#gonna color one of em today & then maybe start on the last set i have planned

[raiiny-bay]

more sketch wips

[edosianorchids901]

Long Term Investments

For @book-omens-week Day 1! Prompt: character design

Crawly bent over the puddle, getting a better look at himself. Not bad. Not bad enough, honestly. But what should he change?

Someone stepped in the edge of the puddle, ripples distorting his reflection, and he hissed in annoyance. “Hey, come on. I was using that.”

“You were using a puddle?” a familiar but slightly mumbling voice asked. “For what?”

Crawly looked up into a familiar face, too. The other man-shaped being didn’t actually seem to have recognized him, although that may have been because Aziraphale was distracted by popping one berry after another into his mouth. “It’s me.”

“Who?” Aziraphale asked politely, as if there was anyone on Earth right now other than them and two humans, with a third human on the way. Then his eyes widened a little. “Oh! Hello, Crawly. Making some changes?”

“What makes you say that?” Crawly asked sarcastically.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and gestured to him, as if mildly annoyed that he had to ask. “Well, for one thing, you have legs now.”

“Good observation.” Still not completely used to them, even though he’d had them for days now, Crawly shifted his weight. His feet squelched in the mud, and he made a face. “Rainy again today, eh?”

“Well, not much actual rain currently. There was a fair bit earlier, though.” Aziraphale popped another berry in his mouth.

“Yeah. Anyway, I’m doing…” Crawly frowned, studying himself in the once again calm puddle. “Character design, I guess you could call it. Playing with this human shape. I can’t very well slither around forever, can I?”

“Well, the snakes seem to do really quite well at slithering around.”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t think the whole serpent gig is gonna cut it with the humans again.” Crawly gestured vaguely in the direction of the spot near the river where the humans had set up camp for now. “They’d probably stomp on me or something if I just snaked into their camp and started talking them into sinning again. Or trying to talk ‘em into it, anyway.”

“I suppose it would be difficult to talk anyone into anything if you were being ‘stomped’,” Aziraphale said in a somewhat baffled tone.

“Right?”

“But why would you want to talk them into sinning again in the first place?”

Crawly shrugged. “It’s my job.”

“Ah. I suppose it is.” Aziraphale stood there awkwardly for a bit, eating berries while Crawly stared into the puddle. Then he gave a quiet huff. “I don’t know what you’re obsessing about. You look quite human. Well, aside from the eyes.”

“I mean, yeah, but I need to look a little more demonic.” Crawly glanced up, taking in his opposing number’s overall soft edges and lighter colors. “Darker hair, that’ll do it.”

He wiggled his fingers in a complicated gesture, then nodded in approval at his adjusted appearance. That was more like it, much more properly demonic, and a good contrast to the enemy still eating berries next to him.

“That looks nice,” Aziraphale said.

“It looks imposing and demonic, hopefully.” Crawly grinned at the angel. “Mind, I won’t really have a chance to do much on the job front for a while, not many humans to tempt. But it’s better to be prepared. Long term investments and all that.”

Aziraphale gave him a slightly startled look, as if the idea of being prepared had never occurred to him. It kind of made sense, given that he still seemed pretty invested in Heaven’s propaganda about ineffability and all that.

But then again, he had given away his flaming sword on what seemed to be a complete whim. So maybe his lack of planning ahead was more to do with impulsivity rather than because he was waiting for Heaven to tell him what to do. Or both.

Either way, he was interesting, unlike most of Earth right now. Crawly suspected that looking at plants and animals while waiting years for the humans to populate the area could get pretty boring pretty fast.

While Crawly was still contemplating that, Aziraphale ate the last of the berries. He raised his hand to his mouth anyway, then frowned down at it disapprovingly. “Oh. I’ve eaten all my berries.”

Crawly gnawed on his lip for a minute, conflicted, and then decided to dive in. This might turn out to be a good long term investment, too. “Let’s go look for more together.”

Taken aback, Aziraphale stared at him for a moment. “Why?”

“Do you see anything interesting to do? Anyone else to talk to?” Crawly waved a hand vaguely at the new world around them, which distinctly lacked good options for mental stimulation. And Crawly had never been very good at boredom. “It’s just us, eh? Makes sense for us to hang out.”

Aziraphale looked around thoughtfully. “Well, there are the humans. But they’re a bit busy right now. I’m not supposed to talk to them until they get settled in.”

“Exactly. So.” Crawly flashed a triumphant grin. “Berries it is.”

That seemed to do it. Aziraphale smiled a little and headed back towards the berry bushes, and Crawly fell in step beside him. They chatted as they sloshed through the mud, immediately getting into a fascinating debate about the morality of eating all the berries in the area, and Crawly allowed himself a moment of self-satisfaction. Yep. Spending time with Aziraphale would definitely turn out to be a good long term investment.

[scholastic-dragon]

This is the best idea I had

Imagine GN reader showing their best friend rocket their video games from terra, games like borderlands far cry 6 and their most favourite call of duty and maybe let rocket win a 1v1 match agains them

I don't play those games so sorry if this isn't exactly how you play, but I did my best. Rocket playing video games comforts and amuses me.

Also yes, fantastic idea friend

Rocket x Gn!reader

New Game

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: spelling mistakes, Rocket being Rocket

Summary: you show Rocket your favorite video games

The constant clicking of your controller was going to drive Rocket insane.

He'd been working on a new invention for the past hour and he'd have to rewire the same spot almost thirty times.

After you'd joined the Guardains you two had become instant friends, having the same sense of humor and level of sarcasm. You both enjoyed spending time together but doing your own things.

It took some work but you'd moved some of your gaming stuff down into his workshop. One wall had Rockets desk and filing cabinets and shelves with his things and the opposite wall had your screen, bean bag and several stacks of video games and movies.

You'd hung small lights all around the room, the ones above Rockets area were a warmer light and brighter while the ones above your screen were dimmer and changed colors.

You were behind him, your backs facing each other, spending time together apart.

Rocket sighed, removing his goggles, setting them on his desk and turning around. You were hunched in your bean bag, focused intently on the screen. Your fingers gliding over the controls, moving your character across the screen.

You'd turned the volume down to the lowest setting so it wouldn't disturb Rocket and normally it didn't. But for some reason today it was wearing his patience ice thin.

"Can you play that garbage later? I need to finish this project,"

You rolled your eyes, "You wouldn't call it garbage if you played it, I think you'd actually enjoy it," You sassed back, your eyes not moving from the screen.

"I don't want to play it, I want it to stop so I can finish this, and those games don't make sense anyways, I mean what's the point?" He crossed his arms, spinning his stool around to look at you.

"I'm glad you asked, I'll show it to you if you want," You finally paused the game and turned to him with a wide grin.

"It was a rhetorical question," He deadpanned.

"It's called Far Cry 6, and I think you'd enjoy it, it's from Terra and it's really fun," Your voice went high pitched, singing the last few words.

"If I let you show me the dumb game will you let me work in peace?"

"Yes, promise," You held your hand to against your chest, smiling and moving to the side of the bean bag, giving him room.

"I'm gonna regret this," He groaned, hopping down from the stool and sitting next to you.

You played for another 20 minutes, showing him the controls, the map, and all your tips on how to play.

He listened intently, finding himself somewhat intrigued at the game.

"Here, hold the controller like this," You adjusted his hand so he could reach all the buttons.

"Kinda uncomfortable," He had to stretch out his fingers to reach the top buttons.

"It's made for human hands, not snarky raccoons," You smiled at his glare. Despite how much he hated that word, he only allowed you to call him that: occasionally.

"Alright, let's start a new game,"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rocket played for about an hour and a half, getting even farther in the game then you ever had.

"Careful, behind you!" You egged on, biting the collar of your shirt ad you watched the screen.

"Don't worry, I see 'em," He smirked, he'd gotten used to the strange controls and how to hold his hand to play comfortably.

"You're pretty good at this," Rocket waited for your backhand compliment but you simply smiled at him. "I told you you'd like it,"

"It's not that bad, still garbage but more tolerable now," He mused, pausing the game and moving the controller around in his hands.

"Wanna try my favorite game? You'll like it I promise,"

Rocket thought for a moment, he wanted to finish the wiring on his newest project and be done with it. But there was something comforting about playing these games with you.

"Sure," As your face lit up at Rockets statement, he'd knew he'd made the right choice. "Let's try it."

You crawled off the bean bag, going towards a large stack of games. You moved some of the cases, gently setting them aside or holding them until you had what you wanted.

"Here it is, Call of Duty," You took the disk out and went to swap out the CD's while Rocket looked over the case.

"Seems kinda violent," Rocket mused, waiting for your comeback.

"Oh, you haven't seen nothing yet,"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being fair, you didn't jump right into a 1v1, you showed him how to play, the best spots to hide and all your favorite moves.

He seemed very interested now, especially since he now knew all your secrets and how to beat you.

"Alright, I think I'm getting the hang of this," Rocket smiled, staring intently at the screen. Never did you think you'd actually convince him to play, but it was kinda cute how excited he looked over it.

"You wanna bet?" You muse, getting your second controller out from a box under the TV screen.

"Oh so you're a gamer and a gambler, good to know," He paused the game, setting the controller down and smirking at you. "What's the bet?"

"Loser has to scrape all the mud from the hull of the ship before we leave this port."

Rocket gasped softly, narrowing his eyes.

Quill had- stupidly- agreed to take a job on a mud planet and you all had to take showers almost every hour after you went outside. There was mud everywhere, hence why you'd been playing these games for the past few days.

"Deal," You both shook hands, you moved back to your seat, plugging in the controller and setting the game up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was so easy to beat him.

While he did in fact get the hang of the game and how to play, he moved so slow. He was a great shot but always kept himself slightly open.

You wanted to beat him, you definitely did not want to scrape mud off the ship.

But you knew if you did beat him, he'd never play again. He's got a short temper and probably get mad and swear off playing all together. Even if he enjoyed the few hours he spent playing with you.

So, you swallowed your pride and let him win.

"Ha!" Rocket gloated as the winners tag came on the screen. "Oh have fun scraping mud, loser." Even though you were dreading the mud, it was nice to see Rocket happy like this.

"My games aren't that bad, right?" You nudged him with your elbow.

"Yeah, they're kinda...fun. Never thought I'd say something like that about a Terran thing, feels weird," You both laughed for a beat.

You reached over to exit the game and turn off the screen.

"Woah, woah," Rocket reached out, grabbing your wrist. "Leave it, I wanna play while you wash the ship."

Oh you were so going to beat him next game.

[curlynerd]

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

[mister-supernova]

Missed Connection

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson x Reader 

It’s almost been a month since your encounter with the stranger you believed to be from your dreams. Without any luck of seeing her again, you were beginning to think that maybe that’s all she was; just some mere figment of your imagination that you so desperately wanted to have all the answers you needed. 

As insufferably difficult this summer was for you, you still managed to get through it. You thought it was because school wasn’t in session and that you’d be back in your element in no time once classes begin again. 

That was what you had hoped for anyways, but alas even when the halls were filled with your peers and your routine was back in place, nothing seemed to change. The mysterious void in your chest didn’t ease like you wished it would.

You couldn’t help but wonder if your friends had been feeling the same way, too. Surely there’s no chance that you could be alone in this situation, right? 

“You can’t tell me that things haven’t felt a little weird since Landon destroyed Malivore. He doesn’t even know how it happened, Lizzie.” 

The blonde Saltzman nearly whips you in the face with her hair as she abruptly turns to face you in the crowded hallway. “Y/n, we live in a world where witches, werewolves, and vampires exist. Everything in our lives is bound to have a tiny amount of weirdness.”

She made a good point and you knew that, but you also knew that this feeling was different. It had to be. 

Lizzie frowns at the disappointed look on your face and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, “Look, the most important thing is that Malivore is gone. No more bizarre monsters coming to kill us every week. Now try to stop overthinking things and let’s get through this school year in peace.”  

Before you knew it, your conversation ended just as quickly as it started and Lizzie was on her way back to class. You hang your head with a defeated sigh, desperately searching the hallway for someone who may be just as lost as you were. Instead, you see everyone going about their first day back like normal. 

Students who were away with their families are now smiling brightly as they reunite with friends. Other groups of friends laugh at a joke another says as they pass you by and you wonder if there was someone you should be doing that with.

The clarity that you sought out today only made you more confused than ever. At this point you wished that it was still summer vacation because seeing your classmates having a great first day back had you thinking that you really were alone with your feelings.  

Maybe you just needed a day to hang out with your friends after class today. They may not share your thoughts on how odd things have felt recently, but being around them definitely helps clear your head. 

“I’m sorry, Y/n. You know Landon and I would be down to watch a movie or something, but we’re going on our official first date today.” Josie tells you, disheartened. 

After the multitude of movie dates the two of them shared throughout the summer, you’re surprised that none of those had been labeled as dates, but you weren’t going to tell her that outloud. The two of them seem to be really happy to be spending so much time together and you weren’t going to get in the middle and be the third wheel no one wants, especially on a first date. 

“No worries, Jo. I’ll ask Lizzie and MG if they’re free.” She gives you a gentle squeeze on your arm with a sympathetic smile before you go off to find her sister. 

Things didn’t seem to be going to plan here either.

“If I hadn’t already agreed to this stupid- I mean,” she grits her teeth with a forced smile, “very cool study date with MG I’d totally hang out with you. God knows I’d rather do anything else.” You knew you weren’t supposed to hear that last part, but Lizzie was always awful at lowering her voice. 

If you weren’t already feeling distraught, this definitely was the cherry on top of your depressing cake of sadness. 

Instead of showing Lizzie that, you plastered the fakest smile you could and responded with, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just… hang out downtown and get myself a milkshake at the Grill or something.” 

Plan “get your friends to distract you from the abrasive thoughts penetrating your brain” had failed, but you weren’t going to let it stop you from at least getting out of the school for a couple of hours. With everyone so busy while classes are back in session, it made you wonder what in the world you did after school before this year. 

As much as you tried hyping up how fun it was going to be hanging out downtown by yourself, it only made you feel even more bummed out. Like everything else you’ve been doing since the night Malivore was destroyed, something felt off and nothing seemed to be your remedy.

Minutes turned to hours and you ended up drinking four full glasses of cookies and cream milkshakes at the Grill, literally falling into a sugar coma at your table outside. The sun was barely setting when you got here, but then it was fully dark out when you were woken up from your sugar rush nap. 

“Jesus, Y/n. I thought you were dead or something.” You lean your head upwards to see that it was Landon who woke you from your slumber. 

“One could not be so lucky, phoenix boy.” You groggily respond, stretching out your muscles and wiping any drool from your cheeks.

Looking at your surroundings, you notice that Josie isn’t around. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” 

There’s a pained look on Landon’s face at your question, “Yeah, about that… she, uh, she said she wasn’t feeling too good and decided to go back to the school.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “What, did you take her to eat sushi or something?” 

That was meant to be a joke, but the look of realization on the curly-haired boy’s face told you all you needed to know. 

“You went to a sushi place.” 

Landon quickly slides into the seat across from yours, “It’s what I suggested. W-Was I not supposed to?”  

“Jo can’t digest any sort of raw food without wanting to convulse. I learned that the hard way when I first started going to the Salvatore school,” you shiver at the memory, “Never again.” 

The phoenix begins falling into a full state of panic, “Oh my God. I didn’t know that! Wh-What am I supposed to do? What if I completely ruined everything? What if she never wants to go on another date with me again? What if-” 

Your patience was thinning very quickly, “Landon, just relax. Take a breather for a second,” you inhale, watching him do the same, and breathe out at the same time, “Go back to the school, check up on her, have a convo about getting some better communication skills and I’m sure everything will be fine.” 

Landon nods, “Okay, okay yeah. That’s good. I’ll, uh, I’ll do that,” he continues to sit across from you until you look at him expectantly, “Do I do that now?”

“For your sake, Josie’s, and especially mine, yes. Now would be great, buddy.” 

“Right, okay. Thanks, Y/n!” He scrambles out of his seat and begins to shuffle away from the Grill. 

“Go get ‘em, Tiger!” You shout with as much enthusiasm you could muster before slumping back into your chair. 

Still dazed from the sugar rush nap and exhausted from that conversation, you lean forward with your elbows on the table and begin wiping the sleep from your eyes using the palms of your hands.

“This is gonna be one hell of a year.”  

“Long day, huh?” You recognize that it’s a girl’s voice you’re hearing, but not one that was familiar to you. 

Moving your hands away from blocking your view, you look up to see the person you convinced yourself was just a figment of your imagination. The long auburn colored hair, fair-skinned, blue eyed girl from your dreams was standing right before you. For a moment, you thought that maybe you really had lost it. 

“Sorry. I just, I saw you sitting here earlier and thought you might want company.”

You’re almost positive that you were staring at her with your mouth hanging open like an absolute idiot. Just say something, dumbass!

“Mind if I join you?” She asks, gesturing towards the now empty chair that Landon left behind. 

“Yes!” 

Idiot! 

“I mean no! No, I uh, I don’t mind.” You chuckle nervously, adjusting yourself in every way possible to hide the fact that you were internally freaking out.

The girl gives you a patient smile before taking the seat in front of you, “So, party of one tonight, huh? I mean, I saw you finish talking to someone right now, but it didn’t seem you two were here together.” 

“Yeah, no. Not together at all or with anyone really,” for some reason you had to make this very clear to her, “That was just a friend of mine who’s having some lady troubles, so I decided to be a good samaritan and give him some positive advice.”

“How chivalrous of you.” Right away you could tell that she was teasing and the nerves you had seconds ago simply began to vanish. 

“Why thank you,” you smile, feeling a wave of warmth when she returns one back, “But yeah, it’s just been me, myself, and I for the night… and day… and probably for the rest of the school year if I’m honest.”

Her smile fades and she tilts her head inquisitively, “What makes you say that?” 

Oh, where to begin. 

“I’ve been asking myself that for a while now actually. Everything should feel perfect given the fact that I have these amazing friends, I go to this incredible school, I’m 100% healthy and not dying of anything that I know of,” you shrug at yourself, “I should be happy with that, but I’m not. It feels so selfish of me to say and I wish I could fix it, but I can’t. How can everything be so close to perfect, but yet there’s still something wrong?” 

The girl stares at you with such empathy and sadness in her eyes that you could swear she was holding something back. 

You continue, “Things also haven’t felt normal lately. My definition of normal anyways. For some reason everything has felt completely off, like I’m missing something. You know when you forget that there’s somewhere you’re supposed to be? Like an event and you don’t realize you’ve forgotten about it until the day of and you say to yourself, ‘oh shit, I can’t believe I forgot about this really important thing’. That’s how I’ve felt ever since summer started,” you notice her tense up slightly, but you continue, “but I can’t remember what I’m forgetting.”

At this point, you were surprised this girl didn’t think you were crazy and start running for the hills. If this were any normal stranger, you wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to overshare the thoughts you’ve been keeping secret from your close friends. For some reason, she made you feel the complete opposite. Strangely enough--given the world you live in--you felt safe with her.

“Everyone at school is making me feel like I’m the only person who feels this way. Everyone else can go back to normal. Everyone else can move on and go on dates and study dates and hang out with their friends and go to class without feeling lost and overall just be… normal.” You finally let go of the breath you had been holding in for what feels like months.

Then you start to laugh at the ridiculousness that just spewed out of your mouth, “Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry. You probably thought you were going to have an innocent ‘nice weather we’re having’ type of conversation, but instead you got a stranger dumping their whole life crisis onto you.” 

“You really don’t have to apologize. Trust me, I understand how insanely messed up life can get and how relieving it is to just vent it all out,” she gives you a reassuring nod with a genuine look of understanding that you’ve been wanting to see for months, “Even if it’s to someone who can potentially be a serial killer.” 

The both of you burst out into a fit of laughs and you swear that you’ve never felt so connected to a person you just met. It was as if your souls had met in another life and were catching up for the first time in a while. Neither of you had a name to place with your faces, but that didn’t seem matter because you already felt like you’ve known this girl for years. 

“I’ve had quite a rough couple of months myself. Not sure if I’d binge drink four cookies and cream milkshakes to numb the pain though.” 

You shrug, “Well, it’s better than the latter option that I can’t even legally purchase because I’m underage. Plus, it helps that these are the best milkshakes in town--even if they are 4 dollars a glass.” 

Now you’re hoping that your old co-worker can cover your bill since you only brought ten dollars with you tonight. Before you could reach for your wallet just to be sure, another thought crossed your mind. 

“Wait. How did you know they were cookies and cream? I know it’s a lot of milk to force inside by body, but I normally leave no trace of evidence behind. Are you a witch or something?” That last part was obviously a joke otherwise she’d be at your school by now.

The girl opens her mouth to speak, but it takes her a moment to come up with an explanation, “It was my best friend’s favorite. Yeah, we used to go out for milkshakes all the time and I guess something about you reminds me of them.” 

You smile, flattered, “Well, might I say, your best friend has amazing taste,” she purses her lips into a tightened smile and lowers her gaze, almost as is the memories of this said ‘best friend’ pained her to think about, “I’m assuming things aren’t so great with them right now?”

She sighs at the thought, “We were close for a long time. I’m actually surprised that they stayed as long as they did. I probably gave them a million reasons to bail, but they were annoyingly persistent,” she chuckles, “I’ll admit, it took me a while to settle into our friendship, but the moment I did was something I would never regret. From that point on the only thing that could separate us was death.” 

Judging by her heavy use of past tense words, you could only think the worst happened, “Did they, you know, um…?” You didn’t want to ask the full question seeing that she was clearly still hurt by the absence of this person. 

She shakes her head, “No. No, it turned out death wasn’t the only factor that was able to keep us apart. We meant a lot to each other and later realized that there was more to us than just friendship. Eventually, things started becoming serious but me being the person I am, I pushed them away and left.”

“Have you tried reaching out to them again?” You thought that there was no way two people who felt those intense feelings could completely forget about each other.

“Once, but things changed. They took one look at me and acted as if I never existed.” Maybe it was the empath in you, but it broke your heart seeing a small pool of tears building up in her eyes. You wished that you could say something to make her feel better and tell her that everything will be okay, but how could you when you don’t know her?

She quickly wipes the tears before they could fall and takes in a deep breath that you instinctively mirrored to compose yourselves. 

“I guess it’s my turn to say sorry, huh? I feel like my baggage was a little heavier than yours there,” she sniffs, huffing out a light chuckle. 

“Well, if we’re giving out medals here, you’ve got the gold. That’s for sure,” you grin, hoping to lighten up the mood.

Her laugh--that you could tell was genuine--gave you the assurance you needed. 

“I feel like I should give you a hug. I mean, if you’re cool with that,” you suggest, ready to push yourself out of your seat, “Because I could kind of use one and I’m just assuming--” 

“That would be great, yeah,” the girl nods with a relieved smile. 

“Alright, great.”

The two of you stand, moving around the table to meet each other in the middle. Her head seemed to fit perfectly against your chest as her arms pressed behind your back. All of the weight that had been piling up on your shoulders began to fall at your feet and the tension from stress that built up inside your chest began fading away. How this could happen from an interaction with a complete stranger, you had absolutely no idea. 

“Is it weird if I say this doesn’t feel weird?” You ask with the side of your head leaned against hers. 

“Well, I think things are only weird when someone makes it weird.” 

You pause for a moment, “Do you think this feels weird?”

She laughs and you know for a fact that she could hear your heart skip a beat, “No. I don’t.”

You fight the goofy grin from appearing on your face, but fail miserably, “Okay, good.” 

Part of you was afraid of what’ll happen the moment you separate. You had no idea when would be the next time you see this girl or if there was going to be a next time. This was the first day in a while when you didn’t feel lost, instead you felt that this was exactly where you needed to be. You felt normal.

Before you could actually start making things weird, you begin to pull away from her embrace, “Well, tonight I learned that I can click with a stranger within a span of ten minutes give or take, so thank you for that.”

She smiles, “Thank you, too.”

“I think it’s safe to say that we’re at the point of learning each other’s names now.” 

“Yes, because why start with those when we could just tell our whole life stories and share an intimate hug first?”

“Exactly! Actually, you know what? I think we should get married in Vegas really quick and we’ll just figure out our names during the vows section of the wedding ceremony. Whatever we come up with in the moment will just be how we refer to each other for the rest of our lives,” you joke. 

“You’re absolutely right.” Wow, a girl who can keep up with your sarcasm without thinking you’re a complete--huge emphasis on complete--idiot? She is the girl of your dreams--literally and metaphorically. 

You stared down at her in wonder, hoping to God that you’re not dreaming and that this interaction has been real, “It’s, uh, it’s Y/n by the way. My name. Y/n L/n.” 

“Hope. Hope Marshall,” she reveals and a victorious smile appears on your lips when you finally have a name to match a face. 

Your smile quickly drops when the clock tower starts going off and you realize that it’s nearly midnight, “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you tonight, Hope. I'm sorry to cut the rest of the evening short, but my school just got a new headmaster and unfortunately he’s a lot more strict on our curfew than our previous one. Don’t want to turn into a pumpkin, you know?” 

She chuckles, “No worries at all. It was nice meeting you, too, Y/n,” Hope smiles and you can tell that she didn’t want to leave. If you were being honest, you really didn’t want to either. 

Neither of you could find the energy to be the first person to walk away. To do that would be like trying to separate two annoyingly strong and stubborn magnets apart.

As much as you wanted to spend the whole night learning more about each other, you also didn’t want to be put in detention on the first day back at school. 

Unwillingly, you take the first step backwards without wanting to fully turn away from your newfound acquaintance, “Thanks again for the chat. I hope to see you again very soon, Marshall.”  

Hope rolls her eyes, but can’t contain a smile, “Only if you’re lucky.”

“I think I like my chances,” you wink playfully before turning your heel to make your way back to the school feeling the most energized you’ve felt in a long time.

~

apologies for the later update than usual with this series and I apologize in advance if it takes a while for part 6 to be posted. I’m in a bit of a writing funk right now and my mind is currently locked onto the Wilds soooo there may or may not be imagines for that fandom coming from me soon. anyways, happy late 2021 and here’s to hoping this year isn’t complete shit! much love y’all

taglist: @chicken-wang09​ @trikruismybitch​ @sodangtired​

[idesofrevolution]

Welp as you can guess, Biker TF won the poll. So here we go kids.

It’d been weeks since I had... become who I am today. I’m still learning how to wield the power that Miss Marie had given me- and there were a few mistakes made along the way. But at the end of the day, I’d grown into a much more competent practitioner, so I decided one drunken evening to treat myself. After a delicious evening with a hunky biker bear, I’d convinced him to let me have his spare set of wheels. Riding came naturally to me- the open road and the wind rushing against me gives such a sense of freedom. It’s hard to explain. We still ride down the backroads outside of town just about once a week, although I’m sure the cruising spot in the bayou clearing does certainly help instigate such rides.

It was one summer afternoon after one such ride and rendezvous, wafting with the stench of sweat and sex, that I came across a young hitchhiker. He was young, maybe 21 or so with gorgeous ebony skin and a lean slender frame. I pulled over, and he quickly ran over to me.

“Hey, are you going as far as town?” His voice was frail and weak. A timbre of defeat echoed from the back of his throat, he’d clearly been through a lot. 

“Sure am. Here, hop on and take the spare helmet.” I smiled at him, and he coyly avoided my glance. He awkwardly mounted the bike, nearly tipping us over. “Never ridden before? Aight, put your arms here, and keep your feet up.” I gently guided his wrists around my waist and he tightly held on, nearly knocking the wind out of me. As we took off, he clutched me even tighter. Riding down the road, I could sense he was a broken kid. The air of sadness permeated his energy, and shaded every ounce of his body language. I don’t think he ever realized just how beautiful a soul he had.

About ten minutes of riding, I noticed we were nearly running on fumes. Luckily, an exit sign harked a little good fortune with a Shell station off the road. We pulled over at the nearest gas pump, and dismounted. 

“I’m gonna fill up, take this and get yourself something to eat man, you’re skin and bones!” I handed him a $20, and he looked at me as if I had three horns and purple skin. He blushed and walked toward the convenience store, but turned back to ask if I needed anything.

I looked at him, standing there against the cinderblock building and decided that he would get the help he deserved. If from nobody else, he would get it from me. I shook my head no, and he entered the store. Filling the tank took all of five minutes before it had topped off. I slid my card in, paid my dues and started to put my gloves back on before I noticed he had not come back out. To my left was another bike, sitting vacant and alone. Alarm bells went off and I rushed into the convenience store. 

I opened the door and could immediately hear the shouting. Behind the counter some teenage dumbass was fuckin around on his phone, not thinking a thing of the brazen diatribe that was filling the room. There, behind the wall of Doritos, Pretzels, and Slim Jims was the young kid, and a big hulking stag of a man shouting with his chest all puffed up like a blowfish. The foul, revolting shit that spewed from that mans mouth was beyond anything that I’d care to repeat in any way here, but when I say it was in reference to his ancestry I’m sure you can fill in the blanks. Grabbing his shoulder like a vice grip, I was about to teach this man what’s what.

“I think it’s time for you pipe the fuck down.” The man turned to me, covered in grease and stinking from days of riding in the summer heat. You know the type, ripped up and stained wife beater with tight, patched jeans; topped off with big beat up harness boots that were clearly two sizes too big. He sneered, sizing me up to see where his chances were in this fight. 

“Ahh, so you’re gonna be this little fuck’s hero, huh? You’re gonna be his WHITE knight, huh? See, I’m just letting him know that in these parts, it’d be best if he just fucked right off.” I’ll be the first to acknowledge that I have a bit of a temper issue which can get the best of me.. In the particular instance, however, I’d say I’m proud as all hell that I held that white trash by the throat about a sold foot above the ground. Tossing him aside, he landed against the aisle shelves like a ragdoll. I smirked, and figured out just how I would help this young man.

“Come on over, kid.” I waved him over, and he sheepishly plodded over to us. The racist tried in vain to pull himself up off the ground, but my size 13 Vans against his big burly chest had him pinned like a mouse in a trap. “I think this man needs a bit of an education, don’t you?” The kid smiled, looking down. I gently held his chin up. “And you need a confidence boost.” 

“Ah, your fuckin’ queers too! I shoulda gue...” I shoved my foot into his stupid maw, silencing him for the last time. I turned to my soon to be apprentice and smiled. I pushed a bit harder, watching my shoe sink further and further into that piece of shit’s mouth, before my entire foot was engulfed by his stretched head. The kid looked in awe as our prey squirmed and fought, and I think it was at this point that the situation clicked in his mind.

“Yeah, hows my foot taste, bitch? They sure stink to high hell, they’re my favorite pair. Kinda jealous of you to be honest.” I wriggled my foot inside his head, watching the outline of my high tops slide around under his skin. I’d played around with him long enough. I turned to the kid, who I’d noticed was tenting ever so slightly and winked. “Might wanna get rid of your threads, bud, you’re not gonna need ‘em.” With a quick jerk of my knee, my foot slipped out of his mouth, his head returning to normal. 

“You stupid fucks, I’m gonna fuckin kill you!” He would never get the chance. In fact, he was about to learn first hand what it’s like to have a healthy amount of melanin. With his clothes chucked aside, and his manhood at full mast, the kid walked toward the writing man. He gingerly put a single toe into his mouth, and pushed. His foot slipped effortlessly into the man’s throat, and quickly tugging at the corners of his mouth, he slipped foot number two in. The man was wriggling like a worm, I’m sure desperately trying to spew empty threats to ward us off. The sight of the kid’s lowering ass onto his stretched face caused a little bit of a muffled shriek to escape his cords. Now, musky, sweaty hitchhiker ass would be a treat to me on even the worst of days, but evidently some just can’t appreciate it’s mouthwatering flavor and scent. With his crack nuzzled right down on the good old boy’s nose, he began to pull on the man’s legs.

I watched proudly as his feet slipped downward, distorting his muscles under the tight confines of his jeans, before a sharp pop landed them inside the destroyed boots. They fit perfectly now, and I could just begin to smell the strong funk of greasy, funky socks and feet. The kid kept sliding into his body, his midsection growing and seemingly inflating with strong muscles. The old tank began to tear and rip, before it was shredded by the sheer mass of the inked, mocha colored abs and pecs that prominently burst forward. 

The kid’s face was in full elation, as he squeezed his arms down the throat, pulling the skin above his shoulders with a loud snap. His arms slipped into place; thick biceps and forearms bubbling outward from the man’s already impressive musculature. His tatted hands flexed, the new sensation of calloused fingertips and meaty palms seemingly fascinated him as he began to rub his new body.

I removed my foot from my new friend’s chest, and helped him up. This man was a beast! Towering to a massive 6′5, he was bigger, broader, and stronger than me- and I’ll admit... it was hot seeing this hulking, musky hunk standing before me with the youthful, boyish face of an early twenty-something. I eagerly awaited the final stretch as he pawed the whimpering final mask of the former racist’s face. Grabbing it by the nose, he pulled ever so slowly, savoring every second the slimy flesh slipped over his head until it snapped loudly into place. He adjusted his new face as the dark complexion flowed up his neck and across his scalp and jaw. He opened his dark brown eyes and smiled a million dollar smile at me.

“Now this is what I’m talkin’ about man!” The only word that came to my mind was stunning. His exterior finally matched his interior: sexy, proud, and strong. “Oh shit...” He looked downward, and within seconds I knew exactly what the issue was. Speaking from experience, not all the adjustments are as easy, so I decided my assistance was required. Getting down onto my knees, I unzipped his jeans, pulling them down. It revealed the yellowed, reeking jockstrap beneath which nearly concealed the problem area. 

Glued down behind his skin was the outline of his cock and balls. Just as I thought. Pulling down the jockstrap, I grabbed the hollow shaft and sac, tugging it up and down. Little by little his cock slid toward the chasm before it fully slipped in with a loud schlorp! When I tell you that cock grew into a footlong dong in seconds... with two sweat-dripping golf balls hanging low to garnish... I couldn’t restrain myself. I took it in my mouth, licking up every droplet of salty sweet sweat, pumping the precum out of it like a faucet. He grabbed the back of my head, thrusting his horse cock down my throat, fucking it like a fleshlight. His smelly balls slapped against my chin, and I could feel them engorging, getting ready to blow. 

And blow they did. Rope after rope. Straight down my throat. Every cup of it was whatever sadness, whatever insecurities, whatever weights held him down; now completely purged. He pulled out and I pulled my apprentice into deep kiss. This is who he truly was, and it was a fitting circumstance for it to happen. We turned to the slackjawed cashier, who evidently witnessed everything. I tossed him a $100, and we left. Hopping on our bikes, we headed back to town. The things I was going to teach dear Antoine here were going to blow his mind, and potentially his load too.

Okay kids. So there you have it. This was a long motherfucker and I’m sure it’s the longest I’ve ever written. If you haven’t guessed by now, each installment of Sebastian’s stories will be focused on punishing hate. This is what’s brought me out of retirement, and this is what I love writing now. I’ll of course listen to the feedback that y’all have provided me- I will do one-offs still. In fact, I’ll probably do a one-off next. Let me know what y’all think in my askbox. Thank you guys so much for all the support you’ve shown me.

[highly-opinionated-ramblings]

There’s something wrong with my eye,” Simmons announces loudly.

No one answers him.

“I said, there’s something wrong with my eye!” he repeats, louder this time.

“So?!” Grif hollers back from down the hall. “What the fuck do you want me to do about it?!” 

“I want you to get in here and offer to do something about it!”

“What exactly do you expect me to be able to do about it?” Grif asks, appearing in Simmon’s doorway, looking disgruntled. He’s holding a well-worn comic book in one hand, one finger stuck between the pages to mark his place. “Do I look like a fucking medic to you?”

“My <em>mechanical</em> eye, doofus,” Simmons says flatly. Comics are the only thing he ever willingly reads. Simmons always tries to make sure they have enough left over in their monthly budget to get the latest issues shipped to their base.

“How does that make any difference?” Grif demands. “Go ask Sarge for help. Or Lopez.”

“They’re not here, though, and you are.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t want to get up. I don’t know if my legs will work right.”

“Wait, what?”

“Last time I had a glitch it made my knee-jerk reaction go off spontaneously and I accidentally kicked Sarge in the-”

“I don’t wanna know! Look, are you sure we shouldn’t just fetch Lopez?”

“I think it’s probably just a screw loose,” Simmons says, offhand. Easy fix. “Messing up the wiring in my brain.”

“Why is your eye wired into your brain?”

“Everything is wired into my brain, dummy. It wouldn’t work otherwise. 

“That seems like really bad planning.”

“Your eyes are wired into your brain, too.”

“Mine are organic! You lose one screw and it messes up everything!”

“Grif, you’re so useless! Are you going to help me or not?”

“Alright! Jeez, what’s eating you today?”

“Oops, sorry. The glitch is making it hard to control what’s coming out of my mouth. I just keep uncontrollably blurting out everything I’m thinking.”

“That’s what you do every day. Are you sure that’s part of it?”

“Shut up! I find this situation very frustrating and inconvenient. I wish you would hurry up and screw my missing piece back in.”

“Maybe you should say that last bit a bit louder, I don’t think Tucker heard you that time.”

“Grif, sometimes I sincerely do not like you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take your helmet off, then, let me get a look at this.”

Simmons reaches up and carefully removes his helmet, as instructed. Grif reaches over and carefully lays his comic down on Simmons’ desk before moving closer.

“Oh, I see it now. It’s this one right here, barely hanging in there by a thread. Dude, I think this whole, uh, face-plate thing is hanging crooked on here.”

“Well, fix it!”

“Alright already! Where’s a screwdriver?”

“In that drawer.”

Grif pulls off his own helmet and sets it aside, pulling open the indicated drawer and rummaging through the clutter inside.

“Is this the right one?”

“No, you need the purple one.”

“This one is purple!”

“No, it’s not, it’s blue!”

“Is this malfunction making you colorblind, too? It’s fucking purple! Look, here, give me the screw. See? This is the right size!”

Grif brandishes the screwdriver in front of him, for emphasis. Simmons stares at it for a moment.

“Grif I think the malfunction is messing with my color vision too.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Grif leans in and reaches out to adjust the metal plating on Simmons’ face back into place. Simmons blinks, hard, and suddenly the handle of the screwdriver looks a little bit more purple.

“Is this going to, like...hurt you?” Grif asks, pausing with the screwdriver in his hand.

“No,” Simmons assures him. The screw itself is only about half an inch long. Not nearly long enough to poke through far enough to do any damage.

“Alright then, hang tight.”

Grif lines the screw up and starts fumbling with it, frowning.

“It doesn’t want to go back in...”

“You have to hold it straight.”

“I’m trying! It’s at a weird angle. Stop turning your head.”

“Wow, your hands are like...really warm. That’s weird. Or maybe my face is just cold? Is my face cold?”

“Shut up,” Grif grumbles, “you’re distracting me.”

“Sorry. I’m just feeling a little, uhhhh, vulnerable. And nervous.”

“Stop fidgeting.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m just not really comfortable with the idea of you being so close to me?”

“Hey, I offered to go get Lopez, and you said no.”

“Oh, it’s not because I don’t think you’re capable-”

“I said stop fidgeting!”

“-it’s because I find you very attractive.”

“Wait, what?!”

“What?!”

“Oh my god, Simmons, get a fucking grip!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Sit still, you’re gonna make me drop the screw again-”

“I didn’t mean to say that!”

“For the love of fucking- sit down!”

Grif takes one hand away from Simmons’ face and grabs him tightly by the shoulder. Simmons makes an especially undignified high-pitched sound of distress, and freezes in place.

“You’re a dumbass, and I hate you,” Grif growls. 

“I’m really sorry. I never told you that because I thought it would be awkward aaaaaaaand it turns out I was right. I’m sorry.”

“For the last time, sit fucking still.”

“I didn’t want to make things weird, especially since we’ve been living together since, well, basically forever now.”

“Shut up.”

“But the truth is, I know you really just don’t like to shave, because you’re lazy, but I think it’s nice how you always have some kind of stubble situation going o-”

“Simmons, for the love of god, if you’ve got to talk, go back to talking about something that’s not me!”

“I can’t control it!”

“I’m fixing your damn screw as fast as I can, but if you say one more thing about me I’m leaving right now!”

“I think Doc is attractive, too?” Simmons confesses, in a desperate attempt to steer his ridiculous and increasingly-panicky word-vomit trainwreck in another direction.

“You have terrible taste in men.”

“And Locus.”

“Alright, well, that one’s a given. Everyone thinks Locus is attractive.”

“Yeeeeaaaaahhhh. I overheard your sister and Wash talking about him once, and I was glad it wasn’t just me.”

“I think I’ve almost got this- there! How does that feel?”

“Uh…” 

Simmons flexes the human muscles in his face, tensing up against the edge of the metal plating. It seems to be fitting more normally. He can still feel himself blushing, but he hasn’t blurted out any other embarrassing secrets in the past three seconds, and the screwdriver in Grif’s hand is most definitely purple once again.

“I think that did it!”

“Really? You sure you don’t have any other stupid shit to say? Like how you’ve always secretly wanted Sarge to step on you, or anything like that?”

“No! Dude, that’s gross!”

“So was all that other stuff you just said! Seriously, I’m embarrassed for you right now.”

“Grif, look, forget I said any of that, ok? Please? Just...forget it.”

“I’d like nothing better. Believe me.”

“Sorry,” Simmons mutters as Grif angrily jams his helmet back onto his head and recollects his comic book.

“Whatever. Just don’t call me to fix any more of your malfunctions in the future, ok?”

“Yeah. I just...sorry.”

Grif hesitates on his way out the door, as if there’s something more he wants to say.

But in the end, he just snaps, “you really do have terrible taste in men. You should get out more, or something,” and stalks off back down the hall.

“Yeah,” Simmons sighs to the empty room. “Maybe I should.”

[ninjakasuga]

Sonally Celebration Week, Year 3, Day 2: Mystery

Day two has come for the celebration of one of the best furry OTP’s ever~. @gojira007 ‘s celebration blog @boundforfreedomsonsal of Sonic and Sally continues and here’s my second entry. Enjoy all~

Sonsally Week, Year Three!!

Day 02: Mystery

Foreword: This episode is still set in the Archie-Verse depicted in my fics of last year and day one’s story. This one is set some years after the fall of Eggman, when peaceful times finally settled on Mobius for the first time in ages. Of course, peace doesn’t always equate to ‘easy’, especially when babysitting two spirited scamps.

“Sonia, Manic- WHERE THE FREAKING BLEEP ARE YOU?!!” Shouted an irate, and clearly frustrated blue hedgehog as his right eye twitched something horribly. Standing in the town-square of the rebuilt Knothole Village, his gaze shifting back and forth from the trees, and the various huts of the quiet village. While mostly destroyed during one of Dr. Eggman’s devastating attacks; the entire village was rebuilt as it was during the war era of fighting the original Robotnik. With a few Eggman era buildings kept, and one or two new additions. Knothole was mainly a tribute to the village that sheltered the survivors of the fall of the original Mobotropolis, and became home of the resistance that would become the Freedom Fighters. Mostly a standing all-may-come museum to pay homage to the place that started as a Royal Retreat/shelter, but became so much more. A few of the huts were still livable, home away from home for certain members of the Freedom Fighters who occasionally would return to Knothole with their families to celebrate and remember those days.

Today, it was host to a game of hide and seek, giving the two instigators of the game a plethora of hiding places. One that was driving the elder brother of Sonia and Manic Hedgehog, one Sonic the Hedgehog, former hero of Mobius, crazy!

After tapping his foot rapidly for a scant few seconds, Sonic cupped his hands together again and shouted as loudly as he could manage. “MANIC! SONIA! FOR BLEEPING FRACK’S SAKE YOU BETTER GET YOUR BUTTS OUT WHERE I CAN SEE EM’! AIN’T FUNNY NO MORE!” It really wasn’t, Sonic nor his lovely wife, had agreed to hide and seek, but his two younger siblings opted to begin a game without anyone’s consent.

A voice soon called to him, followed by familiar footsteps. “Is there a reason you’re using frack and bleep? Is that a new sibling code of some sort Sonic?”

Speaking of lovely wife’s, there she was. Turning to face his wife, Sonic shrugged with a sheepish expression. “It was censor myself or risk using words I don’t think Mom nor Dad would care for two nine-year-olds to repeat.”

“That is probably for the best.” Agreed Sally, with a tired sigh as a hand went to her rounded stomach. She wasn’t far enough along in her own pregnancy; her movements were not hampered; but the extra weight of the two passengers in her belly was sapping her energy. “Whew, I’ve just been walking but I feel ready to kick back.”

Concerned, Sonic walked over and touched her shoulder. “All the more reason I’m not too happy they started this ‘game’ when I made it clear you can’t be as play-happy as usual because you’re pregnant.”

Shaking her head, Sally reached over to place her hand over his, giving an assuring squeeze as she managed a smile. “They’re just kids, it’s alright Sonic. They probably just want to get some last playtime with us before I’m truly an invalid.”

Sonic had to admit she had a point but his ire was not fully dissolved. “Maybe, but this is still too much. Even Mom n’ Dad told em’ to not get carried away.”

Smirking, Sally lifted an eyebrow as she glanced at her husband. “Sonic, they’re ‘your’ siblings. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. There seems to be an innate sass-o-meter in your family. Pushing buttons seems to be something of a religious doctrine.”

Opening his mouth to counter, Sonic slowly shut it, frowning deeply. “... Fair nuff, but I still say you’ve rubbed off on them if we’re going for sass influence.”

“ME?!” Sputtered Sally, an incredulous frown, forming over her face. Beautiful blue, eyes narrowing almost dangerously. “How pray tell, do I count as a bad influence toward Manic or Sonia?”

Smirking widely as he got her goat, Sonic yanked the chain more, counting off with his fingers. “Well again, you’re the Queen of Sass and not just the Kingdom. When you gotta be right, you will argue til’ the cows come home. Plus you’re good at being playful when you want something, Manny’s baby-of-the-family routine is killer thanks to watching you. N’ Sonia’s all about emulating her Sis-in-law’s fancy mannerisms, and silver tongue. Just the other day she was in trouble and convinced Mom to let her off the hook light with a buncha big words she got from you.”

Almost mirroring Sonic, Sally opened her mouth, then closed it as she thought better of it. “...Touche’, but that doesn’t excuse the bad habits you’ve given them love-of-my-life.”

Laughing, Sonic gave her a big, if careful hug. Letting her have that one as, one it was true, and two, he knew jerking her around too much with hormones a-flame was a bad idea. “Of course, of course, but they also picked up on my coolness factor.”

“Truly…” Replied Sally in a dull, drawl that spoke volumes of how little she believed that. “I just hope our own bundles give us something of a break compared to these two. I can see why your parents are all-too-eager for us to babysit when we can.”

“Knowing us, they’ll drive us insane cuz they’ll be just like us in ways, but we’ll love em’ anyway.” Sonic mused, placing a hand to her belly and leaning in to kiss her gently. Sighing in a content manner, Sally melted into the kiss and hug, feeling a bit of the weight of impending motherhood ease off her shoulders to a degree.

Almost as if on cue, a duo of childish voices are heard uttering, “Eeeew gross!”

Instantly, both Sally and Sonic broke the kiss, angled their heads upward, and pointed as they both cried out in triumphant unison. “AH-HA! THERE YOU TWO SCAMPS ARE!”

“Aw crude!” Muttered Manic, as he and his sister clung to one of the large tree branches, quite a ways up that was connected to one of the tree house type huts.

“Well we gave them the ghost for a good twenty-minutes I’d say we won.” Stated Sonia in a rather faux-haughty manner. The more purple-blue of the two, whipped back her-pink hair? Wait, Sonia was blonde! Plus some of her fur looked more magenta-purple now?

In fact, why was Manic’s fur and quills more of a green-ish tinge than the light-blue they should be? Not to mention that punk-esque quill style... Eyes narrowing, Sonic let go of Sally, zipped into the hollowed out large tree with a hut built around the base. With the same speed, he charged up the ladder within the hollowed out tree, allowing him to come out at the point where the tree-house hut was, and lean out where the landing gave way to a natural, thick tree branch. 

“Oh no, you two did not!”

Putting on the best coy, innocent face he could, Manic twiddled his fingers together in a playful manner. “What’re you talking about Big-Bro?”

“Seriously Sonic, you need to use clear, concise words.” Snickered Sonia.

“You both dyed your hair and fur!” Sonic pointed between each sibling. “Mom’s gonna have kittens!” Growled their elder brother as his mind swam with images of a none-too-pleased Bernadette Hedgehog glaring at her son and daughter-in-law.

Arms crossed, Sally tapped her foot, in a manner not unlike her husband. “You two sneaks lost us to go and do the dye-jobs yourself didn’t you?”

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaybe.” Both twins chorused.

Sighing Sally frowned more. “Manic, Sonia, you do realize your Mother and Father are going to tan the crap out of your hides. They both told you, neither of you could have such radical dye jobs until you were fifteen, thirteen at the earliest if you both proved responsible enough! Plus, Manic, sweetie, why are you intent on making yourself look like Scourge?!”

“Hey!” Manic cried indignantly, a pout forming on his lips. “I just like the color, it’s not my fault Sonic’s scrub of a doppelganger had the same color-job! It screams ‘me’! Plus I don’t have sharp teeth or those evil eyes like he does, plus my quills are cooler lookin!”

“I’ll give you that li’ bro, on the being cooler looking thing, but dam-er dang it!” Sonic grabbed his own head-quills, mussing them up some in frustration. “Urgh Mom n’ Dad ain’t gonna let us watch you two ever again if you pull crap like this again!”

“He’s right.” Sighed Sally, rather dramatically. “We’ll be seen as so irresponsible they will forbid us from ever seeing you again!” She put a hand to her heart, and the other against her head. Truly, piling on the dramatic flair. “They may even question if we’re fit to be parents ourselves and have our babies taken from us.”

While Sonia rolled her eyes, Manic’s went wide as panic took over his earlier nonchalant attitude. “R-really?! We don’t want that!”

“Manny, bro she’s trying to guilt us!”

“Well it’s working! I didn’t wanna get them in that deep of trouble!”

“Manic she’s the QUEEN!! Mom and Dad can’t do jack to her!” His (slighty) older twin argued, seeing her partner-in-crime was about to fold.

“Wanna bet?” Sonic crossed his arms, smirking fully as he saw the sliver of doubt in the two’s eyes. “Mom can be scary when she wants and Dad, Dad is aaaaaaaaaall about the ‘subtle, quiet big stick’ kind of approach.”

Now even Sonia was doubting if they’d gone too far, especially as it pertained to how much trouble this might land her and Manic. Maybe she underestimated her ability to talk her way out of trouble. “M-Maaaybe we got a little carried away?”

“You sure did you two scamps, now if you come with me down the tree, we might ‘might’ convince Mom and Dad to let you both stay the night, and we can wash out the dyes and treat your fur so they never notice.”

Nodding as they both climbed fast, but still safely across the branch to Sonic. The two younger hedgehogs cling onto his legs. “We give, we give!!”

“Smart choice!” Laughed Sally from the ground, smiling at the won tag-team victory of talking the kids into doing their bidding. “If you two behave onward, there might be my special ice cream sundaes after supper.”

“Really?!”

Maybe handling kids wouldn’t be so hard after all? Sally thought before speaking aloud to them. “Cross my heart!”

“N’ you know Sal’s promises are good as gold.” Quipped Sonic as he guided the two once they stood up towards the ladder down to ground level. “Also, expect to help do some chores as further punishment for this stunt.”

“What?! Oh come on big brother-!”

“Nope, nada, don’t even try to talk me down Sonia!” Sonic cut her off as he coaxed first Manic, then Sonia to climb down the ladder. “Sal’s gotta take it easy and I need help doing this and that.”

“But you guys got a staff at the castle to do stuff!” Pipped Manic, his voice echoing through the hollow tree.

“It keeps us honest to do our own chores.” Quipped Sonic, watching them both get halfway before he started down the ladder himself. “Plus if you want us to keep quiet about the dye-thing-.”

“Oh fine!” Both younger hedgehogs huffed, giving up arguing.

“Being a big brother has its perks.” Chuckled Sonic to himself as he made his way down. Maybe in a few years, Sally and he could return the favor and foist their own kids on Manic and Sonia to babysit. Oh the payback will be sweet!

[deafwestnewsies]

be my first last kiss

You can plan on a change in the weather or time, but you'd never planned on him changing his mind.

jack kelly x davey jacobs

read it on my ao3!

Earnest to goodness, Jack Kelly was going to murder Racetrack Higgins.

No, Anthony Higgins, this was the sort of thing that makes you pull out the tarnished christian name of a friend (or so you thought) you’ve known since he was toppling over on baby-fattened legs. Anthony Higgins would die by the sword of Jack Kelly.

He just had to get this godforsaken Youtube video filmed first.

You’re doing this for the cash, Jack grumbled to himself as he passed through the metal doors of a nondescript building on the Lower East Side- it was the kind of place being slowly taken over by hip and fun corporations promising Asian-fusion bars and eco-friendly thrift stores while edging out the relic businesses built on the backs of immigrant dreams. Jack couldn’t stand areas like this, the air thick with wasted luxury, so he rarely left the barrio. Why would he? Spot Conlon slept in the bedroom next to his. Katherine Plumber and Sarah Jacobs ran the bookstore that bought his baked goods and sold them for decent money. Medda lived down the street with her plethora of children, and Racetrack still beat the known path, doing tricks on the street corner for spare change and internet views. Davey- David. David Jacobs wasn’t there. It was right where Jack wanted to be.

Much unlike the dim studio where he now shuffled his feet, waiting for the perky young PA with bright red streaks in her hair to come back with further information about the video he would be shooting. Jack wasn’t a stranger to this small production company; He participated in a few Youtube videos back before they had millions of subscribers, he played truth or dare with lots of liquor and a complete stranger, he confessed about the first time he fell in love so it could be put to pathetic music.

Cash where you could get it, right?

“Kelly, right?” Cherry Streaks was back with a vengeance.

“Jack, actually,” he corrected.

“So you’re going to stand over there where the little blue X marks the spot and wait until the producer, Adam, starts asking you a few questions. The first one might be a test for our boom guy. Answer honestly, we can pretty much tell when you’re making up a story by this point. After that, the main part of the video will begin. Got it?” She was pointing wildly with a Number 2 pencil that had previously been stuck through her ponytail, and she smelled faintly of jasmine. Jack felt dizzy.

“Wait, I thought this was one of those ‘Choose who’s the best kisser out of ten strangers’ type of deal?” I mean, that’s what Race told me- oh God. Oh Santa Maria. Oh Saint Francis.

The young woman smiled like she was keeping an excellent secret. “Have fun, Jack Kelly.”

Walking off at her ominous dismissal, Jack stood where he was directed. The fluorescent lighting made him sweat under the knowledge that he had virtually no idea what he was doing there, Race had lied to him so that he would participate in some sort of sick, horrible scheme, and for all he knew, behind door number three could be his third grade teacher with a baseball bat and a basic multiplication grudge.

“Jack! It’s nice to see you again.”

Romeo was walking towards him with that easy gait Jack had memorized so long ago- Romeo had shot the original videos on an Amazon tripod and the unfounded hope of human connection, and now he owned the entire shebang. Jack dropped his tense shoulders to give him a warm smile. “Romeo. Boy, am I glad to see a friendly face.” Jack lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You’ve got a production assistant who actually does work, so I’m assuming we’ve died and you earned a really nice deal in Heaven?”

Romeo barked out a laugh. “If I’ve died, do not resuscitate. I’ll never be able to look at another bodega meatball sub after cooking food bought in a real grocery store.”

“Rub it in, why don’tcha?” Jack punched the shorter man on the shoulder. “Listen, Romeo, you gotta tell me what I’m in for, a buddy totally sold me out for the cash and I have no clue what this project is gonna be like.”

Before Romeo could respond, a tall, lofty man behind the camera cleared his throat. “Darling? We’re ready to begin when you are.”

“Jack, meet Specs. Or Adam, but we all know how well nicknames stick. Specs, this is the old friend I was telling you about.” Romeo ended right above Specs’ elbow, and it was all Jack could do not to laugh.

The man fixed his thoughtful gaze on him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You’ve got a real presence on the camera. Have you ever considered acting?”

“I’m afraid I’m, uh,” Jack flexed a paint-stained hand. “Strictly canvas, as they say.”

Nodding as if that was a phrase people commonly used and not something Jack invented on the fly, Specs then clapped his hands together. “Folks, let’s film this sonofabitch.”

---

“I’m Jack, and I’m a twenty-four year old artist living in New York City.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Specs questioned from behind the camera.

Jack blinked in surprise. “Sure. One throughout high school, another in college and a little bit beyond. I wouldn’t call myself a heartbreaker or anything.”

“Do you stay friends with your exes?”

“One of ‘em, yea. It was more of an amicable thing, you know. She ended up being a lesbian. And I am… not.” His clumsy fingers tugged at a constricting collar.

“And the other?”

“Just because I’m not a heartbreaker doesn’t mean I can’t be a real asshole sometimes,” Jack nervously chuckled. (Davey had laid out rose petals, for God’s sake. Rose petals.)

“Was this girl the high school girlfriend, or the college one?”

“Boy,” Jack quickly corrected. “Man. I guess. He was in college- four and a half years.” (It took him four days to clear away the rotting flowers, the bleeding color slowly seeping into his carpet. Katherine found him delirious with whiskey on the bathroom floor; Sarah couldn’t bear to walk through his front door.)

“How’d you meet him?”

(He twisted in his high-backed blue chair. “It’s habláis in el presente.”) “Freshman year of high school actually. Spanish class. Funny story, actually, that other girl I dated? His sister. Broke her heart for his. He was so mad at me that we didn’t talk for like, months after.”

“It was six and a half months, actually.”

Of things Jack was expecting to see today, Spiderman was more likely than David. A flash mob singing death metal, maybe. Pigs flying through the polluted air.

“I was told to come in. I now see why.” David’s eyes narrowed behind his thin wire frames, different from the heavy Ray-Bans that he had dedicated himself to sophomore year of high school. Jack hated that he looked older, wiser, and all around… better.

Specs cleared his throat before the bewildered set of men (one more angry than the other, both desperately avoiding eye contact) could demand what sort of sick joke this was. “Can you introduce yourself?”

They broke up on a Tuesday, an insignificant, momentary Tuesday. Fourteen months ago. (Yes, fourteen months, like their terrible split was a baby that Jack was nurturing bit by bit. He refused to round down- fourteen months ago, he left David Jacobs.) So when David ran his thumb across his jawline, a nervous tick older than his younger brother, Jack couldn’t fathom why he felt so relieved. Some things never did change. “David. Jacobs.” David’s jaw flexed as he looked into the camera. “I dated Jack for almost five years.”

“Tell us about your other relationships.”

“Unfortunately, I spent the better part of high school and college pining after a total cocksock. Not a whole lot of time for casual dating in between.”

A deep silence permeated the studio as two boom mic operators swapped awkward glances. Jack didn’t attempt to defend himself- he was sort of a cocksock. David Jacobs had asked him to uproot what little life he had in New York and move to Santa Fe for a prestigious, so-accolated-you-could-cry medical school, and Jack Kelly broke up with him over containers of kung pao chicken and scattered rose petals. He was a cocksock, a dickhead, and complete asshole. An ex-boyfriend of mass proportions.

“Okay, so.” Specs was wiping at his glasses with the tail of his shirt. Jack wanted to snap them in half. “Today’s video is entitled ‘Exes kiss for the first time since their breakup’. If you need more explanation…”

“I think we’ve got it.” David snapped, clenching his fists rapidly.

Jack stepped half an inch closer to David and began murmuring under his breath. “Davey, if you don’t want-”

“Don’t call me Davey.” His eyes were alight with flame- Jack’s chest caught fire.

Of all the things that felt domestic when dating Davey Jacobs, kissing him never managed to become routine. Davey kissed like he earnestly meant it. The gears in his brilliant mind would grind to a halt so he could dedicate himself to the lilting curve of Jack’s mouth, a gentle sweep of warmth when the artist’s mouth was otherwise preoccupied with his needless words, and the world would spin on a delicate axis. (Jack’s shoulders rose to meet Davey, the physical ache of being someone’s other half drawing him forward. Davey had avoided him for so long, Jack living on a diet of lingering stares and a brief touch of the hand, that kissing him felt like a dying man knelt at a replenished well. How did they exist for so long without this innate knowledge of the universe? Could he stand to go on a single second longer without the praise of Davey Jacob’s lips?) Of all the things Jack missed about spending his life with Davey Jacobs, kissing him was certainly one of them.

There was a moment where the pads of Jack’s fingertips brushed the nape of David’s neck, a habit borne from the small noise it would draw from the back of his throat, and the steely corporate floor felt more like the worn carpet in the old thirty-second street apartment. Jack could feel his thready pulse with the gentle press of a thumb.

Davey was a fan of the dramatics- he would pull away from a passionate kiss in the middle of a busy New York street to stare into Jack’s eyes, foreheads gently touching and cheeks furiously blushing. Now, he simply drew back. Took a step away. Swiped at his lips with the back of his hand.

Jack felt like he was falling. (“If you ever break up with me,” Jack began. He laughed at Davey’s unexpected shudder, the honest and visceral kind. “Make it quick.”

“What about when you break up with me?” Davey peered over his glasses.

Crinkling his nose, Jack quickly answered before the other boy could detail any breakup preferences. “I’m not an idiot, Dave. ‘M not going anywhere.”)

---

He stared at the limp fifty dollars in his hand. Romeo had apologized, explaining that the people who had organized this got half the cut, and handed them both an envelope- Jack, one with “Tony Higgins” that he planned to run through his shredder, and David, one with “Sarah Jacobs,” which made Jack gawk in disbelief.

Jack didn’t want to walk away; David’s feet were shuffling against the worn pavement.

“It’s funny,” David started. “I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift to get over you.”

He winced. “Sorry?”

“Please. I know she’s been your top artist since 2013.”

(Katherine walked through a worryingly unlocked apartment door. “Is that... Begin Again? Jack, what the fuck are you doing?” She had seconds to worry about the cluster of wilted flower petals her heel had put a hole through before Sarah pointed at the pair of legs sticking out of the bathroom’s entrance.) “Yeah, okay. Fair. But… funny? Did I miss a joke?”

David closed his eyes to roll them, as he so often did when he was trying to be polite, and it hurt to be on the receiving end. “We just had our last kiss. You know, like-”

“I’m Joe Jonas?” Jack interrupted, bewildered. The semi-glare he received in return was all he needed to know- “Right. Dickhead. Listen, Dave- David, why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”

There was a brief moment where something unrecognizable flashed over David’s face- pity? Regret? Dejection? It was quickly replaced by a soft smile tugging at the edge of his lips, his eyes glazed over with a practiced professionalism. “I’ll see you around, Jack. Have a good day.”

David turned and walked down the street, and Jack just missed the passing moment he chose to look back.

---

Comment on EXES KISS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THEIR BREAKUP by IncredibleKinsey: those two dudes are all mad and then just make out like that????? yeah okay call me when the wedding happens

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the prompt fill, number 3 for Indruck seems pretty fitting!

Here you go! Prompt 3 was “sweet” , Indrid’s design is based on a barracuda and I went with SFW on this one.

“Duck, can you do me a favor when you lock up?” Leo dumps orange taffy into a glass jar. 

“Sure, what d’you need?”

“Got some locks for the garbage cans; put ‘em on after you set the alarm out back. Somethin’s been getting into our trash every damn night for the last week. It makes a god-awful mess and I’m worried we’re gonna get a fine for littering.”

Duck nods, turns his attention back to the flock of tourists approaching the window. The afternoon is swallowed up in a pit of sugar-sticky air and blasts of welcome cold from the freezer. There are worse places for a summer job than Tarkesian’s Sweets--he’s right by the water, can watch the wildlife on his lunch break, and Leo is low-maintenance boss--but after eight hours on his feet getting splashed with soda or burned on the popcorn machine, he’s ready to head home. The trash locks have other ideas.

It takes ten minutes of cursing and fumbling to get the first bin secured. He doesn’t even know how the damn things are getting overturned; they seem too heavy for a raccoon or seagull to knock to the ground. 

A tiny splash behind him, probably a fish jumping. 

Then a crooked, shiny pole slowly enters his periphery. In dim yellow of the streetlight, he can tell the end of it is curved. It pokes inelegantly at the wall, then the locked can, then the wall once again, and then Duck’s leg.

The hook pulls back, pauses, then pokes him again.

“The fuck?” He grabs it when it goes for another jab, pulls up only for his arms to be wrenched towards the water. Not to be outdone, he tugs harder. His opponent retaliates with enough force that he almost tumbles off the pier. He growls, braces his foot on the railing, and hauls the hook and its owner up onto worn wood with him. 

It’s a guy about his age, angular face framed by a mess of silver hair and pierced ears. Figures it’s some sort of artsy punk swimming around poking people in the leg. That explains why he’s shirtless too. 

It does not, however, explain why he has a tail. 

“Rude.” The guy sits up on his hands, silver and black tail flicking droplets of saltwater everywhere, “I don’t go around stopping you from eating.”

“Look man, I just wanted you to stop jabbin me and knockin the trash over.” Maybe if he doesn’t mention the tail it will go away. 

“How else am I supposed to get at those odd, pulpy tubs full of ‘cookies and cream’ or ‘bubblegum’?”

“The fuck--wait, you were tryin’ to get the ice cream containers out of the trash?”

“Yes? I also want more of the caramel apples” he pronounces the last word “applees” causing Duck to giggle in spite of himself. 

“Look, I have to piece words together from the signs on your store. And you obviously know what I meant or you would not be laughing, so do you have any in the cans or not?”

“Nope” Duck gets his laughter under control, “sold out of caramel apples today.” 

“Drat” the visitor starts scooting across the pier towards the unlocked trashcan, “I’ll see what else I can find.”

“Wait don’t fuckin knock that over, Leo’ll be pissed at me if he comes back to a mess, and I don’t feel like pickin up trash because you want a snack!”

“But I’m starving!” The merman, because at this point there’s no way he can deny that’s what’s been rooting through the garbage, whacks at Duck with his tail.

“I know for a damn fact there’s food down there.” He points at the bay. 

“Only if you can catch it, and only if it is not in another mer’s territory. Which much of this area is; I am new here, young, and thus have no claim to any patch of sea.”

“You ain’t got any family?” Something pings in his chest. It’s the part of his heart that made him pick out the runt of litter when his mom let him get a cat on his thirteenth birthday, that means he always splits his lunch with Juno because she’s running track and needs it more than he does, that makes him tear up when he thinks about everything a sapling has to survive to become a tree.

“Merfolk leave home at sixteen.” The merman shrugs.

Duck sighs, grabbing his keys, “If I bring you somethin to eat, will you leave the trash alone?”

“Yes.” 

He shuts off the alarm, grabs a cone and fills it with bright blue ice cream. The merman is back in the water when he returns, arms resting on the pier.

“Oooh, my favorite!” He takes the ice cream, biting huge chunks out of it as Duck re-arms the door. 

Crunch

“...The container is edible!!”

He sits next to the merman’s arms, “Guess you wouldn’t have had an ice cream cone before, huh.”

“No, but it is lovely. I wish humans threw these away more often.” He polishes off the treat, licks his fingers clean with moans Duck hears in his dreams later, and smiles, “thank you for the meal. Goodnight.” 

There’s a final flash of silvery tail, and then Duck’s alone in the breezy night air.

--------------------------------------------------------------

“That’s a sandwich, correct?”

“AHfuck” Duck knocks over his water bottle in surprise. He’s eating behind the candy store like usual and not expecting an aquatic dining companion. 

“Apologies. I have seen you eating here before and thought you may like some company.” He sets a sea urchin on the ground and proceeds to bang on it with a rock. 

“Found some lunch?”

“I followed some otters; I was mainly trying to draw them, but they led me to a kelp bed no one else was in.”

“...Wait how do you draw underwater?”

“Let me finish cracking this open and I will show you.”

Duck spends the rest of his lunch break on his belly, the merman showing him a sketchbook and enchanted pen that conjures whatever colors the illustrator envisions. The mer is genuinely excited to talk to him. He assumes the nuzzling is due to him smelling like cotton candy; he doesn’t mind, the mer’s skin is cool and he makes cute little noises whenever he touches Duck. 

Before the stands, Duck asks, “You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“Duck.” 

Indrid’s eyes flick to the nearby estuary.

“Yeah, like the bird. It’s a nickname.”

“I like it.” Indrid smiles, dives, and flaps his tail once in farewell.

------------------------------------------------------

“Cutting school again?” Indrid’s voice bubbles up by his feet. 

“Yep.” Duck watches the spring clouds roll by from his favorite spot on the beach. It’s secluded and far from town, meaning no one will give him shit for skipping class and nobody will see Indrid.

He worked at Leo’s until this past summer, only quitting at the start of his senior year of high school when Indrid pointed out that much of Kepler was surrounded by water and that, if Duck wanted to see him, he did not have to keep working at the candy store in order to do so. 

“Not that I mind the free food.” Indrid winks. 

“Just gonna bring you bulk ice cream from Safeway; no way am I missin out on that chirpin you do when you eat it.”

Duck slides the grocery bag towards the surf, “not like KCC is gonna rescind my offer. Ain’t a fuckin Ivy League or some shit.”

“And you will be happy there?”

“Yeah. They got a decent work-study program with the park, so I can still get a job as a ranger if I want to.”

“Oh. Good.” 

Indrid sounds sad, and Duck sits up on his elbows. His friend’s torso is fully on land, his tail fidgeting in the foam. 

“What’s up?

“I...Barclay told me his human is going to a school further inland, and I know there are many places you could got to learn. You...you did not choose to stay in Kepler because you feel the need to look after me, did you?”

“Course not.” Duck is sitting up now, aching to stroke Indrid’s hair, “I mean, I’m glad we’re still gonna be able to see each other, and I really hopin I can get a room near the beach so it’s easy to come talk. But this is the right choice for me; if I really want to, I can transfer to a different school in a few years, and I can learn a lot here without takin on a shit-ton of debt. Besides, ain’t like I think you’re helpless; I love bringin you stuff and rubbin your fin when it’s sore, but that’s because you’re my friend. Don’t think you’re helpless. I never have.”

“Not even when I was stealing trash?”

“Thought you were a fuckin nuisance, not helpless.” He playfully nudges his shoulder with his toes. 

Indrid turns his head and nips his calf, “How’s that for a nuisance?”

“Not much, felt kinda nice. Uh, I mean, uh, fuck, so, where’d that worry about my stayin come from?”

The mer crawls and wiggles until they’re shoulder to shoulder, “I think my future sight is finally developing; my fathers arrived around the time he turned eighteen, so it makes sense mine would arrive at a similar point. The trouble is, I am having a hard time telling the futures from my own imaginings and worries.”

“That fuckin sucks.”

“I’ll manage. All seers struggle at the beginning. I just wish I was quicker at learning whether certain timelines are really more likely or if they are just ones that I want to be likely.”

“Like what?”

Indrid glances at him, opens his mouth, then shuts it and faces the sea.

Duck smirks, “‘Drid, there somethin you wanna ask me?”

“No. Yes. Maybe? I, I just don’t want to pressure youOOOHhhh that’s not fair” he flops on his back with a groan as Duck scritches his upper tail, “you know I’ll do anything when you touch me like this.”

“Damn right I do. And what I want is for you to tell me the truth.”

Indrid whines, covers his face with his hands.

“Do it or I’ll stop.”

“Rude” Indrid lowers his hands enough that his red eyes peer over the top, “is that any way to treat a mer who wants to kiss you?”

Duck gives his answer by pouncing on his friend, pinning narrow shoulders into the sand as he devours his mouth in kisses. 

“You like that treatment better?”

“Goodness, yes.” Indrid pulls him back down, slipping his tongue between his lips and nibbling his neck when he finally stops to breathe. Then his hand flails sideways, grabbing the plastic bag and chucking it further up the beach.

“The, the tide is coming in and I, ah, foresee us working up quite the appetite.” He tugs Duck’s collar down with his teeth, nuzzling and licking across his skin with little hums of pleasure, “so I want to save those for afterwards. Who knows” he grins, “maybe we’ll need energy for round two as well.”

Duck cups his cheek, inhales the scent of the sea and the sight of his future, “I like the way you think, sweet thing.”

[sh1tbird-shantytown]

What’s with the Goats, Steve?

Billy had never actually been in the Harrington house. But he knew what the rest pretty much looked like. The red door, the rectangle windows, the big shed by the pool that held exercise equipment. The outside of house was chic. It was clean and well trimmed and pigmented. Something a wealthy boy like Steve would assumingly live in. Billy knew it all on the outside. But he’d never been inside the house. No matter how many times he’d dropped Steve off after their shifts at work. He’d never been invited in. And contrary to popular belief, Billy wasn’t one to normally barge into someone’s home without reason.

He was aware of the key under the little blue gnome out back. How Steve himself had started the little petunia garden out front. How the pool was cleaned but closed off and Steve wouldn’t even look at it. He even knew about the rabbit Steve had had as a little kid that was buried under the pine tree sapling. He also knew that the bunny’s name had been Checkers.

Steve was a talker what could he say. If you’d listen he’d babble on and on. Billy could be the same way, but listening to Steve Harrington’s fond memories was a little more to his liking. Oddly.

But recently the BMW had been in some nasty encounter with a buck and was, so far, permanently parked in the Harrington’s driveway with a shattered windshield and craters in the hood. He swore one of the headlights hung out slightly too.

Steve had been distraught for days. Billy had to actually ask Dustin to help them revive Steve’s dopey side. Not to mention how the thing had already begun to run out of luck after so many days of carpooling the kids and rolling over stray demodogs. So, Billy and Robin picked him up when he needed to be somewhere. It was mostly to and from work and it was usually Billy even though Robin and Steve worked at the same place.

By this point Billy was sure Robin already knew what was up. Billy knew he wasn’t subtle. But Steve was also very...dense. And he also couldn’t tell when a person was interested apparently. His technique throughout life had always been 1.) tease and flirt 2.) hope for good a response 3.) ask out 4.) relationship. While Billy’s had always been 1.) flirt 2.) wait for them to flirt back 3.) wait for them to make the next move and 4.) take it from there.

Billy had been making light and flirtations notions all week and Steve gave them right back with vigor. But it was taking Steve an awful long time to take the next step. Billy didn’t think he’d be able to do it himself. Didn’t want to lose what he had if things shifted the wrong way. Steve was just about the best friend Billy had ever had.

Billy stopped in front of Steve’s driveway per usual on a warm and breezy spring day in April.

Steve looked at his house and then back at Billy with a contemplative look to his eye, “You gonna drive up the rest of the way?”

Billy stared back blankly, “You can’t walk?”

Steve rolled his eyes, “I did track, give me some credit.” Billy shook his head and then swerved into the driveway, Steve just barely missed hitting his head on the window. He then leaned back in the car right after stepping out, “Uh, wait.” Billy felt slightly disappointed about being in front of Steve in that brief moment. “I thought I mentioned us hanging out today—“

“Mentioning and asking aren’t the same thing, Harrington,” Billy reminded. He did this often. Steve would say the most generic things, a mere flutter of words in a conversation, but would then take it to heart and you’d be slammed with sudden plans. Just the other day he’d said he was hungry and then twenty minutes later Billy had been forced into driving them to the Dairy Queen outside of town.

“Oh come on,” Steve whined and pulled at Billy’s leather jacket sleeve, “We both have tomorrow off finally! You can sleep over, it’ll be fun. You’re fun, Billy, let’s have fun, come on.” He gave one last tug and then exited the car. Based on the speed he spoke and the uncontrollable smile Steve had, Billy could tell something was up. But it was also cute and Billy was a sucker when Steve was like that. Unfortunately Steve was almost always cute so there wasn’t much of a win win sort of thing.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he put the car in park, grabbed the key, and jogged after Steve. Steve unlocked the door in a rush with the jangle of his own set of keys. Before he opened the door he turned back with his hand in the handle.

“Oh, I should probably warn you, um...” Steve bit his lip and glanced at the door. Billy was laser-focused on that magenta, plush lip and then...there was yodeling. Yodeling?

Billy looked at the door in shock, “Harrington, what was that?” Instead of answering Steve turned the doorknob and gestured to two goats galloping towards them. One had a fully black, silky coat while the other was spotted like a cow. Their little, blunt horns worried Billy so he stepped in front of Steve a little swing of motion. The goats skidded to a stop straight in front him and just stared up.

“I think they like your hair,” Steve commented over his shoulder. The animals were, in fact, staring at Billy’s head. He stepped around and Billy had to stop himself from pulling him back just in case. Steve picked up the spotted goat and started rubbing its back. “Billy,” he lifted the goat up to Billy’s focus, “This is Joe. He loves chewing shirts so heads up. And this,” Steve let the submissive goat go and picked up the other one, “Is Remy,” he scratched the white spot of fur between the horns gently. “She likes buttercups and gnawing on hair especially so watch your head. She’s a jumper.” As of to prove his point Remy licked Steve’s chin and leaped down from Steve’s loose hold with impressive height.

For a lack of better words Billy asked in awe, “What’s with the goats, Steve?”

Harrington rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sort of giggle, “Well. I got lonely after Starcourt and the doctor said that a pet might help me with the PTSD or...something.” Suddenly Steve was sitting on the floor with the two goats at either side awaiting his attention. “And some farmer was getting rid of the runts for fifteen bucks each! So I took these two, the last of ‘em.” Now Billy knew Steve was sugar coating some of those details.

He wasn’t just lonely after Starcourt. Robin had explained a few things that triggered Steve’s fight or flight responses. Things Steve himself would never think to tell. Billy couldn’t handle the sight of rats or tar. And the smell of bleach made him vomit instantly. Steve knew that all. But Robin was the one to sit down and tell Billy how Steve couldn’t have his hair pulled. Or the sight of needles made him horribly nauseous. And he got close to chronic migraines, specifically in the colder weather.

Billy knew Steve intentionally never mentioned the time Billy had found him with his bat prowling the junkyard. Or the woods on the southwest side of Hawkins. Or when Mike had found Steve stumbling on a route to check on all of them. Billy had had to pick him up from the Wheeler’s because he was so paranoid and fatigued that no one could calm him. But Billy had become an expert at bundling Steve Harrington in their sort of affection. It was the sharp kind that made things go back to mostly normal.

Billy sat down too, maybe a little too close. But who was counting? Billy understood though, “Been having trouble sleeping again?”

Steve sighed forlornly, “Yeah,” he answered stoutly. Billy hesitantly stroked Joe’s side as the goat inched closer and Remy nuzzled into Steve’s side.

“I better get dinner out of this,” he teased and looked at Steve.

That damn smile.

“How long have you had them?”

“About four weeks but they’re eight weeks old,” Steve smoothed down the fluffed up white fur that bunched up behind Remy’s ears.

“They spend all their time inside?”

Steve looked almost offended, “God, no. I built a little coral outside for them in the morning and in the evening. I only keep them inside when I’m not here and the weather’s bad or at night. The weatherman had said that it was going to rain ‘cats and dogs’ today.” He quoted with his fingers and looked dispraisingly at the big sliding doors that could be seen through into the living room.

Joe made a disruptive, ear sore of a ‘baah’ and climbed into Billy’s lap. Rather invasively. Billy, for fear of the kid loosing balance, hugged him securely in place. The dull horns dug into the underneath of his jaw annoyingly but the softness of the animal’s shiny coat was enough to suffice. Steve tilted his head as he watched this go by and grinned with a softness Billy had associated clouds with as a child.

“I think he likes you,” Steve stated proudly.

Billy let himself smirk as he rubbed down Joe’s back, “He’s alright too.”

Steve was silent for a minute and then he stood up, Remy galloping after him, “I’ll start supper while you go wash up. You’ve got grease and ketchup on your shirt and I think that’s lettuce in your hair.” Billy’s hand flicked up to his head to feel for the referred invader.

He found it and threw it, Joe scurried after it attentively, “The diner was busy today,” he excused himself. Steve pointed to a blue door on his way to the kitchen. Billy entered through it to walls filled with powder blue wallpaper flowers. It smelt like cinnamon and the walk-in shower had little navy colored tiles. Billy stared at the citrus shampoo and conditioner lined up on the little shelf in the shower. Steve’s hair smelt like citrus. Abundantly most of the time and Billy sometimes lost himself in the aroma. God he was done for. The guys hair sent him to his knees practically. It was mortifying.

He showered quick and when he stepped out from the foggy glass box he found a yellow Hawkins High sweatshirt and soccer shorts. Billy furrowed his brow before putting on the shorts. “Didn’t know Steve had played soccer,” he mumbled to himself before tugging the long string in the front. When he exited the bathroom and slowly searched for the kitchen doorway, he listened to what Steve was saying to his goats.

“I think he went a little overboard on the soaps. It smelt like a lemon meringue pie in there. Or maybe it always smells like that. Joe, don’t eat the lemon grass, that’s to go with the chicken!” Billy peaked in and watched as Steve chased Joe around the island while the goat kept a sprig of green in his mouth. Steve had a pink and black polkadot apron on that flapped as he jogged. Joe went to escape the room but Billy crouched and grabbed him in one fluid motion. When he stood up Steve forcefully came to a halt just in front of Billy. Steve’s brown eyes were sparking orbs. Billy blinked and grasped the lemongrass, waiting for the black goat to slacken his jaw.

“Here,” he held the herb up and Steve carefully took it, holding a bit of Billy’s own hand as he did so and pulled it away slowly. Steve smiled thankfully, gently flicked Joe’s nose, and returned to his cutting board where he continued slicing the chicken cutlets. Billy asked to help and Steve seemed to grow excited. “Oh, you can work on a salad, there’s a head of lettuce in the fridge, some carrots and cucumbers and tomatoes too.” Remy appeared right in front of the refrigerator as soon as Billy stepped up to it. Steve noticed, “Just nudge her away, she likes the cucumber and she always tries to steal it when I get anything else out of there.”

Billy toed at her, prodding her away, “I thought you hated tomatoes,” Billy mentioned as he took out everything Steve had mentioned. He dropped everything in his arms on the other side of the island to where Steve was focused on seasoning the chicken. He bit his bottom lip when he was focused. Billy stared.

“Uhm,” Steve mumbled distractedly, “Just cube it and pat it a little with a paper towel. I can handle them when they’re not so wet.” Billy nodded and grabbed a cutting board from the drying rack by the sink and a knife from the wood block. He worked as he did in the kitchen at the diner and had a salad tossed up just as Steve was putting the chicken in the oven.

The goats where nowhere to be seen and Billy felt unnerved by the sudden quite, “Where are they?”

Steve looked up from cranking a timer with a wide eyed look, “Who?”

Billy held back a chuckle, “Steve,” he grinned amusedly and shook his head as Steve hesitantly gave back a confused tilt to his head. “Where are your goats?”

“Oh!” Steve pointed to the living room where the two animals where lying and staring at a robin hopping outside the glass sliding doors. “They’re waiting to go out,” Steve explained and hurried over while untying the apron. He opened the door and both goats messily ran out into the dewy evening grass and over to the small but spacious corral that Steve had referred to earlier. It was simple wood fencing, not much more that four feet high. The goats seemed to not care for it though and neither did Steve in the moment. Because the goats where lazily chasing the robin down to the tree line until the bird flew up and out of sight.

Billy walked out to Steve’s side at the end of the patio. Steve shivered, it had rained a little, hence the cool dew in the grass, and the air was chilly. Billy felt fine but he knew how Steve got colder then most, even though the man ran hot most of the time. He was a similar way himself, was a human heater but almost never got cold. Billy didn’t really think about it before he did it. Just pulled Steve close into his side and hugged him around his torso with one arm. Steve didn’t show any resistance and only froze up for a millisecond before he leaned into Billy’s side comfortably.

The sun was half covered by the end of the tree line. Cosmic orange and yellow highlighted Steve’s features cinema-like as Billy watched him gaze at the goats chase each other. When Steve finally did crane his neck back to catch Billy’s eye, he found plainly that he’d already had it. Steve’s eyes shifted down for a second and Billy had just enough hope to think it was his lips Steve had willingly glimpsed at.

“Wanna go get some ice cream from Donna’s later?” Steve asked and Billy caught something knowing in the glimmer of Steve’s irises. Highlighted like aged honey from the sun.

He nodded, “Sounds nice.”

“It’s a date,” Steve stated decisively. A date. He turned back to clap for Remy, who had just successfully jumped over the small bin filled with a basketball, soccer ball, and rubber ball.

Which reminded Billy, “I didn’t know you played soccer.” Steve seemed taken aback at the sudden question, like he’d forgotten too.

“God,” he said and leaned into Billy more, “That feels like decades ago. Yeah, I played the summer before junior year. Wasn’t my thing, I was put in goalie all the time because I couldn’t dribble the ball and kept tripping over it and staining my uniform.” Billy chuckled and Steve joined him heartily. “My mother has a picture of my whole front covered in mud somewhere.”

“I’ve got to see that,” Billy loosely pinched Steve side, making him bundle over to try and protect himself. Steve yelped with ticklish spouts of laughter and Billy laughed with him. Steve’s laugh was like a bell, like the church bells that even the non-religious could find a meaning too. Even at almost twenty, Steve’s laugh made him seem so much younger. Like he wasn’t plagued with neglectful parents, monsters invading his hometown, and the memories of all too many unnecessary deaths. Billy’s own was rougher but Max had told him once that his laugh did the same thing. She told him that when he laughed he seemed thirteen again, when he had first met her, when his father had been nice and Max had been innocent enough for Billy to take care with every step towards her. When she made him laugh like he had just started remembering how to do now.

Steve leaned his head on Billy’s peck and sighed, “I don’t even know where it’d be. My mother might have it. I have a hunch she had a photo album with her.”

“How’d you figure that?” Billy settled his hand firmer against Steve’s hip.

“She calls sometimes when she’s drunk enough to let loose and tell me how she’s feeling. Seems she only remembers me when she’s intoxicated. She babbles about times when I was a kid.” Billy couldn’t see Steve’s expression but he almost assumed the man was smiling a little. Like he was okay and happy that his mother only called when she was drunker than a sailor. He was fine with the scraps he got. And Steve was never one to stick up for himself. Never one to actually complain about the muddy puddle he was stuck in. But Billy didn’t want to watch Steve become immune to that. And it was bad enough that he wasn’t even registering what’s right and wrong anymore. But maybe Steve was finally accepting the outcome his family’s path had lead to. Maybe Billy missed being selfish and now he was selfish for Steve.

“Why does she do that?” he asked and Steve didn’t respond for a moment. The goats started to chase each other around the corral, shadows deeper as the sun set a little more.

“She doesn’t trust my father so she’s always by his side. He cheated a couple years ago and she’s trying to keep a hold of him. She can’t leave him for more to an a day without worrying to bits and pieces.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

Steve sighed and shrugged over Billy’s arm, “I get it, I don’t like it, but I get it. I spent so much time doing the same to Nancy. I lost the game and I have a feeling she’ll lose eventually too. I guess...I never hang up because I want her to know, even if it’s in the back of her mind, that I’m here for her when she realizes it. When he finally makes the final blow.” Steve looked up and Billy couldn’t regret causing the loosing stance in Steve’s eyes. Because what he’d said was the truth. It was what he felt for real and that what Billy had wanted. But he did feel apologetic for pushing. Steve had a hard time talking about his family, anyone could be able to spot that much.

“That’s kind of you to offer her,” Billy said and stared back at Steve through both their eyelashes.

Steve shrugged again, “Yeah, well, one of us has got look out for someone.” Billy knew he was implying his own family. But he couldn’t help but connect Steve helping him through all the hurt Neil had caused. How Steve had definitely been there for people before. But this was different. Billy knew that. “And I’ve got the goats, I haven’t told Dad about them but Mom thinks it’s sweet as long as they don’t eat the furniture.” Billy smiled and leaned his chin atop Steve’s hair part. Steve sighed, a little tired and a little content, “This is nice.” Billy decided to take the next step, maybe Steve already had, but Billy was making his own leap.

He slowly stepped around Steve while still keeping him trapped in the embrace. He leaned forward till their noses touched and he ignored the slight tickle. Steve and him were mostly the same height, Billy only shorter by an inch or so. So Billy had the best sight of Steve’s dark, coffee bean eyes and the starkly gentle emotions they emoted. Neither of them looked anywhere else, no ones eyes looked away from the others. It was peaceful until Billy felt two somethings, he assumed were horns, ram into his calf. He shouted and stepped back from Steve so he could check his assaulted leg. The smooth, black coat that Billy had just been stroking earlier was now jumping in front of Steve like it was disturbed by the both of them. He made a low ‘baah’ towards Billy before chomping onto the hem of Steve T-shirt self riotously.

“Joseph!” Steve scolded, rather harshly, “How dare you,” he ripped his shirt out of the goats mouth and hurried over to Billy. Remy had remade her appearance, making herself known to Billy by licking his hand and making a sympathetic sounding ‘baah’ much different from her brother’s. Steve took Billy’s hand and rushed back inside, guiding the goats with him. Joe was reluctant and obviously in a fit of self pity, but Billy was sitting on the counter as Steve checked over the bruising area with extreme intent. “I’m sorry he did that, he’s not usually so violent.”

Billy snorted, he couldn’t help it, “I think he was just being protective of you.” He winced when Steve gingerly felt around the bruising dots.

He looked up sheepishly, “Sorry,” he stood up and gave a quick peck to Billy’s forehead affectionately. And if that where any other person Billy knew he’d probably be very confused. Even with almost kissing outside, Billy wasn’t quite surprised by Steve’s actions. Because Steve was always affectionate, he hugged and squeezed you when you hugged him like he loves you more than anything. He was just soft hearted like that, defrosted in a way most weren’t.

Steve returned with a bag of frozen peas, “Here, this’ll help,” he held it to the two dark purple circles on his leg. Billy ignored the cold and ran a hand through Steve hair calmingly. He told himself there was a tangle and he was just making sure Steve’s pretty head of high hair wasn’t catching snarls. Steve hadn’t used any hairspray that day, or at least very little. He was surprised by the light, softness to it. Steve closed his eyes and leaned into Billy’s hand by the third stroke of his hand.

“Steve,” Billy began, he didn’t continue until Steve opened his eyes and looked up at him, “Do you think the goats will ambush me if I try again.”

Steve’s lips curved up and he leaned his temple against Billy’s knee, “Nah, Remy will protect you. Promise it,” he put his hands on the counter on either side of Billy’s sides and pulled himself up to standing. The counter was tall so for once Billy was the one an inch or so taller. Steve didn’t close his eyes as he leaned in and neither did Billy. They stared a moment before they closed their eyes and their lips actually touched. And then they were pressed together from forehead to waist. Steve was warm and breathy and confident. It was more relieving than the cold against the bruises. Billy was actually the one to break first. He hadn’t even realized until he tasted salt. Steve looked panicked, “Are you okay?” Steve’s hands were in Billy’s hair, pushing it back soothingly.

Steve wiped the tear tracks and Billy coughed out emotion, “I never actually thought that would happen. For real. You— You kissed me.” Steve smiled as it dawned on him and hugged Billy. Just hugged him, nothing more, nothing less. Arms around torso and slightly stubbly chin against his jaw. Billy almost fell apart. He wrapped his own arms around Steve’s torso and clasped around him like a magnet.

“I’ll do it again later too,” Steve whispered after a very long moment. They both pulled away when they heard the clomping of small hooves. Remy was pushing Joe over to them with the flat of her head and the force of her side. She stood silent and stared at Joe for a long while, the white of her spots reflecting the last light of the evening. Joe stood on all fours and slowly inched his way over to Billy’s dangling legs and licked his knee before galloping off with a blow through his nose. Steve chuckled, “That’s his way of apologizing.” Billy raised a brow and watched as Remy made her way over, calmer than the other.

“Some apology,” he mumbled sarcastically and Steve laughed while putting his head on Billy’s shoulder.

Then the timer went off.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 18 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Rus makes a decision.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warning:  Heads up, let me add a warning here for attempted sexual assault and violence.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

~*~~

Read Chapter 18 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Lilies were lovely flowers, and it was a damn shame that Humans seemed to only associate them with funerals and Easter. They made for a beautiful focal point in a bouquet, large waxy petals in a bright array of colors surrounding the dark stamen, dozens of them spilling out and around a vase or basket, brilliant shades complimented by a delicate frame of leafy greens.

So many gorgeous colors available and Blue grew many of them, but the lilies Rus was working with were white, only a hint of creamy yellow at their centers. They smelled nearly as beautiful as the crimson roses that joined them, each delicate bloom nestled into its cushioning bed of neighboring white.

(A single red rose, please)

Only Rus’s fingers were stained with redness, not from those velvety petals but from the thorns, the dark crimson of his own marrow spotting the lilies, smearing bloody across those pale petals and he couldn’t stop even as they began to wither under his touch, white petals spotted in redness curling up and dying, and—

Rus woke with a gasp, the cold sweat on his bones chilling him as the dream of withered petals slowly faded. He sank back against the mattress and ran a trembling hand over his face, grimacing at the dampness.

Next to him, his brother slept on obliviously, his smaller frame buried deeply in the luxurious comforter on their borrowed bed. The bathroom light was on, seeping out to cast the room in shadows and even in the dimness, Blue’s much-loved face was lined with obvious exhaustion. The crow’s wing of a bruise running down his cheekbone wasn’t quite hidden into the pillow, stark against pale bone.

Thoughtlessly, Rus reached out with the vague idea to heal it and hesitated with his fingers still inches from that bruise. Tired as Blue was, he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to sleep through any sort of magic being used on him. Better to let him rest and take care of it when he woke up, and if looking at it made his gorge rise with swelling guilt, then Rus only had himself to blame. This all might have started with him getting dragged in, but things had changed since that day in the shop when he had hidden behind the counter in a stranger’s arms.

That day was over and a new one was dawning, one where Rus complicit, for not listening to his brother’s warnings, for not keeping his distance, for letting his desire for Edge overrule his rather uncommon sense.

No, that wasn’t entirely true, at least one other person was at fault here, the one who’d caused that bruise. He wasn’t sure he believed Blue that their so-called host wasn’t to blame; even if he hadn’t struck the blow, he’d obviously failed to protect them as promised. Broken promises tended to multiply, that was a hard lesson Rus learned while they were still Underground.

Well, he certainly wasn’t lost in a metal fog any longer. He felt as if he were waking up from more than an unpleasant dream. His pleasure-tinted memories of last night in Edge’s bed had lost their luster the moment he got a good look at his brother’s bruised face and cold reality settled in its place, sinking down into the pit of his soul like cold water sinking to the ocean floor.

Somehow, he’d been slowly starting to forget the truth; that he and Blue were here unwillingly, staying only for protection against revenge that hadn’t been theirs to begin with. They were very bad men, Edge warned Rus of that from the very beginning, and Edge was still planning on dealing with Blaze however he would; someone would likely be dead and dust by the end, and Rus couldn’t allow himself to forget that, if only to ensure that neither he nor his brother were part of it.

Rus wrapped his arms around his legs, settling his chin on his updrawn knees. Where the hell did he think this was all going to go, anyway? When everything was said and done, and Blaze was dealt with, where did he fit in a place like this? He didn’t, that was how, did he really think he’d be able to finish up his shift at the shop making bouquets and then come back here to pretend he didn’t know what was happening around him, both inside and out of these walls. Even if Edge wanted him for longer than a few nights, Rus couldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

His brother’s comment about getting paid well might have been cruel, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. Only it didn’t seem to be dollars that Rus was bartering with, but instead his own soul.

No. He couldn’t let that happen, not to Blue. His brother worked so hard for everything they had ever since their pop left. He wasn’t going to throw it away, not for a few minutes of pleasure, he couldn’t.

This would end eventually; they would go back to their home and their flower shop and leave all this madness behind, and though it made a fresh lump rise in his throat to think of it, Rus decided that he would tell all of this to Edge today. Whether it ended in pleading or demands didn’t matter, he was going to end whatever this was, could it even be called a relationship? All Edge knew about him was what he’d seen through a window. It was time to set aside this ridiculous fantasy, if not for himself then for his brother’s sake.

The sheets were still clinging to him clammily, sweat from his nightmare drying uncomfortably on his bones. Rus slipped carefully from the bed, snatching up his phone and using the flashlight to help him pick out fresh clothes from the closet.

It was still relatively early, only barely past six am, no wonder Blue was still sleeping. Normally, Rus would be as well, it was another hour before his time to groaningly drag himself out of bed and down to the shop for his daily shift. As tired as he was, the idea of crawling back in to lay on the damp sheets didn’t appeal much.

Instead, he went into the bathroom to change, this time in a pair of loose, flowing trousers with an oversized sweater layered over a plain button-up. It was a heck of a lot closer to something he’d find in his own closet, even if he could tell by the feel of the fabric that it was from some pricy department store and not the local thrift shop. He wondered idly if someone had actually gone shopping for these new clothes or if they’d simply ordered in like Chinese takeout. He had kind of a hard time picturing a delivery boy turning up at the back entrance of the club loaded down with bags of clothes instead of egg rolls. Whoever brought ‘em, he was reluctantly grateful for the quantity even as he shrank away at the thought of how long they might be intended to be there, and how could he stay away from Edge living directly down the hallway from him, how could he…?

Rus resolutely pushed that thought aside, splashing cool water on his face and patting it dry. It was a good thing their closet was filled, he told himself, ‘cause the clothes he’d worn yesterday were downstairs in the stripper’s dressing room, probably never to be seen again.

That thought made him cast a guilty look at the clothes he’d worn up here, the ones loaned to him by Mona for her brief tutorial on dancing. They were lying in a careless pile leftover from last night’s shower and he bit the tip of his tongue worriedly. Maybe Mona would need them back, someone had to. He could ask the Dogs to bring them to her with a note of thanks…or he could take them himself and let her know that he was all right.

Plus, it’d be a chance to give her some proper gratitude for trying to help out. Sure, it hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped, really not, but that wasn’t her fault, and she didn’t have the first idea how the story ended last night. Seemed like she should at least get to know Rus probably wasn’t gonna end up with cement shoes or anything, but this time, if he was going downstairs, he’d do it properly and walk.

Decision made, Rus gathered up the clothes, folding them into a tidy bundle. They were rumpled and stank richly of sweat and sex. He blushed to think of returning them that way, but he couldn’t lie, it felt less embarrassing to bring them back to Mona than to leave it for the Dogs to find on laundry day. Worst that could happen with her was it would confirm some suspicions she already had.

He carried the bundle out of the bathroom with him, hesitating as he glanced at the bed and the lump in the covers that was his sleeping brother. This time there wouldn’t be any slipping off without a word, no more secrets, not if he could help it. He paused at the little table by the door to write his brother a note, his scribbly handwriting stating clearly that he was returning something downstairs and he’d be back soon.

That was one thing done right, at least.

That done, he slipped out the door to the hallway, closing the door hastily before the light could wake his brother. As expected, there was a Dog standing guard outside and it turned to him questioningly, its headed tilting to one side.

“excuse me, can you take me downstairs to speak with the ladies?” Rus said. Firm yet polite seemed like the best route and he held up the bundle in his arms. “i have some stuff to take back to them.” He really hoped they didn’t offer to just take it for him and not just because there was no way a Dog wouldn’t pick up on the reek. He was gonna talk to Mona one way or another, flimsy excuse or not.

The Dog said nothing, and Rus still wasn’t quite sure if that was a choice, an order, or simply a physical impossibility. It seemed to consider, then pulled out a cell phone, unhindered by its paws as it briskly tapped out a message. Whatever reply they received, they nodded and led the way down the hall to the elevator, the same one Edge brought him upstairs in, hey, he was starting to get the hang of this place.

Once the doors open again, Rus took the lead, heading to the dressing room from last night. The Dog waited at the entrance as he slipped inside, clothes in hand.

It was mostly empty now, none of the bustling and hurried dressing of the night before. The only stripper in the room was the Cat Monster…Lilith, that was her name, and her clothing was a stark contrast to their first meeting. Her revealing slip of a dress was exchanged for simple jeans and a t-shirt with ‘Bad Girl’ written in sparkly letters across the chest. She was tying the laces on her sneakers, glancing up and then again in a doubletake as she caught sight of him.

She gave him a sultry smile, pink tongue curling over her lips. “Well, hey there, sugar skull, stopping in for another visit or are you hiding out again?”

“no, um,” Rus said, awkwardly. He held up the bundle. “mona loaned me some clothes, i was just bringing them back.”

“Oh, is that all?” she yawned, showing sharp teeth, “Night shift is over, hun, Mona’s gone for the day.” She tilted her head in the direction of a large bin that was already overflowing with clothes, bra straps and stockings hanging over the sides. “You can toss it in the pile, they’ll get take care of.”

Rus wavered, torn, then decided he didn’t need to keep them as an excuse to visit with Mona. A lack of one hadn’t stopped him yet. He tossed the bundle in the pile and started back out to the hallway, then hesitated to ask, “do you know when mona will be back?”

Maybe if she worked tonight, he could slip down to see her before she started for the night.

“Sorry, hun, schedules change. If you want to wait, I can check after I get a smoke. I’m dying for a cig.” She held up a pack of cigarettes and against his will, his gaze strayed to it longingly. He hadn’t had one in days now and his nicotine craving lifted its ugly, eager head, starting a painful itch in his marrow. Damn, he hadn’t even checked his backpack when the Dog gave it to him and didn’t remember if he had a pack of smokes in it. He sure wasn’t about to ask Edge or, angel forbid, Red for one. It might be days yet before he got out to buy a pack himself.

Lilith gave him a knowing look. “Want one, sweetheart? You got that kind of look.”

The sudden flood of saliva in his mouth was embarrassing, but eh, the rules were a little different for smokers, nothing wrong with bumming the occasional cigarette so long as it didn’t become another habit, a worse one than smoking itself.

“i…yes,” Rus said gratefully, “if you don’t mind?”

“Nah, c’mon, I can share.”

She turned and walked towards the back of the room, her slender tail curling around her feet and Rus followed her to heavy door with a bright ‘Exit’ sign gleaming over it in neon red.

“I’d get a smack on the hand if they caught me sneaking out this way,” Lilith confided. Her whiskers quivered as she wrinkled her little muzzle. “But I can’t stand walking all the way ‘round for a quick smoke. I get enough exercise on the pole, you know?”

He didn’t, but he could certainly guess. He followed Lilith outside into an alleyway lined with trash cans, the sky overhead tinged grey with the coming dawn. She shook out one for herself and lit it before handed over the pack, and the first hit of nicotine melded into his magic with deep, mellow relief. Talking didn’t seem necessary, Lilith only played on her phone while both of them smoked silently through their cigarettes and when Lilith was done, she tossed her butt to pavement already littered with dozens more and shook out another before handing the pack back to him.

“May as well have another, honey,” she said, and he really shouldn’t, he had enough debt as it was, and what was that look she was giving him, something like regret…?

There was a sudden stinging at the back of his neck, coupled with hot breath, whispering low in flame-speak. “Yes, do have another. It might well be your last.”

The still smoldering butt fell from his nerveless fingers, falling into a puddle with a hiss, the dizziness already swarming over him distancing him from both his senses and his magic. He whirled clumsily around to see a fire Monster standing behind him, as tall as he was and nearly as broad as Red. The hectic flutter of his purplish flames cast the alley in disturbing shadows, devils dancing to their deaths in the slowly growing sunlight.

Blaze.

Rus took a stumbling step back, fumbling at the door, but there was no handle on the outside, only smooth metal. He looked at Lilith disbelievingly, slurring out, “wha…why?”

Tears were streaming down her pretty face, soaking into the short fur. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry. He was offering money, so much money, you don’t understand what it’s like here—”

He didn’t hear whatever else she said as he was suddenly seized, pushed back against the rough bricks of the alley wall. Those deep purple flames managed to be somehow both dark and blinding, Rus squinting against that painful light, cringing away.

“don’t—” Rus stuttered out. But his hands were disobedient and strengthless, pushing helplessly against Blaze’s shirt as he stepped closer, his surprisingly heavy body pinning him against the wall. His face was too close, burning fingers painfully pinching his chin and forced Rus to lift his head, the smoky ash of his breath gusting over Rus’s face.

“Perhaps I judged too quickly on Edge’s tastes. You are rather a pretty thing, after all.”

Rus cried out, the sound muffled, choking as his mouth was taken in a rough kiss, the pained heat of flaming tongue forcing its way between his teeth. He didn’t think, could hardly manage a single idea past no. He bit down automatically, choking again as his mouth filled with bitterness reminiscent of gasoline.

He nearly fell as he was released, gasping for breath, and he only barely managed to open his sockets enough to see the blow before it struck, his vision exploding into whiteness as Blaze backhanded him and sent him to his knees amidst the filthy puddles and the rotting old cigarette butts.

Dazed, he could only watch as Lilith grabbed hold of Blaze’s arm as it rose again. “Stop it! You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“So I did,” Blaze said, and someone Rus couldn’t see was translating in a gleeful drawl, “You should have secured the same promise for yourself.”

A deafening sound rang through the alley and Rus stared dumbly as a bright blossom of red appeared on Lilith’s shirt, splatters of crimson stark against her white fur like winter berries in a snow bed. She looked down at herself in confused disbelief, touching that awful wound with trembling fingers and smearing that stain across her shirt as she slowly collapsed to the ground. Filthy water splashed, more redness tainting the puddle in a slowly spreading pool as she stared sightlessly up at the rising sun.

In that moment Rus found his voice, managing to croak out something like a hoarse scream before a rough hand slapped over his mouth, the brutal grip painful on his jaw.

“Come on, put him in the backseat. I’ll see if I can keep our guest entertained for the trip.”

He was dragged over to a waiting car, shoes scraping the pavement uselessly, barely noticing the leather seats beneath him. A door slammed and hot hands hauled him upright until he was sprawled awkwardly across an uncomfortable lap, a scorching mouth licking a painful path up his cervical vertebrae. Fingertips plucked threateningly at his clothes, but didn’t wander beneath them, and that only made Rus shudder helplessly, dizzily nauseous and numbly clouded in rising fear over what was to come.

edge. help me. It was hardly more than a distant, uncertain thought, the words never making it to his slack mouth.

tbc

[purplecatghostposts]

⬤ and + combined with frenrey perhaps?? I just need some good ol’ soft fluff and kisses from these two..

You got it!

—

Benrey has never been the best with words. Sometimes something will leave his mouth and not even he’s sure what he’s saying. So while what he is trying to voice is concern, instead what comes out is, “You look like shit, Feetman.”

...Which honestly isn’t an unfair statement but Gordon still sends him a look.

“Fuckin’ fantastic. Thanks, Benrey.” Sarcasm drips in his voice but that’s not what makes Benrey wince. It’s the fact that it’s raspy. If Benrey wasn’t 100% sure that Gordon has some sort of cold, he is now.

Gordon sits on the couch, attempting to tie his shoes with unsteady hands. His eyes are half lidded but determined to stay open and his face is off color, nose unusually red. Coughing overtakes him for a moment before he finally finished tying one shoe and moves into the other.

It took him ten minutes to tie the first one. Gordon keeps saying he’s going to go to work. Benrey decides right then and there that he is definitely not.

Moving from the table in the kitchen, Benrey stands next to Gordon, peering down. Orange eyes glance up and huff softly at his expression.

“What? Benrey, I’m kinda trying to go to- to work right now. I’m- I’m going to be late.”

Benrey pauses for a long moment. “Yeah uh... No.”

Gordon stops and looks up. Eyebrows arch. “...No?”

“You’re- you’re not going anywhere. Not allowed to be there.”

“I- I have my fuckin’ ID and last time I checked, I don’t need a passport.”

“Yeah but uh...” Fuck. Benrey quickly says the first thing that comes to mind. “It’s uh- a National Holiday. No work today. It’s ‘Cringe Men Named Gordon Feetman Aren’t Allowed In The Office’ Day.”

Nailed it.

He gets a scoff in response. “Stop fucking with me.” Gordon stands up, wobbling. Benrey’s hands fly out from his sides to steady him. Gordon blinks in surprise and mutters a ‘Thanks’ but still tries to go for the door. “Listen, I’ll be back by 5PM. I’ll be fine-”

Benrey is faster- blocking the doorway. “Yeah, no. It’s- it’s like I said. Not allowed in work today. Gotta keep you here. Keep an eye on you.”

“I’m not in the mood for jokes right now.” Gordon says flatly.

“Not- not joking.” Benrey hesitates. “I can’t let you leave.”

“Oh yeah?” Gordon crosses his arms, eyes challenging him. “Give me- give me one good reason and I’ll listen.”

“...You look like shit.”

Gordon stiffens. “...I’ve gone to work worse before, it’s fine.”

“No, you-” How does he even say this? C’mon think-pan, do some thinking. “You got bad uh- bad vibes and you could- could infect everyone else with- with your vibes. And you vibes are just gonna get worse unless you clean ‘em.”

Whatever he said must’ve worked because Gordon actually goes silent. His eyebrows furrow and he softly asks, “You’re worried about me being sick?”

Fuckin’ finally. Took him long enough. Benrey doesn’t say a word in response. Gordon gets the idea.

“It’s just a cold. I can still work.”

Benrey carefully reaches out and grabs onto Gordon’s hand. He turns them both around and starts to guide him back to his bedroom.

Gordon tugs away but it’s light. Less of trying to break free and more of a small protest. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. “Benrey, I should really get to work-”

“Babe, please.”

Truth be told, Benrey doesn’t mean to say ‘Babe’. It just kinda slips out. However, what he doesn’t expect is the way Gordon responds, eyes snapping open and suddenly dilated. His mouth hangs open but no words come out. Benrey isn’t the best at reading situations but he still understands what happens a second later.

Oh. Ohhhhhhh.

Feetman likes pet names, huh?

If Benrey weren’t focused on trying to get him to go back to sleep, his heart might’ve been doing funny things in his chest. Or maybe that’s still happening. Honestly Benrey can’t tell, his brain is going haywire, but either way? This is good. This could work.

“You... You gotta sleep, uh... Sweetheart.” It doesn’t matter that Benrey butchers how he says it. Gordon’s arms go slack, no longer silently arguing with him. Holy fuck- who knew Feetman liked this shit so much? He’s fuckin’ eating it up.

“I’ll take care of the whole ‘Work’ thing, Babe. Call in or get Bubby to set the place on fire or whatever’s easiest. But uh, you gotta stay in bed while I do that, right? Can’t- can’t do that if I’m still thinkin’ you’re out there getting your bad vibes all over the place.” Benrey didn’t realize how soft his voice is until he hears it. Almost sounds exactly like he’s trying to coax Joshua into going to bed instead of trying to watch him play video games all night. Shockingly gentle- almost scarily gentle. When did Benrey become so soft?

“Okay.” Gordon says at last. Benrey barely hears him but it sweeps him off of his feet. Fuck. Fuuuck. Feetman does more funny things to his heart. Any more and he’s gonna have to kiss him.

Not right now though. He’s all gross and sick n shit right now.

...Though a little one on the forehead wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Benrey shakes himself. He sends Gordon a little smirk as they finally reach his bedroom. “Finally. You should listen to me more- I got- I got good ideas too.”

Gordon gives a halfhearted hum in response. Benrey guides him over to his bed where he promptly flops and groans into the covers. Benrey has no idea why but he decides not to ask.

“You alright, Babe?”

Gordon flips over to face him. Was his face that red before? “Stop it. You’re weaponizing that word.”

“Just trying to get a bro to sleep.”

“Bros don’t call other bros ‘Babe’. That’s- that’s not a thing.”

“Bros call Bros whatever they wanna be called. And you uh- you really liked being called ‘Babe’ so what can I say. Your fault.”

Gordon’s face somehow manages to flush even more. Benrey can’t tell if it’s the cold or not but he suspects something else is at play. He’ll deal with that thought later.

“Shut up.” His voice is muffled when he starts to bury himself in the covers again. “You can’t bully me when I’m sick- that’s not fair.”

“Nah. It’s fair when you’re being a dumbass ‘n trying to go to work when you look like shit.”

“Just-... Go grab me some cold medicine or something.”

Benrey gives him a grin, even if he can’t see it. “Whatever you say, Babe.”

Benrey doesn’t miss the high pitched sound that Gordon makes when he thinks Benrey is out of range to hear it.

—

This was veryyyy fun, thank you for the request! Hopefully it’s to your liking!! Feel free to request more!

[uraharashopslut]

dreamland {hirako shinji fic}

- summary -

shinji had forgotten about the girl he grew up with in rukongai, until she waltzed right into his quarters with the last person he'd expect, his fukutaicho, aizen sosuke.

content warning: when life hands ya lemons, ya put 'em in ya story. this is gonna be a mature fic. not sure what the full extent of that will be, but there's definitely gonna be some crude language. yoruichi and urahara are swingers. it's gonna be a grand ol time.

{consider the Glass Animals album "Dreamland" the soundtrack for this book}

Chapter One

"Taicho," Aizen bowed as he entered his Captain's quarters.

"Always so formal, Sosuke-kun. What is it?" Shinji sat on his futon with his eyes closed, head against the wall, listening to the jazz from his Living World record player.

"I was wondering if I might have permission to move a guest into my quarters, sir," Aizen asked, kneeling in front of his captain.

Shinji opened one eye and raised an eyebrow. "Eh? Move someone in? From outside Seireitei?"

"Hai."

"Well, I'm gonna need more information than that if I'm to even consider granting such an odd request. Who is it?" Shinji asked. His lieutenant had always been incredibly private, to be fair, so had Shinji, but this was rather uncharacteristic of Aizen.

"My girlfriend."

---

"I can't believe he said yes, Sosuke-kun! How exciting. I'll grab my things immediately." Ayame began grabbing robes from her closet and shoving then in a bag.

Aizen reached out and grabbed her arm firmly. "Listen to me, Ayame. You must treat every person in Seireitei with the utmost respect. They are in a class above you and you must behave as such. Do you hear me?"

Ayame nodded, trying to loosen her boyfriend's grip. "Yes, Aizen-kun."

"If you slip up even one time I will have no choice but to send you back here, are we clear?" His grip remained.

Ayame's eyes fixed on the floor. "Yes, Aizen-kun."

"Good." He removed his hand. "Now finish packing, we leave in an hour." He flash-stepped away.

Ayame sighed and continued to pack. Is this really the best idea, she asked herself. She had been with Aizen for three years, but had never gotten used to his coldness. She looked around her room.

She was going to miss this place. Her floor was littered with buckets to catch the leaks when it rained, but it was still home. It was still the first place she could afford with money she earned, thanks to Aizen.

He was a dream, at first. They met when he was on a mission to the outer Rukongai district, where she was a makeshift house mother for a particularly rowdy group of boys. He helped her find a job and save enough money to move into her own house, although it was rather worn down. He's done so much for you, don't be ungrateful. You know how much his reputation means to him. Besides, do you want to live in this leaky shack forever? This is your chance to move up.

Ayame finished packing her belongings then locked up her house for the last time. She set the key on the ground in front for the landlord and headed towards the West Gate.

"Today the big day?" Sato, the old baker next door, asked.

Ayame turned to him with a smile. "Yes, Jii-san."

"Good luck to you! Oh, and if you see that Hirako rascal, give him hell for leaving you here alone, will ya?" he called.

"Seireitei is a large place, Jiisan. I doubt I'll run into him, and I doubt he'd remember me. That was two hundred years ago," Ayame said, her smile fading.

"Well, if you do."

"As you wish. Farewell, Sato-san! Thank you for all of your help." Ayame bowed before continuing to walk.

When she neared the gate, Aizen's reitsu began to overwhelm her senses.

"Boo."

Ayame turned around, less than startled. "Take this bag. I'm tired of carrying everything."

Aizen chuckled. "Hello to you, too." He grabbed the bag from her outstretched arm.

---

Ayame unrolled her futon and positioned it near Aizen's. She set her pillow and folded blanket on top.

"All moved in!" Aizen said, wrapping her in a hug from behind. "How does it feel?"

She took a deep breath, shifting the weight in her feet. This was her home now. "The energy is different from Rukongai."

"Better, right?" he asked with a cool tone.

Ayame turned to face her boyfriend and grabbed his hands. "Much better. I feel like I can breathe here."

Aizen's hardened expression softened as Ayame's green eyes looked up at him. He lifted her chin with his finger and kissed her gently.

"I'm glad you like it. Now that we're settled, I need to introduce you to the captain of my squad."

"The Blond Bastard, as you like to call him?" Ayame asked, stifling a smirk.

"Yeah, that's him," Aizen replied, sliding his door open.

"Does he have a real name?"

"Taicho. That's the only one that should matter to you," he said. He started walking to his Captain's quarters.

Ayame stepped out of the room and slid the door shut behind her before following after her boyfriend. They walked in silence.

"Ah, Aizen-kun. This must be the girlfriend your Captain was telling me about," a deep but friendly voice said.

The couple turned to face a man in a pink floral robe with a large straw hat. Aizen bowed.

"Kyoraku-taicho," he said. "This is Ayame."

Ayame bowed lightly, before smiling at the man.

"Very good to meet you. Always a pleasure to see another beautiful woman joining our ranks," Kyoraku grinned.

"Thank you, taicho," she replied, her cheeks flushing.

"You better hurry along and introduce her. You know how impatient he is," Kyoraku tipped his hat with a wink. "I'll be seeing you!"

"Taicho," Aizen said with a deep bow as the man walked away. He turned to face Ayame. "That was the captain of the eighth squad, Kyoraku Shunsui. We're almost at my Captain's quarters. His is the last door at the end of this hall."

The couple quickly made their way to the door. Jazz music could be heard from behind the wood.

"Taicho, may I enter?"

They heard a shuffle, something drop, and footsteps before the door slid open. Ayame could smell fragrant incense coming from the room as she bowed deeply.

"How many times do I have to tell ya, Sosuke-kun, ya can just call me Shinji," the blond captain said, scratching his head. "Oh! This must be yer girl-"

He stopped short and his eyes widened when he saw Ayame's face.

"Yes, this is my girlfriend, Aya-" Aizen started.

"I can't believe it," Ayame said, stepping closer to the door as she made eye contact with the blond captain. "Hirako?"

Shinji pushed past his lieutenant and grabbed the blue-haired girl's shoulders. "You?"

Ayame turned to her boyfriend. "You didn't tell me 'The Blond Bastard' was Shinji Hirako!"

Aizen glared at Ayame. "I didn't realize you knew each other."

Shinji shot a look that could kill at his lieutenant. "Back in the day, this 'blond bastard' lived in Rukongai."

"We grew up together," Ayame said bitterly.

"Come in, let me pour some tea," Shinji said, putting his hand on her back, guiding her into his room. Aizen trailed behind.

Shinji closed the door behind them and gestured to the futon. "Both of ya, make yerselves comfortable!"

Ayame sat down, cross-legged, and gestured for her boyfriend to do the same. Shinji picked up a candle that was on the ground, presumably the object that the couple heard fall, and turned down his record player.

Shinji filled a kettle with water and tea leaves and set it on the stove to boil. Ayame watched him in disbelief. He was a captain, just like he'd always dreamed of being. As children, they spent many hours in the woods fighting one another with sticks. Shinji talked ceaselessly about how he'd be the best captain in all of Seireitei, and here he was.

"You never told me you grew up with a Captain-class Shinigami," Aizen hissed in Ayame's ear.

"I never knew," she responded. "He left without a word."

"So, darlin', when'd ya dye yer hair blue? It's a nice touch, stands out more than the brown," Shinji asked, carrying three cups and the tea pot. He sat across from them on the floor. He reached and grabbed a strand in his hands. "I like the color. Very shiny."

"And you had brown hair?" Aizen asked, as he watched Shinji pouring the tea.

"Yes, I dyed it to set myself apart. I didn't like blending in with everyone in the district," Ayame shrugged, sipping the tea Shinji handed to her.

"I get the sentiment, but ya never blended in," Shinji laughed. "They were always scared of ya."

Aizen's brows furrowed. He took a sip.

"I was pretty rambunctious as a kid. Always beating up the bullies who'd pick on this blond bag of bones."

"Geez, first I'm a blond bastard and now I'm a bag of bones? Needa get better friends," Shinji whined, rubbing his shoulder.

"Or maybe you shouldn't abandon them," Ayame responded, crossing her arms.

"Darlin', it wasn't like that," Shinji said, his posture stiffening.

Aizen face remained unchanged at his Captain's use of the pet name.

"You could've come back, to see me, maybe when you finished the academy. But you didn't." Ayame stood and set her cup of tea on the desk next to the record player. "Sosuke-kun, let's go. I can't be here anymore."

"I agree." Aizen stood and opened the door, stepping out. "Thank you for tea, Taicho," he said with a bow."

Shinji stood and grabbed Ayame's wrist. "Ayame, wait."

Ayame turned to face him. "Yes?" she hissed.

"Come see me again, please. My door is always open to ya," Shinji said gently.

Ayame could see the sincerity and sorrow in his eyes. "Maybe, Hirako." She tried to pull her wrist free from his grip. "Shinji?"

Shinji's eyes darkened and he spoke with a lowered tone. "If he doesn't treat ya well, he'll have hell to pay."

Ayame pulled her wrist free and nodded slightly. "Good bye, Shinji. Maybe I'll see you around."

fin

tell me what ya think in the comments below, dolls!

[goldenraeofsun]

just say yes

The latest installment of this verse... or 5 times Dean tries to propose to Cas.

Dean bites his lip as he scans the menu. What the hell is branzino, and where the fuck are the prices? He flips the flimsy piece of cream-colored paper over, but no dice. 

Thank god there’s a steak listed among the five lone entrees. It’s probably five times his normal dinner price tag, but Dean already made peace with putting off buying that 30 year anniversary Rush album. It’ll still be there after his next pay check. 

Cas eyes him over the top of his own menu. “What are you thinking?”

Marry me.

Dean doesn’t say that, though. He has plans. Keep his trap shut until dessert. Tell Cas he’s going to hit the head. Pull a waiter aside and ask for two glasses of champagne. Return to Cas. Hopefully not shit his pants as he proposes. Drink champagne. Go home and have fantastic engaged sex.

Dean has high hopes for the last part of the plan.

“Dean?”

Belatedly, he says, “The steak.”

Cas hums. “That does look good.” He ducks back behind his menu. “I was thinking of getting that too. But maybe not.”

Dean takes a hasty sip of water. “Get the steak if you want it, man. We don’t go to places like this often.”

“I think I’ll get the honey glazed salmon.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says lamely. He drinks more water. At this rate, he won’t have to fake the bathroom run.

Aren’t they supposed to have alcohol by this point? They’ve been sitting at their fancy-ass table in this fancy-ass restaurant for nearly fifteen minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t have picked the newest five-star restaurant to propose to Cas. He’s already on edge from the pressure, and the pristine white tablecloth isn’t helping. He can already see five ways he’s gonna stain it. There are several forks in front of him. For fuck’s sake, this place has an actual chandelier. Dean hadn’t honestly thought they existed outside of billionaire mansions and Disney movies.

The live music is nice, though. A sedate piano tinkles in the background, barely audible over the buzz of polite dinner conversation.

Dean catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the dark windows to the street. He looks a little sweaty, but not as nervous as he feels, thank god.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t even be nervous.

They’ve talked about marriage before. They’re adults in an adult relationship, so popping the question out of the blue would go down like the time Dean swept Cas away for a surprise camping trip. Turns out, Cas did not like camping. Which Dean would have known if he had asked anytime in the past four years.

But… that marriage conversation was two years ago. Dean wasn’t ready then; they both weren’t. Cas was still in a bad place with Jimmy and Claire, and Bobby had just died, so they weren’t about to roadtrip to Vegas anytime soon.

Now, Claire can have a civil dinner with her parents, and the hole Bobby left in Dean’s life can go unnoticed some days.

The deal is, Dean can’t chicken out tonight. He already told Claire to make herself scarce. She can sleep at her parents’ or at Krissy’s, Dean doesn’t care, as long as she is not crashing on their sofa when they get back from dinner.

Dean would rather read a hundred plagarized student essays on The Very Hungry Caterpillar than admit to Claire he failed to ask Cas to marry him. 

So, proposal time.

The waiter comes by with their drinks and takes their orders. Conversation is a little stilted, but hopefully Cas chalks it up to Dean being outside his comfort zone in this fancy-ass place. There’s no steady thunk of darts hitting a board or clack of pool balls in the background to put him at ease. Just that lame piano.

Cas makes porn noises over his salmon at first bite, which Dean totally doesn’t get. It’s fish.

“How’s your steak?” Cas asks as he surfaces and dabs his mouth with his cloth napkin.

Dean belatedly slices off a piece of his meal and pops it in his mouth. A generically bland compliment dies on his tongue. Jesus Christ - that’s some good cow. It practically disintegrates before he can chew. “Great,” he tells Cas honestly.

Cas hums in contentment.

“And since you’re practically at third base with that salmon,” Dean starts, “I take it-”

“Oh my god!” a woman’s voice squeals behind them.

Dean reflexively turns his head in the direction of the commotion. A few tables over, near the center of the restaurant, a man is down on one knee, and - son of a bitch.

Dean watches, his mouth hanging open, as the woman shouts, “Yes, of course, yes!” Waiters walk past their table with a whole fucking bottle of champagne. People at nearby tables fucking clap.

Dean resolutely turns back around to face Cas, at a loss for words that aren’t extremely loud swears.

“Isn’t that nice?” Cas says mildly.

“Yeah, very nice for them,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

Of all the goddamn nights. Of all the goddamn restaurants. What are the goddamn chances?

Dean slices into his steak with extreme prejudice. If he could murder the happy couple, he would. With zero regrets.

Fuck it all, Claire’s gonna be insufferable.

  A CHARMING B&B IN VERMONT

Dean wakes up delightfully cozy with Cas spooning him from behind. No memory foam, but the bed is delightfully springy anyway. It was definitely what they needed after a full school day and a nine-hour road trip. Luckily, the owner of the bed and breakfast, a charming older woman actually named Mrs. Butters, was happy to wait up for their late check-in last night. She even had hot cocoa waiting.

Dean had held out a slight hope they could christen their room before they turned in for the night, but Cas passed right out before Dean turned on the lights. Poor guy had to deal with three sets of angry parents, and it was only the second week of school. Something about how their supposed-genius kids should be in AP Latin instead of the Fun Latin class - aka the one for dumbass seniors.

The mid-morning sunlight filtering in from behind the plaid curtains casts everything in a warm glow. The room itself is beyond charming. There’s a legit fireplace next to the bed, and they’re currently nestled under a patchwork quilt. The wood panelled walls give a distinctly rustic feel to the place, despite the reasonably sized television screen mounted on the far wall.

Dean turns over in bed so he’s facing Cas instead of the door. He resists the urge to poke him awake, and instead prods with a gentle, “Cas.”

Cas grumbles wordlessly. Fucker doesn’t even open his eyes, although Dean can tell from how his breathing changes that he’s awake.

“Cas.”

Cas wrinkles his nose and shoves his face into the pillow. “What, Dean?”

Dean can barely make out the words, but he gets the gist from the million times Cas has done the exact same thing. “I smell bacon.”

Cas’s eyes slit open. “So?”

“Don’t you want bacon?”

Cas huffs, and Dean can tell the exact moment he resigns to waking up. “Then go get the bacon. Nobody’s stopping you, Meat Man.”

Dean wiggles in bed, jostling the whole mattress. “Come on, babe.”

“I was sleeping.” Cas raises his head to look squint out the window. “It has to be before ten am. Since when are you a morning person?”

Since today is the day Dean is going to propose.

Instead, Dean reminds him pointedly, “Bacon.”

“Ugh,” Cas groans as he sits up. “I expect at least a blow job after breakfast if we’re leaving bed this early.”

Dean slaps his ass and jumps out of bed before Cas can retaliate. “Up and at ‘em!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cas.”

* * *

Claire 11:02 Did you ask him yet? If he said no I’ve got chunky monkey waiting

Claire 11:31 That was a joke Uncle Cas will say yes Theres no way he wont

Claire 11:40 If you’re not answering because of sex don’t tell me

Dean sighs as his phone lights up with Claire’s latest text. In the bathroom, Cas hurls again. 

Dean 11:41 No proposal

The bubbles showing Claire’s typing start almost immediately.

Claire 11:41 Are you serious? He’s not goin to turn you down!!!

Dean 11:41 Food poisoning

Claire 11:42 HAHAHAHA

Dean scowls at his phone.

Dean 11:44 Not now, Claire.

Claire 11:44 Wait Seriously?

Dean 11:44 We think it was something he ate at breakfast

Claire 11:44 Oh fuck I’m sorry for laughing

Dean rereads her text. He hasn’t ever received a straight-up apology from Claire before. Unsure of how to respond, he sets down his phone and gently pushes open the bathroom door. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Cas, slumped over the toilet and looking like death warmed over, raises his head an inch. “It seems to be easing up.”

“Really?”

Cas vomits into the toilet again. He groans.

“Shit,” Dean mutters as he crouches next to Cas. He rubs his back with one hand. “Do you think you can get some water down?”

Cas nods, so Dean straightens and fills a glass next to the sink.

As Cas drinks, Dean runs a hand through Cas’s sweaty hair. His forehead has a sickly sheen to it, and the back of his neck feels hot.

“Dean -” Cas breaks off to cough the water right back up into the toilet. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Dean says quickly as he refills the glass. “Don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“But you had all these plans,” Cas moans as he takes the water to try again.

“We’ll do ‘em some other time.” He wets a washcloth and wipes down Cas’s forehead.

“Before Thanksgiving,” Cas rasps, “we’ll come back. I don’t want to miss the leaves changing.”

“Of course,” Dean says soothingly. He moves the washcloth to the nape of Cas’s neck. “On the bright side, you’ve been puking for, like, an hour. There can’t be much left.”

Cas, the dramatic bastard, nearly brains himself on the toilet seat with the force of his next hurl.

  HOMEMADE DINNER

After the disastrous fancy restaurant and B&B, a homemade dinner has to be the way to go. They’ll be in their own goddamn house - that has to cut down on the number of things that can go wrong.

Dean spends a whole week deliberating on what to make. He could do his usual burgers and fries routine, Cas’s favorite, but it should be special.

He settles on beef wellington. Pie for beef!

It’s a bitch to make - both because puff pastry from scratch is no joke, and hiding his first experiments from Cas means inventing increasingly convoluted reasons to get him out of the house. And, sure, every Youtube chef and Great British Bake off contestant has said store-bought puff pastry is fine, but Dean doesn’t want fine, he needs perfect. 

Dean picks a day when Cas has Model UN afterschool. It’s in the middle of the week, but at least Cas is guaranteed out of the house until six at night.

By 5:58, Dean is ready. The Wellington is cooling on the counter; the red wine has been breathing (whatever the hell that does) for the better part of an hour; and he’s showered and made himself presentable.

His phone pings at six pm on the dot. 

Heart sinking with foreboding, Dean taps the screen.

Cas 6:00 I’m going to be late for dinner. There was an accident with chemistry club a few minutes ago. The building had to be evacuated.

Dean 6:00 Are you OK?

Dean takes a moment to hammer the heel of his hand against his forehead. One fucking break. That’s all he’s asking for. One goddamn evening to go right.

Cas 6:00 Yes, and the kids are too. They’re airing out the halls now, but we won’t be let in for another half hour.

Dean picks up the wine with the hand not holding his phone. 

Dean 6:01 What time do you think you’ll be home?

Cas 6:01 7:30 maybe? I’ll keep you updated.

Dean swigs back a gulp straight from the bottle before he can answer. Fuck this.

Dean 6:02 Great! I’ll order pizza when you’re on your way back

Cas 6:02 Meatlovers?

Dean 6:02 Unless you’d like something else

Cas 6:02 No thank you :)

Dean flips on a recorded Jeopardy! episode as he cleans up the kitchen and texts Charlie. He has a free dinner waiting for her if she can hightail it to his place in the next hour and never speak of it again.

  HOMEMADE DINNER #2

If Dean is anything, he’s stubborn. John Winchester raised no quitter. Try, try, and try again. And try a fourth time, when the first three go sideways.

Burgers, this time. They don’t need a days’ worth of prep. And they’ll go over well.

“Dig in,” Dean says as he sets the plate down in front of Cas.

“This looks delicious, Dean,” Cas says sincerely as he picks up his burger.

Dean waits, and he can see the moment Cas tastes the molten cheese stuffed in the middle of the patty. His eyes go wide with surprise.

“Like it?”

Cas nods vigorously and inhales the rest of his burger in record time.

“There’s enough for us to have thirds,” Dean says smugly. 

Cas smears ketchup all over patty number two, and beams at him. “These make me very happy.”

Dean laughs. “That’s the goal-”

Cas’s phone rings.

Dean falters.

Cas stares at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to continue.

“You should get that,” Dean says, his shoulders slumping as he sets his burger down. It’s probably a bad sign he was already half-expecting things to go south. “It’s probably important, or whoever it is would’ve texted.”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Cas protests even as he reaches in his pocket to pull his phone out. “It’s Claire,” he says, baffled, before he picks up. “Hello?”

Cas sets down his half-eaten burger. He listens, his brows slamming down forbiddingly as Claire’s voice gets louder and louder, but still not loud enough for Dean to make out actual words. Silently, Cas takes his napkin off his lap and pushes his half-empty beer in Dean’s direction. Finally Cas says, “Yes, of course, Claire.”

Dean frowns as Cas lifts his gaze up to meet his. “Jimmy and Amelia?” he mouths.

Cas shakes his head, speaking into his phone,  “Does Kaia need a pick up from the hospital?”

Dean goes cold. Kaia was actually one of his favorite students. While she was in his class, she won a Scholastic Gold Key and honorable mention for two of her horror novellas and always did the reading. But Dean and Cas haven’t seen her since she broke up with Claire the summer before college.

“Is she okay?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas’s mouth thins. He gives a short nod.

Dean sighs and picks up the plate uneaten burgers. He can probably reheat the patties. The fries won’t keep, though, so he leaves the plate in front of Cas. He shoves a few in his mouth and gets to his feet.

He’s halfway through cleaning the frying pan when Cas gets off the phone with Claire.

“Are you heading out?” Dean asks gruffly while he gives the iron a particularly hard scrub.

“Yes,” Cas rumbles as he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist. “I’m sorry to cut dinner short.”

“Hey, it’s Kaia. ’Course we gotta help.” Dean forces an understanding smile on his face. “I’ll make up the couch while you pick her up?”

Cas squeezes him gently before moving away. “Thank you.”

“You got time for the cliff notes on what happened? Why’d you get the call?”

Cas leans against the counter next to the sink. “Kaia was in a car accident. She’s a little banged up, but mostly fine. A few bruised ribs and a possible concussion.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “You know Kaia was never especially close with her foster family, so Claire got the emergency call.”

“Huh.” Dean grabs a plate to clean. “It’s been two years since the split.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure what their situation is. I know Claire was surprised. She’s already in her car, and she should be here by midnight. Hopefully she recognizes Kaia’s injuries,” he frowns, “and they won’t try any… any ‘hanky panky’ tonight.”

Dean laughs, and if it’s slightly higher than normal, Cas doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He grabs Cas and kisses him square on the mouth. “You are ridiculous. Nobody says hanky panky. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cas scowls. “They have to be well past kissing at this point.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yeah, that ship has long sailed, dude.”

Cas throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have enough sleeping surfaces to separate them.”

Dean sets the dirty plate down to face Cas fully. “Do you really think they’ll get back together? Kaia broke Claire’s heart not too long ago.”

Cas throws him a look like he wonders where the hell Dean’s logical brain has flown to. “Are you asking if I think couples can get back together after a harrowing break up?”

“… no.”

Cas shakes his head ruefully. “You’re more like Claire than I ever was, and you took me back.”

“Huh,” Dean wipes his hands off on a dishtowel, “you might have something there.”

“You do call me the smart one,” Cas says as he pushes off the counter and heads to the doorway. “It has been known to happen.”

“Smartass,” Dean corrects loudly as Cas grabs his coat and keys.

“Semantics.” Cas doubles back to kiss Dean a proper goodbye, and it’s just as electric as it was when they were seventeen. Cas tastes like Dean’s cooking, and he’s been letting his stubble grow out, the short hairs rasping against Dean’s palm as he cups Cas’s cheek.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says as he draws away.

Dean grins. “I know.”

Cas huffs an almost-laugh as he heads back towards the door. “Now who’s the smartass?”

  IN BED

Cas, the son of a bitch, falls asleep before Dean can wring out a second orgasm out of him. Such a godamn shame. Just goes to show, they really aren’t teenagers anymore. At least Dean got to use the new vibrator he bought for the occasion and the edible panties. 

Dean flops back in bed. Maybe he should put the proposals on pause. Clearly, marriage isn’t in the cards. He can be a bit dense when it comes to Cas and him, but there’s dense and there’s denial.

It’s been two and a half months. Five proposal attempts. They’re nearly halfway through October, and he’s no closer to getting a ring on Cas’s finger than he was in late August, sweating bullets in that stupid fancy restaurant.

He can’t keep planning and failing to propose to Cas every other week. One, he can’t handle the stress and constant brainstorming. And B, he’s way behind in writing college recommendations and grading his freshman’s essays on Animal Farm. 

Cas isn’t going anywhere. Dean isn’t going anywhere. So Dean can cool the proposals for now and start fresh in January.

  SCHOOL ASSEMBLY

“I hate these,” Dean mutters to Benny. He frowns across the top rows of the bleachers where the seniors are supposed to sit. There are a few notable faces missing, but nobody that belongs to Dean’s homeroom, so he couldn’t give less of a shit. Below them, sit most of the juniors, and pretty much all of the sophomores and freshmen.

“It’s thirty minutes, brother,” Benny says, patting his arm. “You’ll live.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean grumbles back as Jody strides to the middle of the gym, microphone in hand. He asks Benny, “Do you know what this one’s about? Bullying? Cliques? Hugs not drugs?”

Benny shakes his head.

Jody sighs loudly into the mike. Clearly, she wants to be here just as much as he does. “Thank you all for coming,” she starts like any of them had a real choice. “First things first, Halloween is in two days, and while costumes are allowed and encouraged, don’t be racist.” She grimaces. “God help me, I don’t know why I still have to say that. If you are unsure if your costume is racist, it probably is. Wear something else. Secondly…”

Dean tunes her out. Instead, he scans the bleachers again, this time looking for Cas. He should be with the other sophomore homeroom teachers, but there’s no sign of him. Dean frowns. He can’t remember the last time Cas played hooky. And never without Dean. Dick move, Cas.

Movement at the edge of the gym catches Dean’s eye, and he watches, puzzled, as two students roll out one of the old projectors. The overhead lights turn off.

Is Jody seriously going to make him sit through a slide show? They’re wasting a prefectly good Friday morning on a goddamn PowerPoint?

The projector flips on, and the first photo is… of Dean. 

What the fuck? His mouth drops open in horror. In the picture, he’s in his junior year of high school - he can tell from the hair - with a bunch of people he hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Plus Cas, who’s at the next table over in the cafeteria, head bowed over a book and slightly out of focus.

There’s a click, and text scrawls along the bottom of the screen, Destiel Met in Edlund High School Fifteen Years Ago! 

The projector flips to the next photo, this time showing Dean’s senior yearbook picture.

More than a handful of students peer excitedly in his direction, undoubtedly hoping for a reaction.

Scowling, Dean cranes his neck to search the crowd for Charlie’s flaming red hair. She’s the only one who refers to the two of them as “Destiel”. Everyone else uses their names like sane people.

But the projector clicks to a photo of Cas, and Dean can’t help getting distracted. In the picture, Cas is alone at a table in the library. God, he was cute back then. His cheeks were a little fuller, and his hair was curlier. He still had the same intense blue-eyed stare, though. Patented Cas.

It all started with a tutoring session. Young Mr. W needed help in Latin, and our future Latin teacher, Mr. N, was up to the task!

Dean is going to kill Charlie. He tries to get to his feet - maybe she’s hiding behind Jo or something. But Benny’s hand grips his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t,” Benny says softly.

“What?” Dean demands as he tries to shake Benny off and fails. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”

“Stay.” The corners of Benny’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Watch.”

Dean huffs a breath and turns back around. If it was anyone else, Jo or Charlie, he wouldn’t trust a word out of their mouths. Benny, though, he’s not the type to make Dean sit through this without a good reason.

But that’s all ancient history. Destiel really got started five years ago, in this very gym.

The projector shows a picture of their class reunion, when Dean met Cas after ten years of no contact. They’re standing pretty close together (but that doesn’t mean much with Castiel What-Is-Personal-Space Novak), and they appear deep in conversation.

Since then, they have been inseparable.

Dean and Cas at a softball game. Dean and Cas at homecoming. Dean and Cas at GSA’s pride party.

Here’s to fifteen more years of Destiel!

The students clap and cheer with more than a few laughs.

Musical Interlude! flashes in front of a picture of Dean playing guitar to a group of pajama-clad students at last year’s Senior Lock-In.

The lights flip back on, and Dean blinks as his eyes adjust. By the time the spots have cleared from his vision, the projector has been wheeled away, leaving the main floor of the gym empty.

A staticky crackle echoes around the gym. And - is that Def Leppard playing on the speakers?

As the intro to Rock of Ages plays, the cheerleading team troops out from the locker rooms. 

They start a routine Dean’s never seen before. To Rock of fucking Ages.

The cheerleaders sings along with Joe Elliot, “What do you want?”

Dean’s mouth falls open as the entire high school chants back, “I want rock and roll. Long live rock and roll!”

By the time they get to the “Rock of Ages” chant, all the students are on their feet, clapping along with the beat and cheering.

The song dies down soon after, and Dean, a broad smile on his face, turns to Benny. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I dig it.”

Benny laughs. “Good. He’ll be pleased.”

Dean’s just about to ask who he is (he’s 99% he knows), when Cas walks out from behind the bleachers. 

Cas takes the microphone from Jody. He coughs nervously, waiting for the students to settle back down. “Thank you,” he says to the cheerleading team. “That was... awesome.” He glances up at the assembled students and teachers. “Dean-” he pauses as the cheers and clapping start up in earnest “-can you please come down here?”

But Dean’s frozen to the spot.

Benny gives him a not-so-light jab with his elbow. “Go on.”

Dean shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the gym floor, and he swears his legs are about to give out from under him.

“Alright, you got my attention,” Dean says with forced bravado. “What’s up, Cas?”

The students hoot and holler.

Cas reddens as they die down again. Clutching the microphone in a death grip, he says, “Dean, we have been together for a number of years.”

Dean grins, a wonderful, all-consuming giddiness filling him the longer he stands in front of Cas. “I know, dude. I was there.”

The students laugh and someone, probably Jo, wolf whistles.

Cas swallows. “I wanted to do this here, where we first met, where you first asked me out on a date, where we had our first kiss.”

“Don’t tell ‘em about all our firsts on school property,” Dean says in a stage-whisper, “or Jody’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Over a fresh round of student laughter, Jody puts her head in her hands. Donna, the school guidance counselor, pats her a few times on the back.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas says, and, shit, his hands are shaking. “I have loved you for more than half my life, and I look forward to far more than fifteen years by your side. Will you marry me?’

Dean’s not stupid. He had a strong hunch, ever since Rock of Ages played - aka the cassette he put in the Impala the first time he took Cas for a drive fifteen years and a lifetime ago - that this was what Cas was leading up to. 

He’s mostly surprised Cas had the guts to pop the question this way. There was a reason Dean tried to keep his proposal plans mostly to the two of them. One of them is practically a social hermit, and it’s sure as shit not Dean.

“Just say yes, jerk!”

Dean spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. Fuck, that’s Sam. His giant of a brother is hovering right outside the gym’s double doors, beaming at the pair of them. Claire gives a little wave from where she’s half-hiding behind him.

Dean turns back to Cas. He can’t think about Sam right now. Or Claire. Or the five hundred students with their eyes on them. 

Only Cas.

“Cas,” he says, and it feels like the whole room is holding their collective breath, none more so than Cas, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “Man, I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Cas lets out a shaky exhale of relief, and Dean laughs. He takes the microphone from Cas’s now slack grip, steps all the way into Cas’s personal space, and kisses him.

The cheers from the assembled students are nearly deafening.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Capt. Syverson-Chapter Two: Therapeutic Procedure

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Shane and Sy share some moments during their treatment sessions…and a phone call that could set the tone for the next few weeks.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None, yet… ;)

Author’s Note: Sorry, I was so eager and excited to post the first chapter of this last night, I totally put some inaccurate info in my description notes. I will correct that in the original post and  try to do better henceforth! Hope you enjoy Sy and Shane totally flirting some more and getting more friendly in this chapter. Feedback is appreciated! Even constructive criticism! :D

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. 

Tags: @onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee

Let me know if you wish to be added to the list! I’m happy to do it!

Shane woke up that morning with knots in her stomach. She dropped every product she picked up in the shower, she was shaking so much. She accidentally ordered the wrong coffee on her way to work and was now drinking something much less caffeinated and far too sweet for her taste. The barista had informed her it was a grande caramel macchiato with an extra pump of vanilla and extra caramel drizzle…with only two shots of espresso…she couldn't begin to describe how wrong that drink was for her. But it was better than nothing, she told herself, not fully convincingly.

She had chosen her clothes with extra care, even though, with the dress code, her options were limited. And she had made sure to put on a bit of mascara and just a touch of perfume, even though they weren't strictly supposed to wear it…she didn't know why she was bothering.

Well, actually, she did know why. She had been checking her schedule extra diligently lately to make sure she didn't look like a hobo when Sy was coming in. He'd been coming for three weeks now, and after the initial bellyaching about Jordan not being as pretty as her…her heart!...and his feeling extra sore after his visits with him, they were on a roll and had a great chemistry together as far as their treatments went…she tried not to think about…beyond the world of therapy.

She thought back to their first session after she got back from her trip. And the conversation they had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I think the next time you can't see me, I'm just going to cancel." he had sulked as he wiggled his mass of muscle onto the mat.

"Sy, no. you need therapy. Don't be like that to Jordan. He's an excellent therapist."

"He ain't you though." he smirked, sending her heart racing with that smile that somehow managed to look both boyish and rakish under his full, dark beard. Fucking hell. He needed to stop.

"Well, we can't fault him for that, can we? Lay back, Mister." She demanded. Done with the niceties of the evaluation and onto the treatments where she was in charge. The boss.

"Yes, sir!" she laughed at his clear avoidance of calling her ma'am.

"So where'd you go last week? Vacation or stay-cation?" he asked, the term "stay-cation" sounding downright comical coming out of his country-boy mouth.

"I went to the beach. Gulf Shores."

"I thought you looked like you got some sun."

"Yeah," she pretended his noticing the detail of her awesome tan did not send her reeling. "My folks rented a condo right on the water for my siblings and I to come and stay with them. They're still there. It was tough to leave all that beauty." the beach, pretty much any beach, was her favorite place to be.

"I bet…" he looked at her, something dreamy in his eyes, but he looked away before she could process it. "I thought I had my fill of sand and sun when I was over in Iraq. But you make it sound…like paradise." he smiled softly up at her as she worked on his knee, trying to break apart some of the scar tissue from the injuries and surgeries he'd had…and focus on that, and not the warmth rising in her.

"That's the perfect way to describe any place on the Gulf of Mexico. I doubt it's anything like Iraq, since there's so much water around. It's my favorite vacation destination. Well, apart from London."

"Them British folks always seem so stuck up. Don't know if I'd get along with any of 'em."

"It felt like a second home for me. Everyone was very kind and polite, for the most part. At least it was no worse than it is here."

"Maybe it's just because you're so nice."

"Wait 'til about week eight or ten of your protocol. You won't think I'm nice then. You'll be cussing me out and ready to ring my neck."

"Promise?" he asked, a dark grin on his lips and in his eyes…she faltered for a moment, gulping.

"Cut it out, Syverson." she rolled her eyes, covering…without great effect the way he made her feel.

"Yes...ma'am." he smirked with satisfaction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now, today, she'd be treating him again, fairly early in the day, and she had to prepare herself. She'd checked the policy, and although there wasn't anything strictly against dating a patient, it was clearly a conflict of interest, and would be frowned upon by her frigid tyrant of a boss. Best to let things remain platonic for now.

Her 9:30 was a no show, so she finished up some notes and was working on some continuing education credits when messenger popped up around 10:00.

Sergeant Sexypants is here. He's quite early and he knows it…*smirk emoji* he must like you, Shane!

Heather, come on, be respectful…he was discharged at the rank of Captain! *rofl emoji* and I think you might be right about him liking me…*nervous emoji*

Oooooooooh!!! You guys are gonna *couple kissing emoji* *eggplant emoji* *okay emoji* *explosion emoji* *baby emoji*

Omg…*three facepalm emojis* I am going to go ahead and start him early since my 9:30 was a NCNS.

Don't finish him too early. Make it last. *smirk emoji*

Jeez. She closed the chat and went to grab him from the waiting area.

"Hey Sy, you ready?"

"You bet, sunshine!" he flashed her a crooked smile. He was calling her sunshine now…ad that to the list of things she'd have to pretend didn't make her swoon.

"Great. Let's start on the bike. How's the knee feeling today?"

"Oh, it's…about the same. Stiff. Lil' sore."

"Well, it's a slow process, like I told you at your eval. You've got a lot going on in there."

"I know…just…it hasn't taken me four weeks to do anything in my life." he sulked. "So…thinking about this taking…twelve or more…" he grimaced as he sat down on the bike, and adjusted it for his longer than average legs, putting his feet in the pedal stirrups.

"You may not see it, Sy, because you're so close to it, but trust me, you're making progress. I can tell you're doing your exercises at home, and you're always willing to put in the work here. You have no idea how much that sets you apart from…some of these other people." she leaned in closer and spoke the last part more quietly to him. It was true. So many of her patients were either lazy or just in it to appease their MDs into writing them scripts for pain meds. That wasn't Sy.

"You really think so?" he gave her the side eye with his baby blues, crushing her with the color like the waves of the ocean she'd just returned from.

"In fact, I know so." she placed a reassuring hand on his broad and thick shoulder. She felt the tension between them hum, like electric current.

"Now, level one, and a steady pace. You're not trying to win any medals here. I'll take those crutches."

"When ya think I can 86 'em damn things?" he griped as he handed over the assistive devices.

"Well, you see Potter again tomorrow? I'll write an update today and send it to him. If he likes what he reads, or more likely pretends to read, regarding your progress, he may discharge them. Do you feel like you can be good to the knee and treat it nice without using crutches? I don't want you to regress and re-injure yourself. That's not gonna get you into your running shoes any sooner."

"I'll be nice. Real gentle." he winked at her…he wasn't just talking about the knee. And she knew it. But again, she pretended she didn't, ignoring once more those butterflies threatening to choke her they were multiplying so fast in her belly.

"Okay, I'll put that in my note. Patient compliant with instructions to be nice." she laughed.

They talked as they biked, Shane sat on the one next to him and pedaled along with him for something to do other than be idle. She thought it made him feel better as well. Like he wasn't doing it alone. They covered the subject of her siblings, an older brother in IT and a younger sister who was an MA, and his German Shepherd, Aika, which he was allowed to bring home from Iraq after they were both honorably discharged. Music, both of them completely in agreeance about the superiority of classic rock.

"I noticed you've worn a Lynyrd Skynyrd shirt a few times and meant to say something before now."

"Yeah, they're one of my favorites. But there are a few newer groups that I like a lot, too. Kings of Leon got me through some tough times, honestly."

"Oh, they're great! I love their sound. And their lyrics…poetry."

"No shit. Sorry." she shook her head and raised up her hands to indicate that he didn't need to apologize to her for swearing. She'd been known to make sailors blush when she was off the clock. "Only by the Night…that whole album is…it's just in my blood, ya know? Ya ever have an album do that?"

"I have. Whole artists catalogs, actually."

"Which artist?" he prodded.

"The Beatles. Pretty much every song. Like you said, it just, like, I dunno, it's almost deeper than the veins. It's in the marrow. My soul." she stared off out the windows ahead of them, thinking about her favorite band in the world and how magical it was to experience Sir Paul McCartney playing some of her favorites live…twice…and the timer on the bike went off, pulling her from her daydream.

She looked over at him, startled by both the noise, and the dreamy look in his eyes that was becoming all too familiar.

"Sorry." she stood, grabbing his crutches for him and handing them back to him from where she had leaned them as they rode.

"Hey, don't be sorry for…ahem…for loving what you love. We should all…hold on to the things that make us feel like that." she nodded.

"Thanks…I don't think a lot of people…understand the way I…my tendency to take things like music, movies, and shows…books…so deeply to my heart." they walked to the treatment room from the gym, taking their time, since they had it. A rare occurrence for Shane, always needing to capitalize on every spare minute. To make productivity a priority.

"I think…that…well, seeing a pretty grim side of the world like I have…seems like there's enough darkness and bullshit making everyone miserable. If we find something…or…someone…that brings us some happiness or even just makes that misery bearable…we oughta hang onto 'em real tight. Cherish it like gold." the silence in the small room was loud with that electrical hum of their tension again. He'd said all the right things, as he always seemed to, but under the absolute wrong circumstances. She just nodded.

"They teach you philosophy in Basic?" she giggled. He laughed back in response.

"Oh, no, Basic was way easier than…whatever goes on inside of us."

"Speaking of which," she segued deftly, "lay back, and let my try to get some range out of that knee before I take new measurements for this update I'm gonna write."

"Yes, ma'am!" he chuckled.

"You get some sick thrill out of calling me that, don't you?" she scowled playfully at him.

"Oh, you have no idea…ma'am." he winked at her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Shane was wondering how Sy's appointment went as she ate her soup at lunch and caught up on her morning notes. She got a ping on messenger.

You have a gentleman caller…*eggplant emoji*  hehe, he's on line three.

Geez…thanks Heather.

No need to ask for a name. She knew Heather meant Sy.

She picked up the phone at her desk in the treatment room.

"Hey Sy! How'd the appointment go?"

"Hey, sunshine…eh…he said I'm doin' good, but he wants me to stay on crutches another two weeks." she could hear grave disappointment in his voice. She felt for him.

"Aww, I'm sorry Sy. I know you wanted off those. And I know they're a pain. Literally and figuratively."

"Why wouldn't he want me off 'em?" he was so frustrated. He must have just left the office.

"Did you ask him that question?"

"You know doctors, Shane. Not like I would have got an answer in plain English. Figured you'd know."

"Well, I haven't seen your post-visit report, but it's my presumption that he wants to play it safe. You know he spent most of his day in the operating room with you, right? An eight hour surgery, you had. He probably doesn't want to undo all that by d/c'ing the crutches too soon."

"I was gonna be careful though, Shane!" he was worked up properly, and she could hear it over the roar of his pickup in the background.

"I know you were, Sy. I'm sure you were going to take all kinds of precautions. But what if you're walking into your kitchen, during a storm, and there's a loud clap of thunder, and Aika gets startled and busts past you? What if you're feeling good one day, and forget about it, and jog to catch up to someone holding the door open for you and miss a stick or something under foot? You can't prepare yourself for every pebble or patch of mud in your path, Sy. Accidents will happen. Some circumstances are beyond our control…we just have to do the best we can. The crutches are going to help you until we get you stronger. That's what we'll focus on until those two weeks are up."

"Why is it you can calm me down like this?" he asked, sincere and truly calmer than he had been.

"I'm just a good therapist, is all."

"Ya don't think that's really all, do ya?" the sound of his deep drawl in her ear from the receiver made her shiver. He was implying something that she just couldn't entertain. It wasn't possible for them right now. Maybe…down the road…in a few weeks…

"I'll see ya tomorrow, Sy. Come ready to work that knee."

"You didn't say no…" he was too hopeful. Damn it, he was cute when he was hopeful. She was glad she couldn't see his face light up like she knew it was doing.

"You may have noted I didn't say yes, either."

"Yet. See ya in the mornin', sunshine."

"Bye, Sy."

She put the receiver in the cradle and her face in her hands.

"Shit."

She had a feeling this particular patient was about to become much more complicated.

Up Next: Chapter Three-Therapeutic Activity