#grabbing her dude unprompted and putting the moves on him

[king0fcrows]

.

[selfox]

The ark of Ungrateful from Random Tales of Drakgo by @gothicthundra

I thought that I laughed hard before, but for now, this takes the cake

(1)

Of course, Shego, you wanted to annoy him. Totally. Not even once you wanted to actually see his fam. Ma'am, you are going for the big guns Estelle, I love you. Idk why, but this simple detail of *him* grabbing *their* bags is so... Heartwarming 🤣🤣🤣 spoke too soon. I loved that switcheroo. ....... I believe me and Drew have similar room vibes omg 🤣🤣 Shego, so much for fighting the biiiiig dokidokis SHEGO Hello, Estelle ~ you two are buste~~~~d Mother knows best~ (Tangle au intensifies) I'm grinning so much while reading this. Yes, Shego, she did imply Oof, oof. Elderly cranky grandmas, oof. Oh boy, Estelle and Michelle... Shiiiiiit, yep it is your funeral Oof, that lady is straight forward. Oof. Drew, your family is something. That feeling that what I've been saying is applies here - he is the most “normal” in his family ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 🤣🤣🤣🤣 SHEGO OMG YOU TWO ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE DORKS ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) KISS HER I WILL BE PULLING SEBASTIAN Sha la la la la la, don't be scared You got the mood prepared Go on and kiss the girl SERIOUSLY MY DUDES OYL GRRRRRRR

Second reread:

(by the way - GORGEOUS ART)

Fixing his collar ; 0; how come you guys have such a great level of physical intimacy? Drew, your mom knows that Shego is so much better at keeping your appointments.

He is a dork and I love him so much.

I still adore that switcheroo, but still him being ready and unprompted to take their bags out 👌to be fair, rewatching the show as an adult, I've started to notice specific details like him holding a door to her.... heh, using Shego's words "That's so sweet"

Grand return of Shego the cat. She is being so Shego xD

I applaud to Estelle.

Once again, I am left with a strong desire to see baby pictures of Drew and Eddie. These 2 sound so adorable.

Once again, my heart bleeds for Drew at his interaction with his nana. I don't know why it hits so hard, as I've never experienced this from my own grandmas, luckily.

The war of Elles. F Shego.

... I think, I too need a drink of my own too. Hell.

Drak, she still loves you.

The night gown~

JUST TALK YOU TWO ABSOLUTE DONKEYS! EVOLUTION GAVE YOU MOUTHS AND ABILITY TO SPEAK, SO SPEAK YOUR FEELINGS LIKE ADULTS THAT YOU AREN'T. ┻━┻ ︵ ＼( °□° )／ ︵ ┻━┻

To be honest, if they actually shared this bed and something would have happened, I doubt that they would still realize that they like/love one another

I love those two and their banter, especially Shego's jabs about his virgin bed, but I still have the urge to shake them to get some sense into their heads. Probably wouldn't work either.

MA'AM 🤣🤣🤣🤣 Though to be fair, she uses HEAVY hinting guns.

No, don't get up, just *moves their heads closer* c'mon grrr

I will be singing again

OTL

(2)

OUGH OTL girl, he was expecting the plasma blast You guys are awful at communicating OTL Shego if he had heard you... OTL Morning shenanigans hdhdhd Oh, the horrors! Hello Ed! Cannot believe I say it, but I'm with Ed Well, that's one way of being in a closet🤣 Oh, Nana ＞︿＜ Ooh, hi Misty. Hello namesake 🤣🤣🤣omg BABIES, I WANNA SEE THAT PICTURE Kitchen. Gosh golly, the tension between them will soon make sparks fly *noise that definitely wasn't made by human* ACTION

Second reread:

once again - gorgeous art!

I guess it's how realistic it is... this whole miscommunication of two people who are very awful at feelings... you guys need therapy among other plethora of issues you have

SHEGO, YOU ARE MISREADING YOUR SIGNALS COMPLETELY

*puts my head in my hands* they are hopeless.

"Motor Ed... was in the bathroom... I can't unsee... what I saw." heh.... considering what me, Flower and Ker drew *sips* I wouldn't say it's that bad. Yes, it was a shameless plug.

Agree, Shego, he is very much a dork. No. Dork, capital D

What happens in Vegas.... not always stay in Vegas.

DRAK NO

I NEED THOSE BABY PICTURES (ended up drawing baby Ed and Drew myself lol)

"Our family doesn't know we're villains. " *are you sure about that gif*

Ouch oof, OTL such a bittersweet moment right in the kokoro

I am withholding my 1 specific reaction to this until part 4 cus I first had this grand realization there and I am mad that I only got that during that time and not effing earlier.

I don't even care that I spilled the beans over my name. Different spelling.

This family is something else entirely, and I love them for it.

Good lord F, Dr D. Getting shivers all over, I dislike liver.

The sheer amount of fluffy flutters I have in my system, it's hard to contain. Surprised that I'm not coughing up butterflies. I want to squeeze those two so much.

.........

.......

......

*face plant on my book and desk*

and here all flutters are gone, and all is left is desire to SHAKE THEM

Hi Kim.

(3)

OMFG F EDDY Welp, there is the tape I'm laughing so hard I even get light headed RON NO OMFG CHAOS CHAOS PURE CHAOS 🤣🤣🤣🤣 IM DYING That feeling that it's true. Great grandkid. Yep. Now I know where Drakken got it LMFAO THIS WHOLE FAMILY IS A GEM!! I love them, I need more Dr D, admit if it wasn't you, you would laugh just as much CALLED THAT LINE

Drak, at this point, they are a part of your family........... even if there was absolutely nothing regarding the donor thing. They always will be there at your family gathering. Just accept it.

I guess your voice had the BOOm in it.

Yes, I'm still losing it in laughter. "Your wife's a stripper?"

Grand return of the tape🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

DO NOT KIM

Hashtag teamwork

Ah I see, Lois/Beatrice (lol Tris), Michelle/Estelle..... Edward/Dreward 🤣🤣🤣🤣

F Drew.

The secret spy agency drakgo and co khsfdblvj ssad and co

"Zip it, Pumpkin" - got it from dr d

And I got a whiplash... WHY CAN'T YOU JUST SPEAK? AND WITH THERAPIST AS A MEDIATOR??? SOMEONE CALL DUFF!

I am barely holding myself from screenshotting the whole scene. From very implying Kim(she is our girl, one of the first drakgo shippers dfkjh) to Drakken being ready to obliterate Ron.

BABIESSSSS Ronald, be wary of what you desire.

heheheheheheheheheheheh

Once again, now I know where Drakken got his dramatics from 🤣🤣🤣

Drew, admit, you would laugh just as much if it wasn't you. Imagine if it was Dementor in this situation.

Careful with your wishes~

He is the sanest

(4)

AWWWW BABOON ????!!! GT THIS IS GENIUS Yep, he is the sanest one I love this fam Yes, Shego, you are his date .... WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE IS THAT LYDS AND Betty??? AS IN BETTY JUICE??? THE BEETLEJUICE??? BEEJ??? OMFG EVEN IF IT ISN'T OMFG THANK YOU FOR MENTAL IMAGE MY FRIEND IS GOING TO YELL (upd: he DID yell) I pretty much died till ... Holy hell, this is some drama, oh so drama lol dhcnf This fam. I love this fam.

*cracks fingers* I will tackle this. i will come victorious!! I've made a mistake of taking the break in the middle and then got swarmed with work. I WILL NOT BE SWAYED!

Shego, be careful with your desire to see the chaos. It can double.

Shego is getting butterflies in her stomach, precious~ Girl, wait till he knows how it affects you.

( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°) Off-base as you are more of his wife~ yes i am taking back my first reaction's statement.

AND YES IT TOOK ME WAY TOO FUCKING LONG TO GET ITS LYDS AND BEEJ. Well... Betty. I am severely disappointed in myself.

OTL poor baby Drew. EDDIE WHT THE HELL ILL SPORK YOU

Steph... Steph... keep your mitts offa Rufus.

I love this family. They definitely feel like cousins. ALSO IT WAS IN HERE I FINALLY GOT IT.

This is "stop saying everyone I am dead" but in reverse with Stew.

Which is true, Eddie, he is his son dun dun DUUUNN

F Betty. Cousins for the win.

"Well we can't all be aspiring villains, can we"... Estelle. I think she knows. She must know. At least about Leviathan... maybe? Unless this helped her escape??

Jesus Christ, chill people, chill.

I applaude to Kim and Ron for helping them. I am so ready to smooch both of them. Holy hell, even if i already read this part before, I AM STILL ON THE EDGE WITH TENSION

CHAOSSSSS

FAMILY ACTIVITY - SEARCH FOR A DEADLY DEVICE THAT CAN POISON AIR!

I love this family.

DREW YOPU ARE OVERTHINKING THE OVERTHINKING STOP PLEASE I BEG ALL OF YOU NEED A THERAPY AND LEARN HOW TO COMMUNICATE CLEARLY

Same.

OTL ouch... Eric... ough oof...

ouch nice save with fudge

... Yeah thats Lydia, alright.

You two are a bunch of overthinkers. I need a drink.

That's so precious how Shego doesn't even realise the fact that she considers them her family that, of course, visits for Christmas. And she is planning on doing that in the future and potentially many, many, many years into the future.

iwannaseeeeeeepiiicturesonthewalllandseeebaaaabiesss!!! Especially Dr. Drake too.

AAAAAWWWWWWWWWW THE PICTURE I KNOW AAAAWWWWW

OH HELL YEAH MORE ABOUT THE COMPANY

Wwait .... is Sweets too .... relative of someone over there in The Company??? How else did she get... unless some research.... huh... ah got it. Old lairs.

Hi, Drakken, join us in the attic.

Welp... the brawl of cousins.

yep, knew it. Shego almost married Drakken.

Ouch, Drew.

IS MICHAEL A GHOST???

I love this family, guys.

EDDIE

Those 4 are just one family unit.

F Shego that was PERFECT, Drakken, you are a gonner!

I DID IT, PARTY PEOPLE! The Ungrateful Ark is finished and I can read further!

That was a delightful experience! I love this chaotic, crazy family. Can't wait to see more if there is any XD

All I can say is thank you! :3 time to read more hehe

[lunaticsandidiots]

🧪 ‘s anaesthesia HCs

z’s notes: okay greenie, once again these are fucking suPERB. all of them are so good i truly cannot pick a fav, but emilia’s are so fucking funny to me like the drunk-pretending-to-be-sober-thinking-theyre-doing-so-well-but-theyre-being-so-weird is just, its so funny to think about

“I’m really glad you liked the sleep hcs I didn’t see that you posted those!! I’ll rewrite the other ones I sent you really quick!!

Peacemaker characters if they were on anesthesia after a surgery:

Chris literally cries. Like one of those sappy drunks does. He’ll just super gingerly hug you because he knows he’s muscley and doesn’t wanna hurt you and then he just starts sobbing. And telling you how grateful he is for you. If you offer to get him ice cream he’ll start absolutley balling and when he eats it he’ll act like it’s the best thing he’s ever had. Also if a song he likes comes on he’ll cry and scream it at the top of his lungs. After he’s done crying he’ll just gently hold you hand and smile at you for no reason.

Adrian seems like he’s insane. He’ll just be laughing then get super serious and say something like “I can feel my bones and it’s fucking nauseating”. Then he’ll be silent for a few seconds and just start laughing maniacally. Also he forgets random things. He’ll look at Chris and be like “omg youre peacemaker” and Chris is like “yeah dude we’re literally friends” and he’ll be like “WERE FRIENDS???:DDDD”. And if you’re sitting down he’ll literally get up and lay on you. Like, hugging you but sitting on your lap. Totally unprompted. And he won’t move.

John looks like he’s seen god. He’s really confused too. Also he’ll just silently really gently grab your hand and start messing around with your fingers. And to be honest he’ll eat things he shouldn’t?? Like if he gets an ice cream cone that’s wrapped in a napkin he’ll take a bite out of the napkin and not even notice. And he gets weirdly whiney? Like if you stop holding his hand so you can drive he’ll be like “heyyyy :(“. And he’ll also infodump but like mumbling and mostly to himself.

Emilia is like a drunk person trying to pretend to be sober. Will fall over. Gets mad if you tell her what to do so she’ll do the exact opposite. It ends in very awkward situations including her leaning halfway out the car window for like five minutes and having a close call with a low flying bird. She also tries way to hard to pretend to be sober and acts weirdly professional. Like. Aggressively puts her hand on your shoulder and says “have a good evening. I have to go do taxes now”.

Leota is the same except 100 times more confident and energetic. Rants about her fur babies for a solid twenty minutes and eventually her sentences just dissolve into happy squeaking noises. And she starts crying and yelling “I LOVE MY WIFE SO MUCH”. She’ll try to have an arm wrestling contest with Chris and won’t stop until he lets her win. Has an arm wrestling contest with Adrian and licks her hand right before so when she grabs his hand he’s in shock and he loses. Also is way to hyper and almost rips out her stitches but eventually just collapses.

Murn is the same but he laughs a lot and it scares the shit out of Adrian because he has feelings? And John is recording the whole thing because HE HAS FEELINGS

- 🧪”

[kitty-ray]

Something Like Home Ch. 2

Hey so I really liked this story so I decided to make a second chapter. Basically it’s more bkdk fluff (here’s part one) 

AO3 

Katsuki suddenly has a lot to think about. Last night, totally unprompted and totally not unwelcomed, Deku decided on his own free will to crawl into Katsuki’s bed and demand Katsuki to hold him. Honestly? Who is Katsuki to refuse such an offer?

However, this is Deku we’re talking about. The same fucking Deku that would snivel and cry yet not give up in a fight no matter how beaten down he was. The same fucking Deku Katsuki watched time and time again almost die because he has no value on his life (which, side not, that is something they are definitely going to have to talk to him about). The same fucking Deku that’s been on the edge of his mind for his whole life. Sure, some of those thoughts lingered around Deku’s mouth. And yes, maybe some of those thoughts led elsewhere, but that’s beside the point!

Katsuki grabs his pillow and screams into it. How, oh how, did Katsuki Bakugou ever get in a situation like this?

See, this wouldn’t normally be an issue if it weren’t for the fact that Katsuki’s heart was most definitely slamming against his chest almost all last night. He’s only ever associated that feeling with a fight, and Katsuki knows for a fact that they weren’t fighting.

Katsuki’s not dumb. He’s not entirely immune to emotions and feelings. Hell, he’s had his fair share of crushes in his life, but those were way before middle school. (Okay, that’s a lie. He may or may not have had a crush on a few of the boys in his class, but those were quickly pummeled away before they could go any farther. Don’t tell Kirishima.)

What he’s feeling for Deku is definitely not a crush. It’s more of a… childhood friends turned enemies turned rivals turned hey, let’s occasionally sleep together because neither of us knows how to sleep alone anymore, yeah? That’s it. That is exactly what they are.

“I,” Katsuki whispers to his ceiling, “do not like Deku. I hate him.”

He did not, but it’s easier to say that than anything else. This mantra repeats in his head until he’s almost certain that he believes it. It seems to work, especially when they’re in the locker room almost a week later and somebody brings up relationships.

“Yeah, we’re going to go get lunch Sunday. Got the release forms and everything,” Sero says to the Kaminari. He grabs his uniform jacket. “I’m really excited.”

Kaminari slaps Sero on the back. “Hell yeah, man! Hey, does she have any single friends?”

“Dunno, but I can ask.”

“Sero, my pal, my dude, you are the bestest friend ever.”

“Pretty sure that’s not a word, Kaminari.”

Katsuki frowns into his locker. He should have expected this. They’re high school students, so dating is not totally out of the question. He can’t help but feel slightly behind in that regard.

But then he reminds himself that if he’s going to be the Number One Hero™, then he has no time for trivial things like relationships and dating and (dare he say it) kissing.

“So, Midoriya,” the grape fucker’s voice rings out. Katsuki tries not to look at them. “You’re popular with the ladies. I caught you behind the school the other day with some pretty girl confessing! Tell me, tell me! She’s got big boobies, right? You said yes, right?”

Kirishima walks over, crossing his arms. His mouth curls in disgust. “Dude, too far.” Then he looks up to Deku. “But yeah, Midoriya. We all heard about it and kinda want to know how it went.”

Next to him, Deku’s face goes bright red. Katsuki denies the fluttering in his stomach, choosing to ignore whether it’s because of delight or jealousy. He pulls out his tie, pretending not to listen.

“Oh, well, um…” Deku’s voice trails off, and out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki can see how red his face is. Cute. Turning back to his locker, Deku hides his face. “I turned her down,” he whispers.

This time, the butterflies Katsuki elects to ignore are definitely from delight.

Deku comes again, later that week. Katsuki’s full attention is on his small TV screen, the controller in his hand warm from lengthy use, and he’s just about to beat the boss when there’s a knock at the door. Quickly, he pauses it, the threat dying in his throat when the door opens and Deku slips inside.

“The fuck? Deku, it’s late.” Katsuki says, rocking his chair back. It takes a second to register his red-rimmed eyes and shiny lips. By then, Deku has already made his way to Katsuki.

He fully expects him to climb into Katsuki’s bed, as per their unsaid rules of whatever the hell it is they have going on, but Katsuki only stares in amazement as Dekuk crawls into his lap and buries his face into Katsuki’s shoulder. “H-hey!” he splutters. Real smooth.

“I’m sorry,” Deku whispers. His arms loop Katsuki’s middle. “Just go back to your game. I’ll move if I’m in the way.”

Suddenly, he is infinitely grateful that Deku isn’t looking at him because his face is certainly a bright shade of red. He doesn’t say anything to Deku before unpausing the game and finishing the fight. It’s hard to play like this, but Deku’s warmth and sobs keep him from moving, so he stays. If this is what the nerd needs, then the nerd gets.

A cut scene comes along, and Katsuki takes this opportunity to hug the nerd back. He won’t let himself go any farther; no kisses or sweet nothings to be had. Sure, he might have slipped up a few nights ago (okay, twice, but who’s counting?), but Deku was asleep then! He wouldn’t have noticed! Not like now when he is very, very much awake and very, very much moving.

It’s not a lot of movement, but every time the nerd shifts his hips to get comfortable, Katsuki notices. Oh boy, does he notice. It’s a totally normal reaction for a teenage boy to have on his crush rival! Especially when said rival is sitting on his lap and practically grinding on him.

Deku’s fingers grasp the bottom of Katsuki’s shirt, and he nearly explodes. Okay, Katsuki, think of puppies, kittens, Kirishima’s god awful--shit no, don’t think about Kirishima! Girls, think of girls! Mom and Dad! Oh, shit, I got to call them, don’t I?

“Kacchan,” Deku whispers, his small voice bringing Katsuki out of his attempt to calm down. “Thank you.”

“For what, nerd?”

On the screen, Katsuki’s avatar finds a treasure chest full of useless items. He’ll have to sell those later to buy something good.

Deku doesn’t answer, so Katsuki focuses his attention back on the game. He feels Deku’s lips on his neck. It’s soft, barely there, and probably not intentional, but it makes his brain go haywire nonetheless. He fumbles while trying to take down the miniboss and loses half a life.

Eventually, Katsuki has enough and saves the game. Deku shifts again. “Oh. Are you done?”

He grunts in response. The controller hangs loose in his hands as he wraps his arms around Deku, hearing him squeak. It takes a couple of seconds for the nerd to relax again, but when he does, he starts crying again.

“I had a nightmare again,” Deku whispers. Saying nothing, Katsuki rubs his back. His mom used to do that when he was a kid, and it never failed to make him feel better. Occasionally, whenever Deku would sleep over and he’d have a nightmare, she would rub his back, too.

Katsuki buries his nose into Deku’s curls. They’re still wet and frizzy from his bath. (That’s another thing they’re going to have to talk about.) “Wanna…” he pauses, unsure of himself. “Wanna talk about it?”

They don’t talk about the nightmares. It’s another unspoken rule between the two; you have a nightmare and you go back to sleep. That’s just how they did it.

But this time is different. The last time was different, too. Deku came in here, on his accord, asked Katsuki to hold him, and dealt with the nightmares in a different way. So, yeah, maybe their unspoken rules can be bent and broken once in a while.

Deku sniffles and pulls away, green eyes glassy. The light from the TV and desk lamp makes it hard to see anything but shadows on his face, but Katsuki has known Deku long enough to know exactly how he looks crying. “It’s stupid,” Deku mutters.

“Yeah, and so is Dunce Face, but we still put up with him.”

“You don’t.”

“That’s not the point. What’s the nightmare?”

He cracks a smile before wiping his eyes. “I’m going to tell Kaminari you said that.” Seeing Katsuki’s determined stare, Deku sighs. “Sometimes, I dream of you dying. Or it’s me. Or it’s everyone else. I just… I feel so helpless and I can’t do anything about it and-and--” His words are cut off as he gasps for air. “They just won’t stop.”

Katsuki does something he might regret; he takes Deku’s face in his hands. It’s wet underneath his palms, but he doesn’t pay attention to that. He does, however, pay attention to how soft his cheeks are or how bright his eyes shine. Katsuki suddenly feels the urgent need to kiss him.

“Do you…?” he starts to ask but trails off. This has never been a spoken thing between them. If he says it out loud, he might break the fragile thing they have set up. They’re swimming through uncharted territory, fumbling along as they try to make sense of what is up and what is down.

Thankfully, Deku seems to know what he’s trying to say. A scarred hand lays across one of Katsuki’s as Deku smiles at him. “Can I?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

It doesn’t occur to Katsuki until now that he could be asking a double-loaded question. What he means to ask is if Deku wants to sleep here, yet he also recognizes that he very well could be asking to do more. He tries not to look down at Deku’s lips, tries to keep his gaze locked onto Deku’s, but he ultimately fails. Hopefully, Deku doesn’t notice.

He does notice, and Katsuki notices him noticing, and it’s enough to make his heart do somersaults.

There’s a new question hanging between them. This one is exhilarating and terrifying and makes Katsuki rethink his entire position about relationships and dating and (he dare says) kissing. His fingers find their way to the curls at the nape of his neck. They’re not as soft as Katsuki thought they would be, but they still feel nice.

Katsuki nods, answering both questions at once.

At first, his lips are barely there, but when Katsuki doesn’t pull away, he presses further. He rather likes his lips. He also likes how Deku is obviously just as inexperienced as he is, and he especially likes how Deku breaks up the kiss because he’s smiling.

“I, um, yeah.” Deku rests his forehead on his. “Was that okay?”

Katsuki opens his eyes, and he sees that he’s already looking back at him. His cheeks are still wet from his tears, which he finds disgusting. Unfortunately, his tissues are too far away.

“It was fine or whatever.”

Deku knows he’s lying; his shit-eating grin tells him so. He pokes at Katsuki’s ribs, causing him to yelp. “It was fine, Kacchan?” Deku laughs. “Only fine?”

“Ah! S-stop! Deku!”

“Admit it! It was good!”

Katsuki locks eyes with him, his own fingers coming up to Deku’s sides. When Deku squeaks, he smirks. “I will say no such thing.”

“Kacchan! Sto-o-op!”

There’s banging on the wall before Kirishima yells, “Shut up!”

They try to wiggle away from each other, but with Deku’s legs locked around Katsuki’s waist and Katsuki balancing in his chair, they only manage to crash on the floor. Groaning, he rubs his arm. “Fuck you,” he mutters.

“You okay?” Deku’s green eyes are alight with mirth as he stares at Katsuki. It makes his heart flutter with unease and excitement. He nods.

In this moment, he realizes that his stupid face is actually rather beautiful. The soft glow of the desk lamp highlights his freckles and scars, his cheeks flushed from laughter, and Katsuki thinks he might be falling a little bit. They’re staring at each other, both not wanting to break this tension. It’s electrifying and exhilarating and makes Katsuki absolutely terrified of what he’s feeling. Deku’s legs are entangled with his, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching over and interlacing their fingers together.

“I liked it,” he whispers, almost afraid to break this little bubble of theirs, and they don’t break eye contact as he whispers, “and I think I’m starting to like you.”

Deku smiles at him. “I think I’m starting to like you, too.”

It takes them several moments for them to even think about getting into bed, and when they do, Katsuki doesn’t hesitate to pull him close. His fingers trace random fingers on top of his shirt, and he smiles. Maybe crushes aren’t so bad after all.

[occult-castiel]

Leave a message (after the beep!)

Suptober. Day 13: Rewind Dean has a few things to say to Cas. Word count: 2542 [Read on Ao3]

3 Weeks.

Dean's been stealing glances at his phone for over an hour. The dim light of the hall that creeps from under his door is the only reason he can see the thing, blurred out to a barely-there grey hunk of plastic.

The idea is fucking stupid. He doesn't care what Sam thinks. Sam wasn't even supposed to know. Let alone have fucking opinions.

But Dean slipped.

And it took more effort than he will ever admit to walk out of the kitchen without clocking his brother in the goddamn jaw.

Fuck Sam and fuck the phone.

He turns around, away from the stupidest temptation of his life, and demands sleep come.

It's only mildly successful.

2 Month, 1 Week.

Nothing bad can happen from a phone call. Doing it once can’t hurt you any more than you are now

Sam's a well-meaning kid. He really is. But sometimes he just needs to can it.

'Cause he had to go and say some shit like that, completely unprompted — they were talking about potential witch activity in Utah, not Dean's feelings, for Christ's sake — and now it's all Dean can think about now that the distractions of the day have bled into a dark room and cold bed.

And that gray hunk of plastic on his desk is laughing at him. He could reach it if he sat up. Stretched a bit.

But the idea is dumb. And Sam doesn't get it. He really fucking doesn’t.

Except Dean knows he's kind of full of crap.

He grits his teeth, shoves the covers to the side, and grabs his phone.

With each passing buzz, his heart stutters, breath cut into shorter and shorter spurts.

Stupidstupidstupid.

It- it isn't like he's gunna answer. Dean knows he not, but it just rings and rings and —

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

And it hurts.

He calls again every night for the next week. Of course, he never picks up. Sam doesn't ask.

4 Months.

Dean kicks the door after it slams shut. Throws his gun at his headboard, if it goes off and shoots him, oh fucking well. It's great. Just fantastic.

He pulls his phone out without thinking. Clicks Cas.

It rings, and for a moment his shoulders relax as the familiar greeting plays. Cause its Cas' voice. And fuck. Just… fuck.

Then it beeps, and he actually does the one thing he's wanted for months.

"None of your douchebag family will answer me. And I've tried friggin' everything, I swear to Christ."

He runs his hand over his face, glances up at the sour-yellow ceiling.

"How you ever stood them is beyond me dude."

And then, like a rational human being. He hangs up and pretends that whatever that was didn't happen.

Once the bitter taste of angels that don’t pick the fucking phone up from earlier that day fades, Dean stares at the darkened ceiling.

He left a voicemail. A fucking voicemail.

Pathetic.

4 Months, 3 Weeks.

So he hasn't called again since his, uh, slip up. And Sam keeps giving him these little looks. And he knows that Sam knows, and knows he isn't calling because he's a changed man or whatever.

Maybe Sam would drop it, whatever the hell he thinks Dean's mess is, if he could manage to eat.

Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Alex are all around the table with them. Jody's the charmer she always is, talking about how she's grateful for the help and oh, of course you guys are gunna stay for dinner! Ah-ah! No buts.  

There was a hunt in town she tracked down with Claire, a huge vamps nest — we're talking dozens — and called them over for help. And is now feeding them. Because she's a saint and never deserved to be in the know in the first place.

Dean looks at the food. Pork lathered in dark brown graveyard with a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes. There's a pile of carrots on Sam's plate. Dean opted out.

Not that he's eating now. No, mostly just pushing it all around. He does eat in general.

But Claire isn't looking at him. Hasn't. She barely managed a glance up when he saved her — just a small nod and weary glance.

Sam, on the other hand, may as well be ogling.

Dean wishes he could read Sam's mind, find out where he's keeping it so Dean can wallow in misery without his brother being keen on some of the finer details, thank you very much.

He manages a few bites. Its excellent, mouth-watering, home-cooked goodness he's missed fiercely since he got a taste for it the few days Mrs. Butters was around.

But right now? Turns his stomach.

On the way back home, Sam clears his throat. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter.

"So —"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Samantha."

In the corner of his eye, Sam's shoulder slump. His brother looks down and sighs out a sad little noise.

But the rest of the drive is quiet. And that's a win in Dean's book.

*

It's roughly midnight, and books are scattered across the library table. They're all open to different pages, but none of it matters. Not really.

Dean's combing through it all anyway. Has been since Heavens decided they have a no-call policy with anyone named Winchester.

The piles he has laid around him have grown increasingly larger as the weeks have drug on. Spiked exponentially when he decided not to call anymore.

"Hey Dean."

Dean snaps his head up mid-sentence. Sam stands in the threshold, holding a plate. In pajamas.

Dean just looks at him. "What?"

"Made you food." He lifts the plate up a fraction

"That looks like a cold cut, so made is a generous word."

Sam has the audacity to slump into himself, full-on wounded-puppy mode. So Dean rolls his eyes and waves him over.

The plate gets sat down with a distinct clank, and Sam pats his shoulder.

"You know I just… want what's best for you."

Dean tenses his shoulders, closes the book in front of him. He speaks through his teeth.

"Yeah, well I never had it in the first place. And now it is gone, and there's nothing I can do."

"You don't know that Dean."

He glues his eyes to the back of the book. Balls his fists.

"Don't I? That — That fucking thing just —"

"I know. But it's also gone. We don't know what happened."

Dean chooses then to look over, fix his brother with a proper glare so he'll go the hell away — but sees it.

Sitting innocuously on the plate, like it isn't an affront to everything Dean would rather not, is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sam's talking but he can't hear it. His brains turned to mush, a radio-static circus of nothing.

The bottom of his chair screeches as it drags against the floor.

And Dean can’t see.

Sam grabs his arm, he shakes it off. He moves decisively, tries too, but his eyes prickle and he can’t see shit, and he isn’t about to cry right there in front of his brother, validate every stupid thought the guy has that’s probably one-hundred percent right.

His door clicks shut, and he pressed himself against it. Slides down until he hits the icy floor.

Dean's throat is a constricted cage, each breath in has to be muscled in, down, out. Each wobble as much as the last.

Sam doesn't know shit. He doesn’t know what he's talking about. He really doesn't.

Calling someone who can’t answer, won’t ever answer, is fucking stupid. It's not therapeutic.

When he rubs a hand over his face. It comes back wet, and his eyes sting.

"Fuck."

He fishes for his phone. Going to Cas' number is muscle memory at this point.

It rings. Cause Sam can't help but keep the thing charged.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

The ball in his chest is impossibly tight. Why hasn't he called? Just to hear him again, the gruff tenor that's like gravel and silk and the only thing he ever wants to hear, ever. And now he only has nine words he'll ever hear him say again.

That's it. Two sentences.

You saved the whole world. He didn’t save shit.

And what the fuck is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to do anything? He’s never been any good, not as good as he needs to be. Maybe if he would’ve been — or did somethin’ different, anything different —

Dean threads his fingers in his hair and balls his fist. Squeezes his eyes shut against the pool of tears that just leak out, and curls in on himself. His guts are twisted and tight, just like the rest of him. Every part of him shakes, the hand vice-gripping his hair should hurt, should be enough to pull him back to sanity, but the tears don’t stop.

And really what does it matter if he cries. Chucks gone, and The Empty, that — that thing got what was coming to it.

But Cas didn't come back.

He lulls his head against the door, untangles the hand from his hair like his fingers piston operated they ache so bad

God, Cas should’ve just left him in Hell.

Maybe he's Heaven, Billy had said with a shrug. Casual. Like she didn't understand. And Dean knows she does. She gets it more than any of them, saw just what this shit did the last time. Saw exactly how much he didn't want to be around.

Jack had to fuck off to put the universe in balance, so he’s MIA and no help. And Heaven doesn't seem to give a shit.

There must've been a beep somewhere, so Dean just goes with it. Presses the phone to his ear again and works his jaw open until it’s loose enough to allow something resembling words can happen.

"It's — it's bullshit." God Dean can't recognize his own voice, pulled thin and hoarse. "You — you know that right? Bullshit." He shakes his head. Tries to take a deep breath that comes out only slightly less ragged. "You always left. And I — I get that you had to sometimes. But no one wanted you here more than me."

He wipes his face off with the collar of his shirt. His skull screams in sharp pain, and his temples thud. And normally this would be too long of a pause, but normally you don't start a voicemail off trying not to sob, and normally they're made for people who can actually listen to them. So whatever.

"This is stupid. It's not — voicemails ain't your style." His breath leaves, and exhaustion sets deep into his bones. "You always just called back for the explanation. You'd leave 'em, though."

At least Dean assumes. Every call back he'd ever gotten from the guy he'd have to fill him in on whatever was happening anyway. Guess it makes sense in a way. If you have enough time to listen to a message, you've got enough time to call.

The space behind his robes aches when he says, "We both shoulda picked up more, I guess. And Sammy wants me to call now. Like it makes up for shit. It doesn't."

He swipes the little red phone to the left, and stares at the word Cas in his contacts page.

But the screen goes blank, and all he can see are his puffy red eyes reflected in the black screen, and that's motivation, so he gets ready for bed.

1 Year, 10 Months, 13 Days

He calls a few times after that. But tries not to leave voicemails for someone that's just gone, in every sense of the word.

It’s dumb. Still really dumb. And he has no defense for it. Eventually Sam hands him Cas' old phone and a charger. All of the missed voicemails untouched.

Dean could swear he remembers ever last one.

They're mostly simple crap, sometimes. Updates.

"Sam and Eileen are getting hitched. They're pretty fucking disgusting together. But sometimes they look at me, and I can just see it, man. See how they like, bubble themselves off." He laughs, but it's strained.  "Guess it just be written on my face. Which is just friggin’ fantastic. Cause I'm happy for them. I've always wanted that for Sam. But I wanted it for us too. Fucked up that I can only say it now, huh."

"I don't like the way burgers taste anymore. And I, uh, have a bumper sticker now. It's a bee. I kept it together until Sam got misty-eyed." There's a pause for a touch too long, then, "That mixtapes been the only thing in Baby for a month."

"I kept the trenchcoat. Wore it earlier. Got cold out for the first time since —" he sighs. "You wore it better. Looks like shit on me. It pretty much lives in my closet. Can't get monster guts on it that way."

But sometimes it's just a confession, none of the other bullshit. Just the truth.

"Look. I'm not mad. So don't think that. Cause I'm not. Wish I was. It's — it's always been easier. But I was trying to get my head on straight. I would've for you. I just… Don't know how now."

"Can't tell if I like using your old angel blade or fucking hate it. Don't like much of anything anymore. You were better with it."

"Id pray to you, but this is all I got. And I wish I could hope you're up there. But then I'd hope there isn't any pay per view Earth or whatever. Cause this shit? Is pitiful." A sigh. "G'night, Cas."

And one night, a long time later, he's sitting with his back against his bed, nestled next to the end table he never used, he says the truth in a way he knows he should've years and years ago.

"Guess this is like prayin', ain't it? Sammy caught me a few months ago. He wasn't even surprised I'm still doing this. Told me it was, uh — It was okay. Even if I just… never did. And you know what? I don't think l can." He gives a small laugh. "Hell, I only leave messages when I'm feeling, I dunno, brave? Like some part of me thinks you could still hear it and tell me to get lost."

Logically, he knows Cas wouldn't have kicked him to the curb. Wanted him just as much.

"God I listen to it almost every night dude. Just hearing this stupid fucking line —  It's like hitting rewind, for a few seconds."

The rest comes off easy, in its own way

"I miss you, Buddy. And I — I love you more than I know what to do with. I wish it would've been enough. But instead, it killed you."

He ends it, and calls back. Just to listen to the only thing he'll ever hear Cas say again. It’s not a replacement, never will be until he can see if Heaven really does have an angels left.

But the only faith he ever had is just an echo on the other end.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

[unicyclehippo]

beau and caleb, mistakes and trying to face them?

‘sometimes, when we are used to pain, when someone is not hurting us...we hurt ourselves.’ he says it unprompted, as far as beau can tell, standing at her side as she looks out over the hills dusted with snow. she desperately wants to wave the comment off or mishear him—something she has slowly trained herself out of.

‘peas in a pod, huh?’

caleb nods. ‘green beans.’

‘nah, i fuckin’ hate green beans.’

‘was? how can you hate green beans?’

‘they’re what’s always put on your plate when the place doesn’t have anything else, they’re garbage food.’

caleb frowns at her like she’s mortally offended him. ‘what kind of peas are we then?’

‘i dunno. snow peas.’

‘fine.’

‘fine.’

they stand crankily together for a few seconds before caleb relaxes, laughs a little. seems to realise how worked up he had gotten over beans, of all things, and turns his fond smile on her.

‘what?’

‘nothing.’

‘why are you smiling at me like that?’

‘like what? this is - fondness, beauregard.’

she grunts. ‘looks weird.’

‘well, thank you very much.’

‘sorry, sorry. i guess i’ve just never really seen you not massively depressed. it’s weird but, yknow. nice as well. shit - do you not want me to call you massively depressed? sorry, dude.’

‘it...is fine.’

beau nods. nudges her shoulder against his, her own small sign of fondness. it knocks him almost—but not quite—off balance and he realises.

‘you are trying to distract me.’ he shakes his head. ‘i was not going to say more than that, i just...wanted for you to know that you are doing it, if you did not. and if you did,’ and he waves toward her in a manner that says, along with a raised brow, that she does, ‘that it isn’t...tenable.’

‘i don’t know what you mean, man.’

‘you are torturing yourself,’ he tells her flatly. ‘you have assumed that she does not return your, ah, affections and you have resorted to—‘ he snags her awkwardly, tries to grab her collar and has to settle for a handful of her shirt he grips tight in one fist. ‘stop, bitte! beauregard,’

‘i’m gonna kill her!’

‘who!’

‘nott! she told you—‘

‘oh, no,’ he says, and laughs at her, eyes bright. ‘beauregard, beauregard,’

‘say my name again like that, i dare you.’

he heeds the warning. ‘i am a very clever man. i do not need nott to tell me what is readily apparent.’

she stops straining and twisting to escape him—stops pretending to do that, which had been more of a token gesture than anything else—and settles with a scowl.

‘oh.’

‘ja.’

beau folds her arms. looks away from him as he carefully pulls his fingers free of the delicate, though surprisingly sturdy, fabric. with a mulish, somewhat embarrassed set to her face, she looks very young—though caleb would not make the mistake of telling her so.

without discussing it, both of them move a little further from the house, to a rough-cut bench at the edge of the garden. they sit.

caleb stretches long legs out, crosses them at the ankles. a little pale skin shows there where the pants ride up a half inch, nearly as white as the snow. he tucks his hands beneath his coat and stares out. the afternoon is awash with that chilled haze that leeches the colours all to muted states—the pine forest to the south and east looks more blue than green, the sky grey, frumpkin’s orange coat that should stand out against the snow seeming closer to brown or even a muddled purple. after a moment, caleb continues.

‘there have been certain moments, choices made in the last few, ah, skirmishes we have been in that have made me...’ he doesn’t say worry, doesn’t say concerned, but she reads it anyway in his eyes. ‘you have been reckless. i am familiar with that.’ he hangs his head. plucks at the dry tag of skin around his thumbnail. ‘i nearly got nott and myself arrested, maybe killed, in re—the capital. when i turned myself into an eagle.’

it takes a second for her to remember. ‘oh. yeah. that was… a lot.’ she doesn’t say stupid, doesn’t say foolish. but he hears it anyway.

he nods. ‘i was not myself. beside myself. and acted on impulse. it is not a good look for me,’ he half jokes.

‘yeah, you’re a thinker.’

‘and when i- when i panic,’ he forces himself to say, ‘not so much.’

she nods.

‘i will not be so bold as to say i understand why you are,’ he tilts his head, trying to rattle another word out of his too-full brain that isn’t panicking. or something along those lines. ‘but if you want to talk about it...?’

‘i really don’t.’

‘ah. very well.’

despite saying that, beau doesn’t move. she leans forward, braces her elbows on her thighs, hands hanging down between them. slowly, almost painfully, she drops her head. focuses not on danger, or the view, or making sure they aren’t being spied on. only on her hands, and boot prints in the snow at her feet. trusts caleb to look out for them both.

in the cold, she thinks of jester. and of the aching in her hands.

‘every time i think about telling her—because i know i should, i’m not a fucking idiot, or an asshole. i’m not an asshole,’ she says again, whipping a glare up toward caleb.

‘i did not say you were!’

beau sneaks a look around the courtyard, out across the view. forcing herself to relax once more, to breathe out the tension that clenches hard around her shoulders and neck.

‘every time i think about telling her, i...’ she grimaces. ‘panic.’

‘mm. peas in a pod,’ caleb says again.

‘yeah.’

the silence stretches on.

caleb shivers.

‘we should get you inside before you get a cold.’

‘ja, perhaps. but i will survive a little longer,’ he offers, unsubtly. telling her he will stay as long as she wants. he hums a little note of surprise, of reprimand almost, and draws a hand out from under himself. clicks his fingers and summons a flame—sudden and warm and bright—to play across his hand.

beau turns toward him, holds her cold fingers up to that flame.

‘it’s not jester. not really,’ she tells him. the fire light, and its mimic, the shadows, play in curious patterns across her face. ‘it’s everything. all of us. all of this. i’m—this is all i can do,’ she tells him, sounding very exhausted. tired beyond her years. and oh, he feels that too. ‘i’m the guardian. i’m the puncher. that’s me.’

caleb allows himself freely to guess, to suppose, many things that she is not saying. about worth, about talent, about how much these people might value her. he guesses, and feels alongside the deep pain and empathy, a warmth. of love, probably. the specific kind. pride in all that she has accomplished. pride that he of all people is permitted to see her like this, hear these things. and a deep sadness, the warmth twines in and around it, inseparable from that pride, that, like him, she hurts.

‘i can’t tell you what to do about her,’ caleb admits. he watches the flame instead of her. ‘but it is a mistake to put yourself in unnecessary harm. it will do no good. and i...i would miss you very much.’

she nods.

//

much later, both of them shivering and chilled but a little more at ease, they return to their rooms. caleb sighs. sets his coat on its hook.

‘you are very lucky, my friend,’ he says, as nott smiles nervously up at him. ‘i think she does not suspect you.’

‘oh thank the gods, caleb, it just slipped out,’

‘i’m glad it did.’ he sits. bends with a grunt to untie the laces of his boots. ‘some things began to make a lot of sense.’

[zenexitwrites]

new reddie fic up, check it out here or under the cut

The Derry Townhouse that the Losers stayed in wasn’t one they had made out of choice. When it came to the small town of Derry Maine, there wasn’t a particularly large range of options. Although it might have been a nice thought to think they had coincidentally chosen the same small inn due to secret bonds between them leading them to the same place… It was actually much more left up to the simple fact there was only one inn. Derry wasn’t particularly known for its tourism industry. Rather, it wasn’t known for anything at all, even if it did have some pretty remarkable statistics. At least, it did in the crime department. 

Some of the Losers had planned out their sudden vacation back to small town roots a little bit better than others. That is to say, Richie hadn’t bothered to call ahead at an Inn he knew barely managed to stay open. What he, or any of the Losers, hadn’t anticipated was the carnival being in town and how Derry might manage to actually make people want to come to it. In fact, the vast majority of his friends had already checked in at the hotel. Richie had stopped by the Townhouse in a rush and had left his bags with an attendant, telling him how he would check in later and request them up to his room. Eddie waited behind Richie, wanting to request something at the front desk for his room that he was smart enough to call beforehand to get.

The smile stretching across Richie’s face fell quickly talking to the receptionist. A smile that just before had been aimed at Eddie right after a dry quip Kaspbrak was less enthused than Richie about.

“No rooms? What, did the place flood?” Richie asked dryly. It was half of a joke, as Derry hadn’t been particularly good in the past about its water levels. As seen in case in the day George Denberough had been swept up into a storm drain in the Loser’s youth. Huh, that was a memory that seemed a little out of place. 

“No rooms left, we’re completely booked up with the fair in town.” The girl at the counter said dryly. Her eyes were tired, bracing for impact on Richie’s reaction. 

Aside from Eddie behind him, all of the other losers had already said their goodbyes before they had all lined up to get into their individual rooms like it was a school lunch. Shuffling away with their suitcases while Richie and Eddie were bickering, leaving the two of them completely alone. Meaning, it wasn’t like Richie had a whole room to poll asking for help.

Eddie’s brown eyes quickly moved from Richie’s face, to the girl at the check in desk, and back to Richie. His dark eyebrows were pulled together, his mouth tight lipped. Richie could practically hear the mental process in his head, could almost see the steam pouring out of his stupid perfectlty shaped ears. Richie offered him what he considered his most hopeful and happy grin. One that said, oh please Eddie dear, don’t you want to offer to help me in some way?

“Did you have the reservation for Kaspbrak?” Eddie asked, stepping forward. He got up closer to the counter than Richie had been. “Spelled K-A-S-P-B-R-A-K. Should be under Edward.”

Huh, it seemed like Richie wasn’t the only idiot who hadn’t checked in properly earlier. 

Promptly the girl at the counter began typing into the computer. An amount of typing Richie was sure was unnecessary, but what did he know? He had never worked at a hotel, but to him it had always looked like something idle and fake hotel people did to look busy while the computer loaded more slowly than most guests could handle. Eddie slid an ID and a credit card across the counter unprompted, clearly used to staying in hotels. Richie watched all this silently, still trying to keep up a kind of stupid smile, hoping it would guilt either of them into wanting to help him.

Richard Tozier had a lot of faces, a lot of voices, he found very easy to slip into. Before he was able to cut it on the standup scene, he had done practically anything that would pay his bills. He had done a shitty AM radio station in his backyard for example, with ravings of a wild child protesting anything and everything. He had also filled up the air space with voices of his, characters and people who didn’t exist until Richie got to droll them out happily on an air he wasn’t sure anyone was listening to. There was something good in doing that, in making or performing a character for standup everyone thought was Richie Tozier. In performing a fake silly man on the radio. Something so deeply pleasing in not being Richie Tozier, for escaping his own thoughts and person and becoming something completely different.

“We have it sir, and your bags you checked in earlier under that name have already been dropped off.” The girl said back plainly. She ran the two cards through the machine and turned to hand a quickly printed receipt off to Eddie along with a room key that was an actual key with the number eight on it.

“Do you need anything else today?”

Eddie looked sideways at Richie, a guilty look in his eyes as he continued to think about what to say. Richie smiled brightly at him.

“Do you have the bags dropped off under Tozier still?” Richie asked the girl hopefully. She sighed in response and began to ruffle through records Richie knew at any other hotel would probably be nowhere near this front desk. It took her only a few moments to collect everything she needed, and Richie was a little amazed at how organized she was.

“We do have them. Do you want us to bring them out to you?”

“Actually, can you just bring them to Mr.Kaspbrak’s room, please?” Richie asked, trusting his gut. The woman sighed and nodded and wrote something down on a paper. 

Eddie opened his mouth to complain, and probably yell at Richie, but he cut him off with a loud thank you to the receptionist while grabbing everything on the counter and tugging Eddie away.

After getting to the room, to no one’s surprise, there was of course only one bed. It wasn’t very long before Eddie was calling the front desk and nagging them about bringing down extra pillows and blankets, an extra cot, and of course pestering about where Richie’s bags were.

It was funny, how little time had seemed to change Eddie. Richie couldn’t help his eyes from falling on Eddie’s ring finger, the small silver band sitting there in an almost mocking way. Saying, look at me! Eddie is married! And not to you jackhole! Richie wanted to shake him after that, his skin crawling in a weird way he couldn’t explain. All of this, it felt out of place. Like something on the tip of his tongue. A foggy abscess in his mind he didn’t know he should try to reach for, or to run from.

When Eddie finally hung up the phone Richie smiled at him, as devilishly handsome of a smile he thought he was capable of. 

“Stuck with me in your bed, huh?” Richie asked knowingly. Eddie would be shit to be in a hostage situation with, he repeated every line he heard from the other end of the phone. Eddie let out a loud groan in response.

“You know you can’t just invite yourself into people’s hotel rooms, right? You know that’s fucked up, right?” Eddie began, his hands already moving to point and slap his hands in agitation.

Richie hummed in response and walked over to a minifridge he knew would be filled with overpriced snacks. Or in this case, two bottles of tall water and one half assed bag of trailmix. Richie frowned and only grabbed the $6 water to drink from. Something in the back of his head had reminded him then of Eddie’s allergies. Ones he hadn’t been at the restaurant to overhear, but remembered anyway. Strange. 

“Oh and now you’re going to run up my bill. Great fucking job Trashmouth, just act like you own the place and then I know you’re going to run out on the check.” Eddie said, waving his hand wildly at the water.

Richie gave a little snort while he sipped on his water. 

“Dude, it’s fine. I can pay for the whole room if you want me to.” He said this almost boredly. Since making it, money hadn’t been really an issue for Richie anymore, and that was in LA. Richie knew he could buy practically anything he wanted here in this tiny town of Derry and probably not even see his bank balance budge. Eddie was probably well off too, considering his job seemed like it revolved around firing everyone in businesses he didn’t work for. But hell if Richie even knew what a risk analyst was, it definitely wasn’t the sort of thing a kid would say he wanted to be when he grew up.

Eddie mumbled a few things under his breath then and moved around the room, picking things up as he went. He had some large blue bag in his hands and tugged it with him into the bathroom. 

“I’m going to take a shower.” Eddie announced from the bathroom, and then walked about out as if suddenly worrying Richie would not be able to hear him.

“Alright Eds, I can behave while you’re gone. I won't throw some mad party in the next twenty minutes.” Richie said with a laugh and worked on settling in the room. 

While Eddie was gone, Richie tried to hum to himself under his breath trying to keep his mind busy. He put his suitcases when they arrived in a good corner of the room, trying to make sure Eddie still felt like he had his space. It wasn’t a particularly big room, but Eddie did get a king bed so they would both fit on it just fine tonight. When Richie was done gathering his things, he changed into something to sleep in. Blue flannel pants with cigarette holes burned into them from the few times he or someone else had fallen asleep around him smoking. Those pants and whatever comfortable shirt was on top of his shit. 

Richie locked eyes with the bed itself. It looked like a regular run of the mill hotel bed, sheets and blanket neatly tucked around all corners. Richie went ahead and began tugging at it, pulling the large comforter untucked so he would be able to sleep with his feet hanging out the bottom of it. After that, he walked lazily over to the air and turned it town a few degrees. He ran hot when he slept. Richie didn’t stop to think and wonder about how Eddie might feel about this.

One thing Richie wasn’t so sure about, was how little this all bothered him. Here he was just standing in a hotel room he was going to be sharing with another man. And not just any man, but Eddie Kaspbrak, a childhood friend of his he had forgotten he had until less than twenty four hours ago. It should have been enough to make him want to run from here and never come back, hell everything that happened tonight should have done it. But once they were all back at the hotel, and had made the choice to stay and hear Mike out, there wasn’t really going to be any changing it. But Eddie… There was something about him that made Richie feel different than the rest of the Losers did. Something about him he knew he was missing was a piece of that he couldn’t find. Like a puzzle that wasn’t complete, and Richie already knew he had lost about twenty pieces, but he was still trying to solve it. 

Richie crawled into bed then and stared at the ceiling for whatever time he had left before Eddie finished up in the shower. It was a popcorn ceiling, the kind you could tell was just due to budget cuts, because who the hell would willingly want a popcorn ceiling? 

Something about Eddie was just pulling at his heartstrings. He felt like he was on high alert, and everything Eddie did seemed to hit twice as hard. For whatever reason, Richie knew he could list off everything Eddie had done or said that night. It wasn’t that Richie wasn’t observant of his friends, it just seemed to be hyper focused on Eddie and everything he was doing. Richie could tell you everything Eddie spit out into his napkin that night, or all the different drinks he had drank, or those he had pretended to. There had been alcohol at dinner of course, but nothing to even stir a buzz in Richie.

Richie felt some sort of guilt stirring up inside of him when he thought about Eddie being married. Or, maybe it wasn’t guilt. Was it pity, for whatever poor woman had gotten saddled with marrying him? Was it… Jealousy? Richie swallowed then.

Was there some part of him, buried deep inside his repressed (but by who?) memories of Eddie, where he yearned for him? Did he forget some sort of long forgotten feelings for his best friend? Richie frowned then. Had Eddie been his best friend, or was it Bill? He had spent every day with Eddie though, hadn’t he? Days spent with the Losers together, or days where they had spent it huddled at the arcade just the two of them. On those days their interactions would be filled with loud laughing and jeers at each other. Days where Eddie and Richie had spent as long as they could at Richie’s house, before Eddie’s mom would come banging on the door for her son to come home. 

Or the days that had been Richie’s favorites, during weekends where him and Eddie had somehow persuaded Mrs. K to let Eddie come over and spend the night, or vice versa. Where the two of them would share a room, a bed. Richie would lay there with Eddie, pressed tight against his back while the two were snuggled under blankets. It didn’t matter what the temperature was, Eddie was always cold and Richie was always hot. They’d lay like that, almost spooning every night they could, while Richie’s heart felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. His hands would be sweaty, so he’d cling to the pillows above their heads and hope and pray maybe Eddie’s would brush his.

Richie was laying there in bed, still staring up at the ceiling, while his head and heart raced with memories he didn’t know he had forgotten. Desires he didn’t know he had. Suddenly, there were nerves flicking up at him while laying there. Maybe he should have packed better pants to sleep in? Hell, Richie didn’t usually sleep in pants at all, so this alone should be impressive. Not that Eddie would know that though, he had certainly always worn pants to bed when he stayed over. Richie’s hands were clammy and his throat felt like it had something stuck in it. This shit had to stop right away.

The water turned off in the distance as Eddie finally finished up. Richie listened faintly for a moment while Eddie was getting out and grabbing a towel, before realizing he had been sitting there doing nothing. Richie leaned over and grabbed the TV remote off the table and rushed to turn it on and pull out the guide. He settled on the first acceptable thing he could, Forensic Files. Satisfied, Richie did his best to look politely interested in the TV when Eddie stepped out of the bathroom. 

Eddie’s hair was wet, but he had clearly tried to comb it to the side to stop it from dripping in his face. He had a loose towel around his waist, and Richie suddenly felt very insecure about any and all body fat he had put on since being thirteen years old. Eddie looked like he went to the gym every single day, and Richie was willing to bet he did with how much of a health nut he used to be. Riche subconsciously licked his lips for a moment looking at Eddie and the glint of water on him and then caught himself acting like a horny teenager. He grinned instead at his old friend.

“You forget your clothes pal?” Richie teased.

Eddie rolled his eyes so hard Richie could see it from across the room. He remembered suddenly Eddie wasn’t aware he did that, like actually rolled his eyes, and snickered a bit under his breath.

“Well, you look hot. If I looked like that I would forget my clothes too.” Richie said appreciatively and then looked casually back at the TV. He had no idea what the hell was happening in this episode, but he could pretend he did and not like he wanted to stare at Eddie for hours on end. Half naked and wet like that, it gave a man ideas. 

“Okay dude, whatever.” Eddie said absentmindedly. He moved to his suitcase and worked on getting his things out while Richie did his best to mind his own business and watch Eddie work. He managed, for the most part. 

When Eddie left to get changed Richie let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. Closing his eyes tight he breathed slowly and deeply for a few moments, trying to remind himself how to act like a normal person again with regular breathing habits. The kind of person who wasn’t thirsting for a man he had forgotten existed and now had to share a bed with. 

Eddie came out in a matching pajama set. Blue top matching blue pants he frowned and rubbed his arms a bit before climbing into the other half of the bed. There was enough space where he and Richie wouldn’t be at risk of touching each other, but not enough to where Richie couldn’t feel electricity shooting between him and Eddie. His body felt like it had been turned up to a degree it didn’t know it could be.

Hell, Richie had been with men before but it hadn’t felt like this. It hadn’t made him feel like a teenager stranded on some beach in the middle of nowhere, gasping loudly for air. His lungs and sides burning while he tried desperately to come back to shore, but didn’t know which way was up and which was down. Derry had some undertow to it, and Richie suddenly couldn’t remember how to swim. 

“You got enough space?” Richie asked, flicking his eyes over at Eddie. 

Eddie chuckled a bit and looked back at Richie in the same way. “What, are you feeling bad suddenly about inviting yourself over?”

“No, no, not at all.” Richie said with a laugh. He yawned then, in a fake sort of way, and stretched himself out every which way across the bed. Richie’s foot and arm bumped into Eddie when he did this, and his heart sped up. He was making excuses to touch him again, like a boy who was too afraid to say who he was. 

Not that Richie had ever come out exactly. The only men who knew Richie was gay, where the few that he had slept with. The kind of men he had met in bars, or at his shows. The kinds who didn’t know him, and wouldn’t have any expectations of him for him to let down. Maybe his mom knew, Richie had a sinking feeling Miss Maggie Tozier knew, but she sure as hell hadn’t brought it up to her son. There was no way Richie wanted to change any of this. He wanted to control what people thought of when they saw him, and being gay wasn’t in that equation exactly. 

Richie flipped on his side to grin at Eddie like they were back in school, conspiring and whispering at each other during the dead of night. Desperately hoping Eddie’s mom wouldn’t wake up, but needing to get out whatever was so important to them at the time.

“Hey Eds?” Richie asked.

Eddie looked down at him, then looked up just as quickly. It had to have been just Richie’s imagination, but it felt like there was a soft pink to Eddie’s cheeks then. A pink even the hot water hadn’t caused in Eddie’s face from his shower. He was holding the blankets by his chest tightly. 

“Yes, Richard”? Eddie asked back, voice careful.

“I’m not going to say this again, but I’m glad I’m spending time with you again.”

Eddie made a noise, and went to speak but Richie quickly cut him off. 

“Shh, don’t ruin this with words sexy.” Richie said reaching out to put a finger to Eddie’s lips who let out a loud laugh in response.

“Dude, you’re the exact same huh?” Eddie asked, still laughing.

Richie grinned from ear to ear, even if he didn’t feel quite like smiling. Maybe he was the exact same, but he had forgotten about all of this, so was it really some pathetic rut he was stuck in? If a tree didn’t know it was in a forest and it fell- wait, that didn’t make any sense. 

“I guess so, love, I guess so.” Richie mused in response. His eyes went back to the TV then, watching some scientist somewhere explain something about lab work. 

There was something burning between the two of them, or at least on Richie’s end. Something soft and strong, packed with feelings neither even knew had been there. Ones right below the surface, and like a balloon, and finally popped and released back up to the air. Richie wasn’t sure what would happen from here. His mouth was dry while he thought about it, about not knowing how any of this bullshit with this clown was going to go down. About not knowing how to do anything with Eddie, or say anything, or if maybe past him was right and it was better to let it fill the silences instead. 

[tickletastic]

Practical Joker

Fandom: Little Fires Everywhere

Ship: mentions of Trip/Pearl

Summary: Pearl is once again spending a lazy afternoon with the Richardson children, but the afternoon is much less calm when Lexie comes home, angry about a prank that Moody pulled on her.

Notes: I know that the mini-series has already been cast, but I already had an idea in my head of what all of the characters looked like before that, so please excuse the fact that my character description don’t match the cast!

“I’m thirsty,” Trip complained, his eyes staring hard at Moody even though his younger brother wasn’t looking back at him. 

“No way,” Moody could still feel the eyes on him, even if he wasn’t looking, “you have legs, get a drink yourself.”

Despite the fact that they’re only a year apart, for nearly his whole childhood Moody looked up to Trip. If Trip asked Moody to do something, he would do it right away and enthusiastically. It got to the point where Trip could just send Moody a look, and like a golden retriever, Moody would be there. That didn’t mean that they never fought, because they certainly did that, and a lot of it for that matter, but temporary dislike could never translate to hate for Moody. 

As Moody reached  his teenage angst years, the look became much less effective. Moody still loved his brother, and he still admired him, but he no longer idolized him like he used to. Sometimes, Moody would still give into Trip’s look, which had morphed over the years from one of gratitude to puppy-dog eyes. Other times, Moody would outright reject the idea of doing something for his brother that Trip could easily do himself. 

Pearl was completely confused when Moody had started a conversation completely unprompted, but she had learned over time that some things between the Richardson kids are better left unasked about. 

There was a surprisingly boring episode of the Jerry Springer Show today, so none of them had really been paying attention. The episode suddenly became much more interesting when Moody realized that Trip was trying to guilt him into getting him a drink.

Lexie stormed in suddenly, she had told Trip earlier that she was gonna have to skip their TV session because she had to study with Brian. She looked angry when she bursted through the door, and the look on her face forced a stream of giggles from Moody’s lips. 

“What’s so funny, you little shit? I’m going to actually kill you,” Lexie spoke, sounding much calmer than she looked. She produced a pile from her backpack, it seemed to be a bunch of fake cockroaches, she continued to dig and produced a container, opening it to reveal its contents. “What? You think it’s funny to put toy roaches in my bag? You thought it was funny to replace my lunch with clay?”

Pearl had to cover her mouth to stop her own laughter as she glanced in the container. There was a sandwich shaped creation made out of playdough, as well as shapes of lettuce, tomatoes, and onions arranged like a salad. 

Trip wasn’t nearly as kind, and he burst out laughing, grabbing the container from Lexie’s hand. He snapped a picture, texting it to Izzy, who was at band rehearsal. When he looked up from his phone he held up his hand for a high-five from Moody, “That was a good one Mood-”

Trip stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the murderous look in Lexie’s eyes- he knew what that meant. “I mean, that’s totally not cool dude.”

Lexie started to approach Moody, who started climbing over the back of the couch, standing on the other side of it once he finished. He held his hands out in front of him, shaking his head back and forth. “Hey Lexie, I’m sorry.”

Lexie wasn’t convinced, her youngest brother could barely get through his apology without giggling softly. “You have nowhere to go, Moody. You might as well surrender now. We both know that the longer you avoid it the worse my revenge will be.”

The thought made Moody shudder. He had once avoided his sister for three entire weeks in hopes that she would forget about what he had done. It made it way worse, one thousand times worse. Their mom had forced the four of them to go see a movie at the theatre together, Lexie made sure to sit next to him, and her fingers were torturing him from the trailers to the end credits. It was one of the most torturous things he had even gone through. If he thinks about it enough he can still feel her torturous fingers tickling his tummy as if he were still in the theatre watching Man Of Steel. 

He looked around the room, viewing all possible exits. He could go through the window. Would that be crazy? Is it still snowing outside? He could run into the kitchen, but where would he go from there? He knew that the only place where he could guarantee a lock and safety for an unknown amount of time was his bedroom. He would need to go through the archway and up the stairs, which would be risky for sure. 

He bolted for it, running through the exit only to be grabbed by the hood and thrown over someone’s shoulder. He knew it wasn’t Lexie, although she was pretty strong she definitely could not pick up a sixteen-year-old on her own. Moody tried to bring his head up, struggling in the grip of the person carrying him in hopes to flee. 

When Moody finally managed to look up, his brown curls falling in his face, he was met with a face full of short, blond hair. It was short blond hair that belonged to Trip. 

“You’re a traitor! Let me down, dumbass!” Moody screamed, trying to hit his brother. 

“You should’ve just gotten me some juice, buddy.” Trip didn’t bother lowering Moody softly, he threw his younger brother’s body onto the couch like a ragdoll. Moody had always despised the fact that Trip was so much stronger than him, despite the fact that there was only a year between them. 

Moody tried to scramble off of the couch, but Trip quickly pinned his arms above his head. Moody was really starting to panic, he squirmed and pulled hard. He tried to use his hands to his Trip, or pinch his skin, but his brother didn’t let up. When he finally looked at Lexie again, he could feel nothing but fear. He started begging her to stay away from him, he asked Pearl to help him escape, but nothing worked. 

When he felt Lexie’s fingers dance over his ribs, his entire body went cold, and he clamped his mouth shut, biting his lip. Lexie wasn’t worried, Moody could never last more than twenty seconds or so. 

“I know you’re not sorry right now, Moods, but I’m going to make you sorry,” Lexie taunted before speeding up her fingers.

Moody’s giggles were loud and bubbly, Pearl believes that his laugh could be one of the most adorable sounds to exist. Although she hadn’t enjoyed Moody’s phase of anger towards her and Trip for dating, she was glad that they were finally back to being best friends, not only because of his adorable laugh, but that was definitely a plus. 

Moody wanted to hit himself, he hated how vulnerable he was to this, and he genuinely could not handle tickling most of the time. As a little kid, as embarrassing as it is to admit, his siblings rarely had pity, and it wasn’t rare that he would pee himself and get his siblings in trouble for it. He grew to control his bladder, but he still couldn’t completely control the way that the touches made him feel.

“I’m alreheheady s-sohorehehe! Stop! Lehehex, I cahahahan’t!” Moody squealed, his body twitching sporadically in a way that he couldn’t control. Lexie’s fingers were scribbling up and down Moody’s ribs, drilling in between them, and scratching along them horizontally. Moody’s head was thrown back, and he was shaking it back and forth just like how he had before he had ran from Lexie. 

Pearl hadn’t known that Moody was so ticklish. She had accidentally tickled him during hugs and when the five of them ended up arranged in a big heap on the couch, but she had never thought he was this bad. Moody was close to hysterics and Lexie had barely even started all that she had planned.

Moody’s brain was everywhere except on escape measures, every second that he was getting tickled was torture to him, especially by Lexie. When she started her teasing, he knew that he was doomed. 

“Aww, what’s wong Moody? Is someone a wittle ticklwish? Is Mister Giggles making another appearance?” Lexie spoke in that evil, condescending voice that always drove Moody crazy. He had always hated being babied, and this voice amplified that, it also somehow amplified the feeling of her fingers. 

Lexie had moved from Moody’s ribs up to his collarbones, tracing the bones and even laying some raspberries on his skin there. He tried to clamp his chin down to avoid the feeling, but that forced Trip to hold Moody’s head up by his chin, wiggling his fingers underneath it as well as over the shells of his ears. 

“Fu-Ah! Fuhuhuhuck you Trihihip! Yohohou are so dehehead!” Moody squealed loudly. The spot where his jaw met his neck had always been a pretty bad spot, and Trip’s fingers had wiggled over it. “Please stop!”

Lexie clicked her teeth, shaking her head back and forth in mock sadness. “Uh-uh-uh, no can do. Sorry baby brother, but I believe that you have a lesson to learn, there’s no stopping yet.” 

Lexie’s fingers quickly darted down to Moody’s tummy, and his scream was glass-shattering, but Lexie just laughed in response before moving down to his thighs and pinching at them, spidering her fingers over his knees too. “Don’t worry, I’ll save the best for last.” 

Trip was starting to get a little twitchy. He always needs something to fidget with, and watching his older sister tickle their brother was kind of making him squirm. He’s been in the same position before, it’s always a nightmare. He hadn’t even realized that his fingers had started to dig into both of Moody’s armpits until his younger brother was loudly cursing his name. 

Lexie looked back at Trip, noticing what he was doing, and thanking Trip for helping him. Trip knew this would probably be bad news for him later on, but he would much rather take the revenge from Moody instead of Lexie. Plus, he kind of didn’t mind being tickled if he was being honest.

While Trip contemplated internally, Moody was convinced that he was entering the worst layer of hell. Lexie was still tickling his legs, but she was making her way down towards his feet. Moody suddenly really wished that he had kept his shoes on when he had entered. When Lexie’s fingers started scratching under his toes, he desperately tried to kick out, he needed to escape, he felt like he was going crazy. 

Lexie noticed, and Moody had always been known as the sibling with the worst reactions to tickling, so she knew that she needed to end it soon, she didn’t want him to pass out after all. Moody’s laughter was peppered with snorts as she continued. His feet had always been pretty sensitive, easily his second worst spot after his tummy. 

Lexie quickly spidered her fingers up and started to scrub at Moody’s tummy, laying a raspberry every 30 seconds or so. Moody’s laughter came and went, squealing everytime Lexie placed a raspberry on his tummy, and falling into hiccupy, silent laughter afterwards.

Trip stopped and looked up at their older sister when he heard Moody’s hysterics. “Lex, I think he’s nearly at the end of his rope.” 

Lexie nodded, agreeing, knowing that Moody’s eyes were shut too tight to see her motion. “Are you sorry, Moody? Were your pranks as funny as this?”

Moody tried his best to answer, but he could barely breathe, he was wheezing and his chest was starting to hurt, but he knew that Lexie knew that, she was good at not taking things too far usually. 

“I’m- I’m sohohohorehehehe!” Moody squealed when he finally did acquire air.

Lexie stopped, backing off and shooing Trip off of Moody’s wrists. Moody curled into a ball, trying to breathe through his hiccups and residual laughter. Pearl scooted towards him, rubbing his back soothingly. Moody initially jumped away from the touch, whimpering slightly, until he noticed that it was Pearl, and not either of his evil siblings. He melted into her touch, and he desperately tried to calm down. 

When he finally had air and he was no longer panting, he stayed curled up, holding his knees to his chest. His breath started to slow, his siblings knew that crazy tickling usually made him really tired, but before his eyes finally shut, he looked up, glaring towards Lexie and Trip.

“You both better sleep with one eye open.”

[dresupi]

magic eraser

Darcy Lewis Crack Challenge 2019 |  Day 5: A Literal Eraser | 

Ship: Darcy Lewis/Loki |  Rating: T |  Prompt: Day 5: A literal eraser  |  Other Tags: Crack, Crack treated seriously, Mutual Pining, Crushes, Flirting, Eventual Date, Runaway Appendages, Swearing |  Word Count: 2303 | 

Summary:

How was he supposed to know the damn thing would actually erase her hand?

Well, not erase exactly…

But to hear her talk, it's close enough.

"Loki. Do I need to hire a babysitter for you or something?" Darcy asked, reaching over and gingerly taking the blinking black and green device from his hands.

He'd never seen anything like this piece of tech before, but if he had to guess, he'd say it had something to do with Dr. Foster's ever-changing star charts. "I know Janey's got some shiny blinkies, but you really have to learn to control yourself, babe," she continued, safely placing the piece of tech out of his reach.

Well, not really. He could have it if he wanted. That was the point, wasn't it? He liked irking Darcy Lewis.

All in all, he'd call what he had for Foster's lab assistant a 'mixed attraction'. A general fondness with a side of liking the way her voice sounded when she was annoyed.

"Who do you think they'd task with looking after me?" he pondered aloud, leaning over on the counter and cupping his chin in his hand as he gazed over at Ms. Lewis expectantly. "Do you think they'd hire some security officer to subdue me with brute force, or do you think they'd ask you?"

She frowned a little and looked at him. He liked the way her forehead wrinkled just between her eyebrows. "Knowing Jane, she'd ask me. She knows you can't stand being told what to do, and by someone so clearly your inferior, all the better. Or worse. Whichever." Her frown had disappeared by the time she'd finished talking, a triumphant little quirk in her smile tugged the corners of her mouth instead. He liked the corners of her mouth as well, so let her have her triumph.

"You believe yourself to be my inferior?" he drawled.

"No. I think I'm pretty hot shit. But I happen to know you don't agree," she countered. "So like… if it bothers you, I'm game."

He smirked slightly. If she only knew exactly what he thought of her. 'Hot shit' didn't begin to cover it.

"Go speak to Dr. Foster, then. If it would bring you such pleasure to boss me around."

Color rose in her cheeks and she glanced down at her laptop instead, stammering something about talking to Jane later if he didn't stop his nonsense.

As adorable as her blushing and stammering were, he already had his eye on another item from Jane's workstation.  This one looked relatively harmless. And if it urged Ms. Lewis to speak with Jane about his lack of supervision, all the better. He would simply adore more time spent in Darcy's company.

He pushed up from the empty counter and sauntered over to the table, making sure to ease his feet down on the floor as quietly as he was able. Too quiet for Darcy's Midgardian ears, at any rate.

Scooping up the device, he turned it over in his hands. "What does this do?"

"Seriously dude? You can't even wait five minutes before you're back on your bullshit?" She made a grab for the object, and he tossed it easily to his other hand, holding it behind his back so she had to reach around him.

He smirked. "Surely you've seen Dr. Foster use it before?"

"No, actually. I haven't seen that one in action. So for all I know, it blows up planets. Please. Give it back to me before it Alderaans us into oblivion."

Grinning, he held it just out of her reach. "Surely she wouldn't have something such as that in her possession. Just lying around for me to find."

Darcy pursed her lips and jumped up, grabbing for the device in her left hand. He'd let her have it in just a moment. "Whatever. Just give it back, dude."

"Since you asked so nicely--" he began, stopping short when her thumb and forefinger grabbed it, pressing against the front panel. Darcy screamed loudly a split second later when her hand disappeared.

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!" she screeched, grabbing the sleeve of her sweatshirt and yanking it up to reveal a bare wrist. She turned it towards her face and immediately turned a horrible shade of puce. "OH MY GOD!" She wavered on her feet and Loki dropped the device on the table and slipped an arm around her, catching her just in time.

He peered at her wrist, seeing exactly what had made her queasy. Her hand was gone, that much he knew already. But, in its wake was a neatly sliced wrist. Not a wound, per se. There was no blood gushing. The flesh around it wasn't angry or inflamed. It simply looked like he was peering through a window at her bone and circulatory system.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, frowning before lifting her up and onto the counter in front of him.

"No… no? Am I in shock, FRIDAY?"

"Your heart rate is increased, Ms. Lewis, and you seem to be in a slightly panicked state. But otherwise, you seem fine. I'll continue to monitor your vitals just in case? Is that okay?"

"Yes, that's fine," she said absently, suddenly realizing she was still in Loki's embrace. She stepped to the side, swallowing thickly as she reached for one of the rolling stools.

"How does it feel?" he asked, nodding down to her wrist. "Are you certain you're not in pain?"

"No, I don't feel any different… it's like nothing's wrong… like my hand's still there… oh my god, is this what phantom limbs feel like?"

Loki frowned. "I'm sure I have no idea. What sort of… sensation do you have in the fingers??"

"My entire hand… the one that's gone? It feels... " She frowned, closing her eyes. "It feels like it's crawling."

"Your skin?"

"No. My hand. My fingertips are on something hard. It's moving. Like it's walking. Like 'Thing' from the Addams' Family."

"You're delirious…" he concluded, making to carry her to the med bay and alert the staff. He'd no sooner taken a step towards her than she stopped him.

"No. I mean it… Let me see if I can…" She frowned, deep in concentration.

A rapping sounded across the lab.

"There!" she said triumphantly. "That was me."

Loki's eyes narrowed as he took a few steps towards the sound. "Do it again."

The rapping continued and Loki darted off in the direction from whence it came. Darcy hopped off the table and followed him.

Once he'd reached the far wall, where the sound seemed to be originating, he knelt down, listening to a peculiar rustling and alternating raps until one of the large silver vents near him burst open and Darcy's hand skittered out onto the floor.

Or at least, he assumed it was Darcy's. He wasn't aware of any other rogue appendages running around the labs, but he wouldn't put it past these people. This one had lovely teal painted fingernails and a silver ring, so he was almost positive it was hers.

Loki jumped back and Darcy shrieked. "Grab it! Loki! Grab my hand!"

"If you insist," he teased, taking off after it, but the little bugger was too fast.

Darcy jumped up on the countertop, eyes scanning the floor and yelling directions for him. Badly.

"IT'S BY THE THING! It's over by the red blinky lights! The red blinky lights!"

"Where is that?" he countered.

"Never mind! THE DOOR! THE DOOR!" She yelped, pointing not to the front door, but the supply closet.

The hand leaped up and grasped the handle, opening it and running inside.

Loki quickly shut the door and spun, holding it closed. "There aren't any vents in there, are there?"

"Just the one on the door that ventilates the space," she replied.

"No others?"

Darcy glanced up at the ceiling. "FRIDAY? Are there any heating or cooling ducts that lead into this closet?"

"No. The only way in or out is through the door," Stark's A.I replied automatically. Loki was slightly jealous, the A.I wouldn't speak to him unless he tried to go somewhere he shouldn't.

"Good. It's trapped. Now, help me barricade the door…" Darcy hopped down off the counter and shed her hoodie as she placed her attached hand on a rolling file cabinet with locking wheels.

Loki took care of that one and one other for good measure, starting to roll them both towards the closed supply closet. He was at least partially responsible for her runaway hand, and he had two working ones attached to his wrists, so it was the least he could do.

But of course, at that precise moment, Jane and Thor reappeared in the doorway. Loki's stomach dropped. Having to explain this to his brother was bad enough. But Dr. Foster might slap him again.

He glanced over at Darcy, who, unprompted, jammed her hand into a nearby bag of potato chips just as they approached. An odd feeling swept through his abdomen. Almost as if he were falling from a great distance. Without the hard landing.

"What are you two up to?" Thor asked, warily reaching out to wave his hand over Loki's shoulder, slapping him in the process. Loki rolled his eyes.

"Just some redecorating," Darcy said, hand still in the chip bag. "And eating chips."

Jane and Thor gave them some odd looks but continued over to Jane's main work area.

There was a clatter from the bottom of the door as the grated opening at the bottom of the door came crashing out onto the floor.  Loki half expected Jane to start screaming as Darcy had, but nothing happened.

Perhaps the hand had remained in the room after seeing Thor out here.

If it could see. It was only a hand after all. Perhaps it sensed things. A soft tugging on his pant leg soon answered that question, however.

His eyes went wide as Darcy's runaway hand crept its way up the back of his leg. He glanced over at Darcy, who was also wide-eyed. "Sorry," she mouthed, shrugging slightly as it moved over the back of his thigh and up over the swell of his rear.

He shifted slightly and reached back to grab it, to perhaps stop it from feeling up Thor next, but when he turned to look for it, he saw nothing. Instead, he felt something tap his shoulder.

"Um… Loki. You seem to have an extra… hand," Thor replied, looking with a bemused expression as Ms. Lewis' hand tapped once more on his shoulder.

"Don't just stand there, help me catch it!" Loki growled.

Darcy squealed. "Be gentle, Thor, it's my hand!" She pulled her wrist out of the chip bag and Thor, without missing a beat, grasped the rogue hand tightly. It slipped from his grasp into Loki's, who laced his fingers and held it tight.

"If you wanted to hold Darcy's hand, you only need to ask her, brother!" Thor joked with a wink.

Loki sighed heavily, seriously struggling to not hold the hand too tightly, but also to keep it from bursting free once more.

"Darcy, how even…" Jane asked, reaching for the exact device that had caused the issue in the first place. "You cannot mess with my spacial modifier… it's not one hundred percent working correctly!"

"No kidding!" Darcy exclaimed. "It sent my hand rogue."

Jane sighed. "Yeah, mine takes a nap whenever I try to use it. Makes it easy to reattach, but I can't ever get anything done. Apparently, yours runs through the walls and gropes Asgardians. I can't say I'm surprised."

Darcy shrugged. "What can I say? I have a type." She winked at Loki and he felt that same sweeping feeling once more. He almost let go of her hand. Almost.

Jane eyed him, clearly amused at his clear discomfort. "Here, Loki… hold her hand still.  Darce, bring your wrist up to where it attaches. I'll get it back on there for you."Thirty seconds later and Darcy's hand was reattached and still clasped tightly in Loki's grasp.  She wriggled her fingers against his hand and he quickly let go, pressing his lips together as he took a few steps back."Woo, thanks, Janey!" Darcy wiggled her fingers and stared at it in wonder. "I should probably wash this, right? No idea where it's been."

"I know of at least one place," Thor muttered, chuckling when Loki glared in his direction.

"Close your mouth," he hissed.

"Close yours," Thor countered. "You're the one blindly flirting with a woman and doing nothing about it."

"I'm doing plenty."

"Sounds as if her hand has gotten further than you have."

"I've been biding my time," he said. "I want her to be certain she wants more before I--"

Thor's gaze flitted from Loki to where Darcy was standing across the room. He spoke loudly, "Loki should take you to lunch to make up for losing your hand!".

Darcy stopped in mid-scrub. "Yeah! He should! Lunch, Loki?"

He turned to face his brother, ready to chastise him for sticking his great big nose where it didn't belong, but instead, he simply mouthed 'Thank you' before turning back to Darcy. "That sounds lovely. Where to?"

"I dunno, but you lost my hand. I'm thinking something expensive. Maybe nothing that costs an arm and a leg. Maybe just an arm, you know?" she grinned brilliantly, and the feeling returned to his stomach.

"Whatever you'd like."

She raised her eyebrows. "Wow. Meek is a new color for you. I kind of prefer the snark, honestly."

If she wanted snark, he could definitely provide it. He smiled and offered his arm. "Here. let's put that hand somewhere for safe keeping." He reached out and placed it in the crook of his elbow. "Can't have you losing it again."

"Hey, buddy. I didn't lose it!"

"If I recall, it was you who pushed the button, so…"

[poisener]

ELLE    &     GWEN  :  TWO FRIENDS TORN APART ONLY TO BE BUILT BACK UP AGAIN  :  a mini essay on friendship    &    more . 

       this is gonna be a semi - long ass post    &     hopefully one that is articulate    &    not some garbled mess but here we go .   i have a theory /  inkling about elle & gwen and it’s that they were ACTUAL FRIENDS at one point but had a vague falling out , i.e.  exhibited in the way that gwen’s circle of friends   ( god i don’t really know the girls names except erica & madison so forgive me but you know which girls that are always over at her house  .  ) treat /  regard elle .          elle is perceived as quiet  (     she herself has said she is sensitive /  doesn’t like change     )  ,         i personally write her as having some form of anxiety (    most likely a sort of social anxiety   )      &      people      (     especially girls who run in packs     )     don’t like things they don’t understand /   other girls they can’t control or ‘ figure out ‘ .        elle is one of those girls .  she’s pretty enough to be perceived as a threat by the girls who have hunky    &     potentially stupid boyfriends that would cheat on them  (   clark, jason , etc  ) .  she’s talented enough to be envied  .   she’s determined    &    strong enough to hold her own against people who would speak ill of her   ( though she always seconds guesses herself     &    probably doesn’t think of a comeback until after a situation  ) .  

GWEN’S GROUP OF FRIENDS  .  

     in episode 2  “ our to.wn “  we see elle getting ready for something,  she’s putting on makeup  ,   picking out what one might consider a nice dress, wearing accessories , case    &     point she’s making an effort.  she’s making an effort to distract herself from the dissolving world around her.  she comes up to the house   &    is turned away by one of gwen’s friends told to “ go”  after elle urges that she just wants some company.  the girl then says  “  why don’t you try one of your friend’s houses ??? “  .     at first glance, this is just an obvious reference that she’s a loner .      she has no friends . she has secluded herself from groups . but i think here , beyond her trying to make an effort in this new world , this might have been her old group of friends.       though she’s never been considered the most popular or running with the likes of harry /  kelly ,    she might have been friends of their friends,  mid level acquaintances / tolerated if you will because one of the people in this friend group genuinely liked her    &     i think that person might have been gwen .  

one thing that i did notice    &    that might be deemed insignificant by others or seem as far fetched is how they decorate their rooms .  gwen is in gymnastics /  possibly cheerleading     &     elle is in ballet  / other forms of dance .  they both hang their gymnastic accessories / cheerleading bows    &    ballet point shoes up on the wall straight in a row , as close as possibly to their bed or on an adjacent wall .  now, you may be saying ?  well , a lot of people display their competitive sports / trophies like that but i say ,   like minds think alike    &    i believe either gwen    &    elle were civil and knew each other from shared classes or shared sports / dance centers OR their parents were friends and thus they decided to decorate their rooms the same .  i think there’s some sort of shared /  history and bond between them .   another possibility is that gwen tried to integrate elle into the friend group    &    no one else really liked her so what did gwen do ? she badmouthed her ,  she possibly talked shit about her to her boyfriend who then told jason    &     luke who then told helena who then called her a thot in the hallway.  and yes,  that does seem like a silly / trivial thing in a show such as this to bring up but i think it was significant enough point to be made be elle    &    helena to bring up the past . words hurt especially when you don’t deserve them    &     they come from someone you respect or someone that doesn’t even honestly know you.  helena probably said it in the heat of the moment, there were probably rumors about elle floating around ,  vicious hurtful rumors or “ locker room talk  “ by clark    &     the other guys .  guys who would be influenced by their girlfriends perception of another female . 

now onto how gwen’s friends treat elle (  EP 2  thru finale )  .       they treat her as someone to be ignored . someone to scoff at . someone to pick on so they won’t get picked on by the god tier high school rich kids .      it’s a those who are bullied bully others mentality .     or those who don’t understand someone /  won’t take the time to get to know someone end up making fun of them mentality .      ex.   at prom when elle’s dancing mostly by herself but in their vicinity , the one girl with the wavy hair sort of rolls her eyes /  gives her friend a “ wth she’s fucking weird” look that normally would hurt elle but the girl in the red dress encourages her to dance / grabs her hand    &     twirls her around , this is also the scene where seconds later she bows in front of campbell    &     then they dance to a slow song later on.   it’s pretty sad to realize she probably got ready in her house alone while gwen ,  helena    &     the other girls all got ready together .  

this brings me to the other major theme in this essay that i think     ELLE    &     GWEN ARE BOTH CLOSETED BI’S OR QUESTIONING    &     SOMETHING HAPPENED BETWEEN THEM.   from like episode 4/5 or whatever on  ,  gwen is seen distancing herself from clark     &     she is seen QUESTIONING OTHERS RELATIONSHIPS    &    HER OWN RELATIONSHIP IN THIS NEW WORLD.  

elle    &    reaching out to gwen /  gwen’s friend group  :  

in the church in ep 1 she can be seen sitting close to kelly    &    gwen .  

ep 2 ,  she goes to gwen’s house only to get turned away . 

ep 3,   she gets excluded from the church all girls meeting .  

ep  3.  in the cafeteria, before campbell gives her the prom dress,  she is seen hesitating when seeing gwen, lexie    &    the other girl on those risers in the cafeteria.  gwens looks over for a split second ( so does lexie i think  )    &    elle ultimately chooses to sit by herself for fear of being turned away once more . 

ep 4 , after elle proposes movie night to kelly   &    elle attends movie night by herself ,   clarke    &    gwen walk her back to campbell’s house .  elle even mirrors her own words in ep 2 saying “thanks for the company guys. “ the company she so wanted in ep 2 but was denied .  gwen also lowkey picks up on the off vibe between elle   &    campbell ,  not only because she probs thinks campbell is a creep but because she knows elle personally . there’s a brief flicker of concern right after c kisses elle   &    starts petting her head . yeah, anyone could be weirded out by this but i think she showed genuine concern that a friend would have seeing another friend in this situation . 

ep 9 after the pie poisoning  ,   helena takes elle in     &     elle ultimately leaves helena’s home because she doesn’t want to put her or their other friends in danger. 

  ELLE    &    GRIZZ TALKING  (EP 2 )  /   GWEN    &    GRIZZ TALKING ( EP 1 thru THE FINALE  )      yes,  i don’t think it’s a coincidence that both girls are seen opening up   /  talking about intimate issues with grizz, the other half of a gay m/m couple who are completely the softest in all of new ham  .  grizz approaches elle unprompted in episode 2  “ our town  “  (  cause he’s a nice guy and he could see she was uncomfy  )  when she’s seen on the fringes of the fugitive game .  grizz tells her that everyone is scared    &     sometimes a silly game makes things better, she says that she doesn’t think it’ll help her much    &     she admits that she thinks GOD IS PUNISHING HER .      when i first rewatched  / heard this i was like “ oh she’s talking about campbell “  but i realized we don’t really seem them  together until later on in that episode where campbell  solidifies his choice with her /  they go to prom in the later episodes .   i think that elle thinks god is punishing her for SOMETHING SHE DID RELATED TO GWEN’S FRIEND GROUP OR FRIENDS  .   

quotes from gwen or instances where it seemed to be coded towards her questioning not only the world around her but her own sexuality /  curiosities . 

“  we might have to marry them one day, i mean ,  who else is there ?”   ---- gwen  in ep 2 after the fmk game where they talk about the boys.  

idk what ep but when she just randomly brings up that seth guy.  idk it reeked of “  lol boys like me . i like boys.  i met one once that i’m totes gonna get with later energy “   when everyone knows that’s a damn lie.  i think she overcompensates a lot when talking about guys  / making inappropriate jokes or playing fmk  , etc. 

when helena    &    gwen are getting ready for prom , gwen tells her that she wasn’t even going to go to prom with clarke. their relationship was already over in her mind    &     she was moving on .  she also asks helena about luke    &     them staying together saying ,  “how can you be so certain?” , ALSO , when she mentions stan/ford    &    says there are so many people  “ hot people. hot surfer people . you don’t think you’d be curious?”  got my bi antennas going WAY UP cause she totally could have said “ hot guys / dudes, etc. “   

she also says “  luke wasn’t just the best you could do for now?”  which is how i think gwen views her relationship with clarke    &    the small town that they are in    &    now the current situation they’re in . 

okay but grizz    &    gwen’s whole interactions in the finale screamed questioning / curious to me because g reading thoreau really fucked up gwen i think espc the whole  “ and not when i came to die, discover that i had not lived . “  i.e.  gwen not discovering / exploring her sexuality / her place in the world. 

gwen cuddling g  /  trying to lowkey put the moves on him    &    then grizz admits he’s gay to her.  

“ are you gay through    &    through or mostly gay?”  yeah, that’s insensitive wording    &    ignorant ,  but to her ,  it’s an honest question cause she’s curious about grizz . i wholly believe this was also a hopeful asking for her in terms of “ wow i guess that could be me too eventually?”  like i think she has so much respect for grizz so to see him out here living the best life he can and accepting who he is and telling her about that like  idk i just read that scene of it really opening up her world views /  the possibilities of life as someone who is questioning things. 

TLDR   ;    ELLE & GWEN USED TO BE GOOD FRIENDS . THEY   ARE BOTH QUESTIONING THEIR SEXUAL IDENTITIES  & PLACE IN THE NEW WORLD . THERE WAS SOME SORT OF FALLING OUT THERE I JUST  KNOW IT. GWEN & HER FRIENDS WEREN’T JUST BEING MEAN GIRLS, THEY WERE BEING MEAN EX FRIENDS  .   

[survivorwildwest]

Episode 2 - Kissing’s Cool

After Tribal Council, everyone at the Suhtai camp is calm because they didn’t go home, but surprised that Taylor would just announce the target like that. Hannah pulls Taylor to a small hill nearby for some privacy, “Tails, you can’t do that!”

“What did I dooo?” Taylor asks, not understanding the attempt at a private conversation.

“You can’t just ANNOUNCE who you’re voting for at tribal council in front of everyone!”

“What does it matter? He went home anyway.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“You could have screwed up a big plan. Everyone just voted for Cao Boi to avoid making enemies. We couldn’t take Jerri out because of you, Taylor.”

“Well, sorry man! I thought Cao Boi was the better move!”

“Okay, fine. We’ll just… get Jerri next time.”

“There. Good. No problem then.”

Hannah stares at him in disbelief then gets up and walks back to the tent.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a swarm of bats flies through the night sky.

The next morning, at the Tsitsistas camp, the tribe gets tree mail for the next challenge. Colby reads it in front of everyone:

“Dart,” Brandon guesses.

“Is anyone good at darts?”

“I’m decent,” Bi says.

“We’re gonna be looking at you then, missy,” Lisa says with love.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a cactus wren lands on a cactus and cleans under its wings.

The two tribes meet in the old saloon in town where Jeff explains the rules of challenge. “Each tribe will put one person up to throw three darts. Whoever scores higher for their tribe, wins. Want to know what you’re playing for?”

Everyone claps and tells Jeff, “yeah.”

“Now, I’m sure desert nights are pretty rough in those tents. The winning tribe will receive wood and tools to build a shelter.” Everyone lets out an exalted sigh. Suhtai nominates Russell. He and Brandon exchange a grin. Tsitsistas nominates Bi. Jeff hands each of them a dart and has them take position. Russell throws first. His teal dart lands in the circle just outside the bullseye, at two o’clock on the face of a clock. Bi takes her first shot and mirrors Russell’s placement exactly at eight o’clock. She flashes him a quick grin as he steps up for his second throw. With almost the exact same technique, Russell’s dart hits just above and to the left of his first, still a hair from the bullseye. Bi mirrors him again. With his third and final dart, Russell takes a deep breath, pulls his hand back and tosses the dart through the air with such precision that it lands directly inside the bullseye ring.

“Try to mirror that, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I can, Russel,” Bi says, feigning concern.

Bi pulls back just as she had in her previous two throws and, with her eye directly on the center of the bullseye, tosses the dart directly in the center of the bullseye.

“This ain’t your game anymore, old man,” Bi taunts as Tsitsistas cheers.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a scorpion sits atop a rock and takes in the sun.

Back at the Tsitsistas Camp, Ken, Colby and Ben get started on building their new shelter. As Ken saws some wood, he catches Lauren’s eye as she walks past.

“Ken is,” she says in a talking head, “a very good-looking man. Uhh…” She trails off with a distracted smile.

“Can I help with anything, Ken,” she asks.

“Uh, yeah, could you grab me some more,” he looks in his hand to see a fistful of nails, “uh, nails.”

“Sure,” she says as they stare into one another’s eyes for far longer than necessary.

“Lauren’s…”Ken says in a talking head, “I really like Lauren, man. When I was working on the shelter, she came up to me, unprompted, and asked how she could help. She didn’t need to do that but I’m glad she did.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a cottontail rabbit hops along.

Over at Suhtai, Todd approaches Carl to discuss the previous tribal council. “So,” he starts, “What do we think of Taylor?”

Carl tilts his head slightly and says only with his eyes, “This dude cannot be real.”

“Okay, I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“No, man. Everyone is with you. We gotta take him out next chance we get. We’re lucky it was early. He coulda screwed a lot of things up.”

“Right?! Like, I don’t want to take the risk of that happening again.”

“I’m with ya, man.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, common goldenweeds grow bright.

Wendy and Hannah are hiking through the nearby hills. Once she feels they are far enough away from everyone else, Wendy asks Hannah, “Can I trust you?”

“Yes, of course!”

“You can’t tell Wardog, or Tails!”

“What is it??”

“And especially not Russell!!”

“I won’t tell Russell!”

Wendy pulls her satchel around front, opens it, and pulls out her nugget of gold.

“Is that an idol?!”

Wendy smiles real big and nods her head.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a rosy boa curls up under a rock.

That night, at the Tsitsistas Camp, while everyone makes their way to bed, Lisa sits around the fire alone. Eventually, Lauren gets up and makes her way to the fire.

“Hey Lisa,” Lauren says.

“Sit, sista.”

“Ha,” Lauren laughs briefly, “Like the tribe name.”

“Exactly. What’s got you up?”

“I just can’t sleep.”

“I’m right there with ya. I couldn’t sleep a wink my first time either. How do people sleep during this?”

“Why’s it so hard to go to sleep?”

As the two women talk, Lisa notices Ben get up and leave camp.

“I couldn’t help but notice you looking at Ken.”

“Haha, I mean sure. Who’s not looking at Ken?”

“He’s looking at you too, sweetie. You two would be cute together.”

“Oh my goooood, Lisa.”

“You’d make adorable kids.”

“Lisa! Stop,” Lauren giggled.

Ben has found his way to the hills. In a talking head, he explains, “There’s nowhere else an idol could POSSIBLY be hidden at camp.”

As he feels around all the rocks by moonlight, he comes across one with a different texture. He wraps his fingers around it and pulls. As luck would have it, Ben Driebergen finds an idol. He quickly stuffs it in his pocket. When he returns to camp, he notices Lisa still sitting at the fire. She notices him too. They do not acknowledge each other but he instinctively grabs his pocket as he heads to bed. After a few moments of sitting alone in silence, Lisa sees Bi. 

“I need to tell you something,” Lisa whispers.

Bi takes a seat next to her and asks, “What’s up?”

“I think Ben has an idol. I noticed him leave camp a few hours ago and he just came back with something in his pocket and he was trying to cover it with his hand when I saw him come back.

Somewhere in the desert, a desert iguana scurries into the shade when the sun comes up.

The next morning, Ben finds Brandon and says “Look, I’m not saying anything bad about Lisa. I’m just worried she’s going to hold us back in challenges.”

“Yeah, Ben. That makes sense. Hopefully we don’t have to worry about that.”

“Right. Right. But, we might.”

“The plans of the diligent lead surely to abundance, but everyone who is hasty comes only to poverty.”

“Is that from the bible?”

“Psalms 21:5”

“Yeah, well, just keep it in mind.”

“Sure thing.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a kangaroo rat hops like a kangaroo across the American desert.

The tribes receive another piece of tree mail, instructing them to be prepared to get wet. At high noon, they meet Jeff for their immunity challenge. “For today’s immunity challenge, each tribe will take a canoe across Lake Mead. First tribe to reach the finish line wins immunity. Tsitsistas you’ve got one extra member, you gotta sit someone out.” Without hesitation, Kass raises her hand.

Jerri takes the role of the Canoe Captain. She looks over her canoe to see Russell and Wardog taking up the helm with everyone else assorted throughout the canoe with their paddles. She looks over to the other canoe to see Colby standing in the same position, looking over his canoe where Ben and Ken take the helm. Jerri and Colby make eye contact and laugh before the challenge gets under way.

Suhtai seems to have established a rhythm early, forcing Tsitsistas to work from behind. Ben notices Lisa not stroking as hard as him. No one was rowing as hard as him, but he knows that blowing up would only draw more ire his way, so he keeps his mouth shut. Meanwhile, Suhtai crosses the finish line with no trouble. Jeff calls “Suhtai wins immuinty!”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a desert iguana looks out over the desert, searching for food.

Back at the Tsitsistas camp, Ben is fuming but refuses to talk to anyone. He stares into the fire, muttering to himself. Brandon takes a seat next to him. “I told you,” Ben says.

“I know, man. I’m with you.”

“Who else?”

“Bi? Michaela? Colby?”

“That would be five.”

“Do you want me to talk to them?”

“Yes, Brandon. Please do that.”

So, Brandon gets up from the fire to find Colby first. He’s helping Ken build a table in their new shelter, which is slowly starting to look like a small house. 

“Hey, Brandon,” Colby says with his signature smile, “Ken thought it would be a good idea to build a table, so that when we win any rewards, we can put them up here on a table indoors, rather than outside in the sand.”

“That’s a great idea. So, what do you think of Lisa tonight?”

“Lisa,” Ken asks, “You want to vote for her?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Colby says, “it would definitely make the tribe stronger.”

“But at the same time,” Ken argues, “Like you were saying earlier, how many tribals can we go to with Ben before he pulls out an idol. It might just be a good idea to get rid of him as soon as possible.”

“We gotta stay strong right now,” Brandon says.

“Right. I’ll talk to Michaela about it,” Colby says, “I know she wanted Ben first, but I can probably convince her.”

“I’ll talk to Lauren about it,” Ken says.

“Hey, yeah, Ken,” Colby excitedly says, “I saw you two hittin it off earlier.”

“Yeah, Lauren’s cool.”

“She’s cool,” Brandon guffaws, “you’re so clearly into her.”

“Oh, I-- I don’t know about that. She’s quite young.”

“You’re both adults,” Colby assures him, “There’s nothing wrong with some innocent flirting on Survivor.”

“You would know,” Brandon jokes.

“What if it goes beyond just innocent flirting?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Colby says suddenly looking back to the table.

“You’re telling me,” Brandon pokes, “that in your four seasons together, you and Jerri have never gotten it on?”

“No, we-- I-- I don’t like to call it ‘gettin it on.’”

Ken chuckles quietly to himself.

“What do you call it then,” Brandon asks.

“Just… sex. I just call it sex!”

“Whoa-ho-ho, playboy Colby over here,” Brandon laughs.

Ken chuckles again.

“So, you and Jerri never had sex?”

Colby looks up from the table at Brandon and says with a clear voice, intentionally avoiding anger, “No, Brandon, Jerri Manthey and I have never had sex. We’ve never gotten it on. We’ve never even kissed.”

“Kissing’s cool, man,” Ken explains, “You should try it.”

Colby looks at the two men he feels are taunting him, then gets back to work on the table.

Ken puts down his tools and makes his way back to the fire pit where he sees Lauren sitting with Lisa. “Hey ladies,” he says as he joins them.

Lisa grins really big while staring at Lauren, then at Ken, instructing Lauren to talk to him.

“Uh, what’s going on, Ken,” Lauren asks.

“Well, I was just wondering who you guys were voting for.”

“I think the plan is Ben, right?”

“Ben, okay. That works.”

“Who have you heard,” Lisa asks.

“Uh… I haven’t really heard anything. I was just building a table inside.”

“Yeah,” Lauren asks involuntarily.

“Yeah,” he replies with the same absent-mindedness.

At the well, Michaela, Kass, Bi and Kimmi are collecting water for everyone. 

“What are you guys thinking,” Michaela asks.

“I think everyone’s kind of on the same page,” Kimmi says.

“Ben?” Bi presumes.

“That’s who I wanted.”

“Works for me,” Kimmi says.

“What if he has an idol already?” Bi asks.

“If he plays an idol tonight, we’ll just make sure he doesn’t get the next one,” Kimmi says. Neither of the other women seem convinced.

“He doesn’t have an idol,” Kimmi assures them, “Have you seen him since the challenge? He’s been so on edge.”

The Tsitsistas Tribe treks to Tribal Council. They are welcomed by Jeff and his light-polluting smile. They all take a seat in the circle around the campfire Jeff made. “Welcome back, all of you, to tribal council. I’m sure you’re all happy to be here.”

“Nope!” Brandon shouts, “I am never happy to be at Tribal Council, but hey, here we are so what can you do?”

“What do you want to do with this vote, Brandon,” Jeff asks.

“I want to keep our tribe strong. So many people play the individual game so early these days. We’re still a team, y’all! And teamwork makes the dream work!”

“Colby, do you agree? Do you think your tribe needs to work better together as a team?”

“Well, sure, Jeff. But not everyone’s definition of strength is the same. What’s strong to me isn’t necessarily the same thing as strength for someone like Ben.”

“Ben, what is strength to you?”

“Well, Jeff, I was in the marines. So, I think strength is being forced into mental and physical exhaustion and still being able to perform. Isn’t that what Survivor’s all about?”

“If you say so. It is time to vote. Bi, you’re up first.”

Bi gets up and writes Ben’s name. Ben writes Lisa’s name and holds it up to the camera with an unenthusiastic and apologetic shrug. When Ken makes his way to the voting booth, he takes a long time to decide how to vote. When he finally returns, Jeff says “I’ll go tally the votes.”

When Jeff returns with the votes, he says “If anyone has the hidden immunity idol and you’d like to play it, now would be the time to do so.” Ben looks around at the rest of his tribe, stands up and pulls the small nugget of gold from his pocket. “Should I bite it to make sure it’s real,” he jokes as he walks up Jeff’s lectern.

“That won’t be necessary,” Jeff tells him, holding his hand out.

He takes the gold, holds it up to the tribe and says, “This IS a hidden immunity idol. Any votes cast for Ben will not count.” Jeff reaches in the urn and begins reading the votes. “Ben, does not count.”

“Ben does not count, Ben does not count, Ben does not count, Ben does not count, Ben does not count, Ben does not count, Lisa, Second Person voted out of the Wild West, Lisa.”

Everyone voted for Ben except Ben, Brandon and Colby.

Read Episode 3 here

[occult-castiel]

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Suptober. Day 13: Rewind Dean has a few things to say to Cas. Word count: 2542 [Read on Ao3]

3 Weeks.

Dean's been stealing glances at his phone for over an hour. The dim light of the hall that creeps from under his door is the only reason he can see the thing, blurred out to a barely-there grey hunk of plastic.

The idea is fucking stupid. He doesn't care what Sam thinks. Sam wasn't even supposed to know. Let alone have fucking opinions.

But Dean slipped.

And it took more effort than he will ever admit to walk out of the kitchen without clocking his brother in the goddamn jaw.

Fuck Sam and fuck the phone.

He turns around, away from the stupidest temptation of his life, and demands sleep come.

It's only mildly successful.

2 Month, 1 Week.

Nothing bad can happen from a phone call. Doing it once can’t hurt you any more than you are now

Sam's a well-meaning kid. He really is. But sometimes he just needs to can it.

'Cause he had to go and say some shit like that, completely unprompted — they were talking about potential witch activity in Utah, not Dean's feelings, for Christ's sake — and now it's all Dean can think about now that the distractions of the day have bled into a dark room and cold bed.

And that gray hunk of plastic on his desk is laughing at him. He could reach it if he sat up. Stretched a bit.

But the idea is dumb. And Sam doesn't get it. He really fucking doesn’t.

Except Dean knows he's kind of full of crap.

He grits his teeth, shoves the covers to the side, and grabs his phone.

With each passing buzz, his heart stutters, breath cut into shorter and shorter spurts.

Stupidstupidstupid.

It- it isn't like he's gunna answer. Dean knows he not, but it just rings and rings and —

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

And it hurts.

He calls again every night for the next week. Of course, he never picks up. Sam doesn't ask.

4 Months.

Dean kicks the door after it slams shut. Throws his gun at his headboard, if it goes off and shoots him, oh fucking well. It's great. Just fantastic.

He pulls his phone out without thinking. Clicks Cas.

It rings, and for a moment his shoulders relax as the familiar greeting plays. Cause its Cas' voice. And fuck. Just… fuck.

Then it beeps, and he actually does the one thing he's wanted for months.

"None of your douchebag family will answer me. And I've tried friggin' everything, I swear to Christ."

He runs his hand over his face, glances up at the sour-yellow ceiling.

"How you ever stood them is beyond me dude."

And then, like a rational human being. He hangs up and pretends that whatever that was didn't happen.

Once the bitter taste of angels that don’t pick the fucking phone up from earlier that day fades, Dean stares at the darkened ceiling.

He left a voicemail. A fucking voicemail.

Pathetic.

4 Months, 3 Weeks.

So he hasn't called again since his, uh, slip up. And Sam keeps giving him these little looks. And he knows that Sam knows, and knows he isn't calling because he's a changed man or whatever.

Maybe Sam would drop it, whatever the hell he thinks Dean's mess is, if he could manage to eat.

Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Alex are all around the table with them. Jody's the charmer she always is, talking about how she's grateful for the help and oh, of course you guys are gunna stay for dinner! Ah-ah! No buts.  

There was a hunt in town she tracked down with Claire, a huge vamps nest — we're talking dozens — and called them over for help. And is now feeding them. Because she's a saint and never deserved to be in the know in the first place.

Dean looks at the food. Pork lathered in dark brown graveyard with a mountain of buttery mashed potatoes. There's a pile of carrots on Sam's plate. Dean opted out.

Not that he's eating now. No, mostly just pushing it all around. He does eat in general.

But Claire isn't looking at him. Hasn't. She barely managed a glance up when he saved her — just a small nod and weary glance.

Sam, on the other hand, may as well be ogling.

Dean wishes he could read Sam's mind, find out where he's keeping it so Dean can wallow in misery without his brother being keen on some of the finer details, thank you very much.

He manages a few bites. Its excellent, mouth-watering, home-cooked goodness he's missed fiercely since he got a taste for it the few days Mrs. Butters was around.

But right now? Turns his stomach.

On the way back home, Sam clears his throat. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter.

"So —"

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Samantha."

In the corner of his eye, Sam's shoulder slump. His brother looks down and sighs out a sad little noise.

But the rest of the drive is quiet. And that's a win in Dean's book.

*

It's roughly midnight, and books are scattered across the library table. They're all open to different pages, but none of it matters. Not really.

Dean's combing through it all anyway. Has been since Heavens decided they have a no-call policy with anyone named Winchester.

The piles he has laid around him have grown increasingly larger as the weeks have drug on. Spiked exponentially when he decided not to call anymore.

"Hey Dean."

Dean snaps his head up mid-sentence. Sam stands in the threshold, holding a plate. In pajamas.

Dean just looks at him. "What?"

"Made you food." He lifts the plate up a fraction

"That looks like a cold cut, so made is a generous word."

Sam has the audacity to slump into himself, full-on wounded-puppy mode. So Dean rolls his eyes and waves him over.

The plate gets sat down with a distinct clank, and Sam pats his shoulder.

"You know I just… want what's best for you."

Dean tenses his shoulders, closes the book in front of him. He speaks through his teeth.

"Yeah, well I never had it in the first place. And now it is gone, and there's nothing I can do."

"You don't know that Dean."

He glues his eyes to the back of the book. Balls his fists.

"Don't I? That — That fucking thing just —"

"I know. But it's also gone. We don't know what happened."

Dean chooses then to look over, fix his brother with a proper glare so he'll go the hell away — but sees it.

Sitting innocuously on the plate, like it isn't an affront to everything Dean would rather not, is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Sam's talking but he can't hear it. His brains turned to mush, a radio-static circus of nothing.

The bottom of his chair screeches as it drags against the floor.

And Dean can’t see.

Sam grabs his arm, he shakes it off. He moves decisively, tries too, but his eyes prickle and he can’t see shit, and he isn’t about to cry right there in front of his brother, validate every stupid thought the guy has that’s probably one-hundred percent right.

His door clicks shut, and he pressed himself against it. Slides down until he hits the icy floor.

Dean's throat is a constricted cage, each breath in has to be muscled in, down, out. Each wobble as much as the last.

Sam doesn't know shit. He doesn’t know what he's talking about. He really doesn't.

Calling someone who can’t answer, won’t ever answer, is fucking stupid. It's not therapeutic.

When he rubs a hand over his face. It comes back wet, and his eyes sting.

"Fuck."

He fishes for his phone. Going to Cas' number is muscle memory at this point.

It rings. Cause Sam can't help but keep the thing charged.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."

The ball in his chest is impossibly tight. Why hasn't he called? Just to hear him again, the gruff tenor that's like gravel and silk and the only thing he ever wants to hear, ever. And now he only has nine words he'll ever hear him say again.

That's it. Two sentences.

You saved the whole world. He didn’t save shit.

And what the fuck is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to do anything? He’s never been any good, not as good as he needs to be. Maybe if he would’ve been — or did somethin’ different, anything different —

Dean threads his fingers in his hair and balls his fist. Squeezes his eyes shut against the pool of tears that just leak out, and curls in on himself. His guts are twisted and tight, just like the rest of him. Every part of him shakes, the hand vice-gripping his hair should hurt, should be enough to pull him back to sanity, but the tears don’t stop.

And really what does it matter if he cries. Chucks gone, and The Empty, that — that thing got what was coming to it.

But Cas didn't come back.

He lulls his head against the door, untangles the hand from his hair like his fingers piston operated they ache so bad

God, Cas should’ve just left him in Hell.

Maybe he's Heaven, Billy had said with a shrug. Casual. Like she didn't understand. And Dean knows she does. She gets it more than any of them, saw just what this shit did the last time. Saw exactly how much he didn't want to be around.

Jack had to fuck off to put the universe in balance, so he’s MIA and no help. And Heaven doesn't seem to give a shit.

There must've been a beep somewhere, so Dean just goes with it. Presses the phone to his ear again and works his jaw open until it’s loose enough to allow something resembling words can happen.

"It's — it's bullshit." God Dean can't recognize his own voice, pulled thin and hoarse. "You — you know that right? Bullshit." He shakes his head. Tries to take a deep breath that comes out only slightly less ragged. "You always left. And I — I get that you had to sometimes. But no one wanted you here more than me."

He wipes his face off with the collar of his shirt. His skull screams in sharp pain, and his temples thud. And normally this would be too long of a pause, but normally you don't start a voicemail off trying not to sob, and normally they're made for people who can actually listen to them. So whatever.

"This is stupid. It's not — voicemails ain't your style." His breath leaves, and exhaustion sets deep into his bones. "You always just called back for the explanation. You'd leave 'em, though."

At least Dean assumes. Every call back he'd ever gotten from the guy he'd have to fill him in on whatever was happening anyway. Guess it makes sense in a way. If you have enough time to listen to a message, you've got enough time to call.

The space behind his robes aches when he says, "We both shoulda picked up more, I guess. And Sammy wants me to call now. Like it makes up for shit. It doesn't."

He swipes the little red phone to the left, and stares at the word Cas in his contacts page.

But the screen goes blank, and all he can see are his puffy red eyes reflected in the black screen, and that's motivation, so he gets ready for bed.

1 Year, 10 Months, 13 Days

He calls a few times after that. But tries not to leave voicemails for someone that's just gone, in every sense of the word.

It’s dumb. Still really dumb. And he has no defense for it. Eventually Sam hands him Cas' old phone and a charger. All of the missed voicemails untouched.

Dean could swear he remembers ever last one.

They're mostly simple crap, sometimes. Updates.

"Sam and Eileen are getting hitched. They're pretty fucking disgusting together. But sometimes they look at me, and I can just see it, man. See how they like, bubble themselves off." He laughs, but it's strained.  "Guess it just be written on my face. Which is just friggin’ fantastic. Cause I'm happy for them. I've always wanted that for Sam. But I wanted it for us too. Fucked up that I can only say it now, huh."

"I don't like the way burgers taste anymore. And I, uh, have a bumper sticker now. It's a bee. I kept it together until Sam got misty-eyed." There's a pause for a touch too long, then, "That mixtapes been the only thing in Baby for a month."

"I kept the trenchcoat. Wore it earlier. Got cold out for the first time since —" he sighs. "You wore it better. Looks like shit on me. It pretty much lives in my closet. Can't get monster guts on it that way."

But sometimes it's just a confession, none of the other bullshit. Just the truth.

"Look. I'm not mad. So don't think that. Cause I'm not. Wish I was. It's — it's always been easier. But I was trying to get my head on straight. I would've for you. I just… Don't know how now."

"Can't tell if I like using your old angel blade or fucking hate it. Don't like much of anything anymore. You were better with it."

"Id pray to you, but this is all I got. And I wish I could hope you're up there. But then I'd hope there isn't any pay per view Earth or whatever. Cause this shit? Is pitiful." A sigh. "G'night, Cas."

And one night, a long time later, he's sitting with his back against his bed, nestled next to the end table he never used, he says the truth in a way he knows he should've years and years ago.

"Guess this is like prayin', ain't it? Sammy caught me a few months ago. He wasn't even surprised I'm still doing this. Told me it was, uh — It was okay. Even if I just… never did. And you know what? I don't think l can." He gives a small laugh. "Hell, I only leave messages when I'm feeling, I dunno, brave? Like some part of me thinks you could still hear it and tell me to get lost."

Logically, he knows Cas wouldn't have kicked him to the curb. Wanted him just as much.

"God I listen to it almost every night dude. Just hearing this stupid fucking line —  It's like hitting rewind, for a few seconds."

The rest comes off easy, in its own way

"I miss you, Buddy. And I — I love you more than I know what to do with. I wish it would've been enough. But instead, it killed you."

He ends it, and calls back. Just to listen to the only thing he'll ever hear Cas say again. It’s not a replacement, never will be until he can see if Heaven really does have an angels left.

But the only faith he ever had is just an echo on the other end.

"This is my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail."