from your face. “Even if he gets super sick too every time he does it.”

Another point. The crowd exploded into claps again, and Sam spun toward you, gleaming with competitive delight. His usual magic settled over you; the combustive mass of people faded to a distant rumble and all that existed was Sam, looking at you as you looked at him. You always thought of the scene in West Side Story where Maria and Tony see each other for the first time. It’s love at first sight across the dance floor, everything but their bodies blurring on the film, all the people who would judge them fading into white noise… It was that exact same feeling with Sam, this hyper-focus that fuzzed out all else. He was a big dimply smile and shaky hands in a circle of silver light. He’s beautiful. The game went on, but you couldn’t keep your eyes or your thoughts away from him.

You wondered, again, what way he was looking at all this. Was he just thinking of a sweet memory you shared, or was it emotional to him for different reasons?

There was one time when you’d been hit with such a bad flu that you couldn’t get a full breath in. Sam had laid in bed with you all day, roaming his palm in circles across your back and letting you sneak closer and closer to him. You woke up with imprints of his sweatpants’ waistband on your cheek, but it was worth it to have Sam doting on you. He was the victim of Dean’s doting so often that the opportunity to care for someone else envigorated him. Beneath the gloss of your sickness, you remembered Sam kissing your head and running the tips of his fingers down your arms, cooing in a soft rasp, You feelin’ better? Is there anything I can do for you, honey?

Rufus went through more cards. You answered more questions. Regina and Keith tried to keep up, they did, but every time you glanced over at Sam he was already giving you his mean little grin. They stood no chance. You could win anything with Sam smirking at you like that.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re being lead off the stage on leaden feet, handed a coupon, given an envelope full of glitter and cash, and that’s that. Someone tied a heart balloon around your wrist and there’s even more confetti in Sam’s hair than before. Rufus disappears to lose his suit in a dumpster somewhere, and you’re too overwhelmed to think about grabbing him and following Bobby’s instructions—haul ass. The audience is clogging up the exits, so you’re forced to just stand there with Sam and keep your mind from seeping out of your ears. For too long you both just look at the envelope, grinning to yourselves when you want to be grinning at each other.

“You really pay attention when I talk, huh,” Sam scratched his jaw.

“Yeah,” you bit your tongue. “It’s kind of what friends do, Sam.”

He blinked long and slowly at you, melting into the floor a bit. The shock and embarrassment of going onstage had given him a pretty intense blush you’d missed. Before Sam could reply, Rufus came clattering out from behind the stage, replacing his previous eyesore with his concessions uniform.

You didn’t double-guess if this new outfit was better than the last, and blurted, exasperated: “Now what the hell was all that? How did you even—?”

Rufus raised a hand for silence. He swept right past you and Sam, but his voice clung with a clear and tangible threat.

“Don’t,” he said, “ask.”

Sam jogged to catch up, only to jolt to a stop, sensing something crucial was missing. After checking that all of his limbs were attached, it dawned on him that he was missing a precious one—Sam spun around in a stiff circle to give you his hand. Rufus was already leaving you in his dust, so you didn’t waste a single second collecting Sam’s clammy fingers. Together, you did an awkward gallop to catch up.

“Sorry, man, but I have to,” Sam guffawed. “The suit? The, the going on stage part? How did you get from concessions to—to that?”

“We got bigger things to worry about, kid,” Rufus said, embarrassed. “So pull your—”

A dark-haired woman slithered between you, almost breaking you and Sam away from Rufus, who was still blubbering his way out of an explanation.

Oh, no way in hell. You were going to get it out of him, one way or another. Maybe it would focus Dean’s teasing-laser off you and Sam long enough for you to breathe, or at least distribute it better. Just thinking about Dean being in the crowd during your little excursion gave you hot flashes. If you were determined to share Rufus’ story with everyone you knew (excluding your own hand in everything, of course), then Dean would be plastering it up on billboards. Hey, _____, remember that time you and Sam were on a couples gameshow, and were such huge dweebs about each other that you won?

Your chest was starting to feel prickly. Really prickly. It was just more strange sensory information to add to your on-stage overload, so you didn’t think much of it at first, until the internal burning became external.

“Ow,” you complained, rubbing at your chest. “Hold on—ow! Like really ow!”

Detaching yourself from Sam, you took your amulet by the chord and split it with one mean pull. And good thing, too, since the second you did it really started pouring on the heat. The little teal rock steamed long enough for Sam to turn around and see it fizz like a bath bomb, then the little face carved into the stone sloped to one side and melted into a smoking puddle on the deck. You jumped to avoid dripping lava on your sandals. Holy shit. It actually worked!

“We found one!” You realized.

“Where?!” Sam said, and as one you started whipping around in circles, searching for the mermaid that’d turned your necklace to dust.

There was still some charred remains climbing up the chord, so you swung it around, an old prospector with his lantern. For an instant the crowd was one bubbling, uninterrupted slew of people, then further down the deck you saw it: a breakage. Someone was elbowing through.

Sparking power spurred to life in your chest. It was the dark-haired woman who’d brushed your arm stalking past. The setting sun played strangely across her layered hair, glinting like scales.

“There,” you pointed her out to your fellow hunters, “that’s her. I’m sure of it.”

She dared to glance back to see if she was being pursued. Without a thought you palmed the thin, bone-cold shape of the sharktooth dagger flush to your thigh beneath your jean shorts. Sam’s barrel chest went still with the breath he was holding. The human instinct to chase and outlast wasn’t natural to you or him, even when hunting as long as you had, but neither of you could deny it when it reared its head to run.

Maybe no one had been pursuing the woman before, but they certainly were now.

_

By the time you and Sam smuggled yourselves back to your cabin, the mermaid blood was starting to congeal stiffly over your clothes. The cool dusk air drying the body-warm blood on your throat made your skin crawl. You knew better than to scratch at it, but Sam sensed you squirming as he fought to get your door open and, predictably, offered you the first shower. Only Sam could still be a gentleman with blood crusting in his hair.

The memories of finishing off the mermaids tried to play through your mind while you showered, but the constant pound of your heart kept you in the present, eyes glued to the tile. If you found a thought, your mind lost sight of it soon. There was a word Dean had for this particular adrenaline high. Under the spell of hot, heady energy, you couldn’t really remember it, but you knew it was something you scolded yourself for enjoying. It was better this way. Instead of fixating on Sam’s weird reactions to you today, you just got a flashing slideshow of images from the hunt without commentary. The mental snapshot of him on stage, beaming in a silver circle of confetti and applause, was already drying in permanent ink on your psyche. He was so beautiful. It was just lame, how much he mystified you.

After everything was over—chasing the mermaid to the nest, ambushing the others there, getting Bobby and Dean out—Rufus figured the best place to dump the bodies was overboard. It’d taken a lot longer than you would’ve liked, but eventually, all three mermaids dissolved into the sea foam they were made from. Bobby, Rufus, and Dean crept off to clean up. That left you and Sam. You found him by the ship’s railing with his head bent, mumbling something to himself or the water or the sky, and even if you could be caught any second, you hovered by to ask him what he was whispering.

Sam fidgetted with his clasped hands. “It’s um, an Atlantean funeral prayer. Cas gave it to me, y’know, and I just…” he didn’t look at you. “They were just eating. They didn’t know any better. I thought it would…”

“...make things better?” You offered.

Sam had shrugged. He’d settled his wrists on the railing, bent up with bitter remorse. “I dunno. Maybe only better for me.”

You’d tried to summon something wise to say, but Sam always took the words out of you. Instead, you’d fumbled to warm your palm over his clasped hands, and tried to comfort him with the little sense you had. “There’s no guilt-free way to do this job, babe,” you murmured, “But I think some mothers out there are going to be happy their sons are alive, and some kids aren’t gonna have to grow up without their dads.”

“Their shitty, cheating dads,” Sam had muttered, and you’d snorted even if it was probably inappropriate.

“...It crossed my mind once or twice,” you’d admitted to him. “I mean. Maybe these guys are getting their just desserts, you know? Cheating on the wives they promised to love until death. Nobody deserves to die over that, but… I’d be pissed enough to let a mermaid eat my husband if he cheated on me, yeah.”

Sam had sighed through his nose, and a humorless smile twitched on his face. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He paused, realizing the context he’d forgotten. “Y’know. Since I’m your husband n’ all.”

There was no way for you to respond to that without bursting at the seams, so you just sat there, feeling Sam’s hands under your own and gazing up at him. Blood was still under your fingernails and slathered across your clothes and faces. Some of it had smeared on Sam’s wedding ring, since he’d been twisting it obsessively all day.

You summoned your courage. “How does the prayer go, Sam?”

He’d softened all over, and though he wasn’t really your husband, and neither of you had an excuse to be touching each other anymore, Sam had wiggled his hand out from under yours and used it to bring you close to him like he always did.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. The pronunciation’s easy. It goes like this…”

After a bit of fumbling and a lot of repeating, since you were no Sam when it came to ancient languages, you said it with him over the still-churning ocean. The waves were beyond loud and the two of you were whispering, so you could hardly hear each other. But at least Sam would know that the guilt was shared. You’d avenged the deaths of several people and prevented who knows how many more: in your book, that was a win.

This replayed in your mind without sound, just two figures over a peach sunset squinting at the reflection off the sea. What other way was there to look at it? When were you going to stop playing your part? Now, or when the ship docked? You watched the soap circle around the shower drain, your whole body roaring with fascination and excitement and liking. You waited until you felt as clean as you looked to finish, buzzing into a set of casual clothes, then whizzing out into the main space of your cabin with Sam.

Without opening the door you could tell Dean was visiting, his warm, barking laugh filling your cabin and chasing Sam around the room. He changed targets when the door opened. “Hey, pretty girl. Sorry, I mean,” his clever smile slid to Sam, “Mrs. Patton. Frog and Toad wanted to get some celebratory booze, and I want to get my hands on the shot special they have. You up for it?”

Hmm. You bunched your mouth to one side in thought. Drinks did sound good, especially after a successful hunt, but… “Sam, what are you thinking?”

He had done the chore of disposing of your bloody clothes (bye, sexy swim trunks), and had since wedged himself into the bathroom to start his deserved shower. Hints of red, like washed-away lipstick, dusted his face and exposed chest. If Sam got an adrenaline high from hunting it was already gone, leaving him sluggish and—awkward? He seemed shy. That was probably because Dean’s suggestive notions about the two of you were hanging like a cloud over the room still. Maybe. Neither of you had taken your wedding bands off yet, and you didn’t want to be the first.

“Shower,” he rasped, voice slathered with sleep. “Then I think I’m gonna crash. Maybe stay up and read. You two go ahead and have fun, though.”

Dean smirked. “You sure, Sammy? You trust me with your girl like that?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, that hasn’t gotten old yet.”

He shut the door with his foot, leaving you and Dean to take what you wanted from that reaction. Though you had been itching to get your party on for the whole trip, you knew yourself, and you knew all you’d think about was Sam sleeping away a potential good time. Plus, those thoughts mixed with some alcohol? You refused to end this trip drunkenly sobbing over Sam in his brother’s arms.

Dean knew you just as well, because a beat after the door shut, he guessed: “You gonna stay with him?”

“Yup,” you sighed. “I begged him all day to let himself have a little fun, but, well. It’s Sam. I’m gonna give it one more shot.”

Dean clapped you on the shoulder and puffed up with a big, wistful sigh. “Even the best of us can’t pull the stick out of his ass, sometimes. But if anybody can do it,” he nudged your arm with his fist, “s’ you.”

You followed his open arm into a goodnight hug, sliding your palms under his jacket and worming in as close as he’d let you. Dean insisted on being the tallest in the hug regardless of who he was embracing, so you’re smushed comfortably in his arms for a second before he lets you go.

“Run off and enjoy your vacation,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Please.”

“Somebody’s got to. I’ll knock some shots back in your honor. And hey—”

Dean paused in the half-open door, eyes glittering slyly. He wiggled a finger at the bathroom. “Go get em’, tiger.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone for the first time in too long. Dean’s whistling faded down the hall, Sam’s shower was on full blast, and then there was you, simmering in the warm air of your cabin. The room smelled like fresh laundry and Sam. You waddled over to the bed and collapsed on it stomach-first, sinking into one of the few places you’d shared with Sam and only Sam. You would miss that. One of his abandoned shirts taunted you from the foot of the bed, but you weren’t Sam’s girlfriend or his wife, so you didn’t have the luxury of wearing his clothes or holding his hand. Not anymore. Maybe you’ll have to keep your cover until you port, but there’s still no hunt to perform for. Just strangers and each other. Dean will push and push and push with his go get em’, tigers’, but you don’t think you’ll ever have the strength to tell Sam how you feel.

Five military-efficient minutes later, you hear the door creak open behind you. Sam makes a small noise when he notices you melted on the bed. “Thought you were going with Dean?”

He sounded scolding, but you saw the guarded, pleasant surprise hidden beneath his bangs.

You hide your sly smile behind your phone. This vacation had been a treat for so many reasons, but seeing Sam in comfortable, impractical clothes was really high on your list. Sam didn’t own snuggly pajama pants or sleep shorts, so you’d guess he was half-hiding in the bathroom because he was only in boxers and his tee. That had been okay a night ago, but apparently the unspoken allowance for intimacy in the air had changed for Sam. It’s okay, you wanted to say. Please, please, it’s okay. You wanted to coax him closer. You wanted everything from today to remain as it was, to have everything from today all the time—to be Sam’s girlfriend. Now that you’d had your taste of the free trial…

“They’re just gonna sit around and tell boring old man stories,” you pouted.

Sam drummed his fingers on the door, building his way up to saying something. Instead: “...But you love old man stories.”

Okay, sure, Bobby’s retelling of the first werewolf he’d ever hunted was sick as fuck, regardless of how many times you heard it, but that wasn’t the point. Sam caring to remember this about you wasn’t the point either. Before you could find it, Sam apparently figured out what he wanted to say.

“Honey,” Sam blurted. He slammed the breaks, immediately embarrassed by the slip, and only started talking again once he’d busied himself by the sink doing nothing. “You’ve been talking about the weird slushy combo drinks they make all day—so go try one. I won’t be mad at you for having fun.”

The idea alone made you scoff. You’d sat up to talk with him, and chose this moment to dramatically throw yourself backward onto the mattress. “We got two whole days til’ we leave. I can drink then.”

“So can I.”

“Sammy, come on,” you groaned, and this asshole had the stones to laugh at you. It was a deep, warm sound that made your ears tingle. “I find it hard to believe you will. So, what is it then? You sick of me or something?”

His laugh faded into a softer, more buttery sound. Sam sighed. “...No. I think you’re the only person I’m not sick of, lately.”

Sam continued to fuss around in the bathroom out of sight, and with nothing else to do you closed your eyes and soaked in the ambiance of it, the sound of him in your space, something tinking against the sink and bottles brushing together in the other room. A humid wave of what you could only describe as hot guy steam flushed out of the open door. It filled your every breath with Sam’s body wash and shampoo, to the point where you almost wanted to turn over and stuff your face in the pillow to escape it. Too much of a good thing. Way too much. You turned onto your side and away from him, forgetting how to breathe.

“Sam, you’re not some obligation to me,” you scoffed, but it came out in a laugh. “I stayed back because I want to spend time with you. And maybe—”

The carpet scuffed; Sam was leaning into the doorframe, now. His voice was low with humor. “Give it one more shot at pulling the stick out of my ass?”

Your first instinct was to swipe up the nearest pillow and throw it at him, which you did. Sam barked a laugh. That little jerk, of course he would eavesdrop. When you swung around to scold him, he was grinning hard enough to take the wind out of your sails. Dimples. Too much of a good thing.

“Those were Dean’s words, not mine.” You cooly corrected. “But yeah. I want you to enjoy yourself, that’s all.”

“This isn’t a vacation.” Sam took his first step away from the bathroom to scoop up your pillow. “Maybe the mermaids we know about are dead, but there could be more. There could still be work to do. I want to read those accounts for that Spanish trade ship I didn’t get to, maybe learn more about how mermaids were pushed to extinction in the first place…”

You crossed your arms.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, and clarified, “Okay. The hunt may be over, but we’re still on hunting grounds. I don’t mind being the one who hangs back to be thorough.”

“Sam.”

He wrapped his arms around the pillow. “Yeah.”

You clasped your hands together in full business-woman mode. “Remind me again what every single account we read told us about mermaid’s traveling habits?”

It was a damn miracle you’d never been in a classroom with cute, geeky high school Sam, because he appears in front of you for just an instant to answer grudgingly: “...They never hunt alone.”

“Exactly,” you reasoned. “So why would we find a stray one away from the pack? We got em’ all, Sam. Besides, if you really want to get to that stuff, I promise I’ll help you with it later. But… maybe we weren’t on vacation before, but we are now.”

Cute, geeky high school Sam was also a mathlete and an AP student, so you have a snowball’s chance in hell winning a debate against him. Still, you have to try. Sam doesn’t actually want to be cramped up in your room. It’s just his instinct to stay behind, to cover the fort like he did for his Dad and Dean when they left him alone for weeks on end. Though you love Sam at his busiest, you crave seeing him at his slowest. At Stanford. When he was with Jess. What does that Sam—the normal, domestic Sam who brushes his teeth beside you and forgets to make his

bed—look like? Where was that little kid who waited at the door of your plastic kitchen for you?

“So,” you beam, “how do you want to spend it?”

After an eternity of intense thinking, Sam sums up his thoughts. “Sleeping.”

That’s it. You give him your most convincing frown of disappointment, then gesture for him forward to your bedside. Sam shuffles closer like it’s a judge’s bench.

You’re just as fast as Sam is, so by the time you’ve pinched another pillow by its corners and whapped him with it, your shot connects with a pillow-shield instead of his dumb smiling face. Instantly, you’re up on your knees. He expects your pillow’s left hook too, so you feint at the last second and bounce a satisfying blow off Sam’s middle. Your victim cowers behind his pillow, ducking low to make himself a smaller target.

“That’s lame!” You accuse, cackling. “You’re on the only cruise you might ever enjoy in your life and you want to sleep through it?!”

The cabin’s pillows are ultra-soft, but of course, Sam, your gentlemen, pulls his punches. He takes advantage of how exposed you are winding up for your pillow’s next hit and baps you in the side. “Yeah! What about it?”

His attempts to be gentle only incur your wrath. What? You’re too much of a pretty princess to handle a full-charge Sam Winchester pillow fight? No way in hell. Your next one is for Sam’s stupid pretty face, which earns a mouthful of pillow for daring to go easy on you of all people. He ducks, giggling, with his still-wet hair in his eyes, shadowing them into shining slits of black. In the whirlwind of ducking and blocking and swinging, you know you get a few more deserved hits in. The face of your pillow is damp from Sam’s shower hair and your legs are aching, trying to stay upright.

“You can sleep at home, grandpa! When do we ever finish hunts ahead of schedule?” Since you’re both being middle schoolers at the moment, you peer-pressure him with chanting. “Do fun stuff! Do fun stuff! Do fun stchuf—”

Sam learns his lesson. You don’t have as much mobility kneeling on the mattress, and it is an obvious weakness you’ve been praying Sam exploits. Spitting out feathers, Sam reels back his pillow with two hands—and boom, you’re knocked sideways and on your back before you can finish.

The second there’s air in your lungs again you’re opening your mouth to chant more, but it’s quickly impossible. You’re laughing so hard your chest feels light, pampered by all those old-new bubbly Sam feelings, then fighting for your life with your pillow to keep Sam at bay. Okay. He’d definitely been going easy on you before. It’s even harder to return hits when you’re on your back, so you’re basically defenseless when he clambers up onto the mattress and bops you right over the head. Sam’s laughter fills your ears and mouth and nose like shower steam. It’s humid and perfect in ways that make your heart ache. You yelp his name when Sam disarms you, so even when you get his pillow off your face you’re utterly weaponless. Well. You’re also twelve, so not totally weaponless—you scramble up a hand to pull Sam’s hair but fuck, he’s smart, because through all the giggling and panting he seizes your wrist and slams it over your head. A hot flash of oh I think I like that a little too much captures your whole body, then Sam’s mercilessly tickling under your arm.

A squeal shocks out of you. “Sam!”

You fight. You honestly do. But Sam’s a lot bigger than you, he’s making you shriek and laugh so hard your sides split, and even if you could survive all that, he also leans down and curses hot and close to your ear, “God, you’re annoying.”

Shit. That’s all your mind can putter out before you’re fighting again. You were not raised to be a fair player, so you buck, thrash, wheeze, and feel up his side to try and tickle Sam too—but he’s already set his mind to defeating you. He doesn’t even flinch. Sam keeps you pinned with the arm he’s tickling you with, his skin soft post-wash, and every attempt to tickle him back is like playing piano on a brick wall. Some droplets from his hair get on your shirt. Fuck, he’s the best.

He doesn’t stop until raw tears of mirth are rolling down your face and you’re offering up your firstborn. The millisecond Sam’s off you, you’re already rolling away, curling up, and clapping both hands in your under-arms to protect yourself from the fucking tickle-monster you apparently live with. Jesus Christ. You’re still giggling to yourself between labored breaths a minute later, when Sam also starts to cool down.

“Motherfucker,” you pant.

Sam rolls onto his back, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. His barrel chest rises and falls so hard with his pants that the bed dips each time. “S’ what you get, bein’ so stubborn,” he rasps.

“M’ not done being stubborn,” you insist. “C’mon, Sam, any—anything. Drinking’s just one option. It’s not too late for us to get dinner, or go on a walk… The arcade’s open too. If it’s what you really, really want, I’ll even stay up here and read with you. But you have to pick something.”

Sam’s breath gradually slowed. You felt your neck prickle as he gazed at you, but no matter how much you thought you knew about him, you couldn’t guess what he was thinking.

“...Please, Sam.”

“If I decide something,” he swallowed, “will you get off my case?”

Dripping with dishonesty, you promised, “Sure.”

Sam rolled to look at you. Taking that as your cue to do the same, you turned back, wary of his fiendish hands, and felt lava-hot butterflies pour into your stomach the second you settled. Your pillow-turned-tickle fight had ruffled his hair around his face. All the action had flushed Sam cheeks to nose, too, making him glow by the lamplight. His cheek was smushed into the sheets. He looked—at home, but not how he did when he was sitting in the Impala or under bar lights with you and Dean. Relaxed. This was the Sam you’d been chasing.

He gave you a dry, playful look.

“The pool,” he finally said.

“You wanna swim?” You asked, doubtful. There was probably a Sam-loophole in this somehow.

“We walked around them all day but never went in,” he shrugged. After another thoughtful, hanging pause, the corner of Sam’s mouth slanted down, “...But, y’know, it’s so late. It’s probably closed. I guess we’ll just have to stay here.”

And there it was. Nope. He was not getting out of this. Just thinking about it put you in the mood to swim, and the only pools you saw on the road were the tiny shitty motel ones. If you were lucky they had one, that is. Without breaking the eye contact you were already chained to, you dragged over the shirt Sam had left on the bed behind you, rifled around in the fabric, and in one slow and simple pull presented his roll of lock-picks to him.

Sam didn’t even pause. “No.”

“Yes.” You smirked. “What? Afraid we’ll get caught breaking in?”

“Yes! And then they’ll check our room and find all our weapons!”

“That’s half the fun of it, babe.”

Again, Sam flopped onto his back, pouting. “Really. Cause’ when my dad caught us sneaking out as kids, that is not what you told me—y’know, after we were allowed to talk to each other again a month later.”

There was a sliver of heat in his voice, but that was about it. Sam’s mouth snapped shut the moment he finished talking, then his lips pressed together, unconvinced by even himself. The same eternal story was written all over him: you offering to do something risky yet fun, Sam pushing, you pushing back, then Sam giving, because underneath all that squareness was a very wild circle. The rebellious, cute, geeky high school kid in Sam was failing to talk him out of it.

You crept a hand between your bodies to poke Sam in the arm. “If you’re that worried about it, we can stash our stuff somewhere else before we go. How does that sound?”

Sam bit his tongue. “My swim trunks got blood on them. I’ve got nothing to wear.”

“What? You’ve never swam in your underwear before? What are you, the pope?”

He was loosening, and smiling too. Those pretty palleted eyes gave you a bracing look, “If we get caught…”

Excitement whirled up in your chest. “It’s all on me. I’ll tell em’ I coerced you with blackmail.”

Just to prove the merit of your seriousness, you initiated an ancient, unbreakable vow and extended your most righteous pinkie to Sam. For a million different reasons, Sam’s effect on you had fucktoupled in the last two days. Just having his eyes flicker over your face in thought made your arms sizzle with goosebumps. A little furrow pressed between his brows. You wondered helplessly if Sam had ever hyper-focused on you this way, but seriously doubted it.

Sam finally hooked pinkies with you.

“Hell yeah,” you hissed.

With his pinkie still attached to yours, Sam jabbed at you with an accusing finger. “I still don’t like this,” he said, vibrating with rebellion.

So many of your hunter instincts were piloted to hold, to pull closer, to caress today, so without thinking about it you brought the back of Sam’s hand up to your mouth. The second you kissed it your whole body shriveled up with raw mortification, so you squeaked out, “Get your shoes on.”

You disappeared in a puff of smoke to grab yours, leaving Sam sinking into the marshmallow bed. Hot all over, he turned his wedding band with his thumb, hand flat to his chest…

_

Sam gripes the whole way there, because of course he does. You’re used to this, so it becomes a part of the simple flow of the conversation as you pack your weapons, stash your weapons, then sneak away to break and enter; Sam being his straight-arrow self and you teasing him for it. Thinking of this as a side-quest for your hunt puts him in the zone pretty quick though, and soon you’re approaching the castle-esque main gates to the pool deck on dead silent feet.

Tonight is hotter than the last, but darker, giving you and Sam plenty of shadows to hide in. Though you’re missing moody thunderstorms, the sea wind is present and romantic, kissing up your legs and brushing under your shirts. The moon is a blotch of yellow paint blended out on a black-blue sky. The friendly, adventurous vibe you’d been aiming for goes sailing over the ship’s railing pretty much the second you leave your room. Somewhere along the walk you notice the tree-ring callouses on the meat of Sam’s palm, and you notice because it’s slipped against your own. You don’t think it was you who took Sam’s hand but you can’t say it was him for sure. Regardless, neither of you pull away. Just in case someone wonders what these two strangers are to each other.

Ironically, the most illegal parts of the adventure are the routine ones. You and Sam picked locks and cut alarms after every Tuesday dinner. The real fun is in your first view of the S.S Harlequin’s olympic swimming pool, waterslides, and hot tubs, which are laid out for your taking the second Sam unlatches the gate. He holds it open for you to squeeze through first. The wild rush of doing something you shouldn’t doesn’t hit you until Sam’s through too, and it’s just you and him in half a football field’s worth of dark cruise ship waterpark.

Sam pauses. No security comes changing out of any crannies. No lights or alarms scream to life. It’s just you and him with the ship’s pool as your oyster. Neither of you had been sure you’d get this far.

You turn to each other at the same time, grinning ear-to-renegade-ear. There’s nothing better than being a bad influence on him. Considering the giddy, conspiratory squeeze Sam gives your hand, you know he loves being influenced badly.

“What do we do now?” Sam whispers, alive with frenetic energy.

You nudge your shoulder with his, gleaming. “I guess we swim.”

Together, you crept toward the middle of the main pool. A ladder dropped two steps into completely black water, and considering there was so much of it, you were a little intimidated. Ten feet was a lot deeper than it seemed—and this was only five. But showing that shit around the boys you’d grown up with would only end with Dean shoving you in, so you might as well do it yourself. Besides, there was a strange beauty in it. The only light on this portion of the ship was star and moonlight off the sea and pools. All the water, on the horizon and on the ship, breathed in the same direction. It was mystifying, like it was all connected regardless of distance.

Finding Sam with your hands, you tease, “Don’t worry. I won’t let any of the mermaids swimming around in there getcha, Sammy.”

Sam snorts. His voice, even at its softest, echoes across the concrete. “My hero.”

Like always, Sam continues to keep you on your toes. You figured with his hesitance that you’d be forced to make the first move, but when you turn Sam is prying off his shirt and toeing off his sandals to head into the water first. You’re impressed. Proud, even. This is also more shirtless Sam in one day than you’ve had in your whole life, so your brain shuts down for a full three seconds watching the muscle in his back twist and roll under his skin as he shirks off his shorts. Then Sam’s just… climbing into the water. Because when he’s not being shy for your enjoyment, he hunts and kills monsters with his time. Yeah.

“Water’s not bad,” he whispers, and sinks up to his shoulders in the cool black water. His voice is the only sound for half a mile, so it fills your ears like the sound of your heartbeat.

Sam twists to look at you, or at least his silhouette does, the water rippling around him in silver discs. There’s a brief flash of white which you think is Sam’s smug, shivering grin. Well… you can’t be shown up by lawboy here. You chose to kick off your shoes first, then slide off your vacationing shorts. It’s once you get your shirt over your head that you really feel like a hot girl in a horror movie, left only in your underwear. Being a hunter, you identified most with the girls who made it out of those movies alive—but dying near-naked in a pool while making out with Sam sounded fuckin’ superb. Maybe those girls had the right idea.

You scanned the walkways of the pool. Empty. Okay, fuck it.

Taking a couple steps back, you did the math. Then, at full tilt, you veered for the edge of the pool and leaped clear over Sam, your shadow flashing over the water. You only heard the front half of your sick-ass cannonball, instead falling into a void of roaring bubbles tickling up from your legs. You bobbed slowly to the top, just in case you’d woken up the whole neighborhood.

Sam was shushing you and wincing the second you came up.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” you laughed, spitting out chlorine. “B-beat that, Winchester.”

“I'm gonna kill you if you get us caught, I swear,” Sam hushed. You got a picture-perfect mental flash of kid Sam in a hotel pool somewhere, shyly bunched up in the pool’s corner. So he didn’t have to speak above a whisper, he floated into your bubble and grumbled, “Ass.”

You just giggled at him. “Are you having fun, though?”

Sam sinks into the water up to his nose and refuses to answer because, fuck yeah, this is way better than pouring over research sites for hours. You can hear it in his voice how delighted Sam is. You loved being on the road with the boys and you loved Sam’s brother, but… It’d been too damn long since you’d snuck out together, and apparently, you’d both been feeling it. Point for team _____.

Of course, Sam is cursed with being-handsome-all-the-time disease, so he can’t even be soggy in a pool without making your heart skip beats. Water beads on his shoulders and neck like silver freckles. The wet ends of his hair shine and flare out all cute. He’s not as waterlogged as you, though. This needs to be rectified.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yea—”

You splash him in the face. The urge to rough-house bursts out of the stable he’d left it in, so Sam is already slicing back at you before the water you’d pushed even settles. You shriek, since you’re barely adjusted to the cold, and Sam fucking shushes you again right before he arcs a second wave your way. God. Now you have to kill him. His hair’s plastered to his forehead and there are all these droplets rolling down his face, because Sam is even gorgeous choking on pool water. You see your chance to take your tickle revenge and leap for it—landing on Sam’s back, which is sun-warm and slippery. It’s just enough leverage to tip Sam face-first into the water, single-handedly creating a geiser in the center of the pool. And boy is Sam pissed and hot when he surfaces.

You try to scramble back, giggling out of your mind at the result of your work: Sam, a huge black shape blocking out the moon, soaked head-to-toe and laughing like a supervillain.

“Oh, that’s it,” he snarls, and you’re not two steps away when Sam goes in for the kill.

Two huge arms haul you clear into the air around the waist, pulling even your tip-toes out of the water. You kick and flail and stifle your squeals, sliding a bit against his chest, but Sam’s hold is determined. Already you’re both laughing just like before, sides split and ribs aching. You feel his deep belly laugh seep into the bare flesh of your back.

“Sam, Sam, no no no don’t oh shit Samue—”

You’re tossed as far as Sam can manage, so, far, and the clapdown is just as explosive as before. If all the splashing water doesn’t rat you out, then the noisy, flirty laughter definitely will. Cause, wow. Sam hasn’t been this touchy with you in… well, ever. The heat in you face feels like it could boil the entire pool. You came up coughing, snickering, and generally cursing his name.

You tried to say something tough, to goad him to get you in his arms like that again, but you’re laughing too hard to breathe. Sam stops his barrage to join in with you, and it’s easily the purest thing you’ve ever shared with another hunter before. Just losing your minds for a full minute because you’re having so much fun. You don’t think you’ve even heard Sam wheeze like that before. You’re unsure if you could even picture it this morning.

The second your shared assault of giggles starts to break, you throw all you’ve got at him, slicing huge swaths of water at Sam until the surface around you is foamy and popping. The second you’re close enough to grab Sam plucks you out of the water again, unable to resist the allowance of your personal space he’s been given today. Two hands far too familiar with your waist and your back and your belly scoop you into bridal style. You cackle being hoisted up by Sam, and devour the happy little giggles seeping from his mouth to your ear where your face is suddenly flush to his neck. You’re drunk on it. None of this feels lucid.

Then you’re in Sam’s arms. Movie-style, his hands scooped under to press into the flesh of your thigh and bare arm. His hips cant up to support your weight, angling his top-half back for leverage and planting his feet. To support you. Cause’ he’s a damn gentleman. Sam is also ridiculously close. While you’re squeaking and scrambling for purchase, he turned his head in and you turned99 in yours, and oh my fuck he’s going to kiss you what the fuck—

It’s not a kiss. You panicked. Sam’s just adjusting, which is something people do when they suddenly decide to pick up other people. The rough pads of his fingers slip a bit trying to get a good hold on you, but when they do, Sam’s still losing it, so you can feel the rumble of it pressed against one whole side of your body. The water is black and full of a million little reflections. You have to be the only two people in the whole galaxy, since that’s what it always feels like with him.

“Plug your nose and then guess what color I’m thinking.”

“Oh god,” you groaned, amused, “not this fuckin’ game.”

Sam jostled you in warning. “Do it or I dunk you.”

The effect of sitting in his power-taut arms starts to take hold, making you stutter. “Th-that’s bullshit! You’re—you’re just gonna dunk me either way!”

“I won’t,” Sam chuckles, barely hiding his evil grin. “I promise.”

Seeing Sam’s muscle is one thing, but feeling it is bucket-loads more. In every way imaginable, he is nothing like the tadpole you used to push around the playground. Now when you push Sam, he pushes back with over two-hundred pounds of pure southern beef, knocking you out of orbit. The hand-holding and the sweet-talking you could handle… But Sam’s firm chest is flushed so close to yours that your skin sticks together, and his biceps are all surged up against you, solid and dizzying. The flat of your palm is cupped around the shivering nape of his neck. The life you lived rarely allowed for trust as sweet-tasting as this to survive, so it’s only half about Sam’s sexy muscles and the way the water beads into the seam of his lip.

“Oh, nuh-uh, you always pull this shit.” It’s hard not to feel a little inferior in the face, abs, arms and pecs of someone so built. You decide to level the playing field and utter near his face, “You know, m’ not stupid, Sammy. I know you only like to play this game cause’ you get to touch me—”

And you’re dunked. Sam drops your top half in the water long enough to stun, then you’re lurched back up, coughing and spitting into the warm night air until you can giggle again.

Sam’s still smiling, and you think that has to be a record. “Shut up and guess the damn color.”

“Bossy,” you mumbled. It’s too dark for Sam to notice you rolling your eyes, so it’s too dark for him to notice you sunbathing in his shadow too. The water is only just feeling lukewarm but Sam’s fingertips blaze inkprints on your skin.

Plugging your nose, you nasally guessed: “Black.”

As you’d expected, Sam dunked you. There was no way you were guessing right on the first try with him. When he pulled you up and you had your breath back, you blinked the stinging chlorine from your eyes and groaned. Cooly, Sam explained, “Black isn’t a color. It just absorbs all the light on the visible spectrum.”

Being a geek earns Sam another mighty splash to the face. You probably should’ve thought about who’s holding whom before retaliating, though, because Sam doesn’t hesitate to tantalize your reacquaintance with the water, jostling you like he’s gonna dunk you again. Naturally, you shriek and cling to him like a monkey. He can’t dunk you if you’re bodily glued cheek-to-cheek. But Sam can start cackling again, and he can even smush his nose into your hair as he does, cause’ this is a free country and he can drive you insane anytime he likes. Especially half-naked in a pool you’re not supposed to be in.

“Keep guessing,” Sam urged into your shoulder.

You plugged your nose again, only to dissolve into giggles. You honestly forgot to close your eyes and end up gazing up into his face, holding eye contact that neither of you allowed to fizzle out. Again, you guessed, “Light green.”

Sam dunked you for the third time. A hoarse tickle pushed at your throat from all the water you were coughing up (very sexy), but it, along with the chill of the pool and the ever-hovering risk factor, slipped easily from your mind.

It took you two more rounds to blurt, “You didn’t even pick a color, did you, you cheater?”

“No,” Sam confesses, a little too sweetly and gently for your racing heart to handle. It’s unfortunate how well his puppy eyes work on you. The worst part is that you can’t even be mad at him—you want this moment to last longer, too.

When Sam’s weight shifts in the water to set you back on your feet, you let him, leaving your enthusiasm behind in his arms. It’s unreasonable to expect Sam to cart you around forever. You remind yourself of this at least a dozen times in the next minute, the phantom feeling of Sam’s hot, rough palms squeezing you into him tingling sharp down your outer thigh. It’s such an extreme feeling that you swear the handprints are visible, like lipstick marks smeared where he touched.

Trying to hold in your disappointment, you shivered by yourself in the water for a bit, then pointed out, “You know… the water for the slides is still on.”

As one, you and Sam faced the waterslides. They weren’t much to write home about, but considering they were water slides in a water park on a water boat, you were kind of transfixed. Two stood over the deep end, one a straight shot down and the other its winding neighbor. Dean would probably want to hear about you hitting the waterslide—or, y’know, digging up the few rebellious bones Sam had in his body. Thinking about sharing any of this night with Sam’s brother put a pit in your stomach a hundred feet deep. It should’ve been fine, really, something for you to brag about, but too many possessive fevers were pounding through your body. Tonight’s Sam was your own.

The two of you shared a look. One blink, and you were racing him to the pool’s edge.

Your race against Sam ends the second he’s out of the water, since the clap of your feet on the cement could wake the whole ship and Sam’s too chicken to trip. Instead, you shushed and slapped each other’s hands on every stair to the top. Before you crept for the winding slide, the eerie, echoing court of pools waited below you. You could see over the gates from up here. Long navy shadows kissed the plowing ship, which glittered like a china platter of gold crumbs. Whiskey light lined the lounge floor a few decks above you. Cabin lights glowed in the dark too, almost close enough to reach the slide’s tower. The only sound under the roar of the sea is the trickle of the slide and the soft pad of Sam’s walk beside you.

“Together?” Sam pointed for the swirly one. His grin presses into his dimples, giddy.

“Sure,” you shrugged, and Sam gestured for you to get comfortable first. “But we’re gonna go flying off this thing if it’s both of us.”

“I think that’s the point.”

When you’re seated in the bowl of rushing water at the mouth of the slide, staring down your first arc, Sam wiggles in behind you. His legs line up with yours and you instantly burst out laughing, because you’re hunters shimmying onto a fucking waterslide. This is so outside the few pleasures you’re allowed in life that you feel out of your element. Then you’re utterly, totally in your element, or at least what you want your element to be, as you snuggle backward into your partner. Sam’s hands flounder. They’re unsure where to settle, so for the second time this night you just say fuck it and use him like a seatbelt. A soaking wet, muscly seatbelt. Shit. He wraps an arm around your belly and then you’re a bullet in a gun, shooting down the dark slide at lightspeed.

Your weight plus Sam’s tears you down the curves so fast that you brush up against death a few times on the way, only to narrowly survive crashing into the deep-end ass-first. Somewhere between takeoff and landing you lose Sam in the water. The world quiets. Your crazed whooping and Sam’s hearty laughter cuts off. You sink with your momentum, and three seconds in you start to understand just how deep ten feet feels—bottomless. The dim star and boat lights only push through the first few inches of the water, so being fully submerged is no different from being in the undeveloped ends of space. A cold and endless black void. An illogical fear starts to twist its way between your ribs as you realize that you’re unsure which way is up, how far you’ve sunk, and where your own limbs are. You twist up—the way you hope is up—and—

Warm, familiar hands find yours. They don’t just scoop yours up, but close around your wrists and draw you to the surface. You’ve thought non-stop about Sam’s hands, but the truth is that you’ve been touching him all over, too. His hair, his knees, his neck, his back. Because for whatever reason Sam is okay with that all of a sudden, and you don’t know when that privilege will be revoked. That stupid hope gnaws at you again. Sam has to have a reason for all this, and there’s no way it’s the one you’re thinking. Wanting. He hasn’t had a girlfriend in years—maybe the couple stuff just made him miss it? Sam gets touch-starved too, and it’s not like John and Dean raised him to seek that out in healthy ways. It’s possible he would just get cozy with the first person who let him in. Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?

The swarm of sudden and rotted feelings winded you more than you’d thought, so when Sam pulls you up, his hands stay where they are.

Breathless and amused, Sam asked, “You okay?”

“That slide is not nearly as gentle as it looks,” you joked.

You must’ve looked like you were having trouble not-sinking even with Sam tethered to you, because he steps in further with a gentle, “Here…”

Those hands, those maddening fuckin’ hands cup under your elbows, then smooth under your arms, all on the route to support you around the back. You’re hoisted up so you’re comfortably slung against his chest. Sam sweeps an arm out to keep you both afloat, but otherwise lazes there. Not one molecule in your body gives a shit about resisting. Logically, you should be stepping back from all this and not smushing your face into his neck, but you’re so tired of examining and re-examining and yearning. You want to be angry, but nothing could convince you that Sam was doing any of this for a bad reason. Constantly, he put your feelings above his own. Sam put your feelings on a damn pedestal and knelt before it every day. There had to be a reason for the… the touching, and the… flirting… and it wouldn’t involve your unrelenting urge to convince yourself that Sam has feelings for you.

(Your face is so hot with just his palm resting on your back that you worry Sam’s shoulder will be cooked).

Sam gives a sideways look at the slide, which you now know is the kind with seams that break your back on the way down. “Yeah. My ass hurts.”

“Lucky. My whole body hurts,” you snorted.

After a long pause, Sam bit his lip. “Kinda want to do it again.”

You chuckled a bit, but more than anything you just wanted to stay there, sinking deeper into him. “Okay,” you sighed, “in a minute.”

You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. Every single time, the same answer would come back to punch you in the teeth. Going into this hunt, you’d known some lines would be blurred, and more importantly, you’d known you’d be the one to see them without your most realistic lenses on. You were a hunter: naturally, you picked up and analyzed these types of things. It always came back to this. Since childhood, it’d always come back to this.

Maybe Sam did feel the same way.

…Fuck, it was so middle school.

Your first instinct is usually a strong no. But now, with your legs mingling with his in the water, with Sam’s fingers stroking your back, your no weakens. Significantly. Every time you circled back to the idea you just ended up hurting your own feelings. Going in this time, it’s only going to be worse. Sam has been nothing but romantic for the last two days. You’re pretty cute too, when you’re flustered. Or, I’ll be the best fake husband you’ve ever had. Then there was… him trusting you with his mother’s wedding ring, for starters, on top of the sunscreen request. You do give good backrubs, Sam had said. Sneaking off with you. Sharing a bed with you. Holding hands with you. Knowing all the little details you forgot about yourself, because that’s just what friends did. Almost skinny-dipping with you. Rough-housing with you. Racing at every chance to touch you. Whatever the fuck this was, with you. The odds were starting to stack.

You thought. How much of that would Dean, your usual frame of reference, do for you? Say to you? You tried to picture hanging off Dean the way you were clinging to his brother now, and of course, his adage floated back into your head. You’d be way more comfortable strutting around as Sam’s girl, wouldn’t you? It was all technically possible with Dean... but none of the pieces were neat. You were Sam’s girl. You were sure you always would be, pathetic as it all was.

…When it’s over, at least he was happy tonight.

“My poor wife must be so exhausted,” Sam coos, fucking with you. But it sounds a bit like he means it. Maybe he did keep some of those psychic powers, and one of them happens to include giving you full-body tingles.

Muffled into your arm, you smiled, “I’ve been busting my chops trying to keep my husband happy, yeah. And, y’know,”

“—being a badass monster hunter?” Sam winked open an eye.

A laugh shocked out of you, since you wouldn’t have guessed Sam’d say that, but yeah. A badass monster hunter. You hummed. “I still can’t believe I killed two mermaids. That is so weird.”

“I still don’t know how to feel,” Sam admitted, and you hummed your agreement. “But… I can believe it, y’know. You’re a really good hunter. And whichever lucky guy you end up with… he’s gonna have the perfect wife.”

The gauge in your heart for this—whatever this is living between you and Sam now—quietly shatters.

You’re not stupid. This is the perfect time for Sam, the imaginary Sam you’ve invented in the past two days, to confess his feelings. You understand why he wouldn’t, since you’re choked by those same feelings now. But it’s just—you want you want you want. Boiling, ugly frustration carves a hole in your stomach. Even with you tethered to him and nothing else, alone together, face in his neck and heart flush to his, Sam still thinks that there’s someone else for you. He just doesn’t get it. And you’re not about to tell him because you’re a shuddering coward, so this cycle is doomed to repeat itself in your mind forever. For the millionth time, you’d fallen into the trap of convincing yourself that this was real. It’s exhausting.

Reaped by raw embarrassment, you could think of nothing else to do besides jerk back from him and flubber, “Th-thank you, Sam. That… uh. That means a lot. Let’s, uhm, let’s try that slide now, huh?”

The glowing ease in Sam’s face crumpled. You were three steps up the nearest ladder when Sam went, “Hold on, wait—wait a second.” His voice breaks. “_____.”

You turned back. It was an exercise in being neutral, and Sam worked you for all he had, wilting you to the pool floor with a big, hopeful smile. The signs of a full-body Sam panic shut down just wail their obviousness to you after so long. You realize he’d been blushing before, purely because he’s as white as a sheet now. When the shadows part along his face long enough to paint his eyes, they’re wild, a sheep in a shrinking pen.

“We can do that later,” Sam begs you, his voice a hoarse worried whisper. “Come… come play house with me.”

You flush to the tip of your nose.

Oh?

“I-In a pool, Sam?”

He hung there. A line of lights on the deck above you blinked off, swallowing the last of the light. All day you have been put into these positions with Sam: being alone with him in massive crowds of people, touching nothing but water, and being connected to him completely in an empty pool. Absolute darkness is the final vulnerable layer. Knowing Sam, he was forcing himself to be an open, wide-paged book for you right now. But the night was so dark and all you saw of him was his scared-still silhouette… and the hand he extended to you in the dark.

“Yeah,” Sam swallows. “We can pretend it’s a… natural disaster. Flooding? Something. Just… come play house with me.” He swam closer, offering you his hand, “I’ll be the dad, and you can be the mom, you know?”

You face the ladder. Hot tears sting behind your eyes.

In your clearest voice, you lie, “Sam… I’m kind of all housed-out from this weekend.”

The hold you have on the ladder’s rail clenches. The metal’s cold, just like the pool, but Sam radiates so much heat and trust and love behind you that you wouldn’t be surprised if he generated light. A coarse breeze off the ocean bit at your wet back. If he was lying to you… If he meant something else… This would, by far, be the cruelest thing Sam could do to you. Unknown to him, Sam had done nothing but yank your chain for the last two days. My wife, he calls you. Honey, darling, he says. It would be evil to hang that bait over your head.

Sam is so far from evil.

“You’re going through all this trouble just to get me to enjoy this vacation, right?” Sam asked, and you nodded. “Look, ____… Maybe I haven’t shown it, but these last two days have been more fun than I’ve had in, in years.”

A mirthless chuckle seeped out of him, but his heart wasn’t in it. There was something in his voice, this broken, longing pitch that begged on its hands and knees for you to believe him. Sam was sensitive, but you wouldn’t call him emotional. Half the time he tried to pry some internal dialogue from Dean he was bottling up most of his own. So to hear his honesty… and you are, because it’s real and unmistakable in his voice… it slams you on your breaks. Insatiable hope spurs to life in your hammering ribcage. Maybe. Maybe he did. Maybe he had this whole time.

“It’s—we’re playing a game, right, but. It’s not a game to me.” His words came out thready and rasped, laying it out for you plainly. “This whole time it hasn’t been a game to me.”

You stop breathing.

As a hunter, it’s in your nature to hear this and viciously dissect it. A million miles away from here, the plastic toy kitchen you and Sam had adored as kids was probably rotting in the bottom of Bobby’s shed, eaten by spiders and time. It’d yellowed with age and all the stickers had fallen off. But when it was factory white and the clock on the oven still read three o’clock, Sam hadn’t been playing games. This hadn’t been a game to him the first time you’d played with it or the last, just minutes ago. The realization slowly pinged in your mind. You had never been a game to him, either.

You’d known that this hunt would put some romantic pressure on you, but the truth was that it didn’t feel like pressure at all—it’s fucking effortless. Every day of your life, you could hold Sam’s hand and call yourself his wife. Playing house with him wasn’t playing house at all—it was being home, in Bobby’s backyard or the movie theaters you snuck into or the motel pools you played in together. It was limping away from shitty hunts together. It was rough-housing like the little kids you never got to be, and forming a silent pact to never tell Dean about it.

On the ladder, you turned to get a look at him. Sam was sunk up to his chin in the water, and still, you can’t see much of him, but what you do see is soul-stealing. His hand is trembling and the soft impressions of his face in the dark are drawn hard with conviction.

He cursed. “I got it into my head that I should… should tell you the truth. Dean thought this hunt would, y’know. Give me the courage.” Sam huffed like yeah, what a great idea that was. “That’s why I’ve been weird all weekend. I-I… m’ sorry, _____. M’ just plain sorry. I’ve been sitting on this for so damn long and just—” Sam smiled, sour, “I hated lying to you. We tell each other everything, and s’... s’ gotta be one of the biggest parts of me. It… it… it sucked.”

You sniffled, left ten steps behind what was being said. “I hate lying to you too.”

“Yeah.” Sam grimaced. He retreated deeper into the water, up to his lip. Then he decided how immature that must’ve looked, because he squared up, floating toward the ladder and pouring every terrified ounce of himself into holding eye contact with you. “I know you don’t feel the same way. S’ okay, I’ve more than made peace with it—I only needed you to understand. You, being on the road with us. It’s more important to me than anything. So, um—”

“Wait,” you gathered your voice. “S-Sam, wait a second.”

Sam’s mouth snapped shut.

It felt dumb, clarifying it out loud, but crazed, hazy adrenaline clogged your brainpan. “...You have a crush on me?”

“More.” He shook his head, mortified.

“More what?”

Sam gave you a chastising, helpless glare, “Than that.”

Oh. Oh, wow. Holy fucking shit. Oh, wow wow wow. Your hand sluggishly rooted over your mouth, and in the process you slipped a little on the ladder, yelping. He’s dead serious. Sam, out of all people, would never joke about this. The same warm flashes that you always get when with him exploded across your body, but tenfold, twentyfold, turning the whole pool to singeing steam. You genuinely couldn’t think. What?

“I have feelings for you too,” you gawked. Wait, no, that sounded lame. “I’m—guh—me too. I. yeah. Wow.”

Sam laughed, but it sounded wounded. “You don’t have to…”

“I’m serious.” Well, you probably didn’t look very serious, fists mashed down to your sides like a third grader playing tough. “M’ not messing with you. Since we were little. I thought you didn’t, you know. Feel that way. About me,” you cleared your throat.

He laughed for real this time. Neither of you could fully believe what you were hearing. For such a casual, disjointed conversation, it was the culmination of a decade’s worth of—of carving your initials next to his in trees, of carrying him home, so for a minute after the two of you just sat there and lost your damn minds.

It started as a slow giggle, then mounted into full-bellied, snorting laughter that Sam matched with his own. You tried to shush each other, but in the end it was useless. Sam doubled over in the water, shoulders bouncing with pure mirth. You had to sit down, your sides were so split, and you thunked onto the first rung of the ladder clutching your middle.

When it broke, Sam hooked both hands around the ladder’s rail, boxing you in. He kept the open space between you the way it was, but for the first time you noticed the crawling neediness in his hands, which fluttered around, curious. He wanted to touch you like before. You didn’t know if you could remain on this mortal coil anymore if Sam touched you like he had before, knowing what you knew now. If he entwined your hands, your smaller fingers in his longer ones, and all of his callouses mingling with your own, then it would all be real. Your heart almost fucking burst: every time Sam had pulled you into his side or wrapped an arm around your back today, he’d been in love with you.

Breathless, Sam sighed, “I thought you didn’t.”

“Oh, please,” you uttered, “M’ damn crazy about you, Sammy.”

He—lights—up. And holy shit, does it feel good to say it out loud. You’d never felt the full magnitude of your silence until it’s done grinding you into the floor with its weight. Thrilled, elated energy swelled up within you like a hot air balloon over a flame.

Sam wheels himself in entirely, pulling himself up to your face so you can see the unabashed joy glowing all over him up close. “Not nearly as crazy as I am for you,” he vows.

That’s when it all slides into place for you. Sam was in love. When Dean had dropped his position on this hunt to give it to Sam, he’d done it for two reasons instead of one. While you’d laid tortured in bed, his presence next to you clogging your every sense, Sam had curled up on his belly so the temptation to admire you couldn’t be satisfied. He twisted his ring every time the onslaught of that’s my wife that’s my girl overwhelmed him again. Sam remembered what you preferred on your breakfast plate, and cared to do something as trivial as picking your favorite color marker while fearing for his life. He watched for you through every pursuit, and had itched with anxiety every time you left the safe closeness of his bubble. Sam protected you. While you were over-thinking yourself into a hole whether Sam felt the same, he’d been agonizing over when to tell you and how to tell you. Every time you’d hated him for not loving you had been completely unfounded, and every time you’d loved him for the same thing had been useless. All that pain and angst when he started dating other girls in high school… The second dose you got when he left for college… and Sam Winchester had been into you the entire goddamn time. What the fuck.

Cheeky happiness flushed into your cheeks. “You still wanna play house with me?” You hoped.

“It was kind of a metaphor,” Sam ducked his head. “But, hell yeah.”

Together, you clambered back into the water, which opened up and embraced you with warm arms. After your moment out in the cold, the water’s welcome washed over your body like an external hot chocolate. Sam is only warmer. Even in these conditions he’s a furnace, his every pore blazing with magnetic heat that leeched the temperature right out of the water. You’re drawn to him like always, but for the first time you have no reason to resist the urge to worm closer. Sam has no qualms about you getting up into his space either. You don’t put your hands on him right away—there’s a certain magic in just lingering a few inches away, all of your senses straining toward him for contact.

“Okay,” you gathered your breath. “How about I be the worker, and you um, be the housewife.”

There was no Dean, Bobby, or Rufus to tease him for this, so Sam easily replies, “Sure.”

You assume your roles with only a little snickering. There’s no briefcase for you to lug home after your long day at work, and the plastic kitchen is so far from here. But you work with what you’ve got. Strutting up to an invisible stoop, you realize you’d left your invisible keys in your invisible car, and knock on your invisible door instead. It swings open to reveal your beautiful, burly housewife. For nostalgic reasons, Sam spreading his arms wide for a big, giddy hello hug, the exact same way he would when you were kids, makes your throat tight with tears. His wingspan’s as wide as the horizon now, but little else has changed.

“Welcome home, honey,” Sam whispers. It is the same quietly relieved tone he unveils when you’ve returned home safe from a hunt, but this time gushing with love. “How was work?”

You leap into his arms for the hug you’ve been waiting years for, and it’s so much of everything you missed that you don’t even force your character’s ragged, grateful sigh. “Exhausting, dear.”

Sam doesn’t just support you, like before. He takes. After a whole day of you praying for him to enjoy himself, to be selfish, Sam finally, finally is. Two big, firm arms seal around your back, squeezing you against him. His nose smushes into your ear. His whole face smushes into your neck. You’re bodily hauled into him, used as a stuffed animal. It’s not for a silly pool game. He holds you because he wants to, and it feels good, and it’s been so long.

It’s impossible to resist curling your fingers into the wet ends of his hair. At this, Sam lifts his head to look at you, dazzling you in no way you’ve ever felt before. Droplets cling to his lashes and slide down his face. There’s a mole by his eye you’ve never gotten to see up close, and like everything else about him, it’s just plain kissable. Your pulse roars in your ears. A lock of hair wet hair dangles over his brow, tempting you. Smoothing it away with your fingers pops fireworks in your belly that roar alongside spiraling butterflies and airy laughter. Man, he’s cute. Christ, his eyes. Instead of just hazel, they’re a stupid amount of colors, low-lidded and sincere. Sam’s brows are even furrowed together. Apparently you have an effect on him.

You coo, “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

Those low eyes wandered across your face, devouring you, memorizing you, drowning with pure happiness. “Ages,” Sam confessed.

Since you gave Sam his hello hug, per tradition, you have to give Sam his hello kiss.

With trembling hands, you cupped Sam’s slippery neck and found his chin with your thumb. A little hoarse gasp jumped out of him. Again, the spell Sam’s personal space had on you took hold, and your flurry of half-finished thoughts clips off. Fear snaked up your back but you’re not messing this up, not when Sam’s right here and drooling with comfort and warmth. His eyes slipped shut the second you were close enough, and he nuzzled his nose into yours, squirming with the effort to take things slow. He’s desperate for a kiss. You’d cursed him for tempting you, but how long had you been stringing him along? Your stomach drops. Poor Sam. You were shaking you were so terrified to mess this up, but—he deserves a good movie kiss. Both of you had waited too long for anything less.

Your first taste of him is a little stiff for a kiss, but any leftover anxiety is… it is… God. Sam presses back, soft and open and fulfilling, giving himself over to you in one tender act. It is a thousand welcome homes, a thousand open doors and hello hugs. For each kiss you never followed through with playing house, Sam makes up for one now. He tastes enough like chlorine to tell you that you’ll never enter a pool again without fainting into a clay puddle. His cheeks are burning with a heavy blush, so when you go to cup his face you can soak up your effect on him. It is a hug as much as it is a kiss—many, many kisses—because you just won’t let go of him, and you don’t think you ever will again. You’re both so lost in it that the water licks up to your chins, but you’re sure you and Sam could sink to the floor of the ocean without realizing it. You’ve always been in love with him, but now it fills the pool, then the world, bursting from your chest in one unending ray.

It very quickly went from kissing to making out, because Sam was obsessed with you and you were hard-wired to make him happy. All you wanted was more, closer, Sam’s fingertips tickling your hair, his heaving chest keeping you afloat, his soft sighs flooding your prickling ears. He is a determined kisser. And an awesome kisser. You are the pampered subject of his single-minded focus, every molecule of Sam orbiting around you. It’s only right that you give him the same dizzying lovesick treatment, so it’s not even a thought in your mind to stop. Or look around. Or pay attention to people coming in through the gate.

“What was—hey!” Suddenly, the beam of a flashlight fell on you, and instead of jumping apart in surprise, Sam hides you in his chest while you gape. “What are you two—”

Fuck. The blazing light swiveled between you, putting dots in your nocturnal vision. Okay, maybe you’d been being loud, but you hadn’t actually thought you’d get caught for realsies. The picture you and Sam must make flashes in your mind: him, sopping wet and covered in the last of your lipgloss, shielding you, also sopping wet, as you cling to him in the deep end. It’s a little sexy. Until you squint past the beam and count three familiar assholes.

The three familiar assholes burst out laughing, pouring raw, unfiltered dread into your stomach. “Shit,” you and Sam said.

“No fuckin’ way,” Dean hollers, honing in the flashlight on his brother. “Is that who I think it is, skinny dipping in the deep end? Woo-boy! Didn’t know you had in ya, Sammy!”

No. No. Come on! Could the universe not give you one break? Must the price of kissing the love of your life in a pool be so high?

Rufus is still laughing his ass off, and Bobby can’t help but laugh too, though he restrains himself. Dean starts to wolf whistle. They’re all piss-drunk and howling like it. If you’re lucky, maybe they won’t remember this in the morning. Beside you, poor Sam hides his face behind a hand and shrinks up to his nose in the water.

Dean doesn’t hesitate to start in on him, laughing hard enough to almost tip into the pool. “Man, the end of an era! I waited twenty fuckin’ years for you chumps to quit squirreling around each other, you know that? Twenty! Sam’s been writing Mr. Sam _____ in his notebooks since he was too shy to walk past a bra store—and look at him now, a full-on lady killer! They really do grow up too fast. But I am a little worried about your standards, _____—”

You shrink into the water too, but hardly out of embarrassment. While you’re five stages into your plan to kill Dean, you remember, happily, that you have a partner-in-crime who would be more than happy to bury him in a watery grave.

If he insisted on taking this moment from you, then he would be tasting your revenge. Dean laughed you and Sam out of the pool, slowly accumulating more and more of your rage. Soon, glaring holes into his head wasn’t enough for you. The second you hustled your pants on, you stalked after him, reminding him of the likelihood of finding a body at sea while looking about as intimidating as a wet corgi. Your whole deck could probably hear you snarling and swearing if Dean’s satisfied laughter hadn’t drowned it out. Aw, look at her grin, boys, Dean drawled. Since Rufus and Bobby hadn’t yet fallen under the beam of your vengeance, they do the smart thing and take your side. Before Dean could react, Rufus divested him of his flip phone and Bobby blocked the exit. While Dean’s whining to have it back, you slap both hands on his chest and send him spiraling into the drink. Bobby and Rufus dissolved into laughter, and you left the task of fishing Dean out to them, as payment for shifting alliances. It was clear in the air that you—and Sam by extension—were not to be toyed with.

You find Sam hiding behind the gate, fully dressed in his water-patched pajamas. By the amber light of the deck, he shimmers like a mirage, glowing all over. Sam greeted you with a flushed, pleased smile that melted into shyness. It occurred to you that he’d looked at you that way before. Just a few hours prior, his gaze had rippled with that same overwhelmed happiness when you were on stage for that stupid game show. Trapped there in the moment, you would’ve never guessed how grateful you’d be to have that memory to look over. Or any of your memories from this weekend. Sam had loved you then. He loved you now. How fucking cool was that?

To placate you, Sam greeted, “See? You are a great wife, defending my honor.”

That same happiness that always tingled up your spine when Sam praised you sparked, and on instinct you shoved it under your heel. Like usual, squashing your feelings didn’t do much of anything—and for the first time in your life you didn’t have to squash them. You can show them all you damn well please. Sam seems to like it when you do.

Bursting at the seams with glee, you skipped the last few steps to him and dropped both palms on his shoulders. Sam was way ahead of you. He sinks down to meet your eager, rejuvenating kiss, and the moment it ends he shivers all over with delight. It’s so natural to have his hands on you that you don’t register them shyly sliding into yours. The sensation becomes one of a million others flooding your brainpan with Sam, and you melted, knowing he’s going through the same thing right now.

“Your girlfriend,” you flirted into the corner of his lip.

Sam’s poor cheeks smoke with heat. Lassoing you around to his side, like always, Sam pulls you until your hips bump and your arm is flat to his. “Yeah,” he smirks, “my girlfriend.”

-

tags: @daiziesssart @lacilou @cookiemumster1 @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-loou

[snortlaughs]

curiousity

fandom: the owl house

pairing: none! please don’t tag as ship!

characters included: ler!luz, lee!hunter

word count: 1,369

genre: fluff!

warnings: none

author’s note: okay, so the relationship between luz and hunter and hunter’s relationship to the emperor’s coven in this fic is really different from canon, so here’s a rundown of everything that you’ll need to know:

★ hunter is still in the emperor’s coven/the golden guard

★ he and luz aren’t particularly on bad terms, but they aren’t nearly as close in this fic as they are in canon. hunter alternates between calling luz “human” and “luz”. 

★ darius set up a sleepover for hunter with luz at the owl house (despite hunter begging him not to) because he was concerned that hunter didn’t have any connections outside of the coven and wants him to have friends

“hey, hunter?” luz asked, cocking her head to the side as she looked at her guest sitting next to her on her bed.

hunter glanced up from his scroll and raised his eyebrows to indicate that he was listening.

“what do you want?”

the ends of luz’s mouth twisted into a smirk.

for anyone else, smiling at that moment may have been a sign that they were plotting something.

not for luz, though.

she was generally a very warm, smiley person.

if she was grinning, it was likely that she was just... being herself. thinking luz thoughts.

it was like she could have found happiness in anything — and, in that case, what wasn’t there to smile about?

for this reason, hunter didn’t worry when he saw luz’s face scrunch into a toothy beam. though they didn’t really know each other, it was obvious that the human was quite cheerful.

however, this time, luz absolutely had mischievous intent. 

“i was just looking at your shirt, and i think that it is made out of a material that we don’t have in the human realm.” luz explained, patiently holding her hands in her lap as she spoke. “can you lift your arms up for me so that i can see a bit better?”

hunted hesitated, barely enough to be outwardly noticeable. the tips of his ears turned slightly pink.

“yeah, sure. i can do that.”

he raised his arms high above his head with feigned confidence and blew out a nervous breath that whistled through the gap in his teeth.

“is it alright if i touch you?” luz asked, scooting closer to the increasingly nervous wavy-haired boy. 

“y—yeah, that’s fine. go right ahead.”

hunter stammered a tiny bit as he spoke, despite trying to stabilize his demeanor.

“are you alright, goldie?” luz questioned, gently placing her hands on hunter’s sides and inspecting the fabric. he managed to quell a jolt as she touched his torso.

“you’ve got a bit of a tense vibe! even more-so than usual.”

hunter huffed, steadily keeping his arms in place while luz felt the material of his shirt. 

“i am fine. just get this over with, already. and don’t call me ‘goldie’.”

luz looked up from hunter’s shirt and into his — surprisingly, only slightly flushed — face.

the blonde quickly tilted his head backwards, obscuring his blush with his still-raised arms before luz could process the fact that he was embarrassed. 

“how come you’re so eager for me to be done?” luz teased. “i am very curious about what this shirt is made out of, y’know.” 

in reality, the shirt was simply made out of cotton, and the luz knew that. 

she just wanted to mess around with hunter a little; maybe find out if he had... i don’t know, ANY weaknesses? 

AT ALL? 

he always acted incredibly strong; it was difficult to fathom any aspect of him being frail. 

it was as if he was constantly straining himself to be the best. 

“please let your walls down for me, hunter.” luz thought. 

“have some fun.”

“i am not eager for you to be done, human.” hunter retorted, trying to distract himself from the feeling of luz’s hands running over his ribs. “my... arms are just getting tired.”

luz scoffed. 

“that is such an obvious lie. i can imagine that your emperor’s coven training had you doing some intense lifting. i can’t imagine that holding your arms up for a while would take you out. could you really not think of anything better?” 

crap. 

hunter’s fib was immediately deflated. and, even worse, luz knew that he lied.

CRAP!

“so... why did you try to mislead me~? what are you hiding from me, tough guy?” luz cooed. “you couldn’t possibly be ticklish, could you?” 

as she said this, instead of grazing over hunter’s sides with flat palms, she started to skitter her fingertips all over his torso. 

to his own surprise, hunter didn’t instantly burst into a laugh — he just shuddered. 

normally, he absolutely wouldn’t have been able to hold his laughter in — he was ticklish, after all. however, he must have wanted to spite luz so badly that his body gave him some leeway in doing so by not immediately cracking into a mortifying cackle.

he groaned as he tried to regain his composure, and looked down at the girl who was tormenting him. 

“no, i am not ticklish. quit it with these chi—hihildish games.”

as hunter was talking, luz poked a finger into his upper ribs, which made him lose his focus — but only a little.

“oh? then what was that~?” the dark-haired girl giggled. “that sounded like a laugh to me.”

“that was nothing!” hunter insisted, trying to sound unbothered by his attacker’s nimble fingers. “i just thought about how much of a dingus you are and it made me lau—rghhh!”

luz’s fingers darted under hunter’s arms, and he clamped his mouth shut to stop the giggles that were fluttering in his belly from bursting out.

“sorry, what~? did you say something?” luz chirped with a smile, adding some slight pressure to her tickling.

hunter growled, keeping what little was left of his self-control cemented in place.

however, all of his effort went to waste when luz started alternating her hands all around his midriff and he broke.

he swiftly lowered his arms and let his laughter loose following luz’s merciless poking and prodding.

“AH! NOHOHOHO! LUHUHUhuhuz!”

oh, wow.

oh, wow.

his laugh was… sweet. it was squeaky and unrestrained.

he snorted, hiccuped, gasped, and shrieked; everything that you would never expect from someone who presented themselves so boldly.

and, of course, all of these factors made his laugh extremely contagious.

it was the kind of laugh that could make you shed a tear from how amusing it was.

luz broke into a fit of giggles of her own upon hearing it, but didn’t lose her focus. she continued tickling the now-hysterical boy with a wide grin on her face.

“titan, dude! that laugh is ridiculous! i’m surprised that anyone takes you seriously!”

“shuhuhuhut up! (snort) dohohon’t make fuhuhun of it! yohohou’re so mean!”

hunter rolled backwards onto luz’s cushy mattress and brought his knees up to his chest in an attempt to deter the human’s movement, but to no avail.

this just gave luz access to some new tickle spots!

“hmmm…” the girl hummed, momentarily removing her hands from hunter’s belly in order to consider her next moves (and to give the boy a second to breathe).

hunter held his tummy in a tight hug and shut his eyes, still giggling and letting out airy, light snorts from the sensations continually dancing on his skin.

luz had never seen him like this.

it was… nice. really nice.

a deep blush ran from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck.

his smile was huge; the gap in between his teeth fully on show.

it was hard to believe that he wasn’t enjoying this.

at least a little.

luz took a moment to admire how carefree and gleeful the guard looked before she squeezed his knee, resulting in a loud shriek and panicked laughter.

“nohoho!” he pleaded, gently kicking his legs over the edge of the mattress. “i dihihihidn’t even knohohow (snort) i wahahahas sehehehehensitive thehehere! HUMAHAHAN!”

“oh, you didn’t, huh?” luz teased, using both of her hands to knead at hunter’s knee as well as his lower thigh. at this point, the poor guy was just babbling; completely lost within his own giggles. 

“what other places could you be ticklish that we haven’t discovered yet~?”

hunter let out a string of giggly curses before he spoke again.

“plehehehease!” he sputtered, his blush ever-deepening. “we can (snort) fihihigure that ohohout next tihihime!”

luz immediately removed her hands from her victim’s leg, her eyes bright and wide. hunter pursed his lips and speedily hid his face in his shaky hands when he recognized what he said. 

“there’s gonna be a next time?” she asked, excitedly bouncing up and down on her bed.

the boy let out what sounded like a whimper from behind his palms before he slightly nodded. 

“yeah... but only if you’d like that, too.”

[dunefandomevents]

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If you have not heard from your author/artist in some time after trying to contact them, you can reach out to us via email/discord and we will try to get in touch with them for you.

Extensions? I am pretty attached to the idea of starting posting on the anniversary of the Dune Premiere at the Venice Film Festival on Sept 3rd but if you really really need one please email the mods as soon as possible. One easy option would be to select one of the later posting dates but if that doesn't work we may allow a few extra days.

Can I drop out? We have high hopes that everybody who signs up can actually finish the round and share in the joy of the reveal with us, but real life can unfortunately get in the way and we completely understand! If you feel like you just cannot finish in time and no amount of assistance from us can help you, just let us know by asap! Ideally we would wish to know before artist claims have opened.

Is it possible to be banned? Yes it is. The following events will result in being removed from the event and a one event ban on next year; Lying about your age in order to gain access to the 18+ content Hate on another participant for their ship/character/content - we are allowing ALL content for the mini bang. Hate on another participant for any reason really Failure to meet the event requirements

WRITER FAQ

What are the word count requirements? Stories for this event should have a minimum word count of 5000 words. There is no official maximum word count but keep in mind the story must be completed and ready for posting by the due date. Ideally we are asking for the stories in this event to be brand new, started and finished during the course of the event. If you would like to enter with an existing WIP we ask that you do not post any updates to the story until the event has finished.

Allowable story types; Prose, screenplay, poetry, podfic, or a translation of an existing story. One-shot or multi chaptered. So long as the 5k word count is reached then it is good to go.

What is Allowed? It is open to all duniverses/adaptations, any rating or pairing. This includes OCs and Y/N stories though we want to warn authors that those kinds of stories have historically been hard to get an artist claim. If you are able to provide references such as face claims that would be great, or if after consulting with your artists they may choose not to include the OCs at all. These extra details should be submitted with your snippet submissions. Open to AUs or crossovers with other fandom universes but we require that the main character or cast of characters be from Dune.

Ex 1. Original Main Character set in the Dune Universe with the cast of Dune characters along for the ride. A-OK. Ex 2. Paul Atreides gets teleported to the Star Wars Universe and is now a Jedi. A-OK.

If you are not sure if your concept will be allowed please feel free to message mods ahead of time.

What is Not Allowed? At this time we are saying yes to everything. ((except the scenario mentioned above)) Yes, EVERYTHING (even incest pairings), so long as your story is appropriately tagged. Like tag all the things, over tag, cannot have too many tags. Please keep in mind if you are using a pairing or a trope/kink which is considered controversial that you might receive negative feedback after posting or struggle to get an artist claim.

How many stories can I submit? We are limiting entries to one per writer but your story may be multi-chaptered so long as all chapters are completed by September 1st and has been fully uploaded by the assigned posting date.

What are check-ins? These are a way for us to see what you’ve been up to and for you to make sure you’re still on track. It will give you a little nudge/reminder if you need it, but they are not compulsory. A form will be emailed out to the address you provided at sign up and posted to the discord server.

We will not be mandating a certain percentage completed between each check in but a good goal point would be; check in 1 = 30% story written, check in 2 = 60% and rough draft due = 80%

What are snippets? We are requesting 2 snippets from each author, 500 words maximum each for artists to use for artist claims. They can be from any section of your story. Literally, just copy and paste a few paragraphs into a document and send it to us. You should also include any visual references needed if your story contains an original character which you may want your artist to incorporate. They can be submitted via email anytime after the event starts until the snippet due date on June 30th.

Once claims have been finished we will be emailing, and posting on discord the final pair ups.

This year we are allowing Writers to find an artist prior to registration and have their concept pre-claimed. If this is the case then a snippet is not required. You just need to provide us with the artist's name when you sign up and they will need to complete the artist sign up when the time comes.

Rough draft requirements? For the rough drafts, stories should be at least 80% complete. You will not have to turn them in to us, just assure us that you are at that point. Anything less is at the discretion of the mods and those authors should speak to one of the mods asap. We will help you as much as possible to ensure the story gets completed on time.

What is, and do I need, a beta? A beta is basically a person who goes over your work to make sure that there are no spelling/grammatical errors and they can even be of assistance in helping you with story lines, etc. It is highly recommended that a beta looks over your work before posting. If you are having trouble finding a beta, try the event discord server. Don't wait too long to go looking though!